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Nor leave him till we pour our verse,

(For Allan, who his mood well knew, A doleful tribute! o'er his hearse.

Was choaked with grief and terror too.) Then let me share his captive lot;

“Who fought-who fled !--Old man, bé brief; It is my right-deny it not!”–

Some might-for they had lost their chief. “ Little we reck,” said John of Brent,

Who basely live?-who bravely died?". “We southern men, of long descent;

“O, calm thee, chief !” the minstrel cried, Nor wot we how a namera word

“Ellen is safe;"_" For that, thank heaven!” Makes clansmen vassals to a lord:

“ And hopes are for the Douglas given; Yet kind my noble landlord's part,

The lady Margaret too is well, God bless the house of Beaudesert!

And, for thy clan-on field or fell, And, but I loved to drive the deer,

Has never harp of minstrel told, More than to guide the labouring steer,

Of combat fought so true and bold. I had not dwelt an outcast here.

Thy stately pine is yet unbent, Come, good old minstrel, follow me;

Though many a goodly bow is rent.”
Thy lord and chieftain shalt thou see.”


The chieftain reared his form on high,
Then, from a rusted iron hook,

And fever's fire was in his eye; A bunch of ponderous keys he took,

But ghastly, pale, and livid streaks Lighted a torch, and Allan led

Chequered his swarthy brow and cheeks Through grated arch and passage dread.

--"'Ilark, minstrel! I have heard thee play, Portals they passed, where, deep within,

With measure bold, on festal day, Spoke prisoner's moan, and fetters' din;

In yon lone isle-again where ne'er Through rugged vaults, where, loosely stored, Shall harper play, or warrior hear! Lay wheel, and axe, and headsman's sword, That stirring air that deals on high, And many a hideous engine grim,

O'er Dermid's race our victory. For wrenching joint, and crushing limb,

Strike it!3—and then (for well thou canst) By artists formed, who deemed it shame Free from thy minstrel spirit-glanced, And sin to give their work a name.

Fling me the picture of the fight, They halted at a low browed porch,

When met my clan the Saxon might And Brent to Allan gave the torch,

I'll listen, till my fancy hears While bolt and chain he backward rolled, The clang of swords, the crash of spears! And made the bar unhasp its hold.

These grates, these walls, shall vanish then, They entered:-'twas a prison room

For the fair field of fighting men, Of stern security and gloom,

And my free spirit burst away, Yet not a dungeon; for the day

As if it soared from battle fray.” Through lofty gratings found its way,

The trembling bard with awe obeyed, And rude and antique garniture

Slow on the harp his hand he laid; Decked the sad walls and oaken floor;

But soon remembrance of the sight Such as the rugged days of old

He witnessed from the mountain's height, Deemed fit for captive noble’s hold.

With what old Bertram told at night, “ Here,” said De Brent, “thou mayst remain

Awakened the full power of song, Till the leach visit him again.

And bure him in career along; Strict is his charge, the warders tell,

As shallop lanched on river's tide, To tend the noble prisoner well.”

That slow and fearful leaves the side, Retiring then, the bolt he drew,

But, when it feels the middle stream, And the lock's murmurs growled anew.

Drives downward swift as lightning's bean Roused at the sound, from lowly bed

XV. A captive feebly raised his head;

BATTLE OF BEAL' AN DUINE, 4 The wondering minstrel looked, and knew

«« The mainstrel came once more to view Not his dear lord, but Roderick Dhu! For, come from where Clan-Alpine fought,

The eastern ridge of Ben-venue, They, erring, deemed the chief he sought.

For, ere he parted, he would say

Farewell to lovely Loch-Achray-

Where shall he find, in foreign land,
As the tall ship, whose lofty prore

So loue a Jake, so sweet a strand! Shall never stem the billows more,

There is no breeze upon the fern, Deserted by her gallant band,

No ripple on the lake, Amid the breakers lies astrand

Upon her eyrie nods the erne, So, on his couch, lay Roderick Dhu!

The deer has sought the brake; And oft his fevered limbs he threw

The small birds will not sing aloud, In loss abrupt, as when her sides

The springing trout lies still, Lie rocking in the advancing tides,

So darkly glooms yon thunder cloud, That shake her frame to ceaseless beat,

That swathes, as with a purple shroud, Yet cannot heave her from her seat;

Benledi's distant bill. 0! how unlike her course at sea!

Is it the thunder's solemn sound Or his free step on hill and lea!

That mutters deep and dread, Soon as the minstrel he could scan,

Or echoes from the groaning ground " What of thy lady of my clan?

The warrior's measured tread? My mother?-Douglas?-tell me all!

Is it the lightning's quivering glance Have they been ruined in my fall?

That on the thicket streams, Ah, yes! or wherefore art thou here!

Or do they flash on spear and lance Yet speak-speak boldly do not fear."

The sun's retiring beams?

I see the dagger-crest of Mar,

Like wave with crest of sparkling foam, I see the Moray's silver star

Right onward did Clan-Alpine come. Wave o'er the cloud of Saxon war,

Above the tide, each broadsword bright That up the lake comes winding far!

Was brandishing like beam of light, To hero boune for battle strife,

Each targe was dark below; Or bard of martial lay,

And with the ocean's mighty swing,
Twere worth ten years of peaceful life, When heaving to the tempest's wing,
One glance at their array!

They hurled them on the foe.

I heard the lance's shivering crash,
“ Their light armed archers far and near As when the whirlwind rends the ash;
Surveyed the tangled ground,

I heard the broadsword's deadly clang, Their centre ranks, with pike and spear,

As if an hundred anvils rang! A twilight forest frowned,

But Moray wheeled his rear-ward rank Their barbed horsemen, in the rear,

Of horsemen on Clan-Alpine's flank The stern battalia crowned.

--' My banner-man, advance! No cymbal clashed, no clarion rang,

I see,' he cried, their columns shake.--Still were the pipe and drum;

Now, gallants! for your ladies' sake, Save heavy tread, and armour's clang,

Upon them with the lance!' The sullen march was dumb.

The horsemen dashed among the rout, There breathed no wind their crests to shako, As deer break through the broom; Or wave their fags abroad;

Their steeds are stout, their swords are out, Scarce the frail aspen seemed to quake,

They soon make lightsome room. That shadowed o'er their road.

Clan-Alpine's best are backward borne--Their va’ward scouts no tidings bring,

Where, where was Roderick then! Can rouse no lurking foe,

One blast upon his bugle-horn Nor spy a trace of living thing,

Were worth a thousand men. Save when they stirred the roe;

And refluent through the pass of fear The host moves like a deep-sea wave,

The battle's tide was poured; Where rise no rocks its pride to brave,

Vanished the Saxon's struggling spear, High swelling, dark, and slow.

Vanished the mountain sword. The lake is passed, and now they gain

As Bracklinn's chasm, so black and steep, A narrow and a broken plain,

Receives her roaring linn, Before the Trosach's rugged jaws;

As the dark caverns of the deep And here the horse and spearmen pause,

Suck the wild whirlpool in, While, to explore the dangerous glen,

So did the deep and dark some pass
Dive through the pass the archer-men.

Devour the battle's mingled mass;

None linger now upon the plain, “ At once there rose so wild a yell

Save those who ne'er shall fight again.
Within that dark and narrow dell,

As all the fiends, from heaven that fell,
Had pealed the banner-cry of hell!

“ Now westward rolls the battle's din, Forth from the pass in tumult driven,

That deep and doubling pass within. Like chaff before the wind of heaven,

-Minstrel, away! the work of fate The archery appear:

Is bearing on: its issue wait, For life! for life! their flight they ply

Where the rude Trosach's dread defile And shriek, and shout, and battle-cry,

Opens on Katrine's lake and isle. And plaids and bonnets waving high,

Gray Ben-venue I soon repassed, And broad-swords flashing to the sky,

Loch-Katrine lay beneath me cast. Are maddening in the rear.

The sun is set;---the clouds are met, Onward they drive, in dreadful race,

The lowering scowl of heaven Pursuers and pursued;

An inky hue of livid blue Before that tide of flight and chase,

To the deep lake has given; How shall it keep its rooted place,

Strange gusts of wind from mountain glen The spearmen's twilight wood?

