Then Roderick, with impatient look,From Brian's hand the symbol took:"Speed, Malise, speed!" he said, and gave285The crosslet to his henchman brave."The muster-place be Lanrick mead—noteInstant the time—speed, Malise, speed!"Like heath-bird, when the hawks pursue,A barge across Loch Katrine flew;290High stood the henchman on the prow,So rapidly the barge-men row,The bubbles, where they launched the boat,Were all unbroken and afloat,Dancing in foam and ripple still,295When it had neared the mainland hill;And from the silver beach's sideStill was the prow three fathom wide,When lightly bounded to the landThe messenger of blood and brand.
Then Roderick, with impatient look,From Brian's hand the symbol took:"Speed, Malise, speed!" he said, and gave285The crosslet to his henchman brave."The muster-place be Lanrick mead—noteInstant the time—speed, Malise, speed!"Like heath-bird, when the hawks pursue,A barge across Loch Katrine flew;290High stood the henchman on the prow,So rapidly the barge-men row,The bubbles, where they launched the boat,Were all unbroken and afloat,Dancing in foam and ripple still,295When it had neared the mainland hill;And from the silver beach's sideStill was the prow three fathom wide,When lightly bounded to the landThe messenger of blood and brand.
300Speed, Malise, speed! the dun deer's hidenoteOn fleeter foot was never tied.Speed, Malise, speed! such cause of hasteThine active sinews never braced.Bend 'gainst the steepy hill thy breast,305Burst down like torrent from its crest;With short and springing footstep passThe trembling bog and false morass;Across the brook like roebuck bound,And thread the brake like questing hound;310The crag is high, the scar is deep,Yet shrink not from the desperate leap:Parched are thy burning lips and brow.Yet by the fountain pause not now;Herald of battle, fate, and fear,315Stretch onward in thy fleet career!The wounded hind thou track'st not now,Pursuest not maid through greenwood bough,Nor pliest thou now thy flying pace,With rivals in the mountain race;320But danger, death, and warrior deed,Are in thy course—speed, Malise, speed!
300Speed, Malise, speed! the dun deer's hidenoteOn fleeter foot was never tied.Speed, Malise, speed! such cause of hasteThine active sinews never braced.Bend 'gainst the steepy hill thy breast,305Burst down like torrent from its crest;With short and springing footstep passThe trembling bog and false morass;Across the brook like roebuck bound,And thread the brake like questing hound;310The crag is high, the scar is deep,Yet shrink not from the desperate leap:Parched are thy burning lips and brow.Yet by the fountain pause not now;Herald of battle, fate, and fear,315Stretch onward in thy fleet career!The wounded hind thou track'st not now,Pursuest not maid through greenwood bough,Nor pliest thou now thy flying pace,With rivals in the mountain race;320But danger, death, and warrior deed,Are in thy course—speed, Malise, speed!
Fast as the fatal symbol flies,In arms the huts and hamlets rise;From winding glen, from upland brown,325They poured each hardy tenant down.Nor slacked the messenger his pace;He showed the sign, he named the place,And, pressing forward like the wind,Left clamor and surprise behind.330The fisherman forsook the strand,The swarthy smith took dirk and brand;With changéd cheer, the mower blitheLeft in the half-cut swathe the scythe;The herds without a keeper strayed,335The plow was in mid-furrow stayed,The falc'ner tossed his hawk away,The hunter left the stag at bay;Prompt at the signal of alarms,Each son of Alpine rushed to arms;340So swept the tumult and affrayAlong the margin of Achray.Alas, thou lovely lake! that e'erThy banks should echo sounds of fear!The rocks, the bosky thickets, sleep345So stilly on thy bosom deep,The lark's blithe carol, from the cloudSeems for the scene too gaily loud.
Fast as the fatal symbol flies,In arms the huts and hamlets rise;From winding glen, from upland brown,325They poured each hardy tenant down.Nor slacked the messenger his pace;He showed the sign, he named the place,And, pressing forward like the wind,Left clamor and surprise behind.330The fisherman forsook the strand,The swarthy smith took dirk and brand;With changéd cheer, the mower blitheLeft in the half-cut swathe the scythe;The herds without a keeper strayed,335The plow was in mid-furrow stayed,The falc'ner tossed his hawk away,The hunter left the stag at bay;Prompt at the signal of alarms,Each son of Alpine rushed to arms;340So swept the tumult and affrayAlong the margin of Achray.Alas, thou lovely lake! that e'erThy banks should echo sounds of fear!The rocks, the bosky thickets, sleep345So stilly on thy bosom deep,The lark's blithe carol, from the cloudSeems for the scene too gaily loud.
