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 |  |
It is not long—not long to Whitsuntide,
And haply Ellen then shall be a bride.
On Sunday morn, when a slant light was flung
On the pale tow'r, where bells awak'ning rung,
Hubert and Ellen I have seen repair,
Arm link'd in arm, to the same house of pray'r.
“These bells will sound more merrily” (he cried,
And gently press'd her hand) “at Whitsuntide.”
She check'd th' intruding thought, and hung her head;
Ellen, alas! ere Whitsuntide—was dead!
And haply Ellen then shall be a bride.
On Sunday morn, when a slant light was flung
On the pale tow'r, where bells awak'ning rung,
Hubert and Ellen I have seen repair,
Arm link'd in arm, to the same house of pray'r.
“These bells will sound more merrily” (he cried,
And gently press'd her hand) “at Whitsuntide.”
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Ellen, alas! ere Whitsuntide—was dead!
| Ellen Gray | |