When Ellen forth with Lewis went,
Allan made suit to John of Brent:—
“My lady safe, oh, let your grace
Give me to see my master’s face!
His minstrel I,—to share his doom
Bound from the cradle to the tomb.
Tenth in descent, since first my sires
Waked for his noble house their lyres,
Nor one of all the race was known
But prized its weal above their own.