Speed, Malise, speed! the lake is past,Duncraggan's huts appear at last,note350And peep, like moss-grown rocks, half seen,Half hidden in the copse so green;There mayst thou rest, thy labor done,Their Lord shall speed the signal on.As stoops the hawk upon his prey,355The henchman shot him down the way.—What woeful accents load the gale?The funeral yell, the female wail!A gallant hunter's sport is o'er,A valiant warrior fights no more.360Who, in the battle or the chase,At Roderick's side shall fill his place!—Within the hall, where torches' raySupplies the excluded beams of day,Lies Duncan on his lowly bier,365And o'er him streams his widow's tear.His stripling son stands mournful by,His youngest weeps, but knows not why;The village maids and matrons roundThe dismal coronach resound.note
Speed, Malise, speed! the lake is past,Duncraggan's huts appear at last,note350And peep, like moss-grown rocks, half seen,Half hidden in the copse so green;There mayst thou rest, thy labor done,Their Lord shall speed the signal on.As stoops the hawk upon his prey,355The henchman shot him down the way.—What woeful accents load the gale?The funeral yell, the female wail!A gallant hunter's sport is o'er,A valiant warrior fights no more.360Who, in the battle or the chase,At Roderick's side shall fill his place!—Within the hall, where torches' raySupplies the excluded beams of day,Lies Duncan on his lowly bier,365And o'er him streams his widow's tear.His stripling son stands mournful by,His youngest weeps, but knows not why;The village maids and matrons roundThe dismal coronach resound.note
370He is gone on the mountain,He is lost to the forest,Like a summer-dried fountain,When our need was the sorest.The font, reappearing,375From the raindrops shall borrow,But to us comes no cheering,To Duncan no morrow!The hand of the reaperTakes the ears that are hoary,380But the voice of the weeperWails manhood in glory.The autumn winds rushingWaft the leaves that are searest,But our flower was in flushing,385When blighting was nearest.Fleet foot on the correi,noteSage counsel in cumber,noteRed hand in the foray,How sound is thy slumber!390Like dew on the mountain,Like the foam on the river,Like the bubble on the fountainThou art gone, and forever!
370He is gone on the mountain,He is lost to the forest,Like a summer-dried fountain,When our need was the sorest.The font, reappearing,375From the raindrops shall borrow,But to us comes no cheering,To Duncan no morrow!
The hand of the reaperTakes the ears that are hoary,380But the voice of the weeperWails manhood in glory.The autumn winds rushingWaft the leaves that are searest,But our flower was in flushing,385When blighting was nearest.
Fleet foot on the correi,noteSage counsel in cumber,noteRed hand in the foray,How sound is thy slumber!390Like dew on the mountain,Like the foam on the river,Like the bubble on the fountainThou art gone, and forever!
See Stumah, who, the bier beside,note395His master's corpse with wonder eyed—Poor Stumah! whom his least hallooCould send like lightning o'er the dew,Bristles his crest, and points his ears,As if some stranger step he hears.400'Tis not a mourner's muffled tread,Who comes to sorrow o'er the dead,But headlong haste, or deadly fear,Urge the precipitate career.All stand aghast—unheeding all,405The henchman bursts into the hall;Before the dead man's bier he stood;Held forth the Cross besmeared with blood:"The muster-place is Lanrick mead;Speed forth the signal! clansmen, speed!"
See Stumah, who, the bier beside,note395His master's corpse with wonder eyed—Poor Stumah! whom his least hallooCould send like lightning o'er the dew,Bristles his crest, and points his ears,As if some stranger step he hears.400'Tis not a mourner's muffled tread,Who comes to sorrow o'er the dead,But headlong haste, or deadly fear,Urge the precipitate career.All stand aghast—unheeding all,405The henchman bursts into the hall;Before the dead man's bier he stood;Held forth the Cross besmeared with blood:"The muster-place is Lanrick mead;Speed forth the signal! clansmen, speed!"
410Angus, the heir of Duncan's line,Sprung forth and seized the fatal sign.In haste the stripling to his sideHis father's dirk and broadsword tied;But when he saw his mother's eye415Watch him in speechless agony,Back to her opened arms he flew,Pressed on her lips a fond adieu—"Alas!" she sobbed—"and yet be gone,And speed thee forth, like Duncan's son!"420One look he cast upon the bier,Dashed from his eye the gathering tear,Breathed deep to clear his laboring breast,And tossed aloft his bonnet crest,Then, like the high-bred colt, when, freed,425First he essays his fire and speed,He vanished, and o'er moor and mossSped forward with the Fiery Cross.Suspended was the widow's tear,While yet his footsteps she could hear;430And when she marked the henchman's eyeWet with unwonted sympathy,"Kinsman," she said, "his race is run,That should have sped thine errand on;The oak has fallen—the sapling bough435Is all Duncraggan's shelter now.Yet trust I well, his duty done,The orphan's God will guard my son.And you, in many a danger true,At Duncan's hest your blades that drew,440To arms, and guard that orphan's head!Let babes and women wail the dead."Then weapon-clang and martial callResounded through the funeral hall,While from the walls the attendant band445Snatched sword and targe, with hurried hand;And short and flitting energyGlanced from the mourner's sunken eye,As if the sounds to warrior dear,Might rouse her Duncan from his bier.450But faded soon that borrowed force;Grief claimed his right, and tears their course.
