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.
Thus judged, 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 Bordeaux 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 bound.
-The Douglas had endured, that morn,
The king's cold look, the nobles' scorn,
And last, and worst to spirit proud,
Hlad 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 play-mates, 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 path-way 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! 't was my blade
That knighthood on thy shoulder laid;
For that good deed permit me then
A word with these misguided men.-

XXVIII.

« Hlear, 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 chords 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.
Oh! 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 stay'd the civil strife;
And mothers held their babes on high,
The self-devoted chief to spy,
Triumphant over wrong 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's 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.
Who o'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,
Oh! 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;
T is 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:

way;

I lost it in this bustling day.
-Retrace with speed thy former
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,
For their 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.

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; The wakeful mother, by the glimmering pale,

Trims her sick infant's couch, and soothes his feeble wail.

II.

At dawn the towers of Stirling rang
With soldier-step and weapon-clang,
While drums, with rolling note, foretel
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.

These drew not for their fields the sword,
Like tenants of a feudal lord,
Nor own'd the patriarchal claitn
Of chieftain in their leader's name;
Adventurers they, (1) from far who roved,
To live by battle which they loved.
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 German 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 halbert, 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 't is 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.

A soldier to the portal went,

« Here is old Bertram, sirs, of Ghent;
And,-beat for jubilee the drum!

A maid and minstrel with him come. »—
Bertram, a Fleming, gray and scarr'd,
Was entering now the court of guard,
A harper with him, and in plaid

All muffled close, a mountain maid,
Who backward shrunk to 'scape the view
Of the loose scene and boisterous crew.

<«< What news?» they roar'd :—« I only know, From noon till eve we fought with foe,

As wild and as untameable

As the rude mountains where they dwell.
On both sides store of blood is lost,

Nor much success can either boast.»>

1A Bacchanalian interjection, borrowed from the Dutch.

But whence thy captives, friend? such spoil As theirs must needs reward thy toil. Old dost thou wax, and wars grow sharp: Thou now hast glee-maiden and harp! Get thee an ape, and trudge the land, The leader of a juggler band.» (2)—

VII.

No, comrade;-no such fortune mine. After the fight, these sought our line, That aged harper and the girl, And, having audience of the earl, Mar bade I should purvey them steed, And bring them hitherward with speed. Forbear your mirth and rude alarm, For none shall do them shame or harm.»>— Hear ye his boast?» cried John of Brent,

Ever to strife and jangling bent;

Shall he strike doe beside our lodge,

And yet the jealous niggard grudge
To pay the forester his fee!

I'll have my share howe'er it be,
Despite of Moray, Mar, or thee.»—
Bertram his forward step withstood;
And, burning in his vengeful mood,
Old Allan, though unfit for strife,
Laid hand upon his dagger-knife;
But Ellen boldly stepp'd between,
And dropp'd at once the tartan screen:
So, from his morning cloud, appears
The sun of May, through summer tears.
The savage soldiery amazed,
As on descended angel gazed;
Even hardy Brent, abash'd and tamed,
Stood half admiring, half ashamed.

Boldly she spoke,

VIII

Soldiers, attend! My father was the soldier's friend; Cheer'd him in camps, in marches led, And with him in the battle bled. Not from the valiant, or the strong, Should exile's daughter suffer wrong.»Answer'd De Brent, most forward still In every feat, or good or ill,

I shame me of the part I play'd: And thou an outlaw's child, poor maid! An outlaw I by forest laws,

And merry Needwood knows the cause. Poor Rose,-if Rose be living now,»He wiped his iron eye and brow,

* Must bear such age, I think, as thou.—

Hear ye, my mates,-I go to call
The captain of our watch to hall;
There lies my halbert on the floor;
And he that steps my halbert o'er,
To do the maid injurious part,
My shaft shall quiver in his heart!—
Beware loose speech, or jesting rough:
Ye all know John de Brent-Enough.x

IX.

Their captain came, a gallant young(Of Tullibardine's house he sprung), Nor wore he yet the spurs of knight; Gay was his mien, his humour light,

And, though by courtesy control'd,
Forward his speech, his bearing bold,
The high-born maiden ill could brook
The scanning of his curious look,
And dauntless eye;-and yet, in sooth,
Young Lewis was a generous youth;
But Ellen's lovely face and mien,
Ill suited to the garb and scene,
Might lightly bear construction strange,
And give loose fancy scope to range.
« Welcome to Stirling towers, fair maid!
Come ye to seek a champion's aid,
On palfrey white, with harper hoar,
Like arrant damosel of yore?

may

Does thy high quest a knight require,
Or the venture suit a squire?»-
Iler dark eye flash'd;-she paused and sigh'd,-
«O what have I to do with pride!
-Through scenes of sorrow, shame, and strife,
A suppliant for a father's life,
I crave an audience of the king.
Behold, to back my suit, a ring,
The royal pledge of grateful claims,
Given by the monarch to Fitz-James.»>

X.

The signet ring young Lewis took,
With deep respect and alter'd look;
And said,« This ring our duties own;
And, pardon, if to worth unknown,
In semblance mean obscurely veil'd,
Lady, in aught my folly fail'd.

