XXXI

He gave him of his Highland cheer, The hardened flesh of mountain deer; Dry fuel on the fire he laid, And bade the Saxon share his plaid. He tended him like welcome guest, 765 Then thus his further speech addressed: "Stranger, I am to Roderick Dhu A clansman born, a kinsman true; Each word against his honor spoke, Demands of me avenging stroke; 770 Yet more—upon thy fate, 'tis said, A mighty augury is laid. It rests with me to wind my horn— Thou art with numbers overborne; It rests with me, here, brand to brand, 775 Worn as thou art, to bid thee stand; But, not for clan, nor kindred's cause, Will I depart from honor's laws; To assail a wearied man were shame, And stranger is a holy name; 780 Guidance and rest, food and fire, In vain he never must require. Then rest thee here till dawn of day; Myself will guide thee on the way, O'er stock and stone, through watch and ward, 785 Till past Clan-Alpine's outmost guard, As far as Coilantogle's ford; From thence thy warrant is thy sword." "I take thy courtesy, by heaven, As freely as 'tis nobly given!" 790 "Well, rest thee; for the bittern's cry Sings us the lake's wild lullaby." With that he shook the gathered heath, And spread his plaid upon the wreath; And the brave foemen, side by side, 795 Lay peaceful down like brothers tried, And slept until the dawning beam Purpled the mountain and the stream.



CANTO FIFTH

THE COMBAT

I

Fair as the earliest beam of eastern light, When first, by the bewildered pilgrim spied, It smiles upon the dreary brow of night, And silvers o'er the torrent's foaming tide, And lights the fearful path on mountain side; 5 Fair as that beam, although the fairest far, Giving to horror grace, to danger pride, Shine martial Faith, and Courtesy's bright star, Through all the wreckful storms that cloud the brow of War.

II

That early beam, so fair and sheen, 10 Was twinkling through the hazel screen, When rousing at its glimmer red, The warriors left their lowly bed, Looked out upon the dappled sky, Muttered their soldier matins by, 15 And then awaked their fire, to steal, As short and rude, their soldier meal. That o'er, the Gael around him threw His graceful plaid of varied hue, And, true to promise, led the way, 20 By thicket green and mountain gray. A wildering path—they winded now Along the precipice's brow, Commanding the rich scenes beneath, The windings of the Forth and Teith, 25 And all the vales between that lie, Till Stirling's turrets melt in sky; Then, sunk in copse, their farthest glance Gained not the length of horseman's lance. 'Twas oft so steep, the foot was fain 30 Assistance from the hand to gain; So tangled oft, that, bursting through, Each hawthorn shed her showers of dew— That diamond dew, so pure and clear, It rivals all but Beauty's tear! 35

III

At length they came where, stern and steep, The hill sinks down upon the deep. Here Vennachar in silver flows, There, ridge on ridge, Benledi rose; Ever the hollow path twined on, 40 Beneath steep bank and threatening stone; An hundred men might hold the post With hardihood against a host. The rugged mountain's scanty cloak Was dwarfish shrubs of birch and oak, 45 With shingles bare, and cliffs between, And patches bright of bracken green, And heather black, that waved so high, It held the copse in rivalry. But where the lake slept deep and still, 50 Dank osiers fringed the swamp and hill; And oft both path and hill were torn, Where wintry torrents down had borne, And heaped upon the cumbered land Its wreck of gravel, rocks and sand. 55 So toilsome was the road to trace, The guide, abating of his pace, Led slowly through the pass's jaws, And asked Fitz-James, by what strange cause He sought these wilds, traversed by few, 60 Without a pass from Roderick Dhu.

IV

"Brave Gael, my pass, in danger tried, Hangs in my belt, and by my side; Yet, sooth to tell," the Saxon said, "I dreamt not now to claim its aid. 65 When here, but three days since, I came, Bewildered in pursuit of game, All seemed as peaceful and as still As the mist slumbering on yon hill; Thy dangerous Chief was then afar, 70 Nor soon expected back from war. Thus said, at least, my mountain-guide, Though deep perchance the villian lied." "Yet why a second venture try?" "A warrior thou, and ask me why! 75 Moves our free course by such fixed cause As gives the poor mechanic laws? Enough, I sought to drive away The lazy hours of peaceful day; Slight cause will then suffice to guide 80 A Knight's free footsteps far and wide— A falcon flown, a greyhound strayed, The merry glance of mountain maid; Or, if a path be dangerous known, The danger's self is lure alone." 85

V

"Thy secret keep, I urge thee not;— Yet, ere again ye sought this spot, Say, heard ye nought of Lowland war, Against Clan-Alpine, raised by Mar?" "No, by my word—of bands prepared 90 To guard King James's sports I heard; Nor doubt I aught, but, when they hear This muster of the mountaineer, Their pennons will abroad be flung, Which else in Doune had peaceful hung." 95 "Free be they flung!—for we were loath Their silken folds should feast the moth. Free be they flung!—as free shall wave Clan-Alpine's pine in banner brave. But, Stranger, peaceful since you came, 100 Bewildered in the mountain game, Whence the bold boast by which you show Vich-Alpine's vowed and mortal foe?" "Warrior, but yester-morn, I knew Naught of thy Chieftain, Roderick Dhu, 105 Save as an outlawed desperate man, The chief of a rebellious clan, Who, in the Regent's court and sight, With ruffian dagger stabbed a knight; Yet this alone might from his part 110 Sever each true and loyal heart."

VI

Wrathful at such arraignment foul, Dark lowered the clansman's sable scowl. A space he paused, then sternly said, "And heard'st thou why he drew his blade? 115 Heard'st thou that shameful word and blow Brought Roderick's vengeance on his foe? What recked the Chieftain if he stood On Highland heath, or Holy-Rood? He rights such wrong where it is given, 120 If it were in the court of heaven." "Still was it outrage—yet, 'tis true, Not then claimed sovereignty his due; While Albany, with feeble hand, Held borrowed truncheon of command, 125 The young King, mewed in Stirling tower, Was stranger to respect and power. But then, thy Chieftain's robber life! Winning mean prey by causeless strife, Wrenching from ruined Lowland swain 130 His herds and harvest reared in vain— Methinks a soul, like thine, should scorn The spoils from such foul foray borne."

VII

The Gael beheld him grim the while, And answered with disdainful smile— 135 "Saxon, from yonder mountain high, I marked thee send delighted eye Far to the south and east, where lay, Extended in succession gay, Deep waving fields and pastures green, 140 With gentle slopes and groves between; These fertile plains, that softened vale, Were once the birthright of the Gael; The stranger came with iron hand, And from our fathers reft the land. 145 Where dwell we now! See, rudely swell Crag over crag, and fell o'er fell. Ask we this savage hill we tread For fattened steer or household bread; Ask we for flocks these shingles dry, 150 And well the mountain might reply, 'To you, as to your sires of yore, Belong the target and claymore! I give you shelter in my breast, Your own good blades must win the rest.' 155 Pent in this fortress of the North, Think'st thou we will not sally forth, To spoil the spoiler as we may, And from the robber rend the prey? Aye, by my soul! While on yon plain 160 The Saxon rears one shock of grain; While, of ten thousand herds, there strays But one along yon river's maze, The Gael, of plain and river heir, Shall, with strong hand, redeem his share. 165 Where live the mountain Chiefs who hold That plundering Lowland field and fold Is aught but retribution true? Seek other cause 'gainst Roderick Dhu."

VIII

Answered Fitz-James, "And if I sought, 170 Think'st thou no other could be brought? What deem ye of my path waylaid? My life given o'er to ambuscade?" "As of a meed to rashness due: Hadst thou sent warning fair and true— 175 I seek my hound, or falcon strayed, I seek, good faith, a Highland maid— Free hadst thou been to come and go; But secret path marks secret foe. Nor yet, for this, even as a spy, 180 Hadst thou, unheard, been doomed to die. Save to fulfill an augury." "Well, let it pass; nor will I now Fresh cause of enmity avow, To chafe thy mood and cloud thy brow. 185 Enough, I am by promise tied To match me with this man of pride: Twice have I sought Clan-Alpine's glen In peace; but when I come again, I come with banner, brand, and bow, 190 As leader seeks his mortal foe. For love-lorn swain, in lady's bower, Ne'er panted for the appointed hour, As I, until before me stand This rebel Chieftain and his band!" 195

IX

"Have, then, thy wish!" He whistled shrill, And he was answered from the hill; Wild as the scream of the curlew, From crag to crag the signal flew. Instant, through copse and heath, arose 200 Bonnets and spears and bended bows; On right, on left, above, below, Sprung up at once the lurking foe; From shingles gray their lances start, The bracken bush sends forth the dart, 205 The rushes and the willow-wand Are bristling into ax and brand, And every tuft of broom gives life To plaided warrior armed for strife. That whistle garrisoned the glen 210 At once with full five hundred men, As if the yawning hill to heaven A subterranean host had given. Watching their leader's beck and will, All silent there they stood, and still. 215 Like the loose crags whose threatening mass Lay tottering o'er the hollow pass, As if an infant's touch could urge Their headlong passage down the verge, With step and weapon forward flung, 220 Upon the mountain-side they hung. The Mountaineer cast glance of pride Along Benledi's living side, Then fixed his eye and sable brow Full on Fitz-James—"How say'st thou now? 225 These are Clan-Alpine's warriors true; And, Saxon—I am Roderick Dhu!"

