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Lies Duncan on his lowly bier,
And o'er him streams his widow's tear.
His stripling son stands mournful by,
His youngest weeps, but knows not why;
The village maids and matrons round
The dismal coronach' (10) resound.

XVI.

CORONACII.

He is gone on the mountain,

He is lost to the forest,
Like a summer-dried fountain,

When our need was the sorest.
The font, re-appearing,

From the rain-drops shall borrow, But to us comes no cheering,

To Duncan no morrow!

Back to her open'd arins he flew,
Press d on her lips a fond adieu-
« Alas !» she sohbd, -« and yet begone,
And speed thee forth like Duncan's son!»-
One look he cast upon the bier,
Dashi'd from his eye the gathering tear,
Breathed deep, to clear his labouring breast,
And toss'd aloft his bonnet crest,
Then, like the high-bred colt, wlien, freed,
First he

essays

his fire and speed, lle vanishd, and o'er moor and moss Sped forward with the fiery cross. Suspended was the widow's tear, While yet his footsteps she could hear; And when she mark'd the henchman's eye Wet with unwonted sympathy, « Kinsman,» she said, « his race is run, That should have sped thine errand on; The oak has fallen,- the sapling bough Is all Dancraygan's shelter now. Yet trust I well, his duty done, The orphan's God will guard my son.And you, in many a danger true, At Duncan's hest your blades that drew, To arms, and guard that orphan's head! Let babes and women wail the dead.»Then weapon-clang, and martial call, Resounded through the funeral hall, While from the walls the attendant band Snatch'd sword and targe, with hurried hand; And short and flitting energy Glanced from the mourner's sunken eye, As if the sounds, to warrior dear, Might rouse her Duncan from his bier. But faded soon that borrow'd force; Grief claim'd his right, and tears their course.

The hand of the

rea per Takes the ears that are hoary, But the voice of the weeper

Wails manhood in glory; The autumn winds rushing

Waft the leaves that are searest, But our flower was in flushing,

When blighting was nearest.

Fleet foot on the correi,"

Sage counsel in cumber, Red hand in the foray,

How sound is thy slumber! Like the dew on the mountain,

Like the foam on the river, Like the bubble on the fountain,

Thou art goue, and for ever!

XVII. See Stumah, 3 who, the bier beside, His master's corpse with wonder eyed, Poor Stumal! whom his least halloo Could send like lightning o'er the dew, Bristles his crest, and points his cars, As if some stranger step he hears. "T is not a mourner's muftled tread, Who comes to sorrow o'er the dead, But headlong haste, or deadly fear, Urge the precipitate career. All stand aghast:--unheeding all, The henchman bursts into the hall; Before the dead man's bier he stood, Held forth the cross besmeard with blood; « The muster-place is Lanrick mead; Speed forth the signal ! clansmen, speed!»

XIX. Benledi saw the cross of fire, It glanced like lightning up Strath-Ire. () O'er dale and hill the summons flew, Nor rest nor pause young Angus knew; The tear that gather'd in his eye, He left the mountain-brceze to dry; Until, where Teith's young waters roll, Betwixt him and a wooded knoll, That graced the sable strath with green, The chapel of Saint Bride was seen. Swoln was the stream, remote the bridge, But Angus paused not on the edge; Though the dark waves danced dizzily, Though reeld his sympathetic eye, Ile dash'd amid thie torrent's roar; His right hand high the crosslet bore, Ilis left the pole-axe grasp'd, to guide And stay his footing in the tide. He stumbled cwice--the foam splashid high, With hoarser swell the stream raced by; And had he fallen,--forever there, Farewell Duncraggan's orphan heir! But still, as if in parting life, Firmer he grasp'd the cross of strife, Until the opposing bank he gain'd, And up the chapel path-way sirain'd.

XVIII.
Ingus, the heir of Duncan's line,
Sprung forth and seized the fatal sign.
In haste the stripling to his side
His father's dirk and broadsword tied;
But when he saw his mother's eye

Watch him in speechless agony, Funeral-song. See Note. · Or corri— The bollow side of the hill, whero game usually lios. Faithful-The name of a dog.

XX.

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 glaneed away,
While high resolve, and feeling strong,
Burst into voluntary song.

XXIII.

SONG.

A blithesome rout, that morning tide, Had sought the chapel of Saint Bride. Her troth Tombea's Mary gave To Norman, heir of Armandave, And, issuing from the Gothic arch, The bridal now resumed their march. In rude, but glad procession, came Bonnetted sire and coif-clad dame; And plaided youth, with jest and jeer, Which snooded maiden would not hcar; And children, that, unwitting why, Lent the gay shout their shrilly cry; And minstrels, that in measures vied Before the young and bonny bride, Whose downcast eye and chcek disclose The tear and blush of morning rose. With virgin step, and bashful hand, She held the kerchiefs snowy band; 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.

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!

I 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!

XXI. Who meets them at the church-yard 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-soil'd he stood, The fatal sign of fire and sword Held forth, and spoke the appointed word; « Tlie muster-place is Lanrick mead; Speed forth the signal! Norman, speed!»--And must he change so soon the hand, Just link'd 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 musi! it must! Clan-Alpine's cause, her chieftain's trust, Her summons dread, brooks no delay; Stretch to the race-away! away!

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 return'd from conquer'd foes, How blithely will the evening close, How sweet the linnet sing repose,

To my young bride and me, Mary!

XXII.
Yet slow he laid his plaid aside,
And, lingering, eyed his 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 sped him up

the brook,
Nor backward glanced till on the heath,
Where Lubnail's Jake supplies the Teith.

