"And, Richard, if our lot be hard,

And lost thy native land,

Still Alice has her own Richard, And he his Alice Brand."

XIII.

"Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good green wood, So blythe lady Alice is singing;

On the beech's pride, and the oak brown side, Lord Richard's axe is ringing.

Up spoke the moody Elfin king,

Who won'd within the hill,

Like wind in the porch of a ruined church,
His voice was ghostly shrill.

"Why sounds yon stroke on beech and oak, Our moonlight circle's screen?

Or who come here to chase the deer,
Beloved of our Elfin Queen?
Or who may dare on wold to wear
The fairie's fatal green?

"Up, Urgan, up! to yon mortal hie,
For thou wert christened man;
For cross or sign thou wilt not fly,
For muttered word or ban.

"Lay on him the curse of the withered heart, The curse of the sleepless eye:

Till he wish and pray that his life would part, Nor yet find leave to die."

XIV.

'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good green wood,
Though the birds have stilled their singing;
The evening blaze doth Alice raise,
And Richard is faggots bringing.
Up Urgan starts, that hideous dwarf,
Before Lord Richard stands,
And as he crossed and blessed himself,
"I fear not sign," quoth the grisly elf,
"That is made with bloody hands."
But out then spoke she, Alice Brand,
That woman void of fear,
"And if there's blood upon his hand,
"Tis but the blood of deer."-

"Now thou liest thou bold of mood!
It cleaves unto his hand,
The stain of thine own kindly blood,
The blood of Ethert Brand."-

Then forward stepp'd she, Alice Brand,
And made the holy sign,-

And if there's blood on Richard's hand,
A spotless hand is mine.

"And I conjure thee, Demon elf,

By Him whom demons fear,

To show us whence thou art thyself,
And what thy errand here."

XV.

"Tis merry, 'tis merry, in Fairy land, When fairy birds are singing,

When the court doth ride by their monarch's

side,

With bit and bridle ringing:

"And gaily shines the Fairy land-
But all is glistening show,

Like the idle gleam that December's beam
Can dart on ice and snow.

"And fading like that varied gleam,
Is our inconstant shape,

Who now like knight and lady seem,
And now like dwarf and ape.

"It was between the night and day,
When the Fairy King has power,

That I sank down in a sinful fray,

And, 'twixt night and death, was snatched away

To the joyless Elfin bower

"But wist I of a woman bold,

Who thrice my brow durst sign, I might regain my mortal mold As fair a form as thine."

She crossed him once-she crossed him twiceThat lady was so brave;

The fouler grew his goblin hue,

The darker grew the cave.

She crossed him thrice, that lady bold;

He rose beneath her hand

The fairest knight on Scottish mold,

Her brother, Ethart Brand!

Merry it is in good green wood,

When the mavis and merle are singing, But merrier were they in Dunfermline grey, When all the bells were ringing.

XVI.

Just as the minstrel sounds were staid,
A stranger climbed the steepy glade;
His martial step, his stately mien,
His hunting suit of Lincoln green,

His eagle glance, remembrance claims

'Tis Snowdoun's Knight, 'tis James Fitz-James. Ellen beheld as in a dream,

Then starting scarce suppressed a scream:

"O stranger, in such hour of fear,

What evil hap has brought thee here?" "An evil hap how can it be,

That bids me look again on thee?

By promise bound, my former guide
Met me betimes this morning tide,

And marshall'd, over bank and bourne,
The happy path of my return."

"The happy path!-what! said he nought
Of war, of battle to be fought,

Of guarded pass?" "No, by my faith!
Nor saw I aught could augur scathe."
"O haste thee, Allan, to the kern,
-Yonder his tartans I discern;
Learn thou his purpose, and conjure
That he will guide the stranger sure!
What prompted thee, unhappy man?
The meanest serf in Roderick's clan
Had not been bribed by love or fear,
Unknown to him to guide thee here.'

XVII.

