MALISE

"That bull was slain; his reeking hide80They stretched the cataract beside,Whose waters their wild tumult tossAdown the black and craggy bossnoteOf that huge cliff, whose ample vergeTradition calls the Hero's Targe.85Couched on a shelf beneath its brink,Close where the thundering torrents sink,Rocking beneath their headlong sway,And drizzled by the ceaseless spray,Midst groan of rock, and roar of stream,90The wizard waits prophetic dream.Nor distant rests the Chief—but hush!See, gliding slow through mist and bush,The hermit gains yon rock, and standsTo gaze upon our slumbering bands.95Seems he not, Malise, like a ghost,That hovers o'er a slaughtered host?Or raven on the blasted oak,That, watching while the deer is broke,noteHis morsel claims with sullen croak?"

100"Peace! peace! to other than to meThy words were evil augury;But still I hold Sir Roderick's bladeClan-Alpine's omen and her aid,Not aught that, gleaned from heaven or hell,105Yon fiend-begotten Monk can tell.The Chieftain joins him, see—and now,Together they descend the brow."

And, as they came, with Alpine's LordThe Hermit Monk held solemn word:110"Roderick! it is a fearful strife,For man endowed with mortal life,Whose shroud of sentient clay can stillFeel feverish pang and fainting chill,Whose eye can stare in stony trance,115Whose hair can rouse like warrior's lance—'Tis hard for such to view, unfurled,The curtain of the future world.Yet, witness every quaking limb,My sunken pulse, my eyeballs dim,120My soul with harrowing anguish torn—This for my Chieftain have I borne!The shapes that sought my fearful couch,A human tongue may ne'er avouch;No mortal man—save he, who, bred125Between the living and the dead,Is gifted beyond nature's law—Had e'er survived to say he saw.At length the fatal answer came,In characters of living flame!130Not spoke in word, nor blazed in scroll,But borne and branded on my soul:Which spills the foremost foeman's life,That party conquers in the strife."

"Thanks, Brian, for thy zeal and care!135Good is thine augury, and fair.Clan-Alpine ne'er in battle stood,But first our broadswords tasted blood.A surer victim still I know,Self-offered to the auspicious blow:140A spy has sought my land this morn—noteNo eve shall witness his return!My followers guard each pass's mouth,To east, to westward, and to south;Red Murdoch, bribed to be his guide,145Has charge to lead his steps aside,Till in deep path or dingle brown,He light on those shall bring him down.—But see, who comes his news to show!Malise! what tidings of the foe?"

150"At Doune, o'er many a spear and glaivenoteTwo Barons proud their banners wave.I saw the Moray's silver star,And marked the sable pale of Mar."note"By Alpine's soul, high tidings those!155I love to hear of worthy foes.When move they on?" "Tomorrow's noonWill see them here for battle boune.""Then shall it see a meeting stern!But, for the place—say, couldst thou learn160Nought of the friendly clans of Earn?Strengthened by them, we well might bideThe battle on Benledi's side.Thou couldst not! Well! Clan-Alpine's menShall man the Trossachs' shaggy glen;165Within Loch Katrine's gorge we'll fight,All in our maids' and matrons' sight,Each for his hearth and household fire,Father for child, and son for sire—Lover for maid beloved! But why—170Is it the breeze affects mine eye?Or dost thou come, ill-omened tear!A messenger of doubt and fear?No! sooner may the Saxon lanceUnfix Benledi from his stance,note175Than doubt or terror can pierce throughThe unyielding heart of Roderick Dhu!'Tis stubborn as his trusty targe.Each to his post—all know their charge."The pibroch sounds, the bands advance,180The broadswords gleam, the banners dance,Obedient to the Chieftain's glance.—I turn me from the martial roar,And seek Coir-Uriskin once more.

Where is the Douglas?—he is gone;185And Ellen sits on the gray stoneFast by the cave, and makes her moan;While vainly Allan's words of cheerAre poured on her unheeding ear:"He will return—dear lady trust!190With joy return—he will—he must.Well was it time to seek, afar,Some refuge from impending war,When e'en Clan-Alpine's rugged swarmAre cowed by the approaching storm.195I saw their boats with many a light,Floating the live-long yesternight,Shifting like flashes darted forthBy the red streamers of the north;I marked at morn how close they ride,200Thick moored by the lone islet's side,Like wild-ducks couching in the fen,When stoops the hawk upon the glen.Since this rude race dare not abideThe peril on the mainland side,205Shall not thy noble father's careSome safe retreat for thee prepare?"

