XIII. · Section 2

XIII.

Minstrel,' the maid replied, and high Her father's soul glanced from her eye, 'My debts to Roderick's house I know: All that a mother could bestow To Lady Margaret's care I owe, Since first an orphan in the wild She sorrowed o'er her sister's child; To her brave chieftain son, from ire Of Scotland's king who shrouds my sire, A deeper, holier debt is owed; And, could I pay it with my blood, Allan! Sir Roderick should command My blood, my life,--but not my hand. Rather will Ellen Douglas dwell A votaress in Maronnan's cell; Rather through realms beyond the sea, Seeking the world's cold charity Where ne'er was spoke a Scottish word, And ne'er the name of Douglas heard An outcast pilgrim will she rove, Than wed the man she cannot love.