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So spake the rude chieftain; no answer is made,

But each mantle, unfolding, a dagger displayed.

66

I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her shroud,"

Cried a voice from the kinsmen, all wrathful and loud;

"And empty that shroud and that coffin did seem;

Glenara! Glenara! now read me my dream!"

O, pale grew the cheek of that chieftain, I ween,

When the shroud was unclosed and no lady was seen;

When a voice from the kinsmen spoke louder in scorn, — 'Twas the youth who had loved the fair Ellen of Lorn,

"I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her grief,

I dreamt that her lord was a barbarous chief;

On a rock of the ocean fair Ellen did

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Yet so the sage had hight to play his part,

That he should see her form in life and limb,

And mark, if still she loved, and still she thought of him.

Dark was the vaulted room of gram

arve,

To which the wizard led the gallant knight,

Save that before a mirror, huge and high,

A hallowed taper shed a glimmering light

On mystic implements of magic might;

On cross, and character, and talis

man,

And almagest, and altar, nothing bright:

For fitful was the lustre, pale and

wan,

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