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 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.»Free be they flung! for we were loth 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, Bewilder'd in the mountain game, Whence the bold boast by which you show Vich-Alpine's vow'd and mortal foe ?»>« Warrior, but yester-morn I knew Nought of thy chieftain, Roderick Dhu, Save as an outlaw'd desperate man, The chief of a rebellious clan, Who, in the regent's court and sight, With ruffian dagger stabb'd a knight; Yet this alone might from his part Sever each true and loyal heart.».

VI.

Wrothful at such arraignment foul,
Dark lour'd the clansman's sable scowl.
A space he paused, then sternly said,-

« And heard'st thou why he drew his blade?
Heard'st thou that shameful word and blow
Brought Roderick's vengeance on his foe?
What reck'd the chieftain if he stood
On Highland heath, or Holyrood?
He rights such wrong where it is given,
If it were in the court of heaven.»>—

« Still was it outrage;-yet 't is true,
Not then claim'd sovereignty his due;
While Albany, with feeble hand,
Held borrow'd truncheon of command, (1)
The young king, mew'd in Stirling tower,
Was stranger to respect and power.

But then, thy chieftain's robber life!—
Winning mean prey by causeless strife,
Wrenching from ruin'd Lowland swain
His herds and harvest rear'd 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 answer'd with disdainful smile,-
«Saxon, from yonder mountain high,
I mark'd thee send delighted eye,
Far to the south and east, where lay,
Extended in succession gay,

Deep waving fields and pastures green,
With gentle slopes and groves between:-
These fertile plains, that soften'd vale,
Were once the birth-right of the Gael;
The stranger came with iron hand,
And from our fathers reft the land.
Where dwell we now? See, rudely swell
Crag over crag, and fell o'er fell.
Ask we this savage hill we tread,
For fatten'd steer or household bread;
Ask we for flocks these shingles dry,
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.'—
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?

Ay, by my soul!-While on yon plain
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. (2)
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.

Answer'd Fitz-James,—« And, if I sought,
Think'st thou no other could be brought?
What deem ye of my path way-laid?
My life given o'er to ambuscade ?»>

«As of a meed to rashness due:
Hadst thou sent warning fair and true,—
I seek my hound, or falcon stray'd,

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,

Hadst thou, unheard, been doom'd to die,

Save to fulfil an augury.»

"

Well, let it pass; nor will I now
Fresh cause of enmity avow,

To chafe thy mood and cloud thy brow.
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 agen,

I come with banner, brand, and bow,
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.»

IX.

<< Have, then, thy wish!»-he whistled shrill,
And he was answer'd from the hill;
Wild as the scream of the curlew,
From crag to crag the signal flew.
Instant, through copse and heath, arose
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,
The rushes and the willow-wand
Are bristling into axe and brand,
And every tuft of broom gives life
To plaided warrior arm'd for strife.
That whistle garrison'd the glen
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.
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,
Upon the mountain side they hung.
The mountaineer cast glance of pride
Along Benledi's living side,

Then fix'd his eye and sable brow

Full on Fitz-James-« How say'st thou now?
These are Clan-Alpine's warriors true;
And, Saxon,-1 am Roderick Dhu!»-

X.

Fitz-James was brave :-Though to his heart
The life-blood thrill'd with sudden start,
He mann'd himself with dauntless air,
Return'd 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.»>-
Sir Roderick mark'd-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 :
Down sunk the disappearing band;
Each warrior vanish'd where he stood,
In broom or bracken, heath or wood;

Sunk brand and spear and bended bow,
In osiers pale and copses low;

It seem'd as if their mother Earth
Had swallow'd up her warlike birth.
The wind's last breath had toss'd in air,
Pennon, and plaid, and plumage fair,—
The next but swept a lone hill-side,
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.

XI.

