The Castle gates were open flung,The quivering drawbridge rock’d and rung,And echo’d loud the flinty streetBeneath the coursers’ clattering feet,As slowly down the steep descentFair Scotland’s King and nobles went,While all along the crowded wayWas jubilee and loud huzza.And ever James was bending low,To his white jennet’s[303]saddlebow,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,[304]King James!”Behind the King throng’d peer and knight,And noble dame, and damsel bright,Whose fiery steeds ill brook’d the stayOf the steep street and crowded way.—But in the train you might discernDark lowering brow, and visage stern:There nobles mourn’d their pride restrain’d,And the 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 gray tower,Their waving woods, their feudal power,And deem’d themselves a shameful partOf pageant which they cursed in heart.
The Castle gates were open flung,The quivering drawbridge rock’d and rung,And echo’d loud the flinty streetBeneath the coursers’ clattering feet,As slowly down the steep descentFair Scotland’s King and nobles went,While all along the crowded wayWas jubilee and loud huzza.And ever James was bending low,To his white jennet’s[303]saddlebow,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,[304]King James!”Behind the King throng’d peer and knight,And noble dame, and damsel bright,Whose fiery steeds ill brook’d the stayOf the steep street and crowded way.—But in the train you might discernDark lowering brow, and visage stern:There nobles mourn’d their pride restrain’d,And the 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 gray tower,Their waving woods, their feudal power,And deem’d themselves a shameful partOf pageant which they cursed in heart.
The Castle gates were open flung,
The quivering drawbridge rock’d and rung,
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[303]saddlebow,
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,[304]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,
And the 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 gray tower,
Their waving woods, their feudal power,
And deem’d themselves a shameful part
Of pageant which they cursed in heart.
Now, in the Castle-park, drew outTheir checker’d[305]bands the joyous rout.There morrisers, with bell at heel,And blade in hand, their mazes wheel;But chief, beside the butts, there standBold Robin Hood[306]and all his band,—Friar Tuck with quarterstaff and cowl,Old Scathlock with his surly scowl,Maid Marian, fair as ivory bone,Scarlet, and Mutch, and Little John;[307]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 takeA silver dart,[308]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,[309]The Monarch gave the arrow bright.
Now, in the Castle-park, drew outTheir checker’d[305]bands the joyous rout.There morrisers, with bell at heel,And blade in hand, their mazes wheel;But chief, beside the butts, there standBold Robin Hood[306]and all his band,—Friar Tuck with quarterstaff and cowl,Old Scathlock with his surly scowl,Maid Marian, fair as ivory bone,Scarlet, and Mutch, and Little John;[307]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 takeA silver dart,[308]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,[309]The Monarch gave the arrow bright.
Now, in the Castle-park, drew out
Their checker’d[305]bands the joyous rout.
There morrisers, with bell at heel,
And blade in hand, their mazes wheel;
But chief, beside the butts, there stand
Bold Robin Hood[306]and all his band,—
Friar Tuck with quarterstaff and cowl,
Old Scathlock with his surly scowl,
Maid Marian, fair as ivory bone,
Scarlet, and Mutch, and Little John;[307]
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,[308]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,[309]
The Monarch gave the arrow bright.
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 KingTo Douglas gave a golden ring,While coldly glanced his eye of blue,As frozen drop of wintry dew.Douglas would speak, but in his breastHis struggling soul his words suppress’d;Indignant then he turn’d him whereTheir arms the brawny yeoman bare,To hurl the massive bar in air.When each his utmost strength had shown,The Douglas rent an earth-fast stoneFrom 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,The gray-haired sires, who know the past,To strangers point the Douglas-cast,[310]And moralize on the decayOf Scottish strength in modern day.
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 KingTo Douglas gave a golden ring,While coldly glanced his eye of blue,As frozen drop of wintry dew.Douglas would speak, but in his breastHis struggling soul his words suppress’d;Indignant then he turn’d him whereTheir arms the brawny yeoman bare,To hurl the massive bar in air.When each his utmost strength had shown,The Douglas rent an earth-fast stoneFrom 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,The gray-haired sires, who know the past,To strangers point the Douglas-cast,[310]And moralize on the decayOf Scottish strength in modern day.
