Ix

Soothing she answered him--"Assuage, Mine honored friend, the fears of age; All melodies to thee are known, That harp has rung, or pipe has blown, In Lowland vale or Highland glen, From Tweed to Spey--what marvel, then, At times, unbidden notes should rise, Confusedly bound in memory's ties, Entangling, as they rush along, The war-march with the funeral song? Small ground is now for boding fear; Obscure, but safe, we rest us here. My sire, in native virtue great, Resigning lordship, lands, and state, Not then to fortune more resigned, Than yonder oak might give the wind; The graceful foliage storms may reave, The noble stem they cannot grieve. For me,"--she stooped, and, looking round, Plucked a blue hare-bell from the ground-- "For me, whose memory scarce conveys An image of more splendid days, This little flower, that loves the lea, May well my simple emblem be; It drinks heaven's dew as blithe as rose That in the king's own garden grows; And when I place it in my hair, Allan, a bard is bound to swear He ne'er saw coronet so fair." Then playfully the chaplet wild She wreathed in her dark locks, and smiled.