XI.
“Fair dreams are these,” the maiden cried,
(Light was her accent, yet she sigh’d;)
“Yet is this mossy rock to me
Worth splendid chair and canopy;
Nor would my footsteps spring more gay
In courtly dance than blithe strathspey,[100]
Nor half so pleased mine ear incline
To royal minstrel’s lay as thine.
And then for suitors proud and high,
To bend before my conquering eye,—
Thou, flattering bard! thyself wilt say,
That grim Sir Roderick owns its sway.
The Saxon[101] scourge, Clan-Alpine’s[102] pride,
The terror of Loch Lomond’s side,
Would, at my suit, thou know’st, delay
A Lennox[103] foray—for a day.”