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 suppress’d;
Indignant then he turn’d him where
Their arms the brawny yeoman 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,
The gray-haired sires, who know the past,
To strangers point the Douglas-cast,[310]
And moralize on the decay
Of Scottish strength in modern day.
The vale with loud applauses rang,The Ladies’ Rock[311]sent back the clang.The King, with look unmoved, bestow’dA 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 gray 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 sonOf feats upon the English done,Ere Douglas of the stalwart handWas 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 sawHis strength surpassing nature’s law.Thus judged, as is their wont, the crowd,Till murmur rose to clamors loud.But not a glance from that proud ringOf 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 honor’d place,Begirt[312]his board, and, in the field,Found safety underneath his shield;For he, whom royal eyes disown,When was his form to courtiers known!
The vale with loud applauses rang,The Ladies’ Rock[311]sent back the clang.The King, with look unmoved, bestow’dA 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 gray 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 sonOf feats upon the English done,Ere Douglas of the stalwart handWas 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 sawHis strength surpassing nature’s law.Thus judged, as is their wont, the crowd,Till murmur rose to clamors loud.But not a glance from that proud ringOf 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 honor’d place,Begirt[312]his board, and, in the field,Found safety underneath his shield;For he, whom royal eyes disown,When was his form to courtiers known!
The vale with loud applauses rang,
The Ladies’ Rock[311]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 gray 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.
Thus judged, as is their wont, the crowd,
Till murmur rose to clamors 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 honor’d place,
Begirt[312]his board, and, in the field,
Found safety underneath his shield;
For he, whom royal eyes disown,
When was his form to courtiers known!
The Monarch saw the gambols flag,And bade let loose a gallant stag,Whose pride, the holiday to crown,Two favorite greyhounds should pull down,That venison free, and Bordeaux wine,Might serve the archery to dine.But Lufra,—whom from Douglas’ sideNor 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 midway,And dashing on the antler’d prey,Sunk her sharp muzzle in his flank,And deep the flowing lifeblood drank.The King’s stout huntsman saw the sportBy 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 neckIn maiden glee with garlands deck;They were such playmates, that with nameOf 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 dealThough gauntleted in glove of steel.
The Monarch saw the gambols flag,And bade let loose a gallant stag,Whose pride, the holiday to crown,Two favorite greyhounds should pull down,That venison free, and Bordeaux wine,Might serve the archery to dine.But Lufra,—whom from Douglas’ sideNor 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 midway,And dashing on the antler’d prey,Sunk her sharp muzzle in his flank,And deep the flowing lifeblood drank.The King’s stout huntsman saw the sportBy 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 neckIn maiden glee with garlands deck;They were such playmates, that with nameOf 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 dealThough gauntleted in glove of steel.
The Monarch saw the gambols flag,
And bade let loose a gallant stag,
Whose pride, the holiday to crown,
Two favorite 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 midway,
And dashing on the antler’d prey,
Sunk her sharp muzzle in his flank,
And deep the flowing lifeblood 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.
Then clamor’d loud the royal train,And brandish’d swords and staves amain.But stern the baron’s warning—“Back!Back, on[313]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[314]ambitious clan,Thou, James of Bothwell, wert the man,The only man, in whom a foeMy woman mercy would not know:But shall a Monarch’s presence brookInjurious 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.”
Then clamor’d loud the royal train,And brandish’d swords and staves amain.But stern the baron’s warning—“Back!Back, on[313]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[314]ambitious clan,Thou, James of Bothwell, wert the man,The only man, in whom a foeMy woman mercy would not know:But shall a Monarch’s presence brookInjurious 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.”
Then clamor’d loud the royal train,
And brandish’d swords and staves amain.
But stern the baron’s warning—“Back!
Back, on[313]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[314]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.”
