"Hush thee, poor maiden, and be still!"
"Oh! thou look'st kindly and I will.
Mine eye has dried and wasted been,
But still it loves the Lincoln green; 575
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, 580
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. 585
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.