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Suspended cliffs, with hideous sway, Seemed nodding o'er the cavern grey. From such a den the wolf had sprung, In such the wild-cat leaves her young; Yet Douglas and his daughter fair Songht for a space their safety there. Grey Superstition's whisper dread Debarred the spot to vulgar tread: For there, she said, did fays resort. And satyrs* hold their sylvan court, By moonlight tread their mystic maze, And blast the rash beholder's gaze.

XXVII.

Now eve, with western shadows long,
Floated on Katrine bright and strong,
When Roderick, with a chosen few,
Repassed the heights of Benvenue."
Above the Goblin Cave they go,
Through the wild pass of Beal-nam-Bo;
The prompt retainers speed before,
To launch the shallop from the shore,
For cross Loch-Katrine lies his way
To view the passes of Achray,
And place his clansmen in array.
Yet lags the Chief in musing mind,
Unwonted sight, his men behind.
A single page, to bear his sword,
Alone attended on his lord;

The rest their way through thickets break,
And soon await him by the lake.

It was a fair and gallant sight,

To view them from the neighbouring height,
By the low-levelled sunbeam's light;
For strength and stature from the clan
Each warrior was a chosen man,
As even afar might well be seen,
By their proud step and martial mien.
Their feathers dance, their tartans float,
Their targets gleam, as by the boat
A wild and warlike group they stand,
That well became such mountain strand.

XXVIII.

Their Chief, with step reluctant still
Was lingering on the craggy hill,
Hard by where turned apart the road
To Douglas's obscure abode.

It was but with that dawning morn
That Roderick Dhu had proudly sworn,
To drown his love in war's wild roar,
Nor think of Ellen Douglas more;
But he who stems a stream with sand,
And fefters flame with flaxen band,
Has yet a harder task to prove-
By firm resolve to conquer love!
Eve finds the Chief, like restless ghost,
Still hovering near his treasure lost:
For though his haughty heart deny
A parting meeting to his eye,
Still fondly strains his anxious ear,
The accents of her voice to hear,
And inly did he curse the breeze

That waked to sound the rustling trees.
But, hark! what mingles in the strain?—
It is the harp of Allan-bane,

That wakes its measures slow and high, Attuned to sacred minstrelsy.

What melting voice attends the strings? "Tis Ellen, or an angel, sings.

XXIX.

HYMN TO THE VIRGIN.

Ave Maria! maiden mild!
Listen to a maiden's prayer;
Thou canst hear though from the wild,
Thou canst save amid despair.

* The Urisk, or Highland satyr.-See Note.

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XXX. Died on the harp the closing hymnUnmoved in attitude and limb, As listening still, Clan-Alpine's lord Stood leaning on his heavy sword, Until the page, with humble sign, Twice pointed to the sun's decline. Then, while his plaid he round him cast, "It is the last time-'tis the last,"-He muttered thrice," the last time e'er That angel voice shall Roderick hear!"It was a goading thought-his stride Hied hastier down the mountain side; Sullen he flung him in the boat, And instant cross the lake it shot. They landed in that silvery bay, And eastward held their hasty way, Till with the latest beams of light, The band arrived on Lanrick height, Where mustered in the vale below, Clan-Alpine's men in martial show.

XXXI.

A various scene the clansmen made,
Some sate, some stood, some slowly strayed;
But most, with mantles folded round,
Were conched to rest upon the ground,
Scarce to be known by curious eye,
From the deep heather where they lie.
So well was matched the tartan screen
With heathbell dark and brackens green;
Unless where, here and there, a blade,
Or lance's point, a glimmer made,
Like glowworm twinkling through the shade.
But, when, advancing through the gloom,
They saw the Chieftain's eagle plume,
Their shout of welcome, shrill and wide,
Shook the steep mountain's steady side.
Thrice it arose, and lake and fell
Three times returned the martial yell.
It died upon Bochastle's plain,
And Silence claimed her evening reign.

CANTO FOURTH,

THE PROPHECY.

I.

