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XXXI
SONG
"Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er, Sleep the sleep that knows no breaking; 625 Dream of battled fields no more, Days of danger, nights of waking. In our isle's enchanted hall, Hands unseen thy couch are strewing, Fairy strains of music fall, 630 Every sense in slumber dewing. Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er, Dream of fighting fields no more; Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, Morn of toil, nor night of waking. 635
"No rude sound shall reach thine ear, Armor's clang, or war-steed champing, Trump nor pibroch summon here Mustering clan, or squadron tramping. Yet the lark's shrill fife may come 640 At the day-break from the fallow, And the bittern sound his drum, Booming from the sedgy shallow. Ruder sounds shall none be near, Guards nor warders challenge here, 645 Here's no war-steed's neigh and champing, Shouting clans or squadrons stamping."
XXXII
She paused—then, blushing, led the lay To grace the stranger of the day. Her mellow notes awhile prolong 650 The cadence of the flowing song, Till to her lips in measured frame The minstrel verse spontaneous came.
SONG—(Continued)
"Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done, While our slumbrous spells assail ye, 655 Dream not, with the rising sun, Bugles here shall sound reveille. Sleep! the deer is in his den; Sleep! thy hounds are by thee lying; Sleep! nor dream in yonder glen, 660 How thy gallant steed lay dying. Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done, Think not of the rising sun, For at dawning to assail ye, Here no bugles sound reveille." 665
XXXIII
The hall was cleared—the stranger's bed Was there of mountain heather spread, Where oft a hundred guests had lain, And dreamed their forest sports again. But vainly did the heath-flower shed 670 Its moorland fragrance round his head; Not Ellen's spell had lulled to rest The fever of his troubled breast. In broken dreams the image rose Of varied perils, pains, and woes: 675 His steed now flounders in the brake, Now sinks his barge upon the lake; Now leader of a broken host, His standard falls, his honor's lost. Then—from my couch may heavenly might 680 Chase that worst phantom of the night! Again returned the scenes of youth, Of confident undoubting truth; Again his soul he interchanged With friends whose hearts were long estranged. 685 They come, in dim procession led, The cold, the faithless, and the dead; As warm each hand, each brow as gay, As if they parted yesterday. And doubt distracts him at the view— 690 O were his senses false or true? Dreamed he of death, or broken vow, Or is it all a vision now?
XXXIV
At length, with Ellen in a grove He seemed to walk, and speak of love; 695 She listened with a blush and sigh, His suit was warm, his hopes were high. He sought her yielded hand to clasp, And a cold gauntlet met his grasp; The phantom's sex was changed and gone, 700 Upon its head a helmet shone; Slowly enlarged to giant size, With darkened cheek and threatening eyes, The grisly visage, stern and hoar, To Ellen still a likeness bore. 705 He woke, and, panting with affright, Recalled the vision of the night. The hearth's decaying brands were red. And deep and dusky luster shed, Half showing, half concealing, all 710 The uncouth trophies of the hall. Mid those the stranger fixed his eye, Where that huge falchion hung on high, And thoughts on thoughts, a countless throng, Rushed, chasing countless thoughts along. 715 Until, the giddy whirl to cure, He rose, and sought the moonshine pure.
XXXV
The wild-rose, eglantine, and broom, Wasted around their rich perfume: The birch-trees swept in fragrant balm, 720 The aspens slept beneath the calm; The silver light, with quivering glance, Played on the water's still expanse— Wild were the heart whose passion's sway Could rage beneath the sober ray! 725 He felt its calm, that warrior guest, While thus he communed with his breast: "Why is it, at each turn I trace Some memory of that exiled race? Can I not mountain-maiden spy, 730 But she must bear the Douglas eye? Can I not view a Highland brand, But it must match the Douglas hand? Can I not frame a fevered dream, But still the Douglas is the theme? 735 I'll dream no more—by manly mind Not even in sleep is will resigned. My midnight orisons said o'er, I'll turn to rest, and dream no more." His midnight orisons he told, 740 A prayer with every bead of gold, Consigned to heaven his cares and woes, And sunk in undisturbed repose, Until the heath-cock shrilly crew, And morning dawned on Benvenue. 745
CANTO SECOND
THE ISLAND
I
At morn the blackcock trims his jetty wing, 'Tis morning prompts the linnet's blithest lay, All Nature's children feel the matin spring Of life reviving, with reviving day; And while yon little bark glides down the bay, 5 Wafting the stranger on his way again, Morn's genial influence roused a minstrel gray, And sweetly o'er the lake was heard thy strain, Mixed with the sounding harp, O white-haired Allan-bane!
II
SONG
"Not faster yonder rowers' might 10 Flings from their oars the spray, Not faster yonder rippling bright, That tracks the shallop's course in light, Melts in the lake away, Than men from memory erase 15 The benefits of former days; Then, stranger, go! good speed the while, Nor think again of the lonely isle.
"High place to thee in royal court, High place in battle line, 20 Good hawk and hound for silvan sport, Where beauty sees the brave resort; The honored meed be thine! True be thy sword, thy friend sincere, Thy lady constant, kind and dear, 25 And lost in love, and friendship's smile Be memory of the lonely isle.
III
SONG (Continued)
"But if beneath yon southern sky A plaided stranger roam, Whose drooping crest and stifled sigh, 30 And sunken cheek and heavy eye, Pine for his Highland home; Then, warrior, then be thine to show The care that soothes a wanderer's woe; Remember then thy hap ere while, 35 A stranger in the lonely isle.
"Or if on life's uncertain main Mishap shall mar thy sail; If faithful, wise, and brave in vain, Woe, want, and exile thou sustain 40 Beneath the fickle gale; Waste not a sigh on fortune changed, On thankless courts, or friends estranged, But come where kindred worth shall smile, To greet thee in the lonely isle." 45
IV
As died the sounds upon the tide, The shallop reached the mainland side, And ere his onward way he took, The stranger cast a lingering look, Where easily his eye might reach 50 The Harper on the islet beach, Reclined against a blighted tree, As wasted, gray, and worn as he. To minstrel meditation given, His reverend brow was raised to heaven, 55 As from the rising sun to claim A sparkle of inspiring flame. His hand, reclined upon the wire, Seemed watching the awakening fire; So still he sat, as those who wait 60 Till judgment speak the doom of fate; So still, as if no breeze might dare To lift one lock of hoary hair; So still, as life itself were fled, In the last sound his harp had sped. 65
V
Upon a rock with lichens wild, Beside him Ellen sat and smiled— Smiled she to see the stately drake Lead forth his fleet upon the lake, While her vexed spaniel, from the beach 70 Bayed at the prize beyond his reach? Yet tell me, then, the maid who knows, Why deepened on her cheek the rose? Forgive, forgive, Fidelity! Perchance the maiden smiled to see 75 Yon parting lingerer wave adieu, And stop and turn to wave anew; And, lovely ladies, ere your ire Condemn the heroine of my lyre, Show me the fair would scorn to spy, 80 And prize such conquest of her eye!
VI
While yet he loitered on the spot, It seemed as Ellen marked him not; But when he turned him to the glade, One courteous parting sign she made; 85 And after, oft the knight would say, That not when prize of festal day Was dealt him by the brightest fair, Who e'er wore jewel in her hair, So highly did his bosom swell, 90 As at that simple mute farewell. Now with a trusty mountain-guide, And his dark stag-hounds by his side, He parts—the maid, unconscious still, Watched him wind slowly round the hill; 95 But when his stately form was hid, The guardian in her bosom chid— "Thy Malcolm! vain and selfish maid!" 'Twas thus upbraiding conscience said— "Not so had Malcolm idly hung 100 On the smooth phrase of southern tongue; Not so had Malcolm strained his eye Another step than thine to spy. Wake, Allan-bane," aloud she cried, To the old Minstrel by her side— 105 "Arouse thee from thy moody dream! I'll give thy harp heroic theme, And warm thee with a noble name; Pour forth the glory of the Graeme!" Scarce from her lip the word had rushed, 110 When deep the conscious maiden blushed; For of his clan, in hall and bower, Young Malcolm Graeme was held the flower.
VII
The Minstrel waked his harp—three times Arose the well-known martial chimes, 115 And thrice their high heroic pride In melancholy murmurs died. "Vainly thou bid'st, O noble maid," Clasping his withered hands, he said, "Vainly thou bid'st me wake the strain, 120 Though all unwont to bid in vain. Alas! than mine a mightier hand Has tuned my harp, my strings has spanned! I touch the chords of joy, but low And mournful answer notes of woe; 125 And the proud march, which victors tread, Sinks in the wailing for the dead. O well for me, if mine alone That dirge's deep prophetic tone! If, as my tuneful fathers said, 130 This harp, which erst Saint Modan swayed, Can thus its master's fate foretell, Then welcome be the minstrel's knell!
VIII
"But ah! dear lady, thus it sighed The eve thy sainted mother died; 135 And such the sounds which, while I strove To wake a lay of war or love, Came marring all the festal mirth, Appalling me who gave them birth, And, disobedient to my call, 140 Wailed loud through Bothwell's bannered hall, Ere Douglases to ruin driven, Were exiled from their native heaven. Oh! if yet worse mishap and woe, My master's house must undergo, 145 Or aught but weal to Ellen fair, Brood in these accents of despair, No future bard, sad Harp! shall fling Triumph or rapture from thy string; One short, one final strain shall flow, 150 Fraught with unutterable woe, Then shivered shall thy fragments lie, Thy master cast him down and die!"
IX
Soothing she answered him—"Assuage, Mine honored friend, the fears of age; 155 All melodies to thee are known, That harp has rung, or pipe has blown, In Lowland vale or Highland glen, From Tweed to Spey—what marvel, then, At times, unbidden notes should rise, 160 Confusedly bound in memory's ties, Entangling, as they rush along, The war-march with the funeral song? Small ground is now for boding fear; Obscure, but safe, we rest us here. 165 My sire, in native virtue great, Resigning lordship, lands, and state, Not then to fortune more resigned, Than yonder oak might give the wind; The graceful foliage storms may reave, 170 The noble stem they cannot grieve. For me,"—she stooped, and, looking round, Plucked a blue hare-bell from the ground— "For me, whose memory scarce conveys An image of more splendid days, 175 This little flower, that loves the lea, May well my simple emblem be; It drinks heaven's dew as blithe as rose That in the king's own garden grows; And when I place it in my hair, 180 Allan, a bard is bound to swear He ne'er saw coronet so fair." Then playfully the chaplet wild She wreathed in her dark locks, and smiled.
X
Her smile, her speech, with winning sway, 185 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 Thrilled to a tear, then thus replied: 190 "Loveliest and best! thou little know'st The rank, the honors, thou hast lost! O might I live to see thee grace, In Scotland's court, thy birth-right place, To see my favorite's step advance, 195 The lightest in the courtly dance, The cause of every gallant's sigh, And leading star of every eye, And theme of every minstrel's art, The Lady of the Bleeding Heart!" 200
XI
"Fair dreams are these," the maiden cried —Light was her accent, yet she sighed— "Yet is this mossy rock to me Worth splendid chair and canopy; Nor would my footsteps spring more gay 205 In courtly dance than blithe strathspey, Nor half so pleased mine ear incline To royal minstrel's lay as thine. And then for suitors proud and high, To bend before my conquering eye— 210 Thou, flattering bard! thyself wilt say, That grim Sir Roderick owns its sway. The Saxon scourge, Clan-Alpine's pride, The terror of Loch-Lomond's side, Would, at my suit, thou know'st, delay 215 A Lennox foray—for a day."
