Canto Four - The Prophecy
I.
The rose is fairest when 't is
budding new,
And hope is brightest when it dawns from fears;
The rose is sweetest washed with
morning dew
And love is loveliest when embalmed in tears.
O wilding rose, whom fancy thus
endears,
I bid your blossoms in my bonnet wave,
Emblem of hope and love through
future years!'
Thus spoke young Norman, heir of Armandave,
What time the sun arose on Vennachar's
broad wave.
II.
Such fond conceit, half said, half
sung,
Love prompted to the bridegroom's
tongue.
All while he stripped the wild-rose
spray,
His axe and bow beside him lay,
For on a pass 'twixt lake and wood
A wakeful sentinel he stood.
Hark!--on the rock a footstep rung,
And instant to his arms he sprung.
'Stand, or thou diest!--What,
Malise?--soon
Art thou returned from Braes of
Doune.
By thy keen step and glance I know,
Thou bring'st us tidings of the
foe.'--
For while the Fiery Cross tried on,
On distant scout had Malise gone.--
'Where sleeps the Chief?' the
henchman said.
'Apart, in yonder misty glade;
To his lone couch I'll be your
guide.'--
Then called a slumberer by his side,
And stirred him with his slackened
bow,--
'Up, up, Glentarkin! rouse thee, ho!
We seek the Chieftain; on the track
Keep eagle watch till I come back.'
III.
Together up the pass they sped:
'What of the foeman?' Norman said.--
'Varying reports from near and far;
This certain,--that a band of war
Has for two days been ready boune,
At prompt command to march from
Doune;
King James the while, with princely
powers,
Holds revelry in Stirling towers.
Soon will this dark and gathering
cloud
Speak on our glens in thunder loud.
Inured to bide such bitter bout,
The warrior's plaid may bear it out;
But, Norman, how wilt thou provide
A shelter for thy bonny bride?--
'What! know ye not that Roderick's
care
To the lone isle hath caused repair
Each maid and matron of the clan,
And every child and aged man
Unfit for arms; and given his
charge,
Nor skiff nor shallop, boat nor
barge,
Upon these lakes shall float at
large,
But all beside the islet moor,
That such dear pledge may rest
secure?'--
IV.
'T is well advised,--the Chieftain's
plan
Bespeaks the father of his clan.
But wherefore sleeps Sir Roderick
Dhu
Apart from all his followers true?'
'It is because last evening-tide
Brian an augury hath tried,
Of that dread kind which must not be
Unless in dread extremity,
The Taghairm called; by which, afar,
Our sires foresaw the events of war.
Duncraggan's milk-white bull they
slew,'--
Malise.
'Ah! well the gallant brute I knew!
The choicest of the prey we had
When swept our merrymen Gallangad.
His hide was snow, his horns were
dark,
His red eye glowed like fiery spark;
So fierce, so tameless, and so
fleet,
Sore did he cumber our retreat,
And kept our stoutest kerns in awe,
Even at the pass of Beal 'maha.
But steep and flinty was the road,
And sharp the hurrying pikeman's
goad,
And when we came to Dennan's Row
A child might scathless stroke his
brow.'
V.
Norman.
'That bull was slain; his reeking
hide
They stretched the cataract beside,
Whose waters their wild tumult toss
Adown the black and craggy boss
Of that huge cliff whose ample verge
Tradition calls the Hero's Targe.
Couched on a shelf beneath its
brink,
Close where the thundering torrents
sink,
Rocking beneath their headlong sway,
And drizzled by the ceaseless spray,
Midst groan of rock and roar of
stream,
The wizard waits prophetic dream.
Nor distant rests the Chief;--but
hush!
See, gliding slow through mist and
bush,
The hermit gains yon rock, and
stands
To gaze upon our slumbering bands.
Seems he not, Malise, dike a ghost,
That hovers o'er a slaughtered host?
Or raven on the blasted oak,
That, watching while the deer is
broke,
His morsel claims with sullen
croak?'
Malise.
'Peace! peace! to other than to me
Thy words were evil augury;
But still I hold Sir Roderick's
blade
Clan-Alpine's omen and her aid,
Not aught that, gleaned from heaven
or hell,
Yon fiend-begotten Monk can tell.
