At length, with Ellen in a grove He seem'd to walk, and speak of love; She listen'd with a blush and sigh, His suit was warm, his hopes were high. He sought her yielded hand to clasp, And a cold gauntlet[83] met his grasp: The phantom's sex was changed and gone, Upon its head a helmet shone; Slowly enlarged to giant size, With darken'd cheek and threatening eyes, The grisly visage, stern and hoar, To Ellen still a likeness bore.-- He woke, and, panting with affright, Recall'd the vision of the night. The hearth's decaying brands were red, And deep and dusky luster shed, Half showing, half concealing, all The uncouth trophies of the hall. 'Mid those the stranger fix'd his eye Where that huge falchion hung on high, And thoughts on thoughts, a countless throng, Rush'd, chasing countless thoughts along, Until, the giddy whirl to cure, He rose, and sought the moonshine pure. [83] A mailed glove used by warriors in the middle ages to protect their hands from wounds. 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, Play'd 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:-- "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 fever'd dream, But still the Douglas is the theme? I'll dream no more--by manly mind Not even in sleep is will resign'd. My midnight orisons said o'er, I'll turn to rest, and dream no more." His midnight orisons he told,[84] A prayer with every bead of gold, Consign'd to Heaven his cares and woes, And sunk in undisturb'd repose; Until the heath cock shrilly crew, And morning dawn'd on Benvenue. [84] Repeated. CANTO SECOND. THE ISLAND. I. At morn the blackcock trims his jetty wing, 'Tis morning prompts the linnet's[85] blithest lay, All Nature's children feel the matin[86] spring Of life reviving, with reviving day; And while yon little bark glides down the bay, Wafting the stranger on his way again, Morn's genial influence roused a minstrel gray, And sweetly o'er the lake was heard thy strain, Mix'd with the sounding harp, O white-hair'd Allan-Bane![87] [85] A small European song bird. [86] (_Măt´in._) Pertaining to the morning.