Classic Poem

Where is the youth, the youth so lovely,
Who rode to-day on the dappled steed?
Over the moors he rode so briskly,
Scarce could the fleet hounds match his speed.

Oh! where is the youth whose flaxen ringlets
Hang waving around his manly brow,
Mild are his eyes as the star of ev'ning,
With beauty and health his ruddy cheeks glow.

Lonely and sad I wait his returning,
Chilling and cold is the evening air,
Long have I listen'd and look'd for his coming,
Long have I look'd, but he does not appear.

Was that the tread of a distant footstep?
Is that his form which yonder doth gleam?
Ah! no, the shadows of night deceive me,
'Tis but the dark waving oak of the stream.

" Loveliest maid of the lowland valleys,
" Fairest flower on the banks of the Tweed;
" Why dost thou ask for the rosy stripling,
" Who rode to-day on the dappled steed?

" He sleeps far off on the mountain heather,
" Where, by the moorlands rolls the Clyde,
" A mossy stone is his only pillow,
" His fleet hounds are watching by his side. "

Why didst thou leave the young hunter in danger,
When his friends and companions were gone?
Should the clan of his foes in darkness surprise him,
While asleep on the moorlands alone!

" Long may'st thou look for thy lover's returning,
" Long may'st thou sigh and his absence deplore;
" Or sleep on the purple heath beside him,
" Fair lady, he will awake no more!

Yes, I will go and will sleep beside him,
Where rests on the cold damp earth his head;
The mountain moss, and the dark brown heather,
These shall for henceforth be my bed.