Then brave St. Clair did turn him there,

To retrace the myftic track,

He heard the figh of his lady fair,
Who fobbed behind his back.

He started quick, and his heart beat thick,
And he liften'd in wild amaze ;
But the parting bell on his car it fell,
And he did not turn to gaze.

With panting breaft, as he forward press'd,

He trode on a mangled head;

And the fkull did fcream, and the voice did feem
The voice of his mother dead.

He fhuddering trode :-On the great name of God
He thought, but he nought did say;

And the green fward did fhrink, as about to fink,
And loud laugh'd the Elfins gray.

And loud did refonnd, o'er the unblefs'd ground,
The wings of the blue Elf-King;

And the ghoftly crew to reach him flew,
But he crofs'd the charmed ring,

The morning was gray, and dying away
Was the found of the matin bell;

And far to the weft the Fays that ne'er reft,
Fled where the moon-beams fell,

And

And Sir Geoffry the Bold, on the unhallow'd mold,

Arofe from the green witch-grass;

And he felt his limbs like a dead man's cold,
And he wift not where he was.

And that cup fo rare, which the brave St. Clair
Did bear from the ghoftly crew,

Was fuddenly changed, from the emerald fair,
To the ragged whinstone blue;
And instead of the ale that mantled there,
Was the murky midnight dew.

"OH, low he lies; his cold pale cheek "Lies lifelefs on the clay;

"Yet ftruggling hope-O day spring break,

"And lead me on my way.

"On Denmark's cruel bands, O heaven! "Thy red-wing'd vengeance pour; Before my Wolfwold's fpear be driven"Orife bright morning hour!”

Thus Ulla wail'd, the faireft maid.

Of all the Saxon race;

Thus Ulla wail'd, in nightly shade,

While tears bedew'd her face.

When

When fudden o'er the fir-crown'd hill,
The full orb'd moon arose;
And o'er the winding dale so still,
Her filver radiance flows.

No more could Ulla's fearful breaft,
Her anxious care delay;

But deep with hope and fear impress'd,
She holds the moonshine way.

She left the bower, and all alone
She traced the dale fo ftill;

And fought the cave, with rue o'ergrown,
Beneath the fir-crown'd hill,

Black knares of blafted oak, embound
With hemlock, fenced the cell:
The dreary mouth, half under ground,
Yawn'd like the gate of hell.

Soon as the gloomy den fhe fpied,
Cold Horror fhook her knee;
"And hear, O Prophetefs," fhe cried,
"A Princefs fue to thee."-

Aghaft fhe ftood! athwart the air,
The difmal fcreech-owl flew;
The fillet round her auburn hair
Afunder burft in two.

Her

Her robe of softest yellow, glow'd
Beneath the moon's pale beam,

And o'er the ground, with yew-boughs ftrew'd,
Effufed a golden gleam.

The golden gleam the Sorcerefs fpied,

As in her deepest cell,

At midnight's magic hour fhe tried
A tomb o'erpowering spell.

When from the cavern's dreary womb
Her groaning voice arose,

"O come, my daughter, fearless come,
"And fearless tell thy woes."-

As fhakes the bough of trembling leaf,
When whirlwinds fudden rife;
As ftands aghaft the warrior chief,
When his bafe army flies;

So fhook, fo ftood, the beauteous maid,
When from the dreary den
A wrinkled hag came forth, array'd
In matted rags obfcene.

Around her brows, with hemlock bound,

Loofe hung her ash-grey hair;

As from two dreary caves profound
Her blue flamed eye-balls glare.

Her