weeping too!--most strangely wrought
By workings of another's thought!
She knows no English; yet I speak
That language, and her paling cheek
With watery floods is overcast.--
Fair maid, we talk of times long past;
A friend we often mourn in vain--
A knight in distant battle slain,
Whose bones had moulder'd in the earth
Full many a year before thy birth.
He fed our ears with songs of old,
And one was of a heart of gold,--
A native ditty I would fain,
But never yet could hear again.
It spoke of friendship like his own,
Once only in existence known.
My prime of life the blessing crost,
And with it life's first charm I lost!'

"'Chieftain, allow me, on my knee
To sing that English song to thee!
For then I never dare to stand,
Nor take the harp within my hand;
Sacred it also is to me!
And it should please thy fancy well,
Since dear the lips from whence it fell;
'And dear the language which conveys
The only theme of real praise!
O! if in very truth thou art
A mourner for that loyal heart,
A lowly minstrel maid forgive,
Who strives to make remembrance live!'

SONG.

"'Betimes my heritage was sold
To buy this heart of solid gold.
Ye all, perchance, have jewels fine,
But what are such compar'd to mine?
O! they are formal, poor, and cold,
And out of fashion when they're old;--
But this is of unchanging ore,
And every day is valued more.
Not all the eye could e'er behold
Should purchase back this heart of gold.

"'How oft its temper has been tried!
Its noble nature purified!
And still it from the furnace came
Uninjur'd by the subtil flame.
Like truth itself, pale, simple, pure,
Yielding, yet fitted to endure,--
No rust, no tarnish can arise,
To hide its lustre from our eyes;
And this world's choicest gift I hold,
While I can keep my heart of gold.

"'Whatever treasure may be lost,
Whatever project may be crost,
Whatever other boon denied,
The amulet I long have tried
Has still a sweet, attractive power
To draw the confidential hour,--
That hour for weakness and for grief,
For true condolement, full belief!
O! I can never feel bereft,
While one possession shall be left;
That which I now in triumph hold,
This dear, this cherish'd heart of gold!