Soon as the day flings wide his gates,
The king shall know what suitor waits.
Please you, meanwhile, in fitting bower
Repose you till his waking hour:
Female attendance shall obey
Your hest for service or array.
Permit I marshal the
you way.»>-
But, ere she follow'd, with the grace
And open bounty of her race,
She bade her slender purse be shared
Among the soldiers of the guard.
The rest with thanks their guerdon took;
But Brent, with shy and awkward look,
On the reluctant maiden's hold

Forced bluntly back the proffer'd gold:
Forgive a haughty English heart,

And O forget its ruder part!

The vacant purse shall be my share,
Which in my barret-cap I'll bear,
Perchance, in jeopardy of war,

Where gayer crests may keep afar.»—

With thanks,-'t was all she could,-the maid His rugged courtesy repaid.

XI.

When Ellen forth with Lewis went,
Allan made suit to John of Brent:-

My lady safe, O let your grace
Give me to see my master's face!
His minstrel I,-to share his doom
Bound from the cradle to the tomb.
Tenth in descent, since first sires
my
Waked for his noble house their lyres,

grace

Nor one of all the race was known
But prized its weal above their own.
With the chief's birth begins our care;
Our harp must soothe the infant heir,
Teach the youth tales of fight, and
His earliest feat of field or chase;
In
peace, in war, our rank we keep,
We cheer his board, we soothe his sleep,
Nor leave him till we pour our verse,―
A doleful tribute!-o'er his hearse.
Then let me share his captive lot;
It is my right-deny it not!»-

<< Little we reck,» said John of Brent,
« We southern men, of long descent;
Nor wot we how a name-a word-
Makes clansmen vassals to a lord:
Yet kind my noble landlord's part,-
God bless the house of Beaudesert!
And, but I loved to drive the deer,
More than to guide the labouring steer,
I had not dwelt an outcast here.
Come, good old minstrel, follow me;
Thy lord and chieftain shalt thou see. »>—

XII.

Then, from a rusted iron hook,
A bunch of ponderous keys he took,
Lighted a torch, and Allan led
Through grated arch and passage dread.
Portals they pass'd, where, deep within,
Spoke prisoner's moan, and fetters' din;
Through rugged vaults, where, loosely stored,
Lay wheel, and axe, and headsman's sword,
And many an hideous engine grim,
For wrenching joint, and crushing limb,
By artists form'd, who deem'd it shame

And sin to give their work a name.

They halted at a low-brow'd porch,

And Brent to Allan gave the torch,

While bolt and chain he backward roll'd,
And made the bar unhasp its hold.
They enter'd:-'t was a prison-room
Of stern security and gloom,
Yet not a dungeon; for the day
Through lofty gratings found its way,
And rude and antique garniture
Deck'd the sad walls and oaken floor;
Such as the rugged days of old
Deem'd fit for captive noble's hold.

« Here,» said De Brent, « thou mayst remain Till the leach visit him again.

Strict is his charge, the warders tell,
To tend the noble prisoner well.»--
Retiring then, the bolt he drew,

And the lock's murmurs growl'd anew.
Roused at the sound, from lowly bed
A captive feebly raised his head;
The wondering minstrel look'd, and knew—
Not his dear lord, but Roderick Dhu!
For, come from where Clan-Alpine fought,
They, erring, deem'd the chief he sought.
XIII.

As the tall ship, whose lofty prore
Shall never stem the billows more,
Deserted by her gallant band,
Amid the breakers lies astrand,—

So, on his couch, lay Roderick Dhu!
And oft his fever'd limbs he threw
In toss abrupt, as when her sides
Lie rocking in the advancing tides,
That shake her frame with ceaseless beat,
Yet cannot heave her from her seat;-
O! how unlike her course at sea!

Or his free step on hill and lee! Soon as the minstrel he could scan, -« What of thy lady?—of my clan? My mother?-Douglas?-tell me all! Have they been ruin'd in my fall? Ab, yes! or wherefore art thou here? Yet speak,-speak boldly,-do not fear.»(For Allan, who his mood well knew, Was choked with grief and terror too,)[«Who fought-who fled-Old man, be brief;Some might-for they had lost their chief. Who basely live?-who bravely died?»«O, calm thee, chief!» the minstrel cried, « Ellen is safe;»- For that, thank Heaven!»

« And hopes are for the Douglas given;-
The Lady Margaret too is well,
And, for thy clan-on field or fell,
Has never harp of minstrel told,
Of combat fought so true and bold.
Thy stately pine is yet unbent,
Though many a goodly bough is rent.»>-

In

yon lone isle,-again where ne'er Shall harper play, or warrior hear!That stirring air that peals on high,

O'er Dermid's race our victory—

Strike it! (3)-and then (for well thou canst),

Free from thy minstrel-spirit glanced,

Fling me the picture of the fight,

When met my clan the Saxon might.

I'll listen, till my fancy hears

The clang of swords, the crash of spears!
These grates, these walls, shall vanish then,
For the fair field of fighting men,

And my free spirit burst away,

As if it soar'd from battle-fray.»—

The trembling bard with awe obey'd,—
Slow on the harp his hand he laid;
But soon remembrance of the sight
He witness'd from the mountain's height,
With what old Bertram told at night,
Awaken'd the full power of song,
And bore him in career along;
As shallop launch'd on river's tide,
That slow and fearful leaves the side,
But, when it feels the middle stream,
Drives downward swift as lightning's beam.

XV.

BATTLE OF BEAL' AN DUINE. (4) «The minstrel came once more to view

The eastern ridge of Ben-venue,