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   Chapter 47 No.47

The Lady of the Lake By Walter Scott Characters: 779

Updated: 2017-12-01 00:03


"But ah! dear lady, thus it sighed

135 The eve thy sainted mother died;

And such the sounds which, while I strove

To wake a lay of war or love,

Came marring all the festal mirth,

Appalling me who gave them birth,

140 And, disobedient to my call,

Wailed loud through Bothwell's bannered hall,note

Ere Douglases to ruin driven,

Were exiled from their native heaven.

Oh! if yet worse mishap and woe,

145 My master's house must undergo,

Or aught but weal to Ellen fair,

Brood in these accents of despair,

No future bard, sad Harp! shall fling

Triumph or rapture from thy string;

150 One short, one final strain shall flow,

Fraught with unutterable woe,

Then shivered shall thy fragments lie,

Thy master cast him down and die!"

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