-That name the pirates to their slave,
(In Gaelic 'tis 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."-

-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,
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!

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 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,

The 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

These glades so loved in childhood free,
Bethinking that, as outlaw now,

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;
With effort faint and lengthen'd pause,
His weary step the stripling draws.
"Nay, droop not yet!" the warrior said;
"Come, let me give thee ease and aid!
Strong are mine arms, and little care
A weight so slight as thine to bear.-
What! wilt thou not?-capricious boy !—
Then thine own limbs and strength employ.
Pass but this night, and pass thy care,

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-
Eternal shame, if at the brunt

Lord Ronald grace not battle's front!-
"See yonder oak, within whose trunk
Decay a darken'd cell hath sunk;
Enter, and rest thee there a space,

Wrap in my plaid thy limbs, thy face.

I will not be, believe me, far;

But must not quit the ranks of war,
Well will I mark the bosky bourne,
And soon, to guard thee hence, return,-
Nay, weep not so, thou simple boy!

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.