The fairest knight on Scottish mold,

Her brother, Ethert Brand!

Merry it is in good greenwood,

When the mavis and merle are singing, But merrier were they in Dunfermline gray, When all the bells were ringing.

XVI.

Just as the minstrel sounds were staid,
A stranger climb'd the steepy glade
His martial step, his stately mien,
His hunting suit of Lincoln-green,

His eagle glance, remembrance claims

'Tis Snowdoun's Knight, 'tis James Fitz-James. Ellen beheld as in a dream,

Then, starting, scarce suppress'd a scream:
"O stranger in such hour of fear,

What evil hap has brought thee here ?"—
"An evil hap how can it be,
That bids me look again on thee?
By promise bound, my former guide
Met me betimes this morning tide,
And marshall'd, over bank and bourne,
The happy path of my return."-

"The happy path!-what! said he naught
Of war, of battle to be fought,

Of guarded pass ?"-" No, by my faith!
Nor saw I aught could augur scathe."-
"O haste thee, Allan, to the kern,
-Yonder his tartans I discern;
Learn thou his purpose, and conjure
That he will guide the stranger sure!—
What prompted thee, unhappy man?
The meanest serf in Roderick's clan
Had not been bribed by love or fear,
Unknown to him to guide thee here.”—

XVII.

"Sweet Ellen, dear my life must be, Since it is worthy care from thee; Yet life I hold but idle breath, When love or honor's weigh'd with death. Then let me profit by my chance, And speak my purpose bold at once. I come to bear thee from a wild, Where ne'er before such blossom smiled; By this soft hand to lead thee far From frantic scenes of feud and war. Near Bochastle my horses wait;1 They bear us soon to Stirling gate. I'll place thee in a lovely bower, I'll guard thee like a tender flower". "O bush, Sir Knight, 'twere female art, To say I do not read thy heart;

MS.-" By Cambusmore my horses wait." MS.-"Was idly fond thy praise to hear."

Too much, before, my selfish ear
Was idly soothed my praise to hear.?
That fatal bait hath lured thee back,
In deathful hour, o'er dangerous track
And how, O how, can I atone

The wreck my vanity brought on!—
One way remains-I'll tell him all-
Yes, struggling bosom, forth it shall!
Thou, whose light folly bears the blame,
Buy thine own pardon with thy shame!
But first-my father is a man
Outlaw'd and exiled, under ban;
The price of blood is on his head,
With me 'twere infamy to wed.—

Still wouldst thou speak?-then hear the truth!
Fitz-James, there is a noble youth,—

If yet he is!-exposed for me
And mine to dread extremity-
Thou hast the secret of my heart;
Forgive, be generous, and depart !"

XVIII.

Fitz-James knew every wily train
A lady's fickle heart to gain;

But here he knew and felt them vain.
There shot no glance from Ellen's eye,
To give her steadfast speech the lie;
In maiden confidence she stood,
Though mantled in her cheek the blood,
And told her love with such a sigh
Of deep and hopeless agony,

As death had seal'd her Malcolm's doom,
And she sat sorrowing on his tomb.
Hope vanish'd from Fitz-James's eye,
But not with hope fled sympathy.
He proffer'd to attend her side,
As brother would a sister guide.-
"O! little know'st thou Roderick's heart!
Safer for both we go apart.

O haste thec, and from Allan learn,
If thou mayst trust yon wily kern."
With hand upon his forehead laid,
The conflict of his mind to shade,
A parting step or two he made;

Then, as some thought had cross'd his brain,
He paused, and turn'd, and came again.

XIX.

"Hear, lady, yet, a parting word!—
It chanced in fight that my poor sword
Preserved the life of Scotland's lord.
This ring the grateful Monarch gave,3
And bade, when I had boon to crave,
To bring it back, and boldly claim
The recompense that I would name.

MS.-"This ring of gold the monarch gave."

Ellen, I am no courtly lord,

But one who lives by lance and sword,
Whose castle is his helm and shield,
His lordship the embattled field.
What from a prince can I demand,
Who neither reck of state nor land?
Ellen, thy hand-the ring is thine;1
Each guard and usher knows the sign.
Seek thou the king without delay;?
This signet shall secure thy way;
And claim thy suit, whate'er it be,
As ransom of his pledge to me."
He placed the golden circlet on,
Paused-kiss'd her hand-and then was gone.
The aged Minstrel stood aghast,
So hastily Fitz-James shot past.

He join'd his guide, and wending down
The ridges of the mountain brown,
Across the stream they took their way,
That joins Loch Katrine to Achray.

XX.

