The mortal spear repelling. And Bruce, as soon as he had slain The Gordon, sailed away to Spain; And fought, with rage incessant, Against the Moorish Crescent. But many days, and many months, This wretched Knight did vainly seek The death that he was wooing: And, coming back across the wave, Without a groan on Ellen's grave His body he extended, And there his sorrow ended. Now ye, who willingly have heard May in Kirkonnel church-yard view May no rude hand deface it, 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 befel. 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, All over the wide lea: 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 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 Half-hidden from the eye! Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky. She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceased to be; But she is in her Grave, and, oh, The difference to me! IX. I TRAVELL'D among unknown Men, 'Tis past, that melancholy dream! Nor will I quit thy shore A second time; for still I seem To love thee more and more. Among thy mountains did I feel The joy of my desire; And She I cherished turned her wheel Beside an English fire. Thy mornings shewed, thy nights concealed The bowers where Lucy played; And thine is too the last green field That Lucy's eyes surveyed. |