410Angus, the heir of Duncan's line,Sprung forth and seized the fatal sign.In haste the stripling to his sideHis father's dirk and broadsword tied;But when he saw his mother's eye415Watch him in speechless agony,Back to her opened arms he flew,Pressed on her lips a fond adieu—"Alas!" she sobbed—"and yet be gone,And speed thee forth, like Duncan's son!"420One look he cast upon the bier,Dashed from his eye the gathering tear,Breathed deep to clear his laboring breast,And tossed aloft his bonnet crest,Then, like the high-bred colt, when, freed,425First he essays his fire and speed,He vanished, and o'er moor and mossSped forward with the Fiery Cross.Suspended was the widow's tear,While yet his footsteps she could hear;430And when she marked the henchman's eyeWet with unwonted sympathy,"Kinsman," she said, "his race is run,That should have sped thine errand on;The oak has fallen—the sapling bough435Is all Duncraggan's shelter now.Yet trust I well, his duty done,The orphan's God will guard my son.And you, in many a danger true,At Duncan's hest your blades that drew,440To arms, and guard that orphan's head!Let babes and women wail the dead."Then weapon-clang and martial callResounded through the funeral hall,While from the walls the attendant band445Snatched sword and targe, with hurried hand;And short and flitting energyGlanced from the mourner's sunken eye,As if the sounds to warrior dear,Might rouse her Duncan from his bier.450But faded soon that borrowed force;Grief claimed his right, and tears their course.
Benledi saw the Cross of Fire;It glanced like lightning up Strath-Ire.O'er dale and hill the summons flew,455Nor rest nor pause young Angus knew;The tear that gathered in his eyeHe left the mountain breeze to dry;Until, where Teith's young waters rollBetwixt him and a wooded knoll460That graced the sable strath with green,The chapel of St. Bride was seen.noteSwoln was the stream, remote the bridge,But Angus paused not on the edge;Though the dark waves danced dizzily,465Though reeled his sympathetic eye,He dashed amid the torrent's roar.His right hand high the crosslet bore,His left the pole-ax grasped, to guidenoteAnd stay his footing in the tide.470He stumbled twice—the foam splashed high;With hoarser swell the stream raced by;And had he fallen—forever there,Farewell Duncraggan's orphan heir!But still, as if in parting life,475Firmer he grasped the Cross of strife,Until the opposing bank he gained,And up the chapel pathway strained.
Benledi saw the Cross of Fire;It glanced like lightning up Strath-Ire.O'er dale and hill the summons flew,455Nor rest nor pause young Angus knew;The tear that gathered in his eyeHe left the mountain breeze to dry;Until, where Teith's young waters rollBetwixt him and a wooded knoll460That graced the sable strath with green,The chapel of St. Bride was seen.noteSwoln was the stream, remote the bridge,But Angus paused not on the edge;Though the dark waves danced dizzily,465Though reeled his sympathetic eye,He dashed amid the torrent's roar.His right hand high the crosslet bore,His left the pole-ax grasped, to guidenoteAnd stay his footing in the tide.470He stumbled twice—the foam splashed high;With hoarser swell the stream raced by;And had he fallen—forever there,Farewell Duncraggan's orphan heir!But still, as if in parting life,475Firmer he grasped the Cross of strife,Until the opposing bank he gained,And up the chapel pathway strained.
A blithesome rout, that morning tide,Had sought the chapel of St. Bride.480Her troth Tombea's Mary gavenoteTo Norman, heir of Armandave.And, issuing from the Gothic arch,The bridal now resumed their march.In rude, but glad procession, came485Bonneted sire and coif-clad dame;And plaided youth, with jest and jeer,Which snooden maiden would not hear:And children, that, unwitting why,Lent the gay shout their shrilly cry;490And minstrels, that in measures viedBefore the young and bonny bride,Whose downcast eye and cheek discloseThe tear and blush of morning rose.With virgin step, and bashful hand,495She held the kerchief's snowy band;The gallant bridegroom, by her side,Beheld his prize with victor's pride,And the glad mother in her earWas closely whispering word of cheer.
A blithesome rout, that morning tide,Had sought the chapel of St. Bride.480Her troth Tombea's Mary gavenoteTo Norman, heir of Armandave.And, issuing from the Gothic arch,The bridal now resumed their march.In rude, but glad procession, came485Bonneted sire and coif-clad dame;And plaided youth, with jest and jeer,Which snooden maiden would not hear:And children, that, unwitting why,Lent the gay shout their shrilly cry;490And minstrels, that in measures viedBefore the young and bonny bride,Whose downcast eye and cheek discloseThe tear and blush of morning rose.With virgin step, and bashful hand,495She held the kerchief's snowy band;The gallant bridegroom, by her side,Beheld his prize with victor's pride,And the glad mother in her earWas closely whispering word of cheer.
