Nor would I call a clansman's brand
For aid against one valiant hand,
Though on our strife lay every vale
Rent by the Saxon from the Gael.
So move we on; I only meant
To show the reed on which you leant,
Deeming this path you might pursue
Without a pass from Roderick Dhu.'
They moved. I said Fitz-James was
brave

As ever knight that belted glaive,
Yet dare not say that now his blood
Kept on its wont and temper'd flood,
As,following Roderick's stride, he drew
That seeming lonesome pathway
through,

Which yet, by fearful proof, was rife
With lances, that, to take his life,
Waited but signal from a guide
So late dishonour'd and defied.
Ever, by stealth, his eye sought round
The vanish'd guardians of the ground,
And still, from copse and heather deep,
Fancy saw spear and broadsword peep,
And in the plover's shrilly strain,
The signal-whistle heard again.
Nor breathed he free till far behind
The pass was left; for then they wind
Along a wide and level green,

Where neither tree nor tuft was seen,
Nor rush nor bush of broom was near,
To hide a bonnet or a spear.

XII.

The Chief in silence strode before, And reach'd that torrent's sounding shore,

Which, daughter of three mighty lakes, From Vennachar in silver breaks, Sweeps through the plain, and cease

less mines

On Bochastle the mouldering lines,
Where Rome, the Empress of the world,
Of yore her eagle wings unfurl'd.
And here his course the Chieftain staid,
Threw down his target and his plaid,
And to the Lowland warrior said:

'Bold Saxon! to his promise just, Vich-Alpine has discharged his trust. This murderous Chief, this ruthless man,

This head of a rebellious clan,
Hath led thee safe, through watch and
ward,

Far past Clan-Alpine's outmost guard.
Now man to man, and steel to steel,
A Chieftain's vengeance thou shalt feel.
See here, all vantageless I stand,
Arm'd like thyself with single brand:
For this is Coilantogle ford,
And thou must keep thee with thy
sword.'

XIII.

The Saxon paused: 'I ne'er delay'd, When foeman bade me draw my blade; Nay, more, brave Chief, I vow'd thy death;

Yet sure thy fair and generous faith, And my deep debt for life preserved, A better meed have well deserved: Can nought but blood our feud atone? Are there no means?' 'No, Stranger,

none !

And hear, to fire thy flagging zeal,—
The Saxon cause rests on thy steel;
For thus spoke Fate, by prophet bred
Between the living and the dead:
"Who spills the foremost foeman's life
His party conquers in the strife."
'Then, by my word,' the Saxon said,
"The riddle is already read.

Seek yonder brake beneath the cliff;
There lies Red Murdoch, stark and stiff.
Thus Fate has solved her prophecy,
Then yield to Fate, and not to me.
To James, at Stirling, let us go,
When, if thou wilt be still his foe,
Or if the King shall not agree
To grant thee grace and favour free,
I plight mine honour, oath, and word,
That, to thy native strengths restored,
With each advantage shalt thou stand,
That aids thee now, to guard thy land.'

XIV.

Dark lightning flash'd from Roderick's

eye:

'Soars thy presumption, then, so high,
Because a wretched kern ye slew,
Homage to name to Roderick Dhu?
He yields not, he, to man nor Fate!
Thou add'st but fuel to my hate:
My clansman's blood demands revenge.
Not yet prepared? By heaven, I change
My thought, and hold thy valour light
As that of some vain carpet knight,
Who ill deserved my courteous care,
And whose best boast is but to wear
A braid of his fair lady's hair.'
'I thank thee, Roderick, for the word!
It nerves my heart, it steels my sword;
For I have sworn this braid to stain
In the best blood that warms thy vein.
Now, truce, farewell! and, ruth,
begone!

Yet think not that by thee alone,

Proud Chief! can courtesy be shown; Though not from copse, or heath, or cairn,

Start at my whistle clansmen stern, Of this small horn one feeble blast Would fearful odds against thee cast. But fear not, doubt not-which thou wilt

We try this quarrel hilt to hilt.'— Then each at once his falchion drew, Each on the ground his scabbard threw, Each look'd to sun, and stream, and plain,

As what he ne'er might see again; Then foot, and point, and eye opposed, In dubious strife they darkly closed.

XV.

Ill fared it then with Roderick Dhu,
That on the field his targe he threw,
Whose brazen studs and tough bull.
hide

Had death so often dash'd aside;
For, train'd abroad his arms to wield,
Fitz-James's blade was sword and
shield.

