Forth at full speed the Clans-man flew, The shaft just grazed Fitz-James's crest, For ne'er had Alpine's son such need! Fate judges of the rapid strife The forfeit death-the prize is life! Thy kindred ambush lies before, Close couched upon the heathery moor; Them couldst thou reach !-it may not be Thine ambushed kin thou ne'er shalt see, The fiery Saxon gains on thee! -Resistless speeds the deadly thrust, As lightning strikes the pine to dust; With foot and hand Fitz-James must strain, Ere he can win his blade again. Bent o'er the fall'n, with falcon eye, He grimly smiled to see him die; Where the poor maiden bleeding lay. XXVII. She sate beneath the birchen tree, Her elbow resting on her knee; She had withdrawn the fatal shaft, And gazed on it, and feebly laughed ; Her wreath of broom and feathers grey, Daggled with blood, beside her lay. The Knight to staunch the life-stream tried,— "Stranger, it is in vain !" she cried. "This hour of death has given me more Of reason's power than years before; For, as these ebbing veins decay, My frenzied visions fade away. A helpless injured wretch I die, And something tells me in thine eye, That thou wert mine avenger born. Seest thou this tress?-O! still I've worn This little tress of yellow hair, Through danger, frenzy, and despair! It once was bright and clear as thine, But blood and tears have dimmed its shine. I will not tell thee when 'twas shred, Till sun and wind shall bleach the stain, I waver still!-O God! more bright Be thy heart bold, thy weapon strong, And wreak poor Blanche of Devan's wrong!They watch for thee by pass and fell, . . Avoid the path O God!... farewell." XXVIII. A kindly heart had brave Fitz-James; A lock from Blanche's tresses fair The mingled braid in blood he dyed, And placed it on his bonnet side: "By Him whose word is truth! I swear, No other favour will I wear, Till this sad token I embrue In the best blood of Roderick Dhu! -But hark! what means yon faint halloo ? The chase is up,-but they shall know, The stag at bay's a dangerous foe.". Barred from the known but guarded way, Through copse and cliffs Fitz-James must stray, He couched him in a thicket hoar, And thought his toils and perils o'er :— "Of all my rash adventures past, This frantic feat must prove the last! Who e'er so mad but might have guess'd, That all this highland hornet's nest Would muster up in swarms so soon As e'er they heard of bands at Doune?— Like blood-hounds now they search me out, Hark, to the whistle and the shout! If farther through the wilds I go, I only fall upon the foe; |