Old Allan-bane look'd on aghast,
While grim and still his spirit pass'd;
But when he saw that life was fled,
He pour'd his wailing o'er the dead.
"And art thou cold and lowly laid,'
Thy foeman's dread, thy people's aid,
Breadalbane's boast, Clan-Alpine's shade!
For thee shall none a requiem say ?
-For thee,-who loved the minstrel's lay,
For thee, of Bothwell's house the stay,
The shelter of her exiled line.2
E'en in this prison-house of thine,
I'll wail for Alpine's honour'd Pine!
me from my bed,' said the invalid; 'throw my plaid around me, and bring me my claymore, dirk, and pistols,-it shall never be said that a foeman saw Rob Roy MacGregor defenceless and unarmed.' His foeman, conjectured to be one of the MacLarens before and after mentioned, entered and paid his compliments, enquiring after the health of his formidable neighbour. Rob Roy maintained a cold haughty civility during their short conference; and so soon as he had left the house, 'Now,' he said, 'all is over-let the piper play, Ha til mi tulidh,' [we return no more,] and he is said to have expired before the dirge was finished."-Introduction to Rob Roy, Waverley Novels, vol. vii. p. 85.]
1 [MS." And art thou gone,' the Minstrel said "]
2 [MS." The mightiest of a mighty line."]
"What groans shall yonder valleys fill!
What shrieks of grief shall rend yon hill!
What tears of burning rage shall thrill,
When mourns thy tribe thy battles done,
Thy fall before the race was won,
Thy sword ungirt ere set of sun!
There breathes not clansman of thy line,
But would have given his life for thine.--
O woe for Alpine's honour'd Pine!
"Sad was thy lot on mortal stage!—
The captive thrush may brook the cage,
The prison'd eagle dies for rage.
Brave spirit, do not scorn my strain!
And, when its notes awake again,
Even she, so long beloved in vain,
Shall with my harp her voice combine,
And mix her woe and tears with mine,
To wail Clan-Alpine's honour'd Pine."
Ellen, the while, with bursting heart,
Remain'd in lordly bower apart,
Where play'd, with many colour'd gleams,
Through storied pane the rising beams.
In vain on gilded roof they fall,
And lighten'd up a tapestried wall,
And for her use a menial train
A rich collation spread in vain.
The banquet proud, the chamber gay,1
Scarce drew one curious glance astray;
Or, if she look'd, 'twas but to say,
With better omen dawn'd the day
In that lone isle, where waved on high
The dun-deer's hide for canopy;
Where oft her noble father shared
The simple meal her care prepared,
While Lufra, crouching by her side,
Her station claim'd with jealous pride,
And Douglas, bent on woodland game,2
Spoke of the chase to Malcolm Græme,
Whose answer oft at random made,
The wandering of his thoughts betrayed.-
Those who such simple joys have known,
Are taught to prize them when they're gone.
But sudden, see, she lifts her head!
The window seeks with cautious tread.
What distant music has the power
To win her in this woeful hour!
'Twas from a turret that o'erhung
Her latticed bower, the strain was sung.
LAY OF THE IMPRISONED HUNTSMAN.
"My hawk is tired of perch and hood, My idle greyhound loathes his food,
1 [MS." The banquet gay, the chamber's pride, Scarce drew one curious glance aside."] "earnest on his game."]
My horse is weary of his stall,
And I am sick of captive thrall.
I wish I were as I have been,
Hunting the hart in forest green,
With bended bow and bloodhound free,
For that's the life is meet for me.1.
I hate to learn the ebb of time,
From yon dull 2 steeple's drowsy chime,
Or mark it as the sunbeams crawl,
Inch after inch, along the wall.
The lark was wont my matins ring,
The sable rook my vespers sing;
These towers, although a king's they be.
Have not a hall of joy for me.*
No more at dawning morn I rise,
And sun myself in Ellen's eyes,
Drive the fleet deer the forest through,
And homeward wend with evening dew:
A blithesome welcome blithely meet,
And lay my trophies at her feet;
While fled the eve on wing of glee,—
That life is lost to love and me!"
The heart-sick lay was hardly said,
The list'ner had not turn'd her head,
1 [MS.- 66 was meant for me."]
2 [MS." From darken'd steeple's."]
8 [MS.-"The lively lark my matins rung,
The sable rook my vespers sung."]
4 [MS." Have not a hall should harbour me."]
It trickled still, the starting tear,
When light a footstep struck her ear,
And Snowdoun's graceful Knight was near.
She turn'd the hastier, lest again
The prisoner should renew his strain.
"O welcome, brave Fitz-James!" she said:
"How may an almost orphan maid
Pay the deep debt "—"O say not so,
To me no gratitude you owe.
Not mine, alas! the boon to give,
And bid thy noble father live;
I can but be thy guide, sweet maid,
With Scotland's King thy suit to aid.
No tyrant he, though ire and pride
May lay his better mood aside.
Come, Ellen, come!-'tis more than time,
He holds his court at morning prime."
With beating heart, and bosom wrung,
As to a brother's arms she clung.
Gently he dried the falling tear,
And gently whisper'd hope and cheer;
Her faltering steps half led, half staid,
Through gallery fair and high arcade,
Till, at his touch, its wings of pride
A portal arch unfolded wide.
Within 'twas brilliant all and light,'
A thronging scene of figures bright;
1 [MS.-" "Within 'twas brilliant all, and bright
The vision glow'd on Ellen's sight."]
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