Chapter 97 No.97

Yet slow he laid his plaid aside,

And, lingering, eyed his lovely bride,

Until he saw the starting tear

Speak woe he might not stop to cheer;

525 Then, trusting not a second look,

In haste he sped him up the brook,

Nor backward glanced, till on the heath

Where Lubnaig's lake supplies the Teith.

-What in the racer's bosom sti