X

Fitz-James was brave. Though to his heart The life-blood thrilled with sudden start, He manned himself with dauntless air, 230 Returned the Chief his haughty stare, His back against a rock he bore, And firmly placed his foot before: "Come one, come all! this rock shall fly From its firm base as soon as I." 235 Sir Roderick marked—and in his eyes Respect was mingled with surprise, And the stern joy which warriors feel In foemen worthy of their steel. Short space he stood—then waved his hand; 240 Down sunk the disappearing band; Each warrior vanished where he stood, In broom or bracken, heath or wood; Sunk brand and spear and bended bow, In osiers pale and copses low; 245 It seemed as if their mother Earth Had swallowed up her warlike birth. The wind's last breath had tossed in air, Pennon, and plaid, and plumage fair; The next but swept a lone hill-side, 250 Where heath and fern were waving wide. The sun's last glance was glinted back, From spear and glaive, from targe and jack, The next, all unreflected, shone On bracken green, and cold gray stone. 255

XI

Fitz-James looked round—yet scarce believed The witness that his sight received; Such apparition well might seem Delusion of a dreadful dream. Sir Roderick in suspense he eyed, 260 And to his look the Chief replied, "Fear naught—nay, that I need not say— But—doubt not aught from mine array. Thou art my guest—I pledged my word As far as Coilantogle ford; 265 Nor would I call a clansman's brand For aid against one valiant hand, Though on our strife lay every vale Rent by the Saxon from the Gael. So move we on—I only meant 270 To show the reed on which you leant, Deeming this path you might pursue Without a pass from Roderick Dhu." They moved—I said Fitz-James was brave, As ever knight that belted glaive; 275 Yet dare not say, that now his blood Kept on its wont and tempered flood, As, following Roderick's stride, he drew That seeming lonesome pathway through, Which yet, by fearful proof, was rife 280 With lances, that, to take his life, Waited but signal from a guide, So late dishonored and defied. Ever, by stealth, his eye sought round The vanished guardians of the ground, 285 And still, from copse and heather deep, Fancy saw spear and broadsword peep, And in the plover's shrilly strain, The signal whistle heard again. Nor breathed he free till far behind 290 The pass was left; for then they wind Along a wide and level green, Where neither tree nor tuft was seen, Nor rush nor bush of broom was near, To hide a bonnet or a spear. 295

XII

The Chief in silence strode before, And reached that torrent's sounding shore, Which, daughter of three mighty lakes, From Vennachar in silver breaks, Sweeps through the plain, and ceaseless mines 300 On Bochastle the moldering lines, Where Rome, the Empress of the world, Of yore her eagle wings unfurled. And here his course the Chieftain stayed, Threw down his target and his plaid, 305 And to the Lowland warrior said— "Bold Saxon! to his promise just, Vich-Alpine has discharged his trust. This murderous Chief, this ruthless man, This head of a rebellious clan, 310 Hath led thee safe, through watch and ward, Far past Clan-Alpine's outmost guard. Now, man to man, and steel to steel. A Chieftain's vengeance thou shalt feel. See, here, all vantageless I stand, 315 Armed, like thyself, with single brand; For this is Coilantogle ford, And thou must keep thee with thy sword."

XIII

The Saxon paused: "I ne'er delayed, When foeman bade me draw my blade; 320 Nay more, brave Chief, I vowed thy death; Yet sure thy fair and generous faith, And my deep debt for life preserved, A better meed have well deserved. Can naught but blood our feud atone? 325 Are there no means?" "No, Stranger, none! And hear—to fire thy flagging zeal— The Saxon cause rests on thy steel; For thus spoke Fate, by prophet bred Between the living and the dead; 330 'Who spills the foremost foeman's life, His party conquers in the strife.'" "Then, by my word," the Saxon said, "The riddle is already read. Seek yonder brake beneath the cliff— 335 There lies Red Murdoch, stark and stiff. Thus Fate hath solved her prophecy, Then yield to Fate, and not to me. To James, at Stirling, let us go, When, if thou wilt be still his foe, 340 Or if the King shall not agree To grant thee grace and favor free, I plight mine honor, oath, and word, That, to thy native strengths restored, With each advantage shalt thou stand, 345 That aids thee now to guard thy land."

XIV

Dark lightning flashed from Roderick's eye— "Soars thy presumption, then, so high, Because a wretched kern ye slew, Homage to name to Roderick Dhu? 350 He yields not, he, to man nor Fate! Thou add'st but fuel to my hate; My clansman's blood demands revenge. Not yet prepared?—By heaven, I change My thought, and hold thy valor light 355 As that of some vain carpet knight, Who ill deserved my courteous care, And whose best boast is but to wear A braid of his fair lady's hair." "I thank thee, Roderick, for the word! 360 It nerves my heart, it steels my sword; For I have sworn this braid to stain In the best blood that warms thy vein. Now, truce, farewell! and ruth, begone!— Yet think not that by thee alone, 365 Proud Chief! can courtesy be shown; Though not from copse, or heath, or cairn, Start at my whistle clansmen stern, Of this small horn one feeble blast Would fearful odds against thee cast. 370 But fear not—doubt not—which thou wilt— We try this quarrel hilt to hilt." Then each at once his falchion drew, Each on the ground his scabbard threw, Each looked to sun, and stream, and plain, 375 As what they ne'er might see again; Then foot, and point, and eye opposed, In dubious strife they darkly closed.

XV

Ill fared it then with Roderick Dhu, That on the field his targe he threw, 380 Whose brazen studs and tough bull-hide Had death so often dashed aside; For, trained abroad his arms to wield, Fitz-James's blade was sword and shield. He practiced every pass and ward, 385 To thrust, to strike, to feint, to guard; While less expert, though stronger far, The Gael maintained unequal war. Three times in closing strife they stood, And thrice the Saxon blade drank blood; 390 No stinted draft, no scanty tide, The gushing flood the tartans dyed. Fierce Roderick felt the fatal drain, And showered his blows like wintry rain; And, as firm rock, or castle-roof, 395 Against the winter shower is proof, The foe, invulnerable still, Foiled his wild rage by steady skill; Till, at advantage ta'en, his brand Forced Roderick's weapon from his hand, 400 And backward borne upon the lea, Brought the proud Chieftain to his knee.

XVI

"Now, yield thee, or by Him who made The world, thy heart's blood dyes my blade!"— "Thy threats, thy mercy, I defy! 405 Let recreant yield, who fears to die." —Like adder darting from his coil, Like wolf that dashes through the toil, Like mountain-cat who guards her young, Full at Fitz-James's throat he sprung; 410 Received, but recked not of a wound, And locked his arms his foeman round. Now, gallant Saxon, hold thine own! No maiden's hand is round thee thrown! That desperate grasp thy frame might feel, 415 Through bars of brass and triple steel!— They tug, they strain! down, down they go, The Gael above, Fitz-James below. The Chieftain's gripe his throat compressed His knee was planted in his breast; 420 His clotted locks he backward threw, Across his brow his hand he drew, From blood and mist to clear his sight, Then gleamed aloft his dagger bright! But hate and fury ill supplied 425 The stream of life's exhausted tide, And all too late the advantage came, To turn the odds of deadly game; For, while the dagger gleamed on high, Reeled soul and sense, reeled brain and eye. 430 Down came the blow! but in the heath The erring blade found bloodless sheath. The struggling foe may now unclasp The fainting Chief's relaxing grasp; Unwounded from the dreadful close, 435 But breathless all, Fitz-James arose.

XVII

He faltered thanks to Heaven for life, Redeemed, unhoped, from desperate strife; Next on his foe his look he cast, Whose every gasp appeared his last; 440 In Roderick's gore he dipped the braid— "Poor Blanche! thy wrongs are dearly paid; Yet with thy foe must die, or live, The praise that faith and valor give." With that he blew a bugle-note, 445 Undid the collar from his throat, Unbonneted, and by the wave Sat down his brow and hands to lave. Then faint afar are heard the feet Of rushing steeds in gallop fleet; 450 The sounds increase, and now are seen Four mounted squires in Lincoln green; Two who bear lance, and two who lead, By loosened rein, a saddled steed; Each onward held his headlong course, 455 And by Fitz-James reined up his horse— With wonder viewed the bloody spot— "Exclaim not, gallants! question not. You, Herbert and Luffness, alight, And bind the wounds of yonder knight; 460 Let the gray palfrey bear his weight, We destined for a fairer freight, And bring him on to Stirling straight; I will before at better speed, To seek fresh horse and fitting weed. 465 The sun rides high—I must be boune, To see the archer-game at noon; But lightly Bayard clears the lea— De Vaux and Herries, follow me.

XVIII

"Stand, Bayard, stand!" The steed obeyed, 470 With arching neck and bended head, And glancing eye and quivering ear As if he loved his lord to hear. No foot Fitz-James in stirrup stayed, No grasp upon the saddle laid, 475 But wreathed his left hand in the mane, And lightly bounded from the plain, Turned on the horse his armed heel, And stirred his courage with the steel. Bounded the fiery steed in air; 480 The rider sat erect and fair; Then like a bolt from steel crossbow Forth launched, along the plain they go. They dashed that rapid torrent through, And up Carhonie's hill they flew; 485 Still at the gallop pricked the Knight, His merrymen followed as they might. Along thy banks, swift Teith! they ride, And in the race they mock thy tide; Torry and Lendrick now are past, 490 And Deanstown lies behind them cast; They rise, the bannered towers of Doune, They sink in distant woodland soon; Blair-Drummond sees the hoofs strike fire, They sweep like breeze through Ochtertyre; 495 They mark just glance and disappear The lofty brow of ancient Kier; They bathe their coursers' sweltering sides, Dark Forth! amid thy sluggish tides, And on the opposing shore take ground, 500 With plash, with scramble, and with bound. Right-hand they leave thy cliffs, Craig-Forth! And soon the bulwark of the North, Gray Stirling, with her towers and town, Upon their fleet career looked down. 505

XIX

As up the flinty path they strained Sudden his steed the leader reined; A signal to his squire he flung, Who instant to his stirrup sprung: "Seest thou, De Vaux, yon woodsman gray, 510 Who townward holds the rocky way, Of stature tall and poor array? Mark'st thou the firm, yet active stride, With which he scales the mountain-side? Know'st thou from whence he comes, or whom?" 515 "No, by my word—a burly groom He seems, who in the field or chase A baron's train would nobly grace." "Out, out, De Vaux! can fear supply, And jealousy, no sharper eye? 520 Afar, ere to the hill he drew, That stately form and step I knew; Like form in Scotland is not seen, Treads not such step on Scottish green. 'Tis James of Douglas, by Saint Serle! 525 The uncle of the banished Earl. Away, away, to court, to show The near approach of dreaded foe; The King must stand upon his guard; Douglas and he must meet prepared." 530 Then righthand wheeled their steeds, and straight They won the castle's postern gate.

