Page:The Poetical Works of William Motherwell, 1849.djvu/437



, licht was maid Ellen's fit— It left nae print behind, Until a belted Knicht she saw Adown the valley wind!

And winsome was maid Ellen's cheek, As is the rose on brier, Till halted at her father's yett A lordly cavalier.

And merrie, meme was her sang, Till he knelt at her bouir— As lark's rejoicin' in the sun, Her princely paramour.

But dull, dull now is Ellen's eye, And wan, wan is her cheek, And slow an' heavy is her fit That lonesome paths would seek:

And never sang does Ellen sing Amang the flowers sae bricht, Since last she saw the dancin' plume Of that foresworne Knicht!