The Chieftain joins him, see--and
now
Together they descend the brow.'
VI.
And, as they came, with Alpine's
Lord
The Hermit Monk held solemn word:--.
'Roderick! it is a fearful strife,
For man endowed with mortal life
Whose shroud of sentient clay can
still
Feel feverish pang and fainting
chill,
Whose eye can stare in stony trance
Whose hair can rouse like warrior's
lance,
'Tis hard for such to view,
unfurled,
The curtain of the future world.
Yet, witness every quaking limb,
My sunken pulse, mine eyeballs dim,
My soul with harrowing anguish torn,
This for my Chieftain have I
borne!--
The shapes that sought my fearful
couch
A human tongue may ne'er avouch;
No mortal man--save he, who, bred
Between the living and the dead,
Is gifted beyond nature's law
Had e'er survived to say he saw.
At length the fateful answer came
In characters of living flame!
Not spoke in word, nor blazed in
scroll,
But borne and branded on my soul:--
Which spills the foremost foeman's
life,
That party conquers in the strife.'
VII.
'Thanks, Brian, for thy zeal and
care!
Good is thine augury, and fair.
Clan-Alpine ne'er in battle stood
But first our broadswords tasted
blood.
A surer victim still I know,
Self-offered to the auspicious blow:
A spy has sought my land this
morn,--
No eve shall witness his return!
My followers guard each pass's
mouth,
To east, to westward, and to south;
Red Murdoch, bribed to be his guide,
Has charge to lead his steps aside,
Till in deep path or dingle brown
He light on those shall bring him
clown.
But see, who comes his news to show!
Malise! what tidings of the foe?'
VIII.
'At Doune, o'er many a spear and
glaive
Two Barons proud their banners wave.
I saw the Moray's silver star,
And marked the sable pale of Mar.'
'By Alpine's soul, high tidings
those!
I love to hear of worthy foes.
When move they on?' 'To-morrow's
noon
Will see them here for battle
boune.'
'Then shall it see a meeting stern!
But, for the place,--say, couldst
thou learn
Nought of the friendly clans of
Earn?
Strengthened by them, we well might
bide
The battle on Benledi's side.
Thou couldst not?--well!
Clan-Alpine's men
Shall man the Trosachs' shaggy glen;
Within Loch Katrine's gorge we'll
fight,
All in our maids' and matrons'
sight,
Each for his hearth and household
fire,
Father for child, and son for sire
Lover
for maid beloved!--But why
Is it the breeze affects mine eye?
Or dost thou come, ill-omened tear!
A messenger of doubt or fear?
No! sooner may the Saxon lance
Unfix Benledi from his stance,
Than doubt or terror can pierce
through
The unyielding heart of Roderick
Dhu!
'tis stubborn as his trusty targe.
Each to his post!--all know their
charge.'
The pibroch sounds, the bands
advance,
The broadswords gleam, the banners
dance'
Obedient to the Chieftain's glance.--
I turn me from the martial roar
And seek Coir-Uriskin once more.
IX.
Where is the Douglas?--he is gone;
And Ellen sits on the gray stone
Fast by the cave, and makes her
moan,
While vainly Allan's words of cheer
Are poured on her unheeding ear.
'He will return--dear lady, trust!--
With joy return;--he will--he must.
Well was it time to seek afar
Some refuge from impending war,
When e'en Clan-Alpine's rugged swarm
Are cowed by the approaching storm.
I saw their boats with many a light,
Floating the livelong yesternight,
Shifting like flashes darted forth
By the red streamers of the north;
I marked at morn how close they
ride,
Thick moored by the lone islet's
side,
Like wild ducks couching in the fen
When stoops the hawk upon the glen.
Since this rude race dare not abide
The peril on the mainland side,
Shall not thy noble father's care
Some safe retreat for thee prepare?'
X.
Ellen.
'No, Allan, no ' Pretext so kind
My wakeful terrors could not blind.
When in such tender tone, yet grave,
Douglas a parting blessing gave,
The tear that glistened in his eye
Drowned not his purpose fixed and
high.
My soul, though feminine and weak,
Can image his; e'en as the lake,
Itself disturbed by slightest
stroke.
Reflects the invulnerable rock.
He hears report of battle rife,
He deems himself the cause of
strife.