"No, Allan, no! Pretext so kindMy wakeful terrors could not blind.When in such tender tone, yet grave,210Douglas a parting blessing gave,The tear that glistened in his eyeDrowned not his purpose fixed and high.My soul, though feminine and weak,Can image his; e'en as the lake,215Itself disturbed by slightest stroke,Reflects the invulnerable rock.He hears the report of battle rife,He deems himself the cause of strife.I saw him redden, when the theme220Turned, Allan, on thine idle dreamOf Malcolm Graeme in fetters bound,Which I, thou saidst, about him wound.Think'st thou he trowed thine omen aught?Oh, no! 'twas apprehensive thought225For the kind youth—for Roderick too—Let me be just—that friend so true;In danger both, and in our cause!Minstrel, the Douglas dare not pause.Why else that solemn warning given,230'If not on earth, we meet in heaven!'Why else, to Cambus-kenneth's fane,noteIf eve return him not again,Am I to hie, and make me known?Alas! he goes to Scotland's throne,235Buys his friend's safety with his own;He goes to do—what I had done,Had Douglas' daughter been his son!"

"Nay, lovely Ellen!—dearest, nay!If aught should his return delay,240He only named yon holy faneAs fitting place to meet again.Be sure he's safe; and for the Graeme—Heaven's blessing on his gallant name!My visioned sight may yet prove true,245Nor bode of ill to him or you.When did my gifted dream beguile?Think of the stranger at the isle,And think upon the harpings slow,That presaged this approaching woe!250Sooth was my prophecy of fear;Believe it when it augurs cheer.Would we had left this dismal spot!Ill luck still haunts a fairy grot.Of such a wondrous tale I know—255Dear lady, change that look of woe,My harp was wont thy grief to cheer."

"Well, be it as thou wilt; I hear,But cannot stop the bursting tear."The minstrel tried his simple art,260But distant far was Ellen's heart.

Merry it is in the good greenwood,When the mavis and merle are singing,noteWhen the deer sweeps by, and the hounds are in cry,And the hunter's horn is ringing.265"O Alice Brand, my native landIs lost for love of you;And we must hold by wood and wold,As outlaws wont to do."O Alice, 'twas all for thy locks so bright,270And 'twas all for thine eyes so blue,That on the night of our luckless flight,Thy brother bold I slew."Now must I teach to hew the beechThe hand that held the glaive,275For leaves to spread our lowly bed,And stakes to fence our cave."And for vest of pall, thy fingers small,That wont on harp to stray,A cloak must shear from the slaughtered deer,280To keep the cold away.""O Richard! if my brother died,'Twas but a fatal chance;For darkling was the battle tried,noteAnd fortune sped the lance.285"If pall and vair no more I wear,noteNor thou the crimson sheen,As warm, we'll say, is the russet gray,As gay the forest-green."And, Richard, if our lot be hard,290And lost thy native land,Still Alice has her own Richard,And he his Alice Brand."

Merry it is in the good greenwood,When the mavis and merle are singing,noteWhen the deer sweeps by, and the hounds are in cry,And the hunter's horn is ringing.

265"O Alice Brand, my native landIs lost for love of you;And we must hold by wood and wold,As outlaws wont to do.

"O Alice, 'twas all for thy locks so bright,270And 'twas all for thine eyes so blue,That on the night of our luckless flight,Thy brother bold I slew.

"Now must I teach to hew the beechThe hand that held the glaive,275For leaves to spread our lowly bed,And stakes to fence our cave.

"And for vest of pall, thy fingers small,That wont on harp to stray,A cloak must shear from the slaughtered deer,280To keep the cold away."

"O Richard! if my brother died,'Twas but a fatal chance;For darkling was the battle tried,noteAnd fortune sped the lance.

285"If pall and vair no more I wear,noteNor thou the crimson sheen,As warm, we'll say, is the russet gray,As gay the forest-green.

