ページの画像
PDF
ePub

For while the dagger gleam'd on high,

Reel'd soul and sense, reel'd brain and eye.
Down came the blow; but in the heath
The erring blade found bloodless sheath.
The struggling foe may now unclasp
The fainting chief's relaxing grasp;
Unwounded from the dreadful close,
But breathless all, Fitz-James arose.

XVII.

He falter'd thanks to Heaven for life,
Redeem'd, unhoped, from desperate strife;
Next on his foe his look he cast,
Whose every gasp appear'd his last;
In Roderick's gore he dipp'd the braid,-
« Poor Blanche! thy wrongs are dearly paid:
Yet with thy foe must die, or live,
The praise that faith and valour give.»>-
With that he blew a bugle-note,
Undid the collar from his throat,
Unbonnetted, and by the wave
Sat down, his brow and hands to lave.
Then faint afar are heard the feet
Of rushing steeds in gallop fleet;
The sounds increase, and now are seen
Four mounted squires in Lincoln green;
Two who bear lance, and two who lead,
By loosen'd rein, a saddled steed;
Each onward held his headlong course,
And by Fitz-James rein'd up his horse,-
With wonder view'd the bloody spot-

[ocr errors][merged small][merged small]

«Stand Bayard, stand!»-the steed obey'd,
With arching neck and bended head,
And glancing eye, and quivering ear,
As if he foved his lord to hear.
No foot Fitz-James in stirrup staid,
No grasp upon the saddle laid,

But wreathed his left hand in the mane,
And lightly bounded from the plain,
Turn'd on the horse his armed heel,
And stirr'd his courage with the steel.
Bounded the fiery steed in air,
The rider sate erect and fair,
Then, like a bolt from steel cross-bow
Forth launch'd, along the plain they go.
They dash'd that rapid torrent through,
And up Cachonie's hill they flew ;
Still at the gallop prick'd the knight,
His merry-men follow'd as they might.
Along thy banks, swift Teith they ride,
And in the race they mock thy tide;

Torry and Lendrick now are past,
And Deanstown lies behind them cast;
They rise, the banner'd towers of Doune,
They sink in distant woodland soon;
Blair-Drummond sees the hoofs strike fire,
They sweep like breeze through Ochtertyre;
They mark just glance and disappear
The lofty brow of ancient Kier;
They bathe their coursers' sweltering sides,
Dark Forth! amid thy sluggish tides,
And on the opposing shore take ground,
With plash, with scramble, and with bound.
Right-hand they leave thy cliffs, Craig-Forth!
And soon the bulwark of the North,
Gray Stirling, with her towers and town,
Upon their fleet career look'd down.

XIX.

As up the flinty path they strain'd,
Sudden his steed the leader rein'd;
A signal to his squire he flung,
Who instant to his stirrup sprung:-
«Seest thou, De Vaux, yon woodsman gray,
Who townward holds the rocky way,

Of stature tall and poor array?

Mark'st thou the firm, yet active stride,

With which he scales the mountain-side?

Know'st thou from whence he comes, or whom?»

[ocr errors]

No, by imy word;-a burly groom

He seems, who in the field or chase

A baron's train would nobly grace.»>

« Out, out, De Vaux! can fear supply,
And jealousy, no sharper eye?
Afar, ere to the hill he drew,
That stately form and step I knew;
Like form in Scotland is not seen,
Treads not such step on Scottish green.
'Tis James of Douglas, by Saint Serle!
The uncle of the banish'd carl.
Away, away, to court, to show
The near approach of dreaded foe:
The king must stand upon his guard;
Douglas and he must meet prepared.»-
Then right-hand wheel'd their steeds, and strait
They won the castle's postern-gate.

XX.

The Douglas, who had bent his way
From Cambus-Kenneth's abbey gray,
Now, as he climb'd the rocky shelf,
Held sad communion with himself:-
<< Yes! all is true my fears could frame:
A prisoner lies the noble Græme,
And fiery Roderick soon will feel
The vengeance of the royal steel.
I, only I, can ward their fate,-
God grant the ransom come not late!
The abbess hath her promise given,
My child shall be the bride of Heaven;-
-Be pardon'd one repining tear!
For he, who gave her, knows how dear,
How excellent!--but that is by,

And now my business is-to die.

