And high their snowy arms they threw,
As echoing back with shrill acclaim,
And chorus wild, the Chieftain’s name;
While prompt to please, with mother’s art,
The darling passion of his heart,
The Dame call’d Ellen to the strand,
To greet her kinsman ere he land:
“Come, loiterer, come! a Douglas thou,
And shun to wreathe a victor’s brow?”
Reluctantly and slow, the maid