His steed now flounders in the brake,

Now sinks his barge upon the lake ;
Now leader of a broken host,

His standard falls, his honour's lost.

Then,-from my couch may heavenly might
Chase that worst phantom of the night!-
Again returned the scenes of youth,

Of confident undoubting truth ;

Again his soul he interchanged.

With friends whose hearts were long estranged.

They come, in dim procession led,

The cold, the faithless, and the dead;

As warm each hand, each brow as gay,
As if they parted yesterday.

And doubt distracts him at the view,

O were his senses false or true!

Dreamed he of death, or broken vow,

Or is it all a vision now!

F

XXXIV. ·

At length, with Ellen in a grove,
He seemed to walk and speak of love;
She listened with a blush and sigh,
His suit was warm, his hopes were high.
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,
Recalled the vision of the night;

The hearth's decaying brands were red,
And deep and dusky lustre shed,
Half shewing, half concealing all

The uncouth trophies of the hall.

Mid those the stranger fixed his eye

Where that huge faulchion hung on high, And thoughts on thoughts, a countless throng, Rushed, chasing countless thoughts along, Until, the giddy whirl to cure,

He rose, and sought the moon-shine pure.

XXXV.

The wild rose, eglantine, and broom,
Wasted around their rich perfume;
The birch-trees wept in fragrant balm,
The aspens slept beneath the calm;
The silver light, with quivering glance,
Played on the water's still expanse ;
Wild were the heart whose passion's sway
Could rage beneath the sober ray.

He felt its calm, that warrior guest,

While thus he communed with his breast:

66

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 fevered dream,
But still the Douglas is the theme ?—
I'll dream no more---by manly mind
Not even in sleep is will resigned.
My midnight orison said o'er,

I'll turn to rest, and dream no more."
His midnight orison he told,

A prayer with every bead of gold,
Consigned to heaven his cares and woes,
And sunk in undisturbed repose;
Untill the heath-cock shrilly crew,
And morning dawned on Benvenue.

END OF CANTO FIRST.

THE

LADY OF THE LAKE.

CANTO SECOND.

The Island.