XII
The ancient bard his glee repressed: "Ill hast thou chosen theme for jest! For who, through all this western wild, Named Black Sir Roderick e'er, and smiled! 220 In Holy-Rood a knight he slew; I saw, when back the dirk he drew, Courtiers give place before the stride Of the undaunted homicide; And since, though outlawed, hath his hand 225 Full sternly kept his mountain land. Who else dared give—ah! woe the day, That I such hated truth should say— The Douglas, like a stricken deer, Disowned by every noble peer, 230 Even the rude refuge we have here? Alas, this wild marauding Chief Alone might hazard our relief, And now thy maiden charms expand, Looks for his guerdon in thy hand; 235 Full soon may dispensation sought, To back his suit, from Rome he brought. Then, though an exile on the hill, Thy father, as the Douglas, still Be held in reverence and fear; 240 And though to Roderick thou'rt so dear, That thou might'st guide with silken thread, Slave of thy will, this chieftain dread; Yet, O loved maid, thy mirth refrain! Thy hand is on a lion's mane." 245
XIII
"Minstrel," the maid replied, and high Her father's soul glanced from her eye, "My debts to Roderick's house I know: All that a mother could bestow, To Lady Margaret's care I owe, 250 Since first an orphan in the wild She sorrowed o'er her sister's child; To her brave chieftain son, from ire Of Scotland's king who shrouds my sire. 255 A deeper, holier debt is owed; And, could I pay it with my blood, Allan! Sir Roderick should command My blood, my life—but not my hand. Rather will Ellen Douglas dwell A votaress in Maronnan's cell; 260 Rather through realms beyond the sea, Seeking the world's cold charity, Where ne'er was spoke a Scottish word, And ne'er the name of Douglas heard, An outcast pilgrim will she rove, 265 Than wed the man she cannot love.
XIV
"Thou shakest, good friend, thy tresses gray— That pleading look, what can it say But what I own?—I grant him brave, But wild as Bracklinn's thundering wave; 270 And generous—save vindictive mood, Or jealous transport, chafe his blood; I grant him true to friendly band, As his claymore is to his hand; But O! that very blade of steel 275 More mercy for a foe would feel: I grant him liberal, to fling Among his clan the wealth they bring, When back by lake and glen they wind, And in the Lowland leave behind, 280 Where once some pleasant hamlet stood, A mass of ashes slaked with blood. The hand that for my father fought, I honor, as his daughter ought; But can I clasp it reeking red, 285 From peasants slaughtered in their shed? No! wildly while his virtues gleam, They make his passions darker seem, And flash along his spirit high, Like lightning o'er the midnight sky. 290 While yet a child—and children know, Instinctive taught, the friend and foe— I shuddered at his brow of gloom, His shadowy plaid, and sable plume; A maiden grown, I ill could bear 295 His haughty mien and lordly air; But, if thou join'st a suitor's claim, In serious mood, to Roderick's name, I thrill with anguish! or, if e'er A Douglas knew the word, with fear. 300 To change such odious theme were best— What think'st thou of our stranger guest?"
XV
"What think I of him?—woe the while That brought such wanderer to our isle! Thy father's battle-brand, of yore 305 For Tine-man forged by fairy lore. What time he leagued, no longer foes, His Border spears with Hotspur's bows, Did, self-unscabbarded, foreshow The footstep of a secret foe. 310 If courtly spy hath harbored here, What may we for the Douglas fear? What for this island, deemed of old Clan-Alpine's last and surest hold? If neither spy nor foe, I pray 315 What yet may jealous Roderick say? —Nay, wave not thy disdainful head, Bethink thee of the discord dread, That kindled when at Beltane game Thou ledst the dance with Malcolm Graeme; 320 Still, though thy sire the peace renewed, Smolders in Roderick's breast the feud; Beware!—But hark, what sounds are these? My dull ears catch no faltering breeze, No weeping birch, nor aspens wake, 325 Nor breath is dimpling in the lake, Still is the canna's hoary beard, Yet, by my minstrel faith, I heard— And hark again! some pipe of war Sends the bold pibroch from afar." 330
XVI
Far up the lengthened lake were spied Four darkening specks upon the tide, That, slow enlarging on the view, Four manned and masted barges grew, And, bearing downwards from Glengyle, 335 Steered full upon the lonely isle; The point of Brianchoil they passed, And, to the windward as they cast, Against the sun they gave to shine The bold Sir Roderick's bannered Pine. 340 Nearer and nearer as they bear, Spears, pikes, and axes flash in air. Now might you see the tartans brave, And plaids and plumage dance and wave; Now see the bonnets sink and rise, 345 As his tough oar the rower plies; See, flashing at each sturdy stroke, The wave ascending into smoke; See the proud pipers on the bow, And mark the gaudy streamers flow 350 From their loud chanters down, and sweep The furrowed bosom of the deep, As, rushing through the lake amain, They plied the ancient Highland strain.
XVII
Ever, as on they bore, more loud 355 And louder rung the pibroch proud. At first the sound, by distance tame, Mellowed along the waters came, And, lingering long by cape and bay, Wailed every harsher note away, 360 Then bursting bolder on the ear, The clan's shrill Gathering they could hear; Those thrilling sounds, that call the might Of Old Clan-Alpine to the fight. Thick beat the rapid notes, as when 365 The mustering hundreds shake the glen, And hurrying at the signal dread, The battered earth returns their tread. Then prelude light, of livelier tone, Expressed their merry marching on, 370 Ere peal of closing battle rose, With mingled outcry, shrieks, and blows; And mimic din of stroke and ward, As broad sword upon target jarred; And groaning pause, ere yet again, 375 Condensed, the battle yelled amain; The rapid charge, the rallying shout, Retreat borne headlong into rout, And bursts of triumph, to declare Clan-Alpine's conquest—all were there. 380 Nor ended thus the strain; but slow Sunk in a moan prolonged and low, And changed the conquering clarion swell, For wild lament o'er those that fell.
XVIII
The war-pipes ceased; but lake and hill 385 Were busy with their echoes still; And, when they slept, a vocal strain Bade their hoarse chorus wake again, While loud a hundred clansmen raise Their voices in their Chieftain's praise. 390 Each boatman, bending to his oar, With measured sweep the burden bore, In such wild cadence, as the breeze Makes through December's leafless trees. The chorus first could Allan know, 395 "Roderick Vich Alpine, ho! iro!" And near, and nearer as they rowed, Distinct the martial ditty flowed.
XIX
BOAT SONG
Hail to the Chief who in triumph advances! Honored and blessed be the ever-green Pine! 400 Long may the tree, in his banner that glances, Flourish, the shelter and grace of our line! Heaven send it happy dew, Earth lend it sap anew, Gayly to borgeon, and broadly to grow, 405 While every Highland glen Sends our shout back again, "Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!"
Ours is no sapling, chance-sown by the fountain, Blooming at Beltane, in winter to fade; 410 When the whirlwind has stripped every leaf on the mountain, The more shall Clan-Alpine exult in her shade. Moored in the rifted rock, Proof to the tempest's shock, Firmer he roots him the ruder it blow; 415 Menteith and Breadalbane, then, Echo his praise again, "Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!"
XX
Proudly our pibroch has thrilled in Glen Fruin, And Bannochar's groans to our slogan replied; 420 Glen Luss and Ross-dhu, they are smoking in ruin, And the best of Loch-Lomond lie dead on her side. Widow and Saxon maid Long shall lament our raid, Think of Clan-Alpine with fear and with woe; 425 Lennox and Leven-glen Shake when they hear again "Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!"
Row, vassals, row, for the pride of the highlands! Stretch to your oars, for the ever-green Pine! 430 O that the rose-bud that graces yon islands, Were wreathed in a garland around him to twine! O that some seedling gem, Worthy such noble stem, Honored and blest in their shadow might grow; Loud should Clan-Alpine then Ring from her deepmost glen, "Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!"
XXI
With all her joyful female band, Had Lady Margaret sought the strand. 440 Loose on the breeze their tresses flew, And high their snowy arms they threw, As echoing back with shrill acclaim, And chorus wild, the Chieftain's name; While, prompt to please, with mother's art, 445 The darling passion of his heart, The Dame called Ellen to the strand, To greet her kinsman ere he land: "Come, loiterer, come! a Douglas thou, And shun to wreathe a victor's brow?" 450 Reluctantly and slow, the maid The unwelcome summoning obeyed, And, when a distant bugle rung, In the mid-path aside she sprung: "List Allan-bane! From mainland cast 455 I hear my father's signal blast. Be ours," she cried, "the skiff to guide, And waft him from the mountain side." Then, like a sunbeam, swift and bright, She darted to her shallop light, 460 And, eagerly while Roderick scanned, For her dear form, his mother's band, The islet far behind her lay, And she had landed in the bay.
XXII
Some feelings are to mortals given, 465 With less of earth in them than heaven: And if there be a human tear From passion's dross refined and clear, A tear so limpid and so meek, It would not stain an angel's cheek, 470 'Tis that which pious fathers shed Upon a duteous daughter's head! And as the Douglas to his breast His darling Ellen closely pressed, Such holy drops her tresses steeped, 475 Though 'twas an hero's eye that weeped. Nor while on Ellen's faltering tongue Her filial welcomes crowded hung, Marked she, that fear, affection's proof, Still held a graceful youth aloof; 480 No! not till Douglas named his name, Although the youth was Malcolm Graeme.
XXIII
Allan, with wistful look the while, Marked Roderick landing on the isle; His master piteously he eyed. 485 Then gazed upon the Chieftain's pride, Then dashed, with hasty hand, away From his dimmed eye the gathering spray; And Douglas, as his hand he laid On Malcolm's shoulder, kindly said, 490 "Canst thou, young friend, no meaning spy In my poor follower's glistening eye? I'll tell thee: he recalls the day, When in my praise he led the lay O'er the arched gate of Bothwell proud, 495 While many a minstrel answered loud, When Percy's Norman pennon, won In bloody field, before me shone, And twice ten knights, the least a name As mighty as yon Chief may claim, 500 Gracing my pomp, behind me came. Yet trust me, Malcolm, not so proud Was I of all that marshaled crowd, Though the waned crescent owned my might, And in my train trooped lord and knight, 505 Though Blantyre hymned her holiest lays, And Bothwell's bards flung back my praise, As when this old man's silent tear, And this poor maid's affection dear, A welcome give more kind and true, 510 Than aught my better fortunes knew. Forgive, my friend, a father's boast, Oh! it out-beggars all I lost!"
