"Nay, lovely Ellen!--dearest, nay!
If aught should his return delay,
He only named yon holy fane 240
As fitting place to meet again.
Be sure he's safe; and for the Graeme--
Heaven's blessing on his gallant name!
My visioned sight may yet prove true,
Nor bode of ill to him or you. 245
When did my gifted dream beguile?
Think of the stranger at the isle,
And think upon the harpings slow,
That presaged this approaching woe!
Sooth was my prophecy of fear; 250
Believe it when it augurs cheer.
Would we had left this dismal spot!
Ill luck still haunts a fairy grot.
Of such a wondrous tale I know--
Dear lady, change that look of woe, 255
My harp was wont thy grief to cheer."