VII.

“Still restless as a second Cain, To Scotland next my route was ta’en, Full well the paths I knew. Fame of my fate made various sound, That death in pilgrimage I found, That I had perished of my wound— None cared which tale was true: And living eye could never guess De Wilton in his palmer’s dress; For now that sable slough is shed, And trimmed my shaggy beard and head, I scarcely know me in the glass. A chance most wondrous did provide That I should be that baron’s guide— I will not name his name!— Vengeance to God alone belongs; But when I think on all my wrongs, My blood is liquid flame! And ne’er the time shall I forget, When, in a Scottish hostel set, Dark looks we did exchange: What were his thoughts I cannot tell; But in my bosom mustered Hell Its plans of dark revenge.