XXIV
Delightful praise!—like summer rose, That brighter in the dew-drop glows, 515 The bashful maiden's cheek appeared, For Douglas spoke and Malcolm heard. The flush of shame-faced joy to hide, The hounds, the hawk, her cares divide; The loved caresses of the maid 520 The dogs with crouch and whimper paid; And, at her whistle, on her hand The falcon took his favorite stand, Closed his dark wing, relaxed his eye, Nor, though unhooded, sought to fly. 525 And, trust, while in such guise she stood, Like fabled Goddess of the wood, That if a father's partial thought O'erweighed her worth, and beauty aught, Well might the lover's judgment fail 530 To balance with a juster scale; For with each secret glance he stole, The fond enthusiast sent his soul.
XXV
Of stature tall, and slender frame, But firmly knit, was Malcolm Graeme. 535 The belted plaid and tartan hose Did ne'er more graceful limbs disclose; His flaxen hair, of sunny hue, Curled closely round his bonnet blue. Trained to the chase, his eagle eye 540 The ptarmigan in snow could spy; Each pass, by mountain, lake, and heath, He knew, through Lennox and Menteith; Vain was the bound of dark-brown doe, When Malcolm bent his sounding bow, 545 And scarce that doe, though winged with fear, Outstripped in speed the mountaineer; Right up Ben-Lomond could he press, And not a sob his toil confess. His form accorded with a mind 550 Lively and ardent, frank and kind; A blither heart, till Ellen came, Did never love nor sorrow tame; It danced as lightsome in his breast, As played the feather on his crest. 555 Yet friends, who nearest knew the youth, His scorn of wrong, his zeal for truth, And bards, who saw his features bold, When kindled by the tales of old, Said, were that youth to manhood grown, 560 Not long should Roderick Dhu's renown Be foremost voiced by mountain fame, But quail to that of Malcolm Graeme.
XXVI
Now back they wend their watery way, And, "O my sire!" did Ellen say, 565 "Why urge thy chase so far astray? And why so late returned? And why"— The rest was in her speaking eye. "My child, the chase I follow far, 'Tis mimicry of noble war; 570 And with that gallant pastime reft Were all of Douglas I have left. I met young Malcolm as I strayed Far eastward, in Glenfinlas' shade, Nor strayed I safe; for all around, 575 Hunters and horsemen scoured the ground. This youth, though still a royal ward, Risked life and land to be my guard, And through the passes of the wood Guided my steps, not unpursued; 580 And Roderick shall his welcome make, Despite old spleen, for Douglas' sake. Then must he seek Strath-Endrick glen, Nor peril aught for me again."
XXVII
Sir Roderick, who to meet them came, 585 Reddened at sight of Malcolm Graeme, Yet, not in action, word, or eye, Failed aught in hospitality. In talk and sport they whiled away The morning of that summer day; 590 But at high noon a courier light Held secret parley with the knight, Whose moody aspect soon declared, That evil were the news he heard. Deep thought seemed toiling in his head; 595 Yet was the evening banquet made, Ere he assembled round the flame, His mother, Douglas, and the Graeme, And Ellen too; then cast around His eyes, then fixed them on the ground, 600 As studying phrase that might avail Best to convey unpleasant tale. Long with his dagger's hilt he played, Then raised his haughty brow, and said:
XXVIII
"Short be my speech—nor time affords, 605 Nor my plain temper, glozing words. Kinsman and father—if such name Douglas vouchsafe to Roderick's claim; Mine honored mother—Ellen—why, My cousin, turn away thine eye?— 610 And Graeme, in whom I hope to know Full soon a noble friend or foe, When age shall give thee thy command, And leading in thy native land— List all—The King's vindictive pride 615 Boasts to have tamed the Border-side, Where chiefs, with hound and hawk who came To share their monarch's silvan game, Themselves in bloody toils were snared; And when the banquet they prepared, 620 And wide their loyal portals flung, O'er their own gateway struggling hung. Loud cries their blood from Meggat's mead, From Yarrow braes, and banks of Tweed, Where the lone streams of Ettrick glide, 625 And from the silver Teviot's side; The dales, where martial clans did ride, Are now one sheep-walk, waste and wide. This tyrant of the Scottish throne, So faithless, and so ruthless known, 630 Now hither comes; his end the same, The same pretext of silvan game. What grace for Highland Chiefs, judge ye By fate of Border chivalry. Yet more; amid Glenfinlas' green, 635 Douglas, thy stately form was seen. This by espial sure I know: Your counsel in the strait I show."
XXIX
Ellen and Margaret fearfully Sought comfort in each other's eye, 640 Then turned their ghastly look, each one, This to her sire, that to her son. The hasty color went and came In the bold cheek of Malcolm Graeme; But from his glance it well appeared, 645 'Twas but for Ellen that he feared; While, sorrowful, but undismayed, The Douglas thus his counsel said: "Brave Roderick, though the tempest roar, It may but thunder and pass o'er; 650 Nor will I here remain an hour, To draw the lightning on thy bower; For well thou know'st, at this gray head The royal bolt were fiercest sped. For thee, who, at thy King's command, 655 Canst aid him with a gallant band, Submission, homage, humbled pride, Shall turn the Monarch's wrath aside. Poor remnants of the Bleeding Heart, Ellen and I will seek, apart, 660 The refuge of some forest cell, There, like the hunted quarry, dwell, Till on the mountain and the moor, The stern pursuit be passed and o'er."
XXX
"No, by mine honor," Roderick said, 665 "So help me Heaven, and my good blade! No, never! Blasted be yon Pine, My fathers' ancient crest and mine, If from its shade in danger part The lineage of the Bleeding Heart! 670 Hear my blunt speech: Grant me this maid To wife, thy counsel to mine aid; To Douglas, leagued with Roderick Dhu, Will friends and allies flock enow; Like cause of doubt, distrust, and grief 675 Will bind to us each Western Chief. When the loud pipes my bridal tell, The Links of Forth shall hear the knell, The guards shall start in Stirling's porch; And, when I light the nuptial torch, 680 A thousand villages in flames Shall scare the slumbers of King James! —Nay, Ellen, blench not thus away, And, mother, cease these signs, I pray; I meant not all my heat might say. 685 Small need of inroad, or of fight, When the sage Douglas may unite Each mountain clan in friendly band, To guard the passes of their land, Till the foiled king, from pathless glen, 690 Shall bootless turn him home again."
XXXI
There are who have, at midnight hour, In slumber scaled a dizzy tower, And, on the verge that beetled o'er The ocean tide's incessant roar, 695 Dreamed calmly out their dangerous dream, Till wakened by the morning beam; When, dazzled by the eastern glow, Such startler cast his glance below, And saw unmeasured depth around, 700 And heard unintermitted sound, And thought the battled fence so frail, It waved like cobweb in the gale; Amid his senses' giddy wheel, Did he not desperate impulse feel, 705 Headlong to plunge himself below, And meet the worst his fears foreshow? Thus, Ellen, dizzy and astound, As sudden ruin yawned around, By crossing terrors wildly tossed, 710 Still for the Douglas fearing most, Could scarce the desperate thought withstand, To buy his safety with her hand.
XXXII
Such purpose dread could Malcolm spy In Ellen's quivering lip and eye, 715 And eager rose to speak—but ere His tongue could hurry forth his fear, Had Douglas marked the hectic strife, Where death seemed combating with life; For to her cheek, in feverish flood, 720 One instant rushed the throbbing blood, Then ebbing back, with sudden sway, Left its domain as wan as clay. "Roderick, enough! enough!" he cried, "My daughter cannot be thy bride; 725 Not that the blush to wooer dear, Nor paleness that of maiden fear. It may not be—forgive her, Chief, Nor hazard aught for our relief. Against his sovereign, Douglas ne'er 730 Will level a rebellious spear. 'Twas I that taught his youthful hand To rein a steed and wield a brand; I see him yet, the princely boy! Not Ellen more my pride and joy; 735 I love him still, despite my wrongs, By hasty wrath, and slanderous tongues. O seek the grace you well may find, Without a cause to mine combined."
XXXIII
Twice through the hall the Chieftain strode; 740 The waving of his tartans broad, And darkened brow, where wounded pride With ire and disappointment vied, Seemed, by the torch's gloomy light, Like the ill Demon of the night, 745 Stooping his pinions' shadowy sway Upon the knighted pilgrim's way. But, unrequited Love! thy dart Plunged deepest its envenomed smart, And Roderick, with thine anguish stung, 750 At length the hand of Douglas wrung, While eyes, that mocked at tears before, With bitter drops were running o'er. The death-pangs of long-cherished hope Scarce in that ample breast had scope, 755 But, struggling with his spirit proud, Convulsive heaved its checkered shroud, While every sob—so mute were all— Was heard distinctly through the hall. The son's despair, the mother's look, 760 Ill might the gentle Ellen brook; She rose, and to her side there came, To aid her parting steps, the Graeme.
XXXIV
Then Roderick from the Douglas broke— As flashes flame through sable smoke, 765 Kindling its wreaths, long, dark, and low, To one broad blaze of ruddy glow, So the deep anguish of despair Burst, in fierce jealousy, to air. With stalwart grasp his hand he laid 770 On Malcolm's breast and belted plaid: "Back, beardless boy!" he sternly said, "Back, minion! hold'st thou thus at naught The lesson I so lately taught? This roof, the Douglas, and that maid, 775 Thank thou for punishment delayed." Eager as a greyhound on his game Fiercely with Roderick grappled Graeme. "Perish my name, if aught afford Its Chieftain's safety save his sword!" 780 Thus as they strove, their desperate hand Griped to the dagger or the brand, And death had been—but Douglas rose, And thrust between the struggling foes His giant strength: "Chieftains, forego! 785 I hold the first who strikes, my foe. Madmen, forbear your frantic jar! What! is the Douglas fallen so far, His daughter's hand is deemed the spoil Of such dishonorable broil!" 790 Sullen and slowly they unclasp, As struck with shame, their desperate grasp, And each upon his rival glared, With foot advanced, and blade half bared.
XXXV
Ere yet the brands aloft were flung 795 Margaret on Roderick's mantle hung, And Malcolm heard his Ellen's scream, As faltered through terrific dream. Then Roderick plunged in sheath his sword And veiled his wrath in scornful word: 800 "Rest safe till morning; pity 'twere Such cheek should feel the midnight air! Then mayest thou to James Stuart tell, Roderick will keep the lake and fell, Nor lackey, with his freeborn clan, 805 The pageant pomp of earthly man. More would he of Clan-Alpine know, Thou canst our strength and passes show. Malise, what ho!"—his henchman came; "Give our safe-conduct to the Graeme." 810 Young Malcolm answered, calm and bold, "Fear nothing for thy favorite hold; The spot, an angel deigned to grace, Is blessed, though robbers haunt the place. Thy churlish courtesy for those 815 Reserve, who fear to be thy foes. As safe to me the mountain way At midnight as in blaze of day, Though with his boldest at his back Even Roderick Dhu beset the track.— 820 Brave Douglas—lovely Ellen—nay, Nought here of parting will I say. Earth does not hold a lonesome glen So secret but we meet again.— Chieftain! we too shall find an hour," 825 He said, and left the silvan bower.
