Alas that ever he was born! The Gordon, couched behind a thorn, Sees them and their caressing, Beholds them blest and blessing. Proud Gordon cannot bear the thoughts The youth, her chosen lover. (269) And Bruce, as soon as he had slain But many days, and many months, This wretched knight did vainly seek And there his sorrow ended. Now ye, who willingly have heard By Ellen's side the Bruce is laid; And its forlorn HIC JACET. VII. STRANGE fits of passion I have known: And I will dare to tell, 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 fixed my eye, My horse trudged on-and we drew nigh Those paths so dear to me. And now we reached the orchard plot ; And, as we climbed the hill, 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 7 When down behind the cottage roof, What fond and wayward thoughts will slide Into a lover's head! "O mercy!" to myself I cried, "If Lucy should be dead!" VIII. SHE dwelt among the untrodden ways A maid whom there were none to praise, A violet by a mossy stone Fair as a star, when only one She lived unknown, and few could know But she is in her grave, and, oh, IX. I TRAVELLED among unknown men, 'Tis past, that melancholy dream! Among thy mountains did I feel And she I cherished turned her wheel Beside an English fire. Thy mornings showed, thy nights concealed The bowers where Lucy played; And thine is too the last green field That Lucy's eyes surveyed. X. LOUISA. I MET Louisa in the shade; That she is ruddy, fleet, and strong; And she hath smiles to earth unknown; That come and go with endless play, She loves her fire, her cottage home; And, when against the wind she strains, 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, To hunt the waterfalls. XI. "TIS said, that some have died for love: And here and there a church-yard grave is found In the cold North's unhallowed ground, Because the wretched man himself had slain, His love was such a grievous pain. And there is one whom I five years have known; He dwells alone Upon Helvellyn's side: He loved the pretty Barbara died, And thus he makes his moan: Three years had Barbara in her grave been laid, When thus his moan he made : "Oh, move, thou cottage, from behind that oak! Or let the aged tree uprooted lie, That in some other way yon smoke The clouds pass on; they from the heavens depart : I know not what I trace; But, when I cease to look, my hand is on my heart. Oh, what a weight is in these shades! Ye leaves, 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, For thou dost haunt the air with sounds That cannot be sustained; 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 For thus to see thee nodding in the air,- Thus rise and thus descend, Disturbs me, till the sight is more than I can bear." The man who makes this feverish complaint XII. 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 |