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Constrain'd, unblest, and joyless as it was, Which gave thee to a lord unworthy of thee, Placed thee beyond the reach of kindred ties— The warmth of blood to blood—the sure affection That nature gives to all—a brother's love? No, by all sacred things! here is thy hold: Here is thy true, unshaken, native stay: One that shall fail thee never, though, the while, A faithless, wavering, intervening band Seems to divide thee from it.

What dost thou mean? What violent grasp is this? Com'st thou to lead me from my husband's house, Beneath the shade of night, with culprit's stealth?

No, daughter of Argyll; when John of Lorne Shall come to lead thee from these hated walls Back to thy native home,—with culprit's stealth, Beneath the shades of night, it shall not be. With half our western warriors at his back, He'll proudly come. Thy listening timid chief Shall hear our martial steps upon his heath, With heavy measured fall, send, beat by beat,