«Myself will on my sovereign wait, And raise in arms the men of Sleate, Whilst thou, renown'd where chiefs debate, Shalt sway their souls by councils sage, And awe them by thy locks of age.»-«And if my words in weight shall fail, This ponderous sword shall turn the scale.>>
« The scheme,» said Bruce, «< contents me well; Meantime, 't were best that Isabel,
For safety, with my bark and crew,
Again to friendly Erin drew.
There Edward, too, shall with her wend,
In need to cheer her and defend,
And muster up each scatter'd friend.»-
Here seem'd it as Lord Ronald's ear
Would other counsel gladlier hear;
But, all achieved as soon as plann'd,
Both barks, in secret arm'd and mann'd,
From out the haven bore;
On different voyage forth they ply,
This for the coast of winged Skye,
And that for Erin's shore.
With Bruce and Ronald bides the tale.
To favouring winds they gave the sail,
Till Mull's dark headlands scarce they knew,
And Ardnamurchan's hills were blue.
But then the squalls blew close and hard,
And, fain to strike the galley's yard,
And take them to the oar,
With these rude seas, in weary plight,
They strove the livelong day and night,
Nor till the dawning had a sight
Of Skye's romantic shore.
Where Coolin stoops him to the west,
They saw upon his shiver'd crest
The sun's arising gleam;
But such the labour and delay,
Ere they were moor'd in Scavigh bay
(For calmer heaven compell'd to stay),
He shot a western beam.
Then Ronald said, « If true mine eye,
These are the savage wilds that lie
North of Strathnardill and Dunskye; (3)
No human foot comes here,
And, since these adverse breezes blow,
If my good liege love hunter's bow,
What hinders that on land we go,
And strike a mountain deer?
Allan, my page, shall with us wend,
A bow full deftly can he bend,
And, if we meet a herd, may send
A shaft shall mend our cheer.»> -
Then each took bow and bolts in hand,
Their row-boat launch'd and leapt to land,
And left their skiff and train,
Where a wild stream, with headlong shock,
Came brawling down its bed of rock,
To mingle with the main.
Awhile their route they silent made,
As men who stalk for mountain-deer,
Till the good Bruce to Ronald said,
<< St Mary! what a scene is here!
I've traversed many a mountain-strand,
Abroad and in my native land,
And it has been my lot to tread
Where safety more than pleasure led;
Thus, many a waste I've wander'd o'er,
Clombe many a crag, cross'd many a moor,
But, by my halidome,
A scene so rude, so wild as this,
Yet so sublime in barrenness,
Ne'er did my wandering footsteps press,
Where'er I happ'd to roam.»--
No marvel thus the monarch spake;
For rarely human eye has known
A scene so stern as that dread lake,
With its dark ledge of barren stone.
Seems that primeval earthquake's sway
Hath rent a strange and shatter'd way
Through the rude bosom of the hill,
And that each naked precipice,
Sable ravine, and dark abyss,
Tells of the outrage still.
The wildest glen but this can show
Some touch of nature's genial glow;
On high Benmore green mosses grow,
And heath-bells bud in deep Glencoe,
And copse on Cruchan-Ben;
But here,-above, around, below,
On mountain or in glen,
Nor tree, nor shrub, nor plant, nor flower,
Nor aught of vegetative power,
The weary eye may ken.
For all is rocks at random thrown,
Black waves, bare crags, and banks of stone,
As if were here denied
The summer sun, the spring's sweet dew,
That clothe with many a varied hue
The bleakest mountain-side.
And wilder, forward as they wound,
Were the proud cliffs and lake profound:
Huge terraces of granite black
Afforded rude and cumber'd track;
For from the mountain hoar,
Hurl'd headlong in some night of fear,
When yell'd the wolf and fled the deer,
Loose crags had toppled o'er;
And some, chance-poised and balanced, lay
So that a stripling arm might sway
A mass no host could raise,
In nature's rage at random thrown,
Yet trembling like the Druid's Stone
On its precarious base.
The evening mists, with ceaseless change,
Now clothed the mountains' lofty range,
Now left their foreheads bare,
And round the skirts their mantle furl'd,
Or on the sable waters curl'd,
Or, on the eddying breezes whirl'd,
Dispersed in middle air.
And oft, condensed, at once they lower, When, brief and fierce, the mountain shower
Pours like a torrent down,
And when return the sun's glad beams, Whiten'd with foam, a thousand streams Leap from the mountain's crown.
<< This lake,» said Bruce, « whose barriers drear Are precipices sharp and sheer, Yielding no track for goat or deer,
Save the black shelves we tread,
How term you its dark waves? and how,
Yon northern mountain's pathless brow,
And yonder peak of dread,
That to the evening sun uplifts
The grisly gulfs and slaty rifts,
Which seam its shiver'd head?»-
<< Coriskin call the dark lake's name,
Coolin the ridge, as bards proclaim,
From old Cuchullin, chief of fame.
But bards, familiar in our isles
Rather with nature's frowns than smiles,
Full oft their careless humours please
By sportive names for scenes like these.
I would old Torquil were to show
His maidens with their breasts of snow,
Or that my noble liege were nigh
To hear his nurse sing lullaby
(The Maids-tall cliffs with breakers white,
The Nurse-a torrent's roaring might),
Or that your eye could see the mood
Of Corrievrekin's whirlpool rude,
When dons the Hag her whiten'd hood-
"T is thus our Islesmen's fancy frames,
For scenes so stern, fantastic names.>>-
Answer'd the Bruce, « And musing mind
Might here a graver moral find.
These mighty cliffs, that heave on high
Their naked brows to middle sky,
Indifferent to the sun or snow,
Where nought can fade, and nought can blow,
May they not mark a monarch's fate,-
Raised high 'mid storms of strife and state,
Beyond life's lowlier pleasures placed,
His soul a rock, his heart a waste?
O'er hope and love and fear aloft
High rears his crowned head--But soft!
Look, underneath yon jutting crag,
Are hunters and a slaughter'd stag.
Who may they be? But late
you
said
No steps these desert regions tread!»
«So said I-and believed, in sooth,>>
Ronald replied, « I spoke the truth.
Yet now I spy, by yonder stone,
Five men- -they mark us, and come on;
And by their badge on bonnet borne,
I guess them of the land of Lorn,
Foes to my liege.»-« So let it be;
I've faced worse odds than five to three-
-But the poor page can little aid;
Then be our battle thus array'd,
If our free passage they contest;
Cope thou with two, I'll match the rest,>>
« Not so, my liege-for by my life,
This sword shall meet the treble strife;
My strength, my skill in arms, more small,
And less the loss should Ronald fall.
But islesmen soon to soldiers grow,
Allan has sword as well as bow;
And were my monarch's order given,
Two shafts should make our number even.»>
<< No! not to save my life!» he said;
Enough of blood rests on my head,
Too rashly spill'd-we soon shall know,
Whether they come as friend or foe.»>>
Nigh came the strangers, and more nigh;
Still less they pleased the monarch's eye.
Men were they all of evil mien,
Down-look'd, unwilling to be seen; (4)
They moved with half-resolved pace,
And bent on earth each gloomy face.
The foremost two were fair array'd,
With brogue and bonnet, trews and plaid,
And bore the arms of mountaineers,
Daggers and broadswords, bows and spears,
The three, that lagg'd small space behind,
Seem'd serfs of more degraded kind;
Goat-skins or deer-hides, o'er them cast,
Made a rude fence against the blast;
Their arms and feet and heads were bare,
Matted their beards, unshorn their hair;
For arms, the caitiffs bore in hand,
A club, an axe, a rusty brand.
Onward, still mute, they kept the track;
<< Tell who ye be, or else stand back,»
Said Bruce; «In deserts when they meet,
Men pass not as in peaceful street.>>
Still, at his stern command, they stood,
And proffer'd greeting brief and rude,
But acted courtesy so ill,
As seem'd of fear, and not of will.
<< Wanderers we are, as you may be;
Men hither driven by wind and sea,
Who, if you list to taste our cheer,
Will share with you this fallow deer.»
<< If from the sea, where lies your bark?»-
<< Ten fathom deep in ocean dark!
Wreck'd yesternight; but we are men,
Who little sense of peril ken.
The shades come down-the day is shut-
Will you go with us to our hut?»—
<< Our vessel waits us in the bay;
Thanks for your proffer- have good day.»>-
<< Was that your galley, then, which rode
Not far from shore when evening glow'd?»
<< It was.»>«< Then spare your needless pain,
There will she now be sought in vain.
We saw her from the mountain head,
When with St George's blazon red
A southern vessel bore in sight,
And yours raised sail, and took to flight.»>
<< Now, by the rood, unwelcome news!>> Thus with Lord Ronald communed Bruce;
« Nor rests there light enough to show
If this their tale be true or no.
The men seem bred of churlish kind,
Yet rugged brows have bosoms kind;
We will go with them-food and fire
And sheltering roof our wants require.
Sure guard 'gainst treachery will we keep,
And watch by turns our comrades' sleep.-
Good fellows, thanks; your guests we 'll be,
And well will pay the courtesy.
Come, lead us where your lodging lies,-
-Nay, soft! we mix not companies.-
Show us the path o'er crag and stone,
And we will follow you;-lead on.»>-
By chance of war our captive made;
He may be yours, if you should hold
That music has more charms than gold;
For, though from earliest childhood mute,
The lad can deftly touch the lute,
And on the rote and viol play,
And well can drive the time away,
For those who love such glee;
For me, the favouring breeze, when loud
It pipes upon the galley's shroud,
Makes blither melody.>>
<< Hath he, then, sense of spoken sound?»-
Ay; so his mother bade us know,
A crone in our late shipwreck drown'd,
And hence the silly stripling's woe.
More of the youth I cannot say,
Our captive but since yesterday;
When wind and weather wax'd so grim,
We little listed think of him.-
But why waste time in idle words?
Sit to
your cheer-unbelt your swords.»-
Sudden the captive turn'd his head,
And one quick glance to Ronald sped :
It was a keen and warning look,
And well the chief the signal took.
« Kind host," he said, «our needs require A separate board and separate fire;
For know, that on a pilgrimage
Wend I, my comrade, and this page.
And sworn to vigil and to fast,
Long as this hallow'd task shall last,
We never doff the plaid or sword,
Or feast us at a stranger's board;
And never share one common sleep,
But one must still his vigil keep.
Thus, for our separate use, good friend,
We'll hold this hut's remoter end.>>-
« A churlish vow,» the eldest said,
<< And hard, methinks, to be obey'd.
How say you, if, to wreak the scorn,
That
pays our kindness harsh return,
We should refuse to share our meal?»>-
-<< Then say we, that our swords are steel!
And our vow binds us not to fast,
Where gold or force may buy repast.»>-
Their host's dark brow grew keen and fell,
His teeth are clench'd, his features swell;
Yet sunk the felon's moody ire
Before Lord Ronald's glance of fire,
Nor could his craven courage brook
The monarch's calm and dauntless look.
With laugh constrain'd,-« Let every man
Follow the fashion of his clan!
Each to his separate quarters keep,
And feed or fast, or wake or sleep.>>
Their fire at separate distance burns,
By turns they eat, keep guard by turns;
For evil seem'd that old man's eye,
Dark and designing, fierce yet shy.
Still he avoided forward look,
But slow and circumspectly took
A circling, never-ceasing glance,
By doubt and cunning mark'd at once,
Which shot a mischief-boding ray,
From under eye-brows shagg'd and gray.
The younger, too, who seem'd his son,
Had that dark look the timid shun;
The half-clad serfs behind them sate,
And scowl'd a glare 'twixt fear and hate-
Till all, as darkness onward crept,
Couch'd down and seem'd to sleep, or slept..
Nor he, that boy, whose powerless tongue
Must trust his eyes to wail his wrong,
A longer watch of sorrow made,
But stretch'd his limbs to slumber laid.
Not in his dangerous host confides
The king, but wary watch provides.
Ronald keeps ward till midnight past,
Then wakes the king, young Allan last;
Thus rank'd, to give the youthful page
The rest required by tender age.
-What is Lord Ronald's wakeful thought,
To chase the languor toil had brought?-
(For deem not that he deign'd to throw
Much care upon such coward foe)--
He thinks of lovely Isabel,
When at her foeman's feet she fell,
Nor less when, placed in princely selle,
She glanced on him with favouring eyes,
At Woodstock when he won the prize.