Swept o'er the lake, then sunk agen. - Down, down,' cried Mar, “your lances down! 1 heeded not the eddying surge, Bear back both friend and foe!':

Mine eye but saw the Trosach's gorge, Like reeds before the tempest's frown,

Mine ear but heard the sullen sound, That serried grove of lances brown

Which like an earthquake shook the ground, At once lay levelled low;

And spoke the stern and desperate strife, And closely shouldering side to side,

That parts not but with parting life, The bristling ranks the onset bide.

Seemning, to minstrel-ear, to toll - We'll quell the savage mountaineer, The dirge of many a passing soul. As their Tinchel* cows the game!

Nearer it comes---the dim-wood glen They come as fleet as forest deer,

The martial flood disgorged agen,
We'll drive them back as tame.-

But not in mingled tide;

The plaided warriors of the north, “ Bearing before them, in their course,

Higli on the mountain thunder forth, The relics of the archer force,

And overhang its side; * A circle of sportsmen, who, by surrounding a great The darkening cloud of Saxon speare

While by the lake below appears áties of deer together, which usually mado desperate At weary bay each shattered band, efforts to break through the Tinchi

Eyeing their foemen, sternly stand;

Their banners stream like tattered sail,

At length no more his deafened ear That flings its fragments to the gale,

The minstrel melody can hear: And broken arms and disarray

His face grows sharp, his hands are clenched, Marked the fell havoc of the day.

As if some pang his heart-strings wrenched;

Set are his ieeth, his fading eye

Is sternly fixed on vacancy; « Viewing the mountain's ridge askance,

Thus, motionless, and moanless, drew The Saxons stood in sullen trance,

His parting breath, stout Roderick Dhu! Till Moray pointed with his lance,

Old Allan-bane looked on aghast, And cried— Behold yon isle!

While grim and still his spirit passed; See! none are left to guard its strand,

But when he saw that life was fied, But women weak, that ring the hand:

He poured his wailing o'er the dead. Tis there of yore the robber band

XXII. Their booty wont to pile;

LAMENT My purse, with bonnet-pieces store,

“ And art thou cold and lowly laid, To him will swim a bow-shot o'er,

Thy foeman's dread, thy people's aid, And loose a shallop from the shore.

Breadalbane's boast, Clan-Alpine's shade! Lighuy we'll tame the war-wolf then,

For thee shall none a requiem say! Lords of his mate, and brood, and den.'...

--For thee-who loved the minstrel's lay, Forth from the ranks a spearman sprung, For thee, of Bothwell's house the stay, On earth his casque and corslet rung,

The shelter of her exiled line He plunged him in the wave:

E’en in this prison-house of thine,
All saw the deed--the purpose knew,

I'll wail for Alpine's honoured pine!
And to their clamours Ben-venue
A mingled echo gave:

“What groans shall yonder valleys fill! The Saxons shout, their mate to cheer,

What shrieks of grief shall rend yon hill! The helpless females scream for fear,

What tears of burning rage shall thrill, And yells for rage the mountaineer.

When mourns thy tribe thy battles done, was then, as by the outcry riven,

Thy fall before the race was won, Poured down at once the louring heaven;

Thy sword ungirt ere set of sun! A whirlwind swept Loch-Katrine's breast,

There breathes not clansman of thy line, ller billows reared their snowy crest,

But would have given his life for thine. Well for the swimmer swelled they high,

O wo for Alpine's honoured pine! To mar the highland marksman's eye;

“ Sad was thy lot on mortal stage! For round bim showered, 'mid rain and hail,

The captive thrush may brook the cage, The vengeful arrows of the Gael.

T'he prisoned eagle dies for rage. In vain. - He nears the islemand lo!

Brave spirit, do not scorn my strain! His hand is on a shallop's bow.

And, when its notes awake again, - Just then a flash of lightning came,

E'en she, so long beloved in vain, It tinged the waves and strand with fame;

Shall with my harp her voice combine, I marked Duncraggan's widowed dame,

And mix her wo and tears with mine, Behind an oak I saw her stand,

To wail Clan-Alpine's honoured pine."

