The poetical works of Sir Walter Scott, with memoir of the author.

SCENE II.]

HALIDON HILL.

329

Swin. I would, nay must.
Thy father in the paths of chivalry,
Should know the load-star thou dost rule thy
course by.
Gor. Nay, then, her name is-hark — [ Whispers.
Swin. I know it well, that ancient northern house.
Gor. 0, thou shalt see its fairest grace and
honour
In my Elizabeth. And if music touch theeSwin. It did before disasters had untuned me.
Gor. 0, her notes
Shall hush each sad remembrance to oblivion,
Or melt them to such gentleness of feeling,
That grief shall have its sweetness. Who, but she,
Knows the wild harpings of our native land?
Whether they lull the shepherd on his hill,
Or wake the knight to battle; rouse to merriment,
Or soothe to sadness; she can touch each mood.
Princes and statesmen, chiefs renown'd in arms,
And grey-hair'd bards, contend which shall the first
And choicest homage render to the enchantress.
Swin. You speak her talent bravely.
Gor. Though you smile,
I do not speak it half. Her gift creative,
New measures adds to every air she wakes;
Varying and gracing it with liquid sweetness,
Like the wild modulation of the lark;
Now leaving, now returning to the strain!
To listen to her is to seem to wander