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From Cheviot to the shores of Ross, From Solway-Sands to Marshal's-Moss,
All boun'd them for the fight.
Such news the royal courier tells,
Who came to rouse dark Arran's dells;
But farther tidings must the ear
Of Isabel in secret hear.
These in her cloister walk, next morn,
Thus shared she with the Maid of Lorn.
My Edith, can I tell how dear
Our intercourse of hearts sincere
Hath been to Isabel ?
Judge then the sorrow of my heart, When I must say the words, We part !
Was not, sweet maiden, made for thee;
Go thou where thy vocation free
On happier fortunes fell.
Nor, Edith, judge thyself betray'd,
Versed in the fickle heart of man,
Earnest and anxious hath he look'd
How Ronald's heart the message brook'd
Long since that mood is gone :
And oft his breach of faith he blames
Forgive him for thine own !"
66 No! never to Lord Ronald's bower
Will I again as paramour”
« Nay, hush thee, too impatient maid,
Edith once more his elfin
By her own heart, and her own eye,
Thus spoke the maid-King Robert's eye
Embarrass'd eye and blushing cheek
In council to another's ear.
Why should she leave the peaceful cell ?-
And how be guarded on the way?--
At the first call of truant love.
Oh, blame her not !-when zephyrs wake, The aspen’s trembling leaves must shake; When beams the sun through April's shower, It needs must bloom, the violet flower;
And Love, howe'er the maiden strive,
Must with reviving hope revive !
A thousand soft excuses came,
To plead his cause 'gainst virgin shame.