I met her where the heather-bell
Lay brightly gem'd with pearls of dew,
When sun-light soft, first lit the dell.
And on the fount a faint blush threw.
From trance of joy the wild birds 'woke—
Her song like theirs was sweet—was gay—
The spring flow'rs smil'd as morning broke—
And she was beautiful as they.
And ne'er a lighter footstep fell
Upon the scarce crush'd heather-bell.

I wander'd far—the heather-bell
Forsook awhile for richer fields,
But sadness on my spirit fell.
Amidst the joys their richness yields.
Uncharm'd I heard the sweeter strain
Which gay phim'd captives there might sing-
My sad heart pined to hear again
The flutter of the free hird's wing—
For the fountain of the lonely fell—
And the maid who trod the heather-bell.

I came again—the heather-bell
Lay wither'd by the fountain's side ;
The north wind's wing had swept the dell,
And blighted was its flow'ry pride.
The gushing fount was lock'd in ice,
And still as death its wanton play ;
And silent was the song-bird's voice,
And she as silent too as they
Lay slumb'ring in that lonely dell,
Shrin'd by the wither'd heather-bell.