"No, Allan, no! Pretext so kind My wakeful terrors could not blind. When in such tender tone, yet grave, Douglas a parting blessing gave, 210 The tear that glistened in his eye Drowned not his purpose fixed and high. My soul, though feminine and weak, Can image his; e'en as the lake, Itself disturbed by slightest stroke, 215 Reflects the invulnerable rock. He hears the report of battle rife, He deems himself the cause of strife. I saw him redden, when the theme Turned, Allan, on thine idle dream 220 Of Malcolm Graeme in fetters bound, Which I, thou saidst, about him wound. Think'st thou he trowed thine omen aught? Oh, no! 'twas apprehensive thought For the kind youth--for Roderick too-- 225 Let me be just--that friend so true; In danger both, and in our cause! Minstrel, the Douglas dare not pause. Why else that solemn warning given, 'If not on earth, we meet in heaven!' 230 Why else, to Cambus-kenneth's fane, If eve return him not again, Am I to hie, and make me known? Alas! he goes to Scotland's throne, Buys his friend's safety with his own; 235 He goes to do--what I had done, Had Douglas' daughter been his son!" XI "Nay, lovely Ellen!--dearest, nay! If aught should his return delay, He only named yon holy fane 240 As fitting place to meet again. Be sure he's safe; and for the Graeme-- Heaven's blessing on his gallant name! My visioned sight may yet prove true, Nor bode of ill to him or you. 245 When did my gifted dream beguile? Think of the stranger at the isle, And think upon the harpings slow, That presaged this approaching woe! Sooth was my prophecy of fear; 250 Believe it when it augurs cheer. Would we had left this dismal spot! Ill luck still haunts a fairy grot. Of such a wondrous tale I know-- Dear lady, change that look of woe, 255 My harp was wont thy grief to cheer." ELLEN "Well, be it as thou wilt; I hear, But cannot stop the bursting tear." The minstrel tried his simple art, But distant far was Ellen's heart. 260 XII BALLAD--ALICE BRAND Merry it is in the good greenwood, When the mavis and merle are singing, When the deer sweeps by, and the hounds are in cry, And the hunter's horn is ringing. "O Alice Brand, my native land 265 Is lost for love of you; And we must hold by wood and wold, As outlaws wont to do. "O Alice, 'twas all for thy locks so bright, And 'twas all for thine eyes so blue, 270 That on the night of our luckless flight, Thy brother bold I slew.