"Sweet Ellen, dear my life must be,
Since it is worthy care from thee;
Yet life I hold but idle breath

When love or honour's weighed with death.
Then let me profit by my chance,
And speak my purpose bold at once.

I come to bear thee from a wild,

Where ne'er before such blossom smiled;

By this soft hand to lead thee far

From frantic scenes of feud and war.

Near Bochastle my horses wait;

They bear us soon to Stirling gate.
I'll place thee in a lovely bower,
I'll guard thee like a tender flower."
"O! hush, Sir Knight! 'twere female art
To say I do not read thy heart;
Too much before my selfish ear
Was idly soothed my praise to hear.
That fatal bait hath lured thee back,
In deathful hour, o'er dangerous track:
And how, O how, can I atone

The wreck my vanity brought on!
One way remains-I'll tell him all-
Yes! struggling bosom, forth it shall!
Thou, whose light folly bears the blame,
Buy thine own pardon with thy shame!
But first-my father is a man
Outlawed and exiled, under ban;
The price of blood is on his head,
With me 'twere infamy to wed.

Still would'st thou speak? then hear the truth!
Fitz-James, there is a noble youth-

If yet he is!-exposed for me
And mine to dread extremity-
Thou hast the secret of my heart;
Forgive, be generous, and depart."

XVIII.

Fitz-James knew every wily train
A lady's fickle heart to gain,
But here he knew and felt them vain.
There shot no glance from Ellen's eye
To give her steadfast speech the lie;
In maiden confidence she stood,
Though mantled in her cheek the blood,
And told her love with such a sigh
Of deep and hopeless agony,

As death had sealed her Malcom's doom,
And she sat sorrowing on his tomb.
Hope vanished from Fitz-James's eye,
But not with hope fled sympathy.
He proffered to attend her side,
As brother would a sister guide.

"O! little know'st thou Roderick's heart
Safer for both we go apart.

O haste thee, and from Allan learn,
If thou may'st trust yon wily kern."
With hand upon his forehead laid,
The conflict of his mind to shade,
A parting step or two he made;

Then, as some thought had crossed his brain,
He paused, and turned, and came again.

XIX.

"Hear, lady, yet a parting word!-
It chanced in fight that my poor sword
Preserved the life of Scotland's lord.
This ring the grateful monarch gave,
And bade, when I had boon to crave,
To bring it back, and boldly claim
The recompense that I would name.
Ellen, I am no courtly lord,

But who lives by lance and sword,
Whose castle is his helm and shield,
His lordship the embattled field.
What from a prince can I demand,
Who neither reck of state nor land?
Ellen, thy hand-the ring is thine;
Each guard and usher knows the sign.
Seek thou the King without delay;
This signet shall secure thy way;
And claim thy suit, whate'er it be,
As ransom of his pledge to me."
He placed the golden circlet on,

Paused-kissed her hand-and then was gone.
The aged Minstrel stood aghast,

So hastily Fitz-James shot past.

He joined his guide, and wending down
The Ridges of the mountain brown,
Across the stream they took their way,
That joins Loch-Katrine to Achray.

XX.

All in the Trosach's glen was still,
Noontide was sleeping on the hill:
Sudden his guide whooped loud and high-
"Murdoch! was that a signal cry?"
He stammered forth,-"1 shout to scare
Yon raven from his dainty fare."
He looked-he knew the raven's prey,
His own brave steed:-Ah! gallant grey!
For thee-for me perchance-'twere well
We ne'er had seen the Trosach's dell.
Murdoch, move first-but silently;
Whistle or whoop, and thou shalt die."
Jealous and sullen on they fared,
Each silent, each upon his guard.
XXI.

