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All melodies to thee are known,

That harp has rung, or pipe has blown,
In Lowland vale or Highland glen,
From Tweed to Spey-what marvel, then,
At times, unbidden notes should rise,
Confusedly bound in memory's ties,
Entangling, as they rush along,

The war-march with the funeral song?-
Small ground is now for boding fear;
Obscure, but safe, we rest us here.
My sire, in native virtue great,
Resigning lordship, lands, and state,
Not then to fortune more resign'd,
Than youder oak might give the wind;
The graceful foliage storms may reave,
The noble stem they cannot grieve.

For mea-she stoop'd, and, looking round,
Pluck'd a blue hare-bell from the ground,
For me, whose memory scarce conveys
An image of more splendid days,
This little flower, that loves the lea,
May well my simple emblem be;

It drinks heaven's dew as blithe as rose
That in the king's own garden grows;
And when I place it in my hair,
Allan, a bard is bound to swear
Be ne'er saw coronet so fair.»>—
Then playfully the chaplet wild

She wreathed in her dark locks, and smiled.

X.

Her smile, her speech, with winning sway,
Wiled the old harper's mood away.
With such a look as hermits throw
When angels stoop to soothe their woe,
He gazed, till fond regret and pride
Thrilld to a tear, then thus replied:
Loveliest and best! thou little know'st
The rank, the honours thou hast lost!
O might I live to see thee grace,

la Scotland's court, thy birth-right place,

To see my favourite's step advance,
The lightest in the courtly dance,
The cause of every gallant's sigh,
And leading star of every eye,
And theme of every minstrel's art,
The Lady of the Bleeding Heart!»'-

XI.

Fair dreams are these,» the maiden cried Light was her accent, yet she sigh'd), Yet is this mossy rock to me Worth splendid chair and canopy; Nor would my footsteps spring more gay In courtly dance than blithe strathspey. Nor half so pleased miue car incline To royal minstrel's lay as thine; And then for suitors proud and high, To bend before my conquering eye, Thou, flattering bard! thyself wilt say, That grim Sir Roderick owns its sway. The Saxon scourge, Clan-Alpine's pride, The terror of Loch Lomond's side, Would, at my suit, thou know'st delay A Lennox foray-for a day.»—

The well-known cognizance of the Douglas family.

XII.

The ancient bard his glee repress'd:

« Ill hast thou chosen theme for jest!
For who, through all this western wild,
Named Black Sir Roderick e'er, and smiled!
In Holyrood a knight he slew; (5)

I saw, when back the dirk he drew,
Courtiers gave place before the stride
Of the undaunted homicide;

And since, though outlaw'd, hath his hand
Full sternly kept his mountain land.
Who else dared give?-ah! woe the day,
That I such hated truth should say-
The Douglas, like a stricken deer,
Disown'd by every noble peer, (6)
Even the rude refuge we have here?
Alas, this wild marauding chief
Alone might hazard our relief,
And, now thy maiden charms expand,
Looks for his guerdon in thy hand;
Full soon may dispensation sought,

To back his suit, from Rome be brought.
Then, though an exile on the hill,
Thy father, as the Douglas, still

Be held in reverence and fear;

And though to Roderick thou 'rt so dear,
That thou might'st guide with silken thread,
Slave of thy will, this chieftain dread,
Yet, O loved maid, thy mirth refrain!
Thy hand is on a lion's mane.>>

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XIII.

Minstrel,» the maid replied, and high Her father's soul glanced from her eye, My debts to Roderick's house I know: All that a mother could bestow, To Lady Margaret's care I owe, Since first an orphan in the wild She sorrow'd o'er her sister's child; To her brave chieftain son, from ire Of Scotland's king who shrouds my sire, A deeper, holier debt is owed; And, could I pay it with my blood, Allan! Sir Roderick should command My blood, my life—but not my hand. Rather will Ellen Douglas dwell A votaress in Maronnan's cell; (7) Rather through realms beyond the sea, Seeking the world's cold charity, Where ne'er was spoke a Scottish word, And ne'er the name of Douglas heard, An outcast pilgrim will she rove, Than wed the man she cannot love.

XIV.

« Thou shakest, good friend, thy tresses gray-
That pleading look, what can it say
But what I own?-I grant him brave,
But wild as Bracklinn's thundering wave; (8)
And generous-save vindictive mood,
Or jealous transport, chafe his blood:

I grant him true to friendly band,
As his claymore is to his hand;
But O! that very blade of steel
More mercy for a foe would feel:

I grant him liberal, to fling
Among his clan the wealth they bring,
When back by lake and glen they wind,
And in the Lowland leave behind,
Where once some pleasant hamlet stood,
A mass of ashes slaked with blood.
The hand that for my father fought,
I honour, as his daughter ought:
But can I clasp it reeking red,
From peasants slaughter'd in their shed?
No! wildly while his virtues gleam,
They make his passions darker seem,
And flash along his spirit high,
Like lightning o'er the midnight sky.
While

yet a child,-and children know,
Instinctive taught, the friend and foe,-
I shudder'd at his brow of gloom,
His shadowy plaid, and sable plume;
A maiden grown, I ill could bear
His haughty mien and lordly air;
But, if thou join'st a suitor's claim,
In serious mood, to Roderick's name,
I thrill with anguish! or, if e'er
A Douglas knew the word, with fear.

To change such odious theme were best,-
What think'st thou of our stranger guest!»-

XV.

« What think I of him?-woe the while
That brought such wanderer to our isle?
Thy father's battle-brand, of yore
For Tineman forged by fairy lore, (9)
What time he leagued, no longer foes,
His Border spears with Hotspur's bows,
Did, self-unscabbarded, foreshow
The footsteps of a secret foc. (10)
If courtly spy had harbour'd here,
What may we for the Douglas fear?
What for this island, deem'd of old
Clan-Alpine's last and surest hold?
If neither spy nor foe, I pray,
What yet may jealous Roderick say?
-Nay, wave not thy disdainful head!
Bethink thee of the discord dread
That kindled when at Beltane game
Thou ledst the dance with Malcolm Græme;
Still, though thy sire the peace renew'd,
Smoulders in Roderick's breast the feud;
Beware! But hark, what sounds are these?
My dull ears catch no faltering breeze,
No weeping birch, nor aspens wake,
Nor breath is dimpling in the lake,
Still is the canna's 'hoary beard,
Yet, by my minstrel faith, I heard—
And hark again! some pipe of war
Sends the bold pibroch from afar.»>—

XVI.

Far up the lengthen'd lake were spied
Four darkening specks upon the tide,
That, slow enlarging on the view,
Four mann'd and masted barges grew,
And, bearing downwards from Glengyle,
Steer'd full upon the lonely isle;

1 Cotton-grass.

The point of Brianchoil they pass'd,
And to the windward as they cast,
Against the sun they gave to shine
The bold Sir Roderick's banner'd pine.
Nearer and nearer as they bear,
Spears, pikes, and axes flash in air.
Now might you see the tartans brave,
And plaids and plumage dance and wave;
Now see the bonnets sink and rise,
As his tough oar the rower plies:
See, flashing at each sturdy stroke,
The wave ascending into smoke;
See the proud pipers on the bow,
And mark the gaudy streamers flow
From their loud chanters down, and sweep
The furrow'd bosom of the deep,

As, rushing through the lake amain,
They plied the ancient Highland strain.

XVII.

Ever, as on they bore, more loud

And louder rung the pibroch proud. (11)
At first the sound, by distance tame,
Mellow'd along the waters came,
And, lingering long by cape
and bay,
Wail'd every harsher note away;
Then bursting bolder on the ear,

The clan's shrill gathering they could hear;
Those thrilling sounds, that call the might
Of old Clan-Alpine to the fight.

Thick beat the rapid notes, as when
The mustering hundreds shake the glen,
And hurrying at the signal dread,
The batter'd earth returns their tread.
Then prelude light, of livelier tone,
Express'd their merry marching on,
Ere peal of closing battle rose,
With mingled outcry, shrieks, and blows;
And mimic din of stroke and ward,
As broadsword upon target jarr'd;
And groaning pause, ere yet again,
Condensed, the battle yell'd amain;
The rapid charge, the rallying shout,
Retreat borne headlong into rout,
And bursts of triumph, to declare,
Clan-Alpine's conquest-all were there.
Nor ended thus the strain; but slow
Sunk in a moan prolong'd and low,
And changed the conquering clariou swell,
For wild lament o'er those that fell.

XVIII.

The war-pipes ceased; but lake and hill
Were busy with their echoes still;
And, when they slept, a vocal strain
Bade their hoarse chorus wake again,
While loud a hundred clansmen raise
Their voices in their chieftain's praise.
Each boatman, bending to his oar,
With measured sweep the burthen bore,
In such wild cadence, as the breeze
Makes through December's leatless trees.
The chorus first could Allan know,
Roderigh Vich Alpine, ho! iero!»

The drone of the bag-pipe.

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And, when a distant bugle rung,
In the mid-path aside she sprung:-

« List, Allan-bane! From main-land cast, I hear my father's signal blast.

Be ours,» she cried, « the skiff to guide,
And waft him from the mountain-side.»-
Then, like a sun-beam, swift and bright,
She darted to her shallop light,
And, eagerly while Roderick scann'd,
For her dear form, his mother's band,
The islet farbehind her lay,
And she had landed in the bay.

XXII.

Some feelings are to mortals given,
With less of earth in them than heaven:
And if there be a human tear
From passion's dross refined and clear,
A tear so limpid and so meek,
It would not stain an angel's cheek,
T is that which pious fathers shied
Upon a duteous daughter's head!
And as the Douglas to his breast
His darling Ellen closely press'd,
Such holy drops her tresses steep'd,
Though it was a hero's eye that weep'd.
Nor while on Ellen's faltering tongue
Her filial welcomes crowded hrng,
Mark'd she, that fear (affection's proof)
Still held a graceful youth aloof;

No! not till Douglas named his name,
Although the youth was Malcolm Græme.

XXIII.

Allan, with wistful look the while,
Mark'd Roderick landing on the isle;
His master piteously he eyed,

Then gazed upon the chieftain's pride,
Then dash'd, with hasty hand, away
From his dimm'd eye the gathering spray;
And Douglas, as his hand he laid

On Malcolm's shoulder, kindly said,

« Canst thou, young friend, no meaning spy
In my poor follower's glistening eye?
I'll tell thee:-he recals the day,
When in my praise he led the lay
O'er the arch'd gate of Bothwell proud,
While many a minstrel answer'd loud,
When Percy's Norman pennon, won
In bloody field, before me shone,
And twice ten knights, the least a name
As mighty as yon chief may claim,
Gracing my pomp, behind me came.
Yet trust me, Malcolm, not so proud
Was I of all that marshall'd crowd,
Though the waned crescent own'd my might,
And in my train troop'd lord and knight,
Though Blantyre hymn'd her holiest lays,
And Bothwell's bards flung back my praise,
As when this old man's silent tear,
And this poor maid's affection dear,
A welcome give more kind and true,
Than aught my better fortunes knew.
Forgive, my friend, a father's boast;
Oh! it out-beggars all I lost!»-

XXIV.

Delightful praise!-like summer rose,
That brighter in the dew-drop glows,
The bashful maiden's cheek appear'd,
For Douglas spoke, and Malcolm heard.
The flush of shame-faced joy to hide,
The hounds, the hawk, her cares divide:
The loved caresses of the maid

The dogs with crouch and whimper paid;
And, at her whistle, on her hand
The falcon took his favourite stand,
Closed his dark wing, relax'd his eye,
Nor, though unhooded, sought to fly,
And, trust, while in such guise she stood,
Like fabled Goddess of the Wood,
That if a father's partial thought
O'erweigh'd her worth and beauty aught,
Well might the lover's judgment fail
To balance with a juster scale;
For with each secret glance he stole,
The fond enthusiast sent his soul.

XXV.

Of stature tall, and slender frame,
But firmly knit, was Malcolm Græme.
The belted plaid and tartan hose
Did ne'er more graceful limbs disclose;
His flaxen hair, of sunny hue,
Curl'd closely round his bonnet blue.
Train'd to the chase, his eagle eye
The ptarmigan in snow could spy;
Each pass, by mountain, lake, and heath,
He knew, through Lennox and Menteith;
Vain was the bound of dark-brown doc,
When Malcolm bent his sounding bow,
And scarce that doe, though wing'd with fear,
Outstripp'd in speed the mountaineer:
Right up Ben Lomond could he press,
And not a sob his toil confess,
His form accorded with a mind
Lively and ardent, frank and kind;
A blither heart, till Ellen came,
Did never love nor sorrow tame;
It danced as lightsome in his breast,
As play'd the feather on his crest.
Yet friends who nearest knew the youth,
His scorn of wrong, his zeal for truth,
And bards, who saw his features bold,
When kindled by the tales of old,
Said, were that youth to manhood grown,
Not long should Roderick Dhu's renown
Be foremost voiced by mountain fame,
But quail to that of Malcolm Græme.

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Nor stray'd I safe; for, all around,
Hunters and horsemen scour'd the ground.
This youth, though still a royal ward,
Risk'd life and land to be my guard,

And through the passes of the wood
Guided my steps, not unpursued:
And Roderick shall his welcome make,
Despite old spleen, for Douglas' sake,
Then must he seek Strath-Endrick glen,
Nor peril aught for me agen.»-

XXVII.

Sir Roderick, who to meet them came,
Redden'd at sight of Malcolm Græme.
Yet, not in action, word, or eye,
Fail'd aught in hospitality.
In talk and sport they whiled away
The morning of that summer day;
But at high noon a courier light
Held secret parley with the knight,
Whose moody aspect soon declared
That evil were the news he heard.
Deep thought seem'd toiling in his head;
Yet was the evening banquet made,
Ere he assembled round the flame,
His mother, Douglas, and the Græme,
And Ellen, too; then cast around
His eyes, then fix'd them on the ground,
As studying phrase that might avail
Best to convey unpleasant tale.
Long with his dagger's hilt he play'd,
Then raised his haughty brow, and said:
XXVIII.

«Short be my speech;

;-nor time affords, Nor my plain temper, glozing words. Kinsman and father, -if such name Douglas vouchsafe to Roderick's claim; Mine honour'd mother; Ellen-why, My cousin, turn away thine eye?And Græme; iu whom I hope to know Full soon a noble friend or foe, When age shall give thee thy command And leading in thy native land,— List all!-The king's vindictive pride Boasts to have tamed the Border side, (14) Where chiefs, with hound and hawk who came To share their monarch's sylvan game, Themselves in bloody toils were spared, And when the banquet they prepared, And wide their loyal portals flung, O'er their own gate-way struggling hung. Loud cries their blood from Meggat's mead, From Yarrow braes, and banks of Tweed, Where the lone streams of Ettrick glide, And from the silver Teviot's side; The dales where martial clans did ride Are now one sheep-walk waste and wide. This tyrant of the Scottish throne, So faithless and so ruthless known, Now hither comes; his end the same, The same pretext of sylvan game. What grace for Highland chiefs judge ye, By fate of Border chivalry (15) Yet more; amid Glenfinlas' green, Douglas, thy stately form was seen.

This by espial sure I know;

Dream'd calmly out their dangerous dream, Till waken'd by the morning beam,

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Your counsel in the streight I show.»—

XXIX.

Ellen and Margaret fearfully
Sought comfort in each other's eye,

Then turn'd their ghastly look, each one,
This to her sire, that to her son.

The hasty colour went and came

In the bold cheek of Malcolm Græme;

But from his glance it well appear'd,
I was but for Helen that he fear'd;
While sorrowful, but undismay'd,
The Douglas thus his counsel said:

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Brave Roderick, though the tempest roar, It but thunder and pass o'er; Nor will I here remain an hour, To draw the lightning on thy bower; For, well thou know'st, at this gray The royal bolt were fiercest sped. For ther, who, at thy king's command, Canst aid him with a gallaut band, Submission, homage, humbled pride, Shall turn the monarch's wrath aside. Poor remnants of the Bleeding Heart, Ellen and I will seek, apart, The refuge of some forest cell, There, like the hunted quarry, dwell, Till on the mountain and the moor, The stern pursuit be past and o'er.»>—

XXX.

No, by mine honour,» Roderick said, So help me Heaven, and my good blade! No, never! Blasted be you pine,

My fathers' ancient crest and mine,

If from its shade in danger part
The lineage of the Bleeding Heart!
Hear

my blunt speech, grant me this maid
To wife, thy counsel to mine aid;
To Douglas, leagued with Roderick Dhu,
Will friends and allies flock enow;
Like cause of doubt, distrust, and grief,
Will bind to us each western chief.
When the loud pipes my bridal tell,
The Links of Forth shall hear the knell,
The guards shall start in Stirling's porch;
And, when I light the nuptial torch,
A thousand villages in flames
Shall scare the slumbers of King James!
-Nay, Ellen, blench not thus away.
And, mother, cease these signs, I pray;
I meant not all my heart might say.—
Small need of inroad, or of fight,
When the sage Douglas may unite
Each mountain clan in friendly band,
To guard the passes of their land,
Till the foil'd king, from pathless glen,
Shall bootless turn him home agen.»

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When, dazzled by the eastern glow,
Such startler cast his glance below,
And saw unmeasured depth around,
And heard unintermitted sound,
And thought the battled fence so frail,
It waved like cobweb in the gale ;-
Amid his senses' giddy wheel,

Did he not desperate impulse feel,
Headlong to plunge himself below,

And meet the worst his fears foreshow?—
Thus, Ellen, dizzy and astound,

As sudden ruin yawn'd around,

By crossing terrors wildly toss'd,
Still for the Douglas fearing most,

Could scarce the desperate thought withstand,
To buy his safety with her hand.

XXXII.

Such purpose dread could Malcolm spy
In Ellen's quivering lip and eye,
And eager rose to speak-but ere
His tongue could hurry forth his fear,
Had Douglas mark'd the hectic strife,
Where death seem'd combating with life;
For to her cheek, in feverish tlood,
One instant rush'd the throbbing blood,
Then ebbing back, with sudden sway,
Left its domain as wan as clay.

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Roderick, enough! enough!» he cried,
My daughter cannot be thy bride;
Not that the blush to wooer dear,
Nor paleness that of maiden fear.
It may not be forgive her, chief,
Nor hazard aught for our relief.
Against his sovereign, Douglas ne'er
Will level a rebellious spear.

T was I that taught his youthful hand
To rein a steed and wield a brand;

I see him yet, the princely boy!
Not Ellen more my pride and joy;
I love him still, despite my wrongs,
By hasty wrath and slanderous tongues.
O seek the grace you well may find,
Without a cause to mine combined.»-

XXXIII.

Twice through the hall the chieftain strode;
The waving of his tartans broad,
And darken'd brow, where wounded pride
With ire and disappointment vied,
Seem'd, by the torch's gloomy light,
Like the ill demon of the night,
Stooping his pinions' shadowy sway
Upon the nighted pilgrim's way:
But, unrequited Love! thy dart
Plunged deepest its envenom'd smart,
And Roderick, with thine anguish stung,
At length the hand of Douglas wrung,
While eyes, that mock'd at tears before,
With bitter drops were running o'er.
The death-pangs of long-cherish'd hope
Scarce in that ample breast had scope,
But, struggling with his spirit proud,
Convulsive heaved its chequer'd shroud,

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