I saw him redden when the theme
Turned, Allan, on thine idle dream
Of Malcolm Graeme in fetters bound,
Which I, thou saidst, about him
wound.
Think'st thou he bowed thine omen
aught?
O no' 't was apprehensive thought
For the kind youth,-- for Roderick
too--
Let me be just--that friend so true;
In danger both, and in our cause!
Minstrel, the Douglas dare not
pause.
Why else that solemn warning given,
'If not on earth, we meet in
heaven!'
Why else, to Cambus-kenneth's fane,
If eve return him not again,
Am I to hie and make me known?
Alas! he goes to Scotland's throne,
Buys his friends' safety with his
own;
He goes to do--what I had done,
Had Douglas' daughter been his son!'
XI.
'Nay, lovely Ellen!--dearest, nay!
If aught should his return delay,
He only named yon holy fane
As fitting place to meet again.
Be sure he's safe; and for the
Graeme,--
Heaven's blessing on his gallant
name!--
My visioned sight may yet prove
true,
Nor bode of ill to him or you.
When did my gifted dream beguile?
Think of the stranger at the isle,
And think upon the harpings slow
That presaged this approaching woe!
Sooth was my prophecy of fear;
Believe it when it augurs cheer.
Would we had left this dismal spot!
Ill luck still haunts a fairy spot!
Of such a wondrous tale I know--
Dear lady, change that look of woe,
My harp was wont thy grief to
cheer.'
Ellen.
'Well, be it as thou wilt;
I hear, But cannot stop the bursting
tear.'
The Minstrel tried his simple art,
Rut distant far was Ellen's heart.
XII. Ballad.
Alice Brand.
Merry it is in the good greenwood,
When the mavis and merle are singing,
When the deer sweeps by, and the
hounds are in cry,
And the hunter's horn is ringing.
'O Alice Brand, my native land
Is lost for love of you;
And we must hold by wood and word,
As outlaws wont to do.
'O Alice, 't was all for thy locks
so bright,
And 't was all for thine eyes so blue,
That on the night of our luckless
flight
Thy brother bold I slew.
'Now must I teach to hew the beech
The hand that held the glaive,
For leaves to spread our lowly bed,
And stakes to fence our cave.
'And for vest of pall, thy fingers
small,
That wont on harp to stray,
A cloak must shear from the slaughtered
deer,
To keep the cold away.'
'O Richard! if my brother died,
'T was but a fatal chance;
For darkling was the battle tried,
And fortune sped the lance.
'If pall and vair no more I wear,
Nor thou the crimson sheen
As warm, we'll say, is the russet
gray,
As gay the forest-green.
'And, Richard, if our lot be hard,
And lost thy native land,
Still Alice has her own Richard,
And he his Alice Brand.'
XIII. Ballad Continued.
'tis merry, 'tis merry, in good
greenwood;
So blithe Lady Alice is singing;
On the beech's pride, and oak's
brown side,
Lord Richard's axe is ringing.
Up spoke the moody Elfin King,
Who woned within the hill,--
Like wind in the porch of a ruined
church,
His voice was ghostly shrill.
'Why sounds yon stroke on beech and
oak,
Our moonlight circle's screen?
Or who comes here to chase the deer,
Beloved of our Elfin Queen?
Or who may dare on wold to wear
The fairies' fatal green?
'Up, Urgan, up! to yon mortal hie,
For thou wert christened man;
For cross or sign thou wilt not fly,
For muttered word or ban.
'Lay on him the curse of the
withered heart,
The curse of the sleepless eye;
Till he wish and pray that his life
would part,
Nor yet find leave to die.'
XIV. Ballad Continued.
'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good
greenwood,
Though the birds have stilled their singing;
The evening blaze cloth Alice raise,
And Richard is fagots bringing.
Up Urgan starts, that hideous dwarf,
Before Lord Richard stands,
And, as he crossed and blessed
himself,
'I fear not sign,' quoth the grisly elf,
'That is made with bloody hands.'
But out then spoke she, Alice Brand,
That woman void of fear,--
'And if there 's blood upon his
hand,
'Tis but the blood of deer.'
'Now loud thou liest, thou bold of
mood!
