minstrel. His proud heart was
struggling between the allegiance he owed his sovereign, as well as
the love he still found lurking in his bosom for the person of his well
natured king, and a desire of vengeance arising out of his disappointed
ambition, and the disgrace done to him by the substitution of Marjory
Douglas to be bride of the heir apparent, instead of his betrothed
daughter. March had the vices and virtues of a hasty and uncertain
character, and even now, when he came to bid the King adieu, with the
purpose of renouncing his allegiance as soon as he reached his own
feudal territories, he felt unwilling, and almost unable, to resolve
upon a step so criminal and so full of peril. It was with such dangerous
cogitations that he was occupied during the beginning of the glee
maiden's lay; but objects which called his attention powerfully, as the
songstress proceeded, affected the current of his thoughts, and riveted
them on what was passing in the courtyard of the monastery. The song was
in the Provencal dialect, well understood as the language of poetry
in all the courts of Europe, and particularly in Scotland. It was more
simply turned, however, than was the general cast of the sirventes,
and rather resembled the lai of a Norman minstrel. It may be translated
thus:

The Lay of Poor Louise.

Ah, poor Louise! The livelong day
She roams from cot to castle gay;
And still her voice and viol say,
Ah, maids, beware the woodland way;
Think on Louise.

Ah, poor Louise! The sun was high;
It smirch'd her cheek, it dimm'd her eye.
The woodland walk was cool and nigh,
Where birds with chiming streamlets vie
To cheer Louise.

Ah, poor Louise! The savage bear
Made ne'er that lovely grove his lair;
The wolves molest not paths so fair.
But better far had such been there
For poor Louise.

Ah, poor Louise! In woody wold
She met a huntsman fair and bold;
His baldrick was of silk and gold,
And many a witching tale he told
To poor Louise.

Ah, poor Louise! Small cause to pine
Hadst thou for treasures of the mine;
For peace of mind, that gift divine,
And spotless innocence, were thine.
Ah, poor Louise!

Ah, poor Louise! Thy treasure's reft.
I know not if by force or theft,
Or part by violence, part by gift;
But misery is all that's left
To poor Louise,