"THE rose is fairest when 'tis budding new, And hope is brightest when it dawns from fears;

The rose is sweetest washed with morning dew,
And love is loveliest when embalmed in tears.
O wilding rose, whom fancy thus endears,
I bid your blossoms in my bonnet wave,
Emblem of hope and fove through future
years!"

The gallant bridegroom by her side
Beheld his prize with victor's pride,
And the glad mother in her ear
Was closely whispering word of cheer.

XXI.

Who meets them at the churchyard gate,
The messenger of fear and fate;
Haste in his hurried accent lies,
And grief is swimming in his eyes.
All dripping from the recent flood,
Panting and travel-soiled he stood,
The fatal sign of fire and sword
Held forth, and spoke the appointed word:
The muster-place is Lanrick mead.
Speed forth the signal! Norman, speed!"
And must he change so soon the hand,
Just linked to his by holy band,
For the fell Cross of blood and brand?
And must the day, so blithe that rose,
And promised rapture in the close,
Before its setting hour, divide

The bridegroom from the plighted bride?
O fatal doom!-it must! it must!
Clan-Alpine's cause, her Chieftain's trust,
Her summons dread, brooks no delay;
Stretch to the race-away! away!

XXII..

Yet slow he laid his plaid aside,
And, lingering, eved nis lovely bride,
Until he saw the starting tear,
Speak woe he might not stop to cheer:
Then, trusting not a second look,
In haste he speed him up the brook,
Nor backward glanced till on the heath
Where Lubnaig's lake supplies the Teith.
-What in the racer's bosom stirred?
The sickening pang of hope deferred,
And memory, w th a torturing train
Of all his morning visions vain.
Mingled with love's impatience, came
The manly thirst for martial fame;
The stormy joy of mountaineers,
Ere yet they rush upon the spears;
And zeal for clan and chieftain burning,
And hope, from well-fought field returning,
With war's red honours on his crest,
To clasp his Mary to his breast.
Stung by such thoughts, o'er bank and brae,
Like fire from flint he glanced away,
While high resolve, and feeling strong,
Burst into voluntary song.

XXIII.

SONG.

The heath this night must be my bed, The bracken* curtain for my head, My lullaby the warder's tread,

Far, far from love and thee, Mary; To-morrow eve, more stilly laid My couch may be my bloody plaid, My vesper song, thy wail, sweet maid! It will not waken me, Mary!

1 may not, dare not, fancy now The grief that clouds thy lovely brow, I dare not think upon thy vow,

And all it promised me, Mary. No fond regret must Norman know; When bursts Clan-Alpine on the foe, His heart must be like bended bow, His foot like arrow free, Mary. A time will come with feeling fraught! For, if I fall in battle fought, Thy hapless lover's dying thought

Shall be a thought on thee, Mary. And if returned from conquered foes, How blithely will the evening close, How sweet the linnet sing repose,

To my young bride and me, Mary!
*Bracken. Fern.

XXIV.

Not faster o'er thy heathery bracs,
Balquidder, speeds the midnight blaze,
Rushing, in conflagration strong,
Thy deep ravines and dells along,
Wrapping thy cliffs in purple glow,
And reddening the dark lakes below;
Nor faster speeds it, nor so far,
As o'er thy heaths the voice of war.
The signal roused to martial coil
The sullen margin of Loch-Voil,
Waked still Loch-Doine, and to the source
Alarmed, Balvaig, thy swampy course;
Thence southward turned its rapid road
Adown Strath Gartney's valley broad,
Till rose in arms each man might claim
A portion in Clan-Alpine's name:
From the grey sire, whose trembling hand
Could hardly buckle on his brand,
To the raw boy, whose shaft and bow
Were yet scarce terror to the crow.
Each valley, each sequestered glen,
Mustered its little horde of men,
That met as torrents from the height
In Highland dale their streams unite,
Still gathering, as they pour along,
A voice more loud, a tide more strong,
Till at the rendezvous they stood
By hundreds prompt for blows and blood;
Each trained to arins since life began,
Owning no tie but to his clan,

No oath, but by his chieftain's hand,
No law, but Roderick Dhu's command.

XXV.

