That night, he wrote a letter to the Priest Reminding him of what had passed between them; And adding, with a hope to be forgiven, That it was from the weakness of his heart He had not dared to tell him who he was. This done, he went on shipboard, and is now ELLEN IRWIN, Or The BRAES of KIRTLE*. Fair Ellen Irwin, when she sate Upon the Braes of Kirtle, Was lovely as a Grecian Maid Beneath the budding beeches. * The Kirtle is a river in the Southern part of Scotland, on the banks of which the events here related took place. From many Knights and many Squires The Bruce had been selected; And Gordon, fairest of them all, By Ellen was rejected. Sad tidings to that noble Youth! For it may be proclaimed with truth, If Bruce hath loved sincerely, The Gordon loves as dearly. But what is Gordon's beauteous face? And what are Gordon's crosses To them who sit by Kirtle's Braes Upon the verdant mosses ? Alas that ever he was born! The Gordon, couched behind a thorn, Sees them and their caressing, Beholds them blest and blessing. Proud Gordon cannot bear the thoughts That through his brain are travelling, And, starting up, to Bruce's heart He lanched a deadly javelin! Fair Ellen saw it when it came, And, stepping forth to meet the same, Did with her body cover The Youth her chosen lover. And, falling into Bruce's arms, Thus died the beauteous Ellen, Thus from the heart of her true-love The mortal spear repelling. And Bruce, as soon as he had slain And fought with rage incessant But many days, and many months, This wretched Knight did vainly seek The death that he was wooing: And coming back across the wave, His body he extended, And there his sorrow ended. Now ye, who willingly have heard The tale I have been telling, May in Kirkonnel church-yard view The grave of lovely Ellen : By Ellen's side the Bruce is laid; And its forlorn HIC JACET! VOL. II. |