He practised every pass and ward, To thrust, to strike, to feint, to guard; While less expert, though stronger far,

The Gael maintain'd unequal war. Three times in closing strife they stood, And thrice the Saxon blade drank blood;

No stinted draught, no scanty tide, The gushing flood the tartans dyed. Fierce Roderick felt the fatal drain, And shower'd his blows like wintry rain;

And, as firm rock, or castle-roof, Against the winter shower is proof, The foe, invulnerable still,

Foil'd his wild rage by steady skill; Till, at advantage ta'en, his brand Forced Roderick's weapon from his hand,

And backward borne upon the lea, Brought the proud Chieftain to his knee.

XVI.

'Now, yield thee, or by Him who made The world, thy heart's blood dyes my blade!'

'Thy threats, thy mercy, I defy! Let recreant yield, who fears to die.' Like adder darting from his coil, Like wolf that dashes through the toil, Like mountain-cat who guards her young,

Full at Fitz-James's throat he sprung; Received, but reck'd not of a wound, And lock'd his arms his foeman round. Now, gallant Saxon, hold thine own! No maiden's hand is round thee thrown! That desperate grasp thy frame might

His clotted locks he backward threw,
Across his brow his hand he drew,
From blood and mist to clear his sight,
Then gleam'd aloft his dagger bright!
But hate and fury ill supplied
The stream of life's exhausted tide,
And all too late the advantage came,
To turn the odds of deadly game;
For, while the dagger gleam'd on high,
Reel'd soul and sense, reel'd brain
and eye.

Down came the blow-but in the heath; The erring blade found bloodless sheath.

The struggling foe may now unclasp The fainting Chief's relaxing grasp; Unwounded from the dreadful close, But breathless all, Fitz-James arose.

XVII.

He falter'd thanks to Heaven for life, Redeem'd, unhoped, from desperate strife;

Next on his foe his look he cast, Whose every gasp appear'd his last; In Roderick's gore he dipt the braid'Poor Blanche! thy wrongs are dearly❘ paid :

Yet with thy foe must die, or live,
The praise that Faith and Valour give.'
With that he blew a bugle-note,
Undid the collar from his throat,
Unbonneted, and by the wave
Sate down his brow and hands to lave.
Then faint afar are heard the feet
Of rushing steeds in gallop fleet;
The sounds increase, and now are seen
Fourmounted squires in Lincoln green;
Two who bear lance, and two who lead,
By loosen'd rein, a saddled steed;
Each onward held his headlong course,
And by Fitz-James rein'd up his horse,
With wonder view'd the bloody spot-

- Exclaim not, gallants! question not. You, Herbert and Luffness, alight, And bind the wounds of yonder knight; Let the grey palfrey bear his weight,

We destined for a fairer freight,
And bring him on to Stirling straight;
I will before at better speed,
To seek fresh horse and fitting weed.
The sun rides high; I must be boune,
To see the archer-game at noon;
But lightly Bayard clears the lea.
De Vaux and Herries, follow me.

XVIII.

'Stand, Bayard, stand!' The steed obey'd,

With arching neck and bended head,
And glancing eye and quivering ear,
As if he loved his lord to hear.
No foot Fitz-James in stirrup staid,
No grasp upon the saddle laid,
But wreath'd his left hand in the mane,
And lightly bounded from the plain,
Turn'd on the horse his armed heel,
And stirr'd his courage with the steel
Bounded the fiery steed in air,
The rider sate erect and fair,
Then like a bolt from steel crossbow
Forth launch'd, along the plain they

go.

They dash'd that rapid torrent through, And up Carhonie's hill they flew;

Still at the gallop prick'd the Knight, His merry-men follow'd as they might. Along thy banks, swift Teith! they ride,

And in the race they mock thy tide; Torry and Lendrick now are past, And Deanstown lies behind them cast; They rise, the banner'd towers of Doune,

They sink in distant woodland soon; Blair-Drummond sees the hoofs strike

fire,

They sweep like breeze through
Ochtertyre;

They mark just glance and disappear
The lofty brow of ancient Kier;
They bathe their courser's sweltering
sides,

Dark Forth amid thy sluggish tides,

Know'st thou from whence he comes, or whom?'

