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

CANTO IV.] THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 155
To thee should still be binding yoke.
But, for my sister IsabelThe mood of woman who can tell?
I guess the champion of the Rock,
Victorious in the tourney shock,
That knight unknown, to whom the prize
She dealt,-had favour in her eyes;
But since our brother Nigel's fate,
Our ruin'd house and hapless state,
F;rom worldly joy and hope estranged,
Much is the hapless mourner changed.
Perchance," here smiled the noble King,
"' This tale may other musings bring.
Soon shall we know-yon mountains hide
The little convent of Saint Bride;
There, sent by Edward, she must stay,
Till fate shall give more prosperous day;i
And thither will I bear thy suit,
Nor will thine advocate be mute."
XVI.
As thus they talk'd in earnest mood,
That speechless boy beside them stood.
He stoop'd his head against the mast,
And bitter sobs came thick and fast,
A grief that would not be repress'd,
But seem'd to burst his youthful breast.
His hands, against his forehead held,
I [MS.-" Thither, by Edward sent, she stays
Till fate shall lend more prosperous days."]