And ne’er the name of Douglas heard,
An outcast pilgrim will she rove,
Than wed the man she cannot love.”
XIV.
“Thou shakest, good friend, thy tresses gray,—
That pleading look, what can it say
But what I own?—I grant him[111] brave,
But wild as Bracklinn’s[112] thundering wave;
And generous—save[113] vindictive mood,
Or jealous transport, chafe his blood: