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　　FANCY EMPLOYED ON DIVINE SUBJECTS

　　(Summer, 1796. Text of 1818)

　　The truant Fancy was a wanderer ever,

　　A lone enthusiast maid. She loves to walk

　　In the bright visions of empyreal light,

　　By the green pastures, and the fragrant meads,

　　Where the perpetual flowers of Eden blow;

　　By chrystal streams, and by the living waters,

　　Along whose margin grows the wondrous tree

　　Whose leaves shall heal the nations; underneath

　　Whose holy shade a refuge shall be found

　　From pain and want, and all the ills that wait

　　On mortal life, from sin and death for ever.

　　THE TOMB OF DOUGLAS

　　See the Tragedy of that Name

　　(1796)

　　When her son, her Douglas died,

　　To the steep rock's fearful side

　　Fast the frantic Mother hied—

　　O'er her blooming warrior dead

　　Many a tear did Scotland shed,

　　And shrieks of long and loud lament

　　From her Grampian hills she sent.

　　Like one awakening from a trance,

　　She met the shock of 注释标题 Denmark. Lochlin's lance;

　　On her rude invader foe

　　Return'd an hundred fold the blow,

　　Drove the taunting spoiler home;

　　Mournful thence she took her way

　　To do observance at the tomb

　　Where the son of Douglas lay.

　　Round about the tomb did go

　　In solemn state and order slow,

　　Silent pace, and black attire,

　　Earl, or Knight, or good Esquire;

　　Whoe'er by deeds of valour done

　　In battle had high honours won;

　　Whoe'er in their pure veins could trace

　　The blood of Douglas' noble race.

　　With them the flower of minstrels came,

　　And to their cunning harps did frame

　　In doleful numbers piercing rhymes,

　　Such strains as in the older times

　　Had sooth'd the spirit of Fingal,

　　Echoing thro' his father's hall.

　　"Scottish maidens, drop a tear

　　O'er the beauteous Hero's bier!

　　Brave youth, and comely 'bove compare,

　　All golden shone his burnish'd hair;

　　Valour and smiling courtesy

　　Play'd in the sun-beams of his eye.

　　Clos'd are those eyes that shone so fair,

　　And stain'd with blood his yellow hair.

　　Scottish maidens, drop a tear

　　O'er the beauteous Hero's bier!"

　　"Not a tear, I charge you, shed

　　For the false Glenalvon dead;

　　Unpitied let Glenalvon lie,

　　Foul stain to arms and chivalry!"

　　"Behind his back the traitor came,

　　And Douglas died without his fame.

　　Young light of Scotland early spent,

　　Thy country thee shall long lament;

　　And oft to after-times shall tell,

　　In Hope's sweet prime my Hero fell." The Works of Charles and Mary Lamb — Volume 4