500Who meets them at the churchyard gate?The messenger of fear and fate!Haste in his hurried accent lies,And grief is swimming in his eyes.All dripping from the recent flood,505Panting and travel-soiled he stood,The fatal sign of fire and swordHeld forth, and spoke the appointed word:"The muster-place is Lanrick mead;Speed forth the signal! Norman, speed!"510And must he change so soon the hand,Just linked to his by holy band,For the fell Cross of blood and brand?And must the day, so blithe that roseAnd promised rapture in the close,515Before its setting hour, divideThe bridegroom from the plighted bride?O fatal doom!—it must! it must!Clan-Alpine's cause, her Chieftain's trust,Her summons dread, brook no delay;520Stretch to the race—away! away!
500Who meets them at the churchyard gate?The messenger of fear and fate!Haste in his hurried accent lies,And grief is swimming in his eyes.All dripping from the recent flood,505Panting and travel-soiled he stood,The fatal sign of fire and swordHeld forth, and spoke the appointed word:"The muster-place is Lanrick mead;Speed forth the signal! Norman, speed!"510And must he change so soon the hand,Just linked to his by holy band,For the fell Cross of blood and brand?And must the day, so blithe that roseAnd promised rapture in the close,515Before its setting hour, divideThe bridegroom from the plighted bride?O fatal doom!—it must! it must!Clan-Alpine's cause, her Chieftain's trust,Her summons dread, brook no delay;520Stretch to the race—away! away!
Yet slow he laid his plaid aside,And, lingering, eyed his lovely bride,Until he saw the starting tearSpeak woe he might not stop to cheer;525Then, trusting not a second look,In haste he sped him up the brook,Nor backward glanced, till on the heathWhere Lubnaig's lake supplies the Teith.—What in the racer's bosom stirred?530The sickening pang of hope deferred,And memory, with a torturing trainOf all his morning visions vain.Mingled with love's impatience cameThe manly thirst for martial fame;535The stormy joy of mountaineers,Ere yet they rush upon the spears;And zeal for Clan and Chieftain burning,And hope, from well-fought field returning,With war's red honors on his crest,540To clasp his Mary to his breast.Stung by such thoughts, o'er bank and brae,Like fire from flint he glanced away,While high resolve, and feeling strong,Burst into voluntary song.
Yet slow he laid his plaid aside,And, lingering, eyed his lovely bride,Until he saw the starting tearSpeak woe he might not stop to cheer;525Then, trusting not a second look,In haste he sped him up the brook,Nor backward glanced, till on the heathWhere Lubnaig's lake supplies the Teith.—What in the racer's bosom stirred?530The sickening pang of hope deferred,And memory, with a torturing trainOf all his morning visions vain.Mingled with love's impatience cameThe manly thirst for martial fame;535The stormy joy of mountaineers,Ere yet they rush upon the spears;And zeal for Clan and Chieftain burning,And hope, from well-fought field returning,With war's red honors on his crest,540To clasp his Mary to his breast.Stung by such thoughts, o'er bank and brae,Like fire from flint he glanced away,While high resolve, and feeling strong,Burst into voluntary song.
545The heath this night must be my bed,The bracken curtain for my head,noteMy lullaby the warder's tread,Far, far, from love and thee, Mary;To-morrow eve, more stilly laid,550My couch may be my bloody plaid,My vesper song, thy wail, sweet maid!It will not waken me, Mary!I may not, dare not, fancy nowThe grief that clouds thy lovely brow,555I dare not think upon thy vow,And all it promised me, Mary.No fond regret must Norman know;When bursts Clan-Alpine on the foe,His heart must be like bended bow,560His foot like arrow free, Mary.A time will come with feeling fraught,For if I fall in battle fought,Thy hapless lover's dying thoughtShall be a thought on thee, Mary.565And if returned from conquered foes,How blithely will the evening close,How sweet the linnet sing repose,To my young bride and me, Mary!
545The heath this night must be my bed,The bracken curtain for my head,noteMy lullaby the warder's tread,Far, far, from love and thee, Mary;To-morrow eve, more stilly laid,550My couch may be my bloody plaid,My vesper song, thy wail, sweet maid!It will not waken me, Mary!I may not, dare not, fancy nowThe grief that clouds thy lovely brow,555I dare not think upon thy vow,And all it promised me, Mary.No fond regret must Norman know;When bursts Clan-Alpine on the foe,His heart must be like bended bow,560His foot like arrow free, Mary.
A time will come with feeling fraught,For if I fall in battle fought,Thy hapless lover's dying thoughtShall be a thought on thee, Mary.565And if returned from conquered foes,How blithely will the evening close,How sweet the linnet sing repose,To my young bride and me, Mary!
