-

To waft me to yon mountain-side."-
Then plunged he in the flashing tide.
Bold o'er the flood his head he bore,
And stoutly steer'd him from the shore;
And Allan strain'd his anxious eye,
Far 'mid the lake his form to spy.
Darkening across each puny wave,
To which the moon her silver gave,
Fast as the cormorant could skim,
The swimmer plied each active limb;
Then landing in the moonlight dell,
Loud shouted of his weal to tell.
The Minstrel heard the far halloo,
And joyful from the shore withdrew.

Canto Third.

The Gathering.

I.

IME rolls his ceaseless course. The

race of yore

Who danced our infancy upon their knee,

And told our marvelling boy-hood legend

store,

Of their strange ventures happ'd by land

or sea,

How are they blotted from the things that be! How few, all weak and wither'd of their force, Wait on the verge of dark eternity,

Like stranded wrecks, the tide returning hoarse,

To sweep them from our sight! Time rolls his ceaseless course.

Yet live there still who can remember well, How, when a mountain chief his bugle

blew,

Both field and forest, dingle, cliff, and dell,

And solitary heath, the signal knew ;

And fast the faithful clan around him drew, What time the warning note was keenly

wound,

What time aloft their kindred banner flew, While clamorous war-pipes yell'd the gathering sound,

And while the Fiery Cross glanced, like a meteor, round.†

II.

HE summer dawn's reflected hue

To purple changed Loch-Katrine blue; Mildly and soft the western breeze Just kiss'd the lake, just stirr'd the trees, And the pleased lake, like maiden coy, Trembled but dimpled not for joy; The mountain shadows on her breast Were neither broken nor at rest; In bright uncertainty they lie,

Like future joys to Fancy's eye.

The water-lily to the light

Her chalice rear'd of silver bright;

The doe awoke, and to the lawn,
Begemm'd with dew-drops, led her fawn;
The grey mist left the mountain-side,
The torrent show'd its glistening pride;
Invisible in flecked sky,

The lark sent down her revelry;

The blackbird and the speckled thrush
Good-morrow gave from brake and bush ;
In answer coo'd the cushat dove,
Her notes of peace, and rest, and love.

III.

O thought of peace, no thought of rest,
Assuaged the storm in Roderick's
breast.

With sheathed broadsword in his hand,
Abrupt he paced the islet strand,
And eyed the rising sun, and laid
His hand on his impatient blade.
Beneath a rock, his vassals' care
Was prompt the ritual to prepare,

With deep and deathful meaning fraught; For such Antiquity had taught

Was preface meet, ere yet abroad

The Cross of fire should take its road.
The shrinking band stood oft aghast
At the impatient glance he cast ;-
Such glance the mountain eagle threw,
As, from the cliffs of Ben-venue,
She spread her dark sails on the wind,
And, high in middle heaven reclined,
With her broad shadow on the lake,
Silenced the warblers of the brake.

IV,

HEAP of wither'd boughs was piled, Of juniper and rowan wild, Mingled with shivers from the oak, Rent by the lightning's recent stroke. Brian, the Hermit, by it stood, Bare-footed, in his frock and hood. His grisled beard and matted hair Obscured a visage of despair; His naked arms and legs, seam'd o'er, The scars of frantic penance bore.

G