Then uproar wild and misarray[315]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 sweepThe royal spears in circle deep,And slowly scale the pathway steep;While on the rear in thunder pourThe rabble with disorder’d roar.With grief the noble Douglas sawThe Commons rise against the law,And to the leading soldier said,—“Sir John of Hyndford![316]’twas my bladeThat knighthood on thy shoulder laid;[317]For that good deed, permit me thenA word with these misguided men.”—
Then uproar wild and misarray[315]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 sweepThe royal spears in circle deep,And slowly scale the pathway steep;While on the rear in thunder pourThe rabble with disorder’d roar.With grief the noble Douglas sawThe Commons rise against the law,And to the leading soldier said,—“Sir John of Hyndford![316]’twas my bladeThat knighthood on thy shoulder laid;[317]For that good deed, permit me thenA word with these misguided men.”—
Then uproar wild and misarray[315]
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![316]’twas my blade
That knighthood on thy shoulder laid;[317]
For that good deed, permit me then
A word with these misguided men.”—
“Hear, gentle friends! ere yet for meYe break the bands of fealty.My life, my honor, and my cause,I tender free to Scotland’s laws.Are these so weak as must requireThe 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 towerIt 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 begunFor 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[318]such ill,And keep your right to love me still!”
“Hear, gentle friends! ere yet for meYe break the bands of fealty.My life, my honor, and my cause,I tender free to Scotland’s laws.Are these so weak as must requireThe 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 towerIt 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 begunFor 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[318]such ill,And keep your right to love me still!”
“Hear, gentle friends! ere yet for me
Ye break the bands of fealty.
My life, my honor, 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.
Oh, let your patience ward[318]such ill,
And keep your right to love me still!”
The crowd’s wild fury sunk againIn tears, as tempests melt in rain.With lifted hands and eyes, they pray’dFor 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 stayed 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 honor’d charge.
The crowd’s wild fury sunk againIn tears, as tempests melt in rain.With lifted hands and eyes, they pray’dFor 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 stayed 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 honor’d charge.
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 stayed 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 honor’d charge.
The offended Monarch rode apart,With bitter thought and swelling heart,And would not now vouchsafe againThrough Stirling streets to lead his train.—“O Lennox, who would wish to ruleThis changeling[319]crowd, this common fool?Hear’st thou,” he said, “the loud acclaimWith which they shout the Douglas name?With like acclaim, the vulgar throatStrain’d for King James their morning note;With like acclaim they hail’d the dayWhen 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!”
The offended Monarch rode apart,With bitter thought and swelling heart,And would not now vouchsafe againThrough Stirling streets to lead his train.—“O Lennox, who would wish to ruleThis changeling[319]crowd, this common fool?Hear’st thou,” he said, “the loud acclaimWith which they shout the Douglas name?With like acclaim, the vulgar throatStrain’d for King James their morning note;With like acclaim they hail’d the dayWhen 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!”
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[319]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!”
“But soft! what messenger of speedSpurs hitherward his panting steed?I guess his cognizance[320]afar—What from our cousin,[321]John of Mar?”—“He prays, my liege, your sports keep boundWithin 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 aidThese loose banditti stand array’d.The Earl of Mar, this morn, from Doune,To break their muster march’d, and soonYour grace will hear of battle fought;But earnestly the Earl besought,Till for such danger he provide,With scanty train you will not ride.”
“But soft! what messenger of speedSpurs hitherward his panting steed?I guess his cognizance[320]afar—What from our cousin,[321]John of Mar?”—“He prays, my liege, your sports keep boundWithin 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 aidThese loose banditti stand array’d.The Earl of Mar, this morn, from Doune,To break their muster march’d, and soonYour grace will hear of battle fought;But earnestly the Earl besought,Till for such danger he provide,With scanty train you will not ride.”
“But soft! what messenger of speed
Spurs hitherward his panting steed?
I guess his cognizance[320]afar—
What from our cousin,[321]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.”
“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 causeSubmitted to our kingdom’s laws.The tidings of their leaders lostWill 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.
“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 causeSubmitted to our kingdom’s laws.The tidings of their leaders lostWill 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.
“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,
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.
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 townThe evening sunk in sorrow down.The burghers spoke of civil jar,Of rumor’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[322]was of old.”—And there his word the speaker stayed,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 boreTidings of fight on Katrine’s shore;At noon the deadly fray begun,And lasted till the set of sun.Thus giddy rumor shook the town,Till closed the Night her pennons brown.