That summer morn had Roderick Dhu
Surveyed the skirts of Benvenue,
And sent his scouts o'er hill and heath,
To view the frontiers of Menteith.
All backward came with news of truce;
Still lay each martial Græme and Bruce,
In Rednock courts no horsemen wait,
No banner waved on Cardross gate,
On Duchray's towers no beacon shone,
Nor scared the herons from Loch-Con;
All seemed at peace. Now, wot ye why
The chfeftain, with such anxious eye,
Ere to the muster he repair,
This western frontier scann'd with care
In Benvenue's most darksome cleft,
A fair, though cruel, pledge was left;
For Douglas, to his promise true,
That morning from the isle withdrew,
And in a deep sequestered dell
Had sought a low and lonely cell.
By many a bard, in Celtic tongue,
Has Coir-nan-Uriskin been sung;
A softer name the Saxons gave,
And called the grot the Goblin Cave.

XXVI.

It was a wild and strange retreat,
As e'er was trod by outlaw's feet;
The dell, upon the mountain's crest,
Yawned like a gash on warrior's breast;
Its trench had staid full many a rock,
Hurled by primæval earthquake shock
From Benvenue's grey summit wild,
And here, in random ruin piled.
They frowned incumbent o'er the spot,
And formed the rugged sylvan grot,
The oak and birch, with mingled shade,
At noontide there a twilight made,
Unless when short and sudden shone
Some straggling beam on cliff or stone,
With such a glimpse as prophet's eye
Gains on thy depth, Futurity.
No murmur waked the solemn still,
Save tinkling of a fountain rill:
But when the wind chafed with the lake,
A sullen sound would upward break,
With dashing hollow voice, that spoke
The incessant war of wave and rock.

Suspended cliffs, with hideous sway,
Seemed nodding o'er the cavern grey.
From such a den the wolf had sprung,
In such the wild-cat leaves her young;
Yet Douglas and his daughter fair
Sought for a space their safety there.
Grey Superstition's whisper dread
Debarred the spot to vulgar tread:
For there, she said, did fays resort.
And satyrs* hold their sylvan court,
By moonlight tread their mystic maze,
And blast the rash beholder's gaze.

XXVII.

Now eve, with western shadows long,
Floated on Katrine bright and strong,
When Roderick, with a chosen few,
Repassed the heights of Benvenue."
Above the Goblin Cave they go,
Through the wild pass of Beal-nam-Bo;
The prompt retainers speed before,
To launch the shallop from the shore,
For cross Loch-Katrine lies his way
To view the passes of Achray,
And place his clansmen in array.
Yet lags the Chief in musing mind,
Unwonted sight, his men behind.
A single page, to bear his sword,
Alone attended on his lord;

The rest their way through thickets break,
And soon await him by the lake.

It was a fair and gallant sight,

To view them from the neighbouring height,
By the low-levelled sunbeam's light;
For strength and stature from the clan
Each warrior was a chosen man,
As even afar might well be seen,
By their proud step and martial mien.
Their feathers dance, their tartans float,
Their targets gleam, as by the boat
A wild and warlike group they stand,
That well became such mountain strand.

XXVIII.

Their Chief, with step reluctant still
Was lingering on the craggy hill,
Hard by where turned apart the road
To Douglas's obscure abode.

It was but with that dawning morn
That Roderick Dhu had proudly sworn,
To drown his love in war's wild roar,
Nor think of Ellen Douglas more;
But he who stems a stream with sand,
And fefters flame with flaxen band,
Has yet a harder task to prove-
By firm resolve to conquer love!
Eve finds the Chief, like restless ghost,
Still hovering near his treasure lost:
For though his haughty heart deny
A parting meeting to his eye,
Still fondly strains his anxious ear,
The accents of her voice to hear,

And inly did he curse the breeze

That waked to sound the rustling trees. But, hark! what mingles in the strain ?It is the harp of Allan-bane,

That wakes its measures slow and high, Attuned to sacred minstrelsy.

What melting voice attends the strings? "Tis len, or an angel, sings.

XXIX.

HYMN TO THE VIRGIN.

