XXIX.

HE Mistress of the mansion came,

Mature of age, a graceful dame; Whose easy step and stately port,

Had well become a princely court,

To whom, though more than kindred knew,
Young Ellen gave a mother's due.

Meet welcome to her guest she made,
And every courteous rite was paid,
That hospitality could claim,

Though all unask'd his birth and name.t
Such then the reverence to a guest,
That fellest foe might join the feast,
And from his deadliest foeman's door
Unquestion'd turn, the banquet o'er.
At length his rank the stranger names,
"The Knight of Snowdoun, James Fitz-
James;

Lord of a barren heritage,

Which his brave sires, from age to age,
By their good swords had held with toil;
His sire had fall'n in such turmoil,

And he, God wot, was forced to stand

Oft for his right with blade in hand.
This morning with Lord Moray's train
He chased a stalwart stag in vain,
Out-stripp'd his comrades, miss'd the deer,
Lost his good steed, and wander'd here."-

XXX.

AIN would the Knight in turn require

The name and state of Ellen's sire. Well show'd the elder lady's mien, That courts and cities she had seen; Ellen, though more her looks display'd The simple grace of sylvan maid, In speech and gesture, form and face, Show'd she was come of gentle race 'Twere strange in ruder rank to find Such looks, such manners, and such mind. Each hint the Knight of Snowdoun gave, Dame Margaret heard with silence grave; Or Ellen, innocently gay,

Turn'd all inquiry light away :

"Weird women we! by dale and down We dwell, afar from tower and town.

We stem the flood, we ride the blast,

On wandering Knights our spells we cast;
While viewless minstrels touch the string,
'Tis thus our charmed rhymes we sing."
She sung, and still a harp unseen
Fill'd up the symphony between.t

XXXI.

Song.

'Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er,
Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking;
Dream of battled fields no more,

Days of danger, nights of waking.
In our isle's enchanted hall,

Hands unseen thy couch are strewing,

Fairy strains of music fall,

Ebery sense in slumber dewing,

Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er,

Dream of fighting fields no more:
Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking,
Morn of toil, nor night of waking.

No rude sound shall reach thine ear,
Armour's clang, or war-steed champing,

Trump nor pibroch sammon here
Mustering clan, or squadron tramping.
Wet the lark's shrill fife may come
At the day-break from the fallow,
And the bittern sound his drum,
Booming from the redgy shallow.
Ruder sounds shall none be near,
Guards nor warders challenge here,
Here's no war-steed's neigh and champing,
Shouting clans or squadrons stamping."—

XXXII.

THE paused-then, blushing, led the lay
To grace the stranger of the day.

Her mellow notes awhile prolong
The cadence of the flowing song,

Till to her lips in measured frame

The minstrel verse spontaneous came.

Song continued.

"Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done,
While our slumbrous spells assail ye,
Dream not, with the rising sun,

Bugles here shall sound reveillé.