This little flower, that loves the lea,
May well my simple emblem be;

It drinks heaven's dew as blithe as rose1
That in the king's own garden grows;
And when I place it in my hair,
Allan, a bard is bound to swear
He ne'er saw coronet so fair."
Then playfully the chaplet wild

She wreath'd in her dark locks, and smiled.

X.

Her smile, her speech, with winning sway,
Wiled the old harper's mood away.

With such a look as hermits throw,
When angels stoop to soothe their woe,
He gazed, till fond regret and pride
Thrill'd to a tear, then thus replied:
"Loveliest and best! thou little know'st
The rank, the honours, thou hast lost!
O might I live to see thee grace,

In Scotland's court, thy birth-right place,
To see my favourite's step advance, 2
The lightest in the courtly dance,
The cause of every gallant's sigh,
And leading star of every eye,
And theme of every minstrel's art,
The Lady of the Bleeding Heart!"—3

[MS.-"No blither dew-drop cheers the rose."] 2 [This couplet is not in the MS.]

The well-known cognizance of the Douglas family.

XI.

1

"Fair dreams are these," the maiden cried,
(Light was her accent, yet she sigh'd ;)
"Yet is this mossy rock to me
Worth splendid chair and canopy ;'
Nor would my footsteps spring more gay
In courtly dance than blythe strathspey,
Nor half so pleased mine ear incline
To royal minstrel's lay as thine.
And then for suitors proud and high,
To bend before my conquering eye,—
Thou, flattering bard! thyself wilt say,
That grim Sir Roderick owns its sway.
The Saxon scourge, Clan-Alpine's pride,
The terror of Loch Lomond's side,
Would, at my suit, thou know'st, delay
A Lennox foray-for a day."-

XII.

The ancient bard his glee repress'd : "Ill hast thou chosen theme for jest!

For who, through all this western wild, Named Black Sir Roderick e'er, and smiled! In Holy-Rood a knight he slew; 2

I saw, when back the dirk he drew,

1 [MS.-"This mossy rock, my friend, to me

Is worth gay chair and canopy."]

[See Appendix, Note C.]

Courtiers give place before the stride

Of the undaunted homicide;1

And since, though outlaw'd, hath his hand,
Full sternly kept his mountain land.

Who else dare give-ah! woe the day,"
That I such hated truth should say—
The Douglas, like a stricken deer,
Disown'd by every noble peer,3
Even the rude refuge we have here?

1 [MS.-"Courtiers gave place with heartless stride Of the retiring homicide."]

[MS.-"Who else dared own the kindred claim

That bound him to thy mother's name?

Who else dared give," &c.,

3 The exiled state of this powerful race is not exaggerated in this and subsequent passages. The hatred of James against the race of Douglas was so inveterate, that numerous as their allies were, and disregarded as the regal authority had usually been in similar cases, their nearest friends, even in the most remote parts of Scotland, durst not entertain them, unless under the strictest and closest disguise. James Douglas, son of the ba nished Earl of Angus, afterwards well known by the title of Earl of Morton, lurked, during the exile of his family, in the north of Scotland, under the assumed name of James Innes, otherwise James the Grieve, (i. e. Reve or Bailiff). "And as he bore the name," says Godscroft, "so did he also execute the office of a grieve or overseer of the lands and rents, the corn and cattle of him with whom he lived." From the habits of frugality and observation which he acquired in his humble situation, the historian traces that intimate acquaintance with popular character, which enabled him to rise so high in the state, and that honourable economy by which he repaired and established the shattered estates of Angus and Morton.-History of the House of Douglas. Edinburgh, 1743, vol. ii. p. 160.

Alas, this wild marauding Chief
Alone might hazard our relief,
And now thy maiden charms expand,
Looks for his guerdon in thy hand;
Full soon may dispensation sought,
To back his suit from Rome be brought.
Then, though an exile on the hill,
Thy father, as the Douglas, still
Be held in reverence and fear;

And though to Roderick thou'rt so dear,
That thou mightst guide with silken thread,
Slave of thy will, this chieftain dread;
Yet, O loved maid, thy mirth refrain !
Thy hand is on a lion's mane."-

XIII.

"Minstrel," the maid replied, and high
Her father's soul glanced from her eye,
"My debts to Roderick's house I know:
All that a mother could bestow,
To lady Margaret's care I owe,
Since first an orphan in the wild
She sorrow'd o'er her sister's child;
To her brave chieftain son, from ire
Of Scotland's king who shrouds my sire.
A deeper, holier debt is owed;

And, could I pay it with my blood,
Allan! Sir Roderick should command

My blood, my life,—but not my hand.

Rather will Ellen Douglas dwell
A votaress in Maronnan's cell;1
Rather through realms beyond the sea,
Seeking the world's cold charity,
Where ne'er was spoke a Scottish word,
And ne'er the name of Douglas heard,
An outcast pilgrim will she rove,

Than wed the man she cannot love.2

XIV.

"Thou shakest, good friend, thy tresses greyThat pleading look, what can it say

But what I own?—I grant him brave,

But wild as Bracklinn's thundering wave;3

1 The parish of Kilmaronock, at the eastern extremity of Loch-Lomond, derives its name from a cell or chapel, dedicated to Saint Maronoch, or Marnoch, or Maronnan, about whose sanctity very little is now remembered. There is a fountain devoted to him in the same parish; but its virtues, like the merits of its patron, have fallen into oblivion.

2 ["Ellen is most exquisitely drawn, and could not have been improved by contrast. She is beautiful, frank, affectionate, rational, and playful, combining the innocence of a child with the elevated sentiments and courage of a heroine."—Quarterly Review.]

3 This is a beautiful cascade made by a mountain stream called the Keltie, at a place called the Bridge of Bracklinn, about a mile from the village of Callendar in Menteith. Above a chasm, where the brook precipitates itself from a height of at least fifty feet, there is thrown, for the convenience of the neighbourhood, a rustic footbridge, of about three feet in breadth, and without ledges, which is scarcely to be crossed by a stranger without awe and apprehension.