Not faster o'er thy heathery braes,570Balquidder, speeds the midnight blaze,noteRushing, in conflagration strong,Thy deep ravines and dells along,Wrapping thy cliffs in purple glow,And reddening the dark lakes below;575Nor faster speeds it, nor so far,As o'er thy heaths the voice of war.The signal roused to martial coil,The sullen margin of Loch Voil,noteWaked still Loch Doine, and to the source580Alarmed, Balvaig, thy swampy course;Thence southward turned its rapid roadAdown Strath-Gartney's valley broad,Till rose in arms each man might claimA portion in Clan-Alpine's name,585From the gray sire, whose trembling handCould hardly buckle on his brand,To the raw boy, whose shaft and bowWere yet scarce terror to the crow.Each valley, each sequestered glen,590Mustered its little horde of men,That met as torrents from the heightIn Highland dales their streams unite,Still gathering, as they pour along,A voice more loud, a tide more strong,595Till at the rendezvous they stoodBy hundreds prompt for blows and blood,Each trained to arms since life began,Owning no tie but to his clan,No oath, but by his chieftain's hand,600No law, but Roderick Dhu's command.
Not faster o'er thy heathery braes,570Balquidder, speeds the midnight blaze,noteRushing, in conflagration strong,Thy deep ravines and dells along,Wrapping thy cliffs in purple glow,And reddening the dark lakes below;575Nor faster speeds it, nor so far,As o'er thy heaths the voice of war.The signal roused to martial coil,The sullen margin of Loch Voil,noteWaked still Loch Doine, and to the source580Alarmed, Balvaig, thy swampy course;Thence southward turned its rapid roadAdown Strath-Gartney's valley broad,Till rose in arms each man might claimA portion in Clan-Alpine's name,585From the gray sire, whose trembling handCould hardly buckle on his brand,To the raw boy, whose shaft and bowWere yet scarce terror to the crow.Each valley, each sequestered glen,590Mustered its little horde of men,That met as torrents from the heightIn Highland dales their streams unite,Still gathering, as they pour along,A voice more loud, a tide more strong,595Till at the rendezvous they stoodBy hundreds prompt for blows and blood,Each trained to arms since life began,Owning no tie but to his clan,No oath, but by his chieftain's hand,600No law, but Roderick Dhu's command.
That summer morn had Roderick DhuSurveyed the skirts of Benvenue,And sent his scouts o'er hill and heath,To view the frontiers of Menteith.605All backward came with news of truce;Still lay each martial Graeme and Bruce;In Rednoch courts no horsemen wait,No banner waved on Cardross gate,On Duchray's towers no beacon shone,610Nor scared the herons from Loch Con;All seemed at peace. Now wot ye whyThe Chieftain, with such anxious eye,Ere to the muster he repair,This western frontier scanned with care?615In Benvenue's most darksome cleft,A fair, though cruel, pledge was left;For Douglas, to his promise true,That morning from the isle withdrew,And in a deep sequestered dell620Had sought a low and lonely cell.By many a bard, in Celtic tongue,Has Coir-nan-Uriskin been sung;noteA softer name the Saxons gave,And called the grot the Goblin-cave.
That summer morn had Roderick DhuSurveyed the skirts of Benvenue,And sent his scouts o'er hill and heath,To view the frontiers of Menteith.605All backward came with news of truce;Still lay each martial Graeme and Bruce;In Rednoch courts no horsemen wait,No banner waved on Cardross gate,On Duchray's towers no beacon shone,610Nor scared the herons from Loch Con;All seemed at peace. Now wot ye whyThe Chieftain, with such anxious eye,Ere to the muster he repair,This western frontier scanned with care?615In Benvenue's most darksome cleft,A fair, though cruel, pledge was left;For Douglas, to his promise true,That morning from the isle withdrew,And in a deep sequestered dell620Had sought a low and lonely cell.By many a bard, in Celtic tongue,Has Coir-nan-Uriskin been sung;noteA softer name the Saxons gave,And called the grot the Goblin-cave.
625It was a wild and strange retreat,As e'er was trod by outlaw's feet.The dell, upon the mountain's crest,Yawned like a gash on warrior's breast;Its trench had stayed full many a rock,630Hurled by primeval earthquake shockFrom Benvenue's gray summit wild,And here, in random ruin piled,They frowned incumbent o'er the spot,And formed the rugged silvan grot.635The oak and birch, with mingled shade,At noontide there a twilight made,Unless when short and sudden shoneSome straggling beam on cliff or stone,With such a glimpse as prophet's eye640Gains on thy depth, Futurity.No murmur waked the solemn still,noteSave tinkling of a fountain rill;But when the wind chafed with the lake,A sullen sound would upward break,645With dashing hollow voice, that spokeThe incessant war of wave and rock.Suspended cliffs, with hideous sway,Seemed nodding o'er the cavern gray.From such a den the wolf had sprung,650In such the wild-cat leaves her young;Yet Douglas and his daughter fairSought for a space their safety there.Gray Superstition's whisper dreadDebarred the spot to vulgar tread;655For there, she said, did fays resort,And satyrs hold their silvan court,noteBy moonlight tread their mystic maze,And blast the rash beholder's gaze.
