The murky cavern's heavy air
Shall breathe of balm if thou hast
smiled;
Then, Maiden! hear a maiden's prayer;
Mother, list a suppliant child!
Ave Maria!

Ave Maria! stainless styled!

Foul demons of the earth and air, From this their wonted haunt exiled, Shall flee before thy presence fair. We bow us to our lot of care,

Beneath thy guidance reconciled; Hear for a maid a maiden's prayer, And for a father hear a child! Ave Maria!'

So well was match'd the tartan screen With heath-bell dark and brackens green;

Unless where, here and there, a blade, Or lance's point, a glimmer made, Like glow-worm twinkling through the shade.

But when, advancing through the gloom,

They saw the Chieftain's eagle plume,
Their shout ofwelcome, shrilland wide,
Shook the steep mountain's steady side.
Thrice it arose, and lake and fell
Three times return'd the martial yell;
It died upon Bochastle's plain,
And Silence claim'd her evening reign.

XXX.

Died on the harp the closing hymn.
Unmoved in attitude and limb,
As list'ning still, Clan-Alpine's lord
Stood leaning on his heavy sword,
Until the page, with humble sign,
Twice pointed to the sun's decline.
Then while his plaid he round him cast,
'It is the last time, 'tis the last,'
He mutter'd thrice,-'the last time e'er
That angel voice shall Roderick hear!'
It was a goading thought-his stride
Hied hastier down the mountain-side;
Sullen he flung him in the boat,
And instant 'cross the lake it shot.
They landed in that silvery bay,
And eastward held their hasty way,
Till, with the latest beams of light,
The band arrived on Lanrick height,
Where muster'd, in the vale below,
Clan-Alpine's men in martial show.

XXXI.

A various scene the clansmen made; Some sate, some stood, some slowly

stray'd;

But most, with mantles folded round, Were couch'd to rest upon the ground, Scarce to be known by curious eye, From the deep heather where they lie,

Canto Fourth.

The Prophecy.

I..

'THE rose is fairest when 'tis budding new,

And hope is brightest when it dawns

from fears;

The rose is sweetest wash'd with morning dew,

And love is loveliest when embalm'd

in tears.

O wilding rose, whom fancy thus endears,

I bid your blossoms in my bonnet

wave,

Emblem of hope and love through future years!'

Thus spoke young Norman, heir of

Armandave,

What time the sun arose on Vennachar's broad wave.

II.

Such fond conceit, half said, half sung, Love prompted to the bridegroom's tongue.

Unfit for arms; and given his charge, Nor skiff nor shallop, boat nor barge, Upon these lakes shall float at large, But all beside the islet moor,

That such dear pledge may rest secure?'

IV.

"Tis well advised; the Chieftain's plan Bespeaks the father of his clan. But wherefore sleeps Sir Roderick Dhu Apart from all his followers true?' 'It is, because last evening-tide Brian an augury hath tried,

Of that dread kind which must not be Unless in dread extremity, The Taghairm call'd; by which, afar, Our sires foresaw the events of war. | Duncraggan's milk-white bull they slew'

MALISE.

'Ah! well the gallant brute I knew!
The choicest of the prey we had,
When swept our merry-men Gallangad,
His hide was snow, his horns were dark,
His red eye glow'd like fiery spark;
So fierce, so tameless, and so fleet,
Sore did he cumber our retreat,
And kept our stoutest kernes in awe,
Even at the pass of Beal 'maha.
But steep and flinty was the road,
And sharp the hurrying pikemen's
goad,

And when we came to Dennan's Row,

A child might scatheless stroke his

brow.'

V.

NORMAN.

'That bull was slain: his reeking hide
They stretch'd the cataract beside,
Whose waters their wild tumult toss
Adown the black and craggy boss
Of that huge cliff, whose ample verge
Tradition calls the Hero's Targe.
Couch'd on a shelve beneath its brink,
Close where the thundering torrents
sink,

Within Loch Katrine's gorge we'll

fight,

All in our maids' and matrons' sight,
Each for his hearth and household fire,
Father for child, and son for sire,
Lover for maid beloved!-But why-
Is it the breeze affects mine eye?
Or dost thou come, ill-omen'd tear!
A messenger of doubt or fear?
No sooner may the Saxon lance
Unfix Benledi from his stance,
Than doubt or terror can pierce through
The unyielding heart of Roderick Dhu!
'Tis stubborn as his trusty targe.
Each to his post-all knowtheir charge.'
The pibroch sounds, the bands advance,
The broadswords gleam, the banners
dance,

Obedient to the Chieftain's glance.
I turn me from the martial roar,
And seek Coir-Uriskin once more.

X.

ELLEN.

'No, Allan, no! Pretext so kind
My wakeful terrors could not blind.
When in such tender tone, yet grave,
Douglas a parting blessing gave,
The tear that glisten'd in his eye
Drown'd not his purpose fix'd and high.
My soul, though feminine and weak,
Can image his; e'en as the lake,
Itself disturb'd by slightest stroke,
Reflects the invulnerable rock.
He hears report of battle rife,
He deems himself the cause of strife.
I saw him redden, when the theme
Turn'd, Allan, on thine idle dream
Of Malcolm Græme in fetters bound,
Which I, thou saidst, about him wound.
Think'st thou he trow'd thine omen

aught?

Oh no! 'twas apprehensive thought For the kind youth,-for Roderick too

(Let me be just) that friend so true; In danger both, and in our cause ! Minstrel, the Douglas dare not pause. Why else that solemn warning given, "If not on earth, we meet in heaven !" Why else, to Cambus-kenneth's fane, If eve return him not again,

Am I to hie, and make me known? Alas! he goes to Scotland's throne, Buys his friend's safety with his own; He goes to do-what I had done, Had Douglas' daughter been his son !'

When did my gifted dream beguile ?
Think of the stranger at the isle,
And think upon the harpings slow,
That presaged this approaching woe!
Sooth was my prophecy of fear;
Believe it when it augurs cheer.
Would we had left this dismal spot!
Ill luck still haunts a fairy grot.
Of such a wondrous tale I know-
Dear lady, change that look of woe,
My harp was wont thy grief to cheer.'

ELLEN.

'Well, be it as thou wilt; I hear, But cannot stop the bursting tear.' The Minstrel tried his simple art, But distant far was Ellen's heart:

XII.

BALLAD.

ALICE BRAND.

Merry it is in the good greenwood, When the mavis and merle are

singing,

When the deer sweeps by, and the hounds are in cry,

And the hunter's horn is ringing. 'O Alice Brand, my native land

Is lost for love of you;

And we must hold by wood and wold, As outlaws wont to do.

'O Alice, 'twas all for thy locks so bright,

And 'twas all for thine eyes so blue, That on the night of our luckless flight Thy brother bold I slew.

'Now must I teach to hew the beech

The hand that held the glaive, For leaves to spread our lowly bed,

And stakes to fence our cave. 'And for vest of pall, thy fingers small, That wont on harp to stray,

A cloak must shear from the slaughter'd deer,

To keep the cold away.'