'Who is this maid? what means her lay?

She hovers o'er the hollow way, And flutters wide her mantle gray, As the lone heron spreads his wing, By twilight, o'er a haunted spring.'

"Tis Blanche of Devan,' Murdoch said, 'A crazed and captive Lowland maid, Ta'en on the morn she was a bride, When Roderick forayed Devan-side.

The gay bridegroom resistance made, And felt our Chief's unconquered blade.

I marvel she is now at large, But oft she 'scapes from Maudlin's charge.--Hence, brain-sick fool! '--He raised his bow:--'Now, if thou strik'st her but one blow, I'll pitch thee from the cliff as far As ever peasant pitched a bar!'

'Thanks, champion, thanks " the Maniac cried, And pressed her to Fitz-James's side.

'See the gray pennons I prepare, To seek my true love through the air!

I will not lend that savage groom, To break his fall, one downy plume!

No!--deep amid disjointed stones, The wolves shall batten on his bones, And then shall his detested plaid, By bush and brier in mid-air stayed, Wave forth a banner fail and free, Meet signal for their revelry.'