The shouting vassals man the oars, Behind them sink Mull's mountain shores, Onward their merry course they keep, To greet afar her prince's bride! Thy Ronald comes, and while in speed He chides her sloth !"-Fair Edith sigh'd, Blush'd, sadly smiled, and thus replied : XIII. "Sweet thought, but vain !-No, Morag! mark, Type of his course, yon lonely bark, That oft hath shifted helm and sail, To win its way against the gale. Since peep of morn, my vacant eyes Have view'd by fits the course she tries; Now, though the darkening scud comes on, And dawn's fair promises be gone, And though the weary crew may see Our sheltering haven on their lee, They strive her shivering sail to bind, Still nearer to the shelves' dread verge At tack her course they urge, every As if they fear'd Artornish more Than adverse winds and breakers' roar." XIV. Sooth spoke the Maid.-Amid the tide The skiff she mark'd lay tossing sore, And shifted oft her stooping side, In weary tack from shore to shore. Yet on her destined course no more She gain'd, of forward way, Than what a minstrel may compare To the poor meed which peasants share, Who toil the live-long day; And such the risk her pilot braves, That oft, before she wore, Her boltsprit kiss'd the broken waves, Yet, to their destined purpose true, Nor look'd where shelter lay, Nor for Artornish Castle drew, Nor steer'd for Aros bay. BIB ODLE XV. Thus while they strove with wind and seas, Borne onward by the willing breeze, Lord Ronald's fleet swept by, Streamer'd with silk, and trick'd with gold, Mann'd with the noble and the bold Of Island chivalry. Around their prows the ocean roars, And chafes beneath their thousand oars, Yet bears them on their way: So chafes the war-horse in his might, That field-ward bears some valiant knight, Champs till both bitt and boss are white, On each gay deck they might behold And hauberks with their burnish'd fold, And each proud galley, as she pass'd, To the wild cadence of the blast Gave wilder minstrelsy. Full many a shrill triumphant note Their misty shores around; And Morven's echoes answer'd well, Come down the darksome Sound. XVI. So bore they on with mirth and pride, And if that labouring bark they spied, 'Twas with such idle eye As nobles cast on lowly boor, When, toiling in his task obscure, They pass him careless by. Let them sweep on with heedless eyes! But, had they known what mighty prize In that frail vessel lay, The famish'd wolf, that prowls the wold, Had scatheless pass'd the unguarded fold, Ere, drifting by these galleys bold, Unchallenged were her way! And thou, Lord Ronald, sweep thou on, With mirth and pride and minstrel tone! But had'st thou known who sail❜d so nigh, Far other glance were in thine eye! |