« 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.

« 'T is merry, 't is merry in fairy-land, When fairy birds are singing,

When the court doth ride by their monarch's side, With bit and bridle ringing:

« And gaily shines the fairy-land-
But all is glistening show, (11)
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 snatch'd away
To the joyless elfin bower. (12)

« But wist I of a woman bold, Who thrice my brow durst sign, I might regain my mortal mold, As fair a form as thine.»

She cross'd him once-she cross'd him twice-
That lady was so brave;
The fouler grew his goblin hue,
The darker grew the cave.

She cross'd him thrice, that lady bold; He rose beneath her hand

The fairest knight on Scottish mold, Her brother, Ethert Brand!

Merry it is in good green-wood,

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 staid,

A stranger climb'd the steepy glade:

His martial step, his stately mien,

His hunting-suit of Lincoln green,

His eagle glance, remembrance claims

'T is Snowdoun's knight, 't is James Fitz-James. Ellen beheld as in a dream,

Then, starting, scarce suppress'd 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 marshall'd, over bank and bourne,
The happy path of my return.»>-

« Sweet Ellen, dear my life must be,
Since it is worthy care from thee;
Yet life I hold but idle breath,

When love or honour's weigh'd 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--»
Oh, 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
Outlaw'd 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,—

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 stedfast 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 seal'd her Malcolm's doom,
And she sat sorrowing on his tomb.
Hope vanish'd from Fitz-James's eye,
But not with hope fled sympathy.
He proffer'd to attend her side,

As brother would a sister guide.

« Oh! 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 cross'd his brain, He paused, and turn'd, and came again.

ΧΙΧ.

« 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-kiss'd her hand-and then was gone ·
The aged minstrel stood aghast,

So hastily Fitz-James shot past.

He join'd 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 Trosach's glen was still,
Noontide was sleeping on the hill :
Sudden his guide whoop'd loud and high-

<< Murdoch! was that a signal cry?»--
He stammer'd forth,-« I shout to scare
Yon raven from his dainty fare.»>-
He look'd-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 Trosach's deli.-
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 tatter'd weeds and wild array,
Stood on a cliff beside the way,
And glancing round her restless eye,
Upon the wood, the rock, the sky,
Seem'd nought 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 shriek'd till all the rocks replied;
As loud she laugh'd 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 strain'd and roughen'd, still
Rung wildly sweet to dale and hill.

" A crazed and captive Lowland maid,
Ta'en on the morn she was a bride,
When Roderick foray'd Devan-side.
The gay bridegroom resistance made,
And felt our chief's unconquer'd 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 strikest her but one blow,
I'll pitch thee from the cliff as far
As ever peasant pitch'd a bar.»—
«Thanks, champion, thanks!» the maniac cried,
And press'd 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 briar in mid air staid,

Wave forth a banner fair and free, Meet signal for their revelry.a—

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 green-wood hue,
And so blithely be trill'd 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 fix'd her apprehensive eye;
Then turn'd it on the knight, and then
Her look glanced wildly o'er the glen.

XXV.

<< The toils are pitch'd, 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 his 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 warn'd 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-toss'd,
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 full speed the clansman flew,
But in his race his bow he drew.
The shaft just grazed Fitz-James's crest,
And thrill'd 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!

Having ten branches on his antlers.

Thy kindred ambush lies before,
Close couch'd upon the heathery moor;
Them couldst thou reach!-it may not be-
Thine ambush'd 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 fall'n, with falcon eye,
He grimly smiled to see him die;
Then slower wended back his way,
Where the poor maiden bleeding lay.

XXVII.

She sate beneath the birchen tree,
Her elbow resting on her knee;
She had withdrawn the fatal shaft,
And gazed on it, and feebly laugh'd;

Her wreath of broom and feathers gray,
Daggled with blood, beside her lay.

The knight, to staunch the life-stream tried,«Stranger, it is in vain!» she cried,

This hour of death has given me more

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 my 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 dimm'd 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 honour'd sign,
And for thy life preserved by mine,
When thou shalt see a darksome man,
Who boasts him chief of Alpine's clan,
With tartans broad and shadowy plume,
And hand of blood, and brow of gloom,
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 pour'd his eye at pity's claims,
And now, with mingled grief and ire,
He saw the murder'd 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:

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 foc.»>-
Barr'd 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 turn'd back.
Heartless, fatigued, and faint, at length,
From lack of food and loss of strength,
He couch'd 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 guess'd,
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 wrapp'd 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,
Temper'd the midnight mountain air,
But every breeze, that swept the wold,
Benumb'd his drenched limbs with cold.

In dread, in danger, and alone,

Famish'd and chill'd, through ways unknown,
Tangled and steep, he journey'd on;
Till, as a rock's huge point he turn'd,
A watch-fire close before him burn'd.

XXX.

Beside its embers red and clear,
Bask'd, in his plaid, a mountaineer;

And up he sprung, with sword in hand,

"

Thy name and purpose! Saxon, stand!»

<< A stranger.»-« What dost thou require?»>-

<< Rest and a guide, and food and fire. My life's beset, my path is lost,

The gale has chill'd my limbs with frost.»>« Art thou a friend to Roderick?»-« No.»

<< Thou darest 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
The privilege of chase may claim,
Though space and law the stag we lend,
Ere hound we slip, or bow we bend,

game

He

gave

XXXI.

him of his Highland cheer,

The harden'd flesh of mountain-deer; (14)
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 address'd:
« 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, 't is 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 't is nobly given !»

« Well, rest thee; for the bittern's cry
Sings us the lake's wild lullaby.>>
With that he shook the gather'd 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.

CANTO V.

THE COMBAT.

I.

FAIR as the earliest beam of eastern light, When first, by the bewilder'd 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;-
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,
Was twinkling through the hazel screen,
When, rousing at its glimmer red,
The warriors left their lowly bed,
Look'd out upon the dappled sky,
Mutter'd their soldier matins by,
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,
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,
And all the vales between that lie,
Till Stirling's turrets melt in sky;
Then, sunk in copse, their farthest glance
Gain'd not the length of horseman's lance.
'T was oft so steep, the foot was fain
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!

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,

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,
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,
Dank osiers fringed the swamp and hill;
And oft both path and hill were torn,
Where wintry torrents down had borne,
And heap'd upon the cumber'd land
Its wreck of gravel, rocks, and sand.
So toilsome was the road to trace,
The guide, abating of his pace,
Led slowly through the pass's jaws,

And ask'd Fitz-James, by what strange cause

He sought these wilds, traversed by few,
Without a pass from Roderick Dhu.

The Scottish Highlander calls himself Gael, or Gaul, and terms the Lowlanders, Sassenach, or Saxons.