Served too in hastier swell to show Short glimpses of a breast of snow : To measured mood had train'd her pace,- Ne'er from the heath-flower dash'd the dew; E'en the slight hare-bell raised its head, What though upon her speech there hung Those silver sounds, so soft, so dear, The list'ner held his breath to hear. XIX. A Chieftain's daughter seem'd the maid; Her satin snood, her silken plaid, Her golden brooch, such birth betray'd. And seldom was a snood amid Such wild luxuriant ringlets hid, Whose glossy black to shame might bring The plumage of the raven's wing; And seldom o'er a breast so fair, Mantled a plaid with modest care, And never brooch the fold combined Gives back the shaggy banks more true, Or filial love was glowing there, Or meek devotion pour'd a prayer, Or tale of injury call'd forth The indignant spirit of the North. One only passion, unreveal'd, With maiden pride the maid conceal'd, XX. Impatient of the silent horn, : Now on the gale her voice was borne :- Loved to prolong the gentle sound. A while she paused, no answer came,— "Malcolm, was thine the blast ?" the name Less resolutely utter'd fell, The echoes could not catch the swell. "A stranger I," the Huntsman said, The maid, alarm'd, with hasty oar And when a space was gain'd between, (So forth the startled swan would swing, Not his the form, nor his the eye, That youthful maidens wont to fly. XXI. On his bold visage middle age Had slightly press'd its signet sage, And fiery vehemence of youth; Forward and frolic glee was there, The will to do, the soul to dare, The sparkling glance, soon blown to fire, Of hasty love, or headlong ire. His limbs were cast in manly mould, For hardy sport, or contest bold; And though in peaceful garb array'd, And weaponless, except his blade, His stately mien as well implied A high-born heart, a martial pride, As if a baron's crest he wore, And sheath'd in armour trod the shore. Slighting the petty need he show'd, He told of his benighted road; His ready speech flow'd fair and free, In phrase of gentlest courtesy ; Yet seem'd that tone, and gesture bland, Less used to sue than to command. XXII. A while the maid the Stranger eyed, "Nor think you unexpected come To yon lone isle, our desert home; Before the heath had lost the dew, On yonder mountain's purple head Have ptarmigan' and heath-cock bled, And our broad nets have swept the mere, To furnish forth your evening cheer." |