And, disobedient to my call,
Wail’d loud through Bothwell’s[94] banner’d hall,
Ere Douglases, to ruin driven,
Were exiled from their native heaven.—
Oh! if yet worse mishap and woe
My master’s house must undergo,
Or aught but weal to Ellen fair
Brood in these accents of despair,
No future bard, sad Harp! shall fling
Triumph or rapture from thy string;