625It was a wild and strange retreat,As e'er was trod by outlaw's feet.The dell, upon the mountain's crest,Yawned like a gash on warrior's breast;Its trench had stayed full many a rock,630Hurled by primeval earthquake shockFrom Benvenue's gray summit wild,And here, in random ruin piled,They frowned incumbent o'er the spot,And formed the rugged silvan grot.635The oak and birch, with mingled shade,At noontide there a twilight made,Unless when short and sudden shoneSome straggling beam on cliff or stone,With such a glimpse as prophet's eye640Gains on thy depth, Futurity.No murmur waked the solemn still,noteSave tinkling of a fountain rill;But when the wind chafed with the lake,A sullen sound would upward break,645With dashing hollow voice, that spokeThe incessant war of wave and rock.Suspended cliffs, with hideous sway,Seemed nodding o'er the cavern gray.From such a den the wolf had sprung,650In such the wild-cat leaves her young;Yet Douglas and his daughter fairSought for a space their safety there.Gray Superstition's whisper dreadDebarred the spot to vulgar tread;655For there, she said, did fays resort,And satyrs hold their silvan court,noteBy moonlight tread their mystic maze,And blast the rash beholder's gaze.
Now eve, with western shadows long,660Floated on Katrine bright and strong,When Roderick, with a chosen few,Repassed the heights of Benvenue.Above the Goblin-cave they go,Through the wild pass of Beal-nam-bo:note665The prompt retainers speed before,To launch the shallop from the shore,For 'cross Loch Katrine lies his wayTo view the passes of Achray,And place his clansmen in array.670Yet lags the chief in musing mind,Unwonted sight, his men behind.A single page, to bear his sword,noteAlone attended on his lord;The rest their way through thickets break,675And soon await him by the lake.It was a fair and gallant sight,To view them from the neighboring height,By the low-leveled sunbeam's light!For strength and stature, from the clan680Each warrior was a chosen man,As even afar might well be seen,By their proud step and martial mien.Their feathers dance, their tartans float,Their targets gleam, as by the boat685A wild and warlike group they stand,That well became such mountain-strand.
Now eve, with western shadows long,660Floated on Katrine bright and strong,When Roderick, with a chosen few,Repassed the heights of Benvenue.Above the Goblin-cave they go,Through the wild pass of Beal-nam-bo:note665The prompt retainers speed before,To launch the shallop from the shore,For 'cross Loch Katrine lies his wayTo view the passes of Achray,And place his clansmen in array.670Yet lags the chief in musing mind,Unwonted sight, his men behind.A single page, to bear his sword,noteAlone attended on his lord;The rest their way through thickets break,675And soon await him by the lake.It was a fair and gallant sight,To view them from the neighboring height,By the low-leveled sunbeam's light!For strength and stature, from the clan680Each warrior was a chosen man,As even afar might well be seen,By their proud step and martial mien.Their feathers dance, their tartans float,Their targets gleam, as by the boat685A wild and warlike group they stand,That well became such mountain-strand.
Their Chief, with step reluctant, stillWas lingering on the craggy hill,Hard by where turned apart the road690To Douglas's obscure abode.It was but with that dawning morn,That Roderick Dhu had proudly swornTo drown his love in war's wild roar,Nor think of Ellen Douglas more;695But he who stems a stream with sand,And fetters flame with flaxen band,Has yet a harder task to prove—By firm resolve to conquer love!Eve finds the Chief, like restless ghost,700Still hovering near his treasure lost;For though his haughty heart denyA parting meeting to his eye,Still fondly strains his anxious ear,The accents of her voice to hear,705And inly did he curse the breezeThat waked to sound the rustling trees.But hark! what mingles in the strain?It is the harp of Allan-bane,That wakes its measures slow and high,710Attuned to sacred minstrelsy.What melting voice attends the strings?'Tis Ellen, or an angel, sings.
Their Chief, with step reluctant, stillWas lingering on the craggy hill,Hard by where turned apart the road690To Douglas's obscure abode.It was but with that dawning morn,That Roderick Dhu had proudly swornTo drown his love in war's wild roar,Nor think of Ellen Douglas more;695But he who stems a stream with sand,And fetters flame with flaxen band,Has yet a harder task to prove—By firm resolve to conquer love!Eve finds the Chief, like restless ghost,700Still hovering near his treasure lost;For though his haughty heart denyA parting meeting to his eye,Still fondly strains his anxious ear,The accents of her voice to hear,705And inly did he curse the breezeThat waked to sound the rustling trees.But hark! what mingles in the strain?It is the harp of Allan-bane,That wakes its measures slow and high,710Attuned to sacred minstrelsy.What melting voice attends the strings?'Tis Ellen, or an angel, sings.