Nor, fair in joy, in sorrow fair,
In pride of place as 'mid despair,
Must she alone engross his care.
His thoughts to his betrothed bride,
To Edith, turn-O how decide,
When here his love and heart are given,
And there his faith stands plight to Heaven!
No drowsy ward 't is his to keep,
For seldom lovers long for sleep.
Till sung his midnight hymn the owl,
Answer'd the dog-fox with his howl,
Then waked the king-at his request,
Lord Ronald stretch'd himself to rest.
What spell was good King Robert's say,
To drive the weary night away?
His was the patriot's burning thought,
Of freedom's battle bravely fought,
Of castles storm'd, of cities freed,
Of deep design and daring deed,
Of England's roses reft and torn,
And Scotland's cross in triumph worn,
Of rout and rally, war and truce,—
As heroes think, so thought the Bruce.
No marvel, 'mid such musings high,
Sleep shunn'd the monarch's thoughtful eye.
Now over Coolin's eastern head
The grayish light begins to spread,
The otter to his cavern drew,
And clamour'd shrill the wakening mew;
Then watch'd the page-to needful rest
The king resign'd his anxious breast.
To Allan's eyes was harder task,
The weary watch their safeties ask.
He trimm'd the fire, and gave to shine
With bickering light the splinter'd pine,
Then gazed awhile where, silent laid,
Their hosts were shrouded by the plaid.
But little fear waked in his mind,
For he was bred of martial kind,
And, if to manhood he arrive,
May match the boldest knight alive.
Then thought he of his mother's tower,
His little sisters' green-wood bower,
How there the Easter-gambols pass,
And of Dan Joseph's lengthen'd mass.
But still before his weary eye
In rays prolong'd the blazes die-
Again he roused him-on the lake
Look'd forth, where now the twilight flake
Of pale cold dawn began to wake.
On Coolin's cliffs the mist lay furl'd,
The morning breeze the lake had curl'd;
The short dark waves, heaved to the land,
With ceaseless plash kiss'd cliff or sand ;-
It was a slumb'rous sound-he turn'd
To tales at which his youth had burn'd,
Of pilgrim's path by demon cross'd,
Of sprightly elf or yelling ghost,
Of the wild witch's baneful cot,
And mermaid's alabaster grot,
Who bathes her limbs in sunless well
Deed in Strathaird's enchanted cell. (5)
Thither in fancy rapt he flies,
And on his sight the vaults arise;
That hut's dark walls he sees no more,
His foot is on the marble floor,
And o'er his head the dazzling spars
Gleam like a firmament of stars!
-Hark! hears he not the sea-nymph speak
Her anger in that thrilling shriek?—
No! all too late, with Allan's dream
Mingled the captive's warning scream.
As from the ground he strives to start,
A ruffian's dagger finds his heart!
Upwards he casts his dizzy eyes,-
Murmurs his master's name,-and dies!
Not so awoke the king! his hand
Snatch'd from the flame a knotted brand,
The nearest weapon of his wrath;
With this he cross'd the murderer's path,
And venged young Allan well!
The spatter'd brain and bubbling blood
Hiss'd on the half-extinguish'd wood,
The miscreant gasp'd and fell!
Nor rose in peace the Island Lord;
One caitiff died upon his sword,
And one beneath his grasp
lies prone,
In mortal grapple overthrown.
But while Lord Ronald's dagger drank
The life-blood from his panting flank,
The father-ruffian of the band
Behind him rears a coward hand!
-O for a moment's aid,
Till Bruce, who deals no double blow,
Dash to the earth another foe,
Above his comrade laid!
And it is gain'd-the captive sprung
On the raised arm, and closely clung,
And, ere he shook him loose,
The master felon press'd the ground,
And gasp'd beneath a mortal wound,
While o'er him stands the Bruce.
<< Miscreant! while lasts thy flitting spark,
Give me to know the purpose dark,
That arm'd thy hand with murderous knife,
Against offenceless stranger's life?»—
<< No stranger thou!» with accents fell,
Murmur'd the wretch, « I know thee well;
And know thee for the foeman sworn
Of my high chief, the mighty Lorn.»>-
Speak yet again, and speak the truth
For thy soul's sake!-from whence this youth?
