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er smile, her speech, with winning swayWiled the old Harper's mood away.With such a look as hermits throw,When angels stoop to soothe their woeHe gazed, till fond regret and prideThrilled to a tear, then thus replied:'Loveliest and best! thou little know'stThe 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 advanceThe 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!'
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