-Ye towers! within whose circuit dread

A Douglas by his sovereign bled,

[graphic]

And thou, O sad and fatal mound!
That oft hast heard the death-axe sound, (9)
As on the noblest of the land

Fell the stern headsman's bloody hand,-
The dungeon, block, and nameless tomb
Prepare,-for Douglas seeks his doom!
-But hark! what blithe and jolly peal
Makes the Franciscan steeple reel ?
And see! upon the crowded street,
In motley groups what masquers meet!
Banner and pageant, pipe and drum,
And merry morrice-dancers come.
I guess, by all this quaint array,

The burghers hold their sports to-day. (10)
James will be there;-he loves such show,
Where the good yeoman bends his bow,
And the tough wrestler foils his foe,
As well as where, in proud career,

The high-born tilter shivers spear.
I'll follow to the castle-park,

And play my prize;-King James shall mark,
If age has tamed these sinews stark,
Whose force so oft, in happier days,
His boyish wonder loved to praise.»>-

XXI.

The castle gates were open flung,

The quivering draw-bridge rock'd and rung,
And echoed loud the flinty street.
Beneath the coursers' clattering feet,
As slowly down the deep descent
Fair Scotland's king and nobles went,
While all along the crowded way
Was jubilee and loud huzza.
And ever James was bending low,
To his white jennet's saddle bow,
Doffing his cap to city dame,

Who smiled and blush'd for pride and shame.
And well the simperer might be vain,-
He chose the fairest of the train.
Gravely he greets each city sire,
Commends each pageant's quaint attire,
Gives to the dancers thanks aloud,
And smiles and nods upon the crowd,
Who rend the heavens with their acclaims,
« Long live the commons' king, King James!»>
Behind the king throng'd peer and knight,
And noble dame and damsel bright,
Whose fiery steeds ill brook'd the stay
Of the steep street and crowded way:
-But in the train you might discern
Dark louring brow and visage stern;
There nobles mourn'd their pride restrain'd,
And the mean burghers' joys disdain'd;
And chiefs, who, hostage for their clan,
Were each from home a banish'd man,
There thought upon their own gray tower,
Their waving woods, their feudal power,
And deem'd themselves a shameful part
Of pageant which they cursed in lieart.

XXII.

Now, in the castle-park, drew out
Their chequer'd bands the joyous rout.

An eminence on the north-east of the castle, where state criminals were esecuted. See Note.

[ocr errors]

There morricers, with bell at heel,
And blade in hand, their mazes wheel;
But chief, beside the butts, there stand
Bold Robin Hood (11) and all his band,-
Friar Tuck, with quarter-staff and cowl,
Old Scathelocke, with his surly scowl,
Maid Marion, fair as ivory bone,
Scarlet, and Mutch, and Little John;
Their bugles challenge all that will,
In archery to prove their skill.
The Douglas bent a bow of might,-
His first shaft center'd in the white,
And when in turn he shot again,
His second split the first in twain.
From the king's hand must Douglas take
A silver dart, the archer's stake;
Fondly he watch'd, with watery eye,
Some answering glance of sympathy,-
No kind emotion made reply!
Indifferent as to archer wight,

The monarch gave the arrow bright. (12)

XXIII.

Now, clear the ring! for, hand to hand,
The manly wrestlers take their stand.
Two o'er the rest superior rose,
And proud demanded mightier foes,
Nor call'd in vain; for Douglas came.
-For life is Hugh of Larbert lame;
Scarce better John of Alloa's fare,
Whom senseless home his comrades bear.
Prize of the wrestling match, the king
To Douglas gave a golden ring, (13)
While coldly glanced his eye of blue,
As frozen drop of wintry dew.
Douglas would speak, but in his breast
His struggling soul his words suppress'd:
Indignant then he turn'd him where
Their arms the brawny yeomen bare,
To hurl the massive bar in air.

When each his utmost strength had shown,

The Douglas rent an earth-fast stone
From its deep bed, then heaved it high,
And sent the fragment through the sky,
A rood beyond the farthest mark;-
And still in Stirling's royal park,
The gray-hair'd sires, who know the past,
To strangers point the Douglas-cast,
And moralize on the decay

Of Scottish strength in inodern day.

XXIV.