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 townThe evening sunk in sorrow down.The burghers spoke of civil jar,Of rumor’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[322]was of old.”—And there his word the speaker stayed,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 boreTidings of fight on Katrine’s shore;At noon the deadly fray begun,And lasted till the set of sun.Thus giddy rumor shook the town,Till closed the Night her pennons brown.
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 rumor’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[322]was of old.”—
And there his word the speaker stayed,
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 rumor shook the town,
Till closed the Night her pennons brown.
THE GUARD ROOM.
The sun, awakening, through the smoky airOf the dark city casts a sullen glance,Rousing each caitiff[323]to his task of care,Of sinful man the sad inheritance;Summoning revelers 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, oh! 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 lovelorn wretch starts from tormenting dream;The wakeful mother, by the glimmering pale,Trims her sick infant’s couch, and soothes his feeble wail.
The sun, awakening, through the smoky airOf the dark city casts a sullen glance,Rousing each caitiff[323]to his task of care,Of sinful man the sad inheritance;Summoning revelers 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.
The sun, awakening, through the smoky air
Of the dark city casts a sullen glance,
Rousing each caitiff[323]to his task of care,
Of sinful man the sad inheritance;
Summoning revelers 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, oh! 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 lovelorn wretch starts from tormenting dream;The wakeful mother, by the glimmering pale,Trims her sick infant’s couch, and soothes his feeble wail.
What various scenes, and, oh! 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 lovelorn wretch starts from tormenting dream;
The wakeful mother, by the glimmering pale,
Trims her sick infant’s couch, and soothes his feeble wail.
At dawn the towers of Stirling rangWith soldier step and weapon clang,While drums, with rolling note, foretellRelief 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 shoneThe 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 labor’d still their thirst to quench;Some, chill’d with watching, spread their handsO’er the huge chimney’s dying brands,While round them, or beside them flung,At every step their harness[324]rung.
At dawn the towers of Stirling rangWith soldier step and weapon clang,While drums, with rolling note, foretellRelief 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 shoneThe 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 labor’d still their thirst to quench;Some, chill’d with watching, spread their handsO’er the huge chimney’s dying brands,While round them, or beside them flung,At every step their harness[324]rung.
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 labor’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[324]rung.
These drew not for their fields the sword,Like tenants of a feudal lord,Nor own’d the patriarchal claimOf Chieftain in their leader’s name;Adventurers[325]they, 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[326]thereMore freely breathed in mountain air;The Fleming[327]there despised the soil,That paid so ill the laborer’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 wieldThe heavy halberd, brand, and shield;In camps licentious, wild, and bold;In pillage fierce and uncontroll’d;And now, by holytide[328]and feast,From rules of discipline released.
These drew not for their fields the sword,Like tenants of a feudal lord,Nor own’d the patriarchal claimOf Chieftain in their leader’s name;Adventurers[325]they, 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[326]thereMore freely breathed in mountain air;The Fleming[327]there despised the soil,That paid so ill the laborer’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 wieldThe heavy halberd, brand, and shield;In camps licentious, wild, and bold;In pillage fierce and uncontroll’d;And now, by holytide[328]and feast,From rules of discipline released.
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[325]they, 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[326]there
More freely breathed in mountain air;
The Fleming[327]there despised the soil,
That paid so ill the laborer’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 halberd, brand, and shield;
In camps licentious, wild, and bold;
In pillage fierce and uncontroll’d;
And now, by holytide[328]and feast,
From rules of discipline released.
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 earOf wounded comrades groaning near,Whose mangled limbs, and bodies gored,Bore token of the mountain sword,Though, neighboring 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[329]of the deer,In host[330]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.”
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 earOf wounded comrades groaning near,Whose mangled limbs, and bodies gored,Bore token of the mountain sword,Though, neighboring 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[329]of the deer,In host[330]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.”
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, neighboring 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[329]of the deer,
In host[330]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.”
