It is the form, the eye, the word,
The bearing of that stranger lord;
His stature, manly, bold, and tall,
Built like a castle's battled wall,
Yet moulded in such just degrees,
His giant-strength seems lightsome ease.
Close as the tendrils of the vine
llis locks his forehead twine,
upon
Jet-black, save where some touch of gray
Has ta en the youthful hue away.
Weather and war their rougher trace
Have left on that majestic face;-
But 't is his dignity of eye!
There, if a suppliant, would I fly,

Secure, 'mid danger, wrongs, and grief,
Of sympathy, redress, relief—

That glance, if guilty, would I dread

More than the doom that spoke me dead!»

They met like friends who part in pain,
And meet in doubtful hope again.
But when subdued that fitful swell,
The Bruce survey'd the humble cell ;-
«And this is thine, poor Isabel, —
That pallet couch, and naked wall,
For room of state, and bed of pail;
For costly robes and jewels rare,
A string of beads and zone of hair;
And for the trumpet's sprightly call
To sport or banquet, grove or hall,
The bell's grim voice divides thy eare,
"T wixt hours of penitence and prayer!-
O ill for thee, my royal claim
From the first David's sainted name!
O woe for thee, that while he sought
His right, thy brother feebly fought!»-

XXIV.

«Now lay these vain regrets aside,
And be the unshaken Bruce!» she cried.
<< For more I glory to have shared
The woes thy venturous spirit dared,
When raising first thy valiant band
In rescue of thy native land,

Than had fair fortune set me down
The partner of an empire's crown.
And grieve not that on pleasure's stream
No more I drive in giddy dream,
For Heaven the erring pilot knew,
And from the gulf the vessel drew,

Tried me with judgments stern and great,
My house's ruin, thy defeat,

Poor Nigel's death, till, tamed, I own,
My hopes are fix'd on beaven alone;
Nor e'er shall earthly prospects win
My heart to this vain world of sin.»>--

XXV.

Nay, Isabel, for such stern choice,
First wilt thou wait thy brother's voice;
Then ponder if in convent scene
No softer thoughts might intervene→→
Say they were of that unknown knight,
Victor in Woodstock's tourney-fight--
Nay, if his name such blush you owe,
Victorious o'er a fairer foe !»—
Truly his penetrating eye

Hath caught that blush's passing dye,-
Like the last beam of evening thrown
On a white cloud,-just seen and gone.
Soon with calm cheek and steady eye,
The princess made composed reply :-
« I guess my brother's meaning well;
For not so silent is the cell,

But we have heard the Islesmen all
Arm in thy cause at Ronald's call,

And mine eye proves that knight unknown
And the brave Island Lord are one.-
Had then his suit been earlier made,
In his own name, with thee to aid
(But that his plighted faith forbade),
I know not......But thy page so near?-
This is no tale for menial's ear.»>-

XXVI.

Still stood that page, as far apart

As the small cell would space afford;
With dizzy eye and bursting heart,

He leant his. weight on Bruce's sword,
The monarch's mantle too he bore,
And drew the fold his visage o'er.

<< Fear not for him-in murderous strife,»><
Said Bruce, «his warning saved
my life;
Full seldom parts he from my side;
Aud in his silence I confide,
Since he can tell no tale again.

He is a boy of gentle strain,
And I have purposed he shall dwell
In Augustin the chaplain's cell,
And wait on thee, my Isabel.-
Mind not his tears; I've seen them flow,
As in the thaw dissolves the snow.

"T is a kind youth, but fanciful,
Unfit against the tide to pull,

And those that with the Bruce would sail Must learn to strive with stream and gale.

But forward, gentle Isabel

My answer for Lord Ronald tell.»><

XXVII.

«This answer be to Ronald given-
The heart he asks is fix'd on heaven.
My love was like a summer flower,
That wither'd in the wintry hour,
Born but of vanity and pride,
And with these sunny visions died.
If further press his suit then say,
He should his plighted troth obey;
Troth plighted both with ring and word,
And sworn on crucifix and sword.→
Oh, shame thee, Robert! I have seen
Thou hast a woman's guardian been:

Even in extremity's dread hour,
When press'd on thee the southern power,
And safety, to all human sight,
Was only found in rapid flight,
Thou heard'st a wretched female plain
In agony of travail-pain,

And thou didst bid thy little band
Upon the instant turn and stand, (12)
And dare the worst the foe might do,
Rather than, like a knight untrue,
Leave to pursuers merciless
A woman in her last distress.——--
And wilt thou now deny thine aid
To an oppress'd and injured maid,
Even plead for Ronald's perfidy,
And press his fickle faith on me?-
So witness Heaven, as true I vow,
Had I those earthly feelings now,
Which could my former bosom move
Ere taught to set its hopes above,
I'd spurn each proffer he could bring,
Till at my feet he laid the ring,
The ring and spousal contract both,
And fair acquittal of his oath,

