Doubtful of perilous event,

Edward's mute messenger he sent,
If Bruce deceived should venture o'er,
To warn him from the fatal shore.

XVI.

As round the torch the leaders crowd,
Bruce read these chilling news aloud.
What council, nobles, have we now?-
To ambush us in green-wood bough,

And take the chance which fate may send
To bring our enterprise to end;

Or shall we turn us to the main
As exiles, and embark again?»-
Answer'd fierce Edward, « Hap what may,
In Carrick, Carrick's lord must stay.
I would not minstrels told the tale,
Wild-fire or meteor made us quail.»—
Answer'd the Douglas, « If my liege
May win yon walls by storm or siege,
Then were each brave and patriot heart
Kindled of new for loyal part.»-
Answer'd Lord Ronald, « Not for shame,
Would I that aged Torquil came,
And found, for all our empty boast,
Without a blow we fled the coast.

I will not credit that this land,

So famed for warlike heart and hand,
The nurse of Wallace and of Bruce,
Will long with tyrants hold a truce.»>—
Prove we our fate-the brunt we 'll bide!»>
So Boyd and Haye and Lennox cried;
So said, so vow'd, the leaders all;
So Bruce resolved: « And in my hall
Since the bold southern make their home,
The hour of payment soon shall come,
When with rough and rugged host
Clifford may reckon to his cost.
Meantime, through well-known bosk and dell,
I'll lead where we may shelter well.»-

XVII.

Now ask you whence that wond'rous light,
Whose fairy glow beguiled their sight?-
It ne'er was known (6)—yet gray-hair'd eld
A superstitious credence held,

That never did a mortal hand

Wake its broad glare on Carrick strand;
Nay, and that on the self-same night
When Bruce cross'd o'er, still gleams the light.
Yearly it gleams o'er mount and moor,
And glittering wave and crimson'd shore-
But whether beam celestial, lent
By Heaven to aid the king's descent,
Or fire hell-kindled from beneath,

To lure him to defeat and death,

Or were it but some meteor strange,
Of such as oft through midnight range,
Startling the traveller late and lone,
I know not-and it ne'er was known.

XVIIL

Now up the rocky pass they drew,
And Ronald, to his promise true,
Still made his arm the stripling's stay,
To aid him on the rugged way.

« Now cheer thee, simple Amadine!
Why throbs that silly heart of thine?»>-
-That name the pirates to their slave,
(In Gaelic 't is the Changeling) gave—
<< Dost thou not rest thee on my arm?
Do not my plaid-folds hold thee warm?
Hath not the wild-bull's treble hide
This targe for thee and me supplied?
Is not Clan-Colla's sword of steel?

And, trembler, canst thou terror feel?
Cheer thee, and still that throbbing heart;
From Ronald's guard thou shalt not part.»----
-0! many a shaft, at random sent,
Finds mark the archer little meant!

And many a word, at random spoken,
May sooth or wound a heart that's broken!
Half sooth'd, half grieved, half terrified,
Close drew the page to Ronald's side;
A wild delirious thrill of joy
Was in that hour of agony, >

As up the steepy pass he strove,
Fear, toil, and sorrow, lost in love!

XIX.

The barrier of that iron shore,

The rock's steep ledge, is now climb'd o'er;
And from the castle's distant wall,
From tower to tower the warders call:
The sound swings over land and sea,
And marks a watchful enemy.-
They gain'd the chase, a wide domain
Left for the castle's sylvan reign (7)
(Seek not the scene-the axe, the plough,
The boor's dull fence, have marr'd it now),
But then, soft swept in velvet green
The plain with many a glade between,
Whose tangled alleys far invade
The depth of the brown forest shade.
Here the tall fern obscured the lawn,
Fair shelter for the sportive faun :
There, tufted close with copse-wood green,
Was many a swelling hillock seen;
And all around was verdure meet
For pressure of the fairies' feet.
The glossy holly loved the park,
yew-tree lent its shadow dark,
And many an old oak, worn and bare,
With all its shiver'd boughs, was there.
Lovely between, the moon-beams fell
On lawn and hillock, glade and dell.
The gallant monarch sigh'd to see
Those glades so loved in childhood free,
Bethinking that, as outlaw now,

The

He ranged beneath the forest bough.

XX.

Fast o'er the moon-light chase they sped.
Well knew the band that measured tread,
When in retreat or in advance,
The serried warriors move at once;
And evil were the luck, if dawn
Descried them on the open lawn.
Copses they traverse, brooks they cross,
Strain up the bank and o'er the moss.
From the exhausted page's brow

Cold drops of toil are streaming now;

"Nhac may be done?—the night is gonedruce's band moves swiftly on

Its de saldie, if at the brunt

Cru Roudu price not battle's front!-
Nec vouver qua, wichia whose trunk
Jeca i motor ved math sunk—-
Takver, Janě vest, hoe there a space,
Wrap a me mand the ambs, thy face.
I will to be, cdeve me, far;
But muse you quit the ranks of war.
Wesi will I mark the bosky bourne,
kad soon to guard thee hence, return.—
Yay, weep not so, thou simple boy!
Sudeep in peace, and wake in joy.»
'n yivan lodging close bestow'd,

He placed the page, and onward strode
Wrch strength put forth, o'er moss and brook,
kad soon the marching band o'ertook.

XXII.

rangely left, long sobb'd and wept

till, wearied out, he slept.— voice waked his dream-«< Nay, here, Wow by this thicket, pass'd the deerthat oak old Ryno staidhave we here? a Scottish plaid, folds a stripling laid?-

th! thy name and business tell!Who salent?—then I guess thee well, хру that sought old Cuthbert's cell,

ed from Annan yester morn— me, comrades, we will strait return. O ford may cause the rack should teach **this young lurcher use of speech.

bow-string, till I bind him fast. »— Nex, but he weeps and stands aghast; Pebound we'll lead him, fear it not;

a fair stripling, though a Scot.»The hunters to the castle sped, hd where the hapless captive led.

XXIII.

Clifford in the castle-court pared him for the morning sport; And now with Lorn held deep discourse, New gave command for hound and horse. We steeds and palfreys paw'd the ground, Aed many a deer-dog howl'd around,

To Amadine, Lorn's well-known word
Replying to that southern lord,
Mix'd with this clanging din, might seem
The phantasm of a fever'd dream.
The tone upon his ringing ears
Came like the sounds which fancy hears,
When in rude waves or roaring winds
Some words of woe the muser finds,
Until more loudly and more near,
Their speech arrests the page's ear.

XXIV.

And was she thus,» said Clifford, « lost?
The priest will rue it to his cost!
What says the monk?»-« The holy sire
Owns that, in masquer's quaint attire,
She sought his skiff, disguised, unknown
To all except to him alone.

But, says the priest, a bark from Lorn
Laid them aboard that very morn,
And pirates seized her for their prey.
He proffer'd ransom-gold to pay,
And they agreed-but e'er told o'er,
The winds blow loud, the billows roar;
They sever'd, and they met no more.
He deems-such tempest vex'd the coast-
Ship, crew, and fugitive, were lost.
-So let it be, with the disgrace

And scandal of her lofty race!
Thrice better she had ne'er been born,
Than brought her infamy on Lorn!>

XXV.

Lord Clifford now the captive spied;

« Whom, Herbert, hast thou there!» he cried.
« A spy was seized within the chase,
An hollow oak his lurking-place.»
« What tidings can the youth afford?»-
<< He plays the mute.»>« Then noose a cord-
Unless brave Lorn reverse the doom
For his plaid's sake.»-« Clan-Colla's loom,»
Said Lorn, whose careless glances trace
Rather the vesture than the face,

« Clan-Colla's dames such tartans twine;
Wearer nor plaid claims care of mine.
Give him, if my advice you crave,
His own scathed oak; and let him wave
In air, unless, by terror wrung,
A frank confession find his tongue-
Nor shall he die without his rite;
-Thou, Angus Roy, attend the sight,
And give Clan-Colla's dirge thy breath,
As they convey him to his death.»→→

<< O brother! cruel to the last!»

Through the poor captive's bosom pass'd
The thought, but, to his purpose true,
He said not, though he sighi'd, « Adieu !»—

XXVI.

And will he keep his purpose still,
In sight of that last closing ill,
When one poor breath, one single word,
May freedom, safety, life, afford?
Can he resist the instinctive call,
For life that bids us barter all?-

Love, strong as death, his heart hath steel'd,
His nerves hath strung-he will not yield!
Since that poor breath, that little word,
May yield Lord Ronald to the sword.-
Clan-Colla's dirge is pealing wide,
The grisly headsman 's by his side;
Along the green-wood chase they bend,
And now their march has ghastly end!
That old and shatter'd oak beneath

They destine for the place of death.
-What thoughts are his, while all in vain
for aid explores the plain?

eye

His
What thoughts, while, with a dizzy ear,
He hears the death-prayer mutter'd near?
And must he die such death accurst,
Or will that bosom-secret burst?
Cold on his brow breaks terror's dew,
His trembling lips are livid blue;

The agony of parting life

Has nought to match that moment's strife!

XXVII.

But other witnesses are nigh,

Who mock at fear, and death defy!
Soon as the dire lament was play'd,
It waked the lurking ambuscade.

The Island Lord look'd forth, and spied
The cause, and loud in fury cried,

By Heaven they lead the page to die,
And mock me in his agony!

They shall abye it!»-On his arm

Bruce laid strong grasp, « They shall not harm
A ringlet of the stripling's hair;
But, till I give the word, forbear.
-Douglas, lead fifty of our force
Up yonder hollow water-course,

And couch thee mid-way on the wold,
Between the flyers and their hold:

Like war-horse eager to rush on,
Compell'd to wait the signal blown,
Hid, and scarce hid, by green-wood bough,
Trembling with rage, stands Ronald now,
And in his grasp his sword gleams blue,
Soon to be dyed with deadlier hue.—
Meanwhile the Bruce, with steady eye,
Sees the dark death-train moving by,
And heedful measures oft the space,
The Douglas and his band must trace,
Ere they can reach their destined ground.
Now sinks the dirge's wailing sound,
Now cluster round the direful tree
That slow and solemn company,

«The Bruce, the Bruce!» to well-known cry His native rocks and woods reply.

« The Bruce, the Bruce!» in that dread word
The knell of hundred deaths was heard.
The astonish'd southern gazed at first,
Where the wild tempest was to burst,
That waked in that presaging name!
Before, behind, around it came !
Half-arm'd, surprised, on every side
Hemm'd in, hew'd down, they bled and died.
Deep in the ring the Bruce engaged,

And fierce Clan-Colla's broadsword raged!
Full soon the few who fought were sped,
Nor better was their lot who fled,
And met, 'mid terror's wild career,
The Douglas's redoubted spear!
Two hundred yeomen on that morn
The castle left, and none return.

ΧΧΧ.

Not on their flight press'd Ronald's brand,
A gentler duty claim'd his hand.
He raised the page, where on the plain
His fear had sunk him with the slain;
And, twice that morn, surprise well near
Betray'd the secret kept by fear.
Once, when, with life returning, came
To the boy's lip lord Ronald's name,
And hardly recollection drown'd
The accents in a murmuring sound;
And once, when scarce he could resist
The chieftain's care to loose the vest,
Drawn tightly o'er his labouring breast.
But then the Bruce's bugle blew,
For martial work was yet to do.

XXXI.

A harder task fierce Edward waits.
Ere signal given, the castle-gates
His fury had assail'd;
Such was his wonted reckless mood,
Yet desperate valour oft made good,
Even by its daring, venture rude,

Where prudence might have fail'd.
Upon the bridge his strength he threw,
And struck the iron chain in two
By which its planks arose ;
The warder next his axe's edge
Struck down upon the threshold ledge,
'Twixt door and post a ghastly wedge!

The gate they may not close.

Well fought the southern in the fray, Clifford and Lorn fought well that day, But stubborn Edward forced his way

Against an hundred foes.

Loud came the cry, « The Bruce, the Bruce !»> No hope or in defence or truce,

Fresh combatants pour in;

Mad with success, and drunk with gore,
They drive the struggling foe before,
And ward on ward they win.
Unsparing was the vengeful sword,

And limbs were lopp'd and life-blood pour'd,
The cry of death and conflict roar'd,

And fearful was the din!
The startling horses plunged and flung,
Clamour'd the dogs till turrets rung,
Nor sunk the fearful cry,

Till not a foeman was there found
Alive, save those who on the ground
Groan'd in their agony!

XXXII.

The valiant Clifford is no more;

On Ronald's broadsword stream'd his gore,
But better hap had he of Lorn,'
Who, by the foeman backward borne,
Yet gain'd with slender train the port,
Where lay his bark beneath the fort,

And cut the cable loose.

Short were his shrift in that debate,
That hour of fury and of fate,

If Lorn encounter'd Bruce!
Then long and loud the victor shout
From turret and from tower rung out,

The rugged vaults replied;

And from the donjon tower on high,
The men of Carrick may descry

Saint Andrew's cross, in blazonry
Of silver, waving wide!

XXXIII.

The Bruce hath won his fathers' hall! (8)
-«Welcome, brave friends and comrades all,
Welcome to mirth and joy!

The first, the last, is welcome here,
From lord and chieftain, prince and peer,
To this poor speechless boy.

Great God! once more my sire's abode
Is mine-behold the floor I trode

In tottering infancy!

And there the vaulted arch, whose sound
Echoed my joyous shout and bound
In boyhood, and that rung around

To youth's unthinking glee!
O first, to thee, all-gracious Heaven,
Then to my friends, my thanks be given!»-
He paused a space, his brow he cross'd-
Then on the board his sword he toss'd,
Yet steaming hot; with southern gore
From hilt to point 't was crimson'd o'er.

XXXIV.

Bring here,» he said, « the mazers four,
My noble fathers loved of yore. (9)
Thrice let them circle round the board,
The pledge, fair Scotland's rights restored!
And he whose lip shall touch the wine,
Without a vow as true as mine,

To hold both lands and life at nought,
Until her freedom shall be bought.—
Be brand of a disloyal Scot,
And lasting infamy his lot!

Sit, gentle friends! our hour of glee
Is brief, we 'll spend it joyously!
Blithest of all the sun's bright beams,
When betwixt storm and storm he gleams.
Well is our country's work begun,
But more, far more, must yet be done!--
Speed messengers the country through;
Arouse old friends, and gather new; (10)
Warn Lanark's knights to gird their mail,
Rouse the brave sons of Teviotdale,
Let Ettrick's archers sharp their darts,
The fairest forms, the truest hearts! (11)
Call all, call all! from Reedswair path,
To the wild confines of Cape Wrath;
Wide let the news through Scotland ring,
The Northern Eagle claps his wing !»—

Did it condemn the transport high,
Which glisten'd in thy watery eye,
When minstrel or when palmer told
Each fresh exploit of Bruce the bold?-
And whose the lovely form, that shares
Thy anxious hopes, thy fears, thy prayers?
No sister she of convent shade;

So say these locks in lengthen'd braid,
So say the blushes and the signs,
The tremors that unbidden rise,
When, mingled with the Bruce's fame,
The brave Lord Ronald's praises came.

III.

Believe, his fathers' castle won,
And his bold enterprise begun,
That Bruce's earliest cares restore

The speechless page to Arran's shore;
Nor think that long the quaint disguise
Conceal'd her from a sister's eyes;
And sister-like in love they dwell
In that lone convent's silent cell.
There Bruce's slow assent allows
Fair Isabel the veil and vows;
And there, her sex's dress regain'd,
The lovely Maid of Lorn remain'd,
Unnamed, unknown, while Scotland far
Resounded with the din of war;
And many a month and many a day
In calm seclusion wore away.

IV.

These days, these months, to years bad worn,
When tidings of high weight were borne

To that lone island's shore;-
Of all the Scottish conquests made
By the first Edward's ruthless blade,
His son retain'd no more,

Northward of Tweed, but Stirling's towers,
Beleaguer'd by King Robert's powers;
And they took term of truce, (5)
If England's king should not relieve
The siege e'er John the Baptist's eve,
To yield them to the Bruce.
England was roused on every side,
Courier and post and herald hied,
To summon prince and peer,

At Berwick-bounds to meet their liege, (6)
Prepared to raise fair Stirling's siege,

With buckler, brand, and spear.
The term was nigh-they muster'd fast,
By beacon and by bugle-blast

Forth marshall'd for the field;
There rode each knight of noble name,
There England's hardy archers came,
The land they trode seem'd all on flame,
With banner, blade, and shield!
And not famed England's powers alone,
Renown'd in arms, the summons own;
For Neustria's knights obey'd,
Gascoyne hath lent her horsemen good,
And Cambria, but of late subdued,
Sent forth her mountain-multitude, (7)
And Connaught pour'd from waste and wood
Her hundred tribes, whose sceptre rude
Dark Eth O'Connor sway'd. (8)

V.

Right to devoted Caledon

The storm of war rolls slowly on,

With menace deep and dread;

So the dark clouds, with gathering power,
Suspend awhile the threaten'd shower,
Till every peak and summit lour

Round the pale pilgrim's head.
Not with such pilgrim's startled eye
King Robert mark'd the tempest nigh!
Resolved the brunt to bide,

His royal summons warn'd the land,
That all who own'd their king's command
Should instant take the spear and brand,
To combat at his side.

O, who may tell the sons of fame,
That at King Robert's bidding came,

To battle for the right!

From Cheviot to the shores of Ross,
From Solway Sands to Marshal's Moss,
All boun'd them for the fight.
Such news the royal courier tells,
Who came to rouse dark Arran's dells
But farther tidings must the ear
Of Isabel in secret hear.

These in her cloister walk, next morn, Thus shared she with the Maid of Lorn.

"

VI.

My Edith, can I tell how dear Our intercourse of hearts sincere

Hath been to Isabel?

Judge then the sorrow of my heart,
When I must say the words, We part!

The cheerless convent-cell

Was not, sweet maiden, made for thee;
Go thou where thy vocation free
On happier fortunes fell.
Nor, Edith, judge thyself betray'd,
Though Robert knows that Lorn's high maid
And his poor silent page were one.
Versed in the fickle heart of man,
Earnest and anxious hath he look'd
How Ronald's heart the message brook'd
That gave him, with her last farewell,
The charge of Sister Isabel,

To think upon thy better right,
And keep the faith his promise plight.
Forgive him for thy sister's sake,
At first if vain repinings wake-

Long since that mood is gone:
Now dwells he on thy juster claims,
And oft his breach of faith he blames-
Forgive him for thine own!»-

VII.

« No! never to Lord Ronald's bower
Will I again as paramour——»
Nay, hush thee, too impatient maid,
Until my final tale be said !---
The good King Robert would engage
Edith once more his elfin page,
By her own heart, and her own eye,
Her lover's penitence to try-
Safe in his royal charge, and free,
Should such thy final purpose be,