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He sought her yielded hand to clasp,
And a cold gauntlet met his grasp :
The phantom's sex was changed and gone,
Upon its head a helmet shone ;
Slowly enlarged to giant size,
With darkened cheek and threatening eyes,
The grisly visage, stern and hoar,
To Ellen still a likeness bore.-
He woke, and, panting with affright,
Recall’d the vision of the night.'
The hearth's decaying brands were red,
And deep and dusky lustre shed,
Half showing, half concealing, all
The uncouth trophies of the hall.
Mid those the Stranger fix'd his eye
Where that huge falchion hung on high,
And thoughts on thoughts, a countless throng,
Rush'd, chasing countless thoughts along,
Until, the giddy whirl to cure,
He rose, and sought the moonshine pure.


The wild-rose, eglantine, and broom’

["Such a strange and romantic dream as may be naturally expected to flow from the extraordinary events of the past day. It might, perhaps, be quoted as one of Mr. Scott's most successful efforts in descriptive poetry. Some few lines of it are indeed unrivalled for delicacy and melancholy tenderness."-Critical Review.) ( MS.-"Play'd on

{the bosom of the lake,

Loch Katrine's still expanse ;


Wasted around their rich perfume :
The birch-trees wept in fragrant balm,
The aspens slept beneath the calm ;
The silver light, with quivering glance,
Play'd on the water's still expanse,
Wild were the heart whose passions' sway
Could rage beneath the sober ray!
He felt its calm, that warrior guest,
While thus he communed with his breast :
" Why is it, at each turn I trace
Some memory of that exiled race ?
Can I not mountain-maiden spy,
But she must bear the Douglas eye ?
Can I not view a Highland brand,
But it must match the Douglas hand ?
Can I not frame a fever'd dream,
But still the Douglas is the theme ?
I'll dream no more—by manly mind
Not even in sleep is will resign’d.
My midnight orisons said o’er,
I'll turn to rest, and dream no more.”
His midnight orisons he told,
A prayer with every bead of gold,

The birch, the wild-rose, and the broom,
Wasted around their rich perfume ..
The birch-trees wept io balmy dew;
The aspen slept on Benvenue;
Wild were the heart whose passions' power
Defied tbe influence of the hour." ]

Consign'd to heaven his cares and woes,
And sunk in undisturb’d repose ;
Until the heath-cock shrilly crew,
And morning dawn’d on Benvenue.

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