Now wound the path its dizzy ledge
Around precipice's edge,
When 1 a wasted female form,
Blighted by wrath of sun and storm,
In tattered weeds and wild array,
Stood on a cliff beside the way,

And glancing round her restless eye,
Upon the wood, the rock, the sky,
Seemed nought to mark, yet all to spy.
Her brow was wreathed with gaudy broom;
With gesture wild she waved a plume
Of feathers, which the eagles fling
To crag and cliff from dusky wing;
Such spoils her desperate step had sought,
Where scarce was footing for the goat.
The tartan plaid she first descried,
And shrieked, till all the rocks replied:
As loud she laughed when near they drew,
For then the lowland garb she knew;
And then her hands she wildly wrung,
And then she wept, and then she sung.
She sung!-the voice, in better time,
Perchance to harp or lute might chime;
And now, though strained and roughened, still
Rung wildly sweet to dale and hill.

XXII. SONG.

"They bid me sleep, they bid me pray.
They say my brain is warped and wrung-
I cannot sleep on Highland's brae,
I cannot pray in Highland tongue.
But were I now where Allan glides,
Or heard my native Devan's tides,
So sweetly would I rest and pray
That Heaven would close my wintry day!
"'Twas thus my hair they made me braid,
They bade me to the church repair;

It was my bridal morn, they said,

And my true love would meet me there. But woe betide the cruel guile,

That drowned in blood the morning smile! And woe betide the fairy dream!.

I only waked to sob and scream.'

XXIII.

"Who is this maid? what means her lay?
She hovers o'er the hollow way,
And flutters wide her mantle grey,
As the lone heron spreads his wing,
By twilight, o'er a haunted spring."
"Tis Blanch of Devan," Murdoch said,
"A crazed and captive lowland maid,
Ta'en on the morn she was a bride,
When Roderick forayed Devan-side.
The gay bridegroom resistance made,
And felt our Chief's unconquered blade.
I marvel she is now at large,

But oft she 'scapes from Maudlin's charge.
Hence, brainsick fool!" He raised his bow:
"Now, if thou strikest her but one blow,

I'll pitch thee from the cliff as far
As ever peasant pitched a bar."

"Thanks, champion, thanks!" the Maniac cried,

And pressed her to Fitz-James's side.
"See the grey pennons I prepare,

To seek my true-love through the air!
I will not lend that savage groom,
To break his fall, one downy plume!
No!-deep amid disjointed stones,
The wolves shall batten on his bones,
And then shall his detested plaid,
By bush and brier in mid air staid,
Wave forth a banner fair and free,
Meet signal for their revelry."

XXIV.

"Hush thee, poor maiden, and be still!" "O! thou look'st kindly, and I will. Mine eye has dried and wasted been, But still it loves the Lincoln green; And, though mine ear is all unstrung, Still, still it loves the lowland tongue. "For O my sweet William was forester true, He stole poor Blanche's heart away! His coat it was all of the greenwood hue, And so blithely he thrilled the lowland lay!"

It was not that I meant to tell..
But thou art wise, and guessest well."
Then, in a low and broken tone,
And hurried note, the song went on.
Still on the Clansman, fearfully,
She fixed her apprehensive eye;

Then turned it on the Knight, and then
Her look glanced wildly o'er the glen.

XXV.

"The toils are pitched, and the stakes are set, Ever sing merrily, merrily;

The bows they bend, and the knives they whet, Hunters live so cheerily.

"It was a stag, a stag of ten,* Bearing his branches sturdily; He came stately down the glen,

Ever singing hardily, hardily.

"It was there he met with a wounded doe, She was bleeding deathfully:

She warned him of the toils below,

O so faithfully, faithfully!

"He had an eye, and he could heed,
Ever singing warily, warily;
He had a foot, and he could speed-
Hunters watch so narrowly."

XXVI.

