Francis T. Palgrave, ed. (1824–1897). The Golden Treasury. 1875.Sir Walter Scott CXCVI. The Maid of Neidpath
And lovers’ ears in hearing;
And love, in life’s extremity,
Can lend an hour of cheering!
Disease had been in Mary’s bower
And slow decay from mourning;
Though now she sits on Neidpath’s tower
To watch her Love’s returning.
Her form decay’d by pining,
Till through her wasted hand, at night,
You saw the taper shining.
By fits a sultry hectic hue
Across her cheek was flying;
By fits so ashy pale she grew
Her maidens thought her dying.
Seem’d in her frame residing:
Before the watch-dog prick’d his ear,
She heard her lover’s riding;
Ere scarce a distant form was kenn’d,
She knew and waved to greet him,
And o’er the battlement did bend
As on the wing to meet him.
As o’er some stranger glancing;
Her welcome, spoke in faltering phrase,
Lost in his courser’s prancing;
The castle-arch, whose hollow tone
Returns each whisper spoken,
Could scarcely catch the feeble moan
Which told her heart was broken.