Her smile, her speech, with winning sway Wiled the old Harper's mood away.
With such a look as hermits throw, When angels stoop to soothe their woe He gazed, till fond regret and pride Thrilled to a tear, then thus replied:
'Loveliest and best! thou little know'st The rank, the honors, thou hast lost!
O. might I live to see thee grace, In Scotland's court, thy birthright place, To see my favorite's step advance The lightest in the courtly dance, The cause of every gallant's sigh, And leading star of every eye, And theme of every minstrel's art, The Lady of the Bleeding Heart!'
