<< Or, if on life's uncertain main

Mishap shall mar thy sail;

If faithful, wise, and brave in vain,
Woe, want, and exile thou sustain
Beneath the fickle gale;

Waste not a sigh on fortune changed,
On thankless courts, or friends estranged,
But come where kindred worth shall smile,
To greet thee in the lonely isle.»-

IV.

As died the sounds upon the tide,

The shallop reach'd the main-land side,
And ere his onward way he took,
The stranger cast a lingering look,
Where easily his eye might reach
The harper on the islet beach,
Reclined against a blighted tree,
As wasted, gray, and worn as he.
To minstrel meditation given,

His reverend brow was raised to heaven,

As from the rising sun to claim
A sparkle of inspiring flame.
His hand, reclined upon the wire,
Seem'd watching the awakening fire;
So still he sate, as those who wait

Till judgment speak the doom of fate;
So still, as if no breeze might dare
To lift one lock of hoary hair;
So still, as life itself were fled,

In the last sound his harp had sped.

V.

Upon a rock with lichens wild,

Beside him Ellen sate and smiled.-
Smiled she to see the stately drake
Lead forth his fleet upon the lake,
While her vex'd spaniel, from the beach,
Bay'd at the prize beyond his reach!
Yet tell me, then, the maid who knows,
Why deepen'd on her cheek the rose?-
Forgive, forgive, Fidelity!

Perchance the maiden smiled to see
Yon parting lingerer wave adieu,
And stop and turn to wave anew;
And, lovely ladies, ere your ire
Condemn the heroine of my lyre,
Show me the fair would scorn to spy,
And prize such conquest of her eye!

VI.

While yet he loiter'd on the spot,
It seem'd as Ellen mark'd him not;
But when he turn'd him to the glade,
One courteous parting sign she made;
And after, oft the knight would say,
That not when prize of festal day
Was dealt him by the brightest fair,
Who e'er wore jewel in her hair,
So highly did his bosom swell,
As at that simple mute farewell.
Now with a trusty mountain guide,
And his dark stag-hounds by his side,
He parts-the maid, unconscious still,
Watch'd him wind slowly round the hill;

But when his stately form was hid,

The guardian in her bosom chid

«

Thy Malcolm! vain and selfish maid!»> 'T was thus upbraiding conscience said, << Not so had Malcolm idly hung

On the smooth phrase of southern tougue;
Not so had Malcolm strain'd his eye,
Another step than thine to spy.-
Wake, Allan-bane,» aloud she cried,
To the old minstrel by her side,

<< Arouse thee from thy moody dream!
I'll give thy harp heroic theme,
And warm thee with a noble name;
Pour forth the glory of the Græme.»—(2)
Scarce from her lip the word had rush'd,
When deep the conscious maiden blush'd;
For of his clan, in hall and bower,
Young Malcolm Græme was held the flower.

« Vainly thou bid'st me wake the strain,

Though all unwont to bid in vain.

Alas! than mine a mightier hand,

Has tuned my harp, my strings has spann'd!

I touch the chords of joy, but low

And mournful answer notes of woe;

And the proud march which victors tread,

Sinks in the wailing for the dead.

O well for me, if mine alone

That dirge's deep prophetic tone!

If, as my tuneful fathers said,

This harp, which erst Saint Modan sway'd, (3)

Can thus its master's fate foretel,

Then welcome be the minstrel's knell!

VIII.

<< But ah! dear lady, thus it sigh'd

The eve thy sainted mother died;

And such the sounds which, while I strove

To wake a lay of war or love,

Came marring all the festal mirth,
Appalling me who gave them birth,

And, disobedient to my call,

Wail'd loud through Bothwell's banner'd hall, Ere Douglasses, to ruin driven,

Were exiled from their native heaven.- (4)

Oh! if yet worse mishap and woe

My master's house must undergo,
Or aught but weal to Ellen fair,
Brood in these accents of despair,
No future bard, sad harp! shall fling
Triumph or rapture from thy string;
One short, one final strain shall flow,
Fraught with unutterable woe,
Then shiver'd shall thy fragments lie,
Thy master cast him down and die.»

IX. Soothing she answer'd him, «< Assuage, Mine honour'd friend, the fears of age;

All melodies to thee are known,

That harp has rung, or pipe has blown,
In Lowland vale or Highland glen,
From Tweed to Spey-what marvel, then,
At times, unbidden notes should rise,
Confusedly bound in memory's ties,
Entangling, as they rush along,

The war-march with the funeral song?—
Small ground is now for boding fear;
Obscure, but safe, we rest us here.
My sire, in native virtue great,
Resigning lordship, lands, and state,
Not then to fortune more resign'd,
Than yonder oak might give the wind;
The graceful foliage storms may reave,
The noble stem they cannot grieve.

For me»-she stoop'd, and, looking round,
Pluck'd a blue hare-bell from the ground,
"For me, whose memory scarce conveys
An image of more splendid days,
This little flower, that loves the lea,
May well my simple emblem be;

It drinks heaven's dew as blithe as rose
That in the king's own garden grows;
And when I place it in my hair,
Allan, a bard is bound to swear
He ne'er saw coronet so fair.>>
Then playfully the chaplet wild

She wreathed in her dark locks, and smiled.
X.

Her smile, her speech, with winning sway,
Wiled the old harper's mood away.
With such a look as hermits throw
When angels stoop to soothe their woe,
He gazed, till fond regret and pride
Thrill'd to a tear, then thus replied:
<< Loveliest and best! thou little know'st
The rank, the honours thou hast lost!
O might I live to see thee grace,

In Scotland's court, thy birth-right place,
To see my favourite's step advance,
The lightest in the courtly dance,
The cause of every gallant's sigh,
And leading star of every eye,
And theme of every minstrel's art,
The Lady of the Bleeding Heart!»1—

XI.

<< Fair dreams are these,» the maiden cried
(Light was her accent, yet she sigh'd),
«Yet is this mossy rock to me
Worth splendid chair and canopy;
Nor would my footsteps spring more gay
In courtly dance than blithe strathspey.
Nor half so pleased mine ear incline
To royal minstrel's lay as thine;
And then for suitors proud and high,
To bend before my conquering eye,
Thou, flattering bard! thyself wilt say,
That grim Sir Roderick owns its sway.
The Saxon scourge, Clan-Alpine's pride,
The terror of Loch Lomond's side,
Would, at my suit, thou know'st, delay
A Lennox foray-for a day.»--

1 The well-known cognizance of the Douglas family.

peer,

And since, though outlaw'd, hath his hand
Full sternly kept his mountain land.
Who else dared give?-ah! woe the day,
That I such hated truth should say-
The Douglas, like a stricken deer,
Disown'd by every noble (6)
Even the rude refuge we have here?
Alas, this wild marauding chief
Alone might hazard our relief,
And, now thy maiden charms expand,
Looks for his guerdon in thy hand;
Full soon may dispensation sought,

To back his suit, from Rome be brought.
Then, though an exile on the hill,
Thy father, as the Douglas, still

Be held in reverence and fear;

And though to Roderick thou 'rt so dear,
That thou might'st guide with silken thread,
Slave of thy will, this chieftain dread,
Yet, O loved maid, thy mirth refrain!
Thy hand is on a lion's mane.»>

XIII.

Minstrel,» the maid replied, and high
Her father's soul glanced from her eye,
«My debts to Roderick's house I know:
All that a mother could bestow
To Lady Margaret's care I owe,
Since first an orphan in the wild
She sorrow'd o'er her sister's child;
To her brave chieftain son, from ire
Of Scotland's king who shrouds my sire,
A deeper, holier debt is owed;
And, could I pay it with my blood,
Allan! Sir Roderick should command

My blood, my life-but not my hand.
Rather will Ellen Douglas dwell

A votaress in Maronnan's cell; (7)
Rather through realms beyond the sea,
Seeking the world's cold charity,
Where ne'er was spoke a Scottish word,
And ne'er the name of Douglas heard,
An outcast pilgrim will she rove,
Than wed the man she cannot love.

I grant him liberal, to fling

Among his elan the wealth they bring,
When back by lake and glen they wind,
And in the Lowland leave behind,
Where once some pleasant hamlet stood,
A mass of ashes slaked with blood.
The hand that for my father fought,
I honour, as his daughter ought:
But can I clasp it reeking red,
From peasants slaughter'd in their shed?
No! wildly while his virtues gleam,
They make his passions darker seem,
And flash along his spirit high,
Like lightning o'er the midnight sky.
While yet a child,-and children know,
Instinctive taught, the friend and foe,-
I shudder'd at his brow of gloom,
His shadowy plaid, and sable plume;
A maiden grown, I ill could bear
His haughty mien and lordly air;
But, if thou join'st a suitor's claim,
In serious mood, to Roderick's name,
I thrill with anguish! or, if e'er
A Douglas knew the word, with fear.
To change such odious theme were best,—
What think'st thou of our stranger guest?»-

XV.

« What think I of him?-woe the while
That brought such wanderer to our isle!
Thy father's battle-brand, of yore
For Tineman forged by fairy lore, (9)
What time he leagued, no longer foes,
His Border spears with Hotspur's bows,
Did, self-unscabbarded, foreshow
The footstep of a secret foe. (10)
If courtly spy had harbour'd here,
What may we for the Douglas fear?
What for this island, deem'd of old
Clan-Alpine's last and surest hold?
If neither spy nor foe, I pray,
What yet may jealous Roderick say?
-Nay, wave not thy disdainful head!
Bethink thee of the discord dread
That kindled when at Beltane game
Thou ledst the dance with Malcolm Græme;
Still, though thy sire the peace renew'd,
Smoulders in Roderick's breast the feud;
Beware!-But hark, what sounds are these?
My dull ears catch no faltering breeze,
No weeping birch, nor aspens wake,
Nor breath is dimpling in the lake,
Still is the canna's' hoary beard,
Yet, by my minstrei faith, I heard-
And hark again! some pipe of war
Sends the bold pibroch from afar.»—

XVI.

Far up the lengthen'd lake were spied
Four darkening specks upon the tide,
That, slow enlarging on the view,
Four mann'd and masted barges grew,
And, bearing downwards from Glengyle,
Steer'd full upon the lonely isle;

1 Cotton-grass.

The point of Brianchoil they pass'd,
And to the windward as they cast,
Against the sun they gave to shine
The bold Sir Roderick's banner'd pine.
Nearer and nearer as they bear,
Spears, pikes, and axes flash in air.
Now might you see the tartans brave,
And plaids and plumage dance and wave;
Now see the bonnets sink and rise,
As his tough oar the rower plies:
See, flashing at each sturdy stroke,
The wave ascending into smoke;
See the proud pipers on the bow,
And mark the gaudy streamers flow
From their loud chanters' down, and sweep
The furrow'd bosom of the deep,

As, rushing through the lake amain,
They plied the ancient Highland strain.

XVII.

Ever, as on they bore, more loud

And louder rung the pibroch proud. (11)
At first the sound, by distance tame,
Mellow'd along the waters came,
And, lingering long by cape and bay,
Wail'd every harsher note away;
Then bursting bolder on the ear,

The clan's shrill gathering they could hear;
Those shrilling sounds, that call the might
Of old Clan-Alpine to the fight.
Thick beat the rapid notes, as when
The mustering hundreds shake the glen,
And hurrying at the signal dread,

The batter'd earth returns their tread.
Then prelude light, of livelier tone,
Express'd their merry marching on,
Ere peal of closing battle rose,

With mingled outcry, shrieks, and blows;
And mimic din of stroke and ward,
As broadsword upon target jarr'd;
Aud groaning pause, ere yet again,
Condensed, the battle yell'd amain ;
The rapid charge, the rallying shout,
Retreat borne headlong into rout,
And bursts of triumph, to declare,
Clan-Alpine's conquest-all were there,
Nor ended thus the strain; but slow
Sunk in a moan prolong'd and low,
And changed the conquering clarion swell,
For wild lament o'er those that fell.

XVIII.

The war-pipes ceased; but lake and hill
Were busy with their echoes still;
And, when they slept, a vocal strain
Bade their hoarse chorus wake again,
While loud a hundred clansmen raise
Their voices in their chieftain's praise.
Each boatman, bending to his oar,
With measured sweep the burthen bore,
In such wild cadence, as the breeze
Makes through December's leafless trees.
The chorus first could Allan know,
«Roderich Vich Alpine, ho! ieroe!>>

The drone of the bag-pipe.

And near, and nearer, as they row'd, Distinct the martial ditty flow'd.

XIX.

BOAT SONG.

Hail to the chief who in triumph advances!
Honour'd and bless'd be the ever-green pine!
Long may the tree in his banner that glances
Flourish, the shelter and grace of our line!
Heaven send it happy dew,
Earth lend it sap anew,

Gaily to bourgeon, and broadly to grow ;
While every Highland glen
Sends our shout back agen,

Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!» (12)

Ours is no sapling, chance-sown by the fountain,
Blooming at Beltane, in winter to fade;

When the whirlwind has stripp'd every leaf on the mountain,

The more shall Clan-Alpine exult in her shade.

Moor'd in the rifted rock,

Proof to the tempest's shock,

Firmer he roots him the ruder it blow;

Menteith and Breadalbane then,

Echo his praise agen,

<< Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!»>

XX.

Proudly our pibroch has thrill'd in Glen Fruin,

And Bannochar's groans to our slogan replied; Glen Luss and Loch-dhu, they are smoking in ruin, And the best of Loch Lomond lie dead on her side. (13) Widow and Saxon maid

Long shall lament our raid,

Think of Clan-Alpine with fear and with woe: Lennox and Leven-glen

Shake when they hear agen,

<< Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!»>

Row, vassals, row, for the pride of the Highlands!
Stretch to your oars for the ever-green pine!
O! that the rose-bud that graces yon islands
Were wreathed in a garland around him to twine!
O that some seedling gem,
Worthy such noble stem,

Honour'd and bless'd in their shadow might grow!
Loud should Clan-Alpine then
Ring from her deepmost glen,

<< Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe !>>

XXI.

With all her joyful female band,
Had Lady Margaret sought the strand.
Loose on the breeze their tresses flew,
And high their snowy arms they threw;
As echoing back with shrill acclaim,
And chorus wild, the chieftain's name;
While, prompt to please, with mother's art,
The darling passion of his heart,
The dame call'd Ellen to the strand,
To greet her kinsman ere he land:

<< Come, loiterer, come! a Douglas thou,
And shun to wreathe a victor's brow!»
Reluctantly, and slow, the maid

Some feelings are to mortals given,
With less of earth in them than heaven :
And if there be a human tear
From passion's dross refined and clear,
A tear so limpid and so meek,

It would not stain an angel's cheek,
'T is that which pious fathers shed
Upon a duteous daughter's head!
And as the Douglas to his breast
His darling Ellen closely press'd,
Such holy drops her tresses steep'd,
Though 't was a hero's eye that weep'd.
Nor while on Ellen's faltering tongue
Her filial welcomes crowded hung,
Mark'd she, that fear (affection's proof)
Still held a graceful youth aloof;

No! not till Douglas named his name,
Although the youth was Malcolm Græme.

XXIII.

Allan, with wistful look the while,
'Mark'd Roderick landing on the isle ;
His master piteously he eyed,

Then gazed upon the chieftain's pride,
Then dash'd, with hasty hand, away
From his dimm'd eye the gathering spray;
And Douglas, as his hand he laid

On Malcolm's shoulder, kindly said,

<< Canst thou, young friend, no meaning spy
In my poor
follower's glistening eye?
I'll tell thee:-he recals the day,
When in my praise he led the lay
O'er the arch'd gate of Bothwell proud,
While many a minstrel answer'd loud,
When Percy's Norman pennon, won
In bloody field, before me shone,
And twice ten knights, the least a name
As mighty as yon chief may claim,
Gracing my pomp, behind me came.
Yet trust me, Malcolm, not so proud
Was I of all that marshall'd crowd,
Though the waned crescent own'd my might,
And in my train troop'd lord and knight,
Though Blantyre hymn'd her holiest lays,
And Bothwell's bards flung back my praise,
As when this old man's silent tear,
And this poor maid's affection dear,
A welcome give more kind and true,
Than aught my better fortunes knew,
Forgive, my friend, a father's boast;
Oh! it outbeggars all I lost!»-

XXIV.

Delightful praise!-like summer rose,
That brighter in the dew-drop glows,
The bashful maiden's cheek appear'd,
For Douglas spoke, and Malcolm heard.
The flush of shame-faced joy to hide,
The hounds, the hawk, her cares divide:
The loved caresses of the maid

The dogs with crouch and whimper paid;
And, at her whistle, on her hand
The falcon took his favourite stand,
Closed his dark wing, relax'd his eye,
Nor, though unhooded, sought to fly,
And, trust, while in such guise she stood,
Like fabled Goddess of the Wood,
That if a father's partial thought
O'er weigh'd her worth and beauty aught,
Well might the lover's judgment fail
To balance with a juster scale;
For with each secret glance he stole,
The fond enthusiast sent his soul.

XXV.

Of stature tall, and slender frame,
But firmly knit, was Malcolm Græme.
The belted plaid and tartan hose
Did ne'er more graceful limbs disclose;
His flaxen hair, of sunny hue,
Curl'd closely round his bonnet blue.
Train'd to the chase, his eagle eye
The ptarmigan in snow could spy;
Each pass, by mountain, lake, and heath,
He knew, through Lennox and Menteith;
Vain was the bound of dark-brown doe,
When Malcolm bent his sounding bow,
And scarce that doe, though wing'd with fear,
Outstripp'd in speed the mountaineer:
Right up Ben Lomond could he press,
And not a sob his toil confess.
His form accorded with a mind
Lively and ardent, frank and kind;
A blither heart, till Ellen came,
Did never love nor sorrow tame;
It danced as lightsome in his breast,
As play'd the feather on his crest.
Yet friends who nearest knew the youth,
His scorn of wrong, his zeal for truth,
And bards, who saw his features bold,
When kindled by the tales of old,
Said, were that youth to manhood grown,
Not long should Roderick Dhu's renown
Be foremost voiced by mountain fame,
But quail to that of Malcolm Græme.

Nor stray'd I safe; for, all around,
Hunters and horsemen scour'd the ground.
This youth, though still a royal ward,
Risk'd life and land to be my guard,

And through the passes of the wood
Guided my steps, not unpursued:
And Roderick shall his welcome make,
Despite old spleen, for Douglas' sake,
Then must he seek Strath-Endrick glen,
Nor peril aught for me agen.»—

XXVII.

Sir Roderick, who to meet them came,
Redden'd at sight of Malcolm Græme.
Yet, not in action, word, or eye,
Fail'd aught in hospitality.

In talk and sport they whiled away
The morning of that summer day;
But at high noon a courier light
Held secret parley with the knight,
Whose moody aspect soon declared
That evil were the news he heard.
Deep thought seem'd toiling in his head;
Yet was the evening banquet made,
Ere he assembled round the flame,
His mother, Douglas, and the Græme,
And Ellen, too; then cast around
His
eyes,
then fix'd them on the ground,
As studying phrase that might avail
Bèst to convey unpleasant tale.
Long with his dagger's hilt he play'd,
Then raised his haughty brow, and said:

XXVIII.

<< Short be my speech ;-nor time affords,
Nor
my plain temper, glozing words.
Kinsman and father,-if such name
Douglas vouchsafe to Roderick's claim;
Mine honour'd mother; Ellen-why,
My cousin, turn away thine eye?—
And Græme; in whom I hope to know
Full soon a noble friend or foe,
When age shall give thee thy command
And leading in thy native land,—
List all!-The king's vindictive pride
Boasts to have tamed the Border side, (14)
Where chiefs, with hound and hawk who came
To share their monarch's sylvan game,
Themselves in bloody toils were snared,
And when the banquet they prepared,
And wide their loyal portals flung,
O'er their own gateway struggling hung.
Loud cries their blood from Meggat's mead,
From Yarrow braes, and banks of Tweed,
Where the lone streams of Ettrick glide,
And from the silver Teviot's side;
The dales where martial clans did ride
Are now one sheep-walk waste and wide.
This tyrant of the Scottish throne,
So faithless and so ruthless known,
Now hither comes; his end the same,
The same pretext of sylvan game.
What grace for Highland chiefs judge ye,
By fate of Border chivalry. (15)
Yet more; amid Glenfinlas' green,
Douglas, thy stately form was seen.