Smiled she to see the stately drake
Lead forth his fleet upon the lake,
While her vexed spaniel from the beach
Bayed at the prize beyond his reach?
Yet tell me, then, the maid who knows,
Why deepened on her cheek the rose? -
Forgive, forgive, Fidelity!

Perchance the maiden smiled to see
Yon parting lingerer wave adieu,
And stop and turn to wave anew;
And, lovely ladies, ere your ire

Condemn the heroine of my lyre,
Show me the fair would scorn to spy
And prize such conquest of her eye!

VI.

While yet he loitered on the spot,
It seemed as Ellen marked him not;

But when he turned him to the glade,
One courteous parting sign she made;
And after, oft the knight would say,
That not when prize of festal day
Was dealt him by the brightest fair
Who e'er wore jewel in her hair,
So highly did his bosom swell
As at that simple mute farewell.
Now with a trusty mountain-guide,
And his dark stag-hounds by his side,
He parts, the maid, unconscious still,
Watched him wind slowly round the hill ;

70

75

80*

85

90

95

But when his stately form was hid,
The guardian in her bosom chid, -
"Thy Malcolm! vain and selfish maid!"
'Twas thus upbraiding conscience said, -
"Not so had Malcolm idly hung
On the smooth phrase of Southern tongue;
Not so had Malcolm strained his eye
Another step than thine to spy." -
"Wake, Allan-bane," aloud she cried
To the old minstrel by her side,
"Arouse thee from thy moody dream!
I'll give thy harp heroic theme,
And warm thee with a noble name;
Pour forth the glory of the Græme!"
Scarce from her lip the word had rushed,
When deep the conscious maiden blushed;
For of his clan, in hall and bower,

Young Malcolm Græme was held the flower.

100

105

110 VII.

The minstrel waked his harp, - three times
Arose the well-known martial chimes,
And thrice their high heroic pride
In melancholy murmurs died.

115

"Vainly thou bidst, O noble maid,"

Clasping his withered hands, he said,
"Vainly thou bidst me wake the strain,

120

Though all unwont to bid in vain.

Alas! than mine a mightier hand

Has tuned my harp, my strings has spanned!

And such the sounds which, while I strove

To wake a lay of war or love,

Came marring all the festal mirth,

Appalling me who gave them birth,

Or aught but weal to Ellen fair
Brood in these accents of despair,
No future bard, sad Harp! shall fling
Triumph or rapture from thy string;
One short, one final strain shall flow,
Fraught with unutterable woe,
Then shivered shall thy fragments lie,
Thy master cast him down and die!"

150 IX.

Soothing she answered him: "Assuage,
Mine honored friend, the fears of age;
All melodies to thee are known

That harp has rung or pipe has blown,
In Lowland vale or Highland glen,
From Tweed to Spey - what marvel, then,
At times unbidden notes should rise,
Confusedly bound in memory's ties,
Entangling, as they rush along,
The war-march with the funeral song? -
Small ground is now for boding fear;
Obscure, but safe, we rest us here.
My sire, in native virtue great,
Resigning lordship, lands, and state,
Not then to fortune more resigned
Than yonder oak might give the wind;
The graceful foliage storms may reave,
The noble stem they cannot grieve.

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160

165

170

For me" - she stooped, and, looking round,
Plucked a blue harebell from the ground,
"For me, whose memory scarce conveys