A feeble and a timorous guest,
The field-fare[174] framed her lowly nest;
There the slow blind-worm left his slime
On the fleet limbs that mock’d at time;
And there, too, lay the leader’s skull,
Still wreathed with chaplet, flush’d and full,
For heath-bell, with her purple bloom,
Supplied the bonnet and the plume.
All night, in this sad glen, the maid
Sate, shrouded in her mantle’s shade: