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O flop, fhe cried, O ftop thy arm!

Thou doft thy brother slay!

And here the Hermit paus'd and wept :
His tongue no more could say.

At length he cried, Ye lovely pair,
How fhall I tell the reft?

Ere I could ftop my piercing sword,
It fell and ftabb'd her breaft.

Were thou thyfelf that hapless youth?
Ah! cruel fate! they said:

The Hermit wept, and fo did they;
They figh'd; he hung his head.

O blind and jealous rage, he cried,
What evils from thee flow.

The Hermit paus'd; they filent mourn'd;
He wept, and they were woe.

Ah! when I heard my brother's name,

And faw my lady bleed,

I rav'd, I wept, I curft my arm
That wrought the fatal deed.

In vain I clafp'd her to my breast,
And clos'd the ghaftly wound;

In vain I prefs'd his bleeding corse,
And rais'd it from the ground.

My brother, alas! spake never more; His precious life was flown.

She kindly ftrove to footh my pain,

Regardless of her own.

BERTRAM, fhe faid, be comforted,

And live to think on me.

May we in heaven that union prove, Which here was not to be.

BERTRAM, fhe faid, I ftill was true;

Thou only hadst my heart:

May we hereafter meet in blifs;

We now,

alas! muft part.

For thee I left

my

father's hall,

And flew to thy relief,

When, lo! near Chiviot's fatal hills

I met a Scottish chief.

Lord Malcolm's fon, whose proffer'd love

I had refus'd with scorn;

He flew my guards, and feiz'd on me
Upon that fatal morn;

And in thefe dreary hated walls

He kept me clofe confin'd;

And fondly fued and warmly prefs'd

To win me to his mind.

Each rifing morn increas'd my pain,

Each night increas'd my fear;

When, wandering in this northern garb, Thy brother found me here.

He quickly form'd this brave defign

To fet me, captive, free;

And on the moor his horfes wait

Ty'd to a neighbouring tree.

Then hafte, my love, efcape away,
And for thyfelf provide ;

And fometimes fondly think on her
Who should have been thy bride.

Thus pouring comfort on my foul,
Even with her latest breath,

She gave one parting fond embrace,
And clos'd her eyes in death.

In wild amaze, in fpeechless woe,

Devoid of fenfe I lay;

Then fudden all in frantic mood

I meant myself to flay.

And, rifing up in furious hafte,
I feiz'd the bloody brand:
A sturdy arm here interpos'd,
And wrench'd it from my hand.

A crowd that from the caftle came Had mifs'd their lovely ward; And feizing me, to prifon bare, And deep in dungeon barr'd.

It chanc'd that on that very morn Their chief was prifoner ta'en: Lord PERCY had us foon exchang'd, And ftrove to footh my pain.

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