XXXVI
Old Allan followed to the strand— Such was the Douglas's command— And anxious told, how, on the morn, The stern Sir Roderick deep had sworn 830 The Fiery Cross should circle o'er Dale, glen, and valley, down, and moor. Much were the peril to the Graeme From those who to the signal came; Far up the lake 'twere safest land, 835 Himself would row him to the strand. He gave his counsel to the wind, While Malcolm did, unheeding, bind, Round dirk and pouch and broadsword rolled, His ample plaid in tightened fold, 840 And stripped his limbs to such array, As best might suit the watery way—
XXXVII
Then spoke abrupt: "Farewell to thee, Pattern of old fidelity!" The Minstrel's hand he kindly pressed— 845 "Oh, could I point a place of rest! My sovereign holds in ward my land, My uncle leads my vassal band; To tame his foes, his friends to aid, Poor Malcolm has but heart and blade. 850 Yet, if there be one faithful Graeme, Who loves the chieftain of his name, Not long shall honored Douglas dwell Like hunted stag in mountain cell; Nor, ere yon pride-swoll'n robber dare, 855 I might not give the rest to air! Tell Roderick Dhu, I owed him nought, Not the poor service of a boat, To waft me to yon mountain-side." Then plunged he in the flashing tide. 860 Bold o'er the flood his head he bore, And stoutly steered him from the shore; And Allan strained his anxious eye, Far mid the lake his form to spy, Darkening across each puny wave, 865 To which the moon her silver gave, Fast as the cormorant could skim, The swimmer plied each active limb; Then landing in the moonlight dell, Loud shouted of his weal to tell. 870 The Minstrel heard the far halloo, And joyful from the shore withdrew.
CANTO THIRD
THE GATHERING
I
Time rolls his ceaseless course. The race of yore, Who danced our infancy upon their knee, And told our marveling boyhood legends store Of their strange ventures happed by land or sea, How are they blotted from the things that be! 5 How few, all weak and withered of their force, Wait on the verge of dark eternity, Like stranded wrecks, the tide returning hoarse, To sweep them from our sight! Time rolls his ceaseless course.
Yet live there still who can remember well, 10 How, when a mountain chief his bugle blew, Both field and forest, dingle, cliff, and dell, And solitary heath, the signal knew; And fast the faithful clan around him drew, What time the warning note was keenly wound, 15 What time aloft their kindred banner flew, While clamorous war-pipes yelled the gathering sound, And while the Fiery Cross glanced, like a meteor, round.
II
The summer dawn's reflected hue To purple changed Loch Katrine blue; 20 Mildly and soft the western breeze Just kissed the lake, just stirred the trees, And the pleased lake, like maiden coy, Trembled but dimpled not for joy; The mountain-shadows on her breast 25 Were neither broken nor at rest; In bright uncertainty they lie, Like future joys to Fancy's eye. The water-lily to the light Her chalice reared of silver bright; 30 The doe awoke, and to the lawn, Begemmed with dew-drops, led her fawn; The gray mist left the mountain side, The torrent showed its glistening pride; Invisible in flecked sky, 35 The lark sent down her revelry; The blackbird and the speckled thrush, Good-morrow gave from brake and bush; In answer cooed the cushat dove Her notes of peace, and rest, and love. 40
III
No thought of peace, no thought of rest, Assuaged the storm in Roderick's breast. With sheathed broadsword in his hand, Abrupt he paced the islet strand, And eyed the rising sun, and laid 45 His hand on his impatient blade. Beneath a rock, his vassals' care Was prompt the ritual to prepare, With deep and deathful meaning fraught; For such Antiquity had taught 50 Was preface meet, ere yet abroad The Cross of Fire should take its road. The shrinking band stood oft aghast At the impatient glance he cast— Such glance the mountain eagle threw, 55 As, from the cliffs of Benvenue, She spread her dark sails on the wind, And, high in middle heaven reclined, With her broad shadow on the lake, Silenced the warblers of the brake. 60
IV
A heap of withered boughs was piled, Of juniper and rowan wild, Mingled with shivers from the oak, Rent by the lightning's recent stroke. Brian, the Hermit, by it stood, 65 Barefooted, in his frock and hood. His grizzled beard and matted hair Obscured a visage of despair; His naked arms and legs, seamed o'er, The scars of frantic penance bore. 70 That monk, of savage form and face, The impending danger of his race Had drawn from deepest solitude, Far in Benharrow's bosom rude. Not his the mien of Christian priest, 75 But Druid's, from the grave released, Whose hardened heart and eye might brook On human sacrifice to look; And much, 'twas said, of heathen lore Mixed in the charms he muttered o'er. 80 The hallowed creed gave only worse And deadlier emphasis of curse; No peasant sought that Hermit's prayer, His cave the pilgrim shunned with care, The eager huntsman knew his bound, 85 And in mid chase called off his hound; Or if, in lonely glen or strath, The desert-dweller met his path, He prayed, and signed the cross between, While terror took devotion's mien. 90
V
Of Brian's birth strange tales were told. His mother watched a midnight fold, Built deep within a dreary glen, Where scattered lay the bones of men In some forgotten battle slain, 95 And bleached by drifting wind and rain. It might have tamed a warrior's heart, To view such mockery of his art! The knot-grass fettered there the hand Which once could burst an iron band; 100 Beneath the broad and ample bone, That bucklered heart to fear unknown, A feeble and a timorous guest, The fieldfare framed her lowly nest; There the slow blindworm left his slime 105 On the fleet limbs that mocked at time; And there, too, lay the leader's skull, Still wreathed with chaplet, flushed and full, For heath-bell with her purple bloom Supplied the bonnet and the plume. 110 All night, in this sad glen, the maid Sat, shrouded in her mantle's shade: She said no shepherd sought her side, No hunter's hand her snood untied; Yet ne'er again to braid her hair 115 The virgin snood did Alice wear; Gone was her maiden glee and sport, Her maiden girdle all too short, Nor sought she, from that fatal night, Or holy church or blessed rite, 120 But locked her secret in her breast, And died in travail, unconfessed.
VI
Alone, among his young compeers, Was Brian from his infant years; A moody and heartbroken boy, 125 Estranged from sympathy and joy, Bearing each taunt with careless tongue On his mysterious lineage flung. Whole nights he spent by moonlight pale, To wood and stream his hap to wail, 130 Till, frantic, he as truth received What of his birth the crowd believed, And sought, in mist and meteor fire, To meet and know his Phantom Sire! In vain, to soothe his wayward fate, 135 The cloister oped her pitying gate; In vain, the learning of the age Unclasped the sable-lettered page; Even in its treasures he could find Food for the fever of his mind. 140 Eager he read whatever tells Of magic, cabala, and spells, And every dark pursuit allied To curious and presumptuous pride; Till with fired brain and nerves o'erstrung, 145 And heart with mystic horrors wrung, Desperate he sought Benharrow's den, And hid him from the haunts of men.
VII
The desert gave him visions wild, Such as might suit the specter's child. 150 Where with black cliffs the torrents toil, He watched the wheeling eddies boil, Till, from their foam, his dazzled eyes Beheld the River Demon rise; The mountain mist took form and limb, 155 Of noontide hag, or goblin grim; The midnight wind came wild and dread, Swelled with the voices of the dead; Far on the future battle-heath His eyes beheld the ranks of death. 160 Thus the lone Seer, from mankind hurled, Shaped forth a disembodied world. One lingering sympathy of mind Still bound him to the mortal kind; The only parent he could claim 165 Of ancient Alpine lineage came. Late had he heard, in prophet's dream, The fatal Ben-Shie's boding scream; Sounds, too, had come in midnight blast, Of charging steeds, careering fast 170 Along Benharrow's shingly side, Where mortal horseman ne'er might ride; The thunderbolt had split the pine— All augured ill to Alpine's line. He girt his loins, and came to show 175 The signals of impending woe, And now stood prompt to bless or ban, As bade the Chieftain of his clan.
VIII
'Twas all prepared—and from the rock, A goat, the patriarch of the flock, 180 Before the kindling pile was laid, And pierced by Roderick's ready blade. Patient the sickening victim eyed The life-blood ebb in crimson tide, Down his clogged beard and shaggy limb, 185 Till darkness glazed his eyeballs dim. The grisly priest, with murmuring prayer, A slender crosslet formed with care, A cubit's length in measure due; The shaft and limbs were rods of yew, 190 Whose parents in Inch-Cailliach wave Their shadows o'er Clan-Alpine's grave, And, answering Lomond's breezes deep, Soothe many a chieftain's endless sleep. The Cross, thus formed, he held on high, 195 With wasted hand and haggard eye, And strange and mingled feelings woke; While his anathema he spoke.
IX
"Woe to the clansman, who shall view This symbol of sepulchral yew, 200 Forgetful that its branches grew Where weep the heavens their holiest dew On Alpine's dwelling low! Deserter of his Chieftain's trust, He ne'er shall mingle with their dust, 205 But, from his sires and kindred thrust, Each clansman's execration just Shall doom him wrath and woe." He paused—the word the vassals took, With forward step and fiery look, 210 On high their naked brands they shook, Their clattering targets wildly strook; And first in murmur low, Then, like the billow in his course, That far to seaward finds his source, 215 And flings to shore his mustered force, Burst, with loud roar, their answer hoarse, "Woe to the traitor, woe!" Ben-an's grey scalp the accents knew, The joyous wolf from cover drew, 220 The exulting eagle screamed afar— They knew the voice of Alpine's war.
X
The shout was hushed on lake and fell, The Monk resumed his muttered spell; Dismal and low its accents came, 225 The while he scathed the Cross with flame: And the few words that reached the air, Although the holiest name was there, Had more of blasphemy than prayer. But when he shook above the crowd 230 Its kindled points, he spoke aloud: "Woe to the wretch, who fails to rear At this dread sign the ready spear! For, as the flames this symbol sear, His home, the refuge of his fear, 235 A kindred fate shall know; Far o'er its roof the volumed flame Clan-Alpine's vengeance shall proclaim, While maids and matrons on his name Shall call down wretchedness and shame, 240 And infamy and woe." Then rose the cry of females, shrill As goshawk's whistle on the hill, Denouncing misery and ill, Mingled with childhood's babbling trill 245 Of curses stammered slow; Answering, with imprecation dread, "Sunk be his home in embers red! And cursed be the meanest shed That e'er shall hide the houseless head 250 We doom to want and woe!" A sharp and shrieking echo gave, Coir-Uriskin, thy goblin cave! And the gray pass where birches wave, On Beala-nam-bo. 255
XI
Then deeper paused the priest anew, And hard his laboring breath he drew, While, with set teeth and clenched hand, And eyes that glowed like fiery brand, He meditated curse more dread, 260 And deadlier, on the clansman's head, Who, summoned to his chieftain's aid, The signal saw and disobeyed. The crosslet's points of sparkling wood He quenched among the bubbling blood, 265 And, as again the sign he reared, Hollow and hoarse his voice was heard: "When flits this Cross from man to man, Vich-Alpine's summons to his clan, Burst be the ear that fails to heed! 270 Palsied the foot that shuns to speed! May ravens tear the careless eyes, Wolves make the coward heart their prize! As sinks that blood-stream in the earth, So may his heart's blood drench his hearth! 275 As dies in hissing gore the spark, Quench thou his light, Destruction dark! And be the grace to him denied, Bought by this sign to all beside!" He ceased; no echo gave again 280 The murmur of the deep Amen.
