He spoke, and on the harp-strings died The strains of flattery and of pride; More soft, more low, more tender fell The lay of love he bade them tell. IV. "Wake, Maid of Lorn! the moments fly, By Fear, thy bosom's fluttering guest, "Wake, Edith, wake! in yonder bay Lies many a galley gaily mann'd, We hear the merry pibrochs play, We see the streamers' silken band. What Chieftain's praise these pibrochs swell, What crest is on these banners wove, The harp, the Minstrel, dare not tell The riddle must be read by Love." V. Retired her maiden train among, Edith of Lorn received the song, But tamed the Minstrel's pride had been The glow of pride when Flattery spoke, In skill to deck the princely bride. While on the ancle's slender round Those strings of pearl fair Bertha wound, To shew the form it seem'd to hide, Its waves of crimson blent with gold. VI. O! lives there now so cold a maid, • In the bright mirror pictured true, And not one dimple on her cheek A tell-tale consciousness bespeak? Lives still such maid?-Fair damsels, say, For further vouches not my lay, Save that such lived in Britain's isle, When Lorn's bright Edith scorn'd to smile. VII. But Morag, to whose fostering care Proud Lorn had given his daughter fair, By all a daughter's love repaid, (Strict was that bond-most kind of all— Inviolate in Highland hall—) (Form of some sainted patroness) Which cloister'd maids combine to dress; She mark'd-and knew her nursling's heart In the vain pomp took little part. Wistful a while she gazed-then press'd The maiden to her anxious breast In finish'd loveliness-and led To where a turret's airy head, VIII. "Daughter," she said," these seas behold, Round twice an hundred islands roll'd, From Hirt, that hears their northern roar, To the green Ilay's fertile shore; Or mainland turn, where many a tower Owns thy bold brother's feudal power. |