Fitz-James's mind was passion-tossed,
When Ellen's hints and fears were lost;
But Murdoch's shout suspicion wrought,
And Blanche's song conviction brought.
Not like a stag that spies the snare,
But lion of the hunt aware,

He waved at once his blade on high,
"Disclose thy treachery, or die!"
Forth at full speed the clansman flew,
But in his race the bow he drew.
The shaft just grazed Fitz-James's crest,
And thrilled in Blanche's faded breast.
Murdoch of Alpine! prove thy speed,
For ne'er had Alpine's son such need!
With heart of fire and foot of wind,
The fierce avenger is behind!
Fate judges of the rapid strife-
The forfeit death-the prize is life!
Thy kindred ambush lies before,

Close couched upon the hearthery moor;
Them couldst thou reach!-it may not be-
Thine ambushed kin thou ne'er shalt see.
The fiery Saxon gains on thee!
Resistless speeds the deadly thrust,
As lightning strikes the pine to dust;

With foot and hand Fitz-James must strain
Ere he can win his blade again.
Bent o'er the fall'n, with falcon eye,
He grimly smiled to see him die;
Then slower wended back his way,
Where the poor maiden bleeding lay.

XXVII.

She sate beneath the birchen tree,
Her elbow resting on her knee;
She had withdrawn the fatal shaft,
And gazed on it, and feebly laughed
Her wreath of broom and feathers gray,
Daggled with blood, beside her lay.

The Knight to stanch the life-stream tried,— "Stranger, it is vain!" she cried.

"This hour of death has given me more

Of reason's power than years before;

For, as these ebbing veins decay,

My frenzied visions fade away.
A helpless, injured wretch I die,
And something tells me in thine eye,
That thou wert mine avenger born.
Seest thou this tress?-O! still I've worn

Having ter branches on his antlers.

This little tress of yellow hair,
Through danger, frenzy, and despair!
It once was bright and clear as thine,
But blood and tears have dimmed its shine.
I will not tell thee when 'twas shred,
Nor from what guiltless victim's head-
My brain would turn!-but it shall wave
Like plumage on thy helmet brave,
Till sun and wind shall bleach the stain,
And thou wilt bring it me again.

I waver still!-O God! more bright
Let Reason beam her parting light!
O! by thy knighthood's honoured sign,
And for thy life preserved by mine,
When thou shalt see a darksome man,
Who boasts him Chief of Alpine's clan,
With tartan's broad and shadowy plume,
And hand of blood, and brow of gloom,
Be thy heart bold, thy weapon strong,
And wreak poor Blanche of Devan's wrong!
They watch for thee by pass and fell
Avoid the path. . O God!... farewell."

XXVIII.

A kindly heart had brave Fitz-James;
Fast poured his eye at pity's claims,
And now, with mingled grief and ire,
He saw the murdered maid expire.
"God in my need be my relief,

As I wreak this on yonder Chief!"
A lock from Blanche's tresses fair

He blended with her bridegroom's hair;
The mingled braid in blood he dyed,

And placed it on his bonnet side:

"By Him whose word is truth! I swear,

No other favour will I wear,

Till this sad token I imbrue

In the best blood of Roderick Dhu!

But hark! what means that yon faint halloo ? The chase is up,-but they shall know,

The stag at bay's a desperate foe."

Barred from the known but guarded way,
Through copse and cliffs Fitz-James must stray,
And oft must change his desperate track,
By stream and precipice turned back.
Heartless, fatigued, and faint, at length,
From lack of food and loss of strength,
He couched him in a thicket hoar,
And thought his toils and perils o'er:-
Of all my rash adventures past,
This frantic feat must prove the last!
Who e'er so mad but might have guess'd,
That all this highland hornet's nest
Would muster up in swarms so soon
As e'er they heard of bands at Doune?
Like bloodhounds now they search me out,
Hark to the whistle aud the shout!
If farther through the wilds I go,

I only fall upon the foe;

I'll couch me here till evening gray, Then darkling try my dangerous way."

XXIX.

