And what requital? cold delay→→→→ Excuse that shunn'd the spousal day. Hunts he Bentalla's nimble deer, Or loiters he in secret dell To bid some lighter love farewell, And swear, that though he may not scorn A daughter of the House of Lorn, Yet, when these formal rites are o'er, Again they meet, to part no more!" XII. -"Hush, daughter, hush! thy doubts remove, More nobly think of Ronald's love. Look, where beneath the castle grey His fleet unmoor from Aros bay! Hiding the dark-blue land they rise, The shouting vassals man the oars, Behind them sink Mull's mountain shores, To greet afar her prince's bride! Thy Ronald comes, and while in speed He chides her sloth !"-Fair Edith sigh'd, Blush'd, sadly smiled, and thus replied:- XIII. "Sweet thought, but vain !-No, Morag! mark, Type of his course, yon lonely bark, That oft hath shifted helm and sail, To win its way against the gale. Since peep of morn, my vacant eyes Have view'd by fits the course she tries; Now, though the darkening scud comes on, And dawn's fair promises be gone, And though the weary crew may see They strive her shivering sail to bind, Still nearer to the shelves' dread verge At every tack her course they urge, Than adverse winds and breakers' roar.' XIV. Sooth spoke the Maid.-Amid the tide And shifted oft her stooping side, In weary tack from shore to shore. Yet on her destined course no more She gain'd, of forward way, Than what a minstrel may compare To the poor meed which peasants share, Who toil the live-long day; 1 And such the risk her pilot braves, Her boltsprit kiss'd the broken waves, Where in white foam the ocean raves Yet, to their destined purpose true, Nor look'd where shelter lay, Nor for Artornish Castle drew, Nor steer'd for Aros bay. XV. Thus while they strove with wind and seas, Borne onward by the willing breeze, Lord Ronald's fleet swept by, Streamer'd with silk, and trick'd with gold, Mann'd with the noble and the bold Of Island chivalry. Around their prows the ocean roars, And chafes beneath their thousand oars, Yet bears them on their way: So chafes the war-horse in his might, That field-ward bears some valiant knight, Champs till both bitt and boss are white, But, foaming, must obey. On each gay deck they might behold And hauberks with their burnish'd fold, And each proud galley, as she pass'd, To the wild cadence of the blast Gave wilder minstrelsy. Full many a shrill triumphant note Their misty shores around; And Morven's echoes answer'd well, Come down the darksome Sound. |