210The signet ring young Lewis took,With deep respect and altered look;And said—"This ring our duties own;And pardon, if to worth unknown,In semblance mean obscurely veiled,215Lady, in aught my folly failed.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;220Female 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,225She 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 hold230Forced bluntly back the proffered gold:"Forgive a haughty English heart,And O forget its ruder part!The vacant purse shall be my share,Which in my barret-cap I'll bear.235Perchance, in jeopardy of war,Where gayer crests may keep afar."With thanks—'twas all she could—the maidHis rugged courtesy repaid.
210The signet ring young Lewis took,With deep respect and altered look;And said—"This ring our duties own;And pardon, if to worth unknown,In semblance mean obscurely veiled,215Lady, in aught my folly failed.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;220Female 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,225She 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 hold230Forced bluntly back the proffered gold:"Forgive a haughty English heart,And O forget its ruder part!The vacant purse shall be my share,Which in my barret-cap I'll bear.235Perchance, in jeopardy of war,Where gayer crests may keep afar."With thanks—'twas all she could—the maidHis rugged courtesy repaid.
When Ellen forth with Lewis went,240Allan made suit to John of Brent:"My lady safe, O let your graceGive me to see my master's face!His minstrel I—to share his doomBound from the cradle to the tomb.245Tenth 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;250Our 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 ranks we keep,We cheer his board, we soothe his sleep,255Nor 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,260"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!265And, 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,240Allan made suit to John of Brent:"My lady safe, O let your graceGive me to see my master's face!His minstrel I—to share his doomBound from the cradle to the tomb.245Tenth 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;250Our 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 ranks we keep,We cheer his board, we soothe his sleep,255Nor 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,260"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!265And, 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."
270Then, 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 passed, where, deep within,275Spoke 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,280By artist formed, who deemed it shameAnd sin to give their work a name.They halted at a low-browed porch,And Brent to Allan gave the torch,While bolt and chain he backward rolled285And made the bar unhasp its hold.They entered—'twas a prison-roomOf stern security and gloom,Yet not a dungeon; for the dayThrough lofty gratings found its way,290And rude and antique garnitureDecked the sad walls and oaken floor;Such as the rugged days of oldDeemed fit for captive noble's hold."Here," said De Brent, "thou mayst remain295Till the Leech 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 murmurings growled anew.300Roused at the sound, from lowly bedA captive feebly raised his head;The wondering Minstrel looked, and knew—Not his dear lord, but Roderick Dhu!For, come from where Clan-Alpine fought,305They, erring, deemed the Chief he sought.
270Then, 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 passed, where, deep within,275Spoke 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,280By artist formed, who deemed it shameAnd sin to give their work a name.They halted at a low-browed porch,And Brent to Allan gave the torch,While bolt and chain he backward rolled285And made the bar unhasp its hold.They entered—'twas a prison-roomOf stern security and gloom,Yet not a dungeon; for the dayThrough lofty gratings found its way,290And rude and antique garnitureDecked the sad walls and oaken floor;Such as the rugged days of oldDeemed fit for captive noble's hold."Here," said De Brent, "thou mayst remain295Till the Leech 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 murmurings growled anew.300Roused at the sound, from lowly bedA captive feebly raised his head;The wondering Minstrel looked, and knew—Not his dear lord, but Roderick Dhu!For, come from where Clan-Alpine fought,305They, erring, deemed the Chief he sought.
As the tall ship, whose lofty prorenoteShall never stem the billows more,Deserted by her gallant band,Amid the breakers lies astrand,310So, on his couch, lay Roderick Dhu!And oft his fevered limbs he threwIn toss abrupt, as when her sidesLie rocking in the advancing tides,That shake her frame with ceaseless beat,315Yet cannot heave her from her seat—Oh! how unlike her course at sea!Or his free step on hill and lea!Soon as the Minstrel he could scan,"What of thy lady?—of my clan?—320My mother?—Douglas?—tell me all?Have they been ruined in my fall?Ah, yes! or wherefore art thou here!Yet speak—speak boldly—do not fear."For Allan, who his mood well knew,325Was choked with grief and terror too."Who fought—who fled?—Old man, be brief—Some might—for they had lost their Chief.Who basely live?—who bravely died?""O calm thee, Chief!" the Minstrel cried,330"Ellen is safe;" "For that thank Heaven!""And hopes are for the Douglas given;The Lady Margaret too is well;And, for thy clan—on field or fell,Has never harp of minstrel told,335Of combat fought so true and bold.Thy stately Pine is yet unbent,Though many a goodly bough is rent."
As the tall ship, whose lofty prorenoteShall never stem the billows more,Deserted by her gallant band,Amid the breakers lies astrand,310So, on his couch, lay Roderick Dhu!And oft his fevered limbs he threwIn toss abrupt, as when her sidesLie rocking in the advancing tides,That shake her frame with ceaseless beat,315Yet cannot heave her from her seat—Oh! how unlike her course at sea!Or his free step on hill and lea!Soon as the Minstrel he could scan,"What of thy lady?—of my clan?—320My mother?—Douglas?—tell me all?Have they been ruined in my fall?Ah, yes! or wherefore art thou here!Yet speak—speak boldly—do not fear."For Allan, who his mood well knew,325Was choked with grief and terror too."Who fought—who fled?—Old man, be brief—Some might—for they had lost their Chief.Who basely live?—who bravely died?""O calm thee, Chief!" the Minstrel cried,330"Ellen is safe;" "For that thank Heaven!""And hopes are for the Douglas given;The Lady Margaret too is well;And, for thy clan—on field or fell,Has never harp of minstrel told,335Of combat fought so true and bold.Thy stately Pine is yet unbent,Though many a goodly bough is rent."
The Chieftain reared his form on high,And fever's fire was in his eye;340But ghastly pale, and livid streaksCheckered his swarthy brow and cheeks."Hark, Minstrel! I have heard thee play,With measure bold, on festal day,In yon lone isle, ... again where ne'er345Shall harper play, or warrior hear!...That stirring air that peals on high,O'er Dermid's race our victory.Strike it!—and then—for well thou canst—Free from thy minstrel spirit glanced,350Fling me the picture of the fight,When met my clan the Saxon might.I'll listen, till my fancy hearsThe clang of swords, the crash of spears!These grates, these walls, shall vanish then,355For the fair field of fighting men,And my free spirit burst away,As if it soared from battle fray."The trembling Bard with awe obeyed—Slow on the harp his hand he laid;360But soon remembrance of the sightHe witnessed from the mountain's height,With what old Bertram told at night,Awakened the full power of song,And bore him in career along;365As shallop launched on river's side,That slow and fearful leaves the side,But, when it feels the middle stream,Drives downward swift as lightning's beam.