It cleaves unto his hand,
The stain of thine own kindly blood,
The blood of Ethert Brand.'
Then forward stepped she, Alice
Brand,
And made the holy sign,--
'And if there's blood on Richard's
hand,
A spotless hand is mine.
'And I conjure thee, demon elf,
By Him whom demons fear,
To show us whence thou art thyself,
And what thine errand here?'
XV. Ballad Continued.
"Tis merry, 'tis merry, in
Fairy-land,
When fairy birds are singing,
When the court cloth ride by their
monarch's side,
With bit and bridle ringing:
'And gayly shines the Fairy-land--
But all is glistening show,
Like the idle gleam that December's
beam
Can dart on ice and snow.
'And fading, like that varied gleam,
Is our inconstant shape,
Who now like knight and lady seem,
And now like dwarf and ape.
'It was between the night and day,
When the Fairy King has power,
That I sunk down in a sinful fray,
And 'twixt life and death was
snatched away
To the joyless Elfin bower.
'But wist I of a woman bold,
Who thrice my brow durst sign,
I might regain my mortal mould,
As fair a form as thine.'
She crossed him once--she crossed
him twice--
That lady was so brave;
The fouler grew his goblin hue,
The darker grew the cave.
She crossed him thrice, that lady
bold;
He rose beneath her hand
The fairest knight on Scottish
mould,
Her brother, Ethert Brand!
Merry it is in good greenwood,
When the mavis and merle are singing,
But merrier were they in Dunfermline
gray,
When all the bells were ringing.
XVI.
Just as the minstrel sounds were
stayed,
A stranger climbed the steepy glade;
His martial step, his stately mien,
His hunting-suit of Lincoln green,
His eagle glance, remembrance
claims--
'Tis Snowdoun's Knight, 'tis James
Fitz-James.
Ellen beheld as in a dream,
Then, starting, scarce suppressed a
scream:
'O stranger! in such hour of fear
What evil hap has brought thee
here?'
'An evil hap how can it be
That bids me look again on thee?
By promise bound, my former guide
Met me betimes this morning-tide,
And marshalled over bank and bourne
The happy path of my return.'
'The happy path!--what! said he
naught
Of war, of battle to be fought,
Of guarded pass?' 'No, by my faith!
Nor saw I aught could augur scathe.'
'O haste thee, Allan, to the kern:
Yonder his tartars I discern;
Learn thou his purpose, and conjure
That he will guide the stranger
sure!--
What prompted thee, unhappy man?
The meanest serf in Roderick's clan
Had not been bribed, by love or
fear,
Unknown to him to guide thee here.'
XVII.
'Sweet Ellen, dear my life must be,
Since it is worthy care from thee;
et life I hold but idle breath
When love or honor's weighed with
death.
Then let me profit by my chance,
And speak my purpose bold at once.
I come to bear thee from a wild
Where ne'er before such blossom
smiled,
By this soft hand to lead thee far
From frantic scenes of feud and war.
Near Bochastle my horses wait;
They bear us soon to Stirling gate.
I'll place thee in a lovely bower,
I'll guard thee like a tender
flower--'
'O hush, Sir Knight! 't were female
art,
To say I do not read thy heart;
Too much, before, my selfish ear
Was idly soothed my praise to hear.
That fatal bait hath lured thee
back,
In deathful hour, o'er dangerous
track;
And how, O how, can I atone
The wreck my vanity brought on!--
One way remains--I'll tell him all--
Yes! struggling bosom, forth it
shall!
Thou, whose light folly bears the
blame,
Buy thine own pardon with thy shame!
But first--my father is a man
Outlawed and exiled, under ban;
The price of blood is on his head,
With me 't were infamy to wed.
Still wouldst thou speak?--then hear
the truth!
Fitz- James, there is a noble
youth--
If yet he is!--exposed for me
And mine to dread extremity--
Thou hast the secret of my bears;
Forgive, be generous, and depart!'
XVIII.
Fitz-James knew every wily train
A lady's fickle heart to gain,
But here he knew and felt them vain.
There shot no glance from Ellen's
eye,
To give her steadfast speech the
lie;
In maiden confidence she stood,
Though mantled in her cheek the
blood
And told her love with such a sigh
Of deep and hopeless agony,
As death had sealed her Malcolm's
doom
And she sat sorrowing on his tomb.
