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"Minstrel," the maid replied, and high Her father's soul glanced from her eye, "My debts to Roderick's house I know: All that a mother could bestow, To Lady Margaret's care I owe, Since first an orphan in the wild She sorrowed o'er her sister's child; To her brave chieftain son, from ire Of Scotland's king who shrouds my sire. A deeper, holier debt is owed; And, could I pay it with my blood, Allan! Sir Roderick should command My blood, my life--but not my hand. Rather will Ellen Douglas dwell A votaress in Maronnan's cell; Rather through realms beyond the sea, Seeking the world's cold charity, Where ne'er was spoke a Scottish word, And ne'er the name of Douglas heard, An outcast pilgrim will she rove, Than wed the man she cannot love.