The vale with loud applauses rang,
The Ladies' Rock sent back the clang.
The king, with look unmoved, bestow'd
A purse well fill'd with pieces broad.
Indignant smiled the Douglas proud,
And threw the gold among the crowd,
Who now, with anxious wonder, scan,
And sharper glance, the dark gray man;
Till whispers rose among the throng,
That heart so free, and hand so strong,
Must to the Douglas' blood belong;
The old men mark'd, and shook the head,
To see his hair with silver spread,

22

And wink'd aside, and told each son

Of feats upon the English done,
Ere Douglas of the stalwart hand
Was exiled from his native land.
The women praised his stately form,
Though wreck'd by many a winter's storm;
The youth with awe and wonder saw
His strength surpassing nature's law.

Thus judged, as is their wont, the crowd,
Till murmur rose to clamours loud.
But not a glance from that proud ring
Of peers who circled round the king,
With Douglas held communion kind,
Or call'd the banish'd man to mind;
No, not from those who, at the chase,
Once held his side the honour'd place,
Begirt his board, and, in the field,
Found safety underneath his shield;
For he whom royal eyes disown,

When was his form to courtiers known?

XXV.

The monarch saw the gambols flag,
And bade let loose a gallant stag,.
Whose pride, the holiday to crown,
Two favourite greyhounds should pull down,
That venison free, and Bordeaux wine
Might serve the archery to dine.
But Lufra,-whom from Douglas' side
Nor bribe nor threat could ere divide,
The fleetest hound in all the north,-
Brave Lufra saw, and darted forth.
She left the royal hounds mid-way,
And, dashing on the antler'd prey,
Sunk her sharp muzzle in his flank,
And deep the flowing life-blood drank.
The king's stout huntsman saw the sport
By strange intruder broken short,
Came up, and, with his leash unbound,
In anger struck the noble hound.
-The Douglas had endured, that morn,
The king's cold look, the nobles' scorn,
And last, and worst to spirit proud,
Had borne the pity of the crowd;

But Lufra had been fondly bred

To share his board, to watch his bed,

And oft would Ellen Lufra's 'neck,

In maiden glee, with garlands deck;

They were such play-mates, that, with name
Of Lufra, Ellen's image came.

His stifled wrath is brimming high,
In darken'd brow and flashing eye;-
As waves before the bark divide,

The crowd gave way before his stride;
Needs but a buffet and no more,
The
lies senseless in his gore.
groom
Such blow no other hand could deal,
Though gauntleted in glove of steel.

XXVI.

Then clamour'd loud the royal train,
And brandish'd swords and staves amain.
But stern the baron's warning-« Back !
Back, on your lives, ye menial pack!
Beware the Douglas !-Yes, behold,
King James! the Douglas, doom'd of old,

And vainly sought for near and far,

A victim to atone the war,

A willing victim now attends,

Nor craves thy grace but for his friends.»>« Thus is my clemency repaid? Presumptuous lord!» the monarch said;

« Of thy mis-proud ambitious clan,
Thou, James of Bothwell, wert the man,
The only man in whom a foe
My woman mercy would not know:
But shall a monarch's presence brook
Injurious blow, and haughty look ?—
What hol the captain of our guard!
Give the offender fitting ward.-
Break off the sports !»-for tumult rose,
And yeomen 'gan to bend their bows,—
«Break off the sports!» he said, and frown'd,
« And bid our horsemen clear the ground.»——

XXVII.

Then uproar wild and misarray

Marr'd the fair form of festal day.
The horsemen prick'd among the crowd,
Repell'd by threats and insult loud;
To earth are borne the old and weak,
The timorous fly, the women shriek;
With flint, with shaft, with staff, with bar,
The hardier urge tumultuous war.
At once round Douglas darkly sweep
The royal spears in circle deep,
And slowly scale the path-way steep;
While on the rear in thunder pour
The rabble with disorder'd roar.
With grief the noble Douglas saw
The commons rise against the law,
And to the leading soldier said,-
<< Sir John of Hyndford! 't was my
blade
That knighthood on thy shoulder laid;
For that good deed permit me then
A word with these misguided men.-

XXVIII.

« Hear, gentle friends! ere yet for me
Ye break the bands of fealty.

My life, my honour, and my cause,
I tender free to Scotland's laws.
Are these so weak as must require
The aid of your misguided ire?
Or, if I suffer causeless wrong,
Is then my selfish rage so strong,
My sense of public weal so low,
That, for mean vengeance on a foe,
Those chords of love I should unbind
Which knit my country and my kind?
Oh no! believe, in yonder tower

It will not soothe my captive hour,

To know those spears our foes should dread,

For me in kindred gore are red;

To know, in fruitless brawl begun

For me, that mother wails her son;
For me, that widow's mate expires;
For me, that orphans weep their sires;
That patriots mourn insulted laws,
And curse the Douglas for the cause.
Oh! let your patience ward such ill,
And keep your right to love me still!»-

XXIX.

