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Walter Scott - The Lord of the Isles: Canto VI.
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As being of superior sphere."

XXXVII.
Even upon Bannock`s bloody plain,
Heap`d then with thousands of the slain,
`Mid victor monarch`s musings high,
Mirth laugh`d in good King Robert`s eye:—
"And bore he such angelic air,
Such noble front, such waving hair?
Hath Ronald kneel`d to him?" he said;
"Then must we call the church to aid—
Our will be to the Abbot known,
Ere these strange news are wider blown,
To Cambuskenneth straight ye pass,
And deck the church for solemn mass,
To pay for high deliverance given,
A nation`s thanks to gracious Heaven.
Let him array, besides, such state,
As should on princes` nuptials wait.
Ourself the cause, through fortune`s spite,
That once broke short that spousal rite,
Ourself will grace, with early morn,
The Bridal of the Maid of Lorn."

Conclusion

Go forth, my Song, upon thy venturous way;
Go boldly forth; nor yet thy master blame,
Who chose no patron for his humble lay,
And graced thy numbers with no friendly name,
Whose partial zeal might smooth thy path to fame.
There was — and O! how many sorrows crowd
Into these two brief words! — there was a claim
By generous friendship given — had fate allow`d,
It well had bid thee rank the proudest of the proud!

All angel now — yet little less than all,
While still a pilgrim in our world below!
What `vails it us that patience to recall,
Which hid its own to soothe all other woe;
What `vails to tell, how Virtue`s purest glow
Shone yet more lovely in a form so fair:
And, least of all, what `vails the world should know,
That one poor garland, twined to deck thy hair,
Is hung upon thy hearse, to droop and wither there!
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