XX

The Douglas, who had bent his way From Cambus-Kenneth's abbey gray, Now, as he climbed the rocky shelf, 535 Held sad communion with himself: "Yes! all is true my fears could frame; A prisoner lies the noble Graeme, And fiery Roderick soon will feel The vengeance of the royal steel. 540 I, only I, can ward their fate— God grant the ransom come not late! The Abbess hath her promise given, My child shall be the bride of heaven. Be pardoned one repining tear! 545 For He, who gave her, knows how dear, How excellent!—but that is by, And now my business is—to die. —Ye towers! within whose circuit dread A Douglas by his sovereign bled; 550 And thou, O sad and fatal mound! That oft hast heard the death-ax sound, As on the noblest of the land Fell the stern headsman's bloody hand— The dungeon, block, and nameless tomb 555 Prepare—for Douglas seeks his doom! —But hark! what blithe and jolly peal Makes the Franciscan steeple reel? And see! upon the crowded street, In motley groups what maskers meet! 560 Banner and pageant, pipe and drum, And merry morris dancers come. I guess, by all this quaint array, The burghers hold their sports today. James will be there; he loves such show, 565 Where the good yeoman bends his bow, And the tough wrestler foils his foe, As well as where, in proud career, The high-born tilter shivers spear. I'll follow to the Castle-park, 570 And play my prize—King James shall mark If age has tamed these sinews stark, Whose force so oft, in happier days, His boyish wonder loved to praise."

XXI

The Castle gates were open flung, 575 The quivering drawbridge rocked and rung, And echoed loud the flinty street Beneath the coursers' clattering feet, As slowly down the steep descent Fair Scotland's King and nobles went, 580 While all along the crowded way Was jubilee and loud huzza. And ever James was bending low, To his white jennet's saddle-bow, Doffing his cap to city dame, 585 Who smiled and blushed for pride and shame. And well the simperer might be vain— He chose the fairest of the train. Gravely he greets each city sire, Commends each pageant's quaint attire. 590 Gives to the dancers thanks aloud, And smiles and nods upon the crowd, Who rend the heavens with their acclaims, "Long live the Commons' King, King James!" Behind the King thronged peer and knight, 595 And noble dame and damsel bright, Whose fiery steeds ill brooked the stay Of the steep street and crowded way. But in the train you might discern Dark lowering brow and visage stern; 600 There nobles mourned their pride restrained, And the mean burgher's joys disdained; And chiefs, who, hostage for their clan, Were each from home a banished man, There thought upon their own gray tower, 605 Their waving woods, their feudal power, And deemed themselves a shameful part Of pageant which they cursed in heart.

XXII

Now, in the Castle-park, drew out Their checkered bands the joyous rout. 610 Their morricers, with bell at heel, And blade in hand, their mazes wheel; And chief, beside the butts, there stand Bold Robin Hood and all his band— Friar Tuck with quarterstaff and cowl, 615 Old Scathelocke with his surly scowl, Maid Marion, fair as ivory bone, Scarlet, and Mutch, and Little John; Their bugles challenge all that will, In archery to prove their skill. 620 The Douglas bent a bow of might— His first shaft centered in the white, And when in turn he shot again, His second split the first in twain. From the King's hand must Douglas take 625 A silver dart, the archer's stake; Fondly he watched, with watery eye, Some answering glance of sympathy— No kind emotion made reply! Indifferent as to archer wight, 630 The monarch gave the arrow bright.

XXIII

Now, clear the ring! for, hand to hand, The manly wrestlers take their stand. Two o'er the rest superior rose, And proud demanded mightier foes, 635 Nor called in vain; for Douglas came. —For life is Hugh of Larbert lame; Scarce better John of Alloa's fare, Whom senseless home his comrades bear. Prize of the wrestling match, the King 640 To Douglas gave a golden ring, While coldly glanced his eye of blue, As frozen drop of wintry dew. Douglas would speak, but in his breast His struggling soul his words suppressed; 645 Indignant then he turned him where Their arms the brawny yeomen bare. To hurl the massive bar in air. When each his utmost strength had shown, The Douglas rent an earth-fast stone 650 From its deep bed, then heaved it high, And sent the fragment through the sky, A rood beyond the farthest mark; And still in Stirling's royal park, The gray-haired sires, who know the past, 655 To strangers point the Douglas-cast, And moralize on the decay Of Scottish strength in modern day.

XXIV

The vale with loud applauses rang, The Ladies' Rock sent back the clang. 660 The King, with look unmoved, bestowed A purse well-filled with pieces broad. Indignant smiled the Douglas proud, And threw the gold among the crowd, Who now, with anxious wonder, scan, 665 And sharper glance, the dark gray man; Till whispers rose among the throng, That heart so free, and hand so strong, Must to the Douglas blood belong. The old men marked and shook the head, 670 To see his hair with silver spread, And winked aside, and told each son, Of feats upon the English done, Ere Douglas of the stalwart hand Was exiled from his native land. 675 The women praised his stately form, Though wrecked by many a winter's storm; The youth with awe and wonder saw His strength surpassing Nature's law. Thus judged, as is their wont, the crowd, 680 Till murmur rose to clamors loud. But not a glance from that proud ring Of peers who circled round the King, With Douglas held communion kind, Or called the banished man to mind; 685 No, not from those who, at the chase, Once held his side the honored place, Begirt his board, and, in the field, Found safety underneath his shield; For he, whom royal eyes disown, 690 When was his form to courtiers known!

XXV

The Monarch saw the gambols flag, And bade let loose a gallant stag, Whose pride, the holiday to crown, Two favorite greyhounds should pull down, 695 That venison free, and Bordeaux wine, Might serve the archery to dine. But Lufra—whom from Douglas' side Nor bribe nor threat could e'er divide, The fleetest hound in all the North— 700 Brave Lufra saw and darted forth. She left the royal hounds mid-way, And dashing on the antlered prey, Sunk her sharp muzzle in his flank, And deep the flowing life-blood drank. 705 The King's stout huntsman saw the sport By strange intruder broken short, Came up, and with his leash unbound, In anger struck the noble hound. The Douglas had endured, that morn, 710 The King's cold look, the nobles' scorn, And last, and worst to spirit proud, Had borne the pity of the crowd; But Lufra had been fondly bred, To share his board, to watch his bed, 715 And oft would Ellen, Lufra's neck In maiden glee with garlands deck; They were such playmates, that with name Of Lufra, Ellen's image came. His stifled wrath is brimming high, 720 In darkened brow and flashing eye; As waves before the bark divide, The crowd gave way before his stride; Needs but a buffet and no more, The groom lies senseless in his gore. 725 Such blow no other hand could deal, Though gauntleted in glove of steel.

XXVI

Then clamored loud the royal train, And brandished swords and staves amain, But stern the Baron's warning—"Back! 730 Back, on your lives, ye menial pack! Beware the Douglas.—Yes! behold, King James! the Douglas, doomed of old, And vainly sought for near and far, A victim to atone the war, 735 A willing victim, now attends, Nor craves thy grace but for his friends." "Thus is my clemency repaid? Presumptuous Lord!" the monarch said; "Of thy misproud ambitious clan, 740 Thou, James of Bothwell, wert the man, The only man, in whom a foe My woman-mercy would not know: But shall a Monarch's presence brook Injurious blow, and haughty look? 745 What ho! the Captain of our Guard! Give the offender fitting ward. Break off the sports!"—for tumult rose, And yeomen 'gan to bend their bows— "Break off the sports!" he said, and frowned, 750 "And bid our horsemen clear the ground."

XXVII

Then uproar wild and misarray Marred the fair form of festal day. The horsemen pricked among the crowd, Repelled by threats and insult loud; 755 To earth are borne the old and weak, The timorous fly, the women shriek; With flint, with shaft, with staff, with bar, The hardier urge tumultuous war. At once round Douglas darkly sweep 760 The royal spears in circle deep, And slowly scale the pathway steep; While on the rear in thunder pour The rabble with disordered roar. With grief the noble Douglas saw 765 The Commons rise against the law, And to the leading soldier said— "Sir John of Hyndford! 'twas my blade, That knighthood on thy shoulder laid; For that good deed, permit me then 770 A word with these misguided men.

XXVIII

"Hear, gentle friends! ere yet for me, Ye break the bands of fealty. My life, my honor, and my cause, I tender free to Scotland's laws. 775 Are these so weak as must require The aid of your misguided ire? Or, if I suffer causeless wrong, Is then my selfish rage so strong, My sense of public weal so low, 780 That, for mean vengeance on a foe, Those cords of love I should unbind, Which knit my country and my kind? O no! Believe, in yonder tower It will not soothe my captive hour, 785 To know those spears our foes should dread, For me in kindred gore are red; To know, in fruitless brawl begun, For me, that mother wails her son; For me, that widow's mate expires; 790 For me, that orphans weep their sires; That patriots mourn insulted laws, And curse the Douglas for the cause. O let your patience ward such ill, And keep your right to love me still!" 795

XXIX

The crowd's wild fury sunk again In tears, as tempests melt in rain. With lifted hands and eyes, they prayed For blessings on his generous head, Who for his country felt alone, 800 And prized her blood beyond his own. Old men, upon the verge of life, Blessed him who stayed the civil strife; And mothers held their babes on high, The self-devoted Chief to spy, 805 Triumphant over wrongs and ire, To whom the prattlers owed a sire. Even the rough soldier's heart was moved; As if behind some bier beloved, With trailing arms and drooping head, 810 The Douglas up the hill he led, And at the Castle's battled verge, With sighs resigned his honored charge.