The Chieftain reared his form on high,And fever's fire was in his eye;340But ghastly pale, and livid streaksCheckered his swarthy brow and cheeks."Hark, Minstrel! I have heard thee play,With measure bold, on festal day,In yon lone isle, ... again where ne'er345Shall harper play, or warrior hear!...That stirring air that peals on high,O'er Dermid's race our victory.Strike it!—and then—for well thou canst—Free from thy minstrel spirit glanced,350Fling me the picture of the fight,When met my clan the Saxon might.I'll listen, till my fancy hearsThe clang of swords, the crash of spears!These grates, these walls, shall vanish then,355For the fair field of fighting men,And my free spirit burst away,As if it soared from battle fray."The trembling Bard with awe obeyed—Slow on the harp his hand he laid;360But soon remembrance of the sightHe witnessed from the mountain's height,With what old Bertram told at night,Awakened the full power of song,And bore him in career along;365As shallop launched on river's side,That slow and fearful leaves the side,But, when it feels the middle stream,Drives downward swift as lightning's beam.
"The Minstrel came once more to view370The eastern ridge of Benvenue,For ere he parted, he would sayFarewell to lovely Loch Achray—Where shall he find in foreign land,So lone a lake, so sweet a strand!375There is no breeze upon the fern,Nor ripple on the lake,Upon her eyry nods the erne,noteThe deer has sought the brake;The small birds will not sing aloud,380The springing trout lies still,So darkly glooms yon thunder cloud,That swathes, as with a purple shroud,Benledi's distant hill.Is it the thunder's solemn sound385That mutters deep and dread,Or echoes from the groaning groundThe warrior's measured tread?Is it the lightning's quivering glanceThat on the thicket streams,390Or do they flash on spear and lanceThe sun's retiring beams?—I see the dagger-crest of Mar,I see the Moray's silver star,Wave o'er the cloud of Saxon war,395That up the lake comes winding far!To hero boune for battle-strife,Or bard of martial lay,'Twere worth ten years of peaceful life,One glance at their array!
"The Minstrel came once more to view370The eastern ridge of Benvenue,For ere he parted, he would sayFarewell to lovely Loch Achray—Where shall he find in foreign land,So lone a lake, so sweet a strand!375There is no breeze upon the fern,Nor ripple on the lake,Upon her eyry nods the erne,noteThe deer has sought the brake;The small birds will not sing aloud,380The springing trout lies still,So darkly glooms yon thunder cloud,That swathes, as with a purple shroud,Benledi's distant hill.Is it the thunder's solemn sound385That mutters deep and dread,Or echoes from the groaning groundThe warrior's measured tread?Is it the lightning's quivering glanceThat on the thicket streams,390Or do they flash on spear and lanceThe sun's retiring beams?—I see the dagger-crest of Mar,I see the Moray's silver star,Wave o'er the cloud of Saxon war,395That up the lake comes winding far!To hero boune for battle-strife,Or bard of martial lay,'Twere worth ten years of peaceful life,One glance at their array!
400"Their light-armed archers far and nearSurveyed the tangled ground,Their center ranks, with pike and spear,A twilight forest frowned,Their barded horsemen, in the rear,405The stern battalia crowned.No cymbal clashed, no clarion rang,Still were the pipe and drum;Save heavy tread, and armor's clang,The sullen march was dumb.410There breathed no wind their crests to shake,Or wave their flags abroad;Scarce the frail aspen seemed to quake,That shadowed o'er their road.Their vaward scouts no tidings bring,415Can rouse no lurking foe,Nor spy a trace of living thing,Save when they stirred the roe;The host moves, like a deep-sea wave,Where rise no rocks its pride to brave,420High-swelling, dark, and slow.The lake is passed, and now they gainA narrow and a broken plain,Before the Trossachs' rugged jaws;And here the horse and spearmen pause,425While, to explore the dangerous glen,Dive through the pass the archer-men.
400"Their light-armed archers far and nearSurveyed the tangled ground,Their center ranks, with pike and spear,A twilight forest frowned,Their barded horsemen, in the rear,405The stern battalia crowned.No cymbal clashed, no clarion rang,Still were the pipe and drum;Save heavy tread, and armor's clang,The sullen march was dumb.410There breathed no wind their crests to shake,Or wave their flags abroad;Scarce the frail aspen seemed to quake,That shadowed o'er their road.Their vaward scouts no tidings bring,415Can rouse no lurking foe,Nor spy a trace of living thing,Save when they stirred the roe;The host moves, like a deep-sea wave,Where rise no rocks its pride to brave,420High-swelling, dark, and slow.The lake is passed, and now they gainA narrow and a broken plain,Before the Trossachs' rugged jaws;And here the horse and spearmen pause,425While, to explore the dangerous glen,Dive through the pass the archer-men.
"At once there rose so wild a yellnoteWithin that dark and narrow dell,As all the fiends, from heaven that fell,430Had pealed the banner-cry of hell!Forth from the pass in tumult driven,Like chaff before the wind of heaven,The archery appear;For life! for life! their flight they ply—435And shriek, and shout, and battle-cry,And plaids and bonnets waving high,And broadswords flashing to the sky,Are maddening in the rear.Onward they drive, in dreadful race,440Pursuers and pursued;Before that tide of flight and chase,How shall it keep its rooted place,The spearmen's twilight wood?'Down, down,' cried Mar, 'your lances down!445Bear back both friend and foe!'Like reeds before the tempest's frown,That serried grove of lances brownAt once lay leveled low;And closely shouldering side to side,450The bristling ranks the onset bide.'We'll quell the savage mountaineer,As their Tinchel cows the game!noteThey come as fleet as forest deer,We'll drive them back as tame.'
"At once there rose so wild a yellnoteWithin that dark and narrow dell,As all the fiends, from heaven that fell,430Had pealed the banner-cry of hell!Forth from the pass in tumult driven,Like chaff before the wind of heaven,The archery appear;For life! for life! their flight they ply—435And shriek, and shout, and battle-cry,And plaids and bonnets waving high,And broadswords flashing to the sky,Are maddening in the rear.Onward they drive, in dreadful race,440Pursuers and pursued;Before that tide of flight and chase,How shall it keep its rooted place,The spearmen's twilight wood?'Down, down,' cried Mar, 'your lances down!445Bear back both friend and foe!'Like reeds before the tempest's frown,That serried grove of lances brownAt once lay leveled low;And closely shouldering side to side,450The bristling ranks the onset bide.'We'll quell the savage mountaineer,As their Tinchel cows the game!noteThey come as fleet as forest deer,We'll drive them back as tame.'
