« 前へ次へ »
Within an hour return'd each hound;
In rush'd the rousers of the deer; They howl'd in melancholy sound,
Then closely couch'd beside the seer.
No Roland yet; though midnight came, And sad were Moy's prophetic dreams,
As, bending o'er the dying flame,
He fed the watch-fire's quivering gleams.
Sudden the hounds erect their ears, And sudden cease their moaning howl;
Close press'd to Moy, they mark their fears
Untouch'd, the harp began to ring,
And shook responsive every string,
And by the watch-fire's glimmering light,
An huntress maid, in beauty bright,
All dropping wet her garments seem;
Chill'd was her cheek, her bosom bare, As, bending o'er the dying gleam,
She wrung the moisture from her hair.
With maiden blush she softly said,
In deep Glenfinlas' moonlight glade,
"With her a Chief in Highland pride;
His shoulders bear the hunter's bow, The mountain dirk adorns his side,
Far on the wind his tartans flow ?"—
"And who art thou? and who are they?" All ghastly gazing, Moy replied: "And why, beneath the moon's pale ray, Dare ye thus roam Glenfinlas' side ?"—
"Where wild Loch Katrine pours her tide, Blue, dark, and deep, round many an isle,
Our father's towers o'erhang her side,
"To chase the dun Glenfinlas deer,
Our woodland course this morn we bore,
And haply met, while wandering here,
"O aid me, then, to seek the pair,
Alone, I dare not venture there,
Where walks, they say, the shrieking ghost."— "Yes, many a shrieking ghost walks there;Then first, my own sad vow to keep, Here will I pour my midnight prayer,
Which still must rise when mortals sleep."
"O first, for pity's gentle sake,
Guide a lone wanderer on her way!
For I must cross the haunted brake,
And reach my father's towers ere day."—
"First, three times tell each Ave-bead, And thrice a Pater-noster say;Then kiss with me the holy rede;So shall we safely wend our way."—
"O shame to knighthood, strange and foul!Go, doff the bonnet from thy brow, And shroud thee in the monkish cowl, Which best befits thy sullen vow.
"Not so, by high Dunlathmon's fire,
When gaily rung thy raptured lyre,
Wild stared the minstrel's eyes of flame, And high his sable locks arose,
"And thou! when by the blazing oak
I lay, to her and love resign'd, Say, rode ye on the eddying smoke,
Or sail'd ye on the midnight wind!
"Not thine a race of mortal blood,
Thy dame, the Lady of the Flood,
He mutter'd thrice St. Oran's rhyme,
And thrice St. Fillan's powerful prayer;3
Then turn'd him to the eastern clime,
1 St. Fillan has given his name to many chapels, holy fountains, &c. in Scotland. He was, according to Camerarius, an Abbot of Pittenween, in Fife; from which situation he retired, and died a hermit in the wilds of Glenurchy, A.d. 649. While engaged in transcribing the Scriptures, his left hand was observed to send forth such a splendour, as to afford light to that with which he wrote; a miracle which saved many candles to the convent, as St. Fillan used to spend whole nights in that exercise. The 9th of January was dedicated to this saint, who gave his name to Kilfillan, in Renfrew, and St. Phillans, or Forgend, in Fife. Lesley, lib. 7, tells us, that Robert the Bruce was possessed of Fillan's miraculous and luminous arm, which he enclosed in a silver shrine, and had it carried at the head of his army. Previous to the battle of Bannockburn, the king's chaplain, a man of little faith, abstracted the relic, and deposited it in some place of security, lest it should fall into the hands of the English. Butlo! while Robert was addressing his prayers to the empty casket, it was observed to open and shut suddenly; and, on inspection, the saint was found to have himself deposited his arm in the
And, bending o'er his harp, he flung
And loud, and high, and strange, they rung,
Tall wax'd the Spirit's altering form
Then, mingling with the rising storm,
Rain beats, hail rattles, whirlwinds tear:
shrine, as an assurance of victory. Such is the tale of Lesley. But though Bruce little needed that the arm of St. Fillan should assist his own, he dedicated to him, in gratitude, a priory at Killin, upon Loch Tay.
In the Scots Magazine for July, 1802, there is a copy of a very curious crown-grant, dated 11th July, 1487, by which James III. confirms, to Malice Doire, an inhabitant of Strathfillan, in Perthshire, the peaceable exercise and enjoyment of a relic of St. Fillan, being apparently the head of a pastoral staff called the Quegrich, which he and his predecessors are said to have possessed since the days of Robert Bruce. As the Quegrich was used to cure diseases, this document is probably the most ancient patent ever granted for a quack medicine. The ingenious correspondent, by whom it is furnished, farther observes, that additional particulars, concerning St. Fillan, are to be found in Bellenden's Boece, Book 4, folio ccxiii. and in Pennant's Tour in Scotland, 1772, pp. 11, 15. [See a note on the lines in the first canto of Marmion. . . . "Thence to St. Fillan's blessed well, Whose spring can frenzied dreams dispel, And the crazed brain restore," &c.—Ed.]