SOLDIER’S SONG.Our vicar still preaches that Peter and Poule[331]Laid a swinging[332]long curse on the bonny brown bowl,That there’s wrath and despair in the jolly black-jack,[333]And the seven deadly sins in a flagon of sack;[334]Yet whoop, Barnaby! off with thy liquor,Drink upsees out,[335]and a fig for the vicar!Our vicar he calls it damnation to sipThe ripe ruddy dew of a woman’s dear lip,Says, that Beelzebub[336]lurks in her kerchief so sly,And Apollyon[337]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;[338]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!
SOLDIER’S SONG.Our vicar still preaches that Peter and Poule[331]Laid a swinging[332]long curse on the bonny brown bowl,That there’s wrath and despair in the jolly black-jack,[333]And the seven deadly sins in a flagon of sack;[334]Yet whoop, Barnaby! off with thy liquor,Drink upsees out,[335]and a fig for the vicar!
SOLDIER’S SONG.
Our vicar still preaches that Peter and Poule[331]
Laid a swinging[332]long curse on the bonny brown bowl,
That there’s wrath and despair in the jolly black-jack,[333]
And the seven deadly sins in a flagon of sack;[334]
Yet whoop, Barnaby! off with thy liquor,
Drink upsees out,[335]and a fig for the vicar!
Our vicar he calls it damnation to sipThe ripe ruddy dew of a woman’s dear lip,Says, that Beelzebub[336]lurks in her kerchief so sly,And Apollyon[337]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 he calls it damnation to sip
The ripe ruddy dew of a woman’s dear lip,
Says, that Beelzebub[336]lurks in her kerchief so sly,
And Apollyon[337]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;[338]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!
Our vicar thus preaches—and why should he not?
For the dues of his cure are the placket and pot;[338]
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!
The warder’s challenge, heard without,Stayed 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 plaidAll muffled close, a mountain maid,Who backward shrunk to ’scape the viewOf the loose scene and boisterous crew.“What news?” they roar’d.—“I only know,From noon till eve we fought with foeAs wild and as untamableAs the rude mountains where they dwell;On both sides store of blood is lost,Nor much success can either boast.”—“But whence thy captives, friend? such spoilAs 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.”—
The warder’s challenge, heard without,Stayed 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 plaidAll muffled close, a mountain maid,Who backward shrunk to ’scape the viewOf the loose scene and boisterous crew.“What news?” they roar’d.—“I only know,From noon till eve we fought with foeAs wild and as untamableAs the rude mountains where they dwell;On both sides store of blood is lost,Nor much success can either boast.”—“But whence thy captives, friend? such spoilAs 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.”—
The warder’s challenge, heard without,
Stayed 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 untamable
As the rude mountains where they dwell;
On both sides store of blood is lost,
Nor much success can either boast.”—
“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.”—
“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 grudgeTo 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, appearsThe 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.
“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 grudgeTo 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, appearsThe 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.
“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,—“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 stillIn 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[339]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 callThe Captain of our watch to hall:There lies my halberd on the floor;And he that steps my halberd 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.”
Boldly she spoke,—“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 stillIn 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[339]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 callThe Captain of our watch to hall:There lies my halberd on the floor;And he that steps my halberd 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.”
Boldly she spoke,—“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[339]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 halberd on the floor;
And he that steps my halberd 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.”
Their Captain came, a gallant young,—Of Tullibardine’s[340]house he sprung,—Nor wore he yet the spurs of knight;Gay was his mien, his humor light,And, though by courtesy controll’d,Forward his speech, his bearing bold.The high-born maiden ill could brookThe scanning of his curious lookAnd 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 errant damosel[341]of yore?Does thy high quest[342]a knight require,Or may the venture suit a squire?”—Her dark eye flash’d;—she paused and sigh’d,—“Oh, 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.”
Their Captain came, a gallant young,—Of Tullibardine’s[340]house he sprung,—Nor wore he yet the spurs of knight;Gay was his mien, his humor light,And, though by courtesy controll’d,Forward his speech, his bearing bold.The high-born maiden ill could brookThe scanning of his curious lookAnd 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 errant damosel[341]of yore?Does thy high quest[342]a knight require,Or may the venture suit a squire?”—Her dark eye flash’d;—she paused and sigh’d,—“Oh, 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.”
