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One day as he fate under a thorn
All funk in deep despair,
Who mark'd his face of care.
that ever Are full of game and glee: But thou art sad and woe-begone!
I marvel whence it be !
Father, I ferve an aged Lord,
Whose grief afflicts my mind ; His only child is stol'n away,
And fain I would her find.
Cheer up, my son; perchance, (he said)
Some tidings I may bear :
Then heavenly comfort's near.
Behind yon hills fo fteep and high,
Down in a lowly glen,
Far from th' abode of men.
As late I chanc'd to crave an alms
About this evening hour,
Lamenting in the tower.
And when I afk’d, what harm had hap'd,
What lady fick there lay?
And bade me wend away.
These tidings caught Sir Bertram's ear,
He thank'd him for his tale ; And foon he hasted o'er the hills,
And soon he reach'd the vale.
Then drawing near those lonely towers,
Which stood in dale so low, And fitting down beside the gate,
His pipes he 'gan to blow.
Sir Porter, is thy lord at home
To hear a Minstrel's song? 'Or
may I crave a lodging here? Without offence or wrong?
My Lord, he said, is not at home
To hear a Minstrel's song:
My life would not be long.
He play'd again, so soft a strain,
Such power sweet sounds impart, He won the churlish Porter's ear,
And moved his stubborn heart.
Minstrel, he said, thou play'st so sweet,
Fair entrance thou should't win ; But, alas ! I am sworn upon the rood,
To let no stranger in.
Thou'lt find a sheltering cave,
And there thy lodging have.
All day he fits beside the
And pipes both loud and clear : All night he watches round the walls,
In hopes his love to hear.
The first night, as he filent watch'd,
All at the midnight hour,
Lamenting in the tower.
The second night the moon shone clear,
And gilt the fpangled dew;
But 'twas a transient view.
The third night wearied out he slept
'Till near the morning tide ; When starting up, he feiz'd his sword,
And to the castle hy’d.
When, lo i he saw a ladder of
ropes Depending from the wall; And o'er the mote was newly laid
A poplar strong and tall.
And foon he saw his love descend
Wrapt in a tartan plaid : Aflifted by a sturdy youth
In Highland garb y-clad.
Amaz'd confounded at the fight,
He lay unseen and still ; And soon he saw them cross the Atream,
And mount the neighbouring hill.
The youthful couple fly.
Or Mun his piercing eye?
Behind the Aying pair,
With fond familiar air.
Thanks, gentle youth, she often said ;
My thanks thou well haft won : For me what wiles halt thou contriv'd ?
For me what dangers run?
And ever shall my grateful heart
Thy services repay :
But cried, Vile traitor, ftay!
Vile traitor, yield that Lady up!
And quick his sword he drew, The stranger turn'd in fudden rage,
And at Sir Bertram dew.
With mortal hate their vigorous arms
Gave many a vengeful Blow :
And laid the ftranger low.
Die, traitor, die! A deadly thrust
Attends each furious word.
And rush'd beneath his sword.
oftop, she cried, O ftop thy arm !
Thou dost thy brother flay! And here the Hermit paus'd and wept :
His tongue no more could say,
At length he cried, Ye lovely pair,
How shall I tell the rest ?
It fell and stab'd her breaft.
Wert thou thyself that hapless youth?
Ah! cruel fate! they said,
They figh’d; he hung his head.
O blind and jealous rage, he cried,
What evils from thee flow? The Hermit pausid ; they filent mourn'd; He
wept, and they were woe.
Ah! when I heard
That wrought the fatal deed.
In vain 1 clafp'd her to my breast,
And clos’d the ghaftly wound ;
And rais'd it from the ground.
My brother, alas ! fpake never more ;
His precious life was flown.
Regardless of her own.
Bertram, she faid, be comforted,
And live to think on me :
Which here was not to be.
Bertram, she said, I still was true ;
heart : May we hereafter meet in bliss !
We now, alas ! must part.