POETRY. 703 



HARP OF THE NORTH. 



^From Scott's Lady of the Lake. 3 



Haup of the North ! that mould'ring long hast hung 



On the witch-elm that shades Saint Fillan's spring. 

 And down the fitful breeze thy numbers flung, 



Till envious ivy did around thee cling, 

 Muffling with verdant ringlet every string, — 



O minstrel Harp, still must thine accents sleep ? 

 Mid rustling leaves and fountains murmuring. 



Still must thy sweeter sounds their silence keep, 

 Nor bid a warrior smile, nor teach a maid to weep ? 



Not thus, in ancient days of Caledon, 



Was thy voice mute amid the festal crowd, 

 When lay of hopeless love, or glory won, 



Aroused the fearful, or subdued the proud. 

 At each according pause, was heard aloud 



Thine ardent symphony sublime and high ! 

 Fair dames and crested chiefs attention bovv'd ; 



For still the burthen of thy minstrelsy 

 Was knighthood's dauntless deed, and beauty's matchless eye, 



O wake once more I how rude so'er the hand 



That ventures o'er thy magic maze to stray ; 

 O wake once more ! though scarce my skill command 



Some feebler echoing of thine earlier lay : 

 Though harsh and faint, and soon to die away, 



And all unworthy of thy nobler strain. 

 Yet if one heart throb higher at its sway. 



The wizard note has not been touched in vain. 

 Then silent be no more ! Enchantress, wake again ! 



PORTRAIT OF ELLEN. 



[^Froyn the same."] 



The boat had touch'd this silver strand, 

 Just as the hunter left his stand. 

 And stood conceal'd amid the brake, 

 To view this Lady of the Lake. 

 The maiden paused, as if again 

 She thought to catch the distant strain. 

 With head up-raised, and look intent. 

 And eye and ear attentive bent. 