By her who brooks his perjured scorn,
The ill-requited Maid of Lorn!»—

XXVIII

With sudden impulse forward sprung
The
page, and on her neck he hung;
Then, recollected instantly,

His head he stoop'd, and bent his knee,
Kiss'd twice the hand of Isabel,
Arose, and sudden left the cell.
The princess, loosen'd from his hold,
Blush'd angry at his bearing bold;

But good King Robert cried,

easy

«Chafe not-by signs he speaks his mind,
He heard the plan my care design'd,
Nor could his transports hide.
But, sister, now bethink thee well;
choice the convent cell;
No
Trust, I shall play no tyrant part,
Either to force thy hand or heart,
Or suffer that Lord Ronald scorn,
Or wrong for thee, the Maid of Lorn.
But think,-not long the time has been,
That thou wert wont to sigh unseen,
And wouldst the ditties best approve,
That told some lay of hapless love.
Now are thy wishes in thy power,
And thou art bent on cloister bower!
O! if our Edward knew the change,
How would his busy satire range,
With many a sarcasm varied still
On woman's wish, and woman's will!»-

The ring which bound the faith he swore,
By Edith freely yielded o'er,

He moves his suit to me no more.
Nor do I promise, e'en if now
He stood absolved of spousal vow,
That I would change my purpose made,
To shelter me in holy shade.-
Brother, for little farewell!
space,
To other duties warns the bell.»—
XXX.

<< Lost to the world,» King Robert said,
When he had left the royal maid,—
« Lost to the world by lot severe,
O what a gem lies buried here,
Nipp'd by misfortune's cruel frost,
The buds of fair affection lost!-
But what have I with love to do?
Far sterner cares my lot pursue.
-Pent in this isle we may not lie,
Nor would it long our wants supply.
Right opposite, the main-land towers
Of my own Turnberry court our powers—
-Might not my father's beadsman hoar,
Cuthbert, who dwells upon the shore,
Kindle a signal-flame, to show
The time propitious for the blow!—*
It shall be so-some friend shall bear
Our mandafe with dispatch and care;
-Edward shall find the messenger.
That fortress ours, the Island fleet
May on the coast of Carrick meet.——
O Scotland! shall it e'er be mine
To wreak thy wrongs in battle-line,
To raise my victor head, and see
Thy hills, thy dales, thy people free,-
That glance of bliss is all I crave,
Betwixt my Jabours and my grave!»-
Then down the hill he slowly went,

Oft pausing on the steep descent,
And reach'd the spot where his bold train
Held rustic camp upon the plain.

CANTO V.

I.

ON fair Loch Ranza stream'd the early day,

Thin wreaths of cottage-smoke are upward curl'd
From the lone hamlet, which her inland bay
And circling mountains sever from the world.

And there the fisherman his sail unfurl'd,

The goat-herd drove his kids to steep Ben-ghoil, Before the hut the dame her spindle twirl'd,

Courting the sun-beam as she plied her toil,-
For, wake where'er he may, man wakes to care and toil.
But other duties call'd each convent maid,

Roused by the summons of the moss-grown bell;
Sung were the matins and the mass was said,
And every sister sought her separate cell,
Such was the rule, her rosary to tell.

And Isabel has knelt in lonely prayer;
The sun-beam, through the narrow lattice, fell:
Upon the snowy neck and long dark hair,
As stoop'd her gentle head in meek devotion there.

II.

She raised her eyes, that duty done,
When glanced upon the pavement stone,
Gemm'd and enchased, a golden ring,
Bound to a scroll with silken string,
With few brief words inscribed to tell,
This for the lady Isabel.»>

Within, the writing farther bore,

« 'T was with this ring his plight he swore, With this his promise I restore ; To her who can the heart command, Well may I yield the plighted hand. And O! for better fortune born, Grudge not a passing sigh to mourn Her who was Edith once of Lorn!»One single flash of glad surprise Just glanced from Isabel's dark eyes, But vanish'd in the blush of shame, That, as its penance, instant came. << O thought unworthy of my race! Selfish, ungenerous, mean, and base, A moment's throb of joy to own, That rose upon her hopes o'erthrown!-Thou pledge of vows too well believed, Of man ingrate and maid deceived, Think not thy lustre here shall gain Another heart to hope in vain! For thou shalt rest, thou tempting gaud, Where worldly thoughts are overawed, And worldly splendours sink debased.»Then by the cross the ring she placed.

