'Hush thee, poor maiden, and be still!' 'O! thou look'st kindly, and I will. Mine eye has dried and wasted been, But still it loves the Lincoln green; And, though mine ear is all unstrung, Still, still it loves the Lowland tongue.
'For O my sweet William was forester true, He stole poor Blanche's heart away! His coat it was all of the greenwood hue, And so blithely he trilled the Lowland lay!
'It was not that I meant to tell... But thou art wise and guessest well.' Then, in a low and broken tone, And hurried note, the song went on. Still on the Clansman fearfully She fixed her apprehensive eye, Then turned it on the Knight, and then Her look glanced wildly o'er the glen.
'The toils are pitched, and the stakes are set,-- Ever sing merrily, merrily; The bows they bend, and the knives they whet, Hunters live so cheerily.
It was a stag, a stag of ten, Bearing its branches sturdily; He came stately down the glen,-- Ever sing hardily, hardily.
'It was there he met with a wounded doe, She was bleeding deathfully; She warned him of the toils below, O. so faithfully, faithfully!
'He had an eye, and he could heed,-- Ever sing warily, warily; He had a foot, and he could speed,-- Hunters watch so narrowly.'
Fitz-James's mind was passion-tossed, When Ellen's hints and fears were lost; But Murdoch's shout suspicion wrought, And Blanche's song conviction brought. Not like a stag that spies the snare, But lion of the hunt aware, He waved at once his blade on high, 'Disclose thy treachery, or die!' Forth at hell speed the Clansman flew, But in his race his bow he drew. The shaft just grazed Fitz-James's crest, And thrilled in Blanche's faded breast.-- Murdoch of Alpine! prove thy speed, For ne'er had Alpine's son such need; With heart of fire, and foot of wind, The fierce avenger is behind! Fate judges of the rapid strife-- The forfeit death--the prize is life; Thy kindred ambush lies before, Close couched upon the heathery moor; Them couldst thou reach!--it may not be Thine ambushed kin thou ne'er shalt see, The fiery Saxon gains on thee!-- Resistless speeds the deadly thrust, As lightning strikes the pine to dust; With foot and hand Fitz-James must strain Ere he can win his blade again. Bent o'er the fallen with falcon eye, He grimly smiled to see him die, Then slower wended back his way, Where the poor maiden bleeding lay.