The lord of the isles . Hope, that soon shall fears remove, We bid thee break the bonds of rest,And wake thee at the call of Love ! •• Wake, Edith, wake ! in yonder bay Lies many a galley gaily mannd,We hear the merry pibroehs play, We see the streamers silken Chieftains praise these pibroehs swell What crest is on these banners wove,The harp, the minstrel, dare not tell— The riddle must be read by Love. V. Retired her maiden train among, Edith of Lorn received the song, But tamed the minstrels pride had been That bad her cold demeanour seen ; For not upon her cheek awoke The glow of
The lord of the isles . Hope, that soon shall fears remove, We bid thee break the bonds of rest,And wake thee at the call of Love ! •• Wake, Edith, wake ! in yonder bay Lies many a galley gaily mannd,We hear the merry pibroehs play, We see the streamers silken Chieftains praise these pibroehs swell What crest is on these banners wove,The harp, the minstrel, dare not tell— The riddle must be read by Love. V. Retired her maiden train among, Edith of Lorn received the song, But tamed the minstrels pride had been That bad her cold demeanour seen ; For not upon her cheek awoke The glow of pride when Flattery spoke. Nor could their tenderest numbers bring One sigh responsive to the string. As vainly had her maidens vied In skill to deck the princely bride. Her locks, in dark-brown length arrayd. Cathleen of Ulne, twas thine to braid ; THE LOUD OF THE ISLES. Young Eva with meet reverence drewOn the light foot the silken shoe,While on the ankles slender roundThose strings of pearl fair Bertha wound,. That, bleachd Lochryans depths within,Seemd dusky still on Ediths Einion, of experience old,Had weightiest task — the mantles fold THE LOUT) OF THE ISLES, :;- In many an artful plait she tied,To shew the form it seemd to hide,Till on the floor descending rolldIts waves of crimson hlent with gold. VI. () ! lives there now so cold a thus in beautys pomp arrayd,In beautys proudest pitch of power,And concpiest won—the bridal hour—With every charm that wins the heart,By Nature given, enhanced by Art,Could yet the fair reflection view,In the bright mirror pictured true,And not one dimple on her cheekA tell-tale consciousness bespeak?—Lives still such maid?—Fair damsels, say,For further vouches not my lay,Save that such lived in Britains isle,When Lorns bright Edith scornd to smile. VII. But Morag, to whose fostering care Proud Lorn had given his daughter fair. Morag, who saw a mothers aid By all a daughters love repaid, (Strict was that bon
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Keywords: ., bookauthorturnerjmwjosephmallor, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1850
