XX

As up the flinty path they strainedSudden his steed the leader reined;A signal to his squire he flung,Who instant to his stirrup sprung:510"Seest thou, De Vaux, yon woodsman gray,Who townward holds the rocky way,Of stature tall and poor array?Mark'st thou the firm, yet active stride,With which he scales the mountain-side?515Know'st thou from whence he comes, or whom?""No, by my word—a burly groomHe seems, who in the field or chaseA baron's train would nobly grace.""Out, out, De Vaux! can fear supply,520And jealousy, no sharper eye?Afar, ere to the hill he drew,That stately form and step I knew;Like form in Scotland is not seen,Treads not such step on Scottish green.525'Tis James of Douglas, by Saint Serle!noteThe uncle of the banished Earl.Away, away, to court, to showThe near approach of dreaded foe;The King must stand upon his guard;530Douglas and he must meet prepared."Then righthand wheeled their steeds, and straightThey won the castle's postern gate.note

The Douglas, who had bent his wayFrom Cambus-Kenneth's abbey gray,535Now, as he climbed the rocky shelf,Held sad communion with himself:"Yes! all is true my fears could frame;A prisoner lies the noble Graeme,And fiery Roderick soon will feel540The vengeance of the royal steel.I, only I, can ward their fate—God grant the ransom come not late!The Abbess hath her promise given,My child shall be the bride of heaven.545Be pardoned one repining tear!For He, who gave her, knows how dear,How excellent!—but that is by,And now my business is—to die.—Ye towers! within whose circuit dread550A Douglas by his sovereign bled;And thou, O sad and fatal mound!That oft hast heard the death-ax sound,As on the noblest of the landFell the stern headsman's bloody hand—555The dungeon, block, and nameless tombPrepare—for Douglas seeks his doom!—But hark! what blithe and jolly pealMakes the Franciscan steeple reel?And see! upon the crowded street,560In motley groups what maskers meet!Banner and pageant, pipe and drum,And merry morris dancers come.I guess, by all this quaint array,The burghers hold their sports today.565James will be there; he loves such show,Where the good yeoman bends his bow,And the tough wrestler foils his foe,As well as where, in proud career,The high-born tilter shivers spear.570I'll follow to the Castle-park,And play my prize—King James shall markIf age has tamed these sinews stark,Whose force so oft, in happier days,His boyish wonder loved to praise."

575The Castle gates were open flung,The quivering drawbridge rocked and rung,And echoed loud the flinty streetBeneath the coursers' clattering feet,As slowly down the steep descent580Fair Scotland's King and nobles went,While all along the crowded wayWas jubilee and loud huzza.And ever James was bending low,To his white jennet's saddle-bow,note585Doffing his cap to city dame,Who smiled and blushed for pride and shame.And well the simperer might be vain—He chose the fairest of the train.Gravely he greets each city sire,590Commends each pageant's quaint attire.Gives to the dancers thanks aloud,And smiles and nods upon the crowd,Who rend the heavens with their acclaims,"Long live the Commons' King, King James!"595Behind the King thronged peer and knight,And noble dame and damsel bright,Whose fiery steeds ill brooked the stayOf the steep street and crowded way.But in the train you might discern600Dark lowering brow and visage stern;There nobles mourned their pride restrained,And the mean burgher's joys disdained;And chiefs, who, hostage for their clan,Were each from home a banished man,605There thought upon their own gray tower,Their waving woods, their feudal power,And deemed themselves a shameful partOf pageant which they cursed in heart.

Now, in the Castle-park, drew out610Their checkered bands the joyous rout.Their morricers, with bell at heel,noteAnd blade in hand, their mazes wheel;And chief, beside the butts, there standnoteBold Robin Hood and all his band—note615Friar Tuck with quarterstaff and cowl,Old Scathelocke with his surly scowl,Maid Marion, fair as ivory bone,Scarlet, and Mutch, and Little John;Their bugles challenge all that will,620In archery to prove their skill.The Douglas bent a bow of might—His first shaft centered in the white,noteAnd when in turn he shot again,His second split the first in twain.625From the King's hand must Douglas takeA silver dart, the archer's stake;Fondly he watched, with watery eye,Some answering glance of sympathy—No kind emotion made reply!630Indifferent as to archer wight,The monarch gave the arrow bright.

