The heart-sick lay was hardly said, The listener had not turned her head, It trickled still, the starting tear, When light a footstep struck her ear, And Snowdoun's graceful Knight was near.
She turned the hastier, lest again The prisoner should renew his strain.
'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 heating 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 stayed, Through gallery fair and high arcade, Till at his touch its wings of pride A portal arch unfolded wide.