Fitz-James look'd 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,
And to his look the chief replied,

« Fear nought-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:

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
To show the reed on which you leant,
Deeming this path you might pursue,
Without a pass from Roderick Dhu.» (3)—
They moved :-I said Fitz-James was brave,
As ever knight that belted glaive;
Yet dare not say, that now his blood
Kept on its wont and temper'd flood,
As, following Roderick's stride, he drew
That seeming lonesome path-way through,
Which yet, by fearful proof, was rife
With lances, that, to take his life,
Waited but signal from a guide,
So late dishonour'd and defied.
Ever, by stealth, his eye sought round
The vanish'd guardians of the ground,
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
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.

XII.

The chief in silence strode before,

And reach'd that torrent's sounding shore,
Which, daughter of three mighty lakes,
From Vennachar in silver breaks,
Sweeps through the plain, and ceaseless mines
On Bochastle the mouldering lines,
Where Rome, the empress of the world,
Of yore her eagle wings unfurl'd. (4)
And here his course the chieftain staid,

Threw down his target and his plaid,
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,

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,

Arm'd, like thyself, with single brand; (5)
For this is Coilantogle ford,

And thou must keep thee with thy sword.»

XIII.

The Saxon paused :-« I ne'er delay'd,
When foeman bade me draw my blade;
Nay more, brave chief, I vow'd thy death:
Yet sure thy fair and generous faith,
And my deep debt for life preserved,
A better meed have well deserved :-
Can nought but blood our feud atone?

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 :-
'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,—
There lies Red Murdoch, stark and stiff.
Thus Fate has 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,
Or if the king shall not agree

Το

grant thee grace and favour free,

I plight mine honour, oath, and word, That, to thy native strengths restored, With each advantage shalt thou stand, That aids thee now to guard thy land.»>

XIV.

Dark lightning flash'd from Roderick's eye-
«Soars thy presumption then so high,
Because a wretched kern ye slew,
Homage to name to Roderick Dhu?
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 valour light
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!
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,
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.
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 look'd to sun, and stream, and plain,
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, (6)
Whose brazen studs and tough bull-hide
Had death so often dash'd aside,
For, train'd abroad his arms to wield,
Fitz-James's blade was sword and shield. (7)
He practised every pass and ward,
To thrust, to strike, to feint, to guard;
While less expert, though stronger far,
The Gael maintain'd unequal war.
Three times in closing strife they stood,
And thrice the Saxon blade drank blood;
No stinted draught, no scanty tide,
The gushing flood the tartans dyed.
Fierce Roderick felt the fatal drain,
And shower'd his blows like wintry rain;
And, as firm rock, or castle-roof,
Against the winter shower is proof,
The foe, invulnerable still,
Foil'd his wild rage by steady skill;
Till, at advantage ta'en, his brand
Forced Roderick's weapon from his hand,
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!

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; (8)
Received, but reck'd not of a wound,
And lock'd 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,
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 compress'd,
His knee was planted in his breast;
His clotted locks he backward threw,
Across his brow his hand he drew,
From blood and mist to clear his sight,
Then gleam'd aloft his dagger bright!
-But hate and fury ill supplied
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 gleam'd on high,

Reel'd soul and sense, reel'd brain and eye.
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,
But breathless all, Fitz-James arose.

XVII.

He falter'd thanks to Heaven for life,
Redeem'd, unhoped, from desperate strife;
Next on his foe his look he cast,
Whose every gasp appear'd his last;
In Roderick's gore he dipp'd the braid,-

« Poor Blanche! thy wrongs are dearly paid:
Yet with thy foe must die, or live,
The praise that faith and valour give.»>-
With that he blew a bugle-note,
Undid the collar from his throat,
Unbonnetted, 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;
The sounds increase, and now are seen
Four mounted squires in Lincoln green;
Two who bear lance, and two who lead,
By loosen'd rein, a saddled steed;
Each onward held his headlong course,
And by Fitz-James rein'd up his horse,-
With wonder view'd the bloody spot-

