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O that some seedling gem, Worthy such noble stem, Honour’d and bless'd in their shadow might grow ! Loud should Clan-Alpine then Ring from his deepmost glen, * Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!”.'
i [“However we may dislike the geographical song and chorus, half English and half Erse, which is sung in praise of the warrior, we must allow that, in other respects, the hero of a poem has seldom, if ever, been introduced with finer effect, or in a manner better calculated to excite the expectations of the reader, than on the present occasion.”—Critical Review.]
2 [MS.—“The chorus to the chieftain's fame.”]
Her filial welcomes crowded hung,
XXIII. Allan, with wistful look the while, Mark'd Roderick landing on the isle; His master piteously he eyed, Then gazed upon the Chieftain's pride, Then dash'd, with hasty hand, away From his dimm'd eye the gathering spray; And Douglas, as his hand he laid On Malcolm's shoulder, kindly said, “Canst thou, young friend, no meaning spy In my poor follower's glistening eye * I'll tell thee:-he recalls the day, When in my praise he led the lay O'er the arch'd gate of Bothwell proud, While many a minstrel answer'd loud, When Percy's Norman pennon won In bloody field, before me shone, And twice ten knights, the least a name As mighty as yon Chief may claim, Gracing my pomp, behind me came.
No! not till Douglas named his name,
Yet trust me, Malcolm, not so proud
XXIV. Delightful praise!—Like summer rose, That brighter in the dew-drop glows, The bashful maiden's cheek appear'd, For Douglas spoke, and Malcolm heard. The flush of shamefaced joy to hide, The hounds, the hawk, her cares divide; The loved caresses of the maid The dogs with crouch and whimper paid;' And, at her whistle, on her hand The falcon took his favourite stand, Closed his dark wing, relax’d his eye, Nor, though unhooded, sought to fly. And, trust, while in such guise she stood, Ilike fabled Goddess of the Wood,”
That if a father's partial thought
Of stature tall, and slender frame, But firmly knit, was Malcolm Graeme, The belted plaid and tartan hose Did ne'er more graceful limbs disclose ; His flaxen hair of sunny hue, Curl’d closely round his bonnet blue. Train’d to the chase, his eagle eye The ptarmigan in snow could spy : Each pass, by mountain, lake, and heath, He knew, through Lennox and Menteith : . Vain" was the bound of dark-brown doe, When Malcolm bent his sounding bow, And scarce that doe, though wing'd with fear, Outstripp'd in speed the mountaineer: Right up Ben-Lomond could he press, And not a sob his toil confess. His form accorded with a mind Lively and ardent, frank and kind; A blither heart, till Ellen came, | Did never love nor sorrow tame ;
It danced as lightsome in his breast,
As play'd the feather on his crest.