Ellen Gray or, The dead maiden's curse. A poem, by the late Dr. Archibald Macleod [i.e. W. L. Bowles] |
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 | Ellen Gray |  |
Where winds the brook, by yonder bord'ring wood,
Her mother's solitary cottage stood.
A few pale poplars, and an aged pine,
Its rugged bark festoon'd with eglantine,
Grew near the whiten'd front, that, o'er the down,
Look'd to the grey smoke of a neighb'ring town.
Beneath an ivied bank, abrupt and high,
A small clear well reflected bank and sky,
In whose translucent mirror, smooth and still,
From time to time, a small bird dipp'd its bill.
Before the window, with late April show'rs
Refresh'd, a border bloom'd of Ellen's flow'rs.
There the first snow-drop; and, of livelier hue,
The polyanthus and narcissus grew.
'Twas Ellen's care a jessamine to train,
With small white blossoms round the window-pane:
A rustic wicket open'd to the meads,
Where a scant path-way to the hamlet leads:
A mill-wheel in the glen toil'd round and round,
Dashing the o'er-shot stream, with deep continuous sound.
Beyond, when the brief show'r had sail'd away,
The tap'ring spire shone out in sun-light grey;
And climb o'er yonder northern point, to sight
Stretching far on, the main-sea rolled in light.
Her mother's solitary cottage stood.
A few pale poplars, and an aged pine,
Its rugged bark festoon'd with eglantine,
Grew near the whiten'd front, that, o'er the down,
Look'd to the grey smoke of a neighb'ring town.
Beneath an ivied bank, abrupt and high,
A small clear well reflected bank and sky,
In whose translucent mirror, smooth and still,
From time to time, a small bird dipp'd its bill.
6
Refresh'd, a border bloom'd of Ellen's flow'rs.
There the first snow-drop; and, of livelier hue,
The polyanthus and narcissus grew.
'Twas Ellen's care a jessamine to train,
With small white blossoms round the window-pane:
A rustic wicket open'd to the meads,
Where a scant path-way to the hamlet leads:
A mill-wheel in the glen toil'd round and round,
Dashing the o'er-shot stream, with deep continuous sound.
Beyond, when the brief show'r had sail'd away,
The tap'ring spire shone out in sun-light grey;
And climb o'er yonder northern point, to sight
Stretching far on, the main-sea rolled in light.
| Ellen Gray | |