Now, clear the ring! for, hand to hand,The manly wrestlers take their stand.Two o'er the rest superior rose,635And proud demanded mightier foes,Nor called in vain; for Douglas came.—For life is Hugh of Larbert lame;Scarce better John of Alloa's fare,Whom senseless home his comrades bear.640Prize of the wrestling match, the KingTo Douglas gave a golden ring,While coldly glanced his eye of blue,As frozen drop of wintry dew.Douglas would speak, but in his breast645His struggling soul his words suppressed;Indignant then he turned him whereTheir arms the brawny yeomen bare.To hurl the massive bar in air.When each his utmost strength had shown,650The Douglas rent an earth-fast stoneFrom its deep bed, then heaved it high,And sent the fragment through the sky,A rood beyond the farthest mark;And still in Stirling's royal park,655The gray-haired sires, who know the past,To strangers point the Douglas-cast,And moralize on the decayOf Scottish strength in modern day.

The vale with loud applauses rang,660The Ladies' Rock sent back the clang.noteThe King, with look unmoved, bestowedA purse well-filled with pieces broad.Indignant smiled the Douglas proud,And threw the gold among the crowd,665Who now, with anxious wonder, scan,And sharper glance, the dark gray man;Till whispers rose among the throng,That heart so free, and hand so strong,Must to the Douglas blood belong.670The old men marked and shook the head,To see his hair with silver spread,And winked aside, and told each son,Of feats upon the English done,Ere Douglas of the stalwart hand675Was exiled from his native land.The women praised his stately form,Though wrecked by many a winter's storm;The youth with awe and wonder sawHis strength surpassing Nature's law.680Thus judged, as is their wont, the crowd,Till murmur rose to clamors loud.But not a glance from that proud ringOf peers who circled round the King,With Douglas held communion kind,685Or called the banished man to mind;No, not from those who, at the chase,Once held his side the honored place,Begirt his board, and, in the field,Found safety underneath his shield;690For he, whom royal eyes disown,When was his form to courtiers known!

The Monarch saw the gambols flag,And bade let loose a gallant stag,Whose pride, the holiday to crown,695Two favorite greyhounds should pull down,That venison free, and Bordeaux wine,Might serve the archery to dine.But Lufra—whom from Douglas' sideNor bribe nor threat could e'er divide,700The fleetest hound in all the North—Brave Lufra saw and darted forth.She left the royal hounds mid-way,And dashing on the antlered prey,Sunk her sharp muzzle in his flank,705And deep the flowing life-blood drank.The King's stout huntsman saw the sportBy strange intruder broken short,Came up, and with his leash unbound,In anger struck the noble hound.710The Douglas had endured, that morn,The King's cold look, the nobles' scorn,And last, and worst to spirit proud,Had borne the pity of the crowd;But Lufra had been fondly bred,715To share his board, to watch his bed,And oft would Ellen, Lufra's neckIn maiden glee with garlands deck;They were such playmates, that with nameOf Lufra, Ellen's image came.720His stifled wrath is brimming high,In darkened brow and flashing eye;As waves before the bark divide,The crowd gave way before his stride;Needs but a buffet and no more,725The groom lies senseless in his gore.Such blow no other hand could deal,Though gauntleted in glove of steel.

Then clamored loud the royal train,And brandished swords and staves amain,730But stern the Baron's warning—"Back!Back, on your lives, ye menial pack!Beware the Douglas.—Yes! behold,King James! the Douglas, doomed of old,And vainly sought for near and far,735A victim to atone the war,A willing victim, now attends,Nor craves thy grace but for his friends.""Thus is my clemency repaid?Presumptuous Lord!" the monarch said;740"Of thy misproud ambitious clan,Thou, James of Bothwell, wert the man,The only man, in whom a foeMy woman-mercy would not know:But shall a Monarch's presence brook745Injurious blow, and haughty look?What ho! the Captain of our Guard!Give the offender fitting ward.Break off the sports!"—for tumult rose,And yeomen 'gan to bend their bows—750"Break off the sports!" he said, and frowned,"And bid our horsemen clear the ground."

Then uproar wild and misarrayMarred the fair form of festal day.The horsemen pricked among the crowd,755Repelled by threats and insult loud;To earth are borne the old and weak,The timorous fly, the women shriek;With flint, with shaft, with staff, with bar,The hardier urge tumultuous war.760At once round Douglas darkly sweepThe royal spears in circle deep,And slowly scale the pathway steep;While on the rear in thunder pourThe rabble with disordered roar.765With grief the noble Douglas sawThe Commons rise against the law,And to the leading soldier said—"Sir John of Hyndford! 'twas my blade,That knighthood on thy shoulder laid;770For that good deed, permit me thenA word with these misguided men.

