The poetical works of Sir Walter Scott ... Notes & life of the author.

CA.ETO I. THE CHASE. 249
"Father!" she cried-the rocks around
Loved to prolong the gentle sound.
A while she paused, no answer came"Malcolm, was thine the blast?" the name
Less resolutely uttered fell,
The echoes could not catch the swell
"A stranger I," the Hunstman said,
Advancing from the hazel shade.
The maid, alarmed, with hasty oar,
Pushed her light shallop from the shore.
And when a space was gained between,
Closer she drew her bosom's screen;
(So forth the startled swan would swing,
So turn to prune his ruffled wing.)
Then safe, though fluttered and amazed,
She paused, and on the stranger gazed.
Not his the form, nor his the eye,
That youthful maidens wont to fly.
XXL
On his bold visage, middle age
Had slightly pressed its signet sage,
Yet had not quenched the open truth,
And fiery vehemence of youth;
Forward and frolic glee was there,
The will to do, the soul to dare,
The sparkling glance, soon blown to fire,
Of hasty love, or headlong ire,
His limbs were cast in manly mould,
For hardy sports, or contest bold;
And though in peaceful garb arrayed,
And weaponless, except his blade,
His stately mien as well implied
A high-born heart, a martial pride,
As if a baron's crest he wore,
And, sheathed in armour, trod the shore
Slighting the petty need he showed,
He told of his benighted road;
His ready speech flowed fair and free,
In phrase of gentlest courtesy;
Yet seemed that tone, and gesture bland,
Less used to sue than to command.
XXIL
A while the maid the stranger eyed,
And, reassured, at last replied,