While grim and still his spirit passed; But when he saw that life was fled, He poured his wailing o'er the dead.
XXII
LAMENT'And art thou cold and lowly laid, Thy foeman's dread, thy people's aid, Breadalbane's boast, Clan-Alpine's shade! For thee shall none a requiem say? —For thee—who loved the minstrel's lay, For thee, of Bothwell's house the stay, The shelter of her exiled line, E'en in this prison-house of thine I'll wail for Alpine's honored Pine!'What groans shall yonder valleys fill! What shrieks of grief shall rend yon hill! What tears of burning rage shall thrill, When mourns thy tribe thy battles done, Thy fall before the race was won, Thy sword ungirt ere set of sun! There breathes not clansman of thy line, But would have given his life for thine. O woe for Alpine's honored Pine!'Sad was thy lot on mortal stage! The captive thrush may brook the cage, The prisoned eagle dies for rage. Brave spirit, do not scorn my strain! And, when its notes awake again, Even she, so long beloved in vain, Shall with my harp her voice combine, And mix her woe and tears with mine, To wail Clan-Alpine's honored Pine.'
XXIII
Ellen, the while, with bursting heart, Remained in lordly bower apart, Where played, with many colored gleams, Through storied pane the rising beams. In vain on gilded roof they fall, And lightened up a tapestried wall, And for her use a menial train A rich collation spread in vain. The banquet proud, the chamber gay, Scarce drew one curious glance astray; Or if she looked, 'twas but to say, With better omen dawned the day In that lone isle where waved on high The dun-deer's hide for canopy; Where oft her noble father shared The simple meal her care prepared, While Lufra, crouching by her side, Her station claimed with jealous pride, And Douglas, bent on woodland game, Spoke of the chase to Malcolm Graeme, Whose answer, oft at random made, The wandering of his thoughts betrayed. Those who such simple joys have known, Are taught to prize them when they're gone. But sudden, see, she lifts her head! The window seeks with cautious tread. What distant music has the power To win her in this woeful hour! Twas from a turret that o'erhung Her latticed bower, the strain was sung.
