Hope vanished from Fitz-James'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 may'st 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, But one who lives by lance and sword, Whose castle is his helm and shield, His lordship the embattled field. What from a prince can I demand, Who neither reck of state nor land? Ellen, thy hand—the ring is thine; Each guard and usher knows the sign. Seek thou the king without delay— This signet shall secure thy way— And claim thy suit, whate'er it be, As ransom of his pledge to me.' He placed the golden circlet on, Paused—kissed her hand—and then was gone. The aged Minstrel stood aghast, So hastily Fitz-James shot past. He joined his guide, and wending down The ridges of the mountain brown, Across the stream they took their way, That joins Loch Katrine to Achray.
XX
All in the Trossachs' glen was still, Noontide was sleeping on the hill: Sudden his guide whooped loud and high— 'Murdoch! was that a signal cry?' He stammered forth—'I shout to scare Yon raven from his dainty fare.' He looked—he knew the raven's prey, His own brave steed—'Ah! gallant gray! For thee—for me, perchance—'twere well We ne'er had seen the Trossachs' dell. Murdoch, move first—but silently; Whistle or whoop, and thou shalt die!' Jealous and sullen on they fared, Each silent, each upon his guard.
