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fading, like that varied gleam,

       Is our inconstant shape,

       Who now like knight and lady seem,

       And now like dwarf and ape.

      ‘It was between the night and day,

       When the Fairy King has power,

       That I sunk down in a sinful fray,

       And ‘twixt life and death was snatched away

       To the joyless Elfin bower.

      ‘But wist I of a woman bold,

       Who thrice my brow durst sign,

       I might regain my mortal mould,

       As fair a form as thine.’

      She crossed him once—she crossed him twice—

       That lady was so brave;

       The fouler grew his goblin hue,

       The darker grew the cave.

      She crossed him thrice, that lady bold;

       He rose beneath her hand

       The fairest knight on Scottish mould,

       Her brother, Ethert Brand!

      Merry it is in good greenwood,

       When the mavis and merle are singing,

       But merrier were they in Dunfermline gray,

       When all the bells were ringing.

       XVI

      Just as the minstrel sounds were stayed,

       A stranger climbed the steepy glade;

       His martial step, his stately mien,

       His hunting-suit of Lincoln green,

       His eagle glance, remembrance claims—

       ‘Tis Snowdoun’s Knight, ‘tis James FitzJames.

       Ellen beheld as in a dream,

       Then, starting, scarce suppressed a scream:

       ‘O stranger! in such hour of fear

       What evil hap has brought thee here?’

       ‘An evil hap how can it be

       That bids me look again on thee?

       By promise bound, my former guide

       Met me betimes this morning-tide,

       And marshalled over bank and bourne

       The happy path of my return.’

       ‘The happy path!—what! said he naught

       Of war, of battle to be fought,

       Of guarded pass?’ ‘No, by my faith!

       Nor saw I aught could augur scathe.’

       ‘O haste thee, Allan, to the kern:

       Yonder his tartars I discern;

       Learn thou his purpose, and conjure

       That he will guide the stranger sure!—

       What prompted thee, unhappy man?

       The meanest serf in Roderick’s clan

       Had not been bribed, by love or fear,

       Unknown to him to guide thee here.’

       XVII

      ‘Sweet Ellen, dear my life must be,

       Since it is worthy care from thee;

       et life I hold but idle breath

       When love or honor’s weighed with death.

       Then let me profit by my chance,

       And speak my purpose bold at once.

       I come to bear thee from a wild

       Where ne’er before such blossom smiled,

       By this soft hand to lead thee far

       From frantic scenes of feud and war.

       Near Bochastle my horses wait;

       They bear us soon to Stirling gate.

       I’ll place thee in a lovely bower,

       I’ll guard thee like a tender flower—’

       ‘O hush, Sir Knight! ‘t were female art,

       To say I do not read thy heart;

       Too much, before, my selfish ear

       Was idly soothed my praise to hear.

       That fatal bait hath lured thee back,

       In deathful hour, o’er dangerous track;

       And how, O how, can I atone

       The wreck my vanity brought on!—

       One way remains—I’ll tell him all—

       Yes! struggling bosom, forth it shall!

       Thou, whose light folly bears the blame,

       Buy thine own pardon with thy shame!

       But first—my father is a man

       Outlawed and exiled, under ban;

       The price of blood is on his head,

       With me ‘t were infamy to wed.

       Still wouldst thou speak?—then hear the truth!

       FitzJames, there is a noble youth—

       If yet he is!—exposed for me

       And mine to dread extremity—

       Thou hast the secret of my bears;

       Forgive, be generous, and depart!’

       XVIII

      FitzJames knew every wily train

       A lady’s fickle heart to gain,

       But here he knew and felt them vain.

       There shot no glance from Ellen’s eye,

       To give her steadfast speech the lie;

       In maiden confidence she stood,

       Though mantled in her cheek the blood

       And told her love with such a sigh

       Of deep and hopeless agony,

       As death had sealed her Malcolm’s doom

       And she sat sorrowing on his tomb.

       Hope vanished from FitzJames’s eye,

       But not with hope fled sympathy.

       He proffered to attend her side,

       As brother would a sister guide.

       ‘O little know’st thou Roderick’s heart!

       Safer for both we go apart.

       O haste thee, and from Allan learn

       If thou mayst trust yon wily kern.’

       With hand upon his forehead laid,

       The conflict of his mind to shade,

       A parting step or two he made;

       Then, as some thought had crossed his brain

       He paused, and turned, and came again.

       XIX

      ‘Hear, lady, yet a parting word!—

       It chanced in fight that my poor sword

       Preserved the life of Scotland’s lord.

       This ring the grateful Monarch gave,

       And bade, when I had boon to crave,

       To bring it back, and boldly claim

       The recompense that I would name.

       Ellen, I am no courtly lord,

      

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