No, by my word; a burly groom He seems, who in the field or chase A baron's train would nobly grace.' 'Out, out, De Vaux! can fear supply, And jealousy, no sharper eye? Afar, ere to the hill he drew, That stately form and step I knew ; Like form in Scotland is not seen, Treads not such step on Scottish green. 'Tis James of Douglas, by Saint Serle! The uncle of the banish'd Earl. Away, away to court, to show The near approach of dreaded foe:

'Yes! all is true my fears could frame;
A prisoner lies the noble Græme,
And fiery Roderick soon will feel
The vengeance of the royal steel.
I, only I, can ward their fate;
God grant the ransom come not late!
The Abbess hath her promise given
My child shall be the bride of Heaven;
Be pardon'd one repining tear!
For He who gave her knows how
dear,

How excellent-but that is by,
And now my business is to die.
Ye towers! within whose circuit dread
A Douglas by his sovereign bled;
And thou, O sad and fatal mound!
That oft hast heard the death-axe sound,
As on the noblest of the land
Fell the stern headsman's bloody hand,
The dungeon, block, and nameless
tomb

Prepare, for Douglas seeks his doom!
But hark! what blithe and jolly peal
Makes the Franciscan steeple reel?
And see! upon the crowded street,
In motley groups what masquers meet!
Banner and pageant, pipe and drum,
And merry morrice-dancers come.
I guess, by all this quaint array,
The burghers hold their sports to-day.
James will be there; he loves such
show,

Where the good yeoman bends his bow,
And the tough wrestler foils his foe,
As well as where, in proud career,
The high-born tilter shivers spear.
I'll follow to the Castle-park,

and straight

They won the castle's postern gate.

XX.

The Douglas, who had bent his way From Cambus-Kenneth's abbey grey, Now, as he climb'd the rocky shelf, Held sad communion with himself:

mark

If age has tamed these sinews stark, Whose force so oft, in happier days, His boyish wonder loved to praise.'

XXI.

The Castle gates were open flung, The quivering drawbridge rock'd and rung,

K

And echo'd loud the flinty street
Beneath the coursers' clattering feet,
As slowly down the steep descent
Fair Scotland's King and nobles went,
While all along the crowded way
Was jubilee and loud huzza.

And ever James was bending low
To his white jennet's saddle-bow,
Doffing his cap to city dame,

Who smiled and blush'd for pride and shame.

And well the simperer might be vain ; He chose the fairest of the train. Gravely he greets each city sire, Commends each pageant's quaint attire, Gives to the dancers thanks aloud, And smiles and nods upon the crowd, Who rend the heavens with their acclaims,

'Long live the Commons' King, King James!'

Behind the King throng'd peer and knight,

And noble dame and damsel bright, Whose fiery steeds ill brook'd the stay Of the steep street and crowded way. But in the train you might discern Dark lowering brow and visage stern; There nobles mourn'd their pride restrain'd,

Andthe mean burgher's joys disdain'd; And chiefs, who, hostage for their clan, Were each from home a banish'd man, There thought upon their own grey

tower,

Their waving woods, their feudal

power,

And deem'd themselves a shameful part Of pageant which they cursed in heart.

XXII.

Now, in the Castle-park, drew out Their chequer'd bands the joyous rout. There morricers, with bell at heel, And blade in hand, their mazes wheel; But chief, beside the butts, there stand Bold Robin Hood and all his band

Friar Tuck with quarterstaff and cowl,
Old Scathelocke with his surly scowl,
Maid Marion, fair as ivory bone,
Scarlet, and Mutch, and Little John;
Their bugles challenge all that will,
In archery to prove their skill.
The Douglas bent a bow of might;
His first shaft centered in the white,
And when in turn he shot again,
His second split the first in twain.
From the King's hand must Douglas
take

A silver dart, the archer's stake;
Fondly he watch'd, with watery eye,
Some answering glance of sympathy;
No kind emotion made reply!
Indifferent as to archer wight,
The monarch gave the arrow bright.

XXIII.

Now, clear the ring! for, hand to hand,

The manly wrestlers take their stand.
Two o'er the rest superior rose,
And proud demanded mightier foes,
Nor call'd in vain; for Douglas came.
-For life is Hugh of Larbert lame;
Scarce better John of Alloa's fare,
Whom senseless home his comrades
bear.

Prize of the wrestling match, the King
To Douglas gave a golden ring,
While coldly glanced his eye of blue,
As frozen drop of wintry dew.
Douglas would speak, but in his breast
His struggling soul his words sup-
press'd;

Indignant then he turn'd him where
Their arms the brawny yeomen bare,
To hurl the massive bar in air.
When each his utmost strength had

shown,

The Douglas rent an earth-fast stone From its deep bed, then heaved it high, And sent the fragment through the sky A rood beyond the farthest mark. And still in Stirling's royal park,