Classic Poem

VII.

Hast thou not seen some azure gleam
Smile in the morning's orient eye,
And skirt the reddening cloud's soft beam
What time the sun was hasting nigh?

Thou hast — and thou canst fancy well
As any Muse that meets thine ear,
The soul-set eye of Nithisdale,
When wak'd, it fix'd on Ellen near.

Silent they gaz'd — that silence broke;
" Hail goddess of these groves, (he cried),
O let me wear thy gentle yoke!
O let me in thy service bide!

" For thee I'll climb the mountain steep,
Unwearied chase the destin'd prey;
For thee I'll pierce the wild-wood deep,
And part the sprays that vex thy way;

" For thee' — " O stranger, cease, (she said),
And swift away, like Daphne, flew;
But Daphne's flight was not delay'd
By aught that to her bosom grew.

'Twas Atalanta's golden fruit,
The fond idea that confin'd
Fair Ellen's steps, and bless'd his suit,
Who was not far, not far behind.