18
'Renounce thy hopes, insulting lord, Nor think to tempt these tears away.
Oh! leave me still to mourn my loss, And let my widow'd heart complain;A heart that only can repel Thy hated love with just disdain.'—
His fame, his wealth, derided thus, His proffer'd love with scorn return'd;Soon chang'd that love to equal hate, And fierce revenge his bosom burn'd.
Then from her aged guardian's roof By force he tore the trembling maid;With bleeding heart I saw the fair To yonder dreary tow'rs convey'd.
There three long years Elfrida mourn'd, Bereft of freedom, joy, and peace;While mirth rung through the echoing hall, And feasts and revels never cease.
There oft, I ween, the midnight moon Has witness'd poor Elfrida's woes;And there last morning's radiant sun Upon her breathless corse arose.
Yet when the sun that day went down, And ev'ning veil'd yon lofty hill,From Edgar's castle, on the breeze The sounds of mirth were laughing still!
