Make to yon maids thy boast of power,

That they may waste a wondering hour,
Telling of banners proudly borne,
Of pealing bell and bugle-horn,

Or, theme more dear, of robes of price,
Crownlets and gauds of rare device.
But thou, experienced as thou art,

Think'st thou with these to cheat the heart,

That, bound in strong affection's chain,

Looks for return and looks in vain?

No! sum thine Edith's wretched lot

In these brief words-He loves her not!

X.

"Debate it not too long I strove

To call his cold observance love,

All blinded by the league that styled
Edith of Lorn,-while yet a child,
She tripp'd the heath by Morag's side,—
The brave Lord Ronald's destined bride.

Ere yet I saw him, while afar

His broadsword blazed in Scotland's war,

Train'd to believe our fates the same,

My bosom throbb'd when Ronald's name
Came gracing Fame's heroic tale,

Like perfume on the summer gale.

What pilgrim sought our halls, nor told
Of Ronald's deeds in battle bold;

Who touch'd the harp to heroes' praise,
But his achievements swell'd the lays?
Even Morag-not a tale of fame

Was her's but closed with Ronald's name.

He came and all that had been told

Of his high worth seem'd poor and cold,

Tame, lifeless, void of energy,

Unjust to Ronald and to me!

XI.

"Since then, what thought had Edith's heart

And gave not plighted love its part !—

B

And what requital? cold delay

Excuse that shunn'd the spousal day.—

It dawns, and Ronald is not here !

Hunts he Bentalla's nimble deer,

Or loiters he in secret dell

To bid some lighter love farewell,

And swear, that though he may not scorn

A daughter of the House of Lorn,

Yet, when these formal rites are o'er,

Again they meet, to part no more!"

XII.

-"Hush, daughter, hush! thy doubts remove,

More nobly think of Ronald's love.

Look, where beneath the castle grey,
His fleet unmoor from Aros bay!
See'st not each galley's topmast bend,
As on the yards the sails ascend?

Hiding the dark-blue land they rise,
Like the white clouds on April skies;

The shouting vassals man the oars,

Behind them sink Mull's mountain shores,
Onward their merry course they keep,
Through whistling breeze and foaming deep.
And mark the headmost, seaward cast,
Stoop to the freshening gale her mast,
As if she vail'd its banner'd pride,

To greet afar her prince's bride!

Thy Ronald comes, and while in speed
His galley mates the flying steed,

He chides her sloth !"-Fair Edith sigh'd,

Blush'd, sadly smiled, and thus replied :—

XIII.

"Sweet thought, but vain !-No, Morag! mark,

Type of his course, yon lonely bark,

That oft hath shifted helm and sail,

To win its way against the gale.

Since peep of morn, my vacant eyes

Have view'd by fits the course she tries;

Now, though the darkening scud comes on,

And dawn's fair promises be gone,

And though the weary crew may see
Our sheltering haven on their lee,
Still closer to the rising wind

They strive her shivering sail to bind,

Still nearer to the shelves' dread verge

At every tack her course they urge,

As if they fear'd Artornish more

Than adverse winds and breakers' roar.".

XIV.

Sooth spoke the Maid.-Amid the tide
The skiff she mark'd lay tossing sore,

And shifted oft her stooping side,

In weary tack from shore to shore.

Yet on her destined course no more
She gain'd, of forward way,

Than what a minstrel may compare

To the poor meed which peasants share,
Who toil the live-long day;