The shades of eve come slowly down,
The woods are wrapped in deeper brown,
The owl awakens from her dell,

The fox is heard upon the fell;

Enough remains of glimmering light
To guide the wanderer's steps aright,

Yet not enough from far to show

His figure to the watchful foe.
With cautious step and ear awake,

He climbs the crag and threads the brake;

And not the summer solstice, there,

Temper'd the midnight mountain air,
But every breeze that swept the wold,
Benumbed his drenched limbs with cold.

In dread, in danger, and alone,

Famished and chilled, through ways unknown,
Tangled and steep, he journeyed on;
Till as a rock's huge point he turned,
A watchfire close before him burned.

XXX.

Beside its embers, red and clear, Basked, in his plaid, a mountaineer; And up he sprung with sword in hand,"Thy name and purpose! Saxon, stand!" "A stranger." "What dost thou require ?" "Rest and a guide, and food and fire. My life's beset, my path is lost,

The gale has chilled my limbs with frost." "Art thou a friend to Roderick?" "No." "Thou darest not call thyself a foe?" "I dare! to him and all the band He brings to aid his murderous hand." "Bold words! but though the beast of game The privilege of chase may claim; Though space and law the stag we lend, Ere hound we slip, or bow we bend, Who ever reck'd, where, how, or when, The prowling fox was trapped or slain? Thus treacherous scouts,-yet sure they lie, Who say thou camest a secret spy!"

"They do, by Heaven!-Come Roderick Dhu, And of his clan the boldest two,

And let me but till morning rest,

I write the falsehood on their crest."
"If by the blaze I mark aright,

Thou bear'st the belt and spur of Knight."
"Then by these tokens may'st thou know,
Each proud oppressor's mortal foe."
"Enough, enough; sit down and share
A soldier's couch, a soldier's fare.'

XXXI.

He gave him of his Highland cheer,
The hardened flesh of mountain deer;
Dry fuel on the fire he laid,
And bade the Saxon share his plaid.
He tended him like welcome guest,
Then thus his further speech addressed.
"Stranger, I am to Roderick Dhu
A clansman born, a kinsman true;
Each word against his honour spoke,
Demands of me avenging stroke;
Yet more,-upon thy fate, 'tis said,
A mighty augury is laid.

It rests with me to wind my horn,-
Thou art with numbers overborne;
It rests with me, here, brand to brand,
Worn as thou art, to bid thee stand:
But, not for clan nor kindred's cause,
Will I depart from honour's laws;
To assail a wearied man were shame,
And stranger is a holy name;
Guidance and rest, and food and fire,
In vain he never must require.

Then rest thee here till dawn of day;
Myself will guide thee on the way,

O'er stock and stone, through watch and ward,

Till past Clan-Alpine's outmost guard,

As far as Coilantogle's ford;

From thence thy warrant is thy sword."
"I take thy courtesy, by Heaven,
As freely as 'tis nobly given!"

"Well, rest thee; for the bittern's cry
Sings us the lake's wild lullaby.'
With that he shook the gathered heath,
And spread his plaid upon the wreath;
And the brave foeman, side by side,
Lay peaceful down like brothers tried,
And slept until the dawning beam
Purpled the mountain and the stream.

CANTO FIFTH.

THE COMBAT.

I.

FAIR as the earliest beam of eastern light,
When first, by the bewildered pilgrim spied,
It smiles upon the dreary brow of night,
And silvers o'er the torrent's foaming tide,

And lights the fearful path on mountain site;-
Fair as that beam, although the fairest far,
Giving to horror grace, to danger pride,
Shine martial Fath, and Courtesy's bright
star,

Through all the wreckful storms that cloud .he brow of war.

II.