- What in the racer's bosoin stirrd? The sickening pang of hope deferrd, And memory, with 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 chicftain burning, And hope, from well-fought field returning,

XXIV. Not faster o'er thy heathery braes, Balquidder, speeds the midnight blaze, (12) 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 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 Alarm’d, Balvaig, thy swampy course; Thence, southward turn d 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 gray sire, whose trembliog land Could hardly buckle on his brand, To the raw boy, whose shaft and bow Were yet scarce terror to the crow. Each valley, each sequester'd glen, Muster'd its little horde of men, That met as torrents from the height In Highlaod dales their streams unite, Still gathering, as they pour along, A voice more loud, a tide more strong,

Bracken --Fern.

Till at the rendezvous they stood
By hundreds, prompt for blows and blood;
Each train'd to arms since life began,
Owning no tie but to his clan,
No oath, but by bis chieftain's hand, (13)
No law, but Roderick Dhu's command.

XXV.
That summer morn had Roderick Dhu
Survey'd the skirts of Ben-venue,
And sent his scouts o'er bill and heath,
To view the frontiers of Menteith.
All backward came with news of truce;
Suill Jay each martial Grame and Bruce,
In Rednock courts no horsemen wait,
No banner waved on Cardross gate,
On Duchray's towers no beacon slione,
Nor scared the lierons from Loch Con;
All seem'd at peace.--Now, wot ye why
The chieftain, with such anxious eye,
Ere to the muster he repair,
This westeru frontier scann'd with care-
In Ben-venue'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 sequester'd dell
Vad sought a low and lonely cell.
By many a bard, in Celtic tongue,
Has Coir-nan-Uriskin (14) beeu sung;
A softer name tlie Saxons gave,
And call'd the grot the Goblin-cave.

XXVI. It was a wild and strange retreat, As c'er was trod by outlaw's feet. The dell, upon the mountain's crest, Yawn'd like a gash-on warrior's breast; Its trench had staid full many a rock, Hurl'd by primeval earılıquake shock From Ben-venue's gray summit wild; And here, in random ruin piled, They frown'd incumbent o'er the spot, And form’d the rugged sylvan grot. The oak and birch, with mingled shade, Al 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, withi hideous sway, Seem'd nodding o'er the cavern gray. Froin 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. Gray Superstition's whisper dread Debarr'd the spot to vulgar tread; For there, she said, did fays resort,

And satyrs' hold their sylvan court, "The Urisk, or Highland satyr. See Note.

By moon-light 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,
Repass'd the heights of Ben-venue.
Above the Goblin-cave they go,
Through the wind

pass of Beal-nam-Bo;(15)
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;(16)
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-leveld sun-beain'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 cracuy hill,
Hard by where turn'd 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 fetters 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 lo 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 secret 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.

CANTO IV.

THE PROPHECY.

Safe may we sleep beneath thy care,

Though banishid, outcast, and reviled-
Maiden! hear a maiden's prayer;
Mother, hear a suppliant child!

Ave Maria! Ave Maria! undefiled!

The flinty couch we now must share Shall seem with down of eider piled,

If thy protection hover there. The murky cavern's heavy air

Shall breathe of balm if thou hast smiled; Then, Maiden, hear a maiden's prayer, Mother, list a suppliant child!

Ave Maria! Ave Maria! stainless styled !

Foul demons of the earth and air, From this their wonted haunt exiled,

Shall flee before thy presence fair. We bow us to thy lot of care,

Beneath thy guidance reconciled; Hear for a maid a maiden's prayer, And for a father hear a child!

Ave Maria!

1. « The rose is fairest when 't is budding new,

And hope is brightest when it dawns from fears; The rose is sweetest wash'd with morning dew,

And love is loveliest when embalm'd in tears. O wilding rose, whom fancy thus endears,

I bid your blossoms in my bonnet wave, Emblem of hope and love through future years!»

Thus spoke young Norman, heir of Armandave, What time the sun arose on Vennachar's broad wave.

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II.
Such fond conceit, half said, half sung,
Love prompted to the bridegroom's longue.
All while he stripp'd the wild-rose spray,
His axe and bow beside him lay,
For on a pass 'twixt lake and wood,
A wakeful sentinel be stood.
Hark!-on the rock a footstep rung,
And instant to his arms he sprung.

Stand, or thou diest!- What, Malise!-soon
Art thou returu'd 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 bied on,
Ou 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 call'd a slumberer by his side,
And stirr'd him with his slackend bow-
«Up, up, Glentarkin! rousc thee, ho!
We seek the chieftain; on the track,
Keep eagle watch till I come back,»-

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XXX.
Died on the harp the closing liymn-
Unmoved in attitude and limb,
As lise'ning 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-'t is the last,»
lle mutter'd thrice, —« the last time e'er
That angel-voice shall Roderick bear!» —
It was a goading thought-his stride
Hied hastier down the mountain-side ;
Sullen he tlung 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 musterd, in the vale belo
Clan-Alpine's men in martial show.

XXXI.
A various scene the clansmen made,
Some sate, some stood, some slowly stray'd;
But most, with mantles folded round,
Were couch'd to rest upon the ground,
Scarce to be kuown by curious eye,
From the deep heather where they lie,
So well was match'd the tartan screen
With heath-bell dark and brackens green;
tuless where, here and there, a blade,
Or lance's point, a glimmer made,
Like glow-worm twinkling through the shade.
But when, advancing through the gloom,
They saw the clieftain's cagle plume,
Their shout of welcome, shrill and wide,
Shook the steep mountain's steady side.
Thrice it arose, and lake and fell
Three times returo'd the martial yell;
1: died upon Bochastle's plain,
Aud silence claim'd her evening reign.

III. Together up

the pass they sped: « What of the foeman ?» Norman said. « Varying reports from near and far; This certain,--that a band of war Jas for two days been ready boune, At prompt command, to march from Doune; King James, the while, with princely powers, Ilolds 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 his 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 ?»—

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