Poetry > Lady of the lake

Canto II.
THE ISLAND.
77
One short, one final strain shall flow,
Fraught with unutterable woe,
Then shiver’d shall thy fragments lie,
Thy master cast him down and die !”
IX.
Soothing she answer’d him, “ Assuage,
Mine honour’d friend, the fears of age;
All melodies to thee are known,
That harp has rung, or pipe has blown,
In Lowland vale or Highland glen,
From Tweed to Spey—what marvel, then,
At times, unhidden notes should rise,
Confusedly bound in memory’s ties,
Entangling, as they rush along,
The war-march with the funeral song ?—
Small ground is now for boding fear;
Obscure, but safe, we rest us here.
My sire, in native virtue great,
Resigning lordship, lands, and state,
Not then to fortune more resign’d,
Than yonder oak might give the wind;
The graceful foliage storms may reave,
The noble stem they cannot grieve.
For me,”—she stoop’d, and, looking round,
Pluck’d a blue hare-bell from the ground,—
“ For me, whose memory scarce conveys
An image of more splendid days,