As suited best the princely dais, And royal canopy; And there he marshall'd them their place, First of that company. VII. Then lords and ladies spake aside, And angry looks the error chide, That gave to guests unnamed, unknown, A place so near their prince's throne; But Owen Erraught said, "For forty years a seneschal, To marshal guests in bower and hall Worship and birth to me are known, Not by furr'd robe or broider'd zone; And 'gainst an oaken bough I'll gage my silver wand of state, That these three strangers oft have sate In higher place than now." D VIII. "I, too," the aged Ferrand said, "Am qualified by minstrel trade Of rank and place to tell ; Mark'd ye the younger stranger's eye, My mates, how quick, how keen, how high, How fierce its flashes fell, Glancing among the noble rout As if to seek the noblest out, That steady, calm, majestic brow, With which the elder chief even now Scann'd the gay presence o'er, Like Being of superior kind, In whose high-toned impartial mind Scem objects of indifferent weight. The lady too-though closely tied The mantle veil both face and eye, Her motions' grace it could not hide, Nor could her form's fair symmetry.". IX. Suspicious doubt and lordly scorn Then question'd, high and brief, Who to Rath-Erin's shelter drew, With Carrick's out-law'd Chief? And if, their winter's exile o'er, They harbour'd still by Ulster's shore, X.. That younger stranger, fierce and high, At once confronts the Chieftain's With look of equal scorn ; eye.. "Of rebels have we nought to show; But if of Royal Bruce thou'dst know, I warn thee he has sworn, Ere thrice three days shall come and go, From England's every bill and bow, To Allaster of Lorn." Kindled the mountain Chieftain's ire, But Ronald quench'd the rising fire; "Brother, it better suits the time To chase the night with Ferrand's rhyme, Than wake, 'midst mirth and wine, the jars That flow from these unhappy wars." "Content," said Lorn; and spoke apart With Ferrand, master of his art, Then whisper'd Argentine,- He ceased, and it was silence all, XI. The Broach of Lorn. "Whence the Broach of burning gold, That clasps the Chieftain's mantle-fold, Wrought and chased with rare device, Studded fair with gems of price,.. On the varied tartans beaming, As, through night's pale rain-bow gleaming, Fainter now, now seen afar, Fitful shines the northern star? "Gem !.ne'er wrought on highland mountain, Did the fairy of the fountain, |