XII
Then Roderick, with impatient look, From Brian's hand the symbol took: "Speed, Malise, speed!" he said, and gave The crosslet to his henchman brave. 285 "The muster-place be Lanrick mead— Instant the time—speed, Malise, speed!" Like heath-bird, when the hawks pursue, A barge across Loch Katrine flew; High stood the henchman on the prow, 290 So rapidly the barge-men row, The bubbles, where they launched the boat, Were all unbroken and afloat, Dancing in foam and ripple still, When it had neared the mainland hill; 295 And from the silver beach's side Still was the prow three fathom wide, When lightly bounded to the land The messenger of blood and brand.
XIII
Speed, Malise, speed! the dun deer's hide 300 On fleeter foot was never tied. Speed, Malise, speed! such cause of haste Thine active sinews never braced. Bend 'gainst the steepy hill thy breast, Burst down like torrent from its crest; 305 With short and springing footstep pass The trembling bog and false morass; Across the brook like roebuck bound, And thread the brake like questing hound; The crag is high, the scar is deep, 310 Yet shrink not from the desperate leap: Parched are thy burning lips and brow. Yet by the fountain pause not now; Herald of battle, fate, and fear, Stretch onward in thy fleet career! 315 The wounded hind thou track'st not now, Pursuest not maid through greenwood bough, Nor pliest thou now thy flying pace, With rivals in the mountain race; But danger, death, and warrior deed, 320 Are in thy course—speed, Malise, speed!
XIV
Fast as the fatal symbol flies, In arms the huts and hamlets rise; From winding glen, from upland brown, They poured each hardy tenant down. 325 Nor slacked the messenger his pace; He showed the sign, he named the place, And, pressing forward like the wind, Left clamor and surprise behind. The fisherman forsook the strand, 330 The swarthy smith took dirk and brand; With changed cheer, the mower blithe Left in the half-cut swathe the scythe; The herds without a keeper strayed, The plow was in mid-furrow stayed, 335 The falc'ner tossed his hawk away, The hunter left the stag at bay; Prompt at the signal of alarms, Each son of Alpine rushed to arms; So swept the tumult and affray 340 Along the margin of Achray. Alas, thou lovely lake! that e'er Thy banks should echo sounds of fear! The rocks, the bosky thickets, sleep So stilly on thy bosom deep, 345 The lark's blithe carol, from the cloud Seems for the scene too gaily loud.
XV
Speed, Malise, speed! the lake is past, Duncraggan's huts appear at last, And peep, like moss-grown rocks, half seen, 350 Half hidden in the copse so green; There mayst thou rest, thy labor done, Their Lord shall speed the signal on. As stoops the hawk upon his prey, The henchman shot him down the way. 355 —What woeful accents load the gale? The funeral yell, the female wail! A gallant hunter's sport is o'er, A valiant warrior fights no more. Who, in the battle or the chase, 360 At Roderick's side shall fill his place!— Within the hall, where torches' ray Supplies the excluded beams of day, Lies Duncan on his lowly bier, And o'er him streams his widow's tear. 365 His stripling son stands mournful by, His youngest weeps, but knows not why; The village maids and matrons round The dismal coronach resound.
XVI
CORONACH
He is gone on the mountain, 370 He is lost to the forest, Like a summer-dried fountain, When our need was the sorest. The font, reappearing, From the raindrops shall borrow, 375 But to us comes no cheering, To Duncan no morrow!
The hand of the reaper Takes the ears that are hoary, But the voice of the weeper 380 Wails manhood in glory. The autumn winds rushing Waft the leaves that are searest, But our flower was in flushing, When blighting was nearest. 385
Fleet foot on the correi, Sage counsel in cumber, Red hand in the foray, How sound is thy slumber! Like dew on the mountain, 390 Like the foam on the river, Like the bubble on the fountain Thou art gone, and forever!
XVII
See Stumah, who, the bier beside, His master's corpse with wonder eyed— 395 Poor Stumah! whom his least halloo Could send like lightning o'er the dew, Bristles his crest, and points his ears, As if some stranger step he hears. 'Tis not a mourner's muffled tread, 400 Who comes to sorrow o'er the dead, But headlong haste, or deadly fear, Urge the precipitate career. All stand aghast—unheeding all, The henchman bursts into the hall; 405 Before the dead man's bier he stood; Held forth the Cross besmeared with blood: "The muster-place is Lanrick mead; Speed forth the signal! clansmen, speed!"
XVIII
Angus, the heir of Duncan's line, 410 Sprung forth and seized the fatal sign. In haste the stripling to his side His father's dirk and broadsword tied; But when he saw his mother's eye Watch him in speechless agony, 415 Back to her opened arms he flew, Pressed on her lips a fond adieu— "Alas!" she sobbed—"and yet be gone, And speed thee forth, like Duncan's son!" One look he cast upon the bier, 420 Dashed from his eye the gathering tear, Breathed deep to clear his laboring breast, And tossed aloft his bonnet crest, Then, like the high-bred colt, when, freed, First he essays his fire and speed, 425 He vanished, and o'er moor and moss Sped forward with the Fiery Cross. Suspended was the widow's tear, While yet his footsteps she could hear; And when she marked the henchman's eye 430 Wet with unwonted sympathy, "Kinsman," she said, "his race is run, That should have sped thine errand on; The oak has fallen—the sapling bough Is all Duncraggan's shelter now. 435 Yet trust I well, his duty done, The orphan's God will guard my son. And you, in many a danger true, At Duncan's hest your blades that drew, To arms, and guard that orphan's head! 440 Let babes and women wail the dead." Then weapon-clang and martial call Resounded through the funeral hall, While from the walls the attendant band Snatched sword and targe, with hurried hand; 445 And short and flitting energy Glanced from the mourner's sunken eye, As if the sounds to warrior dear, Might rouse her Duncan from his bier. But faded soon that borrowed force; 450 Grief claimed his right, and tears their course.
XIX
Benledi saw the Cross of Fire; It glanced like lightning up Strath-Ire. O'er dale and hill the summons flew, Nor rest nor pause young Angus knew; 455 The tear that gathered in his eye He left the mountain breeze to dry; Until, where Teith's young waters roll Betwixt him and a wooded knoll That graced the sable strath with green, 460 The chapel of St. Bride was seen. Swoln was the stream, remote the bridge, But Angus paused not on the edge; Though the dark waves danced dizzily, Though reeled his sympathetic eye, 465 He dashed amid the torrent's roar. His right hand high the crosslet bore, His left the pole-ax grasped, to guide And stay his footing in the tide. He stumbled twice—the foam splashed high; 470 With hoarser swell the stream raced by; And had he fallen—forever there, Farewell Duncraggan's orphan heir! But still, as if in parting life, Firmer he grasped the Cross of strife, 475 Until the opposing bank he gained, And up the chapel pathway strained.
XX
A blithesome rout, that morning tide, Had sought the chapel of St. Bride. Her troth Tombea's Mary gave 480 To Norman, heir of Armandave. And, issuing from the Gothic arch, The bridal now resumed their march. In rude, but glad procession, came Bonneted sire and coif-clad dame; 485 And plaided youth, with jest and jeer, Which snooden maiden would not hear: And children, that, unwitting why, Lent the gay shout their shrilly cry; And minstrels, that in measures vied 490 Before the young and bonny bride, Whose downcast eye and cheek disclose The tear and blush of morning rose. With virgin step, and bashful hand, She held the kerchief's snowy band; 495 The gallant bridegroom, by her side, Beheld his prize with victor's pride, And the glad mother in her ear Was closely whispering word of cheer.
XXI
Who meets them at the churchyard gate? 500 The messenger of fear and fate! Haste in his hurried accent lies, And grief is swimming in his eyes. All dripping from the recent flood, Panting and travel-soiled he stood, 505 The fatal sign of fire and sword Held forth, and spoke the appointed word: "The muster-place is Lanrick mead; Speed forth the signal! Norman, speed!" And must he change so soon the hand, 510 Just linked to his by holy band, For the fell Cross of blood and brand? And must the day, so blithe that rose And promised rapture in the close, Before its setting hour, divide 515 The bridegroom from the plighted bride? O fatal doom!—it must! it must! Clan-Alpine's cause, her Chieftain's trust, Her summons dread, brook no delay; Stretch to the race—away! away! 520
XXII
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; Then, trusting not a second look, 525 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 stirred? The sickening pang of hope deferred, 530 And memory, with a torturing train Of all his morning visions vain. Mingled with love's impatience came The manly thirst for martial fame; The stormy joy of mountaineers, 535 Ere yet they rush upon the spears; And zeal for Clan and Chieftain burning, And hope, from well-fought field returning, With war's red honors on his crest, To clasp his Mary to his breast. 540 Stung by such thoughts, o'er bank and brae, Like fire from flint he glanced away, While high resolve, and feeling strong, Burst into voluntary song.
XXIII
SONG
The heath this night must be my bed, 545 The bracken curtain for my head, My lullaby the warder's tread, Far, far, from love and thee, Mary; To-morrow eve, more stilly laid, My couch may be my bloody plaid, 550 My vesper song, thy wail, sweet maid! It will not waken me, Mary! I may not, dare not, fancy now The grief that clouds thy lovely brow, I dare not think upon thy vow, 555 And all it promised me, Mary. No fond regret must Norman know; When bursts Clan-Alpine on the foe, His heart must be like bended bow, His foot like arrow free, Mary. 560
A time will come with feeling fraught, For if I fall in battle fought, Thy hapless lover's dying thought Shall be a thought on thee, Mary. And if returned from conquered foes, 565 How blithely will the evening close, How sweet the linnet sing repose, To my young bride and me, Mary!
XXIV
Not faster o'er thy heathery braes, Balquidder, speeds the midnight blaze, 570 Rushing, in conflagration strong, Thy deep ravines and dells along, Wrapping thy cliffs in purple glow, And reddening the dark lakes below; Nor faster speeds it, nor so far, 575 As o'er thy heaths the voice of war. The signal roused to martial coil, The sullen margin of Loch Voil, Waked still Loch Doine, and to the source Alarmed, Balvaig, thy swampy course; 580 Thence southward turned its rapid road Adown Strath-Gartney's valley broad, Till rose in arms each man might claim A portion in Clan-Alpine's name, From the gray sire, whose trembling hand 585 Could hardly buckle on his brand, To the raw boy, whose shaft and bow Were yet scarce terror to the crow. Each valley, each sequestered glen, Mustered its little horde of men, 590 That met as torrents from the height In Highland dales their streams unite, Still gathering, as they pour along, A voice more loud, a tide more strong, Till at the rendezvous they stood 595 By hundreds prompt for blows and blood, Each trained to arms since life began, Owning no tie but to his clan, No oath, but by his chieftain's hand, No law, but Roderick Dhu's command. 600
XXV
That summer morn had Roderick Dhu Surveyed the skirts of Benvenue, And sent his scouts o'er hill and heath, To view the frontiers of Menteith. All backward came with news of truce; 605 Still lay each martial Graeme and Bruce; In Rednoch courts no horsemen wait, No banner waved on Cardross gate, On Duchray's towers no beacon shone, Nor scared the herons from Loch Con; 610 All seemed at peace. Now wot ye why The Chieftain, with such anxious eye, Ere to the muster he repair, This western frontier scanned with care? In Benvenue's most darksome cleft, 615 A fair, though cruel, pledge was left; For Douglas, to his promise true, That morning from the isle withdrew, And in a deep sequestered dell Had sought a low and lonely cell. 620 By many a bard, in Celtic tongue, Has Coir-nan-Uriskin been sung; A softer name the Saxons gave, And called the grot the Goblin-cave.