Ave Maria!maiden mild!Listen to a maiden's prayer!715Thou canst hear though from the wild,Thou canst save amid despair.Safe may we sleep beneath thy care,Though banished, outcast, and reviled—Maiden! hear a maiden's prayer;720Mother, hear a suppliant child!Ave Maria!Ave Maria!undefiled!The flinty couch we now must shareShall seem with down of eider piled,725If thy protection hover there.The murky cavern's heavy airShall breathe of balm if thou hast smiled;Then, Maiden! hear a maiden's prayer;Mother, list a suppliant child!730Ave Maria!Ave Maria!stainless styled!Foul demons of the earth and air,From this their wonted haunt exiled,Shall flee before thy presence fair.735We bow us to our lot of care,Beneath thy guidance reconciled;Hear for a maid a maiden's prayer,And for a father hear a child!Ave Maria!
Ave Maria!maiden mild!Listen to a maiden's prayer!715Thou canst hear though from the wild,Thou canst save amid despair.Safe may we sleep beneath thy care,Though banished, outcast, and reviled—Maiden! hear a maiden's prayer;720Mother, hear a suppliant child!Ave Maria!Ave Maria!undefiled!The flinty couch we now must shareShall seem with down of eider piled,725If thy protection hover there.The murky cavern's heavy airShall breathe of balm if thou hast smiled;Then, Maiden! hear a maiden's prayer;Mother, list a suppliant child!730Ave Maria!Ave Maria!stainless styled!Foul demons of the earth and air,From this their wonted haunt exiled,Shall flee before thy presence fair.735We bow us to our lot of care,Beneath thy guidance reconciled;Hear for a maid a maiden's prayer,And for a father hear a child!Ave Maria!
740Died on the harp the closing hymn—Unmoved in attitude and limb,As listening still, Clan-Alpine's lordStood leaning on his heavy sword,Until the page, with humble sign,745Twice pointed to the sun's decline.Then while his plaid he round him cast,"It is the last time—'tis the last,"He muttered thrice, "the last time e'erThat angel voice shall Roderick hear!"750It was a goading thought—his strideHied hastier down the mountain side;Sullen he flung him in the boat,And instant 'cross the lake it shot.They landed in that silvery bay,755And eastward held their hasty way,Till, with the latest beams of light,The band arrived on Lanrick height,Where mustered, in the vale below,Clan-Alpine's men in martial show.
740Died on the harp the closing hymn—Unmoved in attitude and limb,As listening still, Clan-Alpine's lordStood leaning on his heavy sword,Until the page, with humble sign,745Twice pointed to the sun's decline.Then while his plaid he round him cast,"It is the last time—'tis the last,"He muttered thrice, "the last time e'erThat angel voice shall Roderick hear!"750It was a goading thought—his strideHied hastier down the mountain side;Sullen he flung him in the boat,And instant 'cross the lake it shot.They landed in that silvery bay,755And eastward held their hasty way,Till, with the latest beams of light,The band arrived on Lanrick height,Where mustered, in the vale below,Clan-Alpine's men in martial show.
760A various scene the clansmen made,Some sat, some stood, some slowly strayed;But most with mantles folded round,Were couched to rest upon the ground,Scarce to be known by curious eye,765From the deep heather where they lie,So well was matched the tartan screenWith heath-bell dark and brackens green,Unless where, here and there, a blade,Or lance's point, a glimmer made,770Like glow-worm twinkling through the shade.But when, advancing through the gloom,They saw the Chieftain's eagle plume,Their shout of welcome, shrill and wide,Shook the steep mountain's steady side.775Thrice it arose, and lake and fellThree times returned the martial yell;It died upon Bochastle's plain,And Silence claimed her evening reign.
760A various scene the clansmen made,Some sat, some stood, some slowly strayed;But most with mantles folded round,Were couched to rest upon the ground,Scarce to be known by curious eye,765From the deep heather where they lie,So well was matched the tartan screenWith heath-bell dark and brackens green,Unless where, here and there, a blade,Or lance's point, a glimmer made,770Like glow-worm twinkling through the shade.But when, advancing through the gloom,They saw the Chieftain's eagle plume,Their shout of welcome, shrill and wide,Shook the steep mountain's steady side.775Thrice it arose, and lake and fellThree times returned the martial yell;It died upon Bochastle's plain,And Silence claimed her evening reign.
"The rose is fairest when 'tis budding new,And hope is brightest when it dawns from fears;The rose is sweetest washed with morning dew,And love is loveliest when embalmed in tears.5O wilding rose, whom fancy thus endears,I bid your blossoms in my bonnet wave,Emblem of hope and love through future years!"Thus spake young Norman, heir of Armandave,What time the sun arose on Vennachar's broad wave.
"The rose is fairest when 'tis budding new,And hope is brightest when it dawns from fears;The rose is sweetest washed with morning dew,And love is loveliest when embalmed in tears.5O wilding rose, whom fancy thus endears,I bid your blossoms in my bonnet wave,Emblem of hope and love through future years!"Thus spake young Norman, heir of Armandave,What time the sun arose on Vennachar's broad wave.
