210 The Rover 'She took me to her elfin grot, And there she wept and sigh'd full sore, 'And there she lulléd me asleep, And there I dream'd-Ah! woe betide! The latest dream I ever dream'd On the cold hill's side. I saw pale kings and princes too, 'I saw their starved lips in the gloam And this is why I sojourn here Though the sedge is wither'd from the lake, And no birds sing.' J. KEATS CXCIV THE ROVER A weary lot is thine, fair maid, To pull the thorn thy brow to braid, The Flight of Love A doublet of the Lincoln green— No more of me you knew. • This morn is merry June, I trow, But she shall bloom in winter snow He turn'd his charger as he spake He gave the bridle-reins a shake, Said Adieu for evermore My Love! And adieu for evermore.' SIR W. SCOT CXCV THE FLIGHT OF LOVE When the lamp is shatter'd The light in the dust lies dead When the cloud is scatter'd, The rainbow's glory is shed. When the lute is broken, Sweet tones are remember'd not; When the lips have spoken, As music and splendour Survive not the lamp and the lute, No song when the spirit is mute— 211 212 The Maid of Neidpath No song but sad dirges, Like the wind through a ruin'd cell, That ring the dead seaman's knell. When hearts have once mingled, To endure what it once possesst. The frailty of all things here, Why choose you the frailest For your cradle, your home, and your bier ? Its passions will rock thee As the storms rock the ravens on high; Bright reason will mock thee Like the sun from a wintry sky. From thy nest every rafter Will rot, and thine eagle home Leave thee naked to laughter, When leaves fall and cold winds come. P. B. SHELLEY CXCVI THE MAID OF NEIDPATH O lovers' eyes are sharp to see, Can lend an hour of cheering. And slow decay from mourning, The Maid of Neidpath All sunk and dim her eyes so bright, Across her cheek was flying; Yet keenest powers to see and hear Ere scarce a distant form was kenn'd He came he pass'd -an heedless gaze As o'er some stranger glancing; Could scarcely catch the feeble moan 213 SIR W. SCOTT CXCVII THE MAID OF NEIDPATH Earl March look'd on his dying child, 214 The Maid of Neidpath She's at the window many an hour And he look'd up to Ellen's bower But ah! so pale, he knew her not, It broke the heart of Ellen. In vain he weeps, in vain he sighs, Her cheek is cold as ashes; Nor love's own kiss shall wake those eyes To lift their silken lashes. T. CAMPBELL CXCVIII Bright Star! would I were steadfast as thou art— The moving waters at their priestlike task Of snow upon the mountains and the moors :— No-yet still steadfast, still unchangeable, Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, J. KEATS |