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16
HIGHLAND ODE.
I
Ere Arven vanish'd from my eyes,And left my widow'd soul to sighs,
How sweet, where summer breezes blow,
To trace the heath-flower's gradual glow,
Hail the grey linnet's song, or mark
Veil'd in a cloud, the mounting lark,
Or wander, where the lucid rill
Prattles beside the pine-crown'd hill,
Or, deep within the forest, start
Mid intertwisted boughs the hart,
Or wake, with my old hunting-horn,
The echoes of the merry morn,
Then seek the hall, where plenty dwells,
And share, at eve, the feast of shells!
II
But Arven's feet, with gentle print,Gave to the tender flower its tint:
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My Arven plum'd the soaring bird:
She bade the clear stream tinkling flow,
Or with pleas'd eye pursu'd the doe:
Her image only render'd dear
The wildwood chace, the festal cheer!
Alas! when, mild as morning-break,
I view'd the blush steal o'er her cheek,
When heav'd her snowy breast, more fair
In contrast with her raven hair,
She seem'd all nature to absorb
In the pure brightness of her orb.
III
And once, when o'er the thistly wasteMurmur'd the melancholy blast,
When from the dark-red thunder broke
The flame that rent the towering oak,
When spectres clad in sable shrouds,
Gleam'd from the chambers of the clouds;
When slow, along the midnight heath,
Mov'd the prophetic pomp of death;
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Shook, to the moon, their steely brows;
'Twas then I deem'd some danger near,
And own'd my bosom chill'd with fear;
For, as I saw her pallid hue,
Her shuddering frame, I trembled too!
IV
Yet now the lightning's shaft may fly:And ghosts may beckon from on high.
Tho' others quiver as the leaf;
I fear not—I am full of grief!
Tho' pale processions threaten fate,
I dread not the funereal state!
Others may shrink, in lonely halls,
From casques that sigh along the walls;
Unterrified I sit alone,
Nor heed the lifted vizor's groan!
'Tis only at my Arven's tomb
I see, how dark! the gather'd gloom:
Yet, as I drink the charnel air,
I weep, but cannot tremble there!
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