10Such fond conceit, half said, half sung,Love prompted to the bridegroom's tongue.All while he stripped the wild-rose spray,His ax and bow beside him lay,For on a pass 'twixt lake and wood,15A wakeful sentinel he stood.Hark! on the rock a footstep rung,And instant to his arms he sprung."Stand, or thou diest!—What, Malise?—soonArt thou returned from Braes of Doune.note20By thy keen step and glance I know,Thou bring'st us tidings of the foe."For while the Fiery Cross hied on,On distant scout had Malise gone.—"Where sleeps the Chief?" the henchman said.25"Apart, in yonder misty glade;To his lone couch I'll be your guide."Then called a slumberer by his side,And stirred him with his slackened bow—"Up, up, Glantarkin! rouse thee, ho!30We seek the Chieftain; on the track,Keep eagle watch till I come back."
10Such fond conceit, half said, half sung,Love prompted to the bridegroom's tongue.All while he stripped the wild-rose spray,His ax and bow beside him lay,For on a pass 'twixt lake and wood,15A wakeful sentinel he stood.Hark! on the rock a footstep rung,And instant to his arms he sprung."Stand, or thou diest!—What, Malise?—soonArt thou returned from Braes of Doune.note20By thy keen step and glance I know,Thou bring'st us tidings of the foe."For while the Fiery Cross hied on,On distant scout had Malise gone.—"Where sleeps the Chief?" the henchman said.25"Apart, in yonder misty glade;To his lone couch I'll be your guide."Then called a slumberer by his side,And stirred him with his slackened bow—"Up, up, Glantarkin! rouse thee, ho!30We seek the Chieftain; on the track,Keep eagle watch till I come back."
Together up the pass they sped:"What of the foeman?" Norman said."Varying reports from near and far;35This certain—that a band of warHas for two days been ready boune,noteAt prompt command, to march from Doune;King James, the while, with princely powers,Holds revelry in Stirling towers.40Soon will this dark and gathering cloudSpeak on our glens in thunder loud.Inured to bide such bitter bout,The warrior's plaid may bear it out;But, Norman, how wilt thou provide45A shelter for thy bonny bride?""What! know ye not that Roderick's careTo the lone isle hath caused repairEach maid and matron of the clan,And every child and aged man50Unfit for arms; and given his charge,Nor skiff nor shallop, boat nor barge,Upon these lakes shall float at large,But all beside the islet moor,That such dear pledge may rest secure?"—
Together up the pass they sped:"What of the foeman?" Norman said."Varying reports from near and far;35This certain—that a band of warHas for two days been ready boune,noteAt prompt command, to march from Doune;King James, the while, with princely powers,Holds revelry in Stirling towers.40Soon will this dark and gathering cloudSpeak on our glens in thunder loud.Inured to bide such bitter bout,The warrior's plaid may bear it out;But, Norman, how wilt thou provide45A shelter for thy bonny bride?""What! know ye not that Roderick's careTo the lone isle hath caused repairEach maid and matron of the clan,And every child and aged man50Unfit for arms; and given his charge,Nor skiff nor shallop, boat nor barge,Upon these lakes shall float at large,But all beside the islet moor,That such dear pledge may rest secure?"—
55"'Tis well advised—the Chieftain's planBespeaks the father of his clan.But wherefore sleeps Sir Roderick DhuApart from all his followers true?""It is, because last evening-tide60Brian an augury hath tried,Of that dread kind which must not beUnless in dread extremity,The Taghairm called; by which, afar,noteOur sires foresaw the events of war.65Duncraggan's milk-white bull they slew."
55"'Tis well advised—the Chieftain's planBespeaks the father of his clan.But wherefore sleeps Sir Roderick DhuApart from all his followers true?""It is, because last evening-tide60Brian an augury hath tried,Of that dread kind which must not beUnless in dread extremity,The Taghairm called; by which, afar,noteOur sires foresaw the events of war.65Duncraggan's milk-white bull they slew."
"Ah! Well the gallant brute I knew,The choicest of the prey we had,When swept our merrymen Gallangad.noteHis hide was snow, his horns were dark,70His red eye glowed like fiery spark;So fierce, so tameless, and so fleet,Sore did he cumber our retreat,And kept our stoutest kerns in awe,noteEven at the pass of Beal 'maha.75But steep and flinty was the road,And sharp the hurrying pikeman's goad,And when we came to Dennan's Row,A child might scatheless stroke his brow."note
"Ah! Well the gallant brute I knew,The choicest of the prey we had,When swept our merrymen Gallangad.noteHis hide was snow, his horns were dark,70His red eye glowed like fiery spark;So fierce, so tameless, and so fleet,Sore did he cumber our retreat,And kept our stoutest kerns in awe,noteEven at the pass of Beal 'maha.75But steep and flinty was the road,And sharp the hurrying pikeman's goad,And when we came to Dennan's Row,A child might scatheless stroke his brow."note