That early beam, so fair and sheen,
Was twinkling through the hazel screen,
When, rousing at its glimmer red,
The warriors left their lowly bed,
Looked out upon the dappled sky,
Muttered their soldier matins by,
And then awaked their fire, to steal,
As short and rude, their soldier meal.
That o'er, the Gael* around him threw
His graceful plaid of varied hue,
And, true to promise, led the way,
By thicket green and mountain gray.
A wildering path! they winded now
Along the precipice's brow,
Commanding the rich scenes beneath,
The windings of the Forth and Teith,
And all the vales between that lie,
Till Stirling's turrets melt the sky;
Then, sunk in copse, their farthest glance
Gained not the length of horseman's lance.
'Twas oft so steep, the foot was fain
Assistance from the hand to gain;

So tangled oft, that, bursting through,
Each hawthorn shed her showers of dew,-
That diamond dew, so pure and clear,
It rival's all but Beauty's tear!

III.

At length they came where, stern and steep,
The hill sinks down upon the deep.
Here Vennachar in silver flows,
There, ridge on ridge, Benledi rose;
Ever the hollow path twined on,

Beneath steep bank and threatening stone;
An hundred men might hold the post
With hardihood against a host.
The rugged mountain's scanty cloak
Was dwarfish shrubs of birch and oak,
With shingles bare, and cliffs between,
And patches bright of bracken green,
And heather black, that waved so high,
It held the copse in rivalry.

But where the lake slept deep and still,
Dank osiers fringed the swamp and hill
And oft both path and hill were torn.
Where wintry torrent down had borne,
And heaped from the cumbered land
Its wreck of gravel, rocks, and sand.
So toilsome was the road to trace,
The guide, abating of his pace,

Led slowly through the pass's jaws,
And asked Fitz-James by what strange cause
He sought these wilds? traversed by few,
Without a pass from Roderick Dhu.

IV.

"Brave Gael, my pass, in danger tried, Hangs in my belt, and by my side; Yet, sooth to tell," the Saxon said, "I dreamed not now to claim its aid. When here, but three days since, I came, Bewildered in pursuant of game, All seemed as peaceful and as still As the mist slumbering on yon hill: Thy dangerous Chief was then afar, Nor soon expected back from war. Thus said, at least, my mountain guide, Though deep, perchance, the villain lied." "Yet why a second venture try?" "A warrior thou, and ask me why!

*The Scottish Highlander calls himself Gael, or Gaul, and terms the Lowlanders, Sassenach, or Saxons.

Moves our free course by such fixed cause,
As gives the poor mechanic laws?
Enough, I sought to drive away
The lazy hours of peaceful day;
Slight cause will then suffice to guide

A Knight's free footsteps far and wide-
A falcon flown, a greyhound strayed,
The merry glance of mountain maid;
Or, if a path be dangerous known,
The danger's self is sure alone."

V.

"Thy secret keep, I urge thee not;-
Yet, ere again ye sought this spot,'
Say, heard ye not of lowland war
Against Clan-Alpine raised by Mar?"
"No, by word-of bands prepared
To guard King James's sports I heard;
Nor doubt I aught, but, when they hear
This muster of the mountaineer,
Their pennons will abroad be flung,
Which else in Doune had peaceful hung."
"Free be they flung! for we were loth
Their silken folds should feast the moth.
Free be they flung! as free shall wave
Clan-Alpine's pine in banner brave.
But, Stranger, peaceful since you came,
Bewildered in the mountain game,
Whence the bold boast by which you show
Vich-Alpine's vowed and mortal foe?"
"Warrior, but yester-morn, I knew
Nought of thy Chieftain, Roderick Dhu.
Save as an outlaw'd desperate man,
The chief of a rebellious clan,
Who, in the Regent's court and sight,
With ruffian dagger stabbed a knight;
Yet this alone might from his part
Sever each true and loyal heart."

VI.

Wrathful at such arraignment foul,
Dark lowered the clansman's sable scowl.
A pace he paused, then sternly said,-
"And heard'st thou why he drew his blade?"
Heards't thou that shameful word and blow
Brought Roderick's vengeance on his foe ?"
What reck'd the Chieftain if he stood
On Highland-heath, or Holy-Rood?
Be rights such wrong where it is given,

If it were in the court of heaven.'
"Still was it outrage;-yet, 'tis true,
Not then claimed sovereignty his due;
While Albany, with feeble hand,
Held borrowed truncheon of command,
The young King, mew'd in Stirling tower,
Was stranger to respect and power.
But then, thy Chieftain's robber life!
Winning mean prey by causeless strife,
Wrenching from ruined lowland swain'
His herds and harvest reared in vain,
Methinks a soul, like thine, should scorn
The spoils from such foul foray borne."

