Sidor som bilder
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One day as he fate under a thorn
All funk in deep despair,
An aged Pilgrim pafs'd him by,
Who mark'd his face of care.

All Minstrels yet that ever I saw,
Are full of game and glee:
But thou art fad and woe-begone!
I marvel whence it be !

Father, I ferve an aged Lord,
Whofe grief afflicts my mind;
His only child is ftol'n away,
And fain I would her find.

Cheer up, my fon; perchance, (he faid)
Some tidings I may bear :
For oft when human hopes have fail'd,
Then heavenly comfort's near.

Behind yon hills fo fteep and high,
Down in a lowly glen,
There ftands a caftle fair and ftrong,
Far from th' abode of men.

As late I chanc'd to crave an alms
About this evening hour,
Me-thought I heard a Lady's voice
Lamenting in the tower.

And when I afk'd, what harm had hap'd,
What lady fick there lay?

They rudely drove me from the gate,
And bade me wend away.

Thefe tidings caught Sir Bertram's ear,
He thank'd him for his tale;

And foon he hafted o'er the hills,
And foon he reach'd the vale.

Then drawing near thofe lonely towers,
Which flood in dale fo low,
And fitting down befide the gate,
His pipes he 'gan to blow.

Sir Porter, is thy lord at home
To hear a Minstrel's fong?

Or may I crave a lodging here?
Without offence or wrong?

My Lord, he faid, is not at home
To hear a Minstrel's fong:
And fhould I lend thee lodging here,
My life would not be long.

He play'd again, fo foft a ftrain,
Such power fweet founds impart,
He won the churlish Porter's ear,
And moved his stubborn heart.

Minstrel, he said, thou play'ft fo fweet,
Fair entrance thou fhould't win ;
But, alas I am fworn upon the rood,
To let no ftranger in.

Yet, Minstrel, in yon rifing cliff
Thou'lt find a fheltering cave,
And here thou shalt my fupper share,
And there thy lodging have.

All day he fits befide the gate,
And pipes both loud and clear:
All night he watches round the walls,
In hopes his love to hear.

The first night, as he filent watch'd,
All at the midnight hour,
He plainly heard his Lady's voice
Lamenting in the tower.

The fecond night the moon fhone clear,
And gilt the fpangled dew;

He faw his Lady thro' the grate,
But 'twas a tranfient view.

The third night wearied out he flept
'Till near the morning tide;
When ftarting up, he feiz'd his fword,
And to the caftle hy'd.

When, lo he saw a ladder of

Depending from the wall;

ropes

And o'er the mote was newly laid
A poplar ftrong and tall.

And foon he saw his love defcend
Wrapt in a tartan plaid :
Affifted by a sturdy youth
In Highland garb y-clad.

Amaz'd confounded at the fight,
He lay unfeen and still;

And foon he faw them cross the stream,
And mount the neighbouring hill.

Unheard unknown of all within,
The youthful couple fly.

But what can 'fcape the lover's ken?
Or fhun his piercing eye?

With filent ftep he follows clofe
Behind the flying pair,

And faw her hang upon his arm,
With fond familiar air.

Thanks, gentle youth, fhe often faid;
My thanks thou well haft won:
For me what wiles haft thou contriv'd?
For me what dangers run?

And ever fhall my grateful heart
Thy fervices repay:

Sir Bertram would no further hear,
But cried, Vile traitor, ftay!

Vile traitor, yield that Lady up!-
And quick his fword he drew,
The ftranger turn'd in fudden rage,
And at Sir Bertram flew.

With mortal hate their vigorous arms
Gave many a vengeful blow:
But Bertam's ftronger hand prevail'd,
And laid the ftranger low.

Die, traitor, die!-A deadly thrust
Attends each furious word.
Ah! then fair Ifabel knew his voice,
And rush'd beneath his fword.

O ftop, fhe cried, O ftop thy arm!
Thou doft thy brother slay!—
And here the Hermit paus'd and wept:
His tongue no more could fay.

At length he cried, Ye lovely pair,
How fhall I tell the reft

Ere I could ftop my piercing fword,
It fell and ftab'd her breaft.

Wert thou thyfelf that hapless youth?
Ah! cruel fate! they said,
The Hermit wept, and fo did they;
They figh'd; he hung his head.

O blind and jealous rage, he cried,
What evils from thee flow?

The Hermit paus'd; they filent mourn'd;
He wept, and they were woe.

Ah! when I heard my brother's name,
And faw my lady bleed,

I rav'd, I wept, I curft my arm,
That wrought the fatal deed.

In vain 1 clafp'd her to my breast,
And clos'd the ghaftly wound;
In vain I prefs'd his bleeding corpfe,
And rais'd it from the ground.

My brother, alas! fpake never more;
His precious life was flown.
She kindly ftrove to footh my pain,
Regardless of her own.

Bertram, fhe faid, be comforted,
And live to think on me:
May we in heaven that union prove,
Which here was not to be.

Bertram, fhe faid, I ftill was true;
Thou only hadst my heart:
May we hereafter meet in blifs!
We now, alas! must part.

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