And from his deadliest foeman's door

Unquestion'd turn, the banquet o'er.

At length his rank the Stranger names,

"The knight of Snowdoun, James Fitz-James; Lord of a barren heritage,

Which his brave sires, from age to age,

By their good swords had held with toil;

His sire had fallen in such turmoil,

And he, God wot, was forced to stand

Oft for his right with blade in hand.
This morning with Lord Moray's train
He chased a stalwart stag in vain,

Out-stripped his comrades, missed the deer,

Lost his good steed, and wandered here."

XXX.

Fain would the Knight in turn require

The name and state of Ellen's sire;

Well shewed the elder lady's mien,

That courts and cities she had seen;

Ellen, though more her looks displayed
The simple grace of sylvan maid,

In speech and gesture, form and face,

Shewed she was come of gentle race;

'Twere strange in ruder rank to find
Such looks, such manners, and such mind.
Each hint the Knight of Snowdoun gave,
Dame Margaret heard with silence grave;
Or Ellen, innocently gay,

Turned all inquiry light away :

"Wierd women we! by dale and down,

We dwell afar from tower and town.

We stem the flood, we ride the blast,

On wandering knights our spells we cast; While viewless minstrels touch the string, sing."

'Tis thus our charmed rhymes we She sung, and still a harp unseen

Filled up the symphony between.

XXXI.

Song.

"Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er,

Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking;

Dream of battled fields no more,

Days of danger, nights of waking.

In our isle's enchanted hall,

Hands unseen thy couch are strewing,

Fairy strains of music fall,

Every sense in slumber dewing.

Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er,

Dream of fighting fields no more;

Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking,
Morn of toil, nor night of waking.

"No rude sound shall reach thine ear,

Armour's clang, or war-steed champing,

Trump nor pibroch summon here

Mustering clan, or squadron tramping.

Yet the lark's shrill fife

may come

At the day-break from the fallow,

And the bittern sound his drum,

Booming from the sedgy shallow.

Ruder sounds shall none be near,
Guards nor warders challenge here,

Here's no war-steed's neigh and champing,

Shouting clans or squadrons stamping."—

"Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done,

While our slumbrous spells assail

Dream not, with the rising sun,

Bugles here shall sound reveillie.

ye,

Sleep! thy hounds are by thee lying ;

Sleep! nor dream in yonder glen,

How thy gallant steed lay dying. Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done, Think not of the rising sun,

For at dawning to assail ye,

Here no bugles sound reveillie."

XXXIII.

The hall was cleared-the Stranger's bed

Was there of mountain heather spread,
Where oft an hundred guests had lain,

And dreamed their forest sports again.
But vainly did the heath-flower shed
Its moorland fragrance round his head;
Not Ellen's spell had lulled to rest
The fever of his troubled breast.
In broken dreams the image rose
Of varied perils, pains, and woes;