« What! know'st thou not his warlike host
At break of day has left our coast?
My, old eyes saw them from the tower.
At eve they couch'd in green-wood bower,
At dawn a bugle-signal, made

By their bold lord, their ranks array'd;
Up sprung the spears through bush and tree,
No time for benedicite!

Like deer, that, rousing from their lair,
Just shake the dew-drops from their hair,
And toss their armed crests aloft,
Such matins theirs!»-« Good mother, soft-
Where does my brother bend his way ?»-
« As I have heard, for Brodick-bay,
Across the isle-of barks a score
Lie there, 't is said, to waft them o'er,
On sudden news, to Carrick shore.»>-
<< If such their purpose, deep the need,»
Said anxious Isabel, «< of speed!
Call Father Augustin, good dame.»>
The nun obey'd, the father came.

And rugged was the pilgrimage;
But none was there beside, whose care
Might such important message bear.
Through birchen copse he wander'd slow,
Stunted and sapless, thin and low;
By many a mountain stream he pass'd,
From the tall cliffs in tumult cast,
Dashing to foam their waters dun,
And sparkling in the summer sun.
Round his gray head the wild-curlew
In many a fearless circle flew.
O'er chasms he pass'd, where fractures wide
Craved wary eye and ample stride; (1)
He cross'd his brow beside the stone,
Where druids erst heard victims groan,
And at the cairns upon the wild,
O'er many a heathen hero piled, (2)
He breathed a timid prayer for those
Who died ere Shilob's sun arose.
Beside Macfarlane's Cross he staid,
There told his hours within the shade,
And at the stream his thirst allay'd.
Thence onward journeying slowly still,
As evening closed he reach'd the hill,

Where rising through the woodland green,
Old Brodick's Gothic towers were seen.
From Hastings, late their English lord,
Douglas had won them by the sword. (3)
The sun that sunk behind the isle
Now tinged them with a parting smile.
VII.

But though the beams of light decay,
'T was bustle all in Brodick-bay.
The Bruce's followers crowd the shore,
And boats and barges some unmoor,
Some raise the sail, some seize the oar;
Their eyes oft turn'd where glimmer'd far
What might have seem'd an early star
On heaven's blue arch, save that its light
Was all too flickering, fierce and bright.
Far distant in the south, the ray
Shone pale amid retiring day,

But as, on Carrick shore,
Dim seen in outline faintly blue,
The shades of evening closer drew,

It kindled more and more.

The monk's slow steps now press the sands,
And now amid a scene he stands,

Full strange to churchman's eye;
Warriors, who, arming for the fight,
Rivet and clasp their harness light,
And twinkling spears, and axes bright,
And helmets flashing high;
Oft, too, with unaccustom'd ears,

A language much unmeet he hears, (4)
While hastening all on board,

As stormy as the swelling surge
That mix'd its roar, the leaders urge
Their followers to the ocean verge,
With many a haughty word.
VIII.

Through that wild throng the father pass'd,
And reach'd the royal Bruce at last.
He leant against a stranded boat,
That the approaching tide must float,
And counted every rippling wave,
As higher yet her sides they lave,
And oft the distant fire he eyed,
And closer yet his hauberk tied,
And loosen'd in its sheath his brand.
Edward and Lennox were at hand;
Douglas and Ronald had the care
The soldiers to the barks to share.-
The monk approach'd and homage paid;
<< And art thou come,» King Robert said,
<< So far, to bless us ere we part?»—
My liege, and with a loyal heart!-
But other charge I have to tell,»-
And spoke the hest of Isabel.

-( Now, by Saint Giles,» the monarch cried, << This moves me much!-this morning tide, I sent the stripling to Saint Bride, With my commandment there to bide.»>— -«Thither he came the port ress show'd, But there, my liege, made brief abode.»>—

IX.

«T was I,» said Edward,« found employ Of nobler import for the boy.

Deep pondering in my anxious mind,
A fitting messenger to find,
To bear thy written mandate o'er
To Cuthbert on the Carrick shore,
I chanced, at early dawn, to pass
The chapel gate to snatch a mass.
I found the stripling on a tomb
Low-seated, weeping for the doom
That gave his youth to convent-gloom.
I told my purpose, and his eyes
Flash'd joyful at the glad surprise.
He bounded to the skiff, the sail
Was spread before a prosperous gale,
And well my charge he hath obey'd;
For, see! the ruddy signal made,
That Clifford, with his merry-men all,
Guards carelessly our father's hall.» (5)

X.