"And, Richard, if our lot be hard,290And lost thy native land,Still Alice has her own Richard,And he his Alice Brand."

'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good greenwood,So blithe Lady Alice is singing;295On the beech's pride, and oak's brown side,Lord Richard's ax is ringing.Up spoke the moody Elfin King,Who wonned within the hill,noteLike wind in the porch of a ruined church,300His voice was ghostly shrill."Why sounds yon stroke on beech and oak,Our moonlight circle's screen?Or who comes here to chase the deer,Beloved of our Elfin Queen?305Or who may dare on wold to wearThe fairies' fatal green?note"Up, Urgan, up! to yon mortal hie,For thou wert christened man;noteFor cross or sign thou wilt not fly,310For muttered word or ban."Lay on him the curse of the withered heart,The curse of the sleepless eye;Till he wish and pray that his life would part,Nor yet find leave to die."

'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good greenwood,So blithe Lady Alice is singing;295On the beech's pride, and oak's brown side,Lord Richard's ax is ringing.

Up spoke the moody Elfin King,Who wonned within the hill,noteLike wind in the porch of a ruined church,300His voice was ghostly shrill.

"Why sounds yon stroke on beech and oak,Our moonlight circle's screen?Or who comes here to chase the deer,Beloved of our Elfin Queen?305Or who may dare on wold to wearThe fairies' fatal green?note

"Up, Urgan, up! to yon mortal hie,For thou wert christened man;noteFor cross or sign thou wilt not fly,310For muttered word or ban.

"Lay on him the curse of the withered heart,The curse of the sleepless eye;Till he wish and pray that his life would part,Nor yet find leave to die."

315'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good greenwood,Though the birds have stilled their singing;The evening blaze doth Alice raise,And Richard is fagots bringing.Up Urgan starts, that hideous dwarf,320Before Lord Richard stands,And, as he crossed and blessed himself,"I fear not sign," quoth the grisly elf,"That is made with bloody hands."But out then spoke she, Alice Brand,325That woman void of fear,"And if there's blood upon his hand,'Tis but the blood of deer.""Now loud thou liest, thou bold of mood!It cleaves unto his hand,330The stain of thine own kindly blood,The blood of Ethert Brand."Then forward stepped she, Alice Brand,And made the holy sign,"And if there's blood on Richard's hand,335A spotless hand is mine."And I conjure thee, Demon elf,By Him whom Demons fear,To show us whence thou art thyself,And what thine errand here?"

315'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good greenwood,Though the birds have stilled their singing;The evening blaze doth Alice raise,And Richard is fagots bringing.

Up Urgan starts, that hideous dwarf,320Before Lord Richard stands,And, as he crossed and blessed himself,"I fear not sign," quoth the grisly elf,"That is made with bloody hands."

But out then spoke she, Alice Brand,325That woman void of fear,"And if there's blood upon his hand,'Tis but the blood of deer."

"Now loud thou liest, thou bold of mood!It cleaves unto his hand,330The stain of thine own kindly blood,The blood of Ethert Brand."

Then forward stepped she, Alice Brand,And made the holy sign,"And if there's blood on Richard's hand,335A spotless hand is mine.

"And I conjure thee, Demon elf,By Him whom Demons fear,To show us whence thou art thyself,And what thine errand here?"

340"'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in FairylandWhen fairy birds are singing,When the court doth ride by their monarch's sideWith bit and bridle ringing;"And gaily shines the Fairyland—345But all is glistening show,Like the idle gleam that December's beamCan dart on ice and snow."And fading, like that varied gleam,Is our inconstant shape,350Who now like knight and lady seem,And now like dwarf and ape."It was between the night and day,When the Fairy King has power,That I sunk down in a sinful fray,355And, 'twixt life and death, was snatched awayTo the joyless Elfin bower."But wist I of a woman bold,Who thrice my brow durst sign,I might regain my mortal mold,360As fair a form as thine."She crossed him once—she crossed him twice—That lady was so brave;The fouler grew his goblin hue,The darker grew the cave.365She crossed him thrice, that lady bold;He rose beneath her handThe fairest knight on Scottish mold,Her brother, Ethert Brand!Merry it is in good greenwood,370When the mavis and merle are singing,But merrier were they in Dunfermline gray,noteWhen all the bells were ringing.

