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.
XXXII
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 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 Demon of the night, Stooping his pinions' shadowy sway Upon the knighted 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 checkered 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; She rose, and to her side there came, To aid her parting steps, the Graeme.
