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• She comes-Oh! No-encircled round • 'Tis fome rude chief with many a spear. My hapless tale that Earl has found

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Ah me! my heart! for her I fear.'

His tender tale that Earl had read,
Or ere it reach'd his lady's eye,
His dark brow wears a cloud of red,
he deems a rival nigh.

In

rage

'Tis o'er-thofe locks that wav'd in gold,
That wav'd adown thofe cheeks fo fair,
Wreath'd in the gloomy tyrant's hold,
Hang from the fever'd head in air.

That ftreaming head he joys to bear
In horrid guife to Lothian's Halls;
Bids his grim ruffians place it there,
Erect upon the frowning walls.

The fatal tokens forth he drew

Know'st thou thefe-Ellen of the vale,

The pictur'd bracelet foon she knew,
And foon her lovely cheek grew pale. -

The trembling victim, ftraight he led,
Ere! yet her foul's firft fear was o'er ;
He pointed to the ghaftly head-

She faw-and funk, to rife no more.

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By the Rev. Dr. PERCY, Lord Bishop of Dromore, Éditor of the Reliques of Ancient English Poetry.

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The Muse there found them all remote from view, Obfcur'd with weeds, and scattered o'er the dale,

O Lady, may fo flight a gift prevail,
And at your gracious hands acceptance find?
Say, may an ancient legendary tale,
Amufe, delight, or move the polish'd mind?

Surely the cares and woes of human kind,
Tho' fimply told, will gain each gentle ear:
But all for you the Mufe her lay defign'd,
And bade noble ancestors appear;

your

She feeks no other praise, if you commend
Her great protectrefs, patronefs, and friend.

MDCCLXX.

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