340"'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in FairylandWhen fairy birds are singing,When the court doth ride by their monarch's sideWith bit and bridle ringing;

"And gaily shines the Fairyland—345But all is glistening show,Like the idle gleam that December's beamCan dart on ice and snow.

"And fading, like that varied gleam,Is our inconstant shape,350Who now like knight and lady seem,And now like dwarf and ape.

"It was between the night and day,When the Fairy King has power,That I sunk down in a sinful fray,355And, 'twixt life and death, was snatched awayTo the joyless Elfin bower.

"But wist I of a woman bold,Who thrice my brow durst sign,I might regain my mortal mold,360As fair a form as thine."

She crossed him once—she crossed him twice—That lady was so brave;The fouler grew his goblin hue,The darker grew the cave.

365She crossed him thrice, that lady bold;He rose beneath her handThe fairest knight on Scottish mold,Her brother, Ethert Brand!

Merry it is in good greenwood,370When the mavis and merle are singing,But merrier were they in Dunfermline gray,noteWhen all the bells were ringing.

Just as the minstrel sounds were stayed,A stranger climbed the steepy glade;375His martial step, his stately mien,His hunting suit of Lincoln green,His eagle glance, remembrance claims—'Tis Snowdoun's Knight, 'tis James Fitz-James.Ellen beheld as in a dream,380Then, starting, scarce suppressed a scream"Oh, stranger! in such hour of fear,What evil hap has brought thee here?""An evil hap how can it beThat bids me look again on thee?385By promise bound, my former guidenoteMet me betimes this morning tide,And marshaled, over bank and bourne,The happy path of my return.""The happy path!—what! said he nought390Of war, of battle to be fought,Of guarded pass?" "No, by my faith!Nor saw I ought could augur scathe.""O haste thee, Allan, to the kern,—Yonder his tartans I discern;395Learn thou his purpose, and conjureThat he will guide the stranger sure!What prompted thee, unhappy man?The meanest serf in Roderick's clanHad not been bribed by love or fear,400Unknown to him to guide thee here."

"Sweet Ellen, dear my life must beSince it is worthy care from thee;Yet life I hold but idle breath,When love or honor's weighed with death.405Then let me profit by my chance,And speak my purpose bold at once.I come to bear thee from a wild,Where ne'er before such blossom smiled;By this soft hand to lead thee far410From frantic scenes of feud and war.Near Bochastle my horses wait;They bear us soon to Stirling gate.I'll place thee in a lovely bower,I'll guard thee like a tender flower"—415"O hush, Sir Knight! 'twere female artTo say I do not read thy heart;Too much, before, my selfish earWas idly soothed my praise to hear.That fatal bait hath lured thee back,420In deathful hour, o'er dangerous track;And how, O how, can I atoneThe wreck my vanity brought on!—One way remains—I'll tell him all—Yes! struggling bosom, forth it shall!425Thou, whose light folly bears the blame,Buy thine own pardon with thy shame!But first—my father is a manOutlawed and exiled, under ban;The price of blood is on his head,430With me 'twere infamy to wed.Still wouldst thou speak?—then hear the truth!Fitz-James, there is a noble youth—If yet he is!—exposed for meAnd mine to dread extremity—435Thou hast the secret of my heart;Forgive, be generous, and depart!"

Fitz-James knew every wily trainA lady's fickle heart to gain,But here he knew and felt them vain.440There shot no glance from Ellen's eye,To give her steadfast speech the lie;In maiden confidence she stood.Though mantled in her cheek the blood,And told her love with such a sigh445Of deep and hopeless agony,As death had sealed her Malcolm's doom,And she sat sorrowing on his tomb.Hope vanished from Fitz-James's eye,But not with hope fled sympathy.450He proffered to attend her side,As brother would a sister guide."O little know'st thou Roderick's heart!Safer for both we go apart.O haste thee, and from Allan learn,455If thou may'st trust yon wily kern."With hand upon his forehead laid,The conflict of his mind to shade,A parting step or two he made;Then, as some thought had crossed his brain,460He paused, and turned, and came again.

