While yet he loitered on the spot, It seemed as Ellen marked him not;But when he turned him to the glade, One courteous parting sign she made;And after, oft the knight would say, That not when prize of festal day Was dealt him by the brightest fair Who e'er wore jewel in her hair, So highly did his bosom swell As at that simple mute farewell.

Now with a trusty mountain-guide, And his dark stag-hounds by his side, He parts,--the maid, unconscious still, Watched him wind slowly round the hill;But when his stately form was hid, The guardian in her bosom chid,--'Thy Malcolm! vain and selfish maid!'

'T was thus upbraiding conscience said,--

'Not so had Malcolm idly hung On the smooth phrase of Southern tongue;Not so had Malcolm strained his eye Another step than shine to spy.'--'Wake, Allan-bane,' aloud she cried To the old minstrel by her side,--'Arouse thee from thy moody dream!

I 'll give thy harp heroic theme, And warm thee with a noble name;Pour forth the glory of the Graeme! '

Scarce from her lip the word had rushed, When deep the conscious maiden blushed;For of his clan, in hall and bower, Young Malcolm Graeme was held the flower.