The songs and poems of Robert Tannahill With biography, illustrations, and music |
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FAITHFUL ELLEN MORE. |
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 | The songs and poems of Robert Tannahill |  |
FAITHFUL ELLEN MORE.
The sun had kissed green Erin's waves,
The dark blue mountains towered between,
Mild evening's dews refreshed the leaves,
The moon unclouded rose serene,
When Ellen wandered forth unseen,
All lone her sorrows to deplore;
False was her lover, false her friend,
And false was hope to Ellen More.
The dark blue mountains towered between,
Mild evening's dews refreshed the leaves,
The moon unclouded rose serene,
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All lone her sorrows to deplore;
False was her lover, false her friend,
And false was hope to Ellen More.
Young Henry was fair Ellen's love,
Young Emma to her heart was dear;
Nor weal nor woe did Ellen prove,
But Emma ever seemed to share.
Yet envious still, she spread the wile
That sullied Ellen's virtues o'er;
Her faithless Henry spurned the while,
His fair, his faithful Ellen More.
Young Emma to her heart was dear;
Nor weal nor woe did Ellen prove,
But Emma ever seemed to share.
Yet envious still, she spread the wile
That sullied Ellen's virtues o'er;
Her faithless Henry spurned the while,
His fair, his faithful Ellen More.
She wandered down Loch-Mary side,
Where oft at evening hour she stole,
To meet her love with secret pride;
Now deepest anguish wrung her soul.
O'ercome with grief, she sought the steep
Where Yarrow falls with sullen roar;
Oh, Pity! veil thine eyes and weep!
A bleeding corpse lies Ellen More.
Where oft at evening hour she stole,
To meet her love with secret pride;
Now deepest anguish wrung her soul.
O'ercome with grief, she sought the steep
Where Yarrow falls with sullen roar;
Oh, Pity! veil thine eyes and weep!
A bleeding corpse lies Ellen More.
The sun may shine on Yarrow braes,
And woo the mountain flowers to bloom,
But never can his golden rays
Awake the flower in yonder tomb.
There oft young Henry strays forlorn,
When moonlight gilds the abbey tower;
There oft, from eve till breezy morn,
He weeps his faithful Ellen More.
And woo the mountain flowers to bloom,
But never can his golden rays
Awake the flower in yonder tomb.
There oft young Henry strays forlorn,
When moonlight gilds the abbey tower;
There oft, from eve till breezy morn,
He weeps his faithful Ellen More.
| The songs and poems of Robert Tannahill | |