After a very profound obeisance, which the lady-mother scarcely recognised, he addressed himself to his vocation.  A mighty indifferent prelude succeeded the arrangement of the strings, then a sort of jig, accented by the toe and head of the performer.  Afterwards he broke into a wild and singular extempore, which gradually shaped itself into measure and rhythm, at times beautifully varied, and accompanied by the voice.  We shall attempt a more modern and intelligible version of the sentiments he expressed:—­

Song.

    1. 
    “Rich round thy brow are the clusters bright,
      And thy tresses are like the plume—­
    The plume of the raven, glossy with light,
      Or the ray on the spirit’s deep gloom.

    2. 
    “As I gaze, the dim echoes of years that are past
      Bring their joys to my bosom in vain;
    For the chords, which their spell once o’er memory cast,
      Ne’er shall waken to gladness again!”

“I hold these minstrels now no better than the croaking of your carrion crow,” said the elder lady:  “these are not like the songs we used to hear in hall and bower at Dunham Massey.  Then “—­the old lady forgetting that her own ears had played her false, and her relish for these dainties had departed—­“Then,” raising her voice and gazing round, as past scenes recurred to her fancy, “how my young heart would leap at the sound of their ditties! and how I long to hear again ’Sir Armoric’ and the ‘Golden-Legend,’ and all about the lady with the swine’s snout and the silver trough!”

But Isabella heard not her mother’s reminiscences.  The minstrel engrossed her attention, absorbing her whole thoughts, it might seem, with the display of his cunning.  Her cheek was flushed, and her lip trembled.  Some mysterious faculty there was either in the song or the performer.

Again he poured forth a strain more touching, and of ravishing sweetness:—­

Song.

    1. 
    “Smile on, my love; that sunny smile
      Is light and life and joy to thee;
    But, oh, its glance of witchery the while,
      Is maddening, hopeless misery to me.

    2. 
    “Another bosom thou mayest bless,
      Whose chords shall wake with ecstasy;
    On mine, each thrilling thought thy looks impress
      Wakes but the pang of hopeless destiny.

    3. 
    “Smile on, my love; that sunny smile
      Is light and life and joy to thee;
    But, oh, its glance of witchery the while,
      Is hopeless, maddening misery to me.”

These were burning thoughts from the bosom of age; and had not the old lady’s perceptions been somewhat obtuse, she might have guessed the minstrel’s purpose.  His despair was not so utterly hopeless and without remedy as the purport of his song seemed to forebode—­for the morning light saw the bower of Isabella vacant, and her bed undisturbed.  She was then far over the blue hills into Staffordshire, where another sun saw her the wife of Sir John Stanley; immediately after which they departed into Ireland.