"O welcome, brave Fitz-James!" she said, "How may an almost orphan maid

Pay the deep debt?"

"O say not so!

To me no gratitude you owe.

Not mine, alas! the boon to give,
And bid thy noble father live;

I can but be thy guide, sweet maid,
With Scotland's King thy suit to aid.
No tyrant he, though ire and pride
May lay his better mood aside.

Come, Ellen, come! 'tis more than time,
He holds his court at morning prime."
With beating heart, and bosom wrung,
As to a brother's arm she clung,
Gently he dried the falling tear,
And gently whispered hope and cheer;
Her faltering steps half led, half staid,
Through gallery fair, and high arcade,
Till, at its touch, its wings of pride
A portal arch unfolded wide.
Within 'twas brilliant all and light,
A thronging scene of figures bright;
It glow'd on Ellen's dazzled sight,
As when the setting sun has given
Ten thousand hues to summer even,
And from their tissue fancy frames
Aerial knights and fairy dames.
Still by Fitz-James her footing staid,
A few faint steps she forward made,
Then slow her drooping head she raised
And fearful round the presence gazed;
For him she sought who owned this state,
The dreaded prince whose will was fate.
She gazed on many a princely port,
Might well have ruled a royal court;
On many a splendid garb she gazed,
Then turn'd bewilder'd and amazed,
For all stood bare, and, in the room
Fitz-James alone wore cap and plume.

To him each lady's look was lent,
On him each courtier's eye was bent;
Midst furs, and silks, and jewels' sheen,
He stood in simple Lincoln green,
The centre of the glittering ring—
And Snowdon's knight is Scotland's king.
As wreath of snow, on mountain breast,
Slides from the rock that gave it rest,
Poor Ellen glided from her stay,
And at the monarch's feet she lay ;
No word her choking breath commands,———
She showed the ring, she clasped her hands.
Oh! not a moment could he brook,

The generous prince, that suppliant look ;
Gently he raised her; and, the while,
Check'd with a glance the circle's smile;
Graceful, but grave, her brow he kiss'd,
And bade her terrors be dismiss'd:-
"Yes, fair; the wandering poor Fitz-James
The fealty of Scotland claims.

To him thy woes, thy wishes bring;
He will redeem his signet ring.

Ask nought for Douglas; yester even,
His prince and he have much forgiven.
Wrong hath he had from slanderous tongue,
I, from his rebel kinsman, wrong.
We would not, from the vulgar crowd,
Yield what they craved with clamour loud;
Calmly we heard and judged his cause,
Our council aided, and our laws.

I stanch'd thy father's death-feud stern,
With stout De Vaux and Grey Glencairn;
And Bothwell's Lord henceforth we own
The friend and bulwark of our throne.
But, lovely infidel, how now?

What clouds thy misbelieving brow?
Lord James of Douglas, lend thine aid
Thou must confirm this doubting maid.”

Then forth the noble Douglas sprung,
And on his neck his daughter hung.
The monarch drank, that happy hour,
The sweetest, holiest draught of power,-
When it can say, with godlike voice,
Arise, sad virtue, and rejoice!

Yet would not James the general eye
On nature's raptures long should pry.
He stepped between-" Nay, Douglas, nay,
Steal not my proselyte away!
The riddle 'tis my right to read,

That brought this happy chance to speed.
Yes, Ellen, when disguised I stray
In life's more low but happier way,
'Tis under name which veils my power,
Nor falsely veils, for Stirling's tower
Of yore the name of Snowdon claims,
And Normans call me James Fitz-James,
Thus watch I o'er insulted laws,

Thus learn to right the injured cause.".
Then, in a tone apart and low,

Ah, little traitress! none must know What idle dream, what lighter thought What vanity, full dearly bought,

Join'd to thine eye's dark witchcraft, drew
My spellbound steps to Benveneu,

In dangerous hour, and all but gave
The monarch's life to mountain glaive.”—
Aloud he spoke, "Thou still dost hold,
That little talisman of gold,

Pledge of my faith, Fitz-James's ring,
What seeks fair Ellen of the King?'

Full well the conscious maiden guessed
He probed the weakness of her breast;
But, with that consciousness, there came
A lightening of her fears for Graeme,
And more she deem'd the monarch's ire
Kindled 'gainst him, who, for her sire,

Rebellious broadsword boldly drew;
And, to her generous feeling true,
She craved the grace of Roderick Dhu.
"Forbear thy suit: the King of kings
Alone can stay life's parting wings,
I know his heart, I know his hand,
Have shared his cheer, and proved his brand,
My fairest earldom would I give

To bid Clan-Alpine's chieftain live!
Hast thou no other boon to crave?
No other captive friend to save?"
Blushing, she turned her from the king,
And to the Douglas gave the ring,
As if she wish'd her sire to speak
The suit that stain'd her glowing cheek.
Nay, then, my pledge has lost its force,
And stubborn justice holds her course.
Malcolm, come forth!" And, at the word,
Down kneeled the Graeme to Scotland's lord.
"For thee, rash youth, no suppliant sues,
From thee, may vengeance claim her dues,
Who, nurtured underneath our smile,
Hast paid our care by treacherous wile,
And sought, amid thy faithful clan,
A refuge for an outlawed man,
Dishonouring thus thy loyal name,-
Fetters and warders for the Graeme !"
His chain of gold the king unstrung,
The links o'er Malcolm's neck he flung,
Then gently drew the glittering band,
And laid the clasp in Ellen's hand.

Scott.

TH

HE stately homes of England,
How beautiful they stand!
Amidst their tall ancestral trees,

O'er all the pleasant land!

The deer across their green sward bound
Through shade and sunny gleam,

And the swan glides past them with the sound
Of some rejoicing stream.

The merry homes of England!

Around their hearths by night,

What gladsome looks of household love
Meet in the ruddy light!