"Hear, lady, yet, a parting word!It chanced in fight that my poor swordPreserved the life of Scotland's lord.This ring the grateful Monarch gave,465And bade, when I had boon to crave,To bring it back, and boldly claimThe recompense that I would name.Ellen, I am no courtly lord,But one who lives by lance and sword,470Whose castle is his helm and shield,His lordship the embattled field.What from a prince can I demand,Who neither reck of state nor land?Ellen, thy hand—the ring is thine;475Each guard and usher knows the sign.Seek thou the king without delay—This signet shall secure thy way—And claim thy suit, whate'er it be,As ransom of his pledge to me."480He placed the golden circlet on,Paused—kissed her hand—and then was gone.The aged Minstrel stood aghast,So hastily Fitz-James shot past.He joined his guide, and wending down485The ridges of the mountain brown,Across the stream they took their way,That joins Loch Katrine to Achray.

All in the Trossachs' glen was still,Noontide was sleeping on the hill:490Sudden his guide whooped loud and high—"Murdoch! was that a signal cry?"He stammered forth—"I shout to scareYon raven from his dainty fare."He looked—he knew the raven's prey,495His own brave steed—"Ah! gallant gray!For thee—for me, perchance—'twere wellWe ne'er had seen the Trossachs' dell.Murdoch, move first—but silently;Whistle or whoop, and thou shalt die!"500Jealous and sullen on they fared,Each silent, each upon his guard.

Now wound the path its dizzy ledgeAround a precipice's edge,When lo! a wasted female form,505Blighted by wrath of sun and storm,In tattered weeds and wild array,Stood on a cliff beside the way,And glancing round her restless eye,Upon the wood, the rock, the sky,510Seemed naught to mark, yet all to spy.Her brow was wreathed with gaudy broom;With gesture wild she waved a plumeOf feathers which the eagles flingTo crag and cliff from dusky wing;515Such spoils her desperate step had sought,Where scarce was footing for the goat.The tartan plaid she first descried,And shrieked till all the rocks replied;As loud she laughed when near they drew,520For then the Lowland garb she knew;And then her hands she wildly wrung,And then she wept, and then she sung—She sung!—the voice, in better time,Perchance to harp or lute might chime;525And now, though strained and roughened, stillRung wildly sweet to dale and hill.

They bid me sleep, they bid me pray,They say my brain is warped and wrung—I cannot sleep on Highland brae,530I cannot pray in Highland tongue.But were I now where Allan glides,noteOr heard my native Devan's tides,So sweetly would I rest, and prayThat Heaven would close my wintry day!535'Twas thus my hair they bade me braid,They made me to the church repair;It was my bridal morn they said,And my true love would meet me there.But woe betide the cruel guile540That drowned in blood the morning smile!And woe betide the fairy dream!I only waked to sob and scream.

535'Twas thus my hair they bade me braid,They made me to the church repair;It was my bridal morn they said,And my true love would meet me there.But woe betide the cruel guile540That drowned in blood the morning smile!And woe betide the fairy dream!I only waked to sob and scream.

"Who is this maid? what means her lay?She hovers o'er the hollow way,545And flutters wide her mantle gray,As the lone heron spreads his wing,By twilight, o'er a haunted spring.""'Tis Blanche of Devan," Murdoch said,"A crazed and captive Lowland maid,550Ta'en on the morn she was a bride,When Roderick forayed Devan side.The gay bridegroom resistance made,And felt our Chief's unconquered blade.I marvel she is now at large,555But oft she 'scapes from Maudlin's charge.noteHence, brain-sick fool!"—he raised his bow."Now, if thou strik'st her but one blow,I'll pitch thee from the cliff as farAs ever peasant pitched a bar!"—note560"Thanks, champion, thanks!" the maniac cried,And pressed her to Fitz-James's side."See the gray pennons I prepare,To seek my true-love through the air!I will not lend that savage groom,note565To break his fall, one downy plume!No! Deep amid disjointed stones,The wolves shall batten on his bones,And then shall his detested plaid,By bush and brier in mid air stayed,570Wave forth a banner fair and free,Meet signal for their revelry."

