XXIX.

"Tis o'er-those locks that waved in gold,
That waved adown those cheeks so fair,
Wreathed in the gloomy tyrant's hold,
Hang from the sever'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

< Knowst thou these-Ellen of the vale?' The pictured bracelet soon she knew, And soon her lovely cheek grew pale.

The trembling victim straight he led,
Ere yet her soul's first fear was o'er :
He pointed to the ghastly head-
She saw-and sunk to rise no more.

[This ballad was written by Mrs. Mary Robinson,better known perhaps to some readers by the sobriquet of 'Perdita,'-who was born at Bristol in what in her 'Autobiography,' she calls the 'tempestuous night' of the 27th November, 1758; and died, after a somewhat eventful career, in the year 1800, at the comparatively early age of 42. When and where it first appeared we are unable, after a pretty diligent search, to discover. Probably, however, it was in one of the periodicals of her day, in which many of her poetical pieces were first published, with one or other of the signatures, Laura, Laura Maria, Julia, Daphne, Oberon, Echo, and Louisa. After her death, her poems were collected and published in 3 vols. 12mo. (London, 1806,) edited by her daughter. This is now a very scarce work; there is no copy of it in the British Museum; nor have we been fortunate enough to meet with one elsewhere. The present version is taken from an edition of her Poetical Works published by Jones and Co., London, 1826.]

ATCH no more the twinkling stars;
Watch no more the chalky bourne;
Lady! from the holy wars

Never will thy love return!

Cease to watch, and cease to mourn,
Thy lover never will return!

"Watch no more the vellow moon,
Peering o'er the mountain's head;
Rosy day, returning soon,

Will see thy lover pale and dead!
Cease to weep, and cease to mourn,
Thy lover will no more return!

Lady, in the holy wars,

Fighting for the Cross, he died;
Low he lies, and many scars
Mark his cold and mangled side;
In his winding sheet he lies,
Lady! check those rending sighs.

"Hark! the hollow sounding gale
Seems to sweep in murmurs by,
Sinking slowly down the vale;
Wherefore, gentle lady, sigh?

Wherefore moan, and wherefore sigh?
Lady, all that live must die.

"Now the stars are fading fast:

Swift their brilliant course are run;
Soon shall dreary night be past:
Soon shall rise the cheering sun!
The sun will rise to gladden thee:
Lady, lady, cheerful be."

So spake a voice! While sad and lone,
Upon a lofty tower, reclined,

A lady sat: the pale moon shone,
And sweetly blew the summer wind;
Yet still disconsolate in mind,
The lovely lady sat reclined.

The lofty tower was ivy clad;

And round a dreary forest rose;
The midnight bell was tolling sad-
'Twas tolling for a soul's repose!

The lady heard the gates unclose,
And from her seat in terror rose.

The summer moon shone bright and clear;
She saw the castle gates unclose;
And now she saw four monks appear,
Loud chaunting for a soul's repose.
Forbear, oh, lady! look no more—

They past, and all was silent now;
The breeze upon the forest slept;
The moon stole o'er the mountain's brow;
Again the lady sigh'd and wept :
She watcht the holy fathers go
Along the forest path below.

And now the dawn was bright, the dew
Upon the yellow heath was seen;
The clouds were of a rosy hue,
The sunny lustre shone between:
The lady to the chapel ran,

While the slow matin prayer began.

And then, once more, the fathers grey
She markt employ'd in holy prayer:
Her heart was full, she could not pray,
For love and fear were masters there.

Ah, lady! thou wilt pray ere long
To sleep those lonely aisles among!

And now the matin prayers were o'er ;
The barefoot monks of order grey,
Were thronging to the chapel door,
When there the lady stopt the way:

"Tell me," she cried," whose corpse so pale,
Last night ye bore along the vale?"

"Oh, lady! question us no more:
No corpse did we bear down the dale!"
The lady sunk upon the floor,

Her quivering lip was deathly pale.

The bare-foot monks now whisper'd, sad,
"God grant our lady be not mad."

The monks departing, one by one,
The chapel gates in silence close;
When from the altar-steps of stone,
The trembling lady feebly goes:

While morning sheds a ruby light,
The painted windows glowing bright.

And now she heard a hollow sound;
It seem'd to come from graves below;
And now again she lookt around,
A voice came murmuring sad and slow;
And now she heard it feebly cry,

"Watch no more from yonder tower,
Watch no more the star of day!
Watch no more the dawning hour,
That chases sullen night away !
Cease to watch, and cease to mourn,
Tny lover will no more return!"

She lookt around, and now she view'd,
Clad in a doublet gold and green,
A youthful knight: he frowning stood,
And noble was his mournful mien;
And now he said, with heaving sigh,
"Lady, all that live must die!"

She rose to quit the altar's stone,
She cast a look to heaven and sigh'd,
When lo! the youthful knight was gone;
And, scowling by the lady's side,

With sightless skull and bony hand,
She saw a giant spectre stand!

His flowing robe was long and clear,

His ribs were white as drifted snow: The lady's heart was chill'd with fear: She rose, but scarce had power to go: The spectre grinn'd a dreadful smile, And walkt beside her down the aisle.

And now he waved his rattling nand;
And now they reacht the chapel door,
And there the spectre took his stand;
While, rising from the marble floor,

A hollow voice was heard to cry,
"Lady, all that live must die!

"Watch no more the evening star!
Watch no more the glimpse of morn!

Never from the holy war,

Lady, will thy love return!

See this bloody cross; and see
His bloody scarf he sends to thee!"

And now again the youthful knight
Stood smiling by the lady's side;
His helmet shone with crimson light,
His sword with drops of blood was dyed:
And now a soft and mournful song