A naked dirk gleamed in her hand:
It darkened-but amid the moan

Ellen, the while, with bursting heart,
Of wares I heard a dying groan;-

Remained in lordly bower apart, Another flash!--the spearman floats

Where played, with many-coloured gleams, A weltering corse beside the boats,

Through storied pane the rising beams. And the stern matron o'er him stood,

In vain on gilded roof they fall, Her hand and dagger streaming blood.

And lightened up a tapestried wall,

And for her use a menial train

A rich collation spread in vain.
" Revenge! revenge!' the Saxons cried, The banquet proud, the chamber gay,
The Gaels' exulting shout replied.

Scarce drew one curious glance astray; Despite the elemental rage,

Or, if she looked, 'twas but to say, Again they hurried to engage;

With better omen dawned the day But, ere they closed in desperate fight,

In that lone isle, where waved on high Blondy with spurring came a knight,

The dun deer's hide for canopy; Sprung from his horse, and, from a crag, Where oft her noble father shared Waved 'twixt the hosts a milk-white flag. The simple meal her care prepared, Clarion and trumpet by his side

While Lufra, crouching by her side, Rung forth a truce-note high and wide;

Her station claimed with jealous pride, While, in the monarch's name, afar

And Douglas, bent on woodland game, An herald's voice forbade the war,

Spoke of the chase to Malcolm Græme, For Bothwell's lord, and Roderick bold, Whose answer, oft at random made, Were both, he said, in captive hold."

The wandering of his thoughts betrayed. But here the lay made sudden stand,

Those who such simple joys have known The harp escaped the minstrel's hand!

Are taught to prize them when they're gone. Oft had he stolen a glance, to spy

But sudden, see, she lifts her head! llow Roderick brooked his minstrelsy:

The window seeks with cautious tread. At first, the chieftain, to the chime,

What distant music has the power With lifted hand, kept feeble time;

To win her in this woful hour! That motion ceased, -yet feeling strong

'Twas from a turret that o'erhung Varied his look as changed the songi

Her latticed bower, the strain was rung.



On many a splendid garb she gazed, LAY OF THE IMPRISONED HUNTSMAN. Then turned bewildered and amazed, “My hawk is tired of perch and hood,

For all stood bare: and, in the room, My idle greyhound loathes his food,

Fitz-James alone wore cap and plume. My horse is weary of his stall,

To him each lady's look was lent; And I am sick of captive thralí.

On him each courtier's eye was bent; I wish I were as I have been,

Midst furs and silks and jewels sheen, Hunting the hart in forest green,

He stood, in simple Lincoln green, With bended bow and bloodhound free,

The centre of the glittering ring, For that's the life is meet for me.

And Snowdoun's knight is Scotland's king! “I hate to learn the ebb of time,

XXVII. From yon dull steeple's drowsy chime,

As wreath of snow, on mountain breast, Or mark it as the sunbeams crawl,

Slides from the rock that gave it rest, Inch after inch, along the wall.

Poor Ellen glided from her stay, The lark was wont my matins ring,

And at the monarch's feet she lay; The sable rook my vespers sing;

No word her choking voice commands, These towers, although a king's they be,

She showed the ring—she clasped her hands. Have not a hall of joy for me.

O! not a moment could he brook,

The generous prince, that suppliant look! “No more at dawning morn I rise,

Gently he raised her,-and, the while, And sun myself in Ellen's eyes,

Checked with a glance the circle's smile; Drive the fleet deer the forest through,

Graceful, but grave, her brow he kissed, And homeward wend with evening dew;

And bade her terrors be dismissed; A blithsome welcome blithly meet,

“Yes, fair, the wandering poor Fitz-James And lay my trophies at her feet,

The fealty of Scotland claims. While fled the eve on wing of glee,

To him

thy woes, thy wishes, bring; That life is lost to love and me!"

He will redeem his signet ring. xxv.

Ask nought for Douglas:-yester even,

His prince and he have much forgiven:
The heart-sick lay was hardly said,
The list 'ner had not turned her head,

Wrong hath he had from slanderous tongue!

1, from his rebel kinsman, wrong, It trickled still, the starting tear,

We would not to the vulgar crowd
When light a footstep struck her ear,
And Snowdouu's graceful knight was near.

