Such 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 mark'd the hectic strife, Where death seem'd combating with life; For to her cheek, in feverish flood, One instant rush'd 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. Oh, 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 darken'd brow, where wounded pride With ire and disappointment vied, Seem'd, by the torch's gloomy light, Like the ill Demon of the night, Stooping his pinions' shadowy sway Upon the nighted pilgrim's way: But, unrequited Love! thy dart Plunged deepest its envenom'd smart, And Roderick, with thine anguish stung, At length the hand of Douglas wrung, While eyes that mock'd at tears before, With bitter drops were running o'er. The death pangs of long-cherish'd hope Scarce in that ample breast had scope, But, struggling with his spirit proud, Convulsive heaved its checker'd shroud,[158] 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; She rose, and to her side there came, To aid her parting steps, the Græme. [158] "Checker'd shroud," i.e., his tartan plaid. XXXIV.