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

CAlTO VI. THE GUARD ROOM.l 35
My horse is weary of his stall,
And I am sick of captive thrall.
I wish I were as I have been,
Hunting the hart in forests green,
With bended bowand bloodhound free,
For that's the life is meet for me.'I hate to learn the ebb of time
From yon dull steeple's drowsy chime,
Or mark it as the sunbeams crawl,
Inch after inch, along the wall.
The lark was wont my matins ring,
The sable rook my vespers sing;
* These towers, although a king's they be,
Have not a hall of joy for me.
|'No more at dawning morn I rise,
jN~~ j ~ And sun myself in Ellen's eyes,
Drive the fleet deer the forest through,
And homeward wend with evening dew;
A blithesome welcome blithely meet,
And lay my trophies at her feet,
t~ ~ ~ P~While fled the eve on wing of gleeThat life is lost to love and me!"
The heart-sick lay was hardly said,
The list'ner had not turned her head,
It trickled still, the starting tear,
When light a footstep struck her ear,
And Snowdoun's graceful Knight was near.
She turned the hastier, lest again
The prisoner should renew his strain.
"Oh welcome, brave Fitz-James!" she said;
"How may an almost orphan maid
rPay the deep debt." "Oh say not so;
To me no gratitude you owe.
Not mine, alas! the boon to give,
And bid thy noble father live;
I can but be thy guide, sweet maid,
With Scotland's King thy suit to aid.
No tyrant he, though ire and pride
May lead his better mood aside.
Come, Ellen, come —'tis more than time,
He holds his court at morning prime."