veil--as it may be
supposed he was at least interested to know whether she might not prove
the same whom he had seen in humble attendance on Maitre Pierre, it must
of course be understood that he did not produce a broad staring visage
and person in full front of his own casement. Durward knew better the
art of bird catching; and it was to his keeping his person skilfully
withdrawn on one side of his window; while he peeped through the
lattice, that he owed the pleasure of seeing a white, round, beautiful
arm take down the instrument, and that his ears had presently after
their share in the reward of his dexterous management.

The maid of the little turret, of the veil, and of the lute sang exactly
such an air as we are accustomed to suppose flowed from the lips of the
high born dames of chivalry, when knights and troubadours listened and
languished. The words had neither so much sense, wit, or fancy as to
withdraw the attention from the music, nor the music so much of art as
to drown all feeling of the words. The one seemed fitted to the other;
and if the song had been recited without the notes, or the air played
without the words, neither would have been worth noting. It is;
therefore, scarcely fair to put upon record lines intended not to be
said or read, but only to be sung. But such scraps of old poetry have
always had a sort of fascination for us; and as the tune is lost for
ever unless Bishop [Sir Henry Rowley, an English composer and professor
of music at Oxford in 1848. Among his most popular operas are Guy
Mannering and The Kniqht of Snowdon] happens to find the notes, or some
lark teaches Stephens [Catherine (1794-1882): a vocalist and actress
who created Susanna in the Marriage of Figaro, and various parts in
adaptation of Scott.] to warble the air--we will risk our credit, and
the taste of the Lady of the Lute, by preserving the verses, simple and
even rude as they are:

Ah! County Guy, the hour is nigh,
The sun has left the lea,
The orange flower perfumes the bower,
The breeze is on the sea.
The lark, his lay who thrill'd all day,
Sits hush'd his partner nigh;
Breeze, bird, and flower confess the hour,
But where is County Guy?

The village maid steals through the shade,
Her shepherd's suit to hear;
To beauty shy, by lattice high,
Sings high born Cavalier.
The star of Love, all stars above,
Now reigns o'er earth and sky;
A