Merry it is in good greenwood,
When the mavis and merle are singing, But merrier were they in Dunfermline gray, When all the bells were ringing.
Just as the minstrel sounds were staid,
A stranger climb'd the steepy glade :
His martial step, his stately mien,
His hunting suit of Lincoln green,
His eagle glance, remembrance claims
'Tis Snowdoun's knight, 'tis James Fitz-James. Ellen beheld as in a dream,
Then, starting, scarce suppress'd a scream : "O stranger! in such hour of fear,
What evil hap has brought thee here?"
"An evil hap how can it be,
That bids me look again on thee?
By promise bound, my former guide
Met me betimes this morning tide,
And marshall'd, over bank and bourne,
The happy path of my return."-
"The happy path! what! said he nought
Of war, of battle to be fought,
Of guarded pass?"—"No, by my faith!
Nor saw I aught could augur scathe.".
"O haste thee, Allan, to the kern,
-Yonder his tartans I discern;
Learn thou his purpose, and conjure
That he will guide the stranger sure! —
What prompted thee, unhappy man?
The meanest serf in Roderick's clan
Had not been bribed by love or fear,
Unknown to him to guide thee here.”
"Sweet Ellen, dear my life must be, Since it is worthy care from thee; Yet life I hold but idle breath,
When love or honor's weigh'd with death. Then let me profit by my chance,
And speak my purpose bold at once.
I come to bear thee from a wild,
Where ne'er before such blossom smiled;
By this soft hand to lead thee far
From frantic scenes of feud and war.
Near Bochastle my horses wait:
They bear us soon to Stirling gate.
I'll place thee in a lovely bower,
I'll guard thee like a tender flower".
"O! hush, Sir Knight! 'twere female art,
To say I do not read thy heart;
Too much, before, my selfish ear
Was idly soothed my praise to hear.2
That fatal bait hath lured thee back,
In deathful hour, o'er dangerous track;
And how, O how, can I atone
The wreck my vanity brought on!-
One way remains - I'll tell him all
1 MS.- By Cambusmore my horses wait.
Was idly fond thy praise to hear.
Yes! struggling bosom, forth it shall!
Thou, whose light folly bears the blame,
Buy thine own pardon with thy shame!
my father is a man
Outlaw'd and exiled, under ban;
The price of blood is on his head,
With me 'twere infamy to wed. —
Still would'st thou speak?—then hear the truth!
Fitz-James, there is a noble youth
If yet he is! — exposed for me
And mine to dread extremity —
Thou hast the secret of my heart;
Forgive, be generous, and depart!"
Fitz-James knew every wily train
A lady's fickle heart to gain,
But here he knew and felt them vain.
There shot no glance from Ellen's eye,
To give her steadfast speech the lie;
In maiden confidence she stood,
Though mantled in her cheek the blood,
And told her love with such a sigh
Of deep and hopeless agony,
As death had seal'd her Malcolm's doom,
And she sat sorrowing on his tomb.
Hope vanish'd from Fitz-James' eye,
But not with hope fled sympathy.
He proffer'd to attend her side,
As brother would a sister guide.-
"O! little know'st thou Roderick's heart!
Safer for both we go apart.
O haste thee, and from Allan learn,
If thou may'st trust yon wily kern."
With hand upon his forehead laid,
The conflict of his mind to shade,
A parting step or two he made;
Then, as some thought had cross'd his brain,
He paused, and turn'd, and came again.
“Here, lady, yet, a parting word!
It chanced in fight that my poor sword
Preserved the life of Scotland's lord.
This ring the grateful monarch gave,1
And bade, when I had boon to crave,
To bring it back, and boldly claim
The recompense that I would name.
Ellen, I am no courtly lord,
But one who lives by lance and sword,
Whose castle is his helm and shield,
His lordship the embattled field.
What from a prince can I demand
Who neither reck of state nor land?
Ellen, thy hand — the ring is thine;
Each guard and usher knows the sign.
Seek thou the king without delay; 3
1 MS. This ring of gold the monarch gave.
the ring is thine.
"Seek thou the King, and on thy knee
Put forth thy suit, whate'er it be,
As ransom of his pledge to me;
My name and this shall make thy way."
He put the little signet on.
This signet shall secure thy way;
And claim thy suit, whate'er it be,
As ransom of his pledge to me."
He placed the golden circlet on,
Paused-kiss'd her hand-and then was gone. The aged Minstrel stood aghast,
So hastily Fitz-James shot past.
He joined his guide, and winding down
The ridges of the mountain brown,
Across the stream they took their way,
That joins Loch Katrine to Achray.
All in the Trosach's glen was still,
Noontide was sleeping on the hill:
Sudden his guide whoop'd loud and high-
"Murdoch! was that a signal cry?"
He stammer'd forth, "I shout to scare 1
Yon raven from his dainty fare."
He look'd he knew the raven's prey,
His own brave steed:—“Ah! gallant gray! For thee for me, perchance — 'twere well We ne'er had seen the Trosach's dell.
Whistle or whoop, and thou shalt die!"
Jealous and sullen on they fared,
Each silent, each upon his guard.
1 MS.-He stammer'd forth confused reply:
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