What Lorn, by his impatient cheer,
And gesture fierce, scarce deign'd to hear.
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 imbrued
From my dear Kinsman's heart?
Is this thy rede? a due return
For ancient league and friendship sworn!
But well our mountain proverb shows
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."
But who the Chieftain's rage can tell,
When, sought from lowest dungeon cell
To highest tower the castle round,
No Lady Edith was there found!
He shouted, "Falsehood! - treachery! -
Revenge and blood!-a lordly meed
To him that will avenge the deed!
A Barons lands!"- His frantic mood
Was scarcely by the news withstood,
That Morag shared his sister's flight,
And that, in hurry of the night,
'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,
1A sort of persons common in the isles, as may be easily believed, until the introduction of civil polity. Witness the Dean of the Isles' account of Ronay. "At the north end of Raarsay, be half myle of sea frae it, layes ane ile callit Ronay, maire then a myle in lengthe, full of wood and heddir, with ane havein for heiland galeys in the middis of it, and the same havein is guid for fostering of theives, ruggairs and reivairs, till a nail, upon the peilling and spulzeing of poor pepill. This ile perteins to M'Gillychallan of Raarsay by force, and to the bishope of the iles be heritage."- SIR DONALD MONRO's Description of the Western Islands of Scotland, Edinburgh, 1805, p. 22.
And wisely deems it best to dwell
A votaress in the holy cell,
Until these feuds so fierce and fell
The Abbot reconciles."
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,-
But yield such title to the Bruce,
Though name and earldom both are gone,
Since he braced rebel's armour on-
But, Earl or Serf-rude phrase was thine
Of late, and launch'd at Argentine;
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
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,
Though by ambition far misled,
Thou art a noble knight."-
"And I," the princely Bruce replied,
Might term it stain on knighthood's pride, That the bright sword of Argentine
Should in a tyrant's quarrel shine;
But, for your brave request, Be sure the honour'd pledge you gave In every battle-field shall wave Upon my helmet-crest; Believe, that if my hasty tongue Hath done thine honour causeless wrong, It shall be well redress'd. Not dearer to my soul was glove, Bestow'd in youth by lady's love,
Than this which thou hast given!
Thus, then, my noble foe I greet;
Health and high fortune till we meet,
And then-what pleases Heaven.'
Thus parted they-for now, with sound Like waves roll'd back from rocky ground, The friends of Lorn retire;
Each mainland chieftain, with his train,
Draws to his mountain towers again,
Pondering how mortal schemes prove vain,
And mortal hopes expire.
But through the castle double guard,
By Ronald's charge, kept wakeful ward,
Wicket and gate were trebly barr'd,
By beam and bolt and chain;
Then of the guests, in courteous sort,
He pray'd excuse for mirth broke short,
And bade them in Artornish fort
In confidence remain.
Now torch and menial tendance led
Chieftain and knight to bower and bed,
And beads were told, and aves said,
But soon uproused, the Monarch cried
To Edward slumbering by his side,
"Awake, or sleep for aye!
Even now there jarr'd a secret door-
A taper-light gleams on the floor-
Up, Edward, up, I say!
Some one glides in like midnight ghost-
Nay, strike not! 'tis our noble Host."
Advancing then his taper's flame,
Ronald stept forth, and with him came.
Dunvegan's chief —each bent the knee
To Bruce in sign of fealty,
And proffer'd him his sword,
And hail'd him, in a monarch's style,
As king of mainland and of isle,
And Scotland's rightful lord.
"And O," said Ronald, "Own'd of Heaven! Say, is my erring youth forgiven,
By falsehood's arts from duty driven,
Who rebel falchion drew,
Yet ever to thy deeds of fame,
Even while I strove against thy claim,
Paid homage just and true?"-
"Alas! dear youth, the unhappy time,"
Answer'd the Bruce, "must bear the crime,
Since, guiltier far than you,
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