XXX

The offended Monarch rode apart, With bitter thought and swelling heart, 815 And would not now vouchsafe again Through Stirling streets to lead his train. "O Lennox, who would wish to rule This changeling crowd, this common fool? Hear'st thou," he said, "the loud acclaim, 820 With which they shout the Douglas name? With like acclaim, the vulgar throat Strained for King James their morning note; With like acclaim they hailed the day When first I broke the Douglas' sway; 825 And like acclaim would Douglas greet, If he could hurl me from my seat. Who o'er the herd would wish to reign, Fantastic, fickle, fierce, and vain! Vain as the leaf upon the stream, 830 And fickle as a changeful dream; Fantastic as a woman's mood, And fierce as Frenzy's fevered blood. Thou many-headed monster-thing, O who could wish to be thy king! 835

XXXI

"But soft! what messenger of speed Spurs hitherward his panting steed? I guess his cognizance afar— What from our cousin, John of Mar?"— "He prays, my liege, your sports keep bound 840 Within the safe and guarded ground; For some foul purpose yet unknown— Most sure for evil to the throne— The outlawed Chieftain, Roderick Dhu, Has summoned his rebellious crew; 845 'Tis said, in James of Bothwell's aid These loose banditti stand arrayed. The Earl of Mar, this morn, from Doune, To break their muster marched, and soon Your Grace will hear of battle fought; 850 But earnestly the Earl besought, Till for such danger he provide, With scanty train you will not ride."

XXXII

"Thou warn'st me I have done amiss— I should have earlier looked to this; 855 I lost it in this bustling day. Retrace with speed thy former way; Spare not for spoiling of thy steed The best of mine shall be thy meed. Say to our faithful Lord of Mar, 860 We do forbid the intended war. Roderick, this morn, in single fight, Was made our prisoner by a knight; And Douglas hath himself and cause Submitted to our kingdom's laws. 865 The tidings of their leaders lost Will soon dissolve the mountain host, Nor would we that the vulgar feel For their Chief's crimes, avenging steel. Bear Mar our message, Braco; fly!" 870 He turned his steed—"My liege, I hie, Yet, ere I cross this lily lawn, I fear the broadswords will be drawn." The turf the flying courser spurned, And to his towers the King returned. 875

XXXIII

Ill with King James's mood that day, Suited gay feast and minstrel lay; Soon were dismissed the courtly throng, And soon cut short the festal song. Nor less upon the saddened town 880 The evening sunk in sorrow down. The burghers spoke of civil jar, Of rumored feuds and mountain war, Of Moray, Mar, and Roderick Dhu, All up in arms—The Douglas too, 885 They mourned him pent within the hold, "Where stout Earl William was of old." And there his word the speaker stayed, And finger on his lip he laid, Or pointed to his dagger blade. 890 But jaded horsemen, from the west, At evening to the Castle pressed; And busy talkers said they bore Tidings of fight on Katrine's shore; At noon the deadly fray begun, 895 And lasted till the set of sun. Thus giddy rumor shook the town, Till closed the Night her pennons brown.



CANTO SIXTH

THE GUARD-ROOM

I

The sun, awakening, through the smoky air Of the dark city casts a sullen glance, Rousing each caitiff to his task of care, Of sinful man the sad inheritance; Summoning revelers from the lagging dance, 5 Scaring the prowling robber to his den; Gilding on battled tower the warder's lance, And warning student pale to leave his pen, And yield his drowsy eyes to the kind nurse of men.

What various scenes, and, Oh! what scenes of woe, 10 Are witnessed by that red and struggling beam! The fevered patient, from his pallet low, Through crowded hospital beholds its stream; The ruined maiden trembles at its gleam; The debtor wakes to thought of gyve and jail; 15 The love-lorn wretch starts from tormenting dream; The wakeful mother, by the glimmering pale, Trims her sick infant's couch, and soothes his feeble wail.

II

At dawn the towers of Stirling rang With soldier-step and weapon-clang, 20 While drums, with rolling note, foretell Relief to weary sentinel. Through narrow loop and casement barred, The sunbeams sought the Court of Guard, And, struggling with the smoky air, 25 Deadened the torches' yellow glare. In comfortless alliance shone The lights through arch of blackened stone, And showed wild shapes in garb of war, Faces deformed with beard and scar, 30 All haggard from the midnight watch, And fevered with the stern debauch; For the oak table's massive board, Flooded with wine, with fragments stored, And beakers drained, and cups o'erthrown, 35 Showed in what sport the night had flown. Some, weary, snored on floor and bench; Some labored still their thirst to quench; Some, chilled with watching, spread their hands O'er the huge chimney's dying brands, 40 While round them, or beside them flung, At every step their harness rung.

III

These drew not for their fields the sword, Like tenants of a feudal lord, Nor owned the patriarchal claim 45 Of Chieftain in their leader's name; Adventurers they, from far who roved, To live by battle which they loved. There the Italian's clouded face, The swarthy Spaniard's there you trace; 50 The mountain-loving Switzer there More freely breathed in mountain-air; The Fleming there despised the soil, That paid so ill the laborer's toil; Their rolls showed French and German name; 55 And merry England's exiles came, To share, with ill-concealed disdain, Of Scotland's pay the scanty gain. All brave in arms, well trained to wield The heavy halberd, brand, and shield; 60 In camps licentious, wild and bold; In pillage fierce and uncontrolled; And now, by holytide and feast, From rules of discipline released.

IV

They held debate of bloody fray, 65 Fought 'twixt Loch Katrine and Achray. Fierce was their speech, and, mid their words, Their hands oft grappled to their swords; Nor sunk their tone to spare the ear Of wounded comrades groaning near, 70 Whose mangled limbs, and bodies gored, Bore token of the mountain sword, Though, neighboring to the Court of Guard, Their prayers and feverish wails were heard; Sad burden to the ruffian joke, 75 And savage oath by fury spoke!— At length up-started John of Brent, A yeoman from the banks of Trent; A stranger to respect or fear, In peace a chaser of the deer, 80 In host a hardy mutineer, But still the boldest of the crew, When deed of danger was to do. He grieved, that day, their games cut short, And marred the dicer's brawling sport, 85 And shouted loud, "Renew the bowl! And, while in merry catch I troll, Let each the buxom chorus bear, Like brethren of the brand and spear."

V

SOLDIER'S SONG

Our vicar still preaches that Peter and Poule 90 Laid a swinging long curse on the bonny brown bowl, That there's wrath and despair in the jolly black-jack, And the seven deadly sins in a flagon of sack; Yet whoop, Barnaby! off with thy liquor, Drink upsees out, and a fig for the vicar! 95

Our vicar he calls it damnation to sip The ripe ruddy dew of a woman's dear lip, Says, that Beelzebub lurks in her kerchief so sly, And Apollyon shoots darts from her merry black eye; Yet whoop, Jack! kiss Gillian the quicker, 100 Till she bloom like a rose, and a fig for the vicar!

Our vicar thus preaches—and why should he not? For the dues of his cure are the placket and pot; And 'tis right of his office poor laymen to lurch, Who infringe the domains of our good Mother Church. 105 Yet whoop, bully-boys! off with your liquor, Sweet Marjorie's the word, and a fig for the Vicar!

VI

The warder's challenge, heard without, Stayed in mid-roar the merry shout. A soldier to the portal went— 110 "Here is old Bertram, sirs, of Ghent; And—beat for jubilee the drum! A maid and minstrel with him come." Bertram, a Fleming, gray and scarred, Was entering now the Court of Guard, 115 A harper with him, and in plaid All muffled close, a mountain maid, Who backward shrunk, to 'scape the view Of the loose scene and boisterous crew. "What news?" they roared. "I only know, 120 From noon till eve we fought with foe, As wild and as untamable As the rude mountains where they dwell; On both sides store of blood is lost, Nor much success can either boast." 125 "But whence thy captives, friend? Such spoil As theirs must needs reward thy toil. Old dost thou wax, and wars grow sharp; Thou now hast glee-maiden and harp! Get thee an ape, and trudge the land, 130 The leader of a juggler band."

VII

"No, comrade; no such fortune mine. After the fight these sought our line, That aged harper and the girl, And, having audience of the Earl, 135 Mar bade I should purvey them steed, And bring them hitherward with speed. Forbear your mirth and rude alarm, For none shall do them shame or harm." "Hear ye his boast?" cried John of Brent, 140 Ever to strife and jangling bent; "Shall he strike doe beside our lodge, And yet the jealous niggard grudge To pay the forester his fee? I'll have my share, howe'er it be, 145 Despite of Moray, Mar, or thee." Bertram his forward step withstood; And, burning in his vengeful mood, Old Allan, though unfit for strife; Laid hand upon his dagger-knife; 150 But Ellen boldly stepped between, And dropped at once the tartan screen. So, from his morning cloud, appears The sun of May, through summer tears. The savage soldiery, amazed, 155 As on descended angel gazed; Even hardy Brent, abashed and tamed, Stood half admiring, half ashamed.

VIII

Boldly she spoke—"Soldiers, attend! My father was the soldier's friend; 160 Cheered him in camps, in marches led, And with him in the battle bled. Not from the valiant, or the strong, Should exile's daughter suffer wrong." Answered De Brent, most forward still 165 In every feat of good or ill: "I shame me of the part I played; And thou an outlaw's child, poor maid! An outlaw I by forest laws, And merry Needwood knows the cause. 170 Poor Rose—if Rose be living now"— He wiped his iron eye and brow— "Must bear such age, I think, as thou. Hear ye, my mates; I go to call The Captain of our watch to hall. 175 There lies my halberd on the floor; And he that steps my halberd o'er, To do the maid injurious part, My shaft shall quiver in his heart! Beware loose speech, or jesting rough; 180 Ye all know John de Brent. Enough."

