ページの画像
PDF
ePub

The grey-hair'd sires, who know the past,

To strangers point the Douglas-cast, And moralize on the decay

Of Scottish strength in modern day.

XXIV.

The vale with loud applauses rang, The Ladies' Rock sent back the clang. The King, with look unmoved, bestow'd

A purse well-fill'd with pieces broad. Indignant smiled the Douglas proud, And threw the gold among the crowd, Who now, with anxious wonder, scan, And sharper glance, the dark grey man;

Till whispers rose among the throng,
That heart so free, and hand so strong,
Must to the Douglas blood belong;
The old men mark'd, and shook the
head,

To see his hair with silver spread;
And wink'd aside, and told each son,
Of feats upon the English done,
Ere Douglas of the stalwart hand
Was exiled from his native land.
The women praised his stately form,
Though wreck'd by many a winter's
storm;

The youth with awe and wonder saw
His strength surpassing Nature's law.
Thusjudged,as is their wont, the crowd,
Till murmur rose to clamours loud.
But not a glance from that proud ring
Of peers, who circled round the King,
With Douglas held communion kind,
Or call'd the banish'd man to mind;
No, not from those who, at the chase,
Once held his side the honour'd place,
Begirt his board, and, in the field,
Found safety underneath his shield;
For he, whom royal eyes disown,
When was his form to courtiers

known!

XXV.

The Monarch saw the gambols flag, And bade let loose a gallant stag,

Whose pride, the holiday to crown, Two favourite greyhounds should pull down,

That venison free, and Bourdeaux wine,

Might serve the archery to dine.
But Lufra, whom from Douglas' side
Nor bribe nor threat could e'er divide,
The fleetest hound in all the North,
Brave Lufra saw, and darted forth.
She left the royal hounds mid-way,
And dashing on the antler'd prey,
Sunk her sharp muzzle in his flank,
And deep the flowing life-blood drank.
The King's stout huntsman saw the

sport

By strange intruder broken short,
Came up, and with his leash unbound,
In anger struck the noble hound.
The Douglas had endured, that morn,
The King's cold look, the nobles'
scorn,

And last, and worst to spirit proud,
Had borne the pity of the crowd;
But Lufra had been fondly bred,
To share his board, to watch his bed,
And oft would Ellen Lufra's neck
In maiden glee with garlands deck;
They were such playmates, that with

name

Of Lufra, Ellen's image came.
His stifled wrath is brimming high,
In darken'd brow and flashing eye;
As waves before the bark divide,
The crowd gave way before his stride;
Needs but a buffet and no more,
The groom lies senseless in his gore.
Such blow no other hand could deal,
Though gauntleted in glove of steel.

XXVI.

Then clamour'd loud the royal train, And brandish'd swords and staves amain.

But stern the Baron's warning'Back! Back, on your lives, ye menial pack!

Beware the Douglas. Yes! behold, King James! the Douglas, doom'd of old,

And vainly sought for near and far,
A victim to atone the war,
A willing victim, now attends,
Nor craves thy grace but for his friends.'
'Thus is my clemency repaid?
Presumptuous Lord!' the monarch
said;

'Of thy mis-proud ambitious clan,
Thou, James of Bothwell, wert the man,
The only man, in whom a foe
My woman-mercy would not know:
But shall a Monarch's presence brook
Injurious blow, and haughty look?
What ho! the Captain of our Guard!
Give the offender fitting ward.
Break off the sports!'-for tumult rose,
And yeomen 'gan to bend their bows.
'Break off the sports!' he said, and
frown'd,

'And bid our horsemen clear the ground.'

XXVII.

Then uproar wild and misarray
Marr'd the fair form of festal day.
The horsemen prick'd among the
crowd,

Repell'd by threats and insult loud;
To earth are borne the old and weak,
The timorous fly, the women shriek ;
With flint, with shaft, with staff, with
bar,

The hardier urge tumultuous war.
At once round Douglas darkly sweep
The royal spears in circle deep,
And slowly scale the pathway steep;
While on the rear in thunder pour
The rabble with disorder'd roar.
With grief the noble Douglas saw
The Commons rise against the law,
And to the leading soldier said,
'Sir John of Hyndford! 'twas my blade
That knighthood on thy shoulder laid;
For that good deed, permit me then
A word with these misguided men.

XXVIII.

'Hear, gentle friends! ere yet for me, Ye break the bands of fealty.