All in the Trosach's glen was still,
Noontide was sleeping on the hill;
Sudden his guide whoop'd loud and high—
"Murdoch! was that a signal cry ?"-
He stammer'd forth-"I shout to scare
Yon raven from his dainty fare."
He look'd-he knew the raven's prey,
His own brave steed:-"Ah! gallant gray!
For thee-for me, perchance-'twere well
We ne'er had seen the Trosach's dell.-
Murdoch, move first-but silently;
Whistle or whoop, and thou shalt die !"
Jealous and sullen on they fared,
Each silent, each upon his guard.

XXI.

Now wound the path its dizzy ledge
Around a precipice's edge.
When lo! a wasted female form,
Blighted by wrath of sun and storm,
In tatter'd weeds and wild array,*
Stood on a cliff beside the way,
And glancing round her restless eye,
Upon the wood, the rock, the sky,
Seem'd naught to mark, yet all to spy.
Her brow was wreath'd with gaudy broom;
With gesture wild she waved a plume
Of feathers, which the eagles fling

1 MS.-"Permit this hand-the ring is thine."

2 MS.-"Seek thou the King, and on thy knee
Put forth thy suit, whate'er it be,
As ransom of his pledge to me;

My name and this shall make thy way.'
He put the little signet on."

MS.-" He stammer'd forth confused reply:

To crag and cliff from dusky wing;
Such spoils her desperate step had sought,
Where scarce was footing for the goat.
The tartan plaid she first descried,
And shriek'd till all the rocks replied;
As loud she laugh'd when near they drew,
For then the Lowland garb she knew;
And then her hands she wildly wrung,
And then she wept, and then she sung-
She sung!-the voice, in better time,
Perchance to harp or lute might chime;
And now, though strain'd and roughen'd, still
Rung wildly sweet to dale and hill.

XXII. Song.

They bid me sleep, they bid me pray,
They say my brain is warp'd and wrung—

I cannot sleep on Highland brae,

I cannot pray in Highland tongue. But were I now where Allan' glides, Or heard my native Devan's tides, So sweetly would I rest and pray That Heaven would close my wintry day!

'Twas thus my hair they bade me braid, They made me to the church repair; It was my bridal morn they said,

And my true love would meet me there. But woe betide the cruel guile

That drown'd in blood the morning smile! And woe betide the fairy dream!

I only waked to sob and scream.

XXIII.

"Who is this maid? what means her lay
She hovers o'er the hollow way,
And flutters wide her mantle gray,
As the lone heron spreads his wing,
By twilight, o'er a haunted spring.”—
"Tis Blanche of Devan," Murdoch said,
"A crazed and captive Lowland maid,
Ta'en on the morn she was a bride,
When Roderick, foray'd Devan-side.
The gay bridegroom resistance made,

And felt our Chief's unconquer'd blade.

I marvel she is now at large,

But oft she 'scapes from Maudlin's charge.Hence, brain-sick fool!"-He raised his bow:"Now, if thou strik'st her but one blow,

Yon raven from his dainty fare.'"

4 MS.-"Wrapp'd in a tatter'd mantle gray."

The Allan and Devan are two beautiful streams, the latter celebrated in the poetry of Burns, which descend from the hills of Perthshire into the great carse or plain of Stirling.

6 MS.-"A Saxon born, a crazy maid

'Tis Blanche of Devan,' Murdoch said."

"It was a stag, a stag of ten,
Bearing its branches sturdily;
MS-"With thee these pennons will I share,
Then seek my true love through the air.'
Ms. But I'll not lend that savage groom,
To break his fall, one downy plume!
Deep, deep 'mid yon disjointed stones,
The wolf shall batten on his bones."

MS.-"Sweet William was a woodman true,
He stole poor Blanche's heart away!
His coat was of the forest hue,

And sweet he sung the Lowland lay."

Having ten branches on his antlers,

"No machinery can be conceived more clumsy for effecting deliverance of a distressed hero, than the introduction of a

ad wraan, who, without knowing or caring about the wanarns him by a song, to take care of the ambush that

He came stately down the glen, Ever sing hardily, hardily.

"It was there he met with a wounded doe, She was bleeding deathfully;

She warn'd him of the toils below,
O, so faithfully, faithfully!

"He had an eye, and he could heed, Ever sing warily, warily;

He had a foot, and he could speedHunters watch so narrowly.”

XXVI.

