Wert thou, like me, in life’s low vale,
     With thee how blest, that lot I’d share;
     With thee I’d fly wherever gale
     Could waft, or bounding galley bear. 
     But parted by severe decree,
     Far different must our fortunes prove;
     May thine be joy—­enough for me
     To weep and pray for him I love.

     The pangs this foolish heart must feel,
     When hope shall be forever flown,
     No sullen murmur shall reveal,
     No selfish murmurs ever own. 
     Nor will I through life’s weary years,
     Like a pale drooping mourner move,
     While I can think my secret tears
     May wound the heart of him I love.

The furious declaration of Allan had destroyed the romantic plan which she had formed, of nursing in secret her pensive tenderness, without seeking any other requital.  Long before this, she had dreaded Allan, as much as gratitude, and a sense that he softened towards her a temper so haughty and so violent, could permit her to do; but now she regarded him with unalloyed terror, which a perfect knowledge of his disposition, and of his preceding history, too well authorised her to entertain.  Whatever was in other respects the nobleness of his disposition, he had never been known to resist the wilfulness of passion,—­he walked in the house, and in the country of his fathers, like a tamed lion, whom no one dared to contradict, lest they should awaken his natural vehemence of passion.  So many years had elapsed since he had experienced contradiction, or even expostulation, that probably nothing but the strong good sense, which, on all points, his mysticism excepted, formed the ground of his character, prevented his proving an annoyance and terror to the whole neighbourhood.  But Annot had no time to dwell upon her fears, being interrupted by the entrance of Sir Dugald Dalgetty.

It may well be supposed, that the scenes in which this person had passed his former life, had not much qualified him to shine in female society.  He himself felt a sort of consciousness that the language of the barrack, guard-room, and parade, was not proper to entertain ladies.  The only peaceful part of his life had been spent at Mareschal-College, Aberdeen; and he had forgot the little he had learned there, except the arts of darning his own hose, and dispatching his commons with unusual celerity, both which had since been kept in good exercise by the necessity of frequent practice.  Still it was from an imperfect recollection of what he had acquired during this pacific period, that he drew his sources of conversation when in company with women; in other words, his language became pedantic when it ceased to be military.

“Mistress Annot Lyle,” said he, upon the present occasion, “I am just now like the half-pike, or spontoon of Achilles, one end of which could wound and the other cure—­a property belonging neither to Spanish pike, brown-bill, partizan, halberd, Lochaber-axe, or indeed any other modern staff-weapon whatever.”  This compliment he repeated twice; but as Annot scarce heard him the first time, and did not comprehend him the second, he was obliged to explain.