455"Bearing before them, in their course,The relics of the archer force,Like wave with crest of sparkling foam,Right onward did Clan-Alpine come.Above the tide, each broadsword bright460Was brandishing like beam of light,Each targe was dark below;And with the ocean's mighty swing,When heaving to the tempest's wing,They hurled them on the foe.465I heard the lance's shivering crash,As when the whirlwind rends the ash;I heard the broadsword's deadly clang,As if an hundred anvils rang!But Moray wheeled his rearward rank470Of horsemen on Clan-Alpine's flank,'My banner-man advance!I see,' he cried, 'their column shake.Now, gallants! for your ladies' sake,Upon them with the lance!'475The horsemen dashed among the rout,As deer break through the broom;Their steeds are stout, their swords are out,They soon make lightsome room.Clan-Alpine's best are backward borne—480Where, where was Roderick then!One blast upon his bugle-hornWere worth a thousand men.And refluent through the pass of fearThe battle's tide was poured;485Vanished the Saxon's struggling spear,Vanished the mountain-sword.As Bracklinn's chasm, so black and steep,Receives her roaring linn,noteAs the dark caverns of the deep490Suck the wild whirlpool in,So did the deep and darksome passDevour the battle's mingled mass;None linger now upon the plain,Save those who ne'er shall fight again.
455"Bearing before them, in their course,The relics of the archer force,Like wave with crest of sparkling foam,Right onward did Clan-Alpine come.Above the tide, each broadsword bright460Was brandishing like beam of light,Each targe was dark below;And with the ocean's mighty swing,When heaving to the tempest's wing,They hurled them on the foe.465I heard the lance's shivering crash,As when the whirlwind rends the ash;I heard the broadsword's deadly clang,As if an hundred anvils rang!But Moray wheeled his rearward rank470Of horsemen on Clan-Alpine's flank,'My banner-man advance!I see,' he cried, 'their column shake.Now, gallants! for your ladies' sake,Upon them with the lance!'475The horsemen dashed among the rout,As deer break through the broom;Their steeds are stout, their swords are out,They soon make lightsome room.Clan-Alpine's best are backward borne—480Where, where was Roderick then!One blast upon his bugle-hornWere worth a thousand men.And refluent through the pass of fearThe battle's tide was poured;485Vanished the Saxon's struggling spear,Vanished the mountain-sword.As Bracklinn's chasm, so black and steep,Receives her roaring linn,noteAs the dark caverns of the deep490Suck the wild whirlpool in,So did the deep and darksome passDevour the battle's mingled mass;None linger now upon the plain,Save those who ne'er shall fight again.
495"Now westward rolls the battle's din,That deep and doubling pass within.—Minstrel, away! the work of fateIs bearing on; its issue wait,Where the rude Trossachs' dread defile500Opens on Katrine's lake and isle.—Gray Benvenue I soon repassed,Loch Katrine lay beneath me cast.The sun is set, the clouds are met,The lowering scowl of heaven505An inky hue of livid blueTo the deep lake has given;Strange gusts of wind from mountain-glenSwept o'er the lake, then sunk again.I heeded not the eddying surge,510Mine eye but saw the Trossachs' gorge,Mine ear but heard the sullen sound,Which like an earthquake shook the ground,And spoke the stern and desperate strifeThat parts not but with parting life,515Seeming, to minstrel ear, to tollThe dirge of many a passing soul.Nearer it comes—the dim-wood glenThe martial flood disgorged again,But not in mingled tide;520The plaided warriors of the NorthHigh on the mountain thunder forthAnd overhang its side;While by the lake below appearsThe dark'ning cloud of Saxon spears.525At weary bay each shattered band,Eyeing their foemen, sternly stand;Their banners stream like tattered sail,That flings its fragments to the gale,And broken arms and disarray530Marked the fell havoc of the day.
495"Now westward rolls the battle's din,That deep and doubling pass within.—Minstrel, away! the work of fateIs bearing on; its issue wait,Where the rude Trossachs' dread defile500Opens on Katrine's lake and isle.—Gray Benvenue I soon repassed,Loch Katrine lay beneath me cast.The sun is set, the clouds are met,The lowering scowl of heaven505An inky hue of livid blueTo the deep lake has given;Strange gusts of wind from mountain-glenSwept o'er the lake, then sunk again.I heeded not the eddying surge,510Mine eye but saw the Trossachs' gorge,Mine ear but heard the sullen sound,Which like an earthquake shook the ground,And spoke the stern and desperate strifeThat parts not but with parting life,515Seeming, to minstrel ear, to tollThe dirge of many a passing soul.Nearer it comes—the dim-wood glenThe martial flood disgorged again,But not in mingled tide;520The plaided warriors of the NorthHigh on the mountain thunder forthAnd overhang its side;While by the lake below appearsThe dark'ning cloud of Saxon spears.525At weary bay each shattered band,Eyeing their foemen, sternly stand;Their banners stream like tattered sail,That flings its fragments to the gale,And broken arms and disarray530Marked the fell havoc of the day.
"Viewing the mountain's ridge askance,The Saxon stood in sullen trance,Till Moray pointed with his lance,And cried—'Behold yon isle!535See! none are left to guard its strand,But women weak, that wring the hand;'Tis there of yore the robber bandTheir booty wont to pile.My purse, with bonnet-pieces store,540To him will swim a bow-shot o'er,And loose a shallop from the shore.Lightly we'll tame the war-wolf then,Lords of his mate, and brood, and den.'Forth from the ranks a spearman sprung,545On earth his casque and corselet rung,He plunged him in the wave;All saw the deed—the purpose knew,And to their clamors BenvenueA mingled echo gave;550The Saxons shout, their mate to cheer,The helpless females scream for fear,And yells for rage the mountaineer.'Twas then, as by the outcry riven,Poured down at once the lowering heaven;555A whirlwind swept Loch Katrine's breast,Her billows reared their snowy crest.Well for the swimmer swelled they high,To mar the Highland marksman's eye;For round him showered, 'mid rain and hail,560The vengeful arrows of the Gael.In vain—he nears the isle—and lo!His hand is on a shallop's bow.Just then a flash of lightning came,It tinged the waves and strand with flame;565I marked Duncraggan's widowed dame,Behind an oak I saw her stand,A naked dirk gleamed in her hand;It darkened—but, amid the moanOf waves, I heard a dying groan;570Another flash!—the spearman floatsA weltering corse beside the boats,And the stern matron o'er him stood,Her hand and dagger streaming blood.
