Ah lovely youth thy tender lay
May not thy gentle life prolong;
See'ft thou yon nightingale a prey;
The fierce hawk hovering o'er his fong?
His little heart is large with love:
He fweetly hails his evening ftar,
And Fate's more pointed arrows move,
Infidious from his eye afar.
The fhepherdefs, whofe kindly care
Had watch'd o'er Owen's infant breath,
Muft now their filent manfions fhare,
Whom time leads calmly down to death.
O tell me parent if thou art,
What is this. lovely picture dear?
Why wounds its mournful eye my heart,
Why flows from mine th' unbidden tear
Ah! youth! to leave thee loth am I,
Tho' I be not thy parent dear;
• And woud'ft thou wish, or ere I die,
The story of thy birth to hear?
But it will make thee much bewail,
And it will make thy fair eye fwell—'
She faid, and told the woefome tale,
As footh as fhepherdefs might tell.
The heart, that forrow doom'd to share,
Has worn the frequent seal of woe,
Its fad impreffions learns to bear,
And finds full oft, its ruin flow.
But when that feal is firft impreft,
When the young heart its pain fhall try,
For the foft, yielding, trembling breaft,
Oft feems the ftartled foul to fly.
Yet fled not Owen's-wild amaze
In palenefs cloath'd, and lifted hands,
And horror's dread, unmeaning gaze,
Mark the poor flatue, as it flands.
The fimple guardian of his life
Look'd wistful for the tear to glide,
But when the faw his tearlefs ftrife,
Silent, the lent him one, and died.
No, I am not a fhepherd's boy,'
Awaking from his dream, he said,
Ah where is now the promised joy
• Of this?—for ever, ever fled!
O picture dear for her lov'd fake How fondly could my heart bewail! My friendly fhepherdefs, O wake, And tell me more of this fad tale.
O tell me more of this fad tale-
No; thou enjoy thy gentle fleep!
And I will go to Lothian's vale,
• And more than all her waters weep.'
Owen to Lothian's vale is filed-
Earl Barnard's lofty towers appear
O art thou there,' the full heart faid,
Oart thou there, my parent dear?'
Yes fhe is there: From idle ftáte
Oft has she stole her hour to weep;
Think how she by thy cradle fate,'
And how she fondly saw thee fleep
Now tries his trembling hand to frame
Full many a tender line of love
And ftill he blots the parent's name,
For that, he fears, might fatal prove.
O'er a fair fountain's fmiling fide
Reclin❜d a dim tower clad with mofs,
Where every bird was wont to bide,
That languifh'd for his partner's lofs.
This fcene he chofe, this fcene affign'd
A parent's first embrace to wait,
And many a foft fear fill'd his mind.
Anxious for his fond letter's fate.
The hand that bore those lines of love,
The well informing bracelet bore-
Ah! may they not unprofperous prove!
Ah! fafely pafs yon dangerous door!
'She comes not ;-can fhe then delay ?
'Cried the fair youth, and dropt a tear-
· Whatever filial love could fay,
To her I faid and call'd her dear.
* See the ancient Scottish Ballad, called Gill Morrice.
She comes-Oh! No-encircled round
• 'Tis fome rude chief with many a fpear.
My hapless tale that Earl has found-
Ah me! my heart! for her I fear.'
His tender tale that Earl had read,
Or ere it reach'd his lady's eye,
His dark brow wears a cloud of red,
In rage
he deems a rival nigh.
'Tis o'er-thofe locks that wav'd in gold,
That wav'd adown those cheeks fo fair,
Wreath'd in the gloomy tyrant's hold,
Hang from the fever'd head in air.
That streaming head he joys to bear
In horrid guise to Lothian's Halls;
Bids his grim ruffians place it there,
Erect upon the frowning walls.
The fatal tokens forth he drew—
'Know'st thou thefe-Ellen of the vale,
The pictur'd bracelet soon she knew,
And foon her lovely cheek grew pale.
The trembling victim, ftraight he led,
Ere! yet her foul's firft fear was o'er;
He pointed to the ghaftly head-
She faw-and funk, to rife no more.
By the Rev. Dr. PERCY, Lord Bishop of Dromore, Editor of the Reliques of Ancient English Poetry.
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