Ours is no sapling, chance-sown by the fountain,
Blooming at Beltane, in winter to fade;

When the whirlwind has stripped every leaf on the

mountain,

The more shall Clan Alpine exult in her shade.

Moored in the rifted rock,

Proof to the tempest's shock,

Firmer he roots him the ruder it blow;

Menteith and Breadalbane, then,

Echo his praise again,

"Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!"

xx.

Proudly our pibroch has thrilled in Glen Fruin,
And Bannochar's groans to our slogan replied ;
Glen Luss and Ross-dhu, they are smoking in ruin,
And the best of Loch Lomond lie dead on her side.
Widow and Saxon maid

Long shall lament our raid,

410

415

420

Think of Clan-Alpine with fear and with woe; 425 Lennox and Leven-glen

Shake when they hear again,

"Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!"

Row, vassals, row, for the pride of the Highlands!
Stretch to your oars for the ever-green Pine!
O that the rosebud that graces yon islands
Were wreathed in a garland around him to twine!

O that some seedling gem,

Worthy such noble stem,

430

Honored and blessed in their shadow might grow! 435

Loud should Clan-Alpine then

Ring from her deepmost glen,

"Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!"

XXI.

With all her joyful female band
Had Lady Margaret sought the strand.

440

Loose on the breeze their tresses flew,
And high their snowy arms they threw,
As echoing back with shrill acclaim,
And chorus wild, the Chieftain's name,
While, prompt to please, with mother's art,

445

The darling passion of his heart,
The dame called Ellen to the strand,
To greet her kinsman ere he land:
"Come, loiterer, come! a Douglas thou,
And shun to wreathe a victor's brow?"

Reluctantly and slow, the maid
The unwelcome summoning obeyed,
And when a distant bugle rung,
In the mid-path aside she sprung:
"List, Allan-bane! From mainland cast

I hear my father's signal blast.

Be ours," she cried, "the skiff to guide,
And waft him from the mountain-side."

450

455

Then, like a sunbeam, swift and bright,
She darted to her shallop light,
And, eagerly while Roderick scanned,
For her dear form, his mother's band,

The islet far behind her lay,
And she had landed in the bay.

XXII.

Some feelings are to mortals given
With less of earth in them than heaven;
And if there be a human tear
From passion's dross refined and clear,
A tear so limpid and so meek
It would not stain an angel's cheek,
'Tis that which pious fathers shed
Upon a duteous daughter's head!
And as the Douglas to his breast
His darling Ellen closely pressed,
Such holy drops her tresses steeped,
Though 'twas an hero's eye that weeped.
Nor while on Ellen's faltering tongue
Her filial welcomes crowded hung,
Marked she that fear - affection's proof -

Still held a graceful youth aloof;
No! not till Douglas named his name,

Although the youth was Malcolm Græme.

XXIII.

Allan, with wistful look the while,
Marked Roderick landing on the isle,

460

465

470

475

480

His master piteously he eyed,

485

Then gazed upon the Chieftain's pride,

Then dashed with hasty hand away
From his dimmed eye the gathering spray;

And Douglas, as his hand he laid

On Malcolm's shoulder, kindly said:

490

"Canst thou, young friend, no meaning spy

In my poor follower's glistening eye?

I'll tell thee: - he recalls the day

When in my praise he led the lay
O'er the arched gate of Bothwell proud,
While many a minstrel answered loud,
When Percy's Norman pennon, won
In bloody field, before me shone,
And twice ten knights, the least a name
As mighty as yon Chief may claim,
Gracing my pomp, behind me came.
Yet trust me, Malcolm, not so proud
Was I of all that marshalled crowd,

495

500

Though the waned crescent owned my might,
And in my train trooped lord and knight,
Though Blantyre hymned her holiest lays,
And Bothwell's bards flung back my praise,
As when this old man's silent tear,

505

And this poor maid's affection dear,
A welcome give more kind and true
Than aught my better fortunes knew.

510

Forgive, my friend, a father's boast, -
O, it out-beggars all I lost!"

XXIV.

Delightful praise! - like summer rose,
That brighter in the dew-drop glows,
The bashful maiden's cheek appeared,
For Douglas spoke, and Malcolm heard.
The flush of shame-faced joy to hide,
The hounds, the hawk, her cares divide;

515

The loved caresses of the maid
The dogs with crouch and whimper paid;
And, at her whistle, on her hand
The falcon took his favorite stand,
Closed his dark wing, relaxed his eye,
Nor, though unhooded, sought to fly.
And, trust, while in such guise she stood,
Like fabled Goddess of the wood,

520

525

That if a father's partial thought
O'erweighed her worth and beauty aught,
Well might the lover's judgment fail
To balance with a juster scale;
For with each secret glance he stole,
The fond enthusiast sent his soul.

xxv.

Of stature fair, and slender frame,
But firmly knit, was Malcolm Græme.

530

535