James Hogg

“ Her breath was a furnace, her bosom the grave!
Then flitting elusive, she said, with a frown,
The mighty Macgregor shall yet be my own!'
'Macgregor, thy fancies are wild as the wind;
The dreams of the night have disorder'd thy mind. ”

“ Her sail was the web of the gossamer's loom,
The glow-worm her wakelight, the rainbow here boom;
A dim rayless beam was her prow and her mast,
Like wold-fire, at midnight, that glares on the waste. ”

“ For once turn'd his eye to she brook of Glen-Gyle.
The fox fled in terror, the eagle awoke,
(illegible text) slumbering he dozed in the shelf of the rock;
Astonish'd, to hide in the moon-beam he flew,
And screw'd the night-heaven till lost in the blue.
Young Malcolm beheld the pale lady approach,
The chieftain salute her, and shrink from her touch.
He saw the Macgregor kneel down on the plain,
(illegible text) s begging for something he could not obtain ”