The lord of the isles . rn.— THE LORD Or THE ISLES 169 Lord, the Royal Bruce replied,That question must the Church decide:Yet seems it hard, since rumours stateEdith takes Clifford for her mate,The very tie, which she hath broke,To thee should still be binding , for my sister Isabel—The mood of woman who can tell?I guess the champion of the Rock,Victorious in the tourney shock, That knight unknown, to whom the prize She dealt,—had favour in her eyes; But since our brother Nigels fate, Our ruind house and hapless state, From worldly joy and hope estranged. Much is the hapless m
The lord of the isles . rn.— THE LORD Or THE ISLES 169 Lord, the Royal Bruce replied,That question must the Church decide:Yet seems it hard, since rumours stateEdith takes Clifford for her mate,The very tie, which she hath broke,To thee should still be binding , for my sister Isabel—The mood of woman who can tell?I guess the champion of the Rock,Victorious in the tourney shock, That knight unknown, to whom the prize She dealt,—had favour in her eyes; But since our brother Nigels fate, Our ruind house and hapless state, From worldly joy and hope estranged. Much is the hapless mourner changed. Perchance, here smiled the noble King. This tale may other musings bring. Soon shall we know—yon mountains hide The little convent of Saint Bride ; There, sent by Edward, she must slay. Till fate shall give more prosperous day ; And thither will I bear thy suit, Nor will thine advocate he mute. XVI. As thus they talkd in earnest mood,That speechless boy beside them stood. THE LORD OF THE ISLES. ,. He stoopd his head against the mast,And hitter sobs came thick and fast,A grief that would not be repressd,But seemd to burst his youthful hands, against his forehead held,As if by force his tears repelld,But through his lingers, long and trilld the drops of crystal , who ualkd the deck apart,First spied this conflict of the heart. THE LORD OF THE [SLES Thoughtless as brave, with bluntness kind He sought to cheer the sorrowers mind ;By force the slender hand he drewFrom those poor eyes that streamd with in his hold the stripling- strove,—(Twas a rough grasp, though meant in love,;Way his tears the warrior bade shame on him that he wept. I would to heaven, thy helpless tongueCould tell me who hath wrought thee wrong!For, were he of our crew the best,The insult went not , cheer thee ; thou art now of ageTo be a warriors gallant page;Thou shalt be mine !—a palfrey fairOer hill and holt my boy
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