THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. Walter Scott

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       I see him yet, the princely boy!

       Not Ellen more my pride and joy;

       I love him still, despite my wrongs

       By hasty wrath and slanderous tongues.

       O. seek the grace you well may find,

       Without a cause to mine combined!’

       XXXIII

      Twice through the hall the Chieftain strode;

       The waving of his tartars broad,

       And darkened brow, where wounded pride

       With ire and disappointment vied

       Seemed, by the torch’s gloomy light,

       Like the ill Demon of the night,

       Stooping his pinions’ shadowy sway

       Upon the righted pilgrim’s way:

       But, unrequited Love! thy dart

       Plunged deepest its envenomed smart,

       And Roderick, with thine anguish stung,

       At length the hand of Douglas wrung,

       While eyes that mocked at tears before

       With bitter drops were running o’er.

       The death-pangs of long-cherished hope

       Scarce in that ample breast had scope

       But, struggling with his spirit proud,

       Convulsive heaved its checkered shroud,

       While every sob—so mute were all

       Was heard distinctly through the ball.

       The son’s despair, the mother’s look,

       III might the gentle Ellen brook;

       She rose, and to her side there came,

       To aid her parting steps, the Graeme.

       XXXIV

      Then Roderick from the Douglas broke—

       As flashes flame through sable smoke,

       Kindling its wreaths, long, dark, and low,

       To one broad blaze of ruddy glow,

       So the deep anguish of despair

       Burst, in fierce jealousy, to air.

       With stalwart grasp his hand he laid

       On Malcolm’s breast and belted plaid:

       ‘Back, beardless boy!’ he sternly said,

       ‘Back, minion! holdst thou thus at naught

       The lesson I so lately taught?

       This roof, the Douglas. and that maid,

       Thank thou for punishment delayed.’

       Eager as greyhound on his game,

       Fiercely with Roderick grappled Graeme.

       ‘Perish my name, if aught afford

       Its Chieftain safety save his sword!’

       Thus as they strove their desperate hand

       Griped to the dagger or the brand,

       And death had been—but Douglas rose,

       And thrust between the struggling foes

       His giant strength:—’ Chieftains, forego!

       I hold the first who strikes my foe.—

       Madmen, forbear your frantic jar!

       What! is the Douglas fallen so far,

       His daughter’s hand is deemed the spoil

       Of such dishonorable broil?’

       Sullen and slowly they unclasp,

       As struck with shame, their desperate grasp,

       And each upon his rival glared,

       With foot advanced and blade half bared.

       XXXV

      Ere yet the brands aloft were flung,

       Margaret on Roderick’s mantle hung,

       And Malcolm heard his Ellen’s scream,

       As faltered through terrific dream.

       Then Roderick plunged in sheath his sword,

       And veiled his wrath in scornful word:’

       Rest safe till morning; pity ‘t were

       Such cheek should feel the midnight air!

       Then mayst thou to James Stuart tell,

       Roderick will keep the lake and fell,

       Nor lackey with his freeborn clan

       The pageant pomp of earthly man.

       More would he of Clan-Alpine know,

       Thou canst our strength and passes show.—

       Malise, what ho!’—his henchman came:

       ‘Give our safeconduct to the Graeme.’

       Young Malcolm answered, calm and bold:’

       Fear nothing for thy favorite hold;

       The spot an angel deigned to grace

       Is blessed, though robbers haunt the place.

       Thy churlish courtesy for those

       Reserve, who fear to be thy foes.

       As safe to me the mountain way

       At midnight as in blaze of day,

       Though with his boldest at his back

       Even Roderick Dhu beset the track.—

       Brave Douglas,—lovely Ellen,—nay,

       Naught here of parting will I say.

       Earth does not hold a lonesome glen

       So secret but we meet again.—

       Chieftain! we too shall find an hour,’—

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