"Hear, gentle friends! ere yet for me,Ye break the bands of fealty.My life, my honor, and my cause,775I tender free to Scotland's laws.Are these so weak as must requireThe aid of your misguided ire?Or, if I suffer causeless wrong,Is then my selfish rage so strong,780My sense of public weal so low,That, for mean vengeance on a foe,Those cords of love I should unbind,Which knit my country and my kind?O no! Believe, in yonder tower785It will not soothe my captive hour,To know those spears our foes should dread,For me in kindred gore are red;To know, in fruitless brawl begun,For me, that mother wails her son;790For me, that widow's mate expires;For me, that orphans weep their sires;That patriots mourn insulted laws,And curse the Douglas for the cause.O let your patience ward such ill,795And keep your right to love me still!"

The crowd's wild fury sunk againIn tears, as tempests melt in rain.With lifted hands and eyes, they prayedFor blessings on his generous head,800Who for his country felt alone,And prized her blood beyond his own.Old men, upon the verge of life,Blessed him who stayed the civil strife;And mothers held their babes on high,805The self-devoted Chief to spy,Triumphant over wrongs and ire,To whom the prattlers owed a sire.Even the rough soldier's heart was moved;As if behind some bier beloved,810With trailing arms and drooping head,The Douglas up the hill he led,And at the Castle's battled verge,With sighs resigned his honored charge.

The offended Monarch rode apart,815With bitter thought and swelling heart,And would not now vouchsafe againThrough Stirling streets to lead his train."O Lennox, who would wish to ruleThis changeling crowd, this common fool?820Hear'st thou," he said, "the loud acclaim,With which they shout the Douglas name?With like acclaim, the vulgar throatStrained for King James their morning note;With like acclaim they hailed the day825When first I broke the Douglas' sway;And like acclaim would Douglas greet,If he could hurl me from my seat.Who o'er the herd would wish to reign,Fantastic, fickle, fierce, and vain!830Vain as the leaf upon the stream,And fickle as a changeful dream;Fantastic as a woman's mood,And fierce as Frenzy's fevered blood.Thou many-headed monster-thing,835O who could wish to be thy king!

"But soft! what messenger of speedSpurs hitherward his panting steed?I guess his cognizance afar—What from our cousin, John of Mar?"—840"He prays, my liege, your sports keep boundWithin the safe and guarded ground;For some foul purpose yet unknown—Most sure for evil to the throne—The outlawed Chieftain, Roderick Dhu,845Has summoned his rebellious crew;'Tis said, in James of Bothwell's aidThese loose banditti stand arrayed.The Earl of Mar, this morn, from Doune,To break their muster marched, and soon850Your Grace will hear of battle fought;But earnestly the Earl besought,Till for such danger he provide,With scanty train you will not ride."

"Thou warn'st me I have done amiss—855I should have earlier looked to this;I lost it in this bustling day.Retrace with speed thy former way;Spare not for spoiling of thy steedThe best of mine shall be thy meed.860Say to our faithful Lord of Mar,We do forbid the intended war.Roderick, this morn, in single fight,Was made our prisoner by a knight;And Douglas hath himself and cause865Submitted to our kingdom's laws.The tidings of their leaders lostWill soon dissolve the mountain host,Nor would we that the vulgar feelFor their Chief's crimes, avenging steel.870Bear Mar our message, Braco; fly!"He turned his steed—"My liege, I hie,Yet, ere I cross this lily lawn,noteI fear the broadswords will be drawn."The turf the flying courser spurned,875And to his towers the King returned.

Ill with King James's mood that day,Suited gay feast and minstrel lay;Soon were dismissed the courtly throng,And soon cut short the festal song.880Nor less upon the saddened townThe evening sunk in sorrow down.The burghers spoke of civil jar,Of rumored feuds and mountain war,Of Moray, Mar, and Roderick Dhu,885All up in arms—The Douglas too,They mourned him pent within the hold,"Where stout Earl William was of old."And there his word the speaker stayed,And finger on his lip he laid,890Or pointed to his dagger blade.But jaded horsemen, from the west,At evening to the Castle pressed;And busy talkers said they boreTidings of fight on Katrine's shore;895At noon the deadly fray begun,And lasted till the set of sun.Thus giddy rumor shook the town,Till closed the Night her pennons brown.

