But, who is he, whofe locks fo fair
Adown his manly fhoulders flow;
Befide him lies the hunter's fpear,
Befide him fleeps the warrior's bow.
He bends to Ellen-(gentle fprite.
Thy fweet feductive arts forbear)
He courts her arms with fond delight,
And inftant vanishes in air.
Haft thou not found at early dawn
Some foft ideas melt away,
If o'er fweet vale, or flowery lawn,
The sprite of dreams hath bid thee ftray?
Haft thou not fome fair obje& feen,
And, when the fleeting form was past,
Still on thy memory found its mein,
And felt the fond idea laft?
Thou haft-and oft the pictur'd view,
Seen in fome vifion counted vain,
Has ftruck thy wondering eye anew,
And brought the long loft dream again.
With warrior-bow, with hunter's fpear,
With locks adown his fhoulders fpread,
Young Nithifdale is ranging near-
He's ranging near yon mountain's head.
Scarce had one pale moon pafs'd away,
And fill'd her filver urn again,
When in the devious chace to ftray,
Afar from all his woodland train.
To Carron's banks his fate confign'd,
And, all to fhun the fervid hour,
He fought fome friendly fhade to find,
And found the vifionary bower.
Led by the golden ftar of love,
Sweet Ellen took her wonted way,
And in the deep defending Grove
Sought refuge from the fervid day.-
Oh !-who is he whofe ringlets fair
Disorder'd o'er his green veft flow,
Reclin'd in reft—whofe funny hair
Half hides the fair cheek's ardent glow?
'Tis he, that sprite's illufive gueft,
(Ah me! that fprites can fate controul!) That lives ftill imag'd on her breast, That lives ftill pictur'd in her foul.
As when fome gentle spirit fled
From earth to breathe Elyfian air,
And, in the train whom we call dead,
Perceives its long-lov'd partner there.
Soft, fudden pleasure rushes o'er,
Refiftlefs, o'er its airy frame,
To find its future fate reftore
The object of its former flame.
So Ellen flood- -lefs power to move
Had he, who bound in flumber's chain,
Seem'd haply, o'er his hills to rove,
And wind his woodland chafe again.
She flood, but trembled--mingled fear
And fond delight and melting love
Seiz'd all her foul, fhe came not near,
She came not near that fated grove.
She ftrives to fly-from wizzard's wand As well might powerlefs captive flyThe new cropt flower falls from her handAh! fall not with that flower to die.
Haft thou not feen fome azure gleam
Smile in the morning's orient eye,
And fkirt the reddening clouds foft beam
What time the fun was hafting nigh?
Thou haft and thou canft fancy well
As any mufe that meets thine ear,
The foul-fet eye of Nithifdale,
When wak'd, it fix'd on Ellen near.
Silent they gaz'd--that filence broke ;
• Hail Goddess of these Groves, he cried,
• O let me wear thy gentle yoke.'
O let me in thy fervice bide.
For thee I'll climb the mountain steep,
• Unwearied chace the deftin'd prey,
For thee I'll pierce the wild-wood deep,
• And part the fprays that vex thy way.'
O ftranger, cease,' she said,
And fwift away, like Daphne, flew,
But Daphne's flight was not delay'd
By aught that to her bofom grew.
'Twas Atalanta's golden fruit,
The fond Idea that confin'd
Fair Ellen's fteps, and blefs'd his fuit,
Who was not far, not far behind.
O love! within those golden vales,
Thofe genial airs where thou waft born,
Where nature liftening thy foft tales,
Leans on the rofy breast of morn.
Where the fweet Smiles, the Graces dwell, And tender fighs the heart emove,
In filent eloquence to tell
Thy tale, O foul-fubduing love!
Ah! wherefore should grim rage
And dark diftruft with changeful face,
And Jealoufy's reverted eye
Be near thy fair thy favour'd place?
Earl Barnard was of high degree,
And Lord of many a Lowland Hind,
And long for Ellen love had he,
Had love, but not of gentle kind.
From Moray's Halls her abfent hour
He watch'd with all a Mifer's care:
The wide Domain, the princely Dower
Made Ellen more than Ellen fair.
Ah wretch! to think the liberal foul
May thus with fair affection part!
Though Lothian's vales thy fway controul,
Know, Lothian is not worth one heart.
Studious he marks her abfent hour,
And winding far where Carron flows, Sudden he fees the fated bower,
And red rage on his dark brow glows.
For who is he?-'tis Nithifdale!
And that fair form with arm reclin'd On his 'tis Ellen of the vale,
'Tis She (O powers of vengeance!) kind.
Should he that vengeance fwift purfue?
No-that would all his hopes deftroy?
Moray would vanish from his view,
And rob him of a Mifer's joy.
Unfeen to Moray's Halls he hies--
He calls his flaves, his ruffian band,
And hate to yonder groves,' He cries,
And ambush'd lie by Carron's strand,'
What time ye mark from bower or glen,
A gentle lady take her way
• To distance due, and far from ken,
Allow her length of time to stray.
Then ranfack ftraight that range of groves.• With hunter's spear, and veft of green, • If chance, a rofy stripling roves, —
Ye well can aim your arrows keen.'
And now the ruffian flaves are nigh,
And Ellen takes her homeward way :
Though ftay'd by many a tender figh,
She can no longer, longer stay.
Penfive, against yon poplar pale
The lover leans his gentle heart, Revolving many a tender tale,
And wondering ftill how they could part.
Three arrow's pierc'd the desert air,
Ere yet his tender dreams depart ;
And one struck deep his forehead fair,
And one went through his gentle heart.
Love's waking dream is loft in fleep-
He lies beneath yon poplar pale;
Ah! could we marvel ye fhould
Ye maidens fair of Marlivale!
When all the mountain gales were ftill,
And the wave flept against the fhore.
And the fun, funk beneath the hill,
Left his laft fmile on Lemmermore ;
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