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 reeve, 'Fine noble stem they cannot grieve.

For me'--she stooped, and, looking round, Plucked a blue harebell 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.