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• She comes-Oh! No-encircled round • 'Tis fome rude chief with many a spear. My hapless tale that Earl has found
Ah me! my heart! for her I fear.'
His tender tale that Earl had read,
'Tis o'er-thofe locks that wav'd in gold,
That ftreaming head he joys to bear
The fatal tokens forth he drew
Know'st thou thefe-Ellen of the vale,
The pictur'd bracelet foon she knew,
The trembling victim, ftraight he led,
She faw-and funk, to rife no more.
The Muse there found them all remote from view, Obfcur'd with weeds, and scattered o'er the dale,
O Lady, may fo flight a gift prevail,
Surely the cares and woes of human kind,
She feeks no other praise, if you commend