She comes! she comes! like flash of flame She comes! she comes! she only came She saw him die; her latest sigh There paused the harp: its lingering sound Died slowly on the ear; The silent guests still bent around, For still they seemed to hear. Then woe broke forth in murmurs weak: On Leader's stream, and Learmont's tower, In camp, in castle, or in bower, Lord Douglas, in his lofty tent, Dreamed o'er the woeful tale; When footsteps light across the bent, The warrior's ears assail. He starts, he wakes; 'What, Richard, ho! Arise, my page, arise! What venturous wight, at dead of night, Dare step where Douglas lies.' Then forth they rushed: by Leader's tide, A hart and hind pace side by side, Beneath the moon, with gesture proud, Nor scare they at the gathering crowd, To Learmont's tower a message sped, First he woxe pale, and then woxe red: The elfin harp his neck around, Then forth he went; yet turned him oft To view his ancient hall: On the grey tower, in lustre soft, And Leader's waves, like silver sheen, In deepening mass, at distance seen, 'Farewell, my fathers' ancient tower! A long farewell,' said he: 'The scene of pleasure, pomp, or power, Thou never more shalt be. 'To Learmont's name no foot of earth And, on thy hospitable hearth, 'Adieu! adieu!' again he cried, The hart and hind approached the place, Lord Douglas leaped on his berry-brown steed, But, though he rode with lightning speed, Some said to hill, and some to glen, Their wondrous course had been; But ne'er in haunts of living men W. Brendon and Son, Printers, Plymouth. |