"Viewing the mountain's ridge askance,The Saxon stood in sullen trance,Till Moray pointed with his lance,And cried—'Behold yon isle!535See! none are left to guard its strand,But women weak, that wring the hand;'Tis there of yore the robber bandTheir booty wont to pile.My purse, with bonnet-pieces store,540To him will swim a bow-shot o'er,And loose a shallop from the shore.Lightly we'll tame the war-wolf then,Lords of his mate, and brood, and den.'Forth from the ranks a spearman sprung,545On earth his casque and corselet rung,He plunged him in the wave;All saw the deed—the purpose knew,And to their clamors BenvenueA mingled echo gave;550The Saxons shout, their mate to cheer,The helpless females scream for fear,And yells for rage the mountaineer.'Twas then, as by the outcry riven,Poured down at once the lowering heaven;555A whirlwind swept Loch Katrine's breast,Her billows reared their snowy crest.Well for the swimmer swelled they high,To mar the Highland marksman's eye;For round him showered, 'mid rain and hail,560The vengeful arrows of the Gael.In vain—he nears the isle—and lo!His hand is on a shallop's bow.Just then a flash of lightning came,It tinged the waves and strand with flame;565I marked Duncraggan's widowed dame,Behind an oak I saw her stand,A naked dirk gleamed in her hand;It darkened—but, amid the moanOf waves, I heard a dying groan;570Another flash!—the spearman floatsA weltering corse beside the boats,And the stern matron o'er him stood,Her hand and dagger streaming blood.
"'Revenge! revenge!' the Saxons cried;575The Gaels' exulting shout replied.Despite the elemental rage,Again they hurried to engage;But, ere they closed in desperate fight,Bloody with spurring came a knight,580Sprung from his horse, and, from a crag,Waved 'twixt the hosts a milk-white flag.Clarion and trumpet by his sideRung forth a truce-note high and wide,While, in the Monarch's name, afar585An herald's voice forbade the war,For Bothwell's lord, and Roderick bold,noteWere both, he said, in captive hold."—But here the lay made sudden stand,The harp escaped the Minstrel's hand!—590Oft had he stolen a glance, to spyHow Roderick brooked his minstrelsy:noteAt first, the Chieftain, to the chime,With lifted hand, kept feeble time;That motion ceased—yet feeling strong595Varied his look as changed the song;At length, no more his deafened earThe minstrel melody can hear;His face grows sharp—his hands are clenched,As if some pang his heart-strings wrenched;600Set are his teeth, his fading eyeIs sternly fixed on vacancy;Thus, motionless, and moanless, drewHis parting breath, stout Roderick Dhu!Old Allan-bane looked on aghast,605While grim and still his spirit passed;But when he saw that life was fled,He poured his wailing o'er the dead.
"'Revenge! revenge!' the Saxons cried;575The Gaels' exulting shout replied.Despite the elemental rage,Again they hurried to engage;But, ere they closed in desperate fight,Bloody with spurring came a knight,580Sprung from his horse, and, from a crag,Waved 'twixt the hosts a milk-white flag.Clarion and trumpet by his sideRung forth a truce-note high and wide,While, in the Monarch's name, afar585An herald's voice forbade the war,For Bothwell's lord, and Roderick bold,noteWere both, he said, in captive hold."—But here the lay made sudden stand,The harp escaped the Minstrel's hand!—590Oft had he stolen a glance, to spyHow Roderick brooked his minstrelsy:noteAt first, the Chieftain, to the chime,With lifted hand, kept feeble time;That motion ceased—yet feeling strong595Varied his look as changed the song;At length, no more his deafened earThe minstrel melody can hear;His face grows sharp—his hands are clenched,As if some pang his heart-strings wrenched;600Set are his teeth, his fading eyeIs sternly fixed on vacancy;Thus, motionless, and moanless, drewHis parting breath, stout Roderick Dhu!Old Allan-bane looked on aghast,605While grim and still his spirit passed;But when he saw that life was fled,He poured his wailing o'er the dead.
"And art thou cold and lowly laid,Thy foeman's dread, thy people's aid,610Breadalbane's boast, Clan-Alpine's shade!For thee shall none a requiem say?—For thee—who loved the minstrel's lay,For thee, of Bothwell's house the stay,The shelter of her exiled line,615E'en in this prison-house of thineI'll wail for Alpine's honored Pine!"What groans shall yonder valleys fill!What shrieks of grief shall rend yon hill!What tears of burning rage shall thrill,620When mourns thy tribe thy battles done,Thy fall before the race was won,Thy sword ungirt ere set of sun!There breathes not clansman of thy line,But would have given his life for thine.625O woe for Alpine's honored Pine!"Sad was thy lot on mortal stage!The captive thrush may brook the cage,The prisoned eagle dies for rage.Brave spirit, do not scorn my strain!630And, when its notes awake again,Even she, so long beloved in vain,Shall with my harp her voice combine,And mix her woe and tears with mine,To wail Clan-Alpine's honored Pine."
"And art thou cold and lowly laid,Thy foeman's dread, thy people's aid,610Breadalbane's boast, Clan-Alpine's shade!For thee shall none a requiem say?—For thee—who loved the minstrel's lay,For thee, of Bothwell's house the stay,The shelter of her exiled line,615E'en in this prison-house of thineI'll wail for Alpine's honored Pine!
"What groans shall yonder valleys fill!What shrieks of grief shall rend yon hill!What tears of burning rage shall thrill,620When mourns thy tribe thy battles done,Thy fall before the race was won,Thy sword ungirt ere set of sun!There breathes not clansman of thy line,But would have given his life for thine.625O woe for Alpine's honored Pine!
"Sad was thy lot on mortal stage!The captive thrush may brook the cage,The prisoned eagle dies for rage.Brave spirit, do not scorn my strain!630And, when its notes awake again,Even she, so long beloved in vain,Shall with my harp her voice combine,And mix her woe and tears with mine,To wail Clan-Alpine's honored Pine."
635Ellen, the while, with bursting heart,Remained in lordly bower apart,Where played, with many colored gleams,Through storied pane the rising beams.In vain on gilded roof they fall,640And lightened up a tapestried wall,And for her use a menial trainA rich collation spread in vain.The banquet proud, the chamber gay,Scarce drew one curious glance astray;645Or if she looked, 'twas but to say,With better omen dawned the dayIn that lone isle where waved on highThe dun-deer's hide for canopy;Where oft her noble father shared650The simple meal her care prepared,While Lufra, crouching by her side,Her station claimed with jealous pride,And Douglas, bent on woodland game,Spoke of the chase to Malcolm Graeme,655Whose answer, oft at random made,The wandering of his thoughts betrayed.Those who such simple joys have known,Are taught to prize them when they're gone.But sudden, see, she lifts her head!660The window seeks with cautious tread.What distant music has the powerTo win her in this woeful hour!Twas from a turret that o'erhungHer latticed bower, the strain was sung.
