Hast paid our care by treacherous wile,
And sought, amid thy faithful clan,
A refuge for an outlaw’d man,
Dishonoring thus thy loyal name.—
Fetters and warder for the Græme!”—
His chain of gold the King unstrung,
The links o’er Malcolm’s neck he flung,
Then gently drew the glittering band,
And laid the clasp on Ellen’s hand.
Harp of the North, farewell! The hills grow dark,