The dell, upon the mountain's crest,
Yawn'd like a gash on warrior's breast;
Its trench had staid full many a rock,
Hurl'd by primæval earthquake shock
From Benvenue's grey summit wild,
And here, in random ruin piled,
They frown'd incumbent o'er the spot,
And form'd the rugged sylvan grot.
The oak and birch, with mingled shade,
At noontide there a twilight made,
Unless when short and sudden shone
Some straggling beam on cliff or stone,
With such a glimpse as prophet's eye
Gains on thy depth, Futurity.

No murmur waked the solemn still,
Save tinkling of a fountain rill ;

But when the wind chafed with the lake,

A sullen sound would upward break, With dashing hollow voice, that spoke The incessant war of wave and rock.

Suspended cliffs, with hideous sway,

Seem'd nodding o'er the cavern grey.

From such a den the wolf had

In such the wild cat leaves her

sprung,

young;

Yet Douglas and his daughter fair
Sought for a space their safety there.
Grey Superstition's whisper dread
Debarr'd the spot to vulgar tread;
For there, she said, did fays resort,
And satyrs* hold their sylvan court,
By moon-light tread their mystic maze,
And blast the rash beholder's gaze.

XXVII.

Now eve, with western shadows long,
Floated on Katrine bright and strong,

When Roderick, with a chosen few,
Repass'd the heights of Benvenue.

Above the Goblin-cave they go,
Through the wild pass of Beal-nam-Bo;

*The Urisk, or Highland satyr. See Note.

The prompt retainers speed before,

To launch the shallop from the shore,
For cross Loch-Katrine lies his way
To view the passes of Achray,

And place his clansmen in array.
Yet lags the Chief in musing mind,
Unwonted sight, his men behind.
A single page, to bear his sword,
Alone attended on his lord;

The rest their way through thickets break,

And soon await him by the lake.

It was a fair and gallant sight,

To view them from the neighbouring height,
By the low-levell'd sun-beam's light;
For strength and stature, from the clan

Each warrior was a chosen man,

As even afar might well be seen,

By their proud step and martial mien.
Their feathers dance, their tartans float,
Their targets gleam, as by the boat

A wild and warlike group they stand,

That well became such mountain-strand.

XXVIII.

Their Chief, with step reluctant, still
Was lingering on the craggy hill,
Hard by where turn'd apart the road
To Douglas's obscure abode.

It was but with that dawning morn
That Roderick Dhu had proudly sworn
To drown his love in war's wild roar,
Nor think of Ellen Douglas more ;
But he who stems a stream with sand,
And fetters flame with flaxen band,
Has yet a harder task to prove―
By firm resolve to conquer love!
Eve finds the Chief, like restless ghost,

Still hovering near his treasure lost;
For though his haughty heart deny

A parting meeting to his eye,

Still fondly strains his anxious ear,

The accents of her voice to hear,
And inly did he curse the breeze
That waked to sound the rustling trees.

But hark! what mingles in the strain?
It is the harp of Allan-bane,

That wakes its measure slow and high,
Attuned to secret minstrelsy.

What melting voice attends the strings?
'Tis Ellen, or an angel, sings.

XXIX.

Hymn to the Wirgin.

Ave Maria! maiden mild!

Listen to a maiden's prayer!

Thou canst hear though from the wild,
Thou canst save amid despair.

Safe may we sleep beneath thy care,

Though banish'd, outcast, and reviled

Maiden! hear a maiden's prayer;

Mother, hear a suppliant child!

Ave Maria!