XXVI
It was a wild and strange retreat, 625 As e'er was trod by outlaw's feet. The dell, upon the mountain's crest, Yawned like a gash on warrior's breast; Its trench had stayed full many a rock, Hurled by primeval earthquake shock 630 From Benvenue's gray summit wild, And here, in random ruin piled, They frowned incumbent o'er the spot, And formed the rugged silvan grot. The oak and birch, with mingled shade, 635 At noontide there a twilight made, Unless when short and sudden shone Some straggling beam on cliff or stone, With such a glimpse as prophet's eye Gains on thy depth, Futurity. 640 No murmur waked the solemn still, Save tinkling of a fountain rill; But when the wind chafed with the lake, A sullen sound would upward break, With dashing hollow voice, that spoke 645 The incessant war of wave and rock. Suspended cliffs, with hideous sway, Seemed nodding o'er the cavern gray. From such a den the wolf had sprung, In such the wild-cat leaves her young; 650 Yet Douglas and his daughter fair Sought for a space their safety there. Gray Superstition's whisper dread Debarred the spot to vulgar tread; For there, she said, did fays resort, 655 And satyrs hold their silvan court, By moonlight tread their mystic maze, And blast the rash beholder's gaze.
XXVII
Now eve, with western shadows long, Floated on Katrine bright and strong, 660 When Roderick, with a chosen few, Repassed the heights of Benvenue. Above the Goblin-cave they go, Through the wild pass of Beal-nam-bo: The prompt retainers speed before, 665 To launch the shallop from the shore, For 'cross Loch Katrine lies his way To view the passes of Achray, And place his clansmen in array. Yet lags the chief in musing mind, 670 Unwonted sight, his men behind. A single page, to bear his sword, Alone attended on his lord; The rest their way through thickets break, And soon await him by the lake. 675 It was a fair and gallant sight, To view them from the neighboring height, By the low-leveled sunbeam's light! For strength and stature, from the clan Each warrior was a chosen man, 680 As even afar might well be seen, By their proud step and martial mien. Their feathers dance, their tartans float, Their targets gleam, as by the boat A wild and warlike group they stand, 685 That well became such mountain-strand.
XXVIII
Their Chief, with step reluctant, still Was lingering on the craggy hill, Hard by where turned apart the road To Douglas's obscure abode. 690 It was but with that dawning morn, That Roderick Dhu had proudly sworn To drown his love in war's wild roar, Nor think of Ellen Douglas more; But he who stems a stream with sand, 695 And fetters flame with flaxen band, Has yet a harder task to prove— By firm resolve to conquer love! Eve finds the Chief, like restless ghost, Still hovering near his treasure lost; 700 For though his haughty heart deny A parting meeting to his eye, Still fondly strains his anxious ear, The accents of her voice to hear, And inly did he curse the breeze 705 That waked to sound the rustling trees. But hark! what mingles in the strain? It is the harp of Allan-bane, That wakes its measures slow and high, Attuned to sacred minstrelsy. 710 What melting voice attends the strings? 'Tis Ellen, or an angel, sings.
XXIX
HYMN TO THE VIRGIN
Ave Maria! maiden mild! Listen to a maiden's prayer! Thou canst hear though from the wild, 715 Thou canst save amid despair. Safe may we sleep beneath thy care, Though banished, outcast, and reviled— Maiden! hear a maiden's prayer; Mother, hear a suppliant child! 720 Ave Maria! Ave Maria! undefiled! The flinty couch we now must share Shall seem with down of eider piled, If thy protection hover there. 725 The murky cavern's heavy air Shall breathe of balm if thou hast smiled; Then, Maiden! hear a maiden's prayer; Mother, list a suppliant child! Ave Maria! 730 Ave Maria! stainless styled! Foul demons of the earth and air, From this their wonted haunt exiled, Shall flee before thy presence fair. We bow us to our lot of care, 735 Beneath thy guidance reconciled; Hear for a maid a maiden's prayer, And for a father hear a child! Ave Maria!
XXX
Died on the harp the closing hymn— 740 Unmoved in attitude and limb, As listening still, Clan-Alpine's lord Stood leaning on his heavy sword, Until the page, with humble sign, Twice pointed to the sun's decline. 745 Then while his plaid he round him cast, "It is the last time—'tis the last," He muttered thrice, "the last time e'er That angel voice shall Roderick hear!" It was a goading thought—his stride 750 Hied hastier down the mountain side; Sullen he flung him in the boat, And instant 'cross the lake it shot. They landed in that silvery bay, And eastward held their hasty way, 755 Till, with the latest beams of light, The band arrived on Lanrick height, Where mustered, in the vale below, Clan-Alpine's men in martial show.
XXXI
A various scene the clansmen made, 760 Some sat, some stood, some slowly strayed; But most with mantles folded round, Were couched to rest upon the ground, Scarce to be known by curious eye, From the deep heather where they lie, 765 So well was matched the tartan screen With heath-bell dark and brackens green, Unless where, here and there, a blade, Or lance's point, a glimmer made, Like glow-worm twinkling through the shade. 770 But when, advancing through the gloom, They saw the Chieftain's eagle plume, Their shout of welcome, shrill and wide, Shook the steep mountain's steady side. Thrice it arose, and lake and fell 775 Three times returned the martial yell; It died upon Bochastle's plain, And Silence claimed her evening reign.
CANTO FOURTH
THE PROPHECY
I
"The rose is fairest when 'tis budding new, And hope is brightest when it dawns from fears; The rose is sweetest washed with morning dew, And love is loveliest when embalmed in tears. O wilding rose, whom fancy thus endears, 5 I bid your blossoms in my bonnet wave, Emblem of hope and love through future years!" Thus spake young Norman, heir of Armandave, What time the sun arose on Vennachar's broad wave.
II
Such fond conceit, half said, half sung, 10 Love prompted to the bridegroom's tongue. All while he stripped the wild-rose spray, His ax and bow beside him lay, For on a pass 'twixt lake and wood, A wakeful sentinel he stood. 15 Hark! on the rock a footstep rung, And instant to his arms he sprung. "Stand, or thou diest!—What, Malise?—soon Art thou returned from Braes of Doune. By thy keen step and glance I know, 20 Thou bring'st us tidings of the foe." For while the Fiery Cross hied on, On distant scout had Malise gone.— "Where sleeps the Chief?" the henchman said. "Apart, in yonder misty glade; 25 To his lone couch I'll be your guide." Then called a slumberer by his side, And stirred him with his slackened bow— "Up, up, Glantarkin! rouse thee, ho! We seek the Chieftain; on the track, 30 Keep eagle watch till I come back."
III
Together up the pass they sped: "What of the foeman?" Norman said. "Varying reports from near and far; This certain—that a band of war 35 Has for two days been ready boune, At prompt command, to march from Doune; King James, the while, with princely powers, Holds revelry in Stirling towers. Soon will this dark and gathering cloud 40 Speak on our glens in thunder loud. Inured to bide such bitter bout, The warrior's plaid may bear it out; But, Norman, how wilt thou provide A shelter for thy bonny bride?" 45 "What! know ye not that Roderick's care To the lone isle hath caused repair Each maid and matron of the clan, And every child and aged man Unfit for arms; and given his charge, 50 Nor skiff nor shallop, boat nor barge, Upon these lakes shall float at large, But all beside the islet moor, That such dear pledge may rest secure?"—
IV
"'Tis well advised—the Chieftain's plan 55 Bespeaks the father of his clan. But wherefore sleeps Sir Roderick Dhu Apart from all his followers true?" "It is, because last evening-tide Brian an augury hath tried, 60 Of that dread kind which must not be Unless in dread extremity, The Taghairm called; by which, afar, Our sires foresaw the events of war. Duncraggan's milk-white bull they slew." 65
MALISE
"Ah! Well the gallant brute I knew, The choicest of the prey we had, When swept our merrymen Gallangad. His hide was snow, his horns were dark, His red eye glowed like fiery spark; 70 So fierce, so tameless, and so fleet, Sore did he cumber our retreat, And kept our stoutest kerns in awe, Even at the pass of Beal 'maha. But steep and flinty was the road, 75 And sharp the hurrying pikeman's goad, And when we came to Dennan's Row, A child might scatheless stroke his brow."
V
NORMAN
"That bull was slain; his reeking hide They stretched the cataract beside, 80 Whose waters their wild tumult toss Adown the black and craggy boss Of that huge cliff, whose ample verge Tradition calls the Hero's Targe. Couched on a shelf beneath its brink, 85 Close where the thundering torrents sink, Rocking beneath their headlong sway, And drizzled by the ceaseless spray, Midst groan of rock, and roar of stream, The wizard waits prophetic dream. 90 Nor distant rests the Chief—but hush! See, gliding slow through mist and bush, The hermit gains yon rock, and stands To gaze upon our slumbering bands. Seems he not, Malise, like a ghost, 95 That hovers o'er a slaughtered host? Or raven on the blasted oak, That, watching while the deer is broke, His morsel claims with sullen croak?"
MALISE
"Peace! peace! to other than to me 100 Thy words were evil augury; But still I hold Sir Roderick's blade Clan-Alpine's omen and her aid, Not aught that, gleaned from heaven or hell, Yon fiend-begotten Monk can tell. 105 The Chieftain joins him, see—and now, Together they descend the brow."
VI
And, as they came, with Alpine's Lord The Hermit Monk held solemn word: "Roderick! it is a fearful strife, 110 For man endowed with mortal life, Whose shroud of sentient clay can still Feel feverish pang and fainting chill, Whose eye can stare in stony trance, Whose hair can rouse like warrior's lance— 115 'Tis hard for such to view, unfurled, The curtain of the future world. Yet, witness every quaking limb, My sunken pulse, my eyeballs dim, My soul with harrowing anguish torn— 120 This for my Chieftain have I borne! The shapes that sought my fearful couch, A human tongue may ne'er avouch; No mortal man—save he, who, bred Between the living and the dead, 125 Is gifted beyond nature's law— Had e'er survived to say he saw. At length the fatal answer came, In characters of living flame! Not spoke in word, nor blazed in scroll, 130 But borne and branded on my soul: WHICH SPILLS THE FOREMOST FOEMAN'S LIFE, THAT PARTY CONQUERS IN THE STRIFE."
