II. Artornish such a silence sunk Upon thy halls, when that grey Monk And his obedient brethren's sail Was stretch'd to meet the southern gale Before a whisper woke. Then murmuring sounds of doubt and fear, Close pour'd in many an anxious ear, The solemn stillness broke; And still they gazed with eager guess, The Island Prince seem'd bent to press What Lorn, by his impatient cheer, And gesture fierce, scarce deign'd to hear. III. Starting at length with frowning look, His hand he clench'd, his head he shook, And sternly flung apart ; "And deem'st thou me so mean of mood, As to forget the mortal feud, And clasp the hand with blood embrued From my dear Kinsman's heart? Is this thy rede?—a due return For ancient league and friendship sworn! The faith of Islesmen ebbs and flows. Be it even so-believe, ere long, He that now bears shall wreak the wrong. Call Edith-call the Maid of Lorn! My sister, slaves !-for further scorn, Be sure nor she nor I will stay. Away, De Argentine, away!— We nor ally nor brother know, In Bruce's friend, or England's foe."- IV. But who the Chieftain's rage can tell, When, sought rom lowest dungeon cell To highest tower the castle round, No Lady Edith was there found! He shouted, "Falsehood! treachery !— A Baron's lands !”— His frantic mood 'Scaped noteless, and without remark, Two strangers sought the Abbot's bark.— "Man every galley!-fly-pursue! The priest his treachery shall rue! Ay, and the time shall quickly come, When we shall hear the thanks that Rome Will pay his feigned prophecy !" Such was fierce Lorn's indignant cry; And Cormac Doil in haste obey'd, Hoisted his sail, his anchor weigh'd, (For, glad of each pretext for spoil, A pirate sworn was Cormac Doil.) But others, lingering, spoke apart, "The Maid has given her maiden heart To Ronald of the Isles, And, fearful lest her brother's word Bestow her on that English Lord, She seeks Iona's piles, And wisely deems it best to dwell A votaress in the holy cell, Until these feuds so fierce and fell The Abbot reconciles." V: As, impotent of ire, the hall Echoed to Lorn's impatient call, "My horse, my mantle, and my train! . Let none who honours Lorn remain !" Courteous, but stern, a bold request To Bruce de Argentine express'd. "Lord Earl," he said," I cannot chuse But yield such title to the Bruce, Though name and earldom both are gone, But, Earl or Serf-rude phrase was thine Such as compels me to demand Redress of honour at thy hand, We need not to each other tell, That both can wield their weapons well; Then do me but the soldier grace, This glove upon thy helm to place Where we may meet in fight; And I will say, as still I've said, Thou art a noble knight.”— VI. "And I," the princely Bruce replied, "Might term it stain on knighthood's pride, |