Ave Maria! maiden mild!
Listen to a maiden's prayer;
Thou canst hear though from the wild,
Thou canst save amid despair.

* The Urisk, or Highland satyr.-See Note.

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Died on the harp the closing hymn-
Unmoved in attitude and limb,
As listening still, Clan-Alpine's lord
Stood leaning on his heavy sword,
Until the page, with humble sign,
Twice pointed to the sun's decline.
Then, while his plaid he round him cast,
"It is the last time-'tis the last,"-
He muttered thrice," the last time e'er
That angel voice shall Roderick hear!"--
It was a goading thought-his stride
Hied hastier down the mountain side;
Sullen he flung him in the boat,
And instant cross the lake it shot.
They landed in that silvery bay,
And eastward held their hasty way,
Till with the latest beams of light,
The band arrived on Lanrick height,
Where mustered in the vale below,
Clan-Alpine's men in martial show.

XXXI.

A various scene the clansmen made,
Some sate, some stood, some slowly strayed;
But most, with mantles folded round,
Were couched to rest upon the ground,
Scarce to be known by curious eye,
From the deep heather where they lic.
So well was matched the tartan screen
With heathbell dark and brackens green;
Unless where, here and there, a blade,
Or lance's point, a glimmer made,

Like glowworm twinkling through the shade.
But, when, advancing through the gloom,
They saw the Chieftain's eagle plume,
Their shout of welcome, shrill and wide,
Shook the steep mountain's steady side.
Thrice it arose, and lake and fell
Three times returned the martial yell.
It died upon Bochastle's plain,

And Silence claimed her evening reign.

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Thus spoke young Norman, heir of Armandave,

What time the sun arose on Vennachar's broad wave.

II.

Such fond conceit, half said, half sung,
Love prompted to the bridegroom's tongue.
All while he stripped the wild-rose spray,
His axe and bow beside him lay,

For on a pass 'twixt lake and wood,
A wakeful sentinel he stood.

Hark!--on the rock a footstep rung,
And instant to his arms he sprung.

"Stand, or thou diest !-What, Malise?-soon
Art thou returned from Braes of Doune.
By thy keen step and glance I know,
Thou bring'st us tidings of the foe."-
(For while the Fiery Cross hied on,
On distant scout had Malise gone.)

"Where sleeps the Chief?" the henchman said. "Apart, in yonder misty glade;

To his lone couch I'll be your guide."-
Then called a slumberer by his side.

And stirr'd him with his slackened bow-
"Up, up, Glentarkin! rouse thee, ho!
We seek the Chieftain; on the track
Keep eagle watch till I come back."

III.

Together up the pass they sped:
"What of the focman?" Norman said.
"Varying reports from near and far;
This certain,-that a band of war
Has for two days been ready boune,
At prompt cominand, to march from Doune;
King Jaines, the while, with princely powers,
Holds revelry in Stirling towers.

Soon will this dark and gathering cloud
Speak on our glens in thunder loud.
Inured to bide such bitter bout,
The warrior's plaid may bear it out;
But, Norman, how wilt thou provide
A shelter for thy bonny bride?"-
"What! know ye not that Roderick's care
To the lone isle hath caused repair
Each maid and matron of the clan,
And every child and aged man
Unfit for arms? and given this charge,
Nor skiff nor shallop, boat nor barge,
Upon these lakes shall float at large,
But all beside the islet moor,

That such dear pledge may rest secure?"

IV.

"Tis well advised-the Chieftain's plan
Bespeaks the father of his clan.
But wherefore sleeps Sir Roderick Dhu
Apart from all his followers true?"-
"It is, because last evening-tide
Brian an augury hath tried,

Of that dread kind which must not be
Unless in dread extremity,

The Taghairm call'd; by which, afar,
Our sires foresaw the events of war,
Duncraggan's milk-white bull they slew."

MALISE.