VII
"Thanks, Brian, for thy zeal and care! Good is thine augury, and fair. 135 Clan-Alpine ne'er in battle stood, But first our broadswords tasted blood. A surer victim still I know, Self-offered to the auspicious blow: A spy has sought my land this morn— 140 No eve shall witness his return! My followers guard each pass's mouth, To east, to westward, and to south; Red Murdoch, bribed to be his guide, Has charge to lead his steps aside, 145 Till in deep path or dingle brown, He light on those shall bring him down. —But see, who comes his news to show! Malise! what tidings of the foe?"
VIII
"At Doune, o'er many a spear and glaive 150 Two Barons proud their banners wave. I saw the Moray's silver star, And marked the sable pale of Mar." "By Alpine's soul, high tidings those! I love to hear of worthy foes. 155 When move they on?" "Tomorrow's noon Will see them here for battle boune." "Then shall it see a meeting stern! But, for the place—say, couldst thou learn Nought of the friendly clans of Earn? 160 Strengthened by them, we well might bide The battle on Benledi's side. Thou couldst not! Well! Clan-Alpine's men Shall man the Trossachs' shaggy glen; Within Loch Katrine's gorge we'll fight, 165 All in our maids' and matrons' sight, Each for his hearth and household fire, Father for child, and son for sire— Lover for maid beloved! But why— Is it the breeze affects mine eye? 170 Or dost thou come, ill-omened tear! A messenger of doubt and fear? No! sooner may the Saxon lance Unfix Benledi from his stance, Than doubt or terror can pierce through 175 The unyielding heart of Roderick Dhu! 'Tis stubborn as his trusty targe. Each to his post—all know their charge." The pibroch sounds, the bands advance, The broadswords gleam, the banners dance, 180 Obedient to the Chieftain's glance. —I turn me from the martial roar, And seek Coir-Uriskin once more.
IX
Where is the Douglas?—he is gone; And Ellen sits on the gray stone 185 Fast by the cave, and makes her moan; While vainly Allan's words of cheer Are poured on her unheeding ear: "He will return—dear lady trust! With joy return—he will—he must. 190 Well was it time to seek, afar, Some refuge from impending war, When e'en Clan-Alpine's rugged swarm Are cowed by the approaching storm. I saw their boats with many a light, 195 Floating the live-long yesternight, Shifting like flashes darted forth By the red streamers of the north; I marked at morn how close they ride, Thick moored by the lone islet's side, 200 Like wild-ducks couching in the fen, When stoops the hawk upon the glen. Since this rude race dare not abide The peril on the mainland side, Shall not thy noble father's care 205 Some safe retreat for thee prepare?"
X
ELLEN
"No, Allan, no! Pretext so kind My wakeful terrors could not blind. When in such tender tone, yet grave, Douglas a parting blessing gave, 210 The tear that glistened in his eye Drowned not his purpose fixed and high. My soul, though feminine and weak, Can image his; e'en as the lake, Itself disturbed by slightest stroke, 215 Reflects the invulnerable rock. He hears the report of battle rife, He deems himself the cause of strife. I saw him redden, when the theme Turned, Allan, on thine idle dream 220 Of Malcolm Graeme in fetters bound, Which I, thou saidst, about him wound. Think'st thou he trowed thine omen aught? Oh, no! 'twas apprehensive thought For the kind youth—for Roderick too— 225 Let me be just—that friend so true; In danger both, and in our cause! Minstrel, the Douglas dare not pause. Why else that solemn warning given, 'If not on earth, we meet in heaven!' 230 Why else, to Cambus-kenneth's fane, If eve return him not again, Am I to hie, and make me known? Alas! he goes to Scotland's throne, Buys his friend's safety with his own; 235 He goes to do—what I had done, Had Douglas' daughter been his son!"
XI
"Nay, lovely Ellen!—dearest, nay! If aught should his return delay, He only named yon holy fane 240 As fitting place to meet again. Be sure he's safe; and for the Graeme— Heaven's blessing on his gallant name! My visioned sight may yet prove true, Nor bode of ill to him or you. 245 When did my gifted dream beguile? Think of the stranger at the isle, And think upon the harpings slow, That presaged this approaching woe! Sooth was my prophecy of fear; 250 Believe it when it augurs cheer. Would we had left this dismal spot! Ill luck still haunts a fairy grot. Of such a wondrous tale I know— Dear lady, change that look of woe, 255 My harp was wont thy grief to cheer."
ELLEN
"Well, be it as thou wilt; I hear, But cannot stop the bursting tear." The minstrel tried his simple art, But distant far was Ellen's heart. 260
XII
BALLAD—ALICE BRAND
Merry it is in the good greenwood, When the mavis and merle are singing, When the deer sweeps by, and the hounds are in cry, And the hunter's horn is ringing.
"O Alice Brand, my native land 265 Is lost for love of you; And we must hold by wood and wold, As outlaws wont to do.
"O Alice, 'twas all for thy locks so bright, And 'twas all for thine eyes so blue, 270 That on the night of our luckless flight, Thy brother bold I slew.
"Now must I teach to hew the beech The hand that held the glaive, For leaves to spread our lowly bed, 275 And stakes to fence our cave.
"And for vest of pall, thy fingers small, That wont on harp to stray, A cloak must shear from the slaughtered deer, To keep the cold away." 280
"O Richard! if my brother died, 'Twas but a fatal chance; For darkling was the battle tried, And fortune sped the lance.
"If pall and vair no more I wear, 285 Nor thou the crimson sheen, As warm, we'll say, is the russet gray, As gay the forest-green.
"And, Richard, if our lot be hard, And lost thy native land, 290 Still Alice has her own Richard, And he his Alice Brand."
XIII
BALLAD—(Continued)
'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good greenwood, So blithe Lady Alice is singing; On the beech's pride, and oak's brown side, 295 Lord Richard's ax is ringing.
Up spoke the moody Elfin King, Who wonned within the hill, Like wind in the porch of a ruined church, His voice was ghostly shrill. 300
"Why sounds yon stroke on beech and oak, Our moonlight circle's screen? Or who comes here to chase the deer, Beloved of our Elfin Queen? Or who may dare on wold to wear 305 The fairies' fatal green?
"Up, Urgan, up! to yon mortal hie, For thou wert christened man; For cross or sign thou wilt not fly, For muttered word or ban. 310
"Lay on him the curse of the withered heart, The curse of the sleepless eye; Till he wish and pray that his life would part, Nor yet find leave to die."
XIV
BALLAD—(Continued)
'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good greenwood, 315 Though the birds have stilled their singing; The evening blaze doth Alice raise, And Richard is fagots bringing.
Up Urgan starts, that hideous dwarf, Before Lord Richard stands, 320 And, as he crossed and blessed himself, "I fear not sign," quoth the grisly elf, "That is made with bloody hands."
But out then spoke she, Alice Brand, That woman void of fear, 325 "And if there's blood upon his hand, 'Tis but the blood of deer."
"Now loud thou liest, thou bold of mood! It cleaves unto his hand, The stain of thine own kindly blood, 330 The blood of Ethert Brand."
Then forward stepped she, Alice Brand, And made the holy sign, "And if there's blood on Richard's hand, A spotless hand is mine. 335
"And I conjure thee, Demon elf, By Him whom Demons fear, To show us whence thou art thyself, And what thine errand here?"
XV
BALLAD—(Continued)
"'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in Fairyland 340 When fairy birds are singing, When the court doth ride by their monarch's side With bit and bridle ringing;
"And gaily shines the Fairyland— But all is glistening show, 345 Like the idle gleam that December's beam Can dart on ice and snow.
"And fading, like that varied gleam, Is our inconstant shape, Who now like knight and lady seem, 350 And now like dwarf and ape.
"It was between the night and day, When the Fairy King has power, That I sunk down in a sinful fray, And, 'twixt life and death, was snatched away 355 To the joyless Elfin bower.
"But wist I of a woman bold, Who thrice my brow durst sign, I might regain my mortal mold, As fair a form as thine." 360
She crossed him once—she crossed him twice— That lady was so brave; The fouler grew his goblin hue, The darker grew the cave.
She crossed him thrice, that lady bold; 365 He rose beneath her hand The fairest knight on Scottish mold, Her brother, Ethert Brand!
Merry it is in good greenwood, When the mavis and merle are singing, 370 But merrier were they in Dunfermline gray, When all the bells were ringing.
XVI
Just as the minstrel sounds were stayed, A stranger climbed the steepy glade; His martial step, his stately mien, 375 His hunting suit of Lincoln green, His eagle glance, remembrance claims— 'Tis Snowdoun's Knight, 'tis James Fitz-James. Ellen beheld as in a dream, Then, starting, scarce suppressed a scream 380 "Oh, stranger! in such hour of fear, What evil hap has brought thee here?" "An evil hap how can it be That bids me look again on thee? By promise bound, my former guide 385 Met me betimes this morning tide, And marshaled, over bank and bourne, The happy path of my return." "The happy path!—what! said he nought Of war, of battle to be fought, 390 Of guarded pass?" "No, by my faith! Nor saw I ought could augur scathe." "O haste thee, Allan, to the kern, —Yonder his tartans I discern; Learn thou his purpose, and conjure 395 That he will guide the stranger sure! What prompted thee, unhappy man? The meanest serf in Roderick's clan Had not been bribed by love or fear, Unknown to him to guide thee here." 400
XVII
"Sweet Ellen, dear my life must be Since it is worthy care from thee; Yet life I hold but idle breath, When love or honor's weighed with death. Then let me profit by my chance, 405 And speak my purpose bold at once. I come to bear thee from a wild, Where ne'er before such blossom smiled; By this soft hand to lead thee far From frantic scenes of feud and war. 410 Near Bochastle my horses wait; They bear us soon to Stirling gate. I'll place thee in a lovely bower, I'll guard thee like a tender flower"— "O hush, Sir Knight! 'twere female art 415 To say I do not read thy heart; Too much, before, my selfish ear Was idly soothed my praise to hear. That fatal bait hath lured thee back, In deathful hour, o'er dangerous track; 420 And how, O how, can I atone The wreck my vanity brought on!— One way remains—I'll tell him all— Yes! struggling bosom, forth it shall! Thou, whose light folly bears the blame, 425 Buy thine own pardon with thy shame! But first—my father is a man Outlawed and exiled, under ban; The price of blood is on his head, With me 'twere infamy to wed. 430 Still wouldst thou speak?—then hear the truth! Fitz-James, there is a noble youth— If yet he is!—exposed for me And mine to dread extremity— Thou hast the secret of my heart; 435 Forgive, be generous, and depart!"
