XX.

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 hear; 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 cheek 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.

XXI.

Who meets them at the church-yard gate?--
The messenger of fear and fate!
Haste in his hurried accent lies,

eyes.

And grief is swimming in his
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;
『The 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 must! it must!
Clan-Alpine's cause, her chieftain's trust,
Her summons dread, brooks no delay;
Stretch to the race-away! away!

XXII.

Yet slow he laid his plaid aside,
And, lingering, eyed his lovely bride,
Catil 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 Lubnaig's lake supplies the Teith.
-What in the racer's bosom stirr'd?
The sickening pang of hope deferr'd,
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 chieftain burning, And hope, from well-fought field returning,

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 so 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 trembling hand
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 Highland dales their streams unite,
Still gathering, as they pour along,
A voice more loud, a tide more strong,

Brachen - 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 his 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 hill and heath,
To view the frontiers of Menteith.
All backward came with news of truce;
Still lay each martial Græme and Bruce,
In Rednock courts no horsemen wait,
No banner waved on Cardross gate,
On Duchray's towers no beacon shone,
Nor scared the herons 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 western 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
Had sought a low and lonely cell.
By many a bard, in Celtic tongue,
Has Coir-nan-Uriskin (14) been
sung;
A softer name the 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 earthquake 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,
At noontide there a twilight made,
Unless when short and sudden shone
Some straggling beam ou 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, with hideous sway,
Seem'd nodding o'er the cavern gray.
From 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 risk, 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 wild 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-levell'd sun-beam'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 craggy 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 to 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.

ΧΧΙΧ.

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.

Died on the harp the closing hymn-
Unmoved in attitude and limb,
As list 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,»
Hle mutter'd thrice, the last time e'er
That angel-voice shall Roderick hear!»-
It was a goading thought-his stride
Hied bastier down the mountain-side ;.
Sullen he flung 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 muster'd, in the vale below,
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 known 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; Unless 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 chieftain's eagle plume, Their shout of welcome, shrill and wide, Shook the steep mountain's steady side. Thrice it arose, and lake and fell Three times return'd the martial yell; I: died

upon Bochastle's plain,

And silence claim'd her evening reign.

« Stand, or thou diest!-What, Malise!-soon Art thou return'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 hied on, On 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 slacken'd bow-
Up, up, Glentarkin! rouse thee, ho!
We seek the chieftain; on the track,
Keep eagle watch till I come back.»-

«

Varying reports from near and far;

This certain, that a band of war

Has for two days been ready boune,

At prompt command, to march from Doune; King James, the while, with princely powers,

Hoids 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 ?»—

IV.

«T is well advised-the chieftain's plan
Bespeaks the father of his clan.

But wherefore sleeps Sir Roderick Dhu
Apart from all his followers true ?>>-
<< It is because last evening tide
Brian an augury hath tried,

Of that dread kind which must not be
Unless in dread extremity,

The Taghairm call'd; by which, afar,
Our sires foresaw the events of war. (1)
Duncraggan's milk-white bull they slew.»-

MALISE.

«Ah! well the gallant brute I knew!
The choicest of the prey we had,
When swept our merry-men Gallangad. (2)
His hide was snow, his horns were dark,
His red eye glow'd like fiery spark;
So fierce, so tameless, and so fleet,
Sore did he cumber our retreat,
And kept our stoutest kernes in awe,
Even at the pass of Beal 'malia.
But steep and flinty was the road,
And sharp the hurrying pikeman's goad,
And when we came to Dennan's Row

A child might scatheless stroke his brow.»

V.

NORMAN.

<< That bull was slain: his reeking hide
They stretch'd the cataract beside,
Whose waters their wild tumult toss
Adown the black and craggy boss
Of that huge cliff, whose ample verge
Tradition calls the Hero's Targe. (3)
Couch'd on a shelve beneath its brink,
Close where the thundering torrents sink,
Rocking beneath their headlong sway,
And drizzled by the ceaseless spray,
'Midst groan of rock, and roar of stream,
The wizard waits prophetic dream.
Nor distant rests the chief;-but, hush!
See, gliding slow through mist and bush,
The hermit gains yon rock, and stands
To gaze upon our slumbering bands.
Seems he not, Malise, like a ghost,
That hovers o'er a slaughter'd host?
Or raven on the blasted oak,

That, watching while the deer is broke, '
His morsel claims with sullen croak?» (4)
-« Peace! peace! to other than to me,
Thy words were evil augury;
But still I hold Sir Roderick's blade
Clan-Alpine's omen and her aid,

Not aught that, glean'd from heaven or hell,
Yon fiend-begotten monk can tell.
The chieftain joins him, see-and now,
Together they descend the brow.»—

VI.

And, as they came, with Alpine's lord The hermit monk held solemn word: « Roderick! it is a fearful strife, For man endow'd with mortal life, Quartered. See Note.

Whose shroud of sentient clay can still
Feel feverish pang and fainting ehill,
Whose eye can stare in stony trance,
Whose hair can rouse like warrior's lance,-
'Tis hard for such to view, unfurl'd,
The curtain of the future world.
Yet, witness every quaking limb,
My sunken pulse, mine eye-balls dim,
My soul with harrowing anguish torn,
This for my chieftain have I borne!-
The shapes that sought my fearful couch,
An human tongue may ne'er avouch;
No mortal man,-save he, who, bred
Between the living and the dead,
Is gifted beyond nature's law,-
Had e'er survived to say he saw.
At length the fateful answer came,
In characters of living flame!

Not spoke in word, nor blazed in scroll,
But borne and branded on my soul;-
WHICH SPILLS THE FOREMOST FOEMAN'S LIFE,
THAT PARTY CONQUERS IN THE STRIFE.» (5)

VII.

<<Thanks, Brian, for thy zeal and care!
Good is thine augury, and fair.
Clan-Alpine ne'er in battle stood,
But first our broadswords tasted blood.
A surer victim still I know,
Self-offer'd to the auspicious blow:
A spy has sought my land this morn,-
No eve shall witness his return!
My followers guard each pass's mouth,
To east, to westward, and to south;
Red Murdoch, bribed to be his guide,
Has charge to lead his steps aside,
Till, in deep path or dingle brown,
He light on those shall bring him down.
who comes his news to show!
Malise! what tidings of the foe?»>

-But see,

VIII.

« At Doune, o'er many a spear and glaive,
Two barons proud their banners wave.
I saw the Moray's silver star,
And mark'd the sable pale of Mar.»-
By Alpine's soul, high tidings those!
I love to hear of worthy foes.
When move they on?»-« To-morrow's noon
Will see them here for battle boune.»-
<< Then shall it see a meeting stern!—
But, for the place—say, couldst thou learn
Nought of the friendly clans of Earn?
Strengthen'd by them, we well might bide
The battle on Benledi's side.

Thou couldst not?-well! Clan-Alpine's men
Shall man the Trosach's shaggy glen;
Within Loch Katrine's gorge we 'll fight,
All in our maids' and matrons' sight,
Each for his hearth and household fire,
Father for child, and son for sire,-
Lover for maid beloved!-but why-
Is it the breeze affects mine eye?
Or dost thou come, ill-omen'd tear,
A messenger of doubt and fear?

No! sooner may the Saxon lance
Unfix Benledi from his stance,
Than doubt or terror can pierce through
The unyielding heart of Roderick Dhu!
Tis stubborn as his trusty targe.-
Each to his post!-all know their charge.»>—
The pibroch sounds, the bands advance,
The broadswords gleam, the barners dance,
Obedient to the chieftain's glance.

- turn me from the martial roar,
And seek Coir-Criskin once more.

IX.

Where is the Douglas?—he is gone;
And Eilen sits on the gray stone
Fast by the cave, and makes her moan;
While vainly Allan's words of cheer
Are pour'd on her unheeding ear.
He will return-dear lady, trust!-
With joy return; he will-he must.
Well was it time to seek, afar,
Some refuge from impending war,
When e'en Clan-Alpine's rugged swarm
Are cow'd by the approaching storm.
I saw their boats, with many a light,
Floating the livelong yesternight,
Shifting like flashes darted forth
By the red streamers of the north;
I mark'd at morn how close they ride,
Thick moor'd by the lone islet's side,
Like wild-ducks couching in the fen,
When stoops the hawk upon the glen.
Since this rude race dare not abide
The peril on the main-land side,
Shall not thy noble father's care

Some safe retreat for thee prepare?»

X.

ELLEN.

No, Allan, no! Pretext so kind
My wakeful terrors could not blind.
When in such tender tone, yet grave,
Douglas a parting blessing gave,
The tear that glisten'd in his eye
Drown'd not his purpose fix'd and high.
My soul, though feminine and weak,
Can image his, e'en as the lake,
Itself disturb'd by slightest stroke,
Reflects the invulnerable rock.
He hears report of battle rife,

He deems himself the cause of strife.
Isaw him redden when the theme
Turn'd, Allan, on thine idle dream,

Of Malcolm Græme in fetters bound,
Which I, thou saidst, about him wound.
Think'st thou he trow'd thine omen aught?
Oh no! 't was apprehensive thought

For the kind youth,-for Roderick too—
Let me be just) that friend so true;
In danger both, and in our cause!
Minstrel, the Douglas dare not pause.
Why else that solemn warning given,
If not on earth, we meet in heaven?'
Why else, to Cambus-Kenneth's fane,
If eve return him not again,
Am I to hie and make me known?

Alas! he goes to Scotland's throne,
Buys his friends' safety with his own;-
He goes to do what I had done,
Had Douglas' daughter been his son!>>

XI.

ALLAN.

Nay, lovely Ellen!-dearest, nay! If aught should his return delay, He only named yon holy fane, As fitting place to meet again. Be sure he's safe;-and for the Græme, Heaven's blessings on his gallant name!My vision'd sight may yet prove true, Nor bode of ill to him or you. When did my gifted dream beguile? Think of the stranger at the isle, And think upon the harpings slow, That presaged this approaching woe! Sooth was my prophecy of fear; Believe it when it augurs cheer. Would we had left this dismal spot! Ill luck still haunts a fairy grot. Of such, a wond'rous tale I knowDear lady, change that look of woe! My harp was wont thy grief to cheer.»>

And the hunter's horn is ringing.

« O Alice Brand, my native land
Is lost for love of you;

And we must hold by wood and wold,
As outlaws wont to do.

« O Alice, 't was all for thy locks so bright,
And 't was all for thine eyes so blue,
That on the night of our luckless flight,
Thy brother bold I slew.

« Now must I teach to hew the beech
The hand that held the glaive,

For leaves to spread our lowly bed,
And stakes to fence our cave.