O loversâ€™ eyes are sharp to see, And loversâ€™ ears in hearing; And love, in lifeâ€™s extremity, Can lend an hour of cheering. Disease had been in Maryâ€™s bower And slow decay from mourning, Though now she sits on Neidpathâ€™s tower To watch her Loveâ€™s returning.
All sunk and dim her eyes so bright, Her form decayâ€™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.
Yet keenest powers to see and hear Seemâ€™d in her frame residing; Before the watch-dog prickâ€™d his ear She heard her loverâ€™s riding; Ere scarce a distant form was kennâ€™d She knew and waved to greet him, And oâ€™er the battlement did bend As on the wing to meet him.
He cameâ€”he passâ€™dâ€”an heedless gaze As oâ€™er some stranger glancing: Her welcome, spoke in faltering phrase, Lost in his courserâ€™s prancingâ€” The castle-arch, whose hollow tone Returns each whisper spoken, Could scarcely catch the feeble moan Which told her heart was broken.