Twice through the hall the Chieftain strode; 740
The waving of his tartans broad,
And darkened brow, where wounded pride
With ire and disappointment vied,
Seemed, by the torch's gloomy light,
Like the ill Demon of the night, 745
Stooping his pinions' shadowy sway
Upon the knighted pilgrim's way.
But, unrequited Love! thy dart
Plunged deepest its envenomed smart,
And Roderick, with thine anguish stung, 750
At length the hand of Douglas wrung,
While eyes, that mocked at tears before,
With bitter drops were running o'er.
The death-pangs of long-cherished hope
Scarce in that ample breast had scope, 755
But, struggling with his spirit proud,
Convulsive heaved its checkered shroud,
While every sob--so mute were all--
Was heard distinctly through the hall.
The son's despair, the mother's look, 760
Ill might the gentle Ellen brook;
She rose, and to her side there came,
To aid her parting steps, the Graeme.