"But from the hills with stunning sound
The dashing torrents fall;
Loud is the raging tempest round,
And mocks a lover's call.
"Ha! see across the dreary waste
A gentle form appears!
It is my love, my cares are past,
How vain were all my fears?"
The form approach'd, but sad and slow,
Nor with a lover's tread;
And from his cheek the youthful glow,
And greeting smile was fled.
Dim sadness hung upon his brow;
Fix'd was his beamless eye:
His face was like the moon-light bow
Upon a win'try sky.
And fix'd and ghastly to the sight,
His strengthen'd features rose;
And bended was his graceful height,
And bloody were his clothes.
"O Marg'ret, calm thy troubled breast!
Thy sorrow now is vain:
Thy Edward from his peaceful rest
Shall ne'er return again.
"A treach'rous friend has brought me low,
And fix'd my early doom;
And laid my corpse, with feigned woe,
Beneath a vaulted tomb
"To take thee to my home I sware,
And here we were to meet:
Wilt thou a narrow coffin share,
And part my winding-sheet?
"But late the lord of many lands,
And now a grave is all:
My blood is warm upon his hands
Who revels in my hall.
"Yet think thy father's hoary hair
Is water'd with his tears;
He has but thee to sooth his care,
And prop his load of years.