Their Captain came, a gallant young,—
Of Tullibardine’s[340]house he sprung,—
Nor wore he yet the spurs of knight;
Gay was his mien, his humor light,
And, though by courtesy controll’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 errant damosel[341]of yore?
Does thy high quest[342]a knight require,
Or may the venture suit a squire?”—
Her dark eye flash’d;—she paused and sigh’d,—
“Oh, 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.”
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 bowerRepose you till his waking hour;Female attendance shall obeyYour hest, for service or array.Permit I marshal you the way.”But, ere she followed, with the graceAnd open bounty of her race,She bade her slender purse be sharedAmong the soldiers of the guard.The rest with thanks their guerdon took;But Brent, with shy and awkward look,On the reluctant maiden’s holdForced bluntly back the proffer’d gold;—“Forgive a haughty English heart,And oh, 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—’twas all she could—the maidHis rugged courtesy repaid.
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 bowerRepose you till his waking hour;Female attendance shall obeyYour hest, for service or array.Permit I marshal you the way.”But, ere she followed, with the graceAnd open bounty of her race,She bade her slender purse be sharedAmong the soldiers of the guard.The rest with thanks their guerdon took;But Brent, with shy and awkward look,On the reluctant maiden’s holdForced bluntly back the proffer’d gold;—“Forgive a haughty English heart,And oh, 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—’twas all she could—the maidHis rugged courtesy repaid.
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 you the way.”
But, ere she followed, 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 oh, 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—’twas all she could—the maid
His rugged courtesy repaid.
When Ellen forth with Lewis went,Allan made suit to John of Brent:—“My lady safe, oh, let your graceGive me to see my master’s face!His minstrel I,—to share his doomBound from the cradle to the tomb.Tenth in descent, since first my siresWaked for his noble house their lyres,Nor one of all the race was knownBut 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 graceHis 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 laboring steer,I had not dwelt an outcast here.Come, good old Minstrel, follow me;Thy Lord and Chieftain shalt thou see.”
When Ellen forth with Lewis went,Allan made suit to John of Brent:—“My lady safe, oh, let your graceGive me to see my master’s face!His minstrel I,—to share his doomBound from the cradle to the tomb.Tenth in descent, since first my siresWaked for his noble house their lyres,Nor one of all the race was knownBut 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 graceHis 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 laboring steer,I had not dwelt an outcast here.Come, good old Minstrel, follow me;Thy Lord and Chieftain shalt thou see.”
When Ellen forth with Lewis went,
Allan made suit to John of Brent:—
“My lady safe, oh, 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 my sires
Waked for his noble house their lyres,
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 grace
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 laboring steer,
I had not dwelt an outcast here.
Come, good old Minstrel, follow me;
Thy Lord and Chieftain shalt thou see.”
Then, from a rusted iron hook,A bunch of ponderous keys he took,Lighted a torch, and Allan ledThrough 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 ax, and headsman’s sword,And many an hideous engine grim,For wrenching joint, and crushing limb,By artist form’d, who deemed it shameAnd 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:—’twas a prison roomOf stern security and gloom,Yet not a dungeon; for the dayThrough lofty gratings found its way,And rude and antique garnitureDeck’d the sad walls and oaken floor;Such as the rugged days of oldDeem’d fit for captive noble’s hold.[343]“Here,” said De Brent, “thou mayst remainTill the Leech[344]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 bedA 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.
Then, from a rusted iron hook,A bunch of ponderous keys he took,Lighted a torch, and Allan ledThrough 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 ax, and headsman’s sword,And many an hideous engine grim,For wrenching joint, and crushing limb,By artist form’d, who deemed it shameAnd 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:—’twas a prison roomOf stern security and gloom,Yet not a dungeon; for the dayThrough lofty gratings found its way,And rude and antique garnitureDeck’d the sad walls and oaken floor;Such as the rugged days of oldDeem’d fit for captive noble’s hold.[343]“Here,” said De Brent, “thou mayst remainTill the Leech[344]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 bedA 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.
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 ax, and headsman’s sword,
And many an hideous engine grim,
For wrenching joint, and crushing limb,
By artist form’d, who deemed 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:—’twas 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.[343]
“Here,” said De Brent, “thou mayst remain
Till the Leech[344]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.