Robert Tannahill

Ellen More

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The sun had kiss'd green Erin's waves,
The dark blue mountains tower'd between,
Mild evening's dews refresh'd the leaves,
The moon unclouded rose serene;
When Ellen wander'd forth, unseen,
All lone her sorrows to deplore,
False was her lover, false her friend,
And false was hope to Ellen More.

Young Henry was fair Ellen's love,
Young Emma to her heart was dear,
No weal nor woe did Ellen prove,
But Emma ever seem'd to share;
Yet envious, still she spread the wile,
That sullied Ellen's virtues o'er,
Her faithless Henry spurn'd the while
His fair, his faithful Ellen More.

She wander'd down Loch-Mary side,
Where oft at ev'ning hour she stole,
To meet her love with secret pride,
Now deepest anguish wrung her soul.
O'ercome with grief, she sought the steep
Where Yarrow falls with sullen roar,
O Pity, veil thy eyes and weep!
A bleeding corpse lies Ellen More.

The sun may shine on Yarrow braes,
And woo the mountain flow'rs to bloom,
But never can his golden rays
Awake the flower in yonder tomb:
There oft young Henry strays forlorn,
When moonlight gilds the abbey tower,
There oft from eve 'till breezy morn,
He weeps his faithful Ellen More.

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Robert Tannahill