<< O wild of thought, and hard of heart!»
Answer'd the monarch, « on a part
Of such deep danger to employ
A mute, an orphan, and a boy!
Unfit for flight, unfit for strife,
Without a tongue to plead for life!
Now, were my right restored by Heaven,
Edward, my crown I would have given,
Ere, thrust on such adventure wild,
I peril'd thus the helpless child. »—
-Offended haif, and half submiss,

<< Brother and liege, of blame like this,>>
Edward replied, «I little dream'd.
A stranger messenger, I deem'd,
Might safest seek the beadsman's cell,
Where all thy squires are known so well.
Noteless his presence, sharp his sense,
His imperfection his defence.
If seen, none can his errand guess;
If ta'en, his words no tale express-
Methinks, too, yonder beacon's shine.
Might expiate greater fault than mine.»>—
«Rash,» said King Robert, << was the deed-
But it is done.-Embark with speed!—
Good father, say to Isabel

How this unhappy chance befel;

If well we thrive on yonder shore,
Soon shall my care her page restore.
Our greeting to our sister bear,

And think of us in mass and prayer.»

XI.

«Ay!»-said the priest, « while this poor hand
Can chalice raise or cross command,
While my old voice has accents' use,
Can Augustin forget the Bruce ?>>
Then to his side Lord Ronald press'd
And whisper'd, « Bear thou this request,
That when by Bruce's side I fight,
For Scotland's crown and freedom's right,
The princess grace her knight to bear
Some token of her favouring care;
It shall be shown where England's best
May shrink to see it on my crest.
And for the boy-since weightier care
For royal Bruce the times prepare,
The helpless youth is Ronald's charge,

His couch my plaid, his fence my targe.»--
He ceased; for many an eager hand
Had urged the barges from the strand.
Their number was a score and ten,
They bore thrice three-score chosen men.
With such small force did Bruce at last
The die for death or empire cast!

ΧΗ.

Now on the darkening main afloat,
Ready and mann'd rocks every boat;
Beneath their oars the ocean's might
Was dash'd to sparks of glimmering light.
Faint and more faint, as off they bore,
Their armour glanced against the shore,
And, mingled with the dashing tide,
Their murmuring voices distant died.--
«God speed them!» said the priest, as dark
On distant billows glides each bark;

«O Heaven! when swords for freedom shine,
And monarch's right, the cause is thine!
Edge doubly every patriot blow!
Beat down the banners of the foe!
And be it to the nations known,
That Victory is from God alone!»>-
As up the hill his path he drew,
He turn'd his blessings to renew,
Oft turn'd, till on the darken'd coast
All traces of their course were lost;
Then slowly bent to Brodick tower,
To shelter for the evening hour.

XIII.

In night the fairy prospects sink,
Where Cumray's isles with verdant link
Close the fair entrance of the Clyde;
The woods of Bute no more descried
Are gone and on the placid sea
The rowers plied their task with glee,
While hands that knightly lances bore
Impatient aid the labouring oar.

The half-faced moon shone dim and pale,
And glanced against the whiten'd sail;
But on that ruddy beacon-light
Each steersman kept the helm aright,
And oft, for such the king's command,
That all at once might reach the strand,
From boat to boat loud shout and hail
Warn'd them to crowd or slacken sail.
South and by west the armada bore,
And near at length the Carrick shore.
As less and less the distance grows,
High and more high the beacon rose;
The light, that seem'd a twinkling star,
Now blazed portentous, fierce, and far.
Dark-red the heaven above it glow'd,
Dark-red the sea beneath it flow'd,
Red rose the rocks on ocean's brim,
In blood-red light her islets swim;
Wild scream the dazzled sea-fowl gave,
Dropp'd from their crags on plashing wave,
The deer to distant covert drew,
The black-cock deem'd it day, and crew.
Like some tall castle given to flame.
O'er half the land the lustre came.

With that the boats approach'd the land,
But Edward's grounded on the sand;
The eager knight leap'd in the sea
Waist-deep, and first on shore was he,
Though every barge's hardy band
Contended which should gain the land,
When that strange light, which, seen afar,
Seem'd steady as the polar star,
Now, like a prophet's fiery chair,
Seem'd travelling the realms of air.
Wide o'er the sky the splendour glows,
As that portentous meteor rose;
Helm, axe, and falchion, glitter'd bright,
And in the red and dusky light
His comrade's face each warrior saw,
Nor marvell'd it was pale with awe.
Then high in air the beams were lost,
And darkness sunk upon the coast.-
Ronald to Heaven a prayer address'd,
And Douglas cross'd his dauntless breast;

« Saint James protect us!»-Lennox cried,
But reckless Edward spoke aside,

« Deem'st thou, Kirkpatrick, in that flame Red Comyn's angry spirit came,

Or would thy dauntless heart endure

Once more to make assurance sure?»

«Hush!» said the Bruce, « we soon shall know,

If this be sorcerer's empty show,

Or stratagem of southern foe.

The moon shines out-upon the sand

Let every leader rank his band.»