Now with a trusty mountain guide,
And his dark staghounds by his side,
He parts—the maid, unconscious still,
Watch’d him wind slowly round the hill;
But when his stately form was hid,
The guardian in her bosom chid—
“Thy Malcolm! vain and selfish maid!”
’Twas thus upbraiding conscience said,—
“Not so had Malcolm idly hung
On the smooth phrase of southern tongue;