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How there the Easter-gambols pass,
That hut's dark walls he sees no more,
Gleam like a firmament of stars !
Hark! hears he not the sea-nymph speak Her anger in that thrilling shriek ? No! all too late, with Allan's dream Mingled the captive's warning scream. As from the ground he strives to start, A ruffian's dagger finds his heart! Upwards he cast his dizzy eyes, . Murmurs his master's name, .
Not so awoke the King ! his hand
And venged young Allan well!
The spatter'd brain and bubbling blood
3 Hiss'd on the half-extinguish'd wood,
The miscreant gasp'd and fell ! Nor rose in peace the Island Lord; One caitiff died upon his sword, And one beneath his
prone, In mortal grapple over-thrown. But while Lord Ronald's dagger drank The life-blood from his panting flank, The Father-ruffian of the band
Behind him rears a coward hand !
-O for a moment's aid,
Above his comrade laid !-
And, ere he shook him loose,
While o'er him stands The Bruce.
“ Miscreant! while lasts thy flitting spark,
- Vex me no more !... blood runs cold ...
No more I know than I have told.
We found him in a bark we sought
and I thought" ...
Then resting on his bloody blade,
Lifts his mute face to heaven,
For strange deliverance given. His speechless gesture thanks hath paid, Which our free tongues have left unsaid !”. He raised the youth with kindly word, But mark'd him shudder at the sword ; He cleansed it from its hue of death, And plunged the weapon in its sheath. “ Alas, poor child! unfitting part Fate doom'd, when with so soft a heart,
And form so slight as thine, She made thee first a pirate's slave, Then, in his stead, a patron gave
Of wayward lot like mine;