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But whence thy captives, friend? such spoil As theirs must needs reward thy toil. Old dost thou wax, and wars grow sharp; Thou now hast glee-maiden and harp! Get thee an ape, and trudge the land, The leader of a juggler band.» (2)—

VII.

No, comrade;-no such fortune mine.
After the fight, these sought our line,

That aged harper and the girl,
And, having audience of the earl,
Mar bade I should purvey them steed,
And bring them hitherward with speed.
Forbear your mirth and rude alarm,

For none shall do them shame or harm.->>
Hear ye his boast ?» cried John of Brent,
Ever to strife and jangling bent;

Shall he strike doe beside our lodge,

And yet the jealous. niggard grudge
To pay the forester his fee!
I'll have my share howe'er it be,
Despite of Moray, Mar, or thee.»-
Bertram his forward step withstood;
And, burning in his vengeful mood,
Old Allan, though unfit for strife,
Laid hand upon his dagger-knife;
But Ellen boldly stepp'd between,
And dropp'd at once the tartan screen:-
So, from his morning cloud, appears
The sun of May, through summer tears.
The savage soldiery amazed,
As on descended angel gazed;

Even hardy Brent, abash'd and tamed,
Stood half admiring, half ashamed.

VIII.

Boldly she spoke,-a Soldiers, attend! My father was the soldier's friend; Cheer'd him in camps, in marches led, And with him in the battle bled.

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Not from the valiant, or the strong,
Should exile's daughter suffer wrong.»>—
Answer'd De Brent, most forward still
In
every feat, or good or ill,-

I shame me of the part I play'd:

And thou an outlaw's child, poor maid!

An outlaw I by forest laws,

And merry Needwood knows the cause.
Poor Rose,-if Rose be living now,»>—
He wiped his iron eye and brow,

Must bear such age, I think, as thou.—
Hear ye, my mates, I go to call
The captain of our watch to hall;
There lies my halbert on the floor;
And he that steps my halbert o'er,
To do the maid injurious part,
My shaft shall quiver in his heart!—
Beware loose speech, or jesting rough:
Ye all know John de Brent. Enough.»-

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And, though by courtesy control'd,
Forward his speech, his bearing bold,
The high-born maiden ill could brook
The scanning of his curious look,
And dauntless eye;—and yet, in sooth,
Young Lewis was a generous youth;
But Ellen's lovely face and mien,
Ill suited to the garb and scene,
Might lightly bear construction strange.
And give loose fancy scope to range.
« Welcome to Stirling towers, fair maid!
Come ye to seek a champion's aid,
On palfrey white, with harper hoar,
Like arrant damosel of yore?
Does thy high quest a knight require,

Or may the venture suit a squire ? »—
Her dark eye flash'd ;—she paused and sigh'd,—
«O what have I to do with pride !—
-Through scenes of sorrow, shame, and strife,
A suppliant for a father's life,

I crave an audience of the king.
Behold, to back my suit, a ring,
The royal pledge of grateful claims,
Given by the monarch to Fitz-James.»>

X.

The signet ring young Lewis took,
With deep respect and alter'd look;
And said,« This ring our duties own;
And, pardon, if to worth unknown,
In semblance mean obscurely veil'd,
Lady, in aught my folly fail'd.

Soon as the day flings wide his gates,
The king shall know what suitor waits.
Please you, meanwhile, in fitting bower
Repose you till his waking hour:
Female attendance shall obey
Your hest for service or array.
Permit I marshal you the way.»-
But, ere she follow'd, with the grace
And open bounty of her race,

She bade her slender purse be shared
Among the soldiers of the guard.
The rest with thanks their guerdon took;
But Brent, with shy and awkward look,
On the reluctant maiden's hold

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Nor one of all the race was known
But prized its weal above their own.
With the chief's birth begins our care;
Our harp must soothe the infant heir,
Teach the youth tales of fight, and grace
His earliest feat of field or chase;

In

peace,

in war, our rank we keep,

We cheer his board, we soothe his sleep,
Nor leave him till we pour our verse,—
A doleful tribute!-o'er his hearse.
Then let me share his captive lot;
It is my right-deny it not!»-

« Little we reck,» said John of Brent,
We southern men, of long descent;
Nor wot we how a name-a word-
Makes clansmen vassals to a lord:
Yet kind my noble landlord's part,—
God bless the house of Beaudesert!
And, but I loved to drive the deer,
More than to guide the labouring steer,
I had not dwelt an outcast here.
Come, good old minstrel, follow me;
Thy lord and chieftain shalt thou see.»>-
XII.

Then, from a rusted iron hook,

A bunch of ponderous keys he took,
Lighted a torch, and Allan led

dread.

Through grated arch and
passage
Portals they pass'd, where, deep within,
Spoke prisoner's moan, and fetters' din;
Through rugged vaults, where, loosely stored,
Lay wheel, and axe, and headsman's sword,
And many an hideous engine grim,
For wrenching joint, and crushing limb,
By artists form'd, who deem'd it shame
And sin to give their work a name.
They halted at a low-brow'd porch,
And Brent to Allan gave the torch,
While bolt and chain he backward roll'd,
And made the bar unhasp its hold.
They enter'd:-'t was a prison-room
Of stern security and gloom,
Yet not a dungeon; for the day
Through lofty gratings found its way,
And rude and antique garniture
Deck'd the sad walls and oaken floor;
Such as the rugged days of old
Deem'd fit for captive noble's hold.

« Here,» said De Brent, «thou mayst remain

Till the leach visit him again.
Strict is his charge, the warders tell,
To tend the noble prisoner well. »—
Retiring then, the bolt he drew,
And the lock's murmurs growl'd anew.
Roused at the sound, from lowly bed
A captive feebly raised his head;
The wondering minstrel look'd, and knew-
Not his dear lord, but Roderick Dhu!
For, come from where Clan-Alpine fought,
They, erring, deem'd the chief he sought.
XIII.

As the tall ship, whose lofty prore
Shall never stem the billows more,

Deserted by her gallant band,
Amid the breakers lies astrand,—

So, on his couch, lay Roderick Dhu!
And oft his fever'd limbs he threw
In toss abrupt, as when her sides
Lie rocking in the advancing tides,
That shake her frame with ceaseless beat,
Yet cannot heave her from her seat;-
O! how unlike her course at sea!
Or his free step on hill and lee!
Soon as the minstrel he could scan,
- What of thy lady?-of my clan ?
My mother?-Douglas?-tell me all!
Have they been ruin'd in fall?
my
Ah, yes! or wherefore art thou here?
Yet speak,-speak boldly,-do not fear.»-
(For Allan, who his mood well knew,
Was choked with grief and terror too.)-

« Who fought-who fled-Old man, be brief;Some might-for they had lost their chief. Who basely live ?-who bravely died?»

"

O, calm thee, chief!» the minstrel cried, « Ellen is safe ;»-« For that, thank Heaven!» « And hopes are for the Douglas given;The Lady Margaret too is well, And, for thy clan-on field or fell, Has never harp of minstrel told, Of combat fought so true and bold. Thy stately pine is yet unbent, Though many a goodly bough is rent.»—

XIV.

The chieftain rear'd his form on high,
And fever's fire was in his
eye;
But ghastly, pale, and livid streaks
Chequer'd his swarthy brow and cheeks.

Hark, minstrel! I have heard thee play,
With measure bold on festal day,
In yon lone isle,-again where ne'er
Shall harper play, or warrior hear!—
That stirring air that peals on high,
O'er Dermid's race our victory-
Strike it! (3)—and then (for well thou canst),
Free from thy minstrel-spirit glanced,
Fling me the picture of the fight,
When met my clan the Saxon might.
I'll listen, till my fancy hears

The clang of swords, the crash of spears! These grates, these walls, shall vanish then, For the fair field of fighting men, And my free spirit burst away, As if it soar'd from battle-fray.»The trembling bard with awe obey'd,— Slow on the harp his hand he laid; But soon remembrance of the sight He witness'd from the mountain's height, With what old Bertram told at night, Awaken'd the full power of song, And bore him in career along; As shallop launch'd on river's tide, That slow and fearful leaves the side, But, when it feels the middle stream, Drives downward swift as lightning's beam.

XV.

BATTLE OF BEAL' AN DUINE. (4) The minstrel came once more to view The eastern ridge of Ben-venue,

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For, ere he parted, he would say
Farewell to lovely Loch Achray-
Where shall he find, in foreign land,
So lone a lake, so sweet a strand!-
There is no breeze upon the fern,
No ripple on the lake,
Upon her eyrie nods the erne,

The deer has sought the brake;

The small birds will not sing aloud,
The springing trout lies still,

So darkly glooms yon thunder-cloud,
That swathes, as with a purple shroud,
Benledi's distant hill.

Is it the thunder's solemn sound
That mutters deep and dread,
Or echoes from the groaning ground
The warrior's measured tread?
Is it the lightning's quivering glance
That on the thicket streams,
Or do they flash on spear and lance,
The sun's retiring beams?

-I see the dagger-crest of Mar,
I see the Moray's silver star,

That

Wave o'er the cloud of Saxon war,
up the lake comes winding far!
To hero boune for battle-strife,

Or bard of martial lay,

Twere worth ten years of peaceful life, One glance at their array!

XVI.

Their light-arm'd archers far and near
Survey'd the tangled ground,

Their centre ranks, with pike and spear,

A twilight forest frown'd,

Their barbed horsemen, in the rear,

The stern battalia crown'd.

No cymbal clash'd, no clarion rang,

Still were the pipe and drum;

Save heavy tread, and armour's clang,

The sullen march was dumb.

There breathed no wind their crests to shake,

Or wave their flags abroad;

Searce the frail aspen seem'd to quake,

That shadow'd o'er their road.

Their va'ward scouts no tidings bring,

Can rouse no lurking foe,

Nor

spy a trace of living thing, Save when they stirr'd the roe; The host moves like a deep-sea wave, Where rise no rocks its pride to brave, High-swelling, dark, and slow. The lake is pass'd, and now they gain A narrow and a broken plain, Before the Trosach's rugged jaws; And here the horse and spearmen pause, While, to explore the dangerous glen, Dive through the pass the archer-men.

XVII.

«At once there rose so wild a yell
Within that dark and narrow dell,
As all the fiends, from heaven that fell,
Had peal'd the banner-cry of hell!
Forth from the pass in tumult driven,
Like chaff before the wind of heaven,
The archery appear:

For life! for life! their flight they ply-
And shriek, and shout, and battle-cry,
And plaids and bonnets waving high,
And broadswords flashing to the sky,
Are maddening in the rear.
Onward they drive, in dreadful race,
Pursuers and pursued;

Before that tide of flight and chase,
How shall it keep its rooted place,

The spearmen's twilight wood?
-Down, down, cried Mar, 'your lances down!
Bear back both friend and foe!

Like reeds before the tempest's frown,
That serried grove of lances brown

At once lay levell'd low;
And closely shouldering side to side,
The bristling ranks the onset bide.

We'll quell the savage mountaineer,
As their Tinchel' cows the game!
They come as fleet as forest deer,

We 'll drive them back as tame.'

XVIII.
«Bearing before them, in their course,
The relics of the archer force,
Like wave with crest of sparkling foam,
Right onward did Clan-Alpine come.
Above the tide, each broadsword bright
Was brandishing like beam of light,

Each targe was dark below;
And with the ocean's mighty swing,
When heaving to the tempest's wing,

They hurl'd them on the foe.

I heard the lance's shivering crash,
As when the whirlwind rends the ash;
I heard the broadsword's deadly clang,
As if an hundred anvils rang!
But Moray wheel'd his rear-ward rank
Of horsemen on Clan-Alpine's flank,—
My banner-man, advance!
see,' he cried, their column shake.-
Now, gallants! for your ladies' sake,

I

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XIX.

«Now westward rolls the battle's din,
That deep and doubling pass within.
-Minstrel, away! the work of fate
Is bearing on: its issue wait,

Where the rude Trosach's dread defile
Opens on Katrine's lake and isle.-
Gray Ben-venue I soon repass'd,
Loch Katrine lay beneath me cast.
The sun is set;-the clouds are met,
The louring scowl of heaven
An inky hue of livid blue

To the deep lake has given;

Strange gusts of wind from mountain glen
Swept o'er the lake, then sunk agen.
I heeded not the eddying surge,
Mine eye but saw the Trosach's gorge,
Mine ear but heard that sullen sound,
Which like an earthquake shook the ground,
And spoke the stern and desperate strife,
That parts not but with parting life,
Seeming, to minstrel ear, to toll
The dirge of many a passing soul.
Nearer it comes-the dim-wood glen
The martial flood disgorged agen,
But not in mingled tide;
The plaided warriors of the north
High on the mountain thunder forth,
And overhang its side;
While by the lake below appears
The dark ning cloud of Saxon spears.
At weary bay each shatter'd band,
Eyeing their foemen, sternly stand;
Their banners stream like tatter'd sail,
That flings its fragments to the gale,
And broken arms and disarray
Mark'd the fell havoc of the day.

«

XX.

<< Viewing the mountain's ridge askance, The Saxons stood in sullen trance, Till Moray pointed with his lance,

And cried 'Behold yon isle!~ See! none are left to guard its strand, But women weak, that wring the hand! T is there of yore the robber band Their booty wont to pile;My purse, with bonnet-pieces store, To him will swim a bow-shot o'er, And loose a shallop from the shore. Lightly we 'll tame the war-wolf then, Lords of his mate, and brood, and den.' Forth from the ranks a spearman sprung, On earth his casque and corslet rung,

He plunged him in the wave:All saw the deed-the purpose knew, And to their clamours Ben-venue

A mingled echo gave;

The Saxons shout, their mate to cheer,
The helpless females scream for fear
And yells for rage the mountaineer.
"T was then, as by the outcry riven,
Pour'd down at once the louring heaven;
A whirlwind swept Loch Katrine's breast,
Her billows rear'd their snowy crest,

Well for the swimmer swell'd they high,
To mar the Highland marksman's eye;
For round him shower'd 'mid rain and hail,
The vengeful arrows of the Gael.—
In vain. He nears the isle-and lo!
His hand is on a shallop's bow.
-Just then a flash of lightning came,
It tinged the waves and strand with flame:-
I mark'd Duncraggan's widow'd dame,
Behind an oak I saw her stand,

A naked dirk gleam'd in her hand :—
It darken'd-but amid the moan
Of waves I heard a dying groan;-
Another flash!--the spearman floats
A weltering corse beside the boats,
And the stern matron o'er him stood,
Her hand and dagger streaming blood.

XXI.

« Revenge! revenge!» the Saxons cried,
The Gaels' exulting shout replied.
Despite the elemental rage,
Again they hurried to engage;

But, ere they closed in desperate fight,
Bloody with spurring came a knight,
Sprung from his horse, and, from a crag,
Waved 'twixt the hosts a milk-white flag.
Clarion and trumpet by his side
Rung forth a truce-note high and wide,
While in the monarch's name, afar
An herald's voice forbade the war,
For Bothwell's lord, and Roderick bold,
Were both, he said, in captive hold.»>
-But here the lay made sudden stand,
The harp escaped the minstrel's hand!-
Oft had he stolen a glance, to spy
How Roderick brook'd his minstrelsy:
At first, the chieftain, to the chime,
With lifted hand, kept feeble time;
That motion ceased,—yet feeling strong
Varied his look as changed the song;
At length no more his deafen'd ear
The minstrel melody can hear;
His face grows sharp,-his hands are clench'd,
As if some pang his heart-strings wrench'd;
Set are his teeth, his fading eye

Is sternly fixed on vacancy;—
Thus, motionless, and moanless, drew
His parting breath, stout Roderick Dhu!-
Old Allan-bane look'd on aghast,
While grim and still his spirit pass'd;
But when he saw that life was fled,
Be pour'd his wailing o'er the dead.

XXII.

LAMENT.

<< And art thou cold and lowly laid,
Thy foeman's dread, thy people's aid,
Breadalbane's boast, Clan-Alpine's shade!
For thee shall none a requiem say?
-For thee-who loved the minstrel's lay,
For thee, of Bothwell's house the stay,
The shelter of her exiled line,
Een in this prison-house of thine,
I'll wail for Alpine's honour'd pine!

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What groans shall yonder vallies fill!

What shrieks of grief shall rend yon hill!
What tears of burning rage shall thrill,
When mourns thy tribe thy battles done,
Thy fall before the race was won,
Thy sword ungirt ere set of sun!
There breathes not clansman of thy line,
But would have given his life for thine.—
O woe for Alpine's honour'd pine!

Sad was thy lot on mortal stage!-
The captive thrush may brook the cage,
The prison'd eagle dies for rage.
Brave spirit, do not scorn my strain!
And, when its notes awake again,
Even she, so long beloved in vain,
Shall with my harp her voice combine,
And mix her woe and tears with mine,
To wail Clan-Alpine's honour'd pine.»—

XXIII.

Ellen, the while, with bursting heart, Remain'd in lordly bower apart, Where play'd, with many-colour'd gleams, Through storied pane the rising beams. In vain on gilded roof they fall, And lighten'd up a tapestried wall, And for her use a menial train A rich collation spread in vain. The banquet proud, the chamber gay, Scarce drew one curious glance astray; Or, if she look'd, 't was but to say, With better omen dawn'd the day In that lone isle, where waved on high The dun deer's hide for canopy; Where oft her noble father shared The simple meal her care prepared, While Lufra, crouching by her side, Her station claim'd with jealous pride, And Douglas, bent on woodland game, Spoke of the chase to Malcolm Græme, Whose answer, oft at random made, The wandering of his thoughts betray'd.— Those who such simple joys have known Are caught to prize them when they're gone. But sudden, see, she lifts her head! The window seeks with cautious tread. What distant music has the power To win her in this woeful hour! Twas from a turret that o'erhung Her latticed bower, the strain was sung.

XXIV.

LAY OF THE IMPRISONED HUNTSMAN.

My hawk is tired of perch and lood, My idle greyhound loathes his food, My horse is weary of his stall, And I am sick of captive thrall. I wish I were as I have been, Hunting the hart in forest green, With bended bow and blood-hound free, For that's the life is meet for me.

I hate to learn the ebb of time,

From yon dull steeple's drowsy chime,
Or mark it as the sun-beams crawl,
Inch after inch, along the wall.

The lark was wont my matins ring,
The sable rook my vespers sing;
These towers, although a king's they be,
Have not a hall of joy for me.

<< No more at dawning morn I rise,
And sun myself in Ellen's eyes,
Drive the fleet deer the forest through,
And homeward wend with evening dew;
A blithesome welcome blithely meet,
And lay my trophies at her feet,
While fled the eve on wing of glee,-
That life is lost to love and me!»-

XXV.

The heart-sick lay was hardly said,
The list ner had not turn'd her head,
It trickled still, the starting tear,
When light a footstep struck her ear,
And Snowdoun's graceful knight was near.
She turn'd the hastier, lest again
The prisoner should renew his strain.

«O welcome, brave Fitz-James!»> she said;
"How may an almost orphan maid
Pay the deep debt»--« O, say not so!
To me no gratitude you owe.
Not mine, alas! the boon to give,
And bid thy noble father live;

I can but be thy guide, sweet maid,
With Scotland's king thy suit to aid.
No tyrant he, though ire and pride
May lead his better mood aside.
Come, Ellen, come!-'t is more than time,
He holds his court at morning prime.»-
With beating heart, and bosom wrung,
As to a brother's arm she clung.
Gently he dried the falling tear,
And gently whisper'd hope and cheer;
Her faltering steps half led, half staid,
Through gallery fair and high arcade,
Till, at his touch, its wings of pride
A portal arch unfolded wide.

XXVI.

Within 't was brilliant all and light,
A thronging scene of figures bright;
It glow'd on Ellen's dazzled sight,
As when the setting sun has given
Ten thousand hues to summer even,
And, from their tissue, fancy frames
Aerial knights and fairy dames.
Still by Fitz-James her footing staid;
A few faint steps she forward made,
Then slow her drooping head she raised,
And fearful round the presence gazed;
For him she sought who own'd this state,
The dreaded prince whose will was fate!—
She gazed on many a princely port,
Might well have ruled a royal court;
On many a splendid garb she gazed,—
Then turn'd bewilder'd and amazed,
For all stood bare; and, in the room,
Fitz-James alone wore cap and plume.
To him each lady's look was lent;
On him each courtier's eye was bent;

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