635Ellen, the while, with bursting heart,Remained in lordly bower apart,Where played, with many colored gleams,Through storied pane the rising beams.In vain on gilded roof they fall,640And lightened up a tapestried wall,And for her use a menial trainA rich collation spread in vain.The banquet proud, the chamber gay,Scarce drew one curious glance astray;645Or if she looked, 'twas but to say,With better omen dawned the dayIn that lone isle where waved on highThe dun-deer's hide for canopy;Where oft her noble father shared650The simple meal her care prepared,While Lufra, crouching by her side,Her station claimed with jealous pride,And Douglas, bent on woodland game,Spoke of the chase to Malcolm Graeme,655Whose answer, oft at random made,The wandering of his thoughts betrayed.Those who such simple joys have known,Are taught to prize them when they're gone.But sudden, see, she lifts her head!660The window seeks with cautious tread.What distant music has the powerTo win her in this woeful hour!Twas from a turret that o'erhungHer latticed bower, the strain was sung.
665"My hawk is tired of perch and hood,My idle greyhound loathes his food,My horse is weary of his stall,And I am sick of captive thrall.I wish I were as I have been,670Hunting the hart in forest green,With bended bow and bloodhound free,For that's the life is meet for me."I hate to learn the ebb of time,From yon dull steeple's drowsy chime,675Or mark it as the sunbeams crawl,Inch after inch, along the wall.The lark was wont my matins ring,The sable rook my vespers sing;These towers, although a king's they be,680Have not a hall of joy for me."No more at dawning morn I rise,And sun myself in Ellen's eyes,Drive the fleet deer the forest through,And homeward wend with evening dew;685A blithesome welcome blithely meet,And lay my trophies at her feet,While fled the eve on wing of glee—That life is lost to love and me!"
665"My hawk is tired of perch and hood,My idle greyhound loathes his food,My horse is weary of his stall,And I am sick of captive thrall.I wish I were as I have been,670Hunting the hart in forest green,With bended bow and bloodhound free,For that's the life is meet for me.
"I hate to learn the ebb of time,From yon dull steeple's drowsy chime,675Or mark it as the sunbeams crawl,Inch after inch, along the wall.The lark was wont my matins ring,The sable rook my vespers sing;These towers, although a king's they be,680Have not a hall of joy for me.
"No more at dawning morn I rise,And sun myself in Ellen's eyes,Drive the fleet deer the forest through,And homeward wend with evening dew;685A blithesome welcome blithely meet,And lay my trophies at her feet,While fled the eve on wing of glee—That life is lost to love and me!"
The heartsick lay was hardly said,690The list'ner had not turned her head,It trickled still, the starting tear,When light a footstep struck her ear,And Snowdoun's graceful knight was near.She turned the hastier, lest again695The prisoner should renew his strain."O welcome, brave Fitz-James!" she said;"How may an almost orphan maidPay the deep debt"—"O say not so!To me no gratitude you owe.700Not mine, alas! the boon to give,And bid thy noble father live;I can but be thy guide, sweet maid,With Scotland's King thy suit to aid.No tyrant he, though ire and pride705May lay his better mood aside.Come, Ellen, come! 'tis more than time,He holds his court at morning prime."With beating heart, and bosom wrung,As to a brother's arm she clung.710Gently he dried the falling tear,And gently whispered hope and cheer;Her faltering steps, half led, half stayed,Through gallery fair, and high arcade,Till, at his touch, its wings of pride715A portal arch unfolded wide.
The heartsick lay was hardly said,690The list'ner had not turned her head,It trickled still, the starting tear,When light a footstep struck her ear,And Snowdoun's graceful knight was near.She turned the hastier, lest again695The prisoner should renew his strain."O welcome, brave Fitz-James!" she said;"How may an almost orphan maidPay the deep debt"—"O say not so!To me no gratitude you owe.700Not mine, alas! the boon to give,And bid thy noble father live;I can but be thy guide, sweet maid,With Scotland's King thy suit to aid.No tyrant he, though ire and pride705May lay his better mood aside.Come, Ellen, come! 'tis more than time,He holds his court at morning prime."With beating heart, and bosom wrung,As to a brother's arm she clung.710Gently he dried the falling tear,And gently whispered hope and cheer;Her faltering steps, half led, half stayed,Through gallery fair, and high arcade,Till, at his touch, its wings of pride715A portal arch unfolded wide.
Within 'twas brilliant all and light,A thronging scene of figures bright;It glowed on Ellen's dazzled sight,As when the setting sun has given720Ten thousand hues to summer even,And from their tissue, fancy framesAërial knights and fairy dames.Still by Fitz-James her footing stayed;A few faint steps she forward made,725Then slow her drooping head she raised,And fearful round the presence gazed;For him she sought, who owned this state,The dreaded Prince whose will was fate!—She gazed on many a princely port,730Might well have ruled a royal court;On many a splendid garb she gazed—Then turned bewildered and amazed,For all stood bare; and, in the room,Fitz-James alone wore cap and plume.735To him each lady's look was lent;On him each courtier's eye was bent;Midst furs and silks and jewels sheen,He stood, in simple Lincoln green,The center of the glittering ring—740And Snowdoun's Knight is Scotland's King.
Within 'twas brilliant all and light,A thronging scene of figures bright;It glowed on Ellen's dazzled sight,As when the setting sun has given720Ten thousand hues to summer even,And from their tissue, fancy framesAërial knights and fairy dames.Still by Fitz-James her footing stayed;A few faint steps she forward made,725Then slow her drooping head she raised,And fearful round the presence gazed;For him she sought, who owned this state,The dreaded Prince whose will was fate!—She gazed on many a princely port,730Might well have ruled a royal court;On many a splendid garb she gazed—Then turned bewildered and amazed,For all stood bare; and, in the room,Fitz-James alone wore cap and plume.735To him each lady's look was lent;On him each courtier's eye was bent;Midst furs and silks and jewels sheen,He stood, in simple Lincoln green,The center of the glittering ring—740And Snowdoun's Knight is Scotland's King.