My life, my honour, and my cause,
I tender free to Scotland's laws.
Are these so weak as must require
The aid of your misguided ire?
Or, if I suffer causeless wrong,
Is then my selfish rage so strong,
My sense of public weal so low,
That, for mean vengeance on a foe,
Those cords of love I should unbind,
Which knit my country and my kind?
Oh no! Believe, in yonder tower
It will not soothe my captive hour
To know those spears our foes should
dread

For me in kindred gore are red;
To know, in fruitless brawl begun,
For me that mother wails her son;
For me that widow's mate expires;
For me that orphans weep their sires;
That patriots mourn insulted laws,
And curse the Douglas for the cause.
O let your patience ward such ill,
And keep your right to love me still!

XXIX.

The crowd's wild fury sunk again
In tears, as tempests melt in rain.
With lifted hands and eyes, they pray'd
For blessings on his generous head,
Who for his country felt alone,
And prized her blood beyond his own.
Old men, upon the verge of life,
Bless'd him who staid the civil strife;
And mothers held their babes on high,
The self-devoted Chief to spy,
Triumphant over wrongs and ire,
To whom the prattlers owed a sire:
Even the rough soldier's heart was
moved;

As if behind some bier beloved,
With trailing arms and drooping head,
The Douglas up the hill he led,
And at the Castle's battled verge,
With sighs resign'd his honour'd
charge.

XXX.

The offended Monarch rode apart, With bitter thought and swelling heart, And would not now vouchsafe again Through Stirling streets to lead his

train.

'O Lennox, who would wish to rule This changeling crowd, this common fool?

Hear'st thou,' he said, 'the loud acclaim,

With which they shout the Douglas name?

With like acclaim, the vulgar throat Strain'd for King James their morning

note;

With like acclaim they hail'd the day
When first I broke the Douglas' sway;
And like acclaim would Douglas greet,
If he could hurl me from my seat.
Whoo'er the herd would wish to reign,
Fantastic, fickle, fierce, and vain ?)
Vain as the leaf upon the stream,
And fickle as a changeful dream;
Fantastic as a woman's mood,
And fierce as Frenzy's fever'd blood.
Thou many-headed monster-thing,
O who would wish to be thy king!

XXXI.

'But soft! what messenger of speed Spurs hitherward his panting steed? I guess his cognizance afar

What from our cousin, John of Mar?' 'He prays, my liege, your sports keep bound

Within the safe and guarded ground:
For some foul purpose yet unknown-
Most sure for evil to the throne-
The outlaw'd Chieftain, Roderick Dhu,
Has summon'd his rebellious crew;
'Tis said, in James of Bothwell's aid
These loose banditti stand array'd.
The Earl of Mar, this morn, from
Doune,

To break their muster march'd, and

soon

Your grace will hear of battle fought;
But earnestly the Earl besought,
Till for such danger he provide,
With scanty train you will not ride.'

XXXII.

Thou warn'st me I have done amiss; I should have earlier look'd to this: I lost it in this bustling day. Retrace with speed thy former way; Spare not for spoiling of thy steed, The best of mine shall be thy meed. Say to our faithful Lord of Mar, We do forbid the intended war: Roderick, this morn, in single fight, Was made our prisoner by a knight; And Douglas hath himself and cause Submitted to our kingdom's laws. The tidings of their leaders lost Will soon dissolve the mountain host, Nor would we that the vulgar feel, Fortheir Chief's crimes, avenging steel. Bear Mar our message, Braco: fly!' He turn'd his steed,- 'My liege, I hie, Yet, ere I cross this lily lawn,

I fear the broadswords will be drawn.' The turf the flying courser spurn'd, And to his towers the King return'd.

XXXIII.

Ill with King James's mood, that day,
Suited gay feast and minstrel lay;
Soon were dismiss'd the courtly throng,
And soon cut short the festal song.
Nor less upon the sadden'd town
The evening sunk in sorrow down.
The burghers spoke of civil jar,
Of rumour'd feuds and mountain war,
Of Moray, Mar, and Roderick Dhu,
All up in arms :-the Douglas too,
They mourn'd him pent within the hold
'Where stout Earl William was of old,'
And there his word the speaker staid,
And finger on his lip he laid,
Or pointed to his dagger blade.
But jaded horsemen, from the west,
At evening to the Castle press'd;

And busy talkers said they bore
Tidings of fight on Katrine's shore;
At noon the deadly fray begun,
And lasted till the set of sun.
Thus giddy rumour shook the town,
Till closed the Night her pennons
brown.

Canto Sixth.

