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• She comez-Oh! No encircled round
o 'Tis fome rude chief with many a spear.
His tender tale that Earl had read,
Or ere it reach'd his lady's eye, His dark brow wears a cloud of red,
In rage he deems a rival nigh. .
'Tis o'er--those locks that wav'd in gold,
That wav'd adown those cheeks fo fair, Wreath'd in the gloomy tyrant's hold,
Hang from the sever'd head in air.
That streaming. head he joys to bear
In borrid guise to Lothian's Halls; Bids his grim ruffians place it there,
Erect upon the frowning walls.
The fatal tokens forth he drew
Know'st thou these-Ellen of the vale, The pi&ur'd bracelet soon she knew,
And foon her lovely cheek grew pale.
The trembling victim, straight he led,
Ere! yet her soul's firft fear was o’er ; He pointed to the ghastly head
She saw-and funk, to rise no more.
OWN in a northern vale wild flowrets grow,
And lent new sweetness to the summer gale ; The Muse there found them all remote from view, Obfcur'd with weeds, and scattered o'er the dale,
O Lady, may so slight a gift prevail,
Surely the cares and woes of human kind, Tho' fimply told, will gain each gentle ear : But all for you the Muse her lay design'd, And bade
noble ancestors appear ;
She seeks no other praise, if you commend