IX.
31 lines✦
oothing she answered him: 'Assuage,Mine honored friend, the fears of age;All melodies to thee are knownThat 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 resignedThan 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 conveysAn image of more splendid days,This little flower that loves the leaMay well my simple emblem be;It drinks heaven's dew as blithe as roseThat in the King's own garden grows;And when I place it in my hair,Allan, a bard is bound to swearHe ne'er saw coronet so fair.'Then playfully the chaplet wildShe wreathed in her dark locks, and smiled.
✦