ELLEN IRWIN; OR, THE BRAES OF KIRTLE.* FAIR Ellen Irwin, when she sate Upon the Braes of Kirtle, From many knights and many squires And Gordon, fairest of them all, Sad tidings to that noble youth! For it may be proclaim'd with truth, But what is Gordon's beauteous face, To them who sit by Kirtle's Braes The Gordon, couch'd behind a thorn, Proud Gordon cannot bear the thoughts That through his brain are travelling,- Fair Ellen saw it when it came, And, stepping forth to meet the same, The youth, her chosen lover. And, falling into Bruce's arms, Thus from the heart of her true love The mortal spear repelling. And Bruce, as soon as he had slain But many days, and many months, This wretched knight did vainly seek - The Kirtle is a river in the southern part of Scotland, on whose banks the events her related took place. His body he extended, And there his sorrow ended. Now ye, who willingly have heard By Ellen's side the Bruce is laid; And its forlorn HIC JACET! STRANGE fits of passion I have known: But in the lover's ear alone, What once to me befell. When she I loved was strong and gay, And like a rose in June, I to her cottage bent my way, Upon the moon I fix'd my eye, My horse trudged on-and we drew nigh And now we reach'd the orchard plot; Towards the roof of Lucy's cot The moon descended still. In one of those sweet dreams I slept, My horse moved on; hoof after hoof When down behind the cottage roof, At once the bright moon dropp'd. What fond and wayward thoughts will slide Into a lover's head! "O mercy!" to myself I cried, "If Lucy should be dead!" SHE dwelt among the untrodden ways A maid whom there were none to praise, A violet by a mossy stone Half hidden from the eye! Fair as a star, when only one She lived unknown, and few could know But she is in her grave, and, oh, The difference to me! I TRAVELL'D among unknown men, 'Tis past, that melancholy dream! And she I cherish'd turn'd her wheel Thy mornings show'd, thy nights conceal'd And thine is too the last green field LOUISA. I MET Louisa in the shade; And, having seen chat lovely maid, Why should I fear to say That she is ruddy, fleet, and strong; And down the rocks can leap along, And she hath smiles to earth unknown; Smiles, that with motion of their own Do spread, and sink, and rise; That come and go with endless play, She loves her fire, her cottage home; In weather rough and bleak; And, when against the wind she strains, Oh! might I kiss the mountain rains That sparkle on her cheek. Take all that's mine "beneath the moon," If I with her but half a noon May sit beneath the walls Of some old cave, or mossy nook, When up she winds along the brook, "TIS said, that some have died for love: And there is one whom I five years have known; Upon Helvellyn's side: He loved- -the pretty Barbara died, Three years had Barbara in her grave been laid, "Oh, move, thou cottage, from behind that oak ! That in some other way yon smoke May mount into the sky! The clouds pass on; they from the heavens depart : I look-the sky is empty space; I know not what I trace; But, when I cease to look, my hand is on my heart. "O, what a weight is in these shades! Ye leaves, When will that dying murmur be suppress'd? Your sound my heart of peace bereaves, It robs my heart of rest. Thou thrush, that singest loud-and loud and free, Upon that alder sit; Or sing another song, or choose another tree. "Roll back, sweet rill! back to thy mountain bounds, And there for ever be thy waters chain'd! For thou dost haunt the air with sounds That cannot be sustain'd; If still beneath that pine-tree's ragged bough Oh let it then be dumb! Be anything, sweet rill, but that which thou art now. "Thou eglantine, whose arch so proudly towers (Even like a rainbow spanning half the vale), Thou one fair shrub-oh, shed thy flowers, And stir not in the gale! For thus to see thee nodding in the air, To see thy arch thus stretch and bend, Thus rise and thus descend, Disturbs me, till the sight is more than I can bear.' The man who makes this feverish complaint Is one of giant stature, who could dance Equipp'd from head to foot in iron mail. Ah gentle love! if ever thought was thine THE COMPLAINT OF A FORSAKEN INDIAN WOMAN. (When a Northern Indian, from sickness, is unable to continue his journey with his companions, he is left behind, covered over with deer-skins, and is supplied with water, food, and fuel, if the situation of the place will afford it. He is informed of the track which his companions intend to pursue, and if he is unable to follow or overtake them, he perishes alone in the desert; unless he should have the good fortune to fall in with some other tribes of Indians. The females are equally, or still more, exposed to the same fate. See that very interesting work, Hearne's Journey from Hudson's Bay to the Northern Ocean. In the high Northern latitudes, as the same writer informs us, when the Northern Lights vary their position in the air, they make a rustling and a crackling noise. This circumstance is alluded to in the first stanzas of the following Poem.) BEFORE I see another day, Oh let my body die away! In sleep I heard the Northern gleams; I saw the crackling flashes drive; And yet they are upon my eyes, Before I see another day, My fire is dead: it knew no pain; When I was well, I wish'd to live, For clothes, for warmth, for food, and fire; No pleasure now, and no desire. Then here contented will I lie! Alone I cannot fear to die. Alas! ye might have dragg'd me on Another day, a single one! Too soon I yielded to despair; Why did ye listen to my prayer? When ye were gone my limbs were stronger; And oh how grievously I rue, My child! they gave thee to another, |