Where is the Douglas? - he is gone;
And Ellen sits on the gray stone
Fast by the cave, and makes her moan;
While vainly Allan's words of cheer
Are pour'd on her unheeding ear.—
Dear lady, trust !
With joy return; - he will he must.
Well was it time to seek, afar,
Some refuge from impending war,
When e'en Clan-Alpine's rugged swarm
Are cow'd by the approaching storm.
I saw their boats, with many a light,
Floating the livelong yesternight,
Shifting like flashes darted forth
By the red streamers of the north;
I mark'd at morn how close they ride,
Thick moor'd by the lone islet's side,
Like wild ducks couching in the fen,
When stoops the hawk upon the glen.
Since this rude race dare not abide
The peril on the mainland side,
Shall not thy noble father's care
Some safe retreat for thee prepare?'
My wakeful terrors could not blind.
1 "Red streamers," etc., i.e., the aurora borealis.
When in such tender tone, yet grave,
Douglas a parting blessing gave,
The tear that glisten'd in his eye
Drown'd not his purpose fix'd and high.
My soul, though feminine and weak,
Can image his; e'en as the lake,
Itself disturb'd by slightest stroke,
Reflects the invulnerable rock.
He hears report of battle rife,
He deems himself the cause of strife.
I saw him redden, when the theme
Turn'd, Allan, on thine idle dream
Of Malcolm Græme in fetters bound,
Which I, thou saidst, about him wound.
Think'st thou he trow'd1 thine omen aught?
Oh no! 'twas apprehensive thought
For the kind youth,- for Roderick too
(Let me be just) that friend so true;
In danger both, and in our cause !
Minstrel, the Douglas dare not pause.
Why else that solemn warning given,
'If not on earth, we meet in heaven ?'
Why else, to Cambus-kenneth's fane,2
If eve return him not again,
Am I to hie, and make me known?
Alas! he goes to Scotland's throne,
Buys his friend's safety with his own;
He goes to do-what I had done,
Had Douglas' daughter been his son !"-
"Nay, lovely Ellen !—dearest, nay!
If aught should his return delay,
2 An abbey or church. This abbey is not far from Stirling.
He only named yon holy fane
As fitting place to meet again.
Be sure he's safe; and for the Græme, -
Heaven's blessing on his gallant name !
My vision'd sight may yet prove true,
Nor bode1 of ill to him or you.
When did my gifted dream beguile ? 3
Think of the stranger at the isle,
And think upon the harpings slow,
That presaged this approaching woe!
Sooth was my prophecy of fear;
Believe it when it augurs cheer.
Would we had left this dismal spot!
Ill luck still haunts a fairy grot.
Of such a wondrous tale I know
Dear lady, change that look of woe,
My harp was wont thy grief to cheer."-
"Well, be it as thou wilt; I hear,
But cannot stop the bursting tear."
The Minstrel tried his simple art,
But distant far was Ellen's heart.
Merry it is in the good greenwood,
When the mavis and merle 5 are singing,
When the deer sweeps by, and the hounds are in cry,
And the hunter's horn is ringing.
"O Alice Brand, my native land
Is lots for love of you;
And we must hold by wood and wold,1
As outlaws wont to do.
"O Alice, 'twas all for thy locks so bright,
And 'twas all for thine eyes so blue,
That on the night of our luckless flight,
Thy brother bold I slew.
"Now must I teach to hew the beech
The hand that held the glaive,
For leaves to spread our lowly bed,
And stakes to fence our cave.
"And for vest of pall,2 thy finger small,
That wont on harp to stray,
A cloak must shear from the slaughter'd deer,
To keep the cold away."—
“O Richard! if my brother died,
'Twas but a fatal chance;
For darkling was the battle tried,
And fortune sped the lance.
"If pall and vair 4 no more I wear,
Nor thou the crimson sheen,
As warm, we'll say, is the russet 5 gray,
As gay the forest-green.6
Still Alice has her own Richard,
And he his Alice Brand."
'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good greenwood, So blithe Lady Alice is singing;
On the beech's pride, and oak's brown side, Lord Richard's ax is ringing.
Like wind in the porch of a ruin'd church,
His voice was ghostly shrill.
yon stroke on beech and oak,
Our moonlight circle's screen?
Or who comes here to chase the deer,
Beloved of our Elfin Queen?
Or who may dare on wold to wear
The fairies' fatal green!
"Up, Urgan, up! to yon mortal hie,
For thou wert christen'd man;
For cross or sign thou wilt not fly,
For mutter'd word or ban.
"Lay on him the curse of the wither'd heart, The curse of the sleepless eye;
Till he wish and pray that his life would part, Nor yet find leave to die.”
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