Hope vanished from Fitz-James's eye,
But not with hope fled sympathy.
He proffered to attend her side,
As brother would a sister guide.
'O little know'st thou Roderick's
heart!
Safer for both we go apart.
O haste thee, and from Allan learn
If thou mayst trust yon wily kern.'
With hand upon his forehead laid,
The conflict of his mind to shade,
A parting step or two he made;
Then, as some thought had crossed
his brain
He paused, and turned, and came
again.
XIX.
'Hear, lady, yet a parting word!--
It chanced in fight that my poor
sword
Preserved the life of Scotland's
lord.
This ring the grateful Monarch gave,
And bade, when I had boon to crave,
To bring it back, and boldly claim
The recompense that I would name.
Ellen, I am no courtly lord,
But one who lives by lance and
sword,
Whose castle is his helm and shield,
His lordship the embattled field.
What from a prince can I demand,
Who neither reck of state nor land?
Ellen, thy hand--the ring is thine;
Each guard and usher knows the sign.
Seek thou the King without delay;
This signet shall secure thy way:
And claim thy suit, whate'er it be,
As ransom of his pledge to me.'
He placed the golden circlet on,
Paused--kissed her hand--and then
was gone.
The aged Minstrel stood aghast,
So hastily Fitz-James shot past.
He joined his guide, and wending
down
The ridges of the mountain brown,
Across the stream they took their
way
That joins Loch Katrine to Achray.
XX.
All in the Trosachs' glen was still,
Noontide was sleeping on the hill:
Sudden his guide whooped loud and
high--
'Murdoch! was that a signal cry?'--
He stammered forth, 'I shout to
scare
Yon raven from his dainty fare.'
He looked--he knew the raven's prey,
His own brave steed: 'Ah! gallant
gray!
For thee--for me, perchance--'t were
well
We ne'er had seen the Trosachs'
dell.--
Murdoch, move first---but silently;
Whistle or whoop, and thou shalt
die!'
Jealous and sullen on they fared,
Each silent, each upon his guard.
XXI.
Now wound the path its dizzy ledge
Around a precipice's edge,
When lo! a wasted female form,
Blighted by wrath of sun and storm,
In tattered weeds and wild array,
Stood on a cliff beside the way,
And glancing round her restless eye,
Upon the wood, the rock, the sky,
Seemed naught to mark, yet all to
spy.
Her brow was wreathed with gaudy
broom;
With gesture wild she waved a plume
Of feathers, which the eagles fling
To crag and cliff from dusky wing;
Such spoils her desperate step had
sought,
Where scarce was footing for the
goat.
The tartan plaid she first descried,
And shrieked till all the rocks
replied;
As loud she laughed when near they
drew,
For then the Lowland garb she knew;
And then her hands she wildly wrung,
And then she wept, and then she
sung--
She sung!--the voice, in better
time,
Perchance to harp or lute might
chime;
And now, though strained and
roughened, still
Rung wildly sweet to dale and hill.
XXII. Song.
They bid me sleep, they bid me pray,
They say my brain is warped and wrung--
I cannot sleep on Highland brae,
I cannot pray in Highland tongue.
But were I now where Allan glides,
Or heard my native Devan's tides,
So sweetly would I rest, and pray
That Heaven would close my wintry
day!
'Twas thus my hair they bade me
braid,
They made me to the church repair;
It was my bridal morn they said,
And my true love would meet me there.
But woe betide the cruel guile
That drowned in blood the morning
smile!
And woe betide the fairy dream!
I only waked to sob and scream.
XXIII.
'Who is this maid? what means her
lay?
She hovers o'er the hollow way,
And flutters wide her mantle gray,
As the lone heron spreads his wing,
By twilight, o'er a haunted spring.'
Tis Blanche of Devan,' Murdoch said,
'A crazed and captive Lowland maid,
Ta'en on the morn she was a bride,
When Roderick forayed Devan-side.
The gay bridegroom resistance made,
And felt our Chief's unconquered
blade.
I marvel she is now at large,
But oft she 'scapes from Maudlin's
charge.--
Hence, brain-sick fool!'--He raised
his bow:--
'Now, if thou strik'st her but one
blow,
I'll pitch thee from the cliff as
far
As ever peasant pitched a bar!'