The crowd's wild fury sunk again
In ears, as tempests melt in rain.
With lifted hands and eyes, they pray'd
For blessings on his generous head,
Who for his country felt alone,
And prized her blood beyond his own.
Old men, upon the verge of life,
Bless'd him who stay'd the civil strife;
And mothers held their babes on high,
The self-devoted chief to spy,
Triumphant over wrong and ire,
To whom the prattlers owed a sire:
Even the rough soldier's heart was moved;
As if behind some bier beloved,

[ocr errors]

With trailing arms and drooping head,
The Douglas up the hill he led,
And at the castle's battled verge,
With sighs resign'd his honour'd charge.
XXX.

The offended monarch rode apart,
With bitter thought and swelling heart,
And would not now vouchsafe again
Through Stirling's streets to lead his train.
«O Lennox, who would wish to rule
This changeling crowd, this common fool?
Hearst thou,»> he said, « the loud acclaim,
With which they shout the Douglas name?
With like acclaim the vulgar throat
Strain'd for King James their morning note;
With like acclaim they hail'd the day
When first I broke the Douglassway;
And like acclaim would Douglas greet,
If he could hurl me from my seat.
Who o'er the herd would wish to reign,
Fantastic, fickle, fierce, and vain?
Vain as the leaf upon the stream,
And fickle as a changeful dream;
Fantastic as a woman's mood,
And fierce as frenzy's fever'd blood.
Thou many-headed monster-thing,
Oh! who would wish to be thy king?—

XXXI.

<< But soft! what messenger of speed Spurs hitherward his panting steed?

I guess his cognizance afar

What from our cousin, John of Mar?»

" He prays, my liege, your sports keep bound
Within the safe and guarded ground:
For some foul purpose yet unknown,—
Most sure for evil to the throne,-
The outlaw'd chieftain, Roderick Dhu,
Has summon'd his rebellious crew;
Tis said, in James of Bothwell's aid
These loose banditti stand array'd.
The Earl of Mar, this morn, from Doune,
To break their muster march'd, and soon
Your grace will hear of battle fought;
But earnestly the earl besought,
Till for such danger he provide,
With scanty train you will not ride. »>—
XXXII.

« Thou warn'st me I have done amiss,-
I should have earlier look'd to this:

way;

I lost it in this bustling day.
-Retrace with speed thy former
Spare not for spoiling of thy steed,
The best of mine shall be thy meed.
Say to our faithful Lord of Mar,
We do forbid the intended war;
Roderick, this morn, in single fight,
Was made our prisoner by a knight;
And Douglas hath himself and cause
Submitted to our kingdom's laws.
The tidings of their leaders lost
Will soon dissolve the mountain host,
Nor would we that the vulgar feel,
For their chiefs' crimes, avenging steel.
Bear Mar our message, Braco; fly!»-
He turn'd his steed,—« My liege, I hie,—
Yet, ere I cross this lily lawn,

I fear the broadswords will be drawn.»-
The turf the flying courser spurn'd,
And to his towers the king return'd.

[merged small][ocr errors]

Ill with King James's mood that day,
Suited gay feast and minstrel lay;
Soon were dismiss'd the courtly throng,
And soon cut short the festal song.
Nor less upon the sadden'd town
The evening sunk in sorrow down,
The burghers spoke of civil jar,
Of rumour'd feuds and mountain war,
Of Moray, Mar, and Roderick Dhu,
All up in arms:-the Douglas too,
They mourn'd him pent within the hold,

<< Where stout Earl William was of old,» 1-
And there his word the speaker staid,
And finger on his lip he laid,

Or pointed to his dagger blade.
But jaded horsemen, from the west,
At evening to the castle press'd;
And busy talkers said they bore
Tidings of fight on Katrine's shore;
At noon the deadly fray begun,
And lasted till the set of sun.
Thus giddy rumour shook the town,
Till closed the night her pennons brown.

[merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small]

What various scenes, and, O! what scenes of woe,
Are witness'd by that red and struggling beam!
The fever'd patient, from his pallet low,

Through crowded hospital beholds its stream;
The ruin'd maiden trembles at its gleam,

The debtor wakes to thought of gyve and jail, The love-lorn wretch starts from tormenting dream; The wakeful mother, by the glimmering pale, Trims her sick infant's couch, and soothes his feeble wail.

