Clan-Alpine's best are backward borne-
Where, where was Roderick then!
One blast upon his bugle horn
Were worth a thousand men.
And refluent through the pass of fear1
The battle's tide was pour'd;
Vanish'd the Saxon's struggling spear,
Vanish'd the mountain sword.
As Bracklinn's chasm so black and steep,
Receives her roaring linn,
As the dark caverns of the deep
Suck the wild whirlpool in,
So did the deep and darksome pass
Devour the battle's mingled mass:
None linger now upon the plain,
Save those who ne'er shall fight again.
"Now westward rolls the battle's din,
That deep and doubling pass within,
-Minstrel, away! the work of fate 2
Is bearing on its issue wait,
Where the rude Trosach's dread defile
Opens on Katrine's lake and isle.-
Grey Benvenue I soon repass'd,
Loch Katrine lay beneath me cast.
1 [MS." And refluent down the darksome pass
The battle's tide was pour'd;
There toil'd the spearman's struggling spear,
There raged the mountain sword."]
2 [MS.-"Away! away! the work of fate!"]
The sun is set ;-the clouds are met,
The lowering scowl of heaven ;
An inky hue of vivid blue
To the deep lake is given;
Strange gusts of wind from mountain glen.
Swept o'er the lake, then sunk agen.
I heeded not the eddying surge,
Mine eye but saw the Trosach's gorge,
Mine ear but heard the sullen sound,
Which like an earthquake shook the ground,
And spoke the stern and desperate strife
That parts not but with parting life,1
Seeming, to minstrel-ear, to toll 2
The dirge of many a passing soul.
Nearer it comes-the dim-wood glen
The martial flood disgorged agen,
But not in mingled tide;
The plaided warriors of the North
High on the mountain thunder forth
And overhang its side;
While by the lake below appears
The dark'ning cloud of Saxon spears.
At weary bay each shatter'd band,
Eyeing their foemen, sternly stand;
"the loveliness in death That parts not quite with parting breath." BYRON'S Giaour.]
2 [MS." And seem'd to minstrel ear, to toll The parting dirge of many a soul."] [MS." While by the darken'd lake below, File out the spearmen of the foe."]
Their banners stream like tatter'd sail,
That flings its fragments to the gale,
And broken arms and disarray
Mark'd the fell havoc of the day.
"Viewing the mountain's ridge askance,
The Saxon stood in sullen trance,
Till Moray pointed with his lance,
And cried-Behold yon isle!-
See! none are left to guard its strand,
But women weak, that wring the hand:
"Tis there of yore the robber band
Their booty wont to pile ;——
My purse, with bonnet-pieces store,
To him will swim a bow-shot o'er,
And loose a shallop from the shore.
Lightly we'll tame the war-wolf then,
Lords of his mate, and brood, and den.'
Forth from the ranks a spearman sprung,
On earth his casque and corslet rung,
He plunged him in the wave:-
All saw the deed-the purpose knew,
And to their clamours Benvenue
A mingled echo gave ;
The Saxons shout, their mate to cheer,
The helpless females scream for fear,
And yells for rage the mountaineer.
"Twas then, as by the outery riven,
Pour'd down at once the lowering heaven;
A whirlwind swept Loch Katrine's breast,
Her billows rear'd their snowy crest.
Well for the swimmer swell'd they high,
To mar the Highland marksman's eye;
For round him shower'd, 'mid rain and hail,
The vengeful arrows of the Gael.—
In vain. He nears the isle-and lo!
His hand is on a shallop's bow.
-Just then a flash of lightning came,
It tinged the waves and strand with flame:-
I mark'd Duncraggan's widow'd dame,
Behind an oak I saw her stand,
A naked dirk gleam'd in her hand ;–
It darken'd, but amid the moan
Of waves I heard a dying groan ;-
Another flash!—the spearman floats
A weltering corse beside the boats,
And the stern Matron o'er him stood,
Her hand and dagger streaming blood.
666 'Revenge! revenge!' the Saxons cried, The Gaels' exulting shout replied.
Despite the elemental rage,
Again they hurried to engage;
But, ere they closed in desperate fight,
"It tinged the boats and lake with flame."
The eight closing lines of the stanza are interpolated on a slip of paper.]
Bloody with spurring came a knight,
Sprung from his horse, and, from a crag,
Waved 'twixt the hosts a milk-white flag.
Clarion and trumpet by his side
Rung forth a truce-note high and wide,
While, in the Monarch's name, afar
An herald's voice forbade the war,
For Bothwell's lord, and Roderick bold,
Were both, he said, in captive hold."
-But here the lay made sudden stand,
The harp escaped the minstrel's hand!—
Oft had he stolen a glance, to spy
How Roderick brook'd his minstrelsy:
At first, the Chieftain, to the chime,
With lifted hand, kept feeble time:
That motion ceased,-yet feeling strong
Varied his look as changed the song:1
At length, no more his deafen'd ear
The minstrel melody can hear;
His face grows sharp,-his hands are clench'd,
As if some pang his heart-strings wrench'd;
Set are his teeth, his fading eye 2
Is sternly fixed on vacancy;
Thus, motionless, and moanless, drew
His parting breath, stout Roderick Dhu!—3
1 [MS.-"
"Glowed in his look, as swelled the song."]
2 [MS.-"his {glazing} eye."]
8 ["Rob Roy, while on his deathbed, learned that a person with whom he was at enmity, proposed to visit him.
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