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XIII.

O hide me in thy humble Bower'
Returning late to life fhe faid;

I'll bind thy crook with many a flower;
With many a rofy wreath thy head.

• Good fhepherd hafte to yonder grove,
And if my love afleep is laid,
Oh! wake him not; but foftly move
Some pillow to that gentle head.

Sure, thou wilt know him, fhepherd fwain,
Thou know'ft the fun rife o'er the fea--
But Oh! no lamb in all thy train

• Was e'er fo mild, fo mild as he,'

His head is on the wood-mofs laid ;
I did not wake his flumber deep-
Sweet fings the redbreaft o'er the fhade-
Why, gentle lady, would you weep?'

As flowers that fade in burning day,
At evening find the dew-drop dear,
But fiercer feel the noon-tide ray,
When foften'd by the nightly tear ;

Returning in the flowing tear,

This lovely flower more sweet than they, Found her fair foul, and wandering near, The ftranger, Reafon, crofs'd her way.

Found her fair foul-Ah! fo to find
Was but more dreadful grief to know!
Ah! fure, the privilege of mind

Can not be worth the wifh of woe.

XIV.

On melancholy's filent urn
A fofter fhade of forrow falls,
But Ellen can no more return,
No more return to Moray's Halls.

Beneath the low and lonely shade
The flow confuming hour fhe'll weep,
Till nature feeks her laft-left aid,
In the fad, fombrous arms of fleep.

‹ These jewels all unmeet for me,

Shalt thou,' fhe faid, good fhepherd take; • Thefe gems will purchafe gold for thee, And these be thine for Ellen's fake.

So fail thou not, at eve and morn,
The rosemary's pale bough to bring
Thou know't where I was found forlorn-
• Where thou haft heard the redbreaft fing.

Heedful I'll tend thy flocks the while,
Or aid thy fhepherdefs's care,

For I will share her humble toil,

And I her friendly roof will fhare.'

XV.

And now two longfome years are past
In luxury of lonely pain-

The lovely mourner, found at last,
To Moray's Halls is borne again.

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That wears Love's funny eye of joy

Is Nithifdale reviving here?

Or is it but a fhepherd's boy?

By Carron's fide a fhepherd's boy,
He binds his vale-flowers with the reed;
He wears love's funny eye of joy,

And birth he little feems to heed.

XVI.

But ah! no more his infant fleep
Clofes beneath a mother's fmile,
Who, only when it clos'd would weep,
And yield to tender woe the while.

No more, with fond attention dear,
She feeks th' unfpoken wifh to find;
No more fhall fhe, with pleasure's tear,
See the foul waxing into mind.

XVII.

Does nature bear a tyrant's Breast?
Is the the friend of ftern controul?
Wears the the defpot's purple vest;
Or fetters fhe the free born foul?

Where, worst of tyrants, is thy claim.
In chains thy children's breafts to bind?
Gav' thou the promethean flame ?
The incommunicable mind?

Thy offspring are great Nature's,—free,
And of her fair dominion heirs ;
Each privilege fhe gives to thee;
Know, that each privilege is theirs.

They have thy feature, wear thine eye,
Perhaps fome feelings of thy heart;
And wilt thou their lov'd hearts deny
To act their fair, their proper part?

XVIII.

The Lord of Lothian's fertile vale,
Ill fated Ellen claims thy hand :
Thou know'ft not that thy Nithisdale
Was low laid by his ruffian-band.

And Moray with unfather'd eyes,
Fix'd on fair Lothian's fertile dale,
Attends his human facrifice,

Without the Grecian painter's veil.

O married love thy bard fhall own,
Where two congenial fouls unite,
Thy golden chains inlaid with down,
Thy lamps with heaven's own fplendor bright.

But if no radiant ftar of love

O hymen! fmile on thy fair rite,
Thy chain a wretched weight fhall prove,
Thy lamp a sad sepulchral light.

XIX.

And now has time's flow-wandering wing
Borne many a year unmark'd with speed-
Where is the boy by Carron's fpring,

Who bound his vale-flowers with the reed?

Ah me! thofe flowers he binds no more;
No early charm returns again;

The parent, nature keeps in ftore
Her beft joys for her little train.

No longer heed the fun-beam bright
That plays on Carron's breast he can,
Reafon has lent Her quivering light,
And fhewn the checquer'd field of man.

XX.

As the first human heir of earth
With penfive eye himself furvey'd,
And, all unconfcious of his birth,
Sate thoughtful oft in Eden's shade.

In penfive thought fo Owen ftray'd Wild Carron's lonely woods among, And once, within their greeneft Glade, He fondly fram'd this fimple fong:

XXI.

Why is this crook adorn'd with gold?
Why am I tales of ladies told?
Why does no labour me employ,
If I am but a fhepherd's boy?

A filken veft like mine fo

green,
In fhepherd's hut I have not feen-
Why should I in fuch vefture joy,
If I am but a fhepherd's boy?

I know it is no shepherd's art
His written meaning to impart
They teach me, fure, an idle toy,
If I am but shepherd's boy?

This bracelet bright that binds my arm-
It could not come from thepherd's farm ;
It only would that arm annoy,
If I were but a fhepherd's boy.

And, O thou filent picture fair,
That lov'it to fmile upon me there,
O fay, and fill my heart with joy,
That I am not a shepherd's boy.

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