The sun, awakening, through the smoky airOf the dark city casts a sullen glance,Rousing each caitiff to his task of care,Of sinful man the sad inheritance;5Summoning revelers from the lagging dance,Scaring the prowling robber to his den;Gilding on battled tower the warder's lance,And warning student pale to leave his pen,And yield his drowsy eyes to the kind nurse of men.10What various scenes, and, Oh! what scenes of woe,Are witnessed by that red and struggling beam!The fevered patient, from his pallet low,Through crowded hospital beholds its stream;The ruined maiden trembles at its gleam;15The debtor wakes to thought of gyve and jail;The love-lorn wretch starts from tormenting dream;The wakeful mother, by the glimmering pale,Trims her sick infant's couch, and soothes his feeble wail.

10What various scenes, and, Oh! what scenes of woe,Are witnessed by that red and struggling beam!The fevered patient, from his pallet low,Through crowded hospital beholds its stream;The ruined maiden trembles at its gleam;15The debtor wakes to thought of gyve and jail;The love-lorn wretch starts from tormenting dream;The wakeful mother, by the glimmering pale,Trims her sick infant's couch, and soothes his feeble wail.

At dawn the towers of Stirling rang20With soldier-step and weapon-clang,While drums, with rolling note, foretellRelief to weary sentinel.Through narrow loop and casement barred,The sunbeams sought the Court of Guard,25And, struggling with the smoky air,Deadened the torches' yellow glare.In comfortless alliance shoneThe lights through arch of blackened stone,And showed wild shapes in garb of war,30Faces deformed with beard and scar,All haggard from the midnight watch,And fevered with the stern debauch;For the oak table's massive board,Flooded with wine, with fragments stored,35And beakers drained, and cups o'erthrown,Showed in what sport the night had flown.Some, weary, snored on floor and bench;Some labored still their thirst to quench;Some, chilled with watching, spread their hands40O'er the huge chimney's dying brands,While round them, or beside them flung,At every step their harness rung.note

These drew not for their fields the sword,Like tenants of a feudal lord,45Nor owned the patriarchal claimOf Chieftain in their leader's name;Adventurers they, from far who roved,To live by battle which they loved.There the Italian's clouded face,50The swarthy Spaniard's there you trace;The mountain-loving Switzer thereMore freely breathed in mountain-air;The Fleming there despised the soil,That paid so ill the laborer's toil;55Their rolls showed French and German name;And merry England's exiles came,To share, with ill-concealed disdain,Of Scotland's pay the scanty gain.All brave in arms, well trained to wield60The heavy halberd, brand, and shield;noteIn camps licentious, wild and bold;In pillage fierce and uncontrolled;And now, by holytide and feast,From rules of discipline released.

65They held debate of bloody fray,Fought 'twixt Loch Katrine and Achray.Fierce was their speech, and, mid their words,Their hands oft grappled to their swords;Nor sunk their tone to spare the ear70Of wounded comrades groaning near,Whose mangled limbs, and bodies gored,Bore token of the mountain sword,Though, neighboring to the Court of Guard,Their prayers and feverish wails were heard;75Sad burden to the ruffian joke,And savage oath by fury spoke!—At length up-started John of Brent,A yeoman from the banks of Trent;A stranger to respect or fear,80In peace a chaser of the deer,In host a hardy mutineer,But still the boldest of the crew,When deed of danger was to do.He grieved, that day, their games cut short,85And marred the dicer's brawling sport,And shouted loud, "Renew the bowl!And, while in merry catch I troll,Let each the buxom chorus bear,Like brethren of the brand and spear."

90Our vicar still preaches that Peter and PouleLaid a swinging long curse on the bonny brown bowl,That there's wrath and despair in the jolly black-jack,noteAnd the seven deadly sins in a flagon of sack;Yet whoop, Barnaby! off with thy liquor,95Drink upsees out, and a fig for the vicar!noteOur vicar he calls it damnation to sipThe ripe ruddy dew of a woman's dear lip,Says, that Beelzebub lurks in her kerchief so sly,And Apollyon shoots darts from her merry black eye;100Yet whoop, Jack! kiss Gillian the quicker,Till she bloom like a rose, and a fig for the vicar!Our vicar thus preaches—and why should he not?For the dues of his cure are the placket and pot;noteAnd 'tis right of his office poor laymen to lurch,note105Who infringe the domains of our good Mother Church.Yet whoop, bully-boys! off with your liquor,Sweet Marjorie's the word, and a fig for the Vicar!