Yield what they craved with clamour loud, She turned the hastier, lest again

Calmly we heard and judged his cause,

Our council aided, and our laws. The prisoner should renew his strain.

I stanched thy father's death-feud stern, “O welcome, brave Fitz-James!” she said;

With stout De Vaux and gray Glencairn; “ How may an almost orphan maid

And Bothwell's lord henceforth we own Pay the deep debt"_" say not so!

The friend and bulwark of our throne. To me no gratitude you owe.

But, lovely infidel, how now?
Not mine, alas! the boon to give,

What clouds thy misbelieving brow?
And bid thy noble father live;
I can but be thy guide, sweet maid,

Lord James of Douglas, lend thine aid;
With Scotland's king thy suit to aid.

Thou must confirm this doubting maid.” No tyrant he, though ire and pride

XXVIII. May lead his better mood aside.

Then forth the noble Douglas sprung, Come, Ellen, come!' is more than time, And on his neck his daughter hung. He holds his court at morning prime.”

The monarch drank, that happy hour, With beating heart and bosom wrung,

The sweetest, holiest draught of power As to a brother's arm she clung;

When it can say, with godlike voice, Gently he dried the falling tear,

Arise, sad virtue, and rejoice! And gently whispered hope and cheer;

Yet would not James the general eye Her faltering steps half led, half staid,

On nature's raptures long should pry; Through gallery fair and high arcade,

He stepped between—“Nay, Douglas, nay, Till, at his touch, its wings of pride

Steal not my proselyte away! A portal arch unfolded wide.

The riddle 'tis my right to read,

That brought this happy chance to speed. XXVI.

Yes, Ellen, when disguised 1 stray Within 'twas brilliant all and light,

In lífe's more low but happier way, A thronging scene of figures bright;

'Tis under name which veils my power, It glowed on Ellen's dazzled sight,

Nor falsely veils—for Stirling's tower As when the setting sun has given

of yore the name of Snowdoun claims, 6 Ten thousand hues to summer even,

And Normans call me James Fitz-James. And, from their tissue, fancy frames

Thus watch I o'er insulted laws, Aerial knights and fairy dames.

Thus learn to right the injured cause.” Still by Fitz-James her footing staid;

Then, in a tone apart and low, A few faint steps she forward made,

_" Ah, little traitress! none must know Then slow her drooping head she raised, What idle dream, what lighter thought, And fearful round the presence gazed;

What vanity full dearly bought, For him she sought who owned this state, Joined to thine eye's dark witchcraft, drev The dreaded prince whose will was fate! My spell-bound steps to Ben-venue, She gazed on many a princely port,

In dangerous hour, and all but gave Might well have ruled a royal court;

Thy monarch's life to mountain glaive!”

Alond he spoke Thou still dost hold

A wandering witch-note of the distant spell That little Talisman of gold,

And now, 'tis silent all! enchantress, fare thee Pledge of my faith, Fitz-James's ring

well! What seeks fair Ellen of the king?” XXIX.

NOTES TO CANTO I. Full well the conscious maiden guessed

1. the heights of Uamovar, He probed the weakness of her breast;

And roused the cavern, where, 'uis told, But, with that consciousness there came

A giant made his den of old.-P. 125. A lightning of her fears for Grame,

Ua-var, as the name is pronounced, or more And more she deemed the monarch's iro

properly Uaighmor, is a mountain to the northKindled 'gainst him, who, for her sire,

east of the village of Callender in Menteith, deRebellious broadsword boldly drew;

riving its name, which signifies the great den, or And, to her generous feeling true,

cavern, from a sort of retreat among the rocks on She craved the grace of Roderick Dhu.-

the south side, said, by tradition, to have been the “ Forbear thy suit;---the king of kings

abode of a giant. ln latter times, it was the refuge Alone can stay life's parting wings,

of robbers and banditti, who have been only exI know his heart, I know his land,

tirpated withiu these forty or fifty years. Strictly Hare shared his cheer and proved his brand.

speaking, this strong-hold is not a cave, as the My fairest earldom would I give

name would imply, but a sort of small inclosure, To bid Clan-Alpine's chieftain live!.

