‘’Twere a glorious gain to have barter’d all
For the bonniest branch in the bower,
And a man might well be content to fall
In a leap for its queenliest flower!
To win her, indeed, were too princely a meed,
To serve her is guerdon enow,
And the loveliest rose that in Scotland blows
Hangs high on the topmost bough.’
Mary Stuart and Mary Hamilton looked at each other in amazement. The former laughed sweetly.
‘It is our minstrel come back again,’ said she, ‘and as welcome as he is unexpected. He has not forgotten the art in his absence from the inspiration.’