Fitz-James's mind was passion-toss'd,
When Ellen's hints and fears were lost;
But Murdoch's shout suspicion wrought,
And Blanche's song conviction brought.-
Not like a stag that spies the snare,
But lion of the hunt aware,

He waved at once his blade on high,
"Disclose thy treachery, or die!"
Forth at full speed the Clansman flew,
But in his race his bow he drew.
The shaft just grazed Fitz-James's crest,
And thrill'd in Blanche's faded breast.-
Murdoch of Alpine! prove thy speed,
For ne'er had Alpine's son such need!
With heart of fire, and foot of wind,
The fierce avenger is behind!
Fate judges of the rapid strife-
The forfeit death-the prize is life!
Thy kindred ambush lies before,
Close couch'd upon the heathery moor:
Them couldst thou reach !-it may not
be-

Thine ambush'd kin thou ne'er shalt see,
The fiery Saxon gains on thee!
-Resistless speeds the deadly thrust,
As lightning strikes the pine to dust;
With foot and hand Fitz-James must
strain,

Ere he can win his blade again.

Bent o'er the fall'n, with falcon eye,
He grimly smiled to see him die;

was set for him. The maniacs of poetry have indeed had a prescriptive right to be musical, since the days of Ophelia downwards; but it is rather a rash extension of this privilege to make them sing good sense, and to make sensible people be guided by them."-JEFFREY.

• MS.-"Forth at full speed the Clansman went;
But in his race his bow he bent,
Halted-and back an arrow sent."

Then slower wended back his way, Where the poor maiden bleeding lay.

XXVII.

She sate beneath the birchen-tree,
Her elbow resting on her knee;

She had withdrawn the fatal shaft,
And gazed on it, and feebly laugh'd;
Her wreath of broom and feathers gray,
Daggled with blood, beside her lay.

The Knight to stanch the life-stream tried,'Stranger, it is in vain!" she cried.

66

"This hour of death has given me more

Of reason's power than years before;

For, as these ebbing veins decay, My phrensied visions fade away. A helpless injured wretch I die,' And something tells me in thine eye, That thou wert mine avenger born.Seest thou this tress?-O! still I've worn This little tress of yellow hair, Through danger, phrensy, and despair! It once was bright and clear as thine, But blood and tears have dimm'd its shine. I will not tell thee when 'twas shred, Nor from what guiltless victim's headMy brain would turn!-but it shall wave' Like plumage on thy helmet brave, Till sun and wind shall bleach the stain, And thou wilt bring it me again.I waver still.-O God! more bright Let reason beam her parting light!O! by thy knighthood's honor'd sign, And for thy life preserved by mine, When thou shalt see a darksome man, Who boasts him Chief of Alpine's Clan, With tartan's broad and shadowy plume, And hand of blood, and brow of gloom, Be thy heart bold, thy weapon strong, And wreak poor Blanche of Devan's wrong! They watch for thee by pass and fell... Avoid the path... O God!... farewell."

XXVIII.

A kindly heart had brave Fitz-James;
Fast pour'd his eyes at pity's claims,
And now with mingled grief and ire,
He saw the murder'd maid expire.
"God, in my need, be my relief,"
As I wreak this on yonder Chief!"
A lock from Blanche's tresses fair
He blended with her bridegroom's hair;
The mingled braid in blood he dyed,
And placed it on his bonnet-side:

1 MS.-"A guiltless injured wretch I die."

2 MS." But now, my champion,-it shall wave."

3 MS.-"God, in my need, to me be true,

"By Him whose word is truth! I swear, No other favor will I wear,

Till this sad token I imbrue

In the best blood of Roderick Dhu!
-But hark! what means yon faint hallo?
The chase is up,-but they shall know,
The stag at bay 's a dangerous foe."
Barr'd from the known but guarded way,
Through copse and cliffs Fitz-James must stray
And oft must change his desperate track,
By stream and precipice turn'd back.
Heartless, fatigued, and faint, at length,
From lack of food and loss of strength,
He couch'd him in a thicket hoar,
And thought his toils and perils o'er :-
"Of all my rash adventures past,
This frantic freak must prove the last!
Who e'er so mad but might have guess'd,
That all this Highland hornet's nest
Would muster up in swarms so soon
As e'er they heard of bands at Doune?-
Like bloodhounds now they search me out,-
Hark, to the whistle and the shout!-
If farther through the wilds I go,

I only fall upon the foe:

I'll couch me here till evening gray,
Then darkling try my dangerous way."

XXIX.

The shades of eve come slowly down,
The woods are wrapt in deeper brown,
The owl awakens from her dell,
The fox is heard upon the fell;
Enough remains of glimmering light
To guide the wanderer's steps aright.
Yet not enough from far to show
His figure to the watchful foe.
With cautious step, and ear awake,
He climbs the crag and threads the brake;
And not the summer solstice, there,
Temper'd the midnight mountain air,
But every breeze, that swept the wold,
Benumb'd his drenched limbs with cold.
In dread, in danger, and alone,
Famish'd and chill'd, through ways unknown,
Tangled and steep, he journey'd on;
Till, as a rock's huge point he turn'd,
A watch-fire close before him burn'd.