The Guard-Room.

I.

THE sun, awakening, through the smoky air

Of the dark city casts a sullen glance, Rousing each caitiff to his task of care, Of sinful man the sad inheritance; Summoning revellers from the lagging dance,

Scaring the prowling robber to his den;

Gilding on battled tower the warder's lance,

And warning student pale to leave his pen,

And yield his drowsy eyes to the

kind nurse of men.

What various scenes, and, O! what scenes of woe,

Are witness'd by that red and

struggling beam!

The fever'd patient, from his pallet low, Through crowded hospital beholds its stream;

The ruin'd maiden trembles at its gleam,

The debtor wakes to thought of gyve and jail,

The love-lorn wretch starts from

tormenting dream;

II.

At dawn the towers of Stirling rang With soldier-step and weapon-clang, While drums, with rolling note, foretell Relief to weary sentinel.

Through narrow loop and casement barr'd,

The sunbeams sought the Court of
Guard,

And, struggling with the smoky air,
Deaden'd the torches' yellow glare.
In comfortless alliance shone

The lights through arch of blacken'd stone,

And show'd wild shapes in garb of war, Faces deform'd with beard and scar, All haggard from the midnight watch, And fever'd with the stern debauch; For the oak table's massive board, Flooded with wine, with fragments stored,

And beakers drain'd, and cups o'erthrown,

Show'd in what sport the night had flown.

Some, weary, snored on floor and bench;

Some labour'd still their thirst to quench;

Some, chill'd with watching, spread their hands

O'er the huge chimney's dying brands, While round them, or beside them

flung,

At every step their harness rung.

III.

These drew not for their fields the sword,

Like tenants of a feudal lord,

Nor own'd the patriarchal claim
Of Chieftain in their leader's name;
Adventurers they, from far who roved,

The wakeful mother, by the glim- To live by battle which they loved.

mering pale,

Trims her sick infant's couch, and

soothes his feeble wail.

There the Italian's clouded face,

The swarthy Spaniard's there you

trace;

The mountain-loving Switzer there More freely breathed in mountain-air; The Fleming there despised the soil, That paid so ill the labourer's toil; Their rolls show'd French and Ger

man name;

And merry England's exiles came,
To share, with ill conceal'd disdain,
Of Scotland's pay the scanty gain.
All brave in arms, well train'd to wield
The heavy halberd, brand, and shield;
In camps licentious, wild, and bold;
In pillage fierce and uncontroll'd;
And now, by holytide and feast,
From rules of discipline released.

IV.

They held debate of bloody fray, Fought 'twixt Loch Katrine and Achray.

Fierce was their speech, and, 'mid their words,

Their hands oft grappled to their swords;

Nor sunk their tone to spare the ear Of wounded comrades groaning near, Whose mangled limbs, and bodies gored,

Bore token of the mountain sword, Though, neighbouring to the Court of Guard,

Their prayers and feverish wails were heard ;

Sad burden to the ruffian joke,
And savage oath by fury spoke!
At length up-started John of Brent,
A yeoman from the banks of Trent;
A stranger to respect or fear,
In peace a chaser of the deer,
In host a hardy mutineer,
But still the boldest of the crew,
When deed of danger was to do.
He grieved, that day, their games cut
short,

And marr'd the dicer's brawling sport,
And shouted loud, 'Renew the bowl!
And, while a merry catch I troll,

Let each the buxom chorus bear, Like brethren of the brand and spear:

V.

SOLDIER'S SONG.

Our vicar still preaches that Peter and Poule

Laid a swinging long curse on the bonny brown bowl,

That there's wrath and despair in the jolly black-jack,

And the seven deadly sins in a flagon of sack;

Yet whoop, Barnaby! off with thy liquor,

Drink upsees out, and a fig for the vicar!

Our vicar he calls it damnation to sip The ripe ruddy dew of a woman's dear lip,

Says, that Beelzebub lurks in her kerchief so sly,

And Apollyon shoots darts from her merry black eye;

Yet whoop, Jack! kiss Gillian the quicker,

Till she bloom like a rose, and a fig for the vicar!

Our vicar thus preaches-and why should he not?

For the dues of his cure are the placket and pot;

And 'tis right of his office poor laymen to lurch,

Who infringe the domains of our good Mother Church.

Yet whoop, bully-boys! off with your liquor,

Sweet Marjorie's the word, and a fig for the vicar!'

VI.

The warder's challenge, heard without, Staid in mid-roar the merry shout.

« 前へ次へ »