The guileless movements of her breast;
Whether joy danced in her dark eye,
Or woe or pity claim'd a sigh,
Or filial love was glowing there,
Or meek devotion pour'd a prayer.
Or hate of injury call'd forth
The indignant spirit of the North.
One only passion unreveal'd,
With maiden pride, the maid conceal'd,
Yet no less purely felt the flame--
O need I tell that passion's name?

_The Lady of the Lake, Canto 1._


She is fairer in feature than becometh a man of my order to speak
of; and she has withal a breathing of her father's lofty spirit.
The look and the word of such a lady will give a man double
strength in the hour of need.--_The Betrothed._


Her smile, her speech, with winning sway,
Wiled the old harper's mood away.
With such a look as hermits throw
When angels stoop to soothe their woe,
He gazed, till fond regret and pride
Thrill'd to a tear.

_The Lady of the Lake, Canto 2._