Not so had Malcolm strain’d his eye,
Another step than thine to spy.—
Wake, Allan-Bane," aloud she cried,
To the old Minstrel by her side,—
“Arouse thee from thy moody dream!
I’ll give thy harp heroic theme,
And warm thee with a noble name;
Pour forth the glory of the Græme!”[91]
Scarce from her lip the word had rush’d,
When deep the conscious maiden blush’d;