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• Come back! come back! he cried in grief, Twas vain; the loud waves lashed the · Across this stormy water ;

shore, And I'll forgive your Highland chief.

Return or aid preventing :My daughter! Oh! my daughter!'- The waters wild went o'er his child,

And he was left lamenting.


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M. G. LEWIS, better known as " Monk” Lewis, from his romance of that name, is the author of this

ballad. In his own day, at the commencement of the present century, Lewis enjoyed considerable reputation; and Sir Walter Scott acknowledges that his own achievments in romantic poetry were suggested by Lewis's success and popularity in it. We should add, that Scott speaks in the highest terms of Lewis's excellence in rhyme, though by general readers he is almost entirely thrown aside. There is no proof of any recorded event in history having given rise to this ballad.

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Oh! when their traces meet thy sight,

Remember wretched Eva's fears!

And soon thy cheeks afford no trace

Of tears which fall for Agilthorn!


Think how thy lips she fondly pressed, He said ; and couched his quivering lance:

Think how she wept-compelled to part; He said ; and braced his moony shield:
Think, every wound which scars thy breast, Sealed a last kiss, threw a last glance,
Is doubly marked on Eva's heart !-

Then spurred his steed to Flodden Field. • O thou! my mistress, wife, and friend !'

But Eva of all joy bereft, Thus Agilthorn with sighs began;

Stood rooted at the castle gate, • Thy fond complaints my bosom rend, And viewed the prints his courser left,

Thy tears my fainting soul unman: While hurrying at the call of fate.

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And oft she kissed her baby's cheek, The well-known scarf with blood was

Who slumbered on her throbbing breast ; stained, And now she bade the warder speak,

And tears from Osway's eyelids fell; And now she lulled her child to rest. Too truly Eva's heart explained,

What meant those silent tears to tell. •Good warder, say, what meets thy sight? What see'st thou from the castle tower?' • Come, come, my babe!' she wildly cried,

We needs must seek the field of woe:
Nought but the rocks of Elginbright,
Nought but the shades of Forest-Bower. Come, come, my babe! cast fear aside!

To dig thy father's grave we go.'
Oh, pretty babe! thy mother's joy,
Pledge of the purest, fondest flame,

•Stay, lady, stay! a storm impends ; To-morrow's sun, dear helpless boy,

Lo! threatening clouds the sky o'erspread

The thunder roars, the rain descends, May see thee bear an orphan's name.

And lightning streaks the heavens with

red. Perhaps, e'en now, some Scottish sword The life-blood of thy father drains;

• Hark, hark ! the winds tempestuous rave ! Perhaps, e'en now, that heart is gored,

Oh! be thy dread intent resigned ! Whose streams supplied thy little veins.

Or, if resolved the storm to brave,

Be this dear infant left behind !
O warder, from the castle tower,

say what objects meet thy sight?' No, no! with me my baby stays; None but the shades of Forest-Bower,

With me he lives; with me he dies! None but the rocks of Eiginbright.' Flash, lightnings, flash! your friendly

blaze •Smil'st thou, my babe ? so smiled thy sire, Will shew me where my warrior lies.'

When gazing on his Eva's face ; His eyes shot beams of gentle fire,

O see she roams the bloody field, And joyed such beams in mine to trace.

And wildly shrieks her husband's name :

O see she stops and eyes a shield, Sleep, sleep, my babe! of care devoid : A heart the symbol, wrapt in flame,

Thy mother breathes this fervent vowOh, never be thy soul employed

His armour broke in many a place, On thoughts so sad as hers are now!

A knight lay stretched that shield beside ;

She raised his vizor, kissed his face,
Now warder, warder, speak again!

Then on his bosom sunk and died.
What seest thou from the turret's

Huntsman, their rustic grave behold: • Oh, lady, speeding o'er the plain,

'Tis here, at night, the fairy king, The little foot-page appears in sight!

Where sleeps the fair, where sleeps the bold,

Oft forms his light fantastie ring.
Quick beat her heart, short,

her breath;

• Tis here, at eve, each village youth Close to her breast the babe she drew

With freshest flowers the turf adorns ; • Now, Heaven,' she cried, · for life or death!'

Tis here he swears eternal truth, And forth to meet the page she few.

By Eva's faith and Agilthorn's. • And is thy lord from danger free?

And here the virgins sadly tell, And is the deadly combat o'er ?'

Each seated by her shepherd's side, In silence Osway bent his knee,

How brave the gallant warrior fell, And laid a scarf her fee: before.

How true his lovely lady died.


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