Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 1.djvu/186

146 72.

Ambition nerv'd young Allan's hand,

Exulting demons wing'd his dart;

While Envy wav'd her burning brand,

And pour'd her venom round his heart.

73.

Swift is the shaft from Allan's bow;

Whose streaming life-blood stains his side?

Dark Oscar's sable crest is low,

The dart has drunk his vital tide.

74.

And Mora's eye could Allan move,

She bade his wounded pride rebel:

Alas! that eyes, which beam'd with love,

Should urge the soul to deeds of Hell.

75.

Lo! see'st thou not a lonely tomb,

Which rises o'er a warrior dead?

It glimmers through the twilight gloom;

Oh! that is Allan's nuptial bed.

76.

Far, distant far, the noble grave

Which held his clan's great ashes stood;

And o'er his corse no banners wave,

For they were stain'd with kindred blood.