"Ah! well the gallant brute I knew,
The choicest of the prey we had,
When swept our merry men Gallanad.
His hide was snow, his horns were dark,
His red eye glowed like fiery spark;
So fierce, so tameless, and so fleet,
Sore did he cumber our retreat,
And kept our stoutest kernes in awe,
Even at the pass of Beal'maha,
But steep and flinty was the road,
And sharp the hurrying pikeman's goad,
And when we came to Dennan's Row,
A child might scatheless stroke his brow."

V. NORMAN.

"That bull was slain: his reeking hide
They stretched the cataract beside,
Whose waters their wide tumult toss
Adown the black and craggy boss
Of that huge cliff, whose ample verge
Tradition calls the Nero's Targe.
Couched on a shelve beneath its brink,
Close where the thundering torrents sink,
Rocking beneath their headlong sway,
And drizzled by the ceaseless spray,
Midst groan of rock, and roar of stream,
The wizard waits prophetic dream.
Nor distant rests the Chief:;-but hush;
See gliding slow through mist and bush,
The Hermit gains yon rock, and stands
To gaze upon our slumbering bands.
Seems he not, Malise, like a ghost,
That hovers o'er a slaughtered host?
Or raven on the blasted oak,

That watching, while the deer is broke,*
His morsel claims with sullen croak?"
"Peace! peace! to other than to me,
Thy words were evil augury;

But still I hold Sir Roderick's blade
Clan-Alpine's omen and her aid,

Not aught that, gleamed from heaven or hell.
Yon fiend-begotten monk can tell.
The Chieftain joins him, see-and now,
Together they descend the brow."

VI.

And, as they came, with Alpine's Lord
The Hermit Monk held solemn word:
"Roderick! it is a fearful strife,
For man endowed with mortal life,
Whose shroud of sentinel clay can still
Feel feverish pang and fainting chill,
Whose eye can stare in stony trance,
Whose hair can rouse like warrior's lance,-
'Tis hard for such to view, unfurl'd,
The curtain of the future world.
Yet, witness every quaking limb,
My sunken pulse, mine eyeballs dim,
My soul with harrowing anguish torn,
This for my Chieftain have I borne!
The shapes that sought my fearful couch,
An human tongue may ne'er avouch;
No mortal man.-save he who, bred
Between the living and the dead,
Is gifted beyond nature's law,-
Had e'er survived to say he saw.
At length the fateful answer came,
In characters of living flame!

Not spoke in word, nor blazed in scroll,
But borne and branded on my soul:-
WHICH SPILLS THE FOREMOST FOEMAN'S LIFE,
THAT PARTY CONQUERS IN THE STRIFE."

VII.

"Thanks, Brian, for thy zeal and care!
Good is thine augury, and fair.
Clan-Alpine ne'er in battle stood,
But first our broadswords tasted blood.
A surer victim still I know,

Self-offered to the auspicious blow:
A spy has sought my land this morn,-
No eve shall witness his return!
My followers guard each pass's mouth,
To east, to westward, and to south;
Red Murdoch, bribed to be his guide,
Has charge to lead his steps aside,
Till in deep path or dingle brown,
He light on those shall bring him down.
But see, who comes his news to show!
Malise! what tidings of the foe?"

* Quartered.-See Note.

VIII.

"At Doune, o'er many a spear and glaive, Two barons proud their banners wave.

I saw the Moray's silver star,

And marked the sable pale of Mar."
"By Alpine's soul, high tidings those!
I love to hear of worthy foes.

When move they on ?"-To-morrow's noon
Will see them here for battle boune."
"Then shall it see a meeting stern!-
But, for the place-say, couldst thou learn
Nought of the friendly clans of Earn?
Strengthened by them we well might bide
The battle on Benledi's side.

Thou couldst not?-well! Clan-Alpine's men
Shall man the Trosach's shaggy glen;
Within Loch-Katrine's gorge we'll fight,
All in our maids' and matrons' sight,
Each for his hearth and household fire,
Father for child, and son for sire,-
Lover for maid beloved!-but why-
Is it the breeze affects mine eye?
Or dost thou come, ill-omen'd tear!
A messenger of doubt or fear?
No! sooner may the Saxon glance
Unfix Benledi from his stance,
Than doubt or terror can pierce throngh
The unyielding heart of Roderick Dhu;
"Tis stubborn as his trusty targe.

