Ellen, The Lady of the Lake 
 
 
J. Adams-Acton, Sculfilor 
 
 
A/ CHIEFTAIN'S daughter seemed 
          the maid ; 
      Her satin snood, her silken plaid, 
Her golden brooch, such birth betrayed. 
And seldom was a snood anmid 
Such wild, luxuriant ringlets hid, 
Whose glossy black to shame might bring 
The plumage of the raven's wing, 
And seldomn o'er a breast so fair, 
Mantled a plaid with modest care. 
And never brooch the folds combined 
Above a heart more good and kind. 
 
 
E. Slodart, Engraver 
 
 
Her kindness and her worth to spy, 
You need but ga~e on Ellen's eye; 
Not Katrine, in her mirror blue, 
Gives back the shaggy banks more true, 
Than every free-born glance confessed 
The guileless movements of her breast; 
Whether joy danced in her dark eve, 
Or woe or pity claimed a sigh, 
Or filial love was glowing there, 
Or meek devotion poured a prayer, 
Or tale of injury called forth 
The indignant spirit of the North. 
 
 
       Scott's " The Lady of the Lake."