458. The Maid of Neidpath

EARL MARCH look’d on his dying child,

And, smit with grief to view her—

The youth, he cried, whom I exiled

Shall be restored to woo her.

She’s at the window many an hour

His coming to discover:

And he look’d up to Ellen’s bower

And she look’d on her lover—

But ah! so pale, he knew her not,

Though her smile on him was dwelling—

And am I then forgot—forgot?

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.