"Hush thee, poor maiden, and be still!""Oh! thou look'st kindly and I will.Mine eye has dried and wasted been,575But still it loves the Lincoln green;And, though mine ear is all unstrung,Still, still it loves the Lowland tongue."For O my sweet William was forester true,He stole poor Blanche's heart away!580His coat it was all of the greenwood hue,And so blithely he trilled the Lowland lay!"It was not that I meant to tell....But thou art wise and guessest well."Then, in a low and broken tone,585And hurried note, the song went on.Still on the Clansman, fearfully,She fixed her apprehensive eye;Then turned it on the Knight, and thenHer look glanced wildly o'er the glen.

"For O my sweet William was forester true,He stole poor Blanche's heart away!580His coat it was all of the greenwood hue,And so blithely he trilled the Lowland lay!

"It was not that I meant to tell....But thou art wise and guessest well."Then, in a low and broken tone,585And hurried note, the song went on.Still on the Clansman, fearfully,She fixed her apprehensive eye;Then turned it on the Knight, and thenHer look glanced wildly o'er the glen.

590"The toils are pitched, and the stakes are set,Ever sing merrily, merrily;The bows they bend, and the knives they whet,Hunters live so cheerily."It was a stag, a stag of ten,note595Bearing its branches sturdily;He came stately down the glen,Ever sing hardily, hardily."It was there he met with a wounded doe,She was bleeding deathfully;600She warned him of the toils below,Oh, so faithfully, faithfully!"He had an eye, and he could heed,Ever sing warily, warily;He had a foot, and he could speed—605Hunters watch so narrowly."

590"The toils are pitched, and the stakes are set,Ever sing merrily, merrily;The bows they bend, and the knives they whet,Hunters live so cheerily.

"It was a stag, a stag of ten,note595Bearing its branches sturdily;He came stately down the glen,Ever sing hardily, hardily.

"It was there he met with a wounded doe,She was bleeding deathfully;600She warned him of the toils below,Oh, so faithfully, faithfully!

"He had an eye, and he could heed,Ever sing warily, warily;He had a foot, and he could speed—605Hunters watch so narrowly."

Fitz-James's mind was passion-tossed,When Ellen's hints and fears were lost;But Murdoch's shout suspicion wrought,And Blanche's song conviction brought.610Not like a stag that spies the snare,But lion of the hunt aware,He waved at once his blade on high,"Disclose thy treachery, or die!"Forth at full speed the Clansman flew,615But in his race his bow he drew.The shaft just grazed Fitz-James's crest,And thrilled in Blanche's faded breast.Murdoch of Alpine! prove thy speed,For ne'er had Alpine's son such need!620With heart of fire, and foot of wind,The fierce avenger is behind!Fate judges of the rapid strife—The forfeit death—the prize is life!Thy kindred ambush lies before,625Close 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,630As 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 fallen, with falcon eye,He grimly smiled to see him die;635Then slower wended back his way,Where the poor maiden bleeding lay.

She sat beneath a birchen-tree,Her elbow resting on her knee;She had withdrawn the fatal shaft,640And gazed on it, and feebly laughed;Her wreath of broom and feathers gray,Daggled with blood, beside her lay.The Knight to staunch the life-stream tried—"Stranger, it is in vain!" she cried.645"This hour of death has given me moreOf reason's power than years before;For, as these ebbing veins decay,My frenzied visions fade away.A helpless injured wretch I die,650And something tells me in thine eye,That thou wert mine avenger born.Seest thou this tress?—Oh! still I've wornThis little tress of yellow hair,Through danger, frenzy, and despair!655It once was bright and clear as thine,But blood and tears have dimmed its shine.I will not tell thee when 'twas shred,Nor from what guiltless victim's head—My brain would turn!—but it shall wave660Like plumage on thy helmet brave,Till sun and wind shall bleach the stain,And thou wilt bring it me again.I waver still—O God! more brightLet reason beam her parting light!—665Oh! by thy knighthood's honored sign,And for thy life preserved by mine,When thou shalt see a darksome man,Who boasts him Chief of Alpine's Clan,With tartans broad and shadowy plume670And hand of blood, and brow of gloom,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."

Back to Index Next