XXVII

Now back they wend their watery way,565And, "O my sire!" did Ellen say,"Why urge thy chase so far astray?And why so late returned? And why"—The rest was in her speaking eye."My child, the chase I follow far,570'Tis mimicry of noble war;And with that gallant pastime reftWere all of Douglas I have left.I met young Malcolm as I strayedFar eastward, in Glenfinlas' shade,note575Nor strayed I safe; for all around,Hunters and horsemen scoured the ground.This youth, though still a royal ward,noteRisked life and land to be my guard,And through the passes of the wood580Guided my steps, not unpursued;And Roderick shall his welcome make,Despite old spleen, for Douglas' sake.Then must he seek Strath-Endrick glen,noteNor peril aught for me again."

585Sir Roderick, who to meet them came,Reddened at sight of Malcolm Graeme,Yet, not in action, word, or eye,Failed aught in hospitality.In talk and sport they whiled away590The morning of that summer day;But at high noon a courier lightHeld secret parley with the knight,Whose moody aspect soon declared,That evil were the news he heard.595Deep thought seemed toiling in his head;Yet was the evening banquet made,Ere he assembled round the flame,His mother, Douglas, and the Graeme,And Ellen too; then cast around600His eyes, then fixed them on the ground,As studying phrase that might availBest to convey unpleasant tale.Long with his dagger's hilt he played,Then raised his haughty brow, and said:

605"Short be my speech—nor time affords,Nor my plain temper, glozing words.Kinsman and father—if such nameDouglas vouchsafe to Roderick's claim;Mine honored mother—Ellen—why,610My cousin, turn away thine eye?—And Graeme, in whom I hope to knowFull soon a noble friend or foe,When age shall give thee thy command,And leading in thy native land—615List all—The King's vindictive prideBoasts to have tamed the Border-side,Where chiefs, with hound and hawk who cameTo share their monