That hut's dark walls he sees no more,

His foot is on the marble floor,

And o'er his head the dazzling spars

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!

Upward he casts his dizzy eyes,...

Murmurs his master's name, . . . and dies!

XXIX.

Not so awoke the King! his hand

Snatch'd from the flame a knotted brand,

The nearest weapon of his wrath;

With this he cross'd the murderer's path,

And venged young Allan well!

The spatter'd brain and bubbling blood 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 grasp lies 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,

Till Bruce, who deals no double blow,

Dash to the earth another foé,

Above his comrade laid!

And it is gain'd-the captive sprung On the raised arm, and closely clung,

And, ere he shook him loose,

The master'd felon press'd the ground, And gasp'd beneath a mortal wound,

While o'er him stands the Bruce.

XXX.

"Miscreant while lasts thy flitting spark,
Give me to know the purpose dark,

That arm'd thy hand with murderous knife,
Against offenceless stranger's life ?”—-

"No stranger thou!" with accent fell, Murmur'd the wretch; "I know thee well:;:

And know thee for the foeman sworn

Of my high chief, the mighty Lorn."

"Speak yet again, and speak the truth For thy soul's sake!-from whence this youth? His country, birth, and name declare,

And thus one evil deed repair."

Fate cut him short; in blood and broil,

As he had lived, died Cormac Doil.

XXXI.

Then resting on his bloody blade,

The valiant Bruce to Ronald said,
"Now shame upon us both!-that boy
Lifts his mute face to heaven,

And clasps his hands, to testify

His gratitude to God on high,

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;

A landless prince, whose wandering life
Is but one scene of blood and strife-
Yet scant of friends the Bruce shall be,
But he'll find resting-place for thee.-
Come, noble Ronald! o'er the dead

Enough thy generous grief is paid,

And well has Allan's fate been wroke;

Come, wend we hence the day has broke.

Seek we our bark-I trust the tale

Was false, that she had hoisted sail."

XXXII.

Yet, ere they left that charnel-cell,

The Island Lord bade sad farewell

To Allan:

Who shall tell this tale,"

He said, "in halls of Donagaile!

Oh, who his widow'd mother tell,

That, ere his bloom, her fairest fell!

Rest thee, poor youth! and trust my care,

For mass and knell and funeral prayer;