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Up, all who love me! blow on blow!

And lay the outlaw'd felons low !"

XVI.

Then up sprung many a mainland Lord,
Obedient to their Chieftain's word.
Barcaldine's arm is high in air,
And Kinloch-Alline's blade is bare,
Black Murthok's dirk has left its sheath,
And clench'd is Dermid's hand of death.
Their mutter'd threats of vengeance swell
Into a wild and warlike yell;
Onward they press with weapons high,
The affrighted females shriek and fly,
And, Scotland, then thy brightest ray
Had darken'd ere its noon of day,
But every chief of birth and fame,
That from the Isles of Ocean came,
At Ronald's side that hour withstood
Fierce Lorn's relentless thirst for blood.

XVII. Brave Torquil from Dunvegan high, Lord of the misty hills of Skye, Mac-Niel, wild Bara's ancient thane, ... Duart, of bold Clan Gillian's strain, Fergus, of Canna's castled bay, Mac-Duffith, Lord of Colonsay, Soon as they saw the broadswords glance, : With ready weapons rose at once, sinin, More prompt, that many an ancient feud, i Full oft suppress'd, full oft renew'd, Glow'd 'twixt the chieftains of Argylés And many a lord of ocean’s isle. Wild was the scene--each sword was bare, .. Back stream'd each chieftain's shaggy hair's a In gloomy opposition set, i. Eyes, hands, and brandish'd weapons met ; . Blue gleaming o'er the social board,. . Flash'd to the torches many a sword;': '..

And soon those bridal lights may shine
On purple blood for rosyi wine,

XVIII.

While thus for blows and death prepared,

Each heart was up, each weapon bared,
Each foot advanced,-a surly pause
Still reverenced hospitable laws..
All menaced violence, but alike. :::
Reluctant each the first to strike,
(For aye accursed in minstrel line ...
Is he who brawls ’mid song and wine,
And, match'd in numbers and in might,
Doubtful and desperate seem'd the fight.) -
Thus threat and murmur died away,
Till on the crowded hall there lay
Such silence, as the deadly still,
Ere bursts the thunder on the hill.
With blade advanced, each Chieftain bold
Show'd like the Sworder's form of old,

As wanting still the torch of life,
To wake the marble into strife.

XIX. That awful pause the stranger maid, And Edith, seized to pray for aid. As to De Argentine she clung, Away her veil the stranger flung, And, lovely ’mid her wild despair, Fast stream'd her eyes, wide flow'd her hair. 66 O thou, of knighthood once the flower, Sure refuge in distressful hour, Thou, who in Judah well hast fought For our dear faith, and oft hast sought Renown in knightly exercise, ' ' When this poor hand has dealt the prize, Say, can thy soul of honour brook On the unequal strife to look, When, butcher'd thus in peacefull hall, Those once thy friends, my brethren, fall!"

To Argentine she turn'd her word,
But her eye sought the Island Lord.
A flush like evening's setting flame
Glow'd on his cheek; his hardy frame,
As with a brief convulsion, shook :
With hurried voice and eager look,
66 Fear not,” he said, “ my Isabel !
What said I-Edith-all is well-

Nay, fear not-I will well provide
The safety of my lovely bride-
My bride ?"_but there the accents clung
In tremor to his fault ring tongue.

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Now rose De Argentiné, to claim The prisoners in his sovereign's name, To England's crown, who, vassals sworn, 'Gainst their liege lord had weapon borne (Such speech, I ween, was but to hide

His care their safety to provide ;

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