The Minstrel’s hand he kindly press’d,—
“Oh! could I point a place of rest!
My sovereign holds in ward my land,
My uncle leads my vassal band;
To tame his foes, his friends to aid,
Poor Malcolm has but heart and blade.
Yet, if there be one faithful Græme
Who loves the Chieftain of his name,
Not long shall honor’d Douglas dwell,
Like hunted stag, in mountain cell;