'Thanks, champion, thanks' the
Maniac cried,
And pressed her to Fitz-James's
side.
'See the gray pennons I prepare,
To seek my true love through the
air!
I will not lend that savage groom,
To break his fall, one downy plume!
No!--deep amid disjointed stones,
The wolves shall batten on his
bones,
And then shall his detested plaid,
By bush and brier in mid-air stayed,
Wave forth a banner fail and free,
Meet signal for their revelry.'
XXIV
'Hush thee, poor maiden, and be
still!'
'O! thou look'st kindly, and I will.
Mine eye has dried and wasted been,
But still it loves the Lincoln
green;
And, though mine ear is all
unstrung,
Still, still it loves the Lowland
tongue.
'For O my sweet William was forester
true,
He stole poor Blanche's heart away!
His coat it was all of the greenwood
hue,
And so blithely he trilled the Lowland lay!
'It was not that I meant to tell . .
.
But thou art wise and guessest
well.'
Then, in a low and broken tone,
And hurried note, the song went on.
Still on the Clansman fearfully
She fixed her apprehensive eye,
Then turned it on the Knight, and
then
Her look glanced wildly o'er the
glen.
XXV.
'The toils are pitched, and the
stakes are set,--
Ever sing merrily, merrily;
The bows they bend, and the knives
they whet,
Hunters live so cheerily.
It was a stag, a stag of ten,
Bearing its branches sturdily;
He came stately down the glen,--
Ever sing hardily, hardily.
'It was there he met with a wounded
doe,
She was bleeding deathfully;
She warned him of the toils below,
O. so faithfully, faithfully!
'He had an eye, and he could heed,--
Ever sing warily, warily;
He had a foot, and he could speed,--
Hunters watch so narrowly.'
XXVI.
Fitz-James's mind was
passion-tossed,
When Ellen's hints and fears were
lost;
But Murdoch's shout suspicion
wrought,
And Blanche's song conviction
brought.
Not like a stag that spies the
snare,
But lion of the hunt aware,
He waved at once his blade on high,
'Disclose thy treachery, or die!'
Forth at hell speed the Clansman
flew,
But in his race his bow he drew.
The shaft just grazed Fitz-James's
crest,
And thrilled in Blanche's faded
breast.--
Murdoch of Alpine! prove thy speed,
For ne'er had Alpine's son such
need;
With heart of fire, and foot of
wind,
The fierce avenger is behind!
Fate judges of the rapid strife--
The forfeit death--the prize is
life;
Thy kindred ambush lies before,
Close couched upon the heathery
moor;
Them couldst thou reach!--it may not
be
Thine ambushed kin thou ne'er shalt
see,
The fiery Saxon gains on thee!--
Resistless speeds the deadly thrust,
As lightning strikes the pine to
dust;
With foot and hand Fitz-James must
strain
Ere he can win his blade again.
Bent o'er the fallen with falcon
eye,
He grimly smiled to see him die,
Then slower wended back his way,
Where the poor maiden bleeding lay.
XXVII.
She sat beneath
the birchen tree,
Her elbow resting
on her knee;
She had withdrawn
the fatal shaft,
And gazed on it,
and feebly laughed;
Her wreath of
broom and feathers gray,
Daggled with
blood, beside her lay.
The Knight to
stanch the life-stream tried,--
'Stranger, it is
in vain!' she cried.
'This hour of
death has given me more
Of reason's power
than years before;
For, as these
ebbing veins decay,
My frenzied
visions fade away.
A helpless
injured wretch I die,
And something
tells me in thine eye
That thou wert
mine avenger born.
Seest thou this
tress?--O. still I 've worn
This little tress
of yellow hair,
Through danger,
frenzy, and despair!
It once was
bright and clear as thine,
But blood and
tears have dimmed its shine.
I will not tell
thee when 't was shred,
Nor from what
guiltless victim's head,--
My brain would
turn!--but it shall wave
Like plumage on
thy helmet brave,
Till sun and wind
shall bleach the stain,
And thou wilt
bring it me again.
I waver still.