or recess, surrounded with large rocks, and open Hast thou no other boon to crave?

above hcad. It may have been originally designed No other captive friend to save!"..

as a toil for deer, who might get in from the outBlushing, she turned her from the king, side, but would find it difficult to return. This And to the Douglas gave the ring,

opinion prevails among the old sportsmen and deer As if she wished her sire to speak

stalkers in the neighbourhood. The suit that stained her glowing cheek.-- 2. Two dogs of black St. Hubert's breed, " Nay, then, my pledge has lost its force,

Unmatch'd for courage, breath, and speed.-P. 125. And stubborn justice holds her course.

" The hounds which we call Saint Hubert's Malcolm, come forth!”.. And, at the word, hounds, are commonly all blacke, yet neuertheDown kneeled the Græme to Scotland's lord.

less, their race is so mingled at these days, that " For thee, rash youth, no suppliant sues,

we find them of all colours. These are the hounds From thee may vengeance claim her dues,

which the abbots of St. Hubert haue always kept Who, nurtured underneath our smile,

some of their race or kind, in honour or rememHas paid our care by treacherous wile,

brance of the saint, which was a hunter with St. And sought, amid thy faithful clan,

Eustace. Whereupon we may conceiue that (by A refuge for an outlawed man,

the grace of God) all good huntsmen shall follow Dishonouring thus thy loyal name.--

them into paradise. To returne vnto my former Fetters and warder for the Gräme!”

purpose, this kind of dogg hath beene dispersed His chain of gold the king unstrung,

through the countries of Henault, Lorayne, FlaunThe lioks o'er Malcolm's neck he flung,

ders, and Burgoyne. They are mighty of body, Then gently drew the glittering band,

neuertheless their legges are low and short, likeAnd laid the clasp on Éllen's hand.

wise they are not swilt, although they be very good of sent, hunting chases which are farre straggled,

fearing neither water nor cold, and doe more couet Harp of the north, farewell! The hills grow dark, the chases that smell, as foxes, bore, and such

On purple peaks a deeper shade descending; like, than other, because they find themselues neiIn twilight cupse the glow-worm lights her spark: ther of swiftness nor courage to hunt and kill the

The deer, half seen, are to the covert wending chases that are lighter and swifter. The bloodResume thy wizzard elm! the fountain lending, hounds of this colour prooue good, especially those And the wild breeze, thy wilder minstrelsy;

that are cole-blacke, but I made no great account Thy numbers sweet with nature's vespers blending, to breede on them, or to keepe the kind, and yet

With distant echo from the fold and lea, I found a book whiche a hunter did dedicate to a And herd-boy's evening pipe, and hum of housing prince of Lorayne, which seemed to loue hunting bee.

much, wherein was a blason, which the same hunter

gaue to his bloodhound, called Souyllard, which Yet, once again, farewell, thou minstrel harp! Yet, once again, forgive my feeble sway,

was white: And little reck I of the censure sharp,

My name came first from holy Hubert's race,

Souyllard my sire, a hound of singular grace. May idly cavil at an idle lay. Much have I owed thy strains on life's long way, prooue white sometimes, but they are not of the

Whereupon we may presume that some of the kind Thro' secret woes the world has never known, kind of the gretliers or bouxes, which we haue at When on the weary night dawned wearier day,

these days. "The Noble Art of Venerie or HuntAnd bitter was the grief devoured alone. That I o'erlive such woes, enchantress! is thine ing, translated and collected for the use of all No

blemen and Gentlemen. Lond. 1611, 4to. p. 15.

3. For the death wound, and death halloo, Hark! as my lingering footsteps slow retire--- Mustered his breath, his whinyard drew.-P. 125.

Some spirit of the air has waked thy string! When the stag turned to bay, the ancient hunter Tis now a seraph bold, with touch of fire, had the perilous task of going in upon, and killing

'Tis now the blush of fairy's frolic wing. or disabling the desperate animal. At certain Receding now, the dying numbers ring

times of the year this was held particularly danPainter and fainter down the rugged dell, gerous, wound received from a stag's horns bcand now the mountain breezes scarcely bring ing then deemed poisonous, and more dangerous

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