Each to his post!-all know their charge."
The pibroch sounds, the bands advance,
The broadswords gleam, the banners dance,
Obedient to the Chieftain's glance.
I turn me from the martial roar,
And seek Coir-Uriskin once more.

IX.

Where is the Douglas?-he is gone; And Ellen sits on the grey stone Fast by the cave, and makes her moan; While vainly Allan's words of cheer Are poured on her unheeding ear. "He will return-Dear lady, trust! With joy return;-he will-he must. Well was it time to seek afar, Some refuge from impending war, When e'en Clan-Alpine's rugged swarm Are cow'd by the approaching storm, I saw their boats, with many a light, Floating the live-long yesternight, Shifting like flashes darted forth By the red streamers of the north; I marked at morn how close they ride, Thick moored by the lone islet's side, Like wild-ducks couching in the fen, When stoops the hawk upon the glen. Since this rude race dare not abide The peril on the mainland side, Shall not thy noble father's care Some safe retreat for thee prepare ?"

X.

ELLEN.

"No, Allan, no! Pretext so kind
My wakeful terrors could not blind.
When in such tender tone, yet grave,
Douglas a parting blessing gave,
The tear that glistened in his eye
Drowned not his purpose fixed and high.
My soul, though feminine and weak,
Can image his; e'en as the lake,
Itself disturbed by slightest stroke,
Reflects the invulnerable rock.
He hears reports of battle rife,

He deems himself the cause of strife.
I saw him redden, when the theme
Turned, Allan, on thine idle dream,
Of Malcom Græme in fetters bound,
Which I, thou said'st, about him wound.
Think'st thou he trow'd thine omen aught?
Oh, no! 'twas apprehensive thought

For the kind youth,-for Roderick too(Let me be just) that friend so true; In danger both and in our cause! Minstrel, the Douglas dare not pause. Why else that solemn warning given, 'If not on earth, we meet in heaven ?' Why else, to Cambus-kenneth's fane, If eve return him not again, Am I to hie and make me known? Alas! he goes to Scotland's throne, Buys his friend's safety with his own; He goes to do-what I had done, Had Douglas' daughter been his son!"

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XI.

Nay, lovely Ellen!-dearest, nay!
If aught should his return delay,
He only named yon holy fane
As fitting place to meet again.

Be sure he's safe; and for the Græme,-
Heaven's blessing on his gallant name
My visioned sight may yet prove true,
Nor bode of ill to him or you.
When did my gifted dream beguile?
Think of the stranger at the isle,
And think upon the harpings slow,
That presaged this approaching woe!
Sooth was my prophecy of fear;
Believe it when it augurs cheer.
Would we had left this dismal spot!
Ill luck still haunts a fairy grot.
Of such a wondrous tale I know-
Dear lady, change that look of woe!
My harp was wont thy grief to cheer."

ELLEN.

"Well, be it as thou wilt; I hear, But cannot stop the bursting tear." The Minstrel tried his simple art, But distant far was Ellen's heart.

XII.
BALLAD.

ALICE BRAND.

Merry it is in the good green wood,

When the mavis* and merlett are singing, When the deer sweeps by, and the hounds are

in cry,

And the hunters horn is ringing.

"O Alice Brand, my native land
Is lost for love of you;

And we must hold by wood and wold,
As outlaws wont to do.

"O Alice, 'twere all for thy locks so bright,
And 'twas all for thine eyes so blue,
That on the night of our luckless flight,
Thy brother bold I slew.

"Now must I teach to hew the beech,

The hand that held the glaive,

For leaves to spread our lowly bed,

And stakes to fence our cave.

"And for vest of pall, thy fingers small,

That wont on harp to stray,

A cloak must shear from the slaughtered deer,
To keep the cold away."

"O Richard! if my brother died,
"Twas but a fatal chance;
For darkling was the battle tried,
And fortune sped the lance.

"If pall and vair no more I wear,
Nor thou the crimson sheen,
As warm, we'll say, is the russet grey,
As gay the forest green.

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