--O God! more bright
Let reason beam
her parting light!--
O. by thy
knighthood's honored sign,
And for thy life
preserved by mine,
When thou shalt
see a darksome man,
Who boasts him
Chief of Alpine's Clan,
With tartars
broad and shadowy plume,
And hand of
blood, and brow of gloom
Be thy heart
bold, thy weapon strong,
And wreak poor
Blanche of Devan's wrong!--
They watch for
thee by pass and fell . . .
Avoid the path...
O God!... farewell.'
XXVIII.
A kindly heart had brave Fitz-James;
Fast poured his eyes at pity's
claims;
And now, with mingled grief and ire,
He saw the murdered maid expire.
'God, in my need, be my relief,
As I wreak this on yonder Chief!'
A lock from Blanche's tresses fair
He blended with her bridegroom's
hair;
The mingled braid in blood he dyed,
And placed it on his bonnet-side:
'By Him whose word is truth, I
swear,
No other favour will I wear,
Till this sad token I imbrue
In the best blood of Roderick Dhu!--
But hark! what means yon faint
halloo?
The chase is up,--but they shall
know,
The stag at bay 's a dangerous foe.'
Barred from the known but guarded
way,
Through copse and cliffs Fitz-James
must stray,
And oft must change his desperate
track,
By stream and precipice turned back.
Heartless, fatigued, and faint, at
length,
From lack of food and loss of
strength
He couched him in a thicket hoar
And thought his toils and perils
o'er:--
'Of all my rash adventures past,
This frantic feat must prove the
last!
Who e'er so mad but might have
guessed
That all this Highland hornet's nest
Would muster up in swarms so soon
As e'er they heard of bands at
Doune?--
Like bloodhounds now they search me
out,--
Hark, to the whistle and the shout!--
If farther through the wilds I go,
I only fall upon the foe:
I'll couch me here till evening
gray,
Then darkling try my dangerous way.'
XXIX.
The shades of eve come slowly down,
The woods are wrapt in deeper brown,
The owl awakens from her dell,
The fox is heard upon the fell;
Enough remains of glimmering light
To guide the wanderer's steps
aright,
Yet not enough from far to show
His figure to the watchful foe.
With cautious step and ear awake,
He climbs the crag and threads the
brake;
And not the summer solstice there
Tempered the midnight mountain air,
But every breeze that swept the wold
Benumbed his drenched limbs with
cold.
In dread, in danger, and alone,
Famished and chilled, through ways
unknown,
Tangled and steep, he journeyed on;
Till, as a rock's huge point he
turned,
A watch-fire close before him
burned.
XXX.
Beside its embers red and clear
Basked in his plaid a mountaineer;
And up he sprung with sword in
hand,--
'Thy name and purpose! Saxon,
stand!'
'A stranger.' 'What cost thou
require?'
'Rest and a guide, and food and fire
My life's beset, my path is lost,
The gale has chilled my limbs with
frost.'
'Art thou a friend to Roderick?'
'No.'
'Thou dar'st not call thyself a
foe?'
'I dare! to him and all the band
He brings to aid his murderous
hand.'
'Bold words!--but, though the beast
of game
The privilege of chase may claim,
Though space and law the stag we
lend
Ere hound we slip or bow we bend
Who ever recked, where, how, or
when,
The prowling fox was trapped or slain?
Thus treacherous scouts,--yet sure
they lie
Who say thou cam'st a secret spy!'--
'They do, by heaven!--come Roderick
Dhu
And of his clan the boldest two
And let me but till morning rest,
I write the falsehood on their
crest.'
If by the blaze I mark aright
Thou bear'st the belt and spur of
Knight.'
'Then by these tokens mayst thou
know
Each proud oppressor's mortal foe.'
'Enough, enough; sit down and share
A soldier's couch, a soldier's
fare.'
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,
Then thus his further speech
addressed:--
'Stranger, I am to Roderick Dhu
A clansman born, a kinsman true;
Each word against his honour spoke
Demands of me avenging stroke;
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,
Worn as thou art, to bid thee stand:
But, not for clan, nor kindred's
cause,
Will I depart from honour's laws;
To assail a wearied man were shame,
And stranger is a holy name;
Guidance and rest, and 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,
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!'
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,
Lay peaceful down like brothers
tried,
And slept until the dawning beam
Purpled the mountain and the stream.