<< Stand Bayard, stand!»>—the steed obey'd,
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 staid,
No grasp upon the saddle laid,

But wreathed his left hand in the mane,
And lightly bounded from the plain,
Turn'd on the horse his armed heel,
And stirr'd his courage with the steel.
Bounded the fiery steed in air,
The rider sate erect and fair,
Then, like a bolt from steel cross-bow
Forth launch'd, along the plain they go.
They dash'd that rapid torrent through,
And up Carhonie's hill they flew;
Still at the gallop prick'd the knight,
His merry-men follow'd as they might.
Along thy banks, swift Teith! they ride,
And in the race they mock thy tide;

Torry and Lendrick now are past,
And Deanstown lies behind them cast;
They rise, the banner'd towers of Doune,
They sink in distant woodland soon;
Blair-Drummond sees the hoofs strike fire,
They sweep like breeze through Ochtertyre;
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,
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 look'd down.

XIX.

As up the flinty path they strain'd,
Sudden his steed the leader rein'd;
A signal to his squire he flung,
Who instant to his stirrup sprung :—

<< Seest thou, De Vaux, yon woodsman gray,
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?»

<< 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?
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.
'T is James of Douglas, by Saint Serle!
The uncle of the banish'd 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. »—

Then right-hand wheel'd 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 climb'd the rocky shelf,
Held sad communion with himself:-
<< Yes! all is true my fears could frame:
A prisoner lies the noble Græme,
And fiery Roderick soon will feel
The vengeance of the royal steel.
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 pardon'd one repining tear!
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,

And thou, O sad and fatal mound!!

That oft hast heard the death-axe sound, (9)
As on the noblest of the land

Fell the stern headsman's bloody hand,—-
The dungeon, block, and nameless tomb
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 masquers meet!
Banner and pageant, pipe and drum,
And i merry morrice-dancers come.

I guess, by all this quaint array,

The burghers hold their sports to-day. (10)
James will be there;-he loves such show,
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,

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,

The quivering draw-bridge rock'd and rung,
And echoed loud the flinty street
Beneath the coursers' clattering feet,
As slowly down the deep descent

Fair Scotland's king and nobles went,
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,

Who smiled and blush'd 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,
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 throng'd peer and knight,
And noble dame and damsel bright,
Whose fiery steeds ill brook'd the stay
Of the steep street and crowded way.
-But in the train you might discern
Dark louring brow and visage stern;
There nobles mourn'd their pride restrain'd,
And the mean burghers' joys disdain'd;
And chiefs, who, hostage for their clan,
Were each from home a banish'd man,
There thought upon their own gray tower,
Their waving woods, their feudal power,
And deem'd themselves a shameful part
Of
pageant which they cursed in heart.

XXII.

Now, in the castle-park, drew out

Their chequer'd bands the joyous rout.

An eminence on the north-east of the castle, where state criminals were executed. See Note.

There morricers, with bell at heel,
And blade in hand, their mazes wheel;
But chief, beside the butts, there stand
Bold Robin Hood (11) and all his band,-
Friar Tuck, with quarter-staff and cowl,
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.
The Douglas bent a bow of might,-
His first shaft center'd 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
A silver dart, the archer's stake;
Fondly he watch'd, with watery eye,
Some answering glance of sympathy,-
No kind emotion made reply!
Indifferent as to archer wight,

The monarch gave the arrow bright. (12)

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,
Nor call'd 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
To Douglas gave a golden ring, (13)
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 suppress'd :
Indignant then he turn'd him where
Their arms the brawny yeomen bare,
To hurl the massive bar in air.

When each his utmost strength bad shown,
The Douglas rent an earth-fast stone
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-hair'd sires, who know the past,
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.
The king, with look unmoved, bestow'd
A purse well fill'd with pieces broad.
Indignant smiled the Douglas proud,
And threw the gold among the crowd,
Who now, with anxious wonder, scan,
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 mark'd, and shook the head,
To see his hair with silver spread,

22