IX

Their Captain came, a gallant young— Of Tullibardine's house he sprung— Nor wore he yet the spurs of knight; Gay was his mien, his humor light, 185 And, though by courtesy controlled, Forward his speech, his bearing bold. The high-born maiden ill could brook The scanning of his curious look And dauntless eye; and yet, in sooth, 190 Young Lewis was a generous youth; But Ellen's lovely face and mien, Ill suited to the garb and scene, Might lightly bear construction strange, And give loose fancy scope to range. 195 "Welcome to Stirling towers, fair maid! Come ye to seek a champion's aid, On palfrey white, with harper hoar, Like errant damosel of yore? Does thy high quest a knight require, 200 Or may the venture suit a squire?" Her dark eye flashed—she paused and sighed— "O what have I to do with pride! Through scenes of sorrow, shame, and strife, A suppliant for a father's life, 205 I crave an audience of the King. Behold, to back my suit, a ring, The royal pledge of grateful claims, Given by the Monarch to Fitz-James."

X

The signet ring young Lewis took, 210 With deep respect and altered look; And said—"This ring our duties own; And pardon, if to worth unknown, In semblance mean obscurely veiled, Lady, in aught my folly failed. 215 Soon as the day flings wide his gates, The King shall know what suitor waits. Please you, meanwhile, in fitting bower Repose you till his waking hour; Female attendance shall obey 220 Your hest, for service or array. Permit I marshal you the way." But, ere she followed, with the grace And open bounty of her race, She bade her slender purse be shared 225 Among the soldiers of the guard. The rest with thanks their guerdon took; But Brent, with shy and awkward look, On the reluctant maiden's hold Forced bluntly back the proffered gold: 230 "Forgive a haughty English heart, And O forget its ruder part! The vacant purse shall be my share, Which in my barret-cap I'll bear. Perchance, in jeopardy of war, 235 Where gayer crests may keep afar." With thanks—'twas all she could—the maid His rugged courtesy repaid.

XI

When Ellen forth with Lewis went, Allan made suit to John of Brent: 240 "My lady safe, O let your grace Give me to see my master's face! His minstrel I—to share his doom Bound from the cradle to the tomb. Tenth in descent, since first my sires 245 Waked for his noble house their lyres, Nor one of all the race was known But prized its weal above their own. With the Chief's birth begins our care; Our harp must soothe the infant heir, 250 Teach the youth tales of fight, and grace His earliest feat of field or chase; In peace, in war, our ranks we keep, We cheer his board, we soothe his sleep, Nor leave him till we pour our verse— 255 A doleful tribute!—o'er his hearse. Then let me share his captive lot; It is my right—deny it not!" "Little we reck," said John of Brent, "We Southern men, of long descent; 260 Nor wot we how a name—a word— Makes clansmen vassals to a lord; Yet kind my noble landlord's part— God bless the house of Beaudesert! And, but I loved to drive the deer, 265 More than to guide the laboring steer, I had not dwelt an outcast here. Come, good old Minstrel, follow me; Thy Lord and Chieftain shalt thou see."

XII

Then, from a rusted iron hook, 270 A bunch of ponderous keys he took, Lighted a torch, and Allan led Through grated arch and passage dread. Portals they passed, where, deep within, Spoke prisoner's moan, and fetters' din; 275 Through rugged vaults, where, loosely stored, Lay wheel, and ax, and headsman's sword, And many an hideous engine grim, For wrenching joint, and crushing limb, By artist formed, who deemed it shame 280 And sin to give their work a name. They halted at a low-browed porch, And Brent to Allan gave the torch, While bolt and chain he backward rolled And made the bar unhasp its hold. 285 They entered—'twas a prison-room Of stern security and gloom, Yet not a dungeon; for the day Through lofty gratings found its way, And rude and antique garniture 290 Decked the sad walls and oaken floor; Such as the rugged days of old Deemed fit for captive noble's hold. "Here," said De Brent, "thou mayst remain Till the Leech visit him again. 295 Strict is his charge, the warders tell, To tend the noble prisoner well." Retiring then the bolt he drew, And the lock's murmurings growled anew. Roused at the sound, from lowly bed 300 A captive feebly raised his head; The wondering Minstrel looked, and knew— Not his dear lord, but Roderick Dhu! For, come from where Clan-Alpine fought, They, erring, deemed the Chief he sought. 305

XIII

As the tall ship, whose lofty prore Shall never stem the billows more, Deserted by her gallant band, Amid the breakers lies astrand, So, on his couch, lay Roderick Dhu! 310 And oft his fevered limbs he threw In toss abrupt, as when her sides Lie rocking in the advancing tides, That shake her frame with ceaseless beat, Yet cannot heave her from her seat— 315 Oh! how unlike her course at sea! Or his free step on hill and lea! Soon as the Minstrel he could scan, "What of thy lady?—of my clan?— My mother?—Douglas?—tell me all? 320 Have they been ruined in my fall? Ah, yes! or wherefore art thou here! Yet speak—speak boldly—do not fear." For Allan, who his mood well knew, Was choked with grief and terror too. 325 "Who fought—who fled?—Old man, be brief— Some might—for they had lost their Chief. Who basely live?—who bravely died?" "O calm thee, Chief!" the Minstrel cried, "Ellen is safe;" "For that thank Heaven!" 330 "And hopes are for the Douglas given; The Lady Margaret too is well; And, for thy clan—on field or fell, Has never harp of minstrel told, Of combat fought so true and bold. 335 Thy stately Pine is yet unbent, Though many a goodly bough is rent."

XIV

The Chieftain reared his form on high, And fever's fire was in his eye; But ghastly pale, and livid streaks 340 Checkered his swarthy brow and cheeks. "Hark, Minstrel! I have heard thee play, With measure bold, on festal day, In yon lone isle, ... again where ne'er Shall harper play, or warrior hear!... 345 That stirring air that peals on high, O'er Dermid's race our victory. Strike it!—and then—for well thou canst— Free from thy minstrel spirit glanced, Fling me the picture of the fight, 350 When met my clan the Saxon might. I'll listen, till my fancy hears The clang of swords, the crash of spears! These grates, these walls, shall vanish then, For the fair field of fighting men, 355 And my free spirit burst away, As if it soared from battle fray." The trembling Bard with awe obeyed— Slow on the harp his hand he laid; But soon remembrance of the sight 360 He witnessed from the mountain's height, With what old Bertram told at night, Awakened the full power of song, And bore him in career along; As shallop launched on river's side, 365 That slow and fearful leaves the side, But, when it feels the middle stream, Drives downward swift as lightning's beam.

XV

BATTLE OF BEAL' AN DUINE

"The Minstrel came once more to view The eastern ridge of Benvenue, 370 For ere he parted, he would say Farewell to lovely Loch Achray— Where shall he find in foreign land, So lone a lake, so sweet a strand! There is no breeze upon the fern, 375 Nor ripple on the lake, Upon her eyry nods the erne, The deer has sought the brake; The small birds will not sing aloud, The springing trout lies still, 380 So darkly glooms yon thunder cloud, That swathes, as with a purple shroud, Benledi's distant hill. Is it the thunder's solemn sound That mutters deep and dread, 385 Or echoes from the groaning ground The warrior's measured tread? Is it the lightning's quivering glance That on the thicket streams, Or do they flash on spear and lance 390 The sun's retiring beams? —I see the dagger-crest of Mar, I see the Moray's silver star, Wave o'er the cloud of Saxon war, That up the lake comes winding far! 395 To hero boune for battle-strife, Or bard of martial lay, 'Twere worth ten years of peaceful life, One glance at their array!

XVI

"Their light-armed archers far and near 400 Surveyed the tangled ground, Their center ranks, with pike and spear, A twilight forest frowned, Their barded horsemen, in the rear, The stern battalia crowned. 405 No cymbal clashed, no clarion rang, Still were the pipe and drum; Save heavy tread, and armor's clang, The sullen march was dumb. There breathed no wind their crests to shake, 410 Or wave their flags abroad; Scarce the frail aspen seemed to quake, That shadowed o'er their road. Their vaward scouts no tidings bring, Can rouse no lurking foe, 415 Nor spy a trace of living thing, Save when they stirred the roe; The host moves, like a deep-sea wave, Where rise no rocks its pride to brave, High-swelling, dark, and slow. 420 The lake is passed, and now they gain A narrow and a broken plain, Before the Trossachs' rugged jaws; And here the horse and spearmen pause, While, to explore the dangerous glen, 425 Dive through the pass the archer-men.

XVII

"At once there rose so wild a yell Within that dark and narrow dell, As all the fiends, from heaven that fell, Had pealed the banner-cry of hell! 430 Forth from the pass in tumult driven, Like chaff before the wind of heaven, The archery appear; For life! for life! their flight they ply— And shriek, and shout, and battle-cry, 435 And plaids and bonnets waving high, And broadswords flashing to the sky, Are maddening in the rear. Onward they drive, in dreadful race, Pursuers and pursued; 440 Before that tide of flight and chase, How shall it keep its rooted place, The spearmen's twilight wood? 'Down, down,' cried Mar, 'your lances down! Bear back both friend and foe!' 445 Like reeds before the tempest's frown, That serried grove of lances brown At once lay leveled low; And closely shouldering side to side, The bristling ranks the onset bide. 450 'We'll quell the savage mountaineer, As their Tinchel cows the game! They come as fleet as forest deer, We'll drive them back as tame.'

