No, never! Blasted be yon pine,

My father's ancient crest, and mine,

If from its shade in danger part

The lineage of the Bleeding Heart!

Hear my blunt speech grant me this maid

To wife, thy counsel to mine aid ;

To Douglas, leagued with Roderick Dhu, Will friends and allies flock énow;

Like cause of doubt, distrust, and grief,

Will bind to us each Western Chief.

When the loud pipes my bridal tell,
The Links of Forth shall hear the knell,
The guards shall start in Stirling's porch;

And, when I light the nuptial torch,

A thousand villages in flames,

Shall scare the slumbers of King James!
-Nay, Ellen, blench not thus away,
And, mother, cease these signs, I pray;
I meant not all my heat might say.-
Small need of inroad, or of fight,

When the sage Douglas may unite

Each mountain clan in friendly band,
To guard the passes of their land,

Till the foiled King, from pathless glen,
Shall bootless turn him home agen.".

XXXI.

There are who have, at midnight hour,

In slumber scaled a dizzy tower,

And, on the verge that beetled o'er

The ocean-tide's incessant roar,

Dreamed calmly out their dangerous dream,

Till wakened by the morning beam;

When, dazzled by the eastern glow,

Such startler cast his glance below,

And saw unmeasured depth around,
And heard unintermitted sound,

And thought the battled fence so frail,
It waved like cobweb in the gale ;—
Amid his senses' giddy wheel,

Did he not desperate impulse feel,

Headlong to plunge himself below,

And meet the worst his fears foreshow ?—

Thus, Ellen, dizzy and astound,

As sudden ruin yawned around,

By crossing terrors wildly tossed,

Still for the Douglas fearing most,

Could scarce the desperate thought withstand,

To buy his safety with her hand.

Such

XXXII.

purpose dread could Malcolm spy

In Ellen's quivering lip and eye,

And eager rose to speak-but ere

His tongue could hurry forth his fear,

Had Douglas marked the hectic strife,
Where death seemed combating with life;

For to her cheek, in feverish flood,

One instant rushed the throbbing blood,
Then ebbing back, with sudden sway,

Left its domain as wan as clay.

"Roderick, enough! enough!" he cried,

"My daughter cannot be thy bride;

Not that the blush to wooer dear,

Nor paleness that of maiden fear.
It may not be forgive her, Chief,
Nor hazard aught for our relief.
Against his sovereign, Douglas ne'er
Will level a rebellious spear.

'Twas I that taught his youthful hand
To rein a steed and wield a brand;
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 tartans broad,

And darkened brow, where wounded pride

With ire and disappointment vied,

Seemed, by the torch's gloomy light,
Like the ill Dæmon of the night,
Stooping his pinions' shadowy sway
Upon the nighted 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 chequered shroud,
While every sob-so mute were all―
Was heard distinctly through the hall.
The son's despair, the mother's look,

Ill might the gentle Ellen brook;