And canst thou forego such beauty and youth, Forbid it! He yields; to the boat he draws nigh. V. That trembling voice, in murmurs weak, Comes not to blast the hopes before thee; For pity, Malcolm, turn, and take A last farewell of her that bore thee. She says no word to mar thy bliss; A last embrace, a parting kiss, Her love deserves;-then be thou gone; A mother's joys are thine alone. Friendship may fade, and fortune prove Deceitful to thy heart; But never can a mother's love From her own offspring part. Then who shall watch her parting breath, VI. Oft hast thou, to her bosom prest, For many a day about been borne ; Oft hushed and cradled on her breast, And canst thou leave that breast forlorn ? O'er all thy ails her heart has bled; So tender, so benign! Never was maid so loved, so sweet, Nor soul so rent as thine! He looked to the boat,-slow she heaved from the shore; He saw his loved Anna all speechless implore: But, grasped by a cold and a trembling hand, He clung to his parent, and sunk on the strand. VII. The boat across the tide flew fast, The stately ship, adown the bay, A corslet framed of heaving snow, And flurred on high the slender spray, Till rainbows gleamed around her prow. How strained was Malcolm's watery eye, Yon fleeting vision to descry! But, ah! her virgin form so fair, Soon vanished in the liquid air. Away to Ora's headland steep The youth retired the while, And saw th' unpitying vessel sweep Around yon Highland isle. His heart and his mind with that vessel had gone; His sorrow was deep, and despairing his moan, When, lifting his eyes from the green heaving deep, He prayed the Almighty his Anna to keep. VIII. High o'er the crested cliffs of Lorn The curlew coned her wild bravura ; The sun, in pall of purple borne, Was hastening down the steeps of Jura. Deep in a wavy world of wonder. The countless isles so dusky blue, Nor medley of the gray curlew, Could light on Malcolm's spirit shed; Their glory all was gone! For his joy was fled, his hope was dead, And his heart forsaken and lone. The sea-bird sought her roofless nest, A mother weeps o'er her duteous son. IX. One little boat alone is seen On all the lovely dappled main, That softly sinks the waves between, Then vaults their heaving breasts again; With snowy sail, and rower's sweep, Across the tide she seems to fly. Why bears she on yon headland steep, Where neither house nor home is nigh? Is that a vision from the deep That springs ashore and scales the steep, Till sunk upon young Malcolm's breast! |