XVIII

"Bearing before them, in their course, 455 The relics of the archer force, Like wave with crest of sparkling foam, Right onward did Clan-Alpine come. Above the tide, each broadsword bright Was brandishing like beam of light, 460 Each targe was dark below; And with the ocean's mighty swing, When heaving to the tempest's wing, They hurled them on the foe. I heard the lance's shivering crash, 465 As when the whirlwind rends the ash; I heard the broadsword's deadly clang, As if an hundred anvils rang! But Moray wheeled his rearward rank Of horsemen on Clan-Alpine's flank, 470 'My banner-man advance! I see,' he cried, 'their column shake. Now, gallants! for your ladies' sake, Upon them with the lance!' The horsemen dashed among the rout, 475 As deer break through the broom; Their steeds are stout, their swords are out, They soon make lightsome room. Clan-Alpine's best are backward borne— Where, where was Roderick then! 480 One blast upon his bugle-horn Were worth a thousand men. And refluent through the pass of fear The battle's tide was poured; Vanished the Saxon's struggling spear, 485 Vanished the mountain-sword. As Bracklinn's chasm, so black and steep, Receives her roaring linn, As the dark caverns of the deep Suck the wild whirlpool in, 490 So did the deep and darksome pass Devour the battle's mingled mass; None linger now upon the plain, Save those who ne'er shall fight again.

XIX

"Now westward rolls the battle's din, 495 That deep and doubling pass within.— Minstrel, away! the work of fate Is bearing on; its issue wait, Where the rude Trossachs' dread defile Opens on Katrine's lake and isle.— 500 Gray Benvenue I soon repassed, Loch Katrine lay beneath me cast. The sun is set, the clouds are met, The lowering scowl of heaven An inky hue of livid blue 505 To the deep lake has given; Strange gusts of wind from mountain-glen Swept o'er the lake, then sunk again. I heeded not the eddying surge, Mine eye but saw the Trossachs' gorge, 510 Mine ear but heard the sullen sound, Which like an earthquake shook the ground, And spoke the stern and desperate strife That parts not but with parting life, Seeming, to minstrel ear, to toll 515 The dirge of many a passing soul. Nearer it comes—the dim-wood glen The martial flood disgorged again, But not in mingled tide; The plaided warriors of the North 520 High on the mountain thunder forth And overhang its side; While by the lake below appears The dark'ning cloud of Saxon spears. At weary bay each shattered band, 525 Eyeing their foemen, sternly stand; Their banners stream like tattered sail, That flings its fragments to the gale, And broken arms and disarray Marked the fell havoc of the day. 530

XX

"Viewing the mountain's ridge askance, The Saxon stood in sullen trance, Till Moray pointed with his lance, And cried—'Behold yon isle! See! none are left to guard its strand, 535 But women weak, that wring the hand; 'Tis there of yore the robber band Their booty wont to pile. My purse, with bonnet-pieces store, To him will swim a bow-shot o'er, 540 And loose a shallop from the shore. Lightly we'll tame the war-wolf then, Lords of his mate, and brood, and den.' Forth from the ranks a spearman sprung, On earth his casque and corselet rung, 545 He plunged him in the wave; All saw the deed—the purpose knew, And to their clamors Benvenue A mingled echo gave; The Saxons shout, their mate to cheer, 550 The helpless females scream for fear, And yells for rage the mountaineer. 'Twas then, as by the outcry riven, Poured down at once the lowering heaven; A whirlwind swept Loch Katrine's breast, 555 Her billows reared their snowy crest. Well for the swimmer swelled they high, To mar the Highland marksman's eye; For round him showered, 'mid rain and hail, The vengeful arrows of the Gael. 560 In vain—he nears the isle—and lo! His hand is on a shallop's bow. Just then a flash of lightning came, It tinged the waves and strand with flame; I marked Duncraggan's widowed dame, 565 Behind an oak I saw her stand, A naked dirk gleamed in her hand; It darkened—but, amid the moan Of waves, I heard a dying groan; Another flash!—the spearman floats 570 A weltering corse beside the boats, And the stern matron o'er him stood, Her hand and dagger streaming blood.

XXI

"'Revenge! revenge!' the Saxons cried; The Gaels' exulting shout replied. 575 Despite the elemental rage, Again they hurried to engage; But, ere they closed in desperate fight, Bloody with spurring came a knight, Sprung from his horse, and, from a crag, 580 Waved 'twixt the hosts a milk-white flag. Clarion and trumpet by his side Rung forth a truce-note high and wide, While, in the Monarch's name, afar An herald's voice forbade the war, 585 For Bothwell's lord, and Roderick bold, Were both, he said, in captive hold." —But here the lay made sudden stand, The harp escaped the Minstrel's hand!— Oft had he stolen a glance, to spy 590 How Roderick brooked his minstrelsy: At first, the Chieftain, to the chime, With lifted hand, kept feeble time; That motion ceased—yet feeling strong Varied his look as changed the song; 595 At length, no more his deafened ear The minstrel melody can hear; His face grows sharp—his hands are clenched, As if some pang his heart-strings wrenched; Set are his teeth, his fading eye 600 Is sternly fixed on vacancy; Thus, motionless, and moanless, drew His parting breath, stout Roderick Dhu! Old Allan-bane looked on aghast, While grim and still his spirit passed; 605 But when he saw that life was fled, He poured his wailing o'er the dead.

XXII

LAMENT

"And art thou cold and lowly laid, Thy foeman's dread, thy people's aid, Breadalbane's boast, Clan-Alpine's shade! 610 For thee shall none a requiem say? —For thee—who loved the minstrel's lay, For thee, of Bothwell's house the stay, The shelter of her exiled line, E'en in this prison-house of thine 615 I'll wail for Alpine's honored Pine!

"What groans shall yonder valleys fill! What shrieks of grief shall rend yon hill! What tears of burning rage shall thrill, When mourns thy tribe thy battles done, 620 Thy fall before the race was won, Thy sword ungirt ere set of sun! There breathes not clansman of thy line, But would have given his life for thine. O woe for Alpine's honored Pine! 625

"Sad was thy lot on mortal stage! The captive thrush may brook the cage, The prisoned eagle dies for rage. Brave spirit, do not scorn my strain! And, when its notes awake again, 630 Even she, so long beloved in vain, Shall with my harp her voice combine, And mix her woe and tears with mine, To wail Clan-Alpine's honored Pine."

XXIII

Ellen, the while, with bursting heart, 635 Remained in lordly bower apart, Where played, with many colored gleams, Through storied pane the rising beams. In vain on gilded roof they fall, And lightened up a tapestried wall, 640 And for her use a menial train A rich collation spread in vain. The banquet proud, the chamber gay, Scarce drew one curious glance astray; Or if she looked, 'twas but to say, 645 With better omen dawned the day In that lone isle where waved on high The dun-deer's hide for canopy; Where oft her noble father shared The simple meal her care prepared, 650 While Lufra, crouching by her side, Her station claimed with jealous pride, And Douglas, bent on woodland game, Spoke of the chase to Malcolm Graeme, Whose answer, oft at random made, 655 The wandering of his thoughts betrayed. Those who such simple joys have known, Are taught to prize them when they're gone. But sudden, see, she lifts her head! The window seeks with cautious tread. 660 What distant music has the power To win her in this woeful hour! Twas from a turret that o'erhung Her latticed bower, the strain was sung.

XXIV

LAY OF THE IMPRISONED HUNTSMAN

"My hawk is tired of perch and hood, 665 My idle greyhound loathes his food, My horse is weary of his stall, And I am sick of captive thrall. I wish I were as I have been, Hunting the hart in forest green, 670 With bended bow and bloodhound free, For that's the life is meet for me.

"I hate to learn the ebb of time, From yon dull steeple's drowsy chime, Or mark it as the sunbeams crawl, 675 Inch after inch, along the wall. The lark was wont my matins ring, The sable rook my vespers sing; These towers, although a king's they be, Have not a hall of joy for me. 680

"No more at dawning morn I rise, And sun myself in Ellen's eyes, Drive the fleet deer the forest through, And homeward wend with evening dew; A blithesome welcome blithely meet, 685 And lay my trophies at her feet, While fled the eve on wing of glee— That life is lost to love and me!"

XXV

The heartsick lay was hardly said, The list'ner had not turned her head, 690 It trickled still, the starting tear, When light a footstep struck her ear, And Snowdoun's graceful knight was near. She turned the hastier, lest again The prisoner should renew his strain. 695 "O welcome, brave Fitz-James!" she said; "How may an almost orphan maid Pay the deep debt"—"O say not so! To me no gratitude you owe. Not mine, alas! the boon to give, 700 And bid thy noble father live; I can but be thy guide, sweet maid, With Scotland's King thy suit to aid. No tyrant he, though ire and pride May lay his better mood aside. 705 Come, Ellen, come! 'tis more than time, He holds his court at morning prime." With beating heart, and bosom wrung, As to a brother's arm she clung. Gently he dried the falling tear, 710 And gently whispered hope and cheer; Her faltering steps, half led, half stayed, Through gallery fair, and high arcade, Till, at his touch, its wings of pride A portal arch unfolded wide. 715

XXVI

Within 'twas brilliant all and light, A thronging scene of figures bright; It glowed on Ellen's dazzled sight, As when the setting sun has given Ten thousand hues to summer even, 720 And from their tissue, fancy frames Aerial knights and fairy dames. Still by Fitz-James her footing stayed; A few faint steps she forward made, Then slow her drooping head she raised, 725 And fearful round the presence gazed; For him she sought, who owned this state, The dreaded Prince whose will was fate!— She gazed on many a princely port, Might well have ruled a royal court; 730 On many a splendid garb she gazed— Then turned bewildered and amazed, For all stood bare; and, in the room, Fitz-James alone wore cap and plume. To him each lady's look was lent; 735 On him each courtier's eye was bent; Midst furs and silks and jewels sheen, He stood, in simple Lincoln green, The center of the glittering ring— And Snowdoun's Knight is Scotland's King. 740

XXVII

As wreath of snow, on mountain breast, Slides from the rock that gave it rest, Poor Ellen glided from her stay, And at the Monarch's feet she lay; No word her choking voice commands— 745 She showed the ring—she clasped her hands. Oh! not a moment could he brook, The generous Prince, that suppliant look! Gently he raised her—and, the while, Checked with a glance the circle's smile; 750 Graceful, but grave, her brow he kissed, And bade her terrors be dismissed: "Yes, Fair; the wandering poor Fitz-James The fealty of Scotland claims. To him thy woes, thy wishes, bring; 755 He will redeem his signet-ring. Ask naught for Douglas; yester even His prince and he have much forgiven. Wrong hath he had from slanderous tongue, I, from his rebel kinsmen, wrong. 760 We would not, to the vulgar crowd, Yield what they craved with clamor loud; Calmly we heard and judged his cause, Our council aided, and our laws. I stanched thy father's death-feud stern, 765 With stout De Vaux and gray Glencairn; And Bothwell's lord henceforth we own The friend and bulwark of our throne. But, lovely infidel, how now? What clouds thy misbelieving brow? 770 Lord James of Douglas, lend thine aid; Thou must confirm this doubting maid."

