The boat now touched the shore, where a crowd of spectators were assembled—some watching from the top of the high cliff, and others idly gazing upon the sea. The figure of Elinor distinctly appeared amongst the former, as bending forward, she eagerly watched for Glenarvon. Her hat and plume distinguished her from the crowd; and the harp, her constant companion, sounded at intervals on the breeze, in long and melancholy cadences. Her dark wild eye fixed itself upon him as he approached. “It is my false lover,” she said, and shrieked. “Hasten, dearest Calantha,” he cried, “from this spot, where we are so much observed. That wretched girl may, perhaps, follow us. Hasten; for see with what rapidity she advances.” “Let her come,” replied Calantha. “I am too miserable myself to turn from those that are unhappy.” Elinor approached: she gazed on them as they passed: she strained her eyes to catch one last glimpse of Glenarvon as he turned the path. Many of his friends, retainers and followers were near. He bowed to all with gracious courtesy; but upon Elinor he never cast his eyes. “He’s gone!” she cried, shouting loudly, and addressing herself to her lawless associates, in the language they admired. “He is gone; and peace be with him; for he is the leader of the brave.” They now passed on in silence to the castle; but Elinor, returning to her harp, struck the chords with enthusiasm, whilst the caverns of the mountains re-echoed to the strain. The crowd who had followed loudly applauded, joining in the chorus to the well-known sound of “Erin m’avourneen—Erin go brah.” CHAPTER LXXIII. The moment of enthusiasm was past; the setting sun warned every straggler and passenger to return. Some had a far distant home to seek; others had left their wives or their children. Elinor turned from the golden light which illuminated the west, and gazed in agony upon the gloomy battlements of St. Alvin Priory, yet resplendent with the last parting ray. Of all who followed her, few only now remained to watch her steps. She bade them meet her at the cavern at the accustomed hour. She was weary, and feigned that till then she would sleep. This she did to disembarrass herself of them. Upon raising herself after a little time, they were gone. It was dark—it was lonely. She sat and mused upon the cliff, till the pale moon broke through the clouds, and tipped every wave with its soft and silvery light.—“The moon shines bright and fair,” she said: “the shadows pass over it. Will my lover come again to me? It is thy voice, Glenarvon, which sings sweetly and mournfully in the soft breeze of night.” My heart’s fit to break, yet no tear fills my eye, As I gaze on the moon, and the clouds that flit by. The moon shines so fair, it reminds me of thee; But the clouds that obscure it, are emblems of me.