. The poetical works of Sir Walter Scott, baronet; ed. with a careful revision of the text. What though the sun, with ardent frown,Had slightly tinged her cheek with brown, —The sportive toil, which, short and light,Had dyed her glowing hue so bright,Served too in hastier swell to showShort glimpses of a breast of snow :What though no rule of courtly graceTo measured mood had trained her pace, —A foot more light, a step more true,Neer from the heath-flower dashed the dew;Een the slight harebell raised its head,Elastic from her airy tread :What though upon her speech there hung The accents of t
. The poetical works of Sir Walter Scott, baronet; ed. with a careful revision of the text. What though the sun, with ardent frown,Had slightly tinged her cheek with brown, —The sportive toil, which, short and light,Had dyed her glowing hue so bright,Served too in hastier swell to showShort glimpses of a breast of snow :What though no rule of courtly graceTo measured mood had trained her pace, —A foot more light, a step more true,Neer from the heath-flower dashed the dew;Een the slight harebell raised its head,Elastic from her airy tread :What though upon her speech there hung The accents of the mountain tongue, —Those silver sounds, so soft, so dear,The listener held his breath to hear ! A chieftains daughter seemed the maid ; Her satin snood, her silken plaid. Her golden brooch, such birth betrayed. And seldom was a snood amid Such wild luxuriant ringlets hid, Whose glossy black to shame might bring The plumage of the ravens wing; i6o SCOTTS POETICAL And seldom oer a breast so fairMantled a plaid with modest never brooch the folds combinedAbove a heart more good and kindness and her worth to spy,You need but gaze on Ellens eye;Not Katrine in her mirror blueGives back the shaggy banks more true,Than every free-born glance confessedThe guileless movements of her breast;Whether joy danced in her dark woe or pity claimed a sigh. Or filial love was glowing there,Or meek devotion poured a prayer,Or tale of injury called forthThe indignant spirit of the only passion unrevealedWith maiden pride the maid not less purely felt the flame : —O, need I tell that passions name ? Impatient of the silent horn, Now on the rale her voice was borne: ^
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Keywords: ., bookauthorrolfewjw, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1880, bookyear1888
