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O hide me in thy humble Bower'
Returning late to life she said ; • I'll bind thy crook with many a flower ;
. With many a rofy wreath thy head.
• Good Shepherd hafte to yonder grove,
• And if my lore asleep is laid, • Oh! wake him not; but softly move
Somc pillow to that gentle head.
• Sure, thou wilt know him, shepherd swain,
• Thou know'st the sun rise o'er the sea-• But Oh! no lamb in all thy train
· Was e'er so mild, so mild as he;'
His head is on the wood-moss laid ;
• I did not wake his sumber deep • Sweet sings the redbreast o'er the shade
Why, gentle lady, would you.weep?"
As flowers that fade in burning day,
At evening find the dew-drop dear, But fiercer feel the noon-tide ray,
When soften'd by the nightly tear ;
Returning in the flowing tear,
This lovely flower more sweet than they, Found her fair foul, and wandering near,
The stranger, Reason, cross’d her way.
Found her fair soul-Ah! fo to find
Was but more dreadful grief to know ! Ah! sure, the privilege of mind
Can not be worth the wish of woe.
On melancholy's filent urn
A softer shade of sorrow falls, But Ellen can no more return,
No more return to Moray's Halls.
Beneath the low and lonely shade
The flow consuming hour she'll weep, Till nature seeks her laft-left aid,
In the sad, sombrous arms of sleep.
« These jewels all unmeet for me,
• Shalt thou,' she said, 'good shepherd take ; • These gems will purchase gold for thee,
. And there be thine for Ellen's sake.
6 So fail thou not, at eve and morn,
· The rosemary's pale bough to bring 6 Thou know'st where I was found forlorn
• Where thou haft heard the redbreast sing.
• Heedful I'll tend thy flocks the while,
Or aid thy shepherdess's care,
And now two longsome years are past
In luxury of lonely pain-
To Moray's Halls is borne again.
Yet has the left one object dear,
That wears Love's funny eye of joy-
By Carron's fide a shepherd's boy,
He binds his vale-flowers with the reed; He wears love's sunny eye of joy,
And birth he little seems to heed.
But ah! no more his infant sleep
Closes beneath a mother's smile, Who, only when it clos'd would weep,
And yield to tender woe the while.
No more, with fond attention dear,
She seeks th' unspoken wish to find; No more shall she, with pleasure's tear,
See the foul waxing into mind.
Docs nature bear a tyrant's Breaft?
Is she the friend of tern controul ? Wears she the despot's purple vest ;
Or fetters she the free born soul?
Where, worst of tyrants, is thy claim,
In chains thy children's breaits to bind ? Gav'it thou the promethean flame?
The incommunicable mind?
Thy offspring are great Nature's, -free,
And of her fair dominion heirs ; Each privilege she gives to thee;
Know, that each privilege is theirs.
They have thy feature, wear thine eye,
Perhaps ļome feelings of thy heart; And wilt thou their lov'd hearts deny
To act their fair, their proper part?
The Lord of Lothian's fertile vale,
Ill fated Ellen claims thy hand : Thou know'st not that thy Nithisdale
Was low laid by his ruffian-band.
And Moray with unfather'd eyes,
Fix'd on fair Lothian's fertile dale, Attends his human facrifice,
Without the Grecian painter's veil.
O married love ! thy bard shall own,
Where two congenial souls unite, Thy golden chains inlaid with dowo,
Thy lamps with heaven's own splendor bright.
But if no radiant star of love
O hymen ! smile on thy fair rite,
Thy lamp a sad fepulchral light.
And now has time's slow-wandering wing
Borne many a year unmark'd with speed Where is the boy by Carron's fpring,
Who bound his vale-flowers with the reed ?
Ah me! those fowers he binds no more ;
No early charm returns again ; The parent, nature keeps in store
Her beit joys for her little train.
No longer heed the fun-beam bright
That plays on Carron's breast he can, Reafon has lent Her quivering light,
And shewn the checquer'd field of man.
As the first human heir of earth
With penfive eye himself survey'd, And, all unconscious of his birth,
Sate thoughtful oft in Eden's fhade.
In pensive thought so Owen stray'd
Wild Carron's lonely woods among, And once, within their greenest Glade,
He fondly fram'd this simple fong:
Why is this crook adorn'd with gold?
A filken veft like mine so green,
I know it is no shepherd's art
This bracelet bright that binds my arm-
And, thou filent picture fair,