-That name the pirates to their slave, And, trembler, canst thou terror feel? -O! 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, 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! 1 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, (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 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, The yew-tree lent its shadow dark, On lawn and hillock, glade and dell. These glades so loved in childhood free, 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, Cold drops of toil are streaming now; I'll place thee with a lady fair, Where thou shalt tune thy lute to tell How Ronald loves fair Isabel !" Worn out, dishearten'd, and dismay'd, Here Amadine let go the plaid; His trembling limbs their aid refuse, He sunk among the midnight dews! XXI. What may be done?-the night is gone The Bruce's band moves swiftly on- Lord Ronald grace not battle's front!- Wrap in my plaid thy limbs, thy face. I will not be, believe me, far; But must not quit the ranks of war, But sleep in peace, and wake in joy.”— In sylvan lodging close bestow'd, He placed the page, and onward strode With strength put forth, o'er moss and brook, And soon the marching band o'ertook. |