II.

At dawn the towers of Stirling rang
With soldier-step and weapon-clang,
While drums, with rolling note, foretel
Relief to weary sentinel,

Through narrow loop and casement barr'd,
The sun-beams sought the court of guard,
And, struggling with the smoky air,
Deaden'd the torches' yellow glare.
In comfortless alliance shone

The lights through arch of blacken'd stone,
And show'd wild shapes in garb of war,
Faces deform'd with beard and scar,
All haggard from the midnight watch,
And fever'd with the stern debauch;
For the oak table's massive board,
Flooded with wine, with fragments stored,
And beakers drain'd, and cups o'erthrown,
Show'd in what sport the night had flown.
Some, weary, snored on floor and bench;
Some labour'd still their thirst to quench;
Some, chill'd with watching, spread their hands
O'er the huge chimney's dying brands,
While round them, or beside them flung,
At every step their harness rung.

III.

These drew not for their fields the sword,
Like tenants of a feudal lord,
Nor own'd the patriarchal claim
Of chieftain in their leader's name;
Adventurers they, (1) from far who roved,
To live by battle which they loved.
There the Italian's clouded face,
The swarthy Spaniard's there you trace;
The mountain-loving Switzer there
More freely breathed in mountain-air;
The Fleming there despised the soil
That paid so ill the labourer's toil;

Their rolls show'd French and German name;
And merry England's exiles came,
To share, with ill-conceal'd disdain,
Of Scotland's pay the scanty gain."
All brave in arms, well train'd to wield
The heavy halbert, brand, and shield;
In camps licentious, wild, and bold;
In pillage, fierce and uncontrol'd;
And now, by holytide and feast,
From rules of discipline released.

IV.

They held debate of bloody fray,

Fought 'twixt Loch Katrine and Achray. Fierce was their speech, and, 'mid their words, Their hands oft grappled to their swords;

Nor sunk their tone to spare the ear
Of wounded comrades groaning near,
Whose mangled limbs, and bodies gored, o
Bore token of the mountain sword,
Though, neighbouring to the court of guard,
Their prayers and feverish wails were heard;
Sad burden to the ruffian joke,
And savage oath by fury spoke!—

At length up started John of Brent,
A yeoman from the banks of Trent;
A stranger to respect or fear,
In peace a chaser of the deer,
In host a hardy mutineer,
But still the boldest of the crew,
When deed of danger was to do.

He grieved, that day, their games cut short,
And marr'd the dicer's brawling sport,
And shouted loud, « Renew the bowl!
And, while a merry catch I troll,

Let each the buxom chorus bear,
Like brethren of the brand and spear.»>-

V. SOLDIER'S SONG.

Our vicar still preaches that Peter and Poule
Laid a swinging long curse on the bonny brown bowl,
That there's wrath and despair in the jolly black-jack,
And the seven deadly sins in a flagon of sack;
Yet whoop, Barnaby! off with thy liquor,
Drink upsces out, and a fig for the vicar!

Our vicar he calls it damnation to sip
The ripe ruddy dew of a woman's dear lip,
Says that Beelzebub lurks in her kerchief so sly,
And Apollyon shoots darts from her merry black eye;
Yet whoop, Jack! kiss Gillian the quicker,
Till she bloom like a rose, and a fig for the vicar!

Our vicar thus preaches-and why should he not?
For the dues of his cure are the placket and pot;
And 't is right of his office poor laymen to lurch,
Who infringe the domains of our good mother church.
Yet whoop, bully-boys! off with your liquor,
Sweet Marjorie's the word, and a fig for the vicar!

VI.

The warder's challenge, heard without,

Staid in mid-roar the merry shout.
A soldier to the portal went,-

« Here is old Bertram, sirs, of Ghent;
And,-beat for jubilee the drum!

A maid and minstrel with him come.»

Bertram, a Fleming, gray and scarr'd,
Was entering now the court of guard,
A harper with him, and in plaid
All muffled close, a mountain maid,
Who backward shrunk to 'scape the view
Of the loose scene and boisterous crew.

<< What news?» they roar'd:—« I only know, From noon till eve we fought with foe,

As wild and as untameable

As the rude mountains where they dwell.
On both sides store of blood is lost,
Nor much success can either boast.»>—

A Bacchanalian interjection, borrowed from the Dutch.

« 前へ次へ »