第57章 XXII.

Some feelings are to mortals given With less of earth in them than heaven;And if there be a human tear From passion's dross refined and clear, A tear so limpid and so meek It would not stain an angel's cheek, 'Tis that which pious fathers shed Upon a duteous daughter's head!

And as the Douglas to his breast His darling Ellen closely pressed, Such holy drops her tresses steeped, Though 't was an hero's eye that weeped.

Nor while on Ellen's faltering tongue Her filial welcomes crowded hung, Marked she that fear--affection's proof--Still held a graceful youth aloof;

No! not till Douglas named his name, Although the youth was Malcolm Graeme.