VII.

The Gael beheld him grim the while,
And answered with disdainful smile,-
"Saxon, from yonder mountain high,
I marked thee send delighted eye,
Far to the south and east, where lay,
Extended in succession gay,

Deep waving fields and pastures green,
With gentle slopes and groves between:-
These fertile plains, that softened vale,
Were once the birthright of the Gael;
The stranger came with iron hann,
And from our fathers reft the land.
Where dwell we now? See, rudely swell
Crag over crag, fell over fell.
Ask we this savage hill we tread,
For fattened steer or household bread;
Ask we for flocks these shingles dry,
And well the mountain might reply,-

"To you, as to your sires of yore, Belong the target and claymore!

I give you shelter in my breast,

Your own good blades must win the rest."
Pent in this fortress of the North,
Think'st thou we will not sally forth,
To spoil the spoiler as we may,

And from the robber rend the prey?
Aye, by my soul!-While on yon plain
The Saxon rears one shock of grain;
While, of ten thousand herds, there strays
But one along yon river's maze,-

The Gael, of plain and river heir,
Shall, with strong hand, redeem his share.
Where live the mountain Chiefs who hold
That plundering Lowland field and fold
Is aught but retribution true?

Seek other cause 'gainst Roderick Dhu."

VIII.

Answered Fitz-James-" And, if I sought,
Think'st thou no other could be brought?
What deem ye of my path way-laid,
My life given o'er to ambuscade?"
"As of a meed to rashness due:
Hadst thou sent warning fair and true,-
I seek my hound, or falcon strayed,
I seek, good faith, a Highland maid,-
Free hadst thou been to come and go;
But secret path marks secret foe.
Nor yet, for this, even as a spy,

Hadst thou, unheard, been doomed to die,
Save to fulfil an augury."

Well, let it pass; nor will I know
Fresh cause of enmity avow,

To chafe thy mood and cloud thy brow.
Enough, I am by promise tied

To match me with this man of pride:
Twice have I sought Clan-Alpine's glen
In peace: but when I come agen,
I come with banner, brand, and bow,
As leader seeks his mortal foe.
For love-lorn swain, in lady's bower,
Ne'er panted for the appointed hour,
As I, until before me stand

This rebel Chieftain and his band."

IX.

"Have, then, thy wish!"-he whistled shrill,
And he was answered from the hill;
Wild as the scream of the curlieu,
From crag to crag the signal flew.
Instant, through copse and heath, arose
Bonnets and spears, and bended bows;

On right, on left, above, below,
Sprung up at once the lurking foe;
From shingles grey their lances start,
The bracken bush sends forth the dart,
The rushes and the willow wand
Are bristling into axe and brand,
And every tuft of broom gives life
To plaided warrior armed for strife.
That whistle garrison'd the glen
At once with full five hundred men,
As if the yawning hill to heaven
A subterraneous host had given.
Watching their leader's beck and wi!!,
All silent there they stood and still.
Like the loose crags whose threatening mass
Lay tottering o'er the hollow pass,

As if an infant's touch could urge

Their headlong passage down the verge,
With step and weapon forward flung,
Upon the mountain-side they hung.

The mountaineer cast glance of pride
Along Benledi's living side,

Then fixed his eye and sable brow

Full on Fitz-James-"How says't thou now?"
These are Clan-Alpine's warriors true.
And, Saxon,-I am Roderick Dhu!"

X.

Fitz-James was brave:-Though to his heart The life-blood thrilled with sudden start,