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"The daughter of a neighbouring Knight Did my fond heart engage;

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"And ne'er did Heaven the virtues write

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"His bofom felt an equal wound,
"Nor fighed we long in vain :
"One fummer's fun beheld us bound
"In Hymen's holy chain.

"Thou waft Sir ELDRED's only child,

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Thy father's darling joy;

"On me a lovely daughter fmil'd; "On me a blooming boy.

"But man has woes, has clouds of care,

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That dim his ftar of life

"My arms receiv'd the little pair,

"The earth's cold breath my wife.

"Forgive thou gentle Knight, forgive, Fond foolish tears will flow;

"One day like mine thy heart may have, 66 And mourn its lot of woe.

"But grant, kind Heaven! thou ne'er may'st know "The pangs I now impart ;

"Nor ever feel the deadly blow

"That rives a husband's heart.

"Befide the blooming banks of Tay, "My angel's afhes fleep;

"And wherefore fhould her ARDOLPH stay, 66 Except to watch and weep?

"I bore my beauteous babes away
"With many a gushing tear,
I left the blooming banks of Tay,
"And brought my darlings here.

"I watch'd my little houfhold cares,
"And form their growing youth;
"And fondly train'd their infant years
"To love and cherish truth."

"Thy blooming BIRTHA here I fee,"
Sir ELDRED ftrait rejoin'd;
"But why the fon is not with thee,
"Refolve my doubting mind."

When BIRTHA did the question hear,
She figh'd but could not fpeak;
And many a foft and filent tear,
Stray'd down her damask cheek.

Then pafs'd o'er good Sir ARDOLPH's face,
A caft of deadly pale ;

But foon compos'd, with manly grace

He thus renew'd his tale.

"For him my heart too much has bled, "for him, my darling fon,

"Has forrow preft my hoary head;
"But Heav'n's high will be done;

"Scarce eighteen winters had revolv'd,
"To crown the circling year,
"Before my valiant boy refolv'd

"The warrior's lance to bear,

"Too high I priz'd my native land, "Too dear his fame I held,

"T" oppofe a parent's ftern command, "And keep him from the field.

“ He left me—left his fifter too,

"Yet tears bedew'd his face"What could a feeble old man do?"He burft from my embrace.

"O thirft of glory, fatal flame? "O laurels dearly bought!

"Yet fweet is death when earn'd with fame"So virtuous EDWY thought.

"Full manfully the brave boy Arove,
"Tho' preffing ranks oppose;
"But weak the ftrongest arm must prove
"Against an host of foes.

"A deadly wound my fon receives, "A fpear affails his fide:

"Grief does not kill-for ARDOLPH lives To tell that EDwy died.

"His long lov'd mother died again
"In EDwy's parting groan;
" I wept for her, yet wept in vain-
"I wept for both in one.

"I would have died-I fought to die; "But Heaven reftrain'd the thought, "And to my paffion clouded eye

"My helpless BIRTHA brought.

"When lo! array'd in robes of light,

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A nymph celeftial came;

"She clear'd the mifts that dimm'd my fight—

"RELIGION was her name.

"She prov'd the chaftisement divine, "And bade me kifs the rod;

She taught this rebel heart of mine "Submiffion to its God.

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He ceas'd-with forrow and delight
The tale Sir ELDRED hears,

Then weeping cries "Thou noble Knight
"For thanks accept my tears.

"O ARDOLPH, might I dare afpire
"To claim so bright a boon
"Good old Sir ELDRED was my fire-
"And thou haft loft a fon.

"And tho' I want a worthier plea
"To urge fo dear a cause
"Yet, let me to thy bofom be

"What once thy EDWY was.

"My trembling tongue its aid denies ; "For thou may'ft disapprove ;

"Then read it in

my ardent eyes,

"Oh! read the tale of love.

"Thy beauteous BIRTHA!"

"How could I e'er repine,"

"Gracious Fower,

Cries ARDOLPH, "fince I fee this hour? "YesBIRTHA fhall be thine."

A little tranfient gleam of red
Shot faintly o'er her face,

And every trembling feature fpread
With fweet difordered grace.

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The tender father kindly fmil'd
With fulness of content,

And fondly eyed his darling child,
Who, bafhful, blush'd confent.

O then to paint the vaft delight
That fill'd Sir ELDRED's heart,
To tell the tranfports of the Knight,
Wou'd mock the Mufe's art.

But every kind and gracious foul,
Where gentle paffions dwell,
Will better far conceive the whole,
Than any Mufe can tell.

The more the Knight his BIRTHA knew,
The more he priz'd the maid;
Some worth each day produc'd to view,
Some grace each hour betray'd.

The virgin too was fond to charm
The dear accomplish'd Youth;
His fingle breaft fhe ftrove to warm,
And crown'd, with, love his truth,

Unlike the dames of modern days,
Who general homage claim,
Who court the universal gaze,
And pant for public fame.

Then Beauty but on merit fmil'd,
Nor were her chafte fmiles fold;
No venal father gave his child
For grandeur or for gold.

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