Some feast, or village wake, or sprightly dance,
Urging her still to bear them company.
She lov'd to give them pleasure, and one time
(The fav'rite legend of our country folk
Hath oft the tale repeated) as they mix'd
Carelessly in the crowd, remember'd notes
Struck by a harper in a distant tent,
Sweet and soul-piercing as the midnight songs
Which are, they say, the harbingers of death,
Flow'd on her ear—when, with impulsive spring,