Our vicar he calls it damnation to sipThe ripe ruddy dew of a woman's dear lip,Says, that Beelzebub lurks in her kerchief so sly,And Apollyon shoots darts from her merry black eye;100Yet whoop, Jack! kiss Gillian the quicker,Till she bloom like a rose, and a fig for the vicar!

Our vicar thus preaches—and why should he not?For the dues of his cure are the placket and pot;noteAnd 'tis right of his office poor laymen to lurch,note105Who infringe the domains of our good Mother Church.Yet whoop, bully-boys! off with your liquor,Sweet Marjorie's the word, and a fig for the Vicar!

The warder's challenge, heard without,Stayed in mid-roar the merry shout.110A soldier to the portal went—"Here is old Bertram, sirs, of Ghent;And—beat for jubilee the drum!A maid and minstrel with him come."Bertram, a Fleming, gray and scarred,115Was entering now the Court of Guard,A harper with him, and in plaidAll muffled close, a mountain maid,Who backward shrunk, to 'scape the viewOf the loose scene and boisterous crew.120"What news?" they roared. "I only know,From noon till eve we fought with foe,As wild and as untamableAs the rude mountains where they dwell;On both sides store of blood is lost,125Nor much success can either boast.""But whence thy captives, friend? Such spoilAs theirs must needs reward thy toil.Old dost thou wax, and wars grow sharp;Thou now hast glee-maiden and harp!130Get thee an ape, and trudge the land,The leader of a juggler band."

"No, comrade; no such fortune mine.After the fight these sought our line,That aged harper and the girl,135And, having audience of the Earl,Mar bade I should purvey them steed,And bring them hitherward with speed.Forbear your mirth and rude alarm,For none shall do them shame or harm."140"Hear ye his boast?" cried John of Brent,Ever to strife and jangling bent;"Shall he strike doe beside our lodge,And yet the jealous niggard grudgeTo pay the forester his fee?145I'll have my share, howe'er it be,Despite of Moray, Mar, or thee."Bertram his forward step withstood;And, burning in his vengeful mood,Old Allan, though unfit for strife;150Laid hand upon his dagger-knife;But Ellen boldly stepped between,And dropped at once the tartan screen.So, from his morning cloud, appearsThe sun of May, through summer tears.155The savage soldiery, amazed,As on descended angel gazed;Even hardy Brent, abashed and tamed,Stood half admiring, half ashamed.

Boldly she spoke—"Soldiers, attend!160My father was the soldier's friend;Cheered him in camps, in marches led,And with him in the battle bled.Not from the valiant, or the strong,Should exile's daughter suffer wrong."165Answered De Brent, most forward stillIn every feat of good or ill:"I shame me of the part I played;And thou an outlaw's child, poor maid!An outlaw I by forest laws,170And merry Needwood knows the cause.Poor Rose—if Rose be living now"—He wiped his iron eye and brow—"Must bear such age, I think, as thou.Hear ye, my mates; I go to call175The Captain of our watch to hall.There lies my halberd on the floor;And he that steps my halberd o'er,To do the maid injurious part,My shaft shall quiver in his heart!180Beware loose speech, or jesting rough;Ye all know John de Brent. Enough."

Their Captain came, a gallant young—Of Tullibardine's house he sprung—Nor wore he yet the spurs of knight;185Gay was his mien, his humor light,And, though by courtesy controlled,Forward his speech, his bearing bold.The high-born maiden ill could brookThe scanning of his curious look190And dauntless eye; and yet, in sooth,Young Lewis was a generous youth;But Ellen's lovely face and mien,Ill suited to the garb and scene,Might lightly bear construction strange,195And give loose fancy scope to range."Welcome to Stirling towers, fair maid!Come ye to seek a champion's aid,On palfrey white, with harper hoar,Like errant damosel of yore?200Does thy high quest a knight require,Or may the venture suit a squire?"Her dark eye flashed—she paused and sighed—"O what have I to do with pride!Through scenes of sorrow, shame, and strife,205A suppliant for a father's life,I crave an audience of the King.Behold, to back my suit, a ring,The royal pledge of grateful claims,Given by the Monarch to Fitz-James."

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