As wreath of snow, on mountain breast,Slides from the rock that gave it rest,Poor Ellen glided from her stay,And at the Monarch's feet she lay;745No word her choking voice commands—She showed the ring—she clasped her hands.Oh! not a moment could he brook,The generous Prince, that suppliant look!Gently he raised her—and, the while,750Checked with a glance the circle's smile;Graceful, but grave, her brow he kissed,And bade her terrors be dismissed:"Yes, Fair; the wandering poor Fitz-JamesThe fealty of Scotland claims.755To him thy woes, thy wishes, bring;He will redeem his signet-ring.Ask naught for Douglas; yester evenHis prince and he have much forgiven.Wrong hath he had from slanderous tongue,760I, from his rebel kinsmen, wrong.We would not, to the vulgar crowd,Yield what they craved with clamor loud;Calmly we heard and judged his cause,Our council aided, and our laws.765I stanched thy father's death-feud stern,With stout De Vaux and gray Glencairn;And Bothwell's lord henceforth we ownThe friend and bulwark of our throne.But, lovely infidel, how now?770What clouds thy misbelieving brow?Lord James of Douglas, lend thine aid;Thou must confirm this doubting maid."
As wreath of snow, on mountain breast,Slides from the rock that gave it rest,Poor Ellen glided from her stay,And at the Monarch's feet she lay;745No word her choking voice commands—She showed the ring—she clasped her hands.Oh! not a moment could he brook,The generous Prince, that suppliant look!Gently he raised her—and, the while,750Checked with a glance the circle's smile;Graceful, but grave, her brow he kissed,And bade her terrors be dismissed:"Yes, Fair; the wandering poor Fitz-JamesThe fealty of Scotland claims.755To him thy woes, thy wishes, bring;He will redeem his signet-ring.Ask naught for Douglas; yester evenHis prince and he have much forgiven.Wrong hath he had from slanderous tongue,760I, from his rebel kinsmen, wrong.We would not, to the vulgar crowd,Yield what they craved with clamor loud;Calmly we heard and judged his cause,Our council aided, and our laws.765I stanched thy father's death-feud stern,With stout De Vaux and gray Glencairn;And Bothwell's lord henceforth we ownThe friend and bulwark of our throne.But, lovely infidel, how now?770What clouds thy misbelieving brow?Lord James of Douglas, lend thine aid;Thou must confirm this doubting maid."
Then forth the noble Douglas sprung,And on his neck his daughter hung.775The Monarch drank, that happy hour,The sweetest, holiest draught of Power—When it can say, with godlike voice,Arise, sad Virtue, and rejoice!Yet would not James the general eye780On Nature's raptures long should pry;He stepped between—"Nay, Douglas, nay,Steal not my proselyte away!The riddle 'tis my right to read,That brought this happy chance to speed.785—Yes, Ellen, when disguised I strayIn life's more low but happier way,'Tis under name which veils my power,Nor falsely veils—for Stirling's towerOf yore the name of Snowdoun claims,790And Normans call me James Fitz-James.Thus watch I o'er insulted laws,Thus learn to right the injured cause."Then, in a tone apart and low—"Ah, little traitress! none must know795What idle dream, what lighter thought,What vanity full dearly bought,Joined to thine eye's dark witchcraft, drewMy spell-bound steps to Benvenue,In dangerous hour, and all but gave800Thy Monarch's life to mountain glaive!"—Aloud he spoke, "Thou still dost holdThat little talisman of gold,Pledge of my faith, Fitz-James's ring—What seeks fair Ellen of the King?"
Then forth the noble Douglas sprung,And on his neck his daughter hung.775The Monarch drank, that happy hour,The sweetest, holiest draught of Power—When it can say, with godlike voice,Arise, sad Virtue, and rejoice!Yet would not James the general eye780On Nature's raptures long should pry;He stepped between—"Nay, Douglas, nay,Steal not my proselyte away!The riddle 'tis my right to read,That brought this happy chance to speed.785—Yes, Ellen, when disguised I strayIn life's more low but happier way,'Tis under name which veils my power,Nor falsely veils—for Stirling's towerOf yore the name of Snowdoun claims,790And Normans call me James Fitz-James.Thus watch I o'er insulted laws,Thus learn to right the injured cause."Then, in a tone apart and low—"Ah, little traitress! none must know795What idle dream, what lighter thought,What vanity full dearly bought,Joined to thine eye's dark witchcraft, drewMy spell-bound steps to Benvenue,In dangerous hour, and all but gave800Thy Monarch's life to mountain glaive!"—Aloud he spoke, "Thou still dost holdThat little talisman of gold,Pledge of my faith, Fitz-James's ring—What seeks fair Ellen of the King?"
805Full well the conscious maiden guessedHe probed the weakness of her breast;But, with that consciousness, there cameA lightening of her fears for Graeme,And more she deemed the Monarch's ire810Kindled 'gainst him, who, for her sireRebellious broadsword boldly drew;And, to her generous feeling true,She craved the grace of Roderick Dhu."Forbear thy suit—the King of kings815Alone can stay life's parting wings.I know his heart, I know his hand,Have shared his cheer, and proved his brand.My fairest earldom would I giveTo bid Clan-Alpine's Chieftain live!—820Hast thou no other boon to crave?No other captive friend to save?"Blushing, she turned her from the King,And to the Douglas gave the ring,As if she wished her sire to speak825The suit that stained her glowing cheek."Nay, then, my pledge has lost its force,And stubborn justice holds her course.Malcolm, come forth!"—and, at the word,Down kneeled the Graeme to Scotland's lord.830"For thee, rash youth, no suppliant sues,From thee may Vengeance claim her dues,Who, nurtured underneath our smile,Hast paid our care by treacherous wile,And sought, amid thy faithful clan,835A refuge for an outlawed man,Dishonoring thus thy loyal name.Fetters and warder for the Graeme!"His chain of gold the King unstrung,The links o'er Malcolm's neck he flung,840Then gently drew the glittering band,And laid the clasp on Ellen's hand.Harp of the North, farewell! The hills grow dark,On purple peaks a deeper shade descending;In twilight copse the glowworm lights her spark,845The deer, half seen, are to the covert wending.Resume thy wizard elm! the fountain lending,And the wild breeze, thy wilder minstrelsy;Thy slumbers sweet with Nature's vespers blending,With distant echo from the fold and lea,850And herdboy's evening pipe, and hum of housing bee.Yet, once again, farewell, thou Minstrel harp!Yet, once again, forgive my feeble sway,And little reck I of the censure sharpMay idly cavil at an idle lay.855Much have I owed thy strains on life's long way,Through secret woes the world has never known,When on the weary night dawned wearier day,And bitterer was the grief devoured alone.That I o'erlived such woes, Enchantress! is thine own.860Hark! as my lingering footsteps slow retire,Some Spirit of the Air has waked thy string!'Tis now a seraph bold, with touch of fire,'Tis now the brush of Fairy's frolic wing.Receding now, the dying numbers ring865Fainter and fainter down the rugged dell,And now the mountain breezes scarcely bringA wandering witch-note of the distant spell—And now, 'tis silent all!—Enchantress, fare thee well!
805Full well the conscious maiden guessedHe probed the weakness of her breast;But, with that consciousness, there cameA lightening of her fears for Graeme,And more she deemed the Monarch's ire810Kindled 'gainst him, who, for her sireRebellious broadsword boldly drew;And, to her generous feeling true,She craved the grace of Roderick Dhu."Forbear thy suit—the King of kings815Alone can stay life's parting wings.I know his heart, I know his hand,Have shared his cheer, and proved his brand.My fairest earldom would I giveTo bid Clan-Alpine's Chieftain live!—820Hast thou no other boon to crave?No other captive friend to save?"Blushing, she turned her from the King,And to the Douglas gave the ring,As if she wished her sire to speak825The suit that stained her glowing cheek."Nay, then, my pledge has lost its force,And stubborn justice holds her course.Malcolm, come forth!"—and, at the word,Down kneeled the Graeme to Scotland's lord.830"For thee, rash youth, no suppliant sues,From thee may Vengeance claim her dues,Who, nurtured underneath our smile,Hast paid our care by treacherous wile,And sought, amid thy faithful clan,835A refuge for an outlawed man,Dishonoring thus thy loyal name.Fetters and warder for the Graeme!"His chain of gold the King unstrung,The links o'er Malcolm's neck he flung,840Then gently drew the glittering band,And laid the clasp on Ellen's hand.
Harp of the North, farewell! The hills grow dark,On purple peaks a deeper shade descending;In twilight copse the glowworm lights her spark,845The deer, half seen, are to the covert wending.Resume thy wizard elm! the fountain lending,And the wild breeze, thy wilder minstrelsy;Thy slumbers sweet with Nature's vespers blending,With distant echo from the fold and lea,850And herdboy's evening pipe, and hum of housing bee.
Yet, once again, farewell, thou Minstrel harp!Yet, once again, forgive my feeble sway,And little reck I of the censure sharpMay idly cavil at an idle lay.855Much have I owed thy strains on life's long way,Through secret woes the world has never known,When on the weary night dawned wearier day,And bitterer was the grief devoured alone.That I o'erlived such woes, Enchantress! is thine own.
860Hark! as my lingering footsteps slow retire,Some Spirit of the Air has waked thy string!'Tis now a seraph bold, with touch of fire,'Tis now the brush of Fairy's frolic wing.Receding now, the dying numbers ring865Fainter and fainter down the rugged dell,And now the mountain breezes scarcely bringA wandering witch-note of the distant spell—And now, 'tis silent all!—Enchantress, fare thee well!
2.witch-elm that shades Saint Fillan's spring.The well or spring of St. Fillan is on the summit of a hill near Loch Earn, some miles northeast of the scene of the poem. The reason why Scott places the "Harp of the North" here is that St. Fillan was the favorite saint of Robert Bruce, and a relic of the saint had been borne in a shrine by a warlike abbot at the battle of Bannockburn. The word "witch" (more properly spelled "wych") is connected with "wicker" and means "bending," "drooping."
10.Caledon.Caledonia, poetic name for Scotland.
29.Monan's rill.Scott takes the liberty of assigning a "rill" to this Scottish martyr of the fourth century on his own authority, unless his editors have been at fault in failing to discover the stream indicated.
31.Glenartney's.Glen Artney or Valley of the Artney. The Artney is a small river northeast of the main scene of the poem.
33.Benvoirlich."Ben" is Scottish for mountain. Benvoirlich is near the western end of Glenartney.
53.Uam-Var.A mountain between Glenartney and the Braes of Doune. The name signifies "great den," and is derived from a rocky enclosure on the mountain-side, believed to have been used in primitive times as a toil or trap for deer. As told inStanza IVa giant was fabled to have inhabited this den.
71.linn.This word means either "waterfall" or "steep ravine." The latter is probably the meaning here.
89.Menteith.A village and district southeast of the line of lakes—Loch Katrine, Loch Achray, and Loch Vennachar—about which the main action of the poem moves.
93.Lochard.Loch Ard, a small lake south of Loch Katrine.Aberfoyle.A village east of Loch Ard.
95.Loch-Achray.See note on89.
97.Benvenue.A mountain on the south bank of Loch Katrine.
103.Cambusmore.An estate owned by Scott's friends, the Buchanans, on the border of the Braes of Doune.
105.Benledi.A majestic mountain shutting in the horizon to the north of Loch Vennachar.
106.Bochastle's heath.The plain between Loch Vennachar and the river Teith.
112.Brigg of Turk.A romantic bridge, still in existence, between Loch Vennachar and Loch Achray.
120.dogs of black Saint Hubert's breed.A breed of dogs, usually black in color, very keen of scent and powerful in build, were kept by the abbots of St. Hubert in commemoration of their patron saint, who was a hunter.
138.whinyard.Obsolete term forsword.
145.Trossachs.A wild and beautiful defile between Loch Katrine and Loch Achray. The word signifies "rough or bristled country."
166.Woe worth the chase."Woe worth" is an exclamation, equivalent to "alack!"
178.Round and around the sounds were cast.Notice the mimicry of the echo in the vowel sounds of the line.
196.tower ... on Shinar's plain.The Tower of Babel.
208.dewdrops sheen.What part of speech issheen? Is this use of the word obsolete in prose?
227.frequent flung."Frequent" is used in the original Latin sense (Lat.frequens) of "crowded together," "numerous."
256.Unless he climb, with footing nice.Scott says: "Until the present road was made through the romantic pass I have presumptuously attempted to describe, there was no mode of issuing out of the defile called the Trossachs, excepting by a sort of ladder, composed of the branches and roots of trees." What is the meaning of "nice" here? What other meanings has the word had?
313.Highland plunderers.The clans inhabiting the region about Loch Katrine were in the habit of making incursions into the neighboring Lowlands to plunder and lay waste the country. Their warlike habits were fostered by the rugged and almost inaccessible character of the country, which prevented the Lowlanders from retaliating upon them, and enabled them also to resist the royal authority.
363.snood.A ribbon worn by Scotch lassies and upon marriage replaced by the matron's "curch" or cap.plaid.A rectangular shawl-like garment made of the checkered cloth called tartan.
438.couch was pulled.Freshly pulled heather was the most luxurious bedding known to the Highlander.
440.ptarmigan and heath-cock.These birds are a species of grouse, the one red, the other black.
460.on the visioned future bent.The gift of second-sight was universally believed in at this period in the Highlands.
504.retreat in dangerous hour."The Celtic chieftains, whose lives were continually exposed to peril, had usually, in the most retired spot of their domain, some place of retreat for the hour of necessity ... a tower, a cavern, or a rustic hut." (Scott's note in edition of 1830.)
546.target.What is the connection of this word with that used in archery and gun-practice?
566.brook to wield."Brook" commonly means "endure." What is its exact meaning here?
573.Ferragus, or Ascabart.Two giants whose names appear frequently in medieval romances of chivalry. The first is better known as Ferran, under which name he figures in theOrlando Furiosoof Ariosto. Ascabart plays a part in the old English metrical romance of Sir Bevis of Hampton.
580.To whom, though more than kindred knew.This is a very obscure expression for Scott, who is usually so careful to make himself clear. The meaning seems to be: Ellen regarded her as a mother, though that was more than the actual kinship of the two justified (literally "knew how to recognize").
591.Knight of Snowdoun, James Fitz-James.As appears later in the poem, these were not his true name and title, though he was entitled to bear them.
622.a harp unseen.In modern Scotland the bagpipe has altogether taken the place of the harp. A writer of the sixteenth century says: "They (the Highlanders) take great delight to deck their harps with silver and precious stones; the poor ones that cannot attain thereunto deck them with crystal. They sing verses prettily compounded (i.e., composed) containing for the most part praises of valiant men."
638.pibroch.(Pronounced pee-brock.) A wild tumultuous tune played on the bagpipes in the onset of battle.
642.bittern.A wading bird, allied to the heron.
657.reveillé.As the rhyme shows, this word is pronouncedreh-vail'yahhere. The common pronunciation in the United States isrev-a-lee'. It is the drum-beat or bugle-call at dawn to arouse soldiers.
1.blackcock.See note to I,440.
7.minstrel grey.Until well on in the eighteenth century it was customary for Highland chieftains to keep in their service a bard, whose chief duty it was to sing the exploits of the ancestors of the line.
69.Lead forth his fleet.What kind of figure is contained in the wordfleetas applied to the flock of ducks?
131.harp, which erst Saint Modan swayed.St. Modan was not a harper, as Scott elsewhere ingenuously confesses, adding, however, that "Saint Dunstan certainly did play upon that instrument."
141.Wailed loud through Bothwell's bannered hall.The minstrel tries to account for the strange way in which his harp gives back mournful sounds instead of the joyous ones he is trying to evoke, by calling to Ellen's mind two other occasions when it behaved similarly. One of these was when it foreboded the death of Ellen's mother; the other when it foreboded the exile of the Douglasses during the minority of James V. For particulars, see the introduction on the historical setting of the poem. Bothwell Castle is on the Clyde, a few miles from Glasgow.
159.From Tweed to Spey.The Tweed is in the extreme southern part, the Spey in the northern part, of Scotland.
200.Lady of the Bleeding Heart.The minstrel calls Ellen so because a bleeding heart was the heraldic emblem of the Douglas family.
206.strathspey.A dance, named from the district of Strath Spey, in the north of Scotland. It resembled the reel, but was slower.
213.Clan-Alpine's pride.Clan Alpine was the collective name of the followers of Roderick Dhu, who figures later in the poem as Ellen's rejected suitor and the enemy of the mysterious "Knight of Snowdoun" who has just taken his departure from the island.
216.Lennox foray.Lennox is the district south of Menteith, in the Lowlands. It was the scene of innumerable forays and "cattle-drives."
221.In Holy-Rood a knight he slew.Holyrood is the royal castle at Edinburgh, where the court usually was held. It was deemed a heinous and desperate offense to commit an act of blood in the royal residence or its immediate neighborhood, since such an act was an indirect violation of the majesty of the king, and a breaking of "the king's peace." It was for this offense that Roderick Dhu was exiled, and compelled to live like an outlaw in his mountain fastness.
227.Who else dared give.Notice how skilfully Scott manages to give us the relations of the chief characters of the poem to each other, and to show that Ellen's father, pursued by the hatred of James V, has been given the island shelter in Loch Katrine by Roderick Dhu who is about to make his appearance in the story.
236.Full soon may dispensation sought.A papal dispensation was necessary, because Ellen and Roderick Dhu were cousins. See next note.
249.All that a mother could bestow.Here again the poet takes the indirect way of making clear his point, namely that the matron introduced in the first canto is the mother of Roderick Dhu. The phrase "an orphan in the wild," is in apposition with the following phrase "her sister's child"—i.e., Ellen herself. From this it appears that Lady Margaret is Ellen's aunt, and that Roderick Dhu is, therefore, Ellen's cousin.
260.Maronnan's cell.A chapel at the eastern extremity of Loch Lomond, dedicated to the rather obscure saint here named.
270.Bracklinn's thundering wave.The reference is to a cascade made by a mountain torrent at the Bridge of Bracklinn, near the village of Callender in Menteith. Notice how Scott's numerous references to places in the region where the poem is laid tend gradually to give us an idea of the richness and diversity of the landscape.
274.claymore.A large two-handed sword.
305.Thy father's battle-brand.Some swords, especially those which had been magically forged, were held to possess the property of drawing themselves from their scabbard at the approach of their owner's deadly enemy. This is thefirst vague hint which Scott gives us as to the real identity of the "Knight of Snowdoun." To throw a further glamor of romance about the prophetical weapon, he tells us that it was given by fairies to an ancestor of its present owner, namely, to Archibald, third Duke of Angus, called Tine-man (Loseman) because he always lost his men in battle, and that this gift was made while Archibald was in league with Harry Hotspur.
319.Beltane game.The sports of May Day.
327.canna.Cotton grass.
Stanza XVI. In this and the two following stanzas notice how skillfully description and narrative are woven together, and how the picture gains in detail and distinctness as the boats approach.
334.barges.What change has occurred in the use of this word?
335.Glengyle ... Brianchoil.Why does the poet introduce these proper names? Are they of any value as information?
343.tartans.See note to I, xix,363.
395.The chorus first could Allan know.The chorus was the first part of the song which the harper, listening from the shore, could distinctly make out.
408.Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu.The wordsvichanddhuare Gaelic, the first meaning "descendant of," the second "black or swarthy." King Alpine was the half-mythical ancestor from whom the clan of Alpine sprung. The line means, therefore, "Black Roderick, descendant of Alpine." Compare II, xii,220, where Allan-bane calls the chieftain "Black Sir Roderick."
410.Blooming at Beltane.See note to II,319.
416.Breadalbane.A large district in the western part of the county of Perth.
419–426.Glen Fruin, Bannochar, Glenn Luss, Ross-dhu, Leven-glen.What, in simple language, should you say was the value of this array of obscure names in the song?