XXVIII

Then forth the noble Douglas sprung, And on his neck his daughter hung. The Monarch drank, that happy hour, 775 The sweetest, holiest draught of Power— When it can say, with godlike voice, Arise, sad Virtue, and rejoice! Yet would not James the general eye On Nature's raptures long should pry; 780 He stepped between—"Nay, Douglas, nay, Steal not my proselyte away! The riddle 'tis my right to read, That brought this happy chance to speed. —Yes, Ellen, when disguised I stray 785 In life's more low but happier way, 'Tis under name which veils my power, Nor falsely veils—for Stirling's tower Of yore the name of Snowdoun claims, And Normans call me James Fitz-James. 790 Thus watch I o'er insulted laws, Thus learn to right the injured cause." Then, in a tone apart and low— "Ah, little traitress! none must know What idle dream, what lighter thought, 795 What vanity full dearly bought, Joined to thine eye's dark witchcraft, drew My spell-bound steps to Benvenue, In dangerous hour, and all but gave Thy Monarch's life to mountain glaive!"— 800 Aloud he spoke, "Thou still dost hold That little talisman of gold, Pledge of my faith, Fitz-James's ring— What seeks fair Ellen of the King?"

XXIX

Full well the conscious maiden guessed 805 He probed the weakness of her breast; But, with that consciousness, there came A lightening of her fears for Graeme, And more she deemed the Monarch's ire Kindled 'gainst him, who, for her sire 810 Rebellious broadsword boldly drew; And, to her generous feeling true, She craved the grace of Roderick Dhu. "Forbear thy suit—the King of kings Alone can stay life's parting wings. 815 I know his heart, I know his hand, Have shared his cheer, and proved his brand. My fairest earldom would I give To bid Clan-Alpine's Chieftain live!— Hast thou no other boon to crave? 820 No other captive friend to save?" Blushing, she turned her from the King, And to the Douglas gave the ring, As if she wished her sire to speak The suit that stained her glowing cheek. 825 "Nay, then, my pledge has lost its force, And stubborn justice holds her course. Malcolm, come forth!"—and, at the word, Down kneeled the Graeme to Scotland's lord. "For thee, rash youth, no suppliant sues, 830 From thee may Vengeance claim her dues, Who, nurtured underneath our smile, Hast paid our care by treacherous wile, And sought, amid thy faithful clan, A refuge for an outlawed man, 835 Dishonoring thus thy loyal name. Fetters and warder for the Graeme!" His chain of gold the King unstrung, The links o'er Malcolm's neck he flung, Then gently drew the glittering band, 840 And laid the clasp on Ellen's hand.

* * * * *

Harp of the North, farewell! The hills grow dark, On purple peaks a deeper shade descending; In twilight copse the glowworm lights her spark, The deer, half seen, are to the covert wending. 845 Resume thy wizard elm! the fountain lending, And the wild breeze, thy wilder minstrelsy; Thy slumbers sweet with Nature's vespers blending, With distant echo from the fold and lea, And herdboy's evening pipe, and hum of housing bee. 850

Yet, once again, farewell, thou Minstrel harp! Yet, once again, forgive my feeble sway, And little reck I of the censure sharp May idly cavil at an idle lay. Much have I owed thy strains on life's long way, 855 Through secret woes the world has never known, When on the weary night dawned wearier day, And bitterer was the grief devoured alone. That I o'erlived such woes, Enchantress! is thine own.

Hark! as my lingering footsteps slow retire, 860 Some Spirit of the Air has waked thy string! 'Tis now a seraph bold, with touch of fire, 'Tis now the brush of Fairy's frolic wing. Receding now, the dying numbers ring Fainter and fainter down the rugged dell, 865 And now the mountain breezes scarcely bring A wandering witch-note of the distant spell— And now, 'tis silent all!—Enchantress, fare thee well!



NOTES

CANTO FIRST

2. witch-elm that shades Saint Fillan's spring. The well or spring of St. Fillan is on the summit of a hill near Loch Earn, some miles northeast of the scene of the poem. The reason why Scott places the "Harp of the North" here is that St. Fillan was the favorite saint of Robert Bruce, and a relic of the saint had been borne in a shrine by a warlike abbot at the battle of Bannockburn. The word "witch" (more properly spelled "wych") is connected with "wicker" and means "bending," "drooping."

10. Caledon. Caledonia, poetic name for Scotland.

29. Monan's rill. Scott takes the liberty of assigning a "rill" to this Scottish martyr of the fourth century on his own authority, unless his editors have been at fault in failing to discover the stream indicated.

31. Glenartney's. Glen Artney or Valley of the Artney. The Artney is a small river northeast of the main scene of the poem.

33. Benvoirlich. "Ben" is Scottish for mountain. Benvoirlich is near the western end of Glenartney.

53. Uam-Var. A mountain between Glenartney and the Braes of Doune. The name signifies "great den," and is derived from a rocky enclosure on the mountain-side, believed to have been used in primitive times as a toil or trap for deer. As told in Stanza IV a giant was fabled to have inhabited this den.

71. linn. This word means either "waterfall" or "steep ravine." The latter is probably the meaning here.

89. Menteith. A village and district southeast of the line of lakes—Loch Katrine, Loch Achray, and Loch Vennachar—about which the main action of the poem moves.

93. Lochard. Loch Ard, a small lake south of Loch Katrine. Aberfoyle. A village east of Loch Ard.

95. Loch-Achray. See note on 89.

97. Benvenue. A mountain on the south bank of Loch Katrine.

103. Cambusmore. An estate owned by Scott's friends, the Buchanans, on the border of the Braes of Doune.

105. Benledi. A majestic mountain shutting in the horizon to the north of Loch Vennachar.

106. Bochastle's heath. The plain between Loch Vennachar and the river Teith.

112. Brigg of Turk. A romantic bridge, still in existence, between Loch Vennachar and Loch Achray.

120. dogs of black Saint Hubert's breed. A breed of dogs, usually black in color, very keen of scent and powerful in build, were kept by the abbots of St. Hubert in commemoration of their patron saint, who was a hunter.

138. whinyard. Obsolete term for sword.

145. Trossachs. A wild and beautiful defile between Loch Katrine and Loch Achray. The word signifies "rough or bristled country."

166. Woe worth the chase. "Woe worth" is an exclamation, equivalent to "alack!"

178. Round and around the sounds were cast. Notice the mimicry of the echo in the vowel sounds of the line.

196. tower ... on Shinar's plain. The Tower of Babel.

208. dewdrops sheen. What part of speech is sheen? Is this use of the word obsolete in prose?

227. frequent flung. "Frequent" is used in the original Latin sense (Lat. frequens) of "crowded together," "numerous."

256. Unless he climb, with footing nice. Scott says: "Until the present road was made through the romantic pass I have presumptuously attempted to describe, there was no mode of issuing out of the defile called the Trossachs, excepting by a sort of ladder, composed of the branches and roots of trees." What is the meaning of "nice" here? What other meanings has the word had?

313. Highland plunderers. The clans inhabiting the region about Loch Katrine were in the habit of making incursions into the neighboring Lowlands to plunder and lay waste the country. Their warlike habits were fostered by the rugged and almost inaccessible character of the country, which prevented the Lowlanders from retaliating upon them, and enabled them also to resist the royal authority.

363. snood. A ribbon worn by Scotch lassies and upon marriage replaced by the matron's "curch" or cap. plaid. A rectangular shawl-like garment made of the checkered cloth called tartan.

438. couch was pulled. Freshly pulled heather was the most luxurious bedding known to the Highlander.

440. ptarmigan and heath-cock. These birds are a species of grouse, the one red, the other black.

460. on the visioned future bent. The gift of second-sight was universally believed in at this period in the Highlands.

504. retreat in dangerous hour. "The Celtic chieftains, whose lives were continually exposed to peril, had usually, in the most retired spot of their domain, some place of retreat for the hour of necessity ... a tower, a cavern, or a rustic hut." (Scott's note in edition of 1830.)

546. target. What is the connection of this word with that used in archery and gun-practice?

566. brook to wield. "Brook" commonly means "endure." What is its exact meaning here?

573. Ferragus, or Ascabart. Two giants whose names appear frequently in medieval romances of chivalry. The first is better known as Ferran, under which name he figures in the Orlando Furioso of Ariosto. Ascabart plays a part in the old English metrical romance of Sir Bevis of Hampton.

580. To whom, though more than kindred knew. This is a very obscure expression for Scott, who is usually so careful to make himself clear. The meaning seems to be: Ellen regarded her as a mother, though that was more than the actual kinship of the two justified (literally "knew how to recognize").

591. Knight of Snowdoun, James Fitz-James. As appears later in the poem, these were not his true name and title, though he was entitled to bear them.

622. a harp unseen. In modern Scotland the bagpipe has altogether taken the place of the harp. A writer of the sixteenth century says: "They (the Highlanders) take great delight to deck their harps with silver and precious stones; the poor ones that cannot attain thereunto deck them with crystal. They sing verses prettily compounded (i.e., composed) containing for the most part praises of valiant men."

638. pibroch. (Pronounced pee-brock.) A wild tumultuous tune played on the bagpipes in the onset of battle.

642. bittern. A wading bird, allied to the heron.

657. reveille. As the rhyme shows, this word is pronounced reh-vail'yah here. The common pronunciation in the United States is rev-a-lee'. It is the drum-beat or bugle-call at dawn to arouse soldiers.

CANTO SECOND

1. blackcock. See note to I, 440.

7. minstrel grey. Until well on in the eighteenth century it was customary for Highland chieftains to keep in their service a bard, whose chief duty it was to sing the exploits of the ancestors of the line.

69. Lead forth his fleet. What kind of figure is contained in the word fleet as applied to the flock of ducks?

131. harp, which erst Saint Modan swayed. St. Modan was not a harper, as Scott elsewhere ingenuously confesses, adding, however, that "Saint Dunstan certainly did play upon that instrument."

141. Wailed loud through Bothwell's bannered hall. The minstrel tries to account for the strange way in which his harp gives back mournful sounds instead of the joyous ones he is trying to evoke, by calling to Ellen's mind two other occasions when it behaved similarly. One of these was when it foreboded the death of Ellen's mother; the other when it foreboded the exile of the Douglasses during the minority of James V. For particulars, see the introduction on the historical setting of the poem. Bothwell Castle is on the Clyde, a few miles from Glasgow.

159. From Tweed to Spey. The Tweed is in the extreme southern part, the Spey in the northern part, of Scotland.

200. Lady of the Bleeding Heart. The minstrel calls Ellen so because a bleeding heart was the heraldic emblem of the Douglas family.

206. strathspey. A dance, named from the district of Strath Spey, in the north of Scotland. It resembled the reel, but was slower.

213. Clan-Alpine's pride. Clan Alpine was the collective name of the followers of Roderick Dhu, who figures later in the poem as Ellen's rejected suitor and the enemy of the mysterious "Knight of Snowdoun" who has just taken his departure from the island.

216. Lennox foray. Lennox is the district south of Menteith, in the Lowlands. It was the scene of innumerable forays and "cattle-drives."

221. In Holy-Rood a knight he slew. Holyrood is the royal castle at Edinburgh, where the court usually was held. It was deemed a heinous and desperate offense to commit an act of blood in the royal residence or its immediate neighborhood, since such an act was an indirect violation of the majesty of the king, and a breaking of "the king's peace." It was for this offense that Roderick Dhu was exiled, and compelled to live like an outlaw in his mountain fastness.

227. Who else dared give. Notice how skilfully Scott manages to give us the relations of the chief characters of the poem to each other, and to show that Ellen's father, pursued by the hatred of James V, has been given the island shelter in Loch Katrine by Roderick Dhu who is about to make his appearance in the story.

236. Full soon may dispensation sought. A papal dispensation was necessary, because Ellen and Roderick Dhu were cousins. See next note.

249. All that a mother could bestow. Here again the poet takes the indirect way of making clear his point, namely that the matron introduced in the first canto is the mother of Roderick Dhu. The phrase "an orphan in the wild," is in apposition with the following phrase "her sister's child"—i.e., Ellen herself. From this it appears that Lady Margaret is Ellen's aunt, and that Roderick Dhu is, therefore, Ellen's cousin.

260. Maronnan's cell. A chapel at the eastern extremity of Loch Lomond, dedicated to the rather obscure saint here named.

270. Bracklinn's thundering wave. The reference is to a cascade made by a mountain torrent at the Bridge of Bracklinn, near the village of Callender in Menteith. Notice how Scott's numerous references to places in the region where the poem is laid tend gradually to give us an idea of the richness and diversity of the landscape.

274. claymore. A large two-handed sword.

305. Thy father's battle-brand. Some swords, especially those which had been magically forged, were held to possess the property of drawing themselves from their scabbard at the approach of their owner's deadly enemy. This is the first vague hint which Scott gives us as to the real identity of the "Knight of Snowdoun." To throw a further glamor of romance about the prophetical weapon, he tells us that it was given by fairies to an ancestor of its present owner, namely, to Archibald, third Duke of Angus, called Tine-man (Loseman) because he always lost his men in battle, and that this gift was made while Archibald was in league with Harry Hotspur.

319. Beltane game. The sports of May Day.

327. canna. Cotton grass.

Stanza XVI. In this and the two following stanzas notice how skillfully description and narrative are woven together, and how the picture gains in detail and distinctness as the boats approach.

334. barges. What change has occurred in the use of this word?

335. Glengyle ... Brianchoil. Why does the poet introduce these proper names? Are they of any value as information?

343. tartans. See note to I, xix, 363.

395. The chorus first could Allan know. The chorus was the first part of the song which the harper, listening from the shore, could distinctly make out.

408. Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu. The words vich and dhu are Gaelic, the first meaning "descendant of," the second "black or swarthy." King Alpine was the half-mythical ancestor from whom the clan of Alpine sprung. The line means, therefore, "Black Roderick, descendant of Alpine." Compare II, xii, 220, where Allan-bane calls the chieftain "Black Sir Roderick."

410. Blooming at Beltane. See note to II, 319.

416. Breadalbane. A large district in the western part of the county of Perth.

419-426. Glen Fruin, Bannochar, Glenn Luss, Ross-dhu, Leven-glen. What, in simple language, should you say was the value of this array of obscure names in the song?

431. the rose-bud that graces yon islands. To whom do the singers metaphorically refer?

497. Percy's Norman pennon. Captured by the Douglas in the raid which led to the battle of Otterburn, as celebrated in the old ballad of Chevy Chase. (Sprague.)

504. The waned crescent. This may be taken as referring to some victory over the Turkish armies in the East, or to the defeat of Scott's ancestor, Sir Walter Scott of Buccleugh, who was defeated in an attempt to set the young king free from the Douglas. The shield of Sir Walter bore a crescent moon.

506. Blantyre. A priory on the banks of the Clyde near Bothwell castle, of which ruins still remain.

574. Glenfinlas. A valley to the northeast of Loch Katrine, between Ben-An and Ben-Ledi.

577. royal ward. Malcolm, as a minor, was still under the king's guardianship.

583. Strath-Endrick glen. A valley on the southeast of Loch Lomond, presumably Malcolm's home.

623-625. The Meggat, the Yarrow, and the Ettrick are successive tributaries, the waters of which eventually reach the Tweed. The Teviot is also a tributary of the Tweed. All five rivers are in the southern part of Scotland.

678. Links of Forth. Banks of the river Forth. In general the word "links" means flat or undulating stretches of sandy soil, partially covered with grass or heather.

692. There are who have. How does this differ from the prose idiom?

801. pity 'twere such cheek should feel the midnight air. Was there anything in the Highland character and training which would make these words seem particularly cutting? Notice how the insult is deepened later by the assumption on Rhoderick Dhu's part that Malcolm is capable of treachery toward Douglas and the Clan of Alpine.

809. henchman. This word is said to have been originally "haunch-man" because it was the duty of this retainer to stand beside his master's chair (at his haunches as it were) at the feast, in readiness to do his bidding or to defend him if attacked.

831. Fiery Cross. The signal for the gathering of the clan to war. The preparation and carrying abroad of this cross is described in the next canto.

CANTO THIRD

39. cushat dove. Better known as the ringdove.

63. shivers. "Slivers" is the more common word, but the verb "to shiver," meaning to break in pieces, keeps the original meaning.

74. Benharrow. This mountain is near the north end of Loch Lomond.

87. strath. A wide open valley, distinguished from a glen, which is narrow.

104. fieldfare. A species of thrush.

116. virgin snood. See note to I, 363.

154. River Demon. Concerning this creature Scott gives the current observation: "The River Demon, or River-horse, is an evil spirit, delighting to forebode and witness calamity. He frequents most Highland lakes and rivers; and one of his most memorable exploits was performed upon the banks of Loch Vennachar: it consisted in the destruction of a bridal party with all its attendants."

156. noontide hag. A gigantic emaciated female figure which, contrary to the general rule of ghostly creatures, appeared in the full blaze of noon.

168. Ben-Shie's boding scream. The ben-shie or banshee was a tutelar spirit, supposed to forebode by midnight howlings the death of a member of a family to which it was attached. The superstition is still prevalent in Ireland.

191. Inch-Cailliach. An island in Loch Lomond, used as a place of burial for several neighboring clans, of whom the descendants of King Alpine were the chief. The name means "Isle of Nuns," or "Isle of Old Women."

Stanza IX. Notice the change in the rime system which marks the break from flowing narrative to solemn dramatic speech, and is continued through the stanza to increase the effect of solemnity.

253. Coir-Uriskin, thy goblin cave. This cave and the pass of Beala-nam-bo were on the slopes of Ben Venue, a mountain near Loch Katrine. See notes to 622 and 664.

286. Lanrick mead. This meadow is still pointed out to the traveler on the road from Loch Vennachar to the Trossachs.

300. dun deer's hide. It was their shoes made of untanned deer's hide, with the hair outwards, which gave the Highlander's their nickname, "Red-shanks."

349. Duncraggan. A village between Loch Achray and Loch Vennachar.

369. coronach. Death-song.

386. correi. Scott explains this as "the hollow side of the hill, where game usually lies."

387. cumber. Trouble, perplexity.

394. Stumah. The name of a dog, signifying "faithful."

461. chapel of St. Bride. This chapel stood on the knoll of Strath-Ire, mentioned at the beginning of the stanza, halfway up the pass of Leny. Scott is singularly careful not to take liberties with the geography of the localities where his story is laid.

468. pole-ax. An old weapon consisting of a broad ax-head fastened to a long pole, with a prick at the back.