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The tempest crackles on the leads,
And, ringing, spins from brand and mail ; But o'er the dark a glory spreads,
And gilds the driving hail.
No branchy thicket shelter yields ;
Fly o'er waste fens and windy fields.
Such hope, I know not fear;
That often meet me here.
Pure spaces cloth’d in living beams,
Whose odours haunt my dreams;
This mortal armour that I wear,
Are touch'd, are turn'd to finest air.
The clouds are broken in the sky,
And thro’ the mountain-walls A rolling organ-harmony
Swells up, and shakes and falls. Then move the trees, the copses nod,
Wings flutter, voices hover clear : “O just and faithful knight of God !
Ride on ! the prize is near.”
By bridge and ford, by park and pale, All-arm'd I ride, whate'er betide,
Until I find the holy Grail.
Sweet Emma Moreland of yonder town
Met me walking on yonder way, “ And have you lost your heart? ” she said ;
“ And are you married yet, Edward Gray ?”
Sweet Emma Moreland spoke to me:
Bitterly weeping I turn’d away : “Sweet Emma Moreland, love no more
Can touch the heart of Edward Gray.
“ Ellen Adair she loved me well,
Against her father's and mother's will : To-day I sat for an hour and wept,
By Ellen's grave, on the windy hill.
“ Shy she was, and I thought her cold;
Thought her proud, and fled over the sea : Fill’d I was with folly and spite,
When Ellen Adair was dying for me.
“Cruel, cruel the words I said !
Cruelly came they back to-day: • You're too slight and fickle,' I said,
"To trouble the heart of Edward Gray.'
“ There I put my face in the grass —
Whisper’d, · Listen to my despair : I repent me of all I did :
Speak a little, Ellen Adair!'
“ Then I took a pencil, and wrote
On the mossy stone, as I lay, · Here lies the body of Ellen Adair ;
And here the heart of Edward Gray!'