THE

LORD OF THE ISLES.

CANTO THÍÝ D.

Hast thou not mark'd, when o'er thy startled head

Sudden and deep the thunder-peal has rolla, How, when its echoes fell, a silence dead

Sunk on the wood, the meadow, and the wold ? The rye-grass shakes not on the sod-built fold,

The rustling aspen's leaves are mute and still, The wall-flower waves not on the ruin'd Hold,

Till, murmuring distant first, then near and shrill, The savage whirlwind wakes, and sweeps the groaning hill!

II.

Artornish ! such a silence sunk

Upon thy halls, when that

grey

Monk His prophet-speech had spoke; And his obedient brethren's sail

Was stretch'd to meet the southern gale

Before a whisper woke. Then murmuring sounds of doubt and fear, Close pour'd in many an anxious ear,

The solemn stillness broke;

And still they gazed with eager guess,
Where, in an oriel's deep recess,
The Island Prince seem'd bent to press

What Lorn, by his impatient cheer,
And gesture fierce, scarce deign'd to hear.

III.

Starting at length with frowning look,
His hand he clench'd, his head he shook,

And sternly flung apart ;

66 And deem'st thou me so mean of mood,
As to forget the mortal feud,
And clasp the hand with blood embrued

From my dear Kinsman's heart ?
Is this thy rede ?-a due return
For ancient league and friendship sworn!
But well our mountain proverb shows
The faith of Islesmen ebbs and flows.

Be it even so-believe, ere long,
He that now bears shall wreak the wrong.
Call Edith-call the Maid of Lorn!
My sister, slaves !--for further scorn,
Be sure nor she nor I will stay.-
Away, De Argentine, away!
We nor ally nor brother know,
In Bruce's friend, or England's foe.”-

To highest tower the castle round,
No Lady Edith was there found !
He shouted, « Falsehood -treachery !
Revenge and blood !-a lordly meed
To him that will avenge the deed!

A Baron's lands !". His frantic mood

Was scarcely by the news withstood,
That Morag shared his sister's flight,
And that, in hurry of the night,
'Scaped noteless, and without remark,
Two strangers sought the Abbot's bark.--
“ Man every galley !---fly-pursue !
The priest his treachery shall rue !
Ay, and the time shall quickly come,
When we shall hear the thanks that Rome
Will pay his feigned prophecy !"-
Such was fierce Lorn's indignant cry;
And Cormac Doil in haste obey'd,
Hoisted his sail, his anchor weigh'd,

(For, glad of each pretext for spoil, A pirate sworn was Cormac Doil.) But others, lingering, spoke apart, “ The Maid has given her maiden heart

To Ronald of the Isles,

And, fearful lest her brother's word
Bestow her on that English Lord,

She seeks Iona's piles,
And wisely deems it best to dwell
A votaress in the holy cell,
Until these feuds so fierce and fell

The Abbot reconciles.".

V.

As, impotent of ire, the hall
Echoed to Lorn's impatient call,
“ My horse, my mantle, and my train !
Let none who honours Lorn remain !"

Courteous, but stern, a bold request
To Bruce de Argentine exprens'd.