'Fair dreams are these,' the maiden cried,--
Light was her accent, yet she sighed,--
'Yet is this mossy rock to me Worth splendid chair and canopy;Nor would my footstep spring more gay In courtly dance than blithe strathspey, Nor half so pleased mine ear incline To royal minstrel's lay as shine.
And then for suitors proud and high, To bend before my conquering eye,--Thou, flattering bard! thyself wilt say, That grim Sir Roderick owns its sway.
The Saxon scourge, Clan- Alpine's pride, The terror of Loch Lomond's side, Would, at my suit, thou know'st, delay A Lennox foray--for a day.'--