XVIII
Fitz-James knew every wily train A lady's fickle heart to gain, But here he knew and felt them vain. There shot no glance from Ellen's eye, 440 To give her steadfast speech the lie; In maiden confidence she stood. Though mantled in her cheek the blood, And told her love with such a sigh Of deep and hopeless agony, 445 As death had sealed her Malcolm's doom, And she sat sorrowing on his tomb. Hope vanished from Fitz-James's eye, But not with hope fled sympathy. He proffered to attend her side, 450 As brother would a sister guide. "O little know'st thou Roderick's heart! Safer for both we go apart. O haste thee, and from Allan learn, If thou may'st trust yon wily kern." 455 With hand upon his forehead laid, The conflict of his mind to shade, A parting step or two he made; Then, as some thought had crossed his brain, He paused, and turned, and came again. 460
XIX
"Hear, lady, yet, a parting word! It chanced in fight that my poor sword Preserved the life of Scotland's lord. This ring the grateful Monarch gave, And bade, when I had boon to crave, 465 To bring it back, and boldly claim The recompense that I would name. Ellen, I am no courtly lord, But one who lives by lance and sword, Whose castle is his helm and shield, 470 His lordship the embattled field. What from a prince can I demand, Who neither reck of state nor land? Ellen, thy hand—the ring is thine; Each guard and usher knows the sign. 475 Seek thou the king without delay— This signet shall secure thy way— And claim thy suit, whate'er it be, As ransom of his pledge to me." He placed the golden circlet on, 480 Paused—kissed her hand—and then was gone. The aged Minstrel stood aghast, So hastily Fitz-James shot past. He joined his guide, and wending down The ridges of the mountain brown, 485 Across the stream they took their way, That joins Loch Katrine to Achray.
XX
All in the Trossachs' glen was still, Noontide was sleeping on the hill: Sudden his guide whooped loud and high— 490 "Murdoch! was that a signal cry?" He stammered forth—"I shout to scare Yon raven from his dainty fare." He looked—he knew the raven's prey, His own brave steed—"Ah! gallant gray! 495 For thee—for me, perchance—'twere well We ne'er had seen the Trossachs' dell. Murdoch, move first—but silently; Whistle or whoop, and thou shalt die!" Jealous and sullen on they fared, 500 Each silent, each upon his guard.
XXI
Now wound the path its dizzy ledge Around a precipice's edge, When lo! a wasted female form, Blighted by wrath of sun and storm, 505 In tattered weeds and wild array, Stood on a cliff beside the way, And glancing round her restless eye, Upon the wood, the rock, the sky, Seemed naught to mark, yet all to spy. 510 Her brow was wreathed with gaudy broom; With gesture wild she waved a plume Of feathers which the eagles fling To crag and cliff from dusky wing; Such spoils her desperate step had sought, 515 Where scarce was footing for the goat. The tartan plaid she first descried, And shrieked till all the rocks replied; As loud she laughed when near they drew, For then the Lowland garb she knew; 520 And then her hands she wildly wrung, And then she wept, and then she sung— She sung!—the voice, in better time, Perchance to harp or lute might chime; And now, though strained and roughened, still 525 Rung wildly sweet to dale and hill.
XXII
SONG
They bid me sleep, they bid me pray, They say my brain is warped and wrung— I cannot sleep on Highland brae, I cannot pray in Highland tongue. 530 But were I now where Allan glides, Or heard my native Devan's tides, So sweetly would I rest, and pray That Heaven would close my wintry day!
'Twas thus my hair they bade me braid, 535 They made me to the church repair; It was my bridal morn they said, And my true love would meet me there. But woe betide the cruel guile That drowned in blood the morning smile! 540 And woe betide the fairy dream! I only waked to sob and scream.
XXIII
"Who is this maid? what means her lay? She hovers o'er the hollow way, And flutters wide her mantle gray, 545 As the lone heron spreads his wing, By twilight, o'er a haunted spring." "'Tis Blanche of Devan," Murdoch said, "A crazed and captive Lowland maid, Ta'en on the morn she was a bride, 550 When Roderick forayed Devan side. The gay bridegroom resistance made, And felt our Chief's unconquered blade. I marvel she is now at large, But oft she 'scapes from Maudlin's charge. 555 Hence, brain-sick fool!"—he raised his bow. "Now, if thou strik'st her but one blow, I'll pitch thee from the cliff as far As ever peasant pitched a bar!"— "Thanks, champion, thanks!" the maniac cried, 560 And pressed her to Fitz-James's side. "See the gray pennons I prepare, To seek my true-love through the air! I will not lend that savage groom, To break his fall, one downy plume! 565 No! Deep amid disjointed stones, The wolves shall batten on his bones, And then shall his detested plaid, By bush and brier in mid air stayed, Wave forth a banner fair and free, 570 Meet signal for their revelry."
XXIV
"Hush thee, poor maiden, and be still!" "Oh! thou look'st kindly and I will. Mine eye has dried and wasted been, But still it loves the Lincoln green; 575 And, though mine ear is all unstrung, Still, still it loves the Lowland tongue.
"For O my sweet William was forester true, He stole poor Blanche's heart away! His coat it was all of the greenwood hue, 580 And so blithely he trilled the Lowland lay!
"It was not that I meant to tell.... But thou art wise and guessest well." Then, in a low and broken tone, And hurried note, the song went on. 585 Still on the Clansman, fearfully, She fixed her apprehensive eye; Then turned it on the Knight, and then Her look glanced wildly o'er the glen.
XXV
"The toils are pitched, and the stakes are set, 590 Ever sing merrily, merrily; The bows they bend, and the knives they whet, Hunters live so cheerily.
"It was a stag, a stag of ten, Bearing its branches sturdily; 595 He came stately down the glen, Ever sing hardily, hardily.
"It was there he met with a wounded doe, She was bleeding deathfully; She warned him of the toils below, 600 Oh, so faithfully, faithfully!
"He had an eye, and he could heed, Ever sing warily, warily; He had a foot, and he could speed— Hunters watch so narrowly." 605
XXVI
Fitz-James's mind was passion-tossed, When Ellen's hints and fears were lost; But Murdoch's shout suspicion wrought, And Blanche's song conviction brought. Not like a stag that spies the snare, 610 But lion of the hunt aware, He waved at once his blade on high, "Disclose thy treachery, or die!" Forth at full speed the Clansman flew, But in his race his bow he drew. 615 The shaft just grazed Fitz-James's crest, And thrilled in Blanche's faded breast. Murdoch of Alpine! prove thy speed, For ne'er had Alpine's son such need! With heart of fire, and foot of wind, 620 The fierce avenger is behind! Fate judges of the rapid strife— The forfeit death—the prize is life! Thy kindred ambush lies before, Close couched upon the heathery moor; 625 Them couldst thou reach!—it may not be— Thine ambushed kin thou ne'er shalt see, The fiery Saxon gains on thee! Resistless speeds the deadly thrust, As lightning strikes the pine to dust; 630 With foot and hand Fitz-James must strain, Ere he can win his blade again. Bent o'er the fallen, with falcon eye, He grimly smiled to see him die; Then slower wended back his way, 635 Where the poor maiden bleeding lay.
XXVII
She sat beneath a birchen-tree, Her elbow resting on her knee; She had withdrawn the fatal shaft, And gazed on it, and feebly laughed; 640 Her wreath of broom and feathers gray, Daggled with blood, beside her lay. The Knight to staunch the life-stream tried— "Stranger, it is in vain!" she cried. "This hour of death has given me more 645 Of reason's power than years before; For, as these ebbing veins decay, My frenzied visions fade away. A helpless injured wretch I die, And something tells me in thine eye, 650 That thou wert mine avenger born. Seest thou this tress?—Oh! still I've worn This little tress of yellow hair, Through danger, frenzy, and despair! It once was bright and clear as thine, 655 But blood and tears have dimmed its shine. I will not tell thee when 'twas shred, Nor from what guiltless victim's head— My brain would turn!—but it shall wave Like plumage on thy helmet brave, 660 Till sun and wind shall bleach the stain, And thou wilt bring it me again. I waver still—O God! more bright Let reason beam her parting light!— Oh! by thy knighthood's honored sign, 665 And for thy life preserved by mine, When thou shalt see a darksome man, Who boasts him Chief of Alpine's Clan, With tartans broad and shadowy plume And hand of blood, and brow of gloom, 670 Be thy heart bold, thy weapon strong, And wreak poor Blanche of Devan's wrong!— They watch for thee by pass and fell.... Avoid the path.... O God!... farewell."
XXVIII
A kindly heart had brave Fitz-James; 675 Fast poured his eyes at pity's claims, And now, with mingled grief and ire, He saw the murdered maid expire. "God, in my need, be my relief, As I wreak this on yonder Chief!" 680 A lock from Blanche's tresses fair He blended with her bridegroom's hair; The mingled braid in blood he dyed. And placed it on his bonnet-side: "By Him whose word is truth! I swear 685 No other favor will I wear, Till this sad token I imbrue In the best blood of Roderick Dhu! —But hark! what means yon faint halloo? The chase is up—but they shall know, 690 The stag at bay's a dangerous foe." Barred from the known but guarded way, Through copse and cliffs Fitz-James must stray, And oft must change his desperate track, By stream and precipice turned back. 695 Heartless, fatigued, and faint, at length, From lack of food and loss of strength, He couched him in a thicket hoar, And thought his toils and perils o'er: "Of all my rash adventures past, 700 This frantic feat must prove the last! Who e'er so mad but might have guessed, That all this Highland hornet's nest Would muster up in swarms so soon As e'er they heard of bands at Doune? 705 Like bloodhounds now they search me out— Hark, to the whistle and the shout!— If further through the wilds I go, I only fall upon the foe. I'll couch me here till evening gray, 710 Then darkling try my dangerous way."
XXIX
The shades of eve come slowly down, The woods are wrapped in deeper brown, The owl awakens from her dell, The fox is heard upon the fell; 715 Enough remains of glimmering light To guide the wanderer's steps aright, Yet not enough from far to show His figure to the watchful foe. With cautious step, and ear awake, 720 He climbs the crag and threads the brake; And not the summer solstice, there, Tempered the midnight mountain air, But every breeze, that swept the wold, Benumbed his drenched limbs with cold. 725 In dread, in danger, and alone, Famished and chilled, through ways unknown, Tangled and steep, he journeyed on; Till, as a rock's huge point he turned, A watch-fire close before him burned. 730
XXX
Beside its embers red and clear, Basked, in his plaid, a mountaineer; And up he sprung with sword in hand— "Thy name and purpose! Saxon, stand!" "A stranger." "What dost thou require?" 735 "Rest and a guide, and food and fire. My life's beset, my path is lost, The gale has chilled my limbs with frost." "Art thou a friend to Roderick?" "No." "Thou darest not call thyself a foe?" 740 "I dare! to him and all the band He brings to aid his murderous hand." "Bold words!—but, though the beast of game The privilege of chase may claim, Though space and law the stag we lend, 745 Ere hound we slip, or bow we bend, Who ever recked, where, how, or when, The prowling fox was trapped or slain? Thus treacherous scouts—yet sure they lie, Who say thou camest a secret spy!" 750 "They do, by heaven!—Come Roderick Dhu, And of his clan the boldest two, And let me but till morning rest, I write the falsehood on their crest." "If by the blaze I mark aright, 755 Thou bear'st the belt and spur of Knight." "Then by these tokens may'st thou know Each proud oppressor's mortal foe." "Enough, enough; sit down and share A soldier's couch, a soldier's fare." 760 |
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