His country, birth, and name declare,
And thus one evil deed repair.>>
Vex me no more!-my blood runs coldNo more I know than I have told. We found him in a bark we sought With different purpose-and I thought»Fate cut him short; in blood and broil, As he had lived, died Cormac Doil.
Then, resting on his bloody blade,
The valiant Bruce to Ronald said,
<< Now shame upon us both!-that boy
Lifts his mute face to heaven,
And clasps his hands, to testify
His gratitude to God on high,
For strange deliv'rance given.
His speechless gesture thanks hath paid,
Which our free tongues have left unsaid!»-
He raised the youth with kindly word,
But mark'd him shudder at the sword;
He cleansed it from its hue of death,
And plunged the weapon in its sheath.
« Alas, poor child! unfitting part
Fate door'd, when with so soft a heart,
And form so slight as thine,
She made thee first a pirate's slave,
Then, in his stead, a patron gave
Of wayward lot like mine;
A landless prince, whose wandering life
Is but one scene of blood and strife-
Yet scant of friends the Bruce shall be,
But he'll find resting-place for thee.-
Come, noble Ronald! o'er the dead
Enough thy generous grief is paid,
And well has Allan's fate been wroke;-
Come, wend we hence-the day has broke.
Seek we our bark-I trust the tale
Was false, that she had hoisted sail.»>
Yet ere they left that charnel-cell,
The Island Lord bade sad farewell
To Allan :-« Who shall tell this tale,>>
He said, «< in halls of Donagaile!
Oh, who his widow'd mother tell,
That, ere his bloom, her fairest fell!-
Rest thee, poor youth! and trust my care,
For mass and knell and funeral prayer;
While o'er those caitiffs, where they lie,
The wolf shall snarl, the raven cry! »>-
And now the eastern mountain's head
On the dark lake threw lustre red;
Bright gleams of gold and purple streak
Ravine and precipice and peak-
(So earthly power at distance shows;
Reveals his splendour, hides his woes.)
O'er sheets of granite, dark and broad,
Rent and unequal lay the road.
In sad discourse the warriors wind,
And the mute captive moves behind.
Sublime but sad delight thy soul hath known, Gazing on pathless glen and mountain high, Listing where from the cliffs the torrents thrown Mingle their echoes with the eagle's cry,
And with the sounding lake, and with the moaning sky.
Yes! 't was sublime, but sad.-The loneliness
Loaded thy heart, the desert tired thine eye;
And strange and awful fears began to press
Thy bosom with a stern solemnity.
Then hast thou wish'd some woodman's cottage nigh,
Something that show'd of life, though low and mean,
Glad sight, its curling wreath of smoke to spy,
Glad sound, its cock's blithe carol would have been, Or children whooping wild beneath the willows green. Such are the scenes, where savage grandeur wakes An awful thrill that softens into sighs; Such feelings rouse them by dim Rannoch's lakes, In dark Glencoe such gloomy raptures rise: Or, farther, where, beneath the northern skies, Chides wild Loch Eribol his caverns hoarBut, be the minstrel judge, they yield the prize Of desert dignity to that dread shore,
That sees grim Coolin rise, and hears Coriskin roar.
Through such wild scenes the champions pass'd, When bold halloo and bugle-blast
Upon the breeze came loud and fast.
<< There,» said the Bruce, « rung Edward's horn! What can have caused such brief return?
And see, brave Ronald,-see him dart
O'er stock and stone like hunted hart,
Precipitate, as is the use,
In war or sport, of Edward Bruce.
-He marks us, and his eager cry
Will tell his news ere he be nigh.>>
Loud Edward shouts, « What make
ye here,
Warring upon the mountain-deer,
When Scotland wants her king?
A bark from Lennox cross'd our track,
With her in speed I hurried back,
These joyful news to bring-
The Stuart stirs in Teviotdale,
And Douglas wakes his native vale;
Thy storm-toss'd fleet hath won its way
With little loss to Brodick-bay,
And Lennox, with a gallant band,
Waits but thy coming and command
To waft them o'er to Carrick strand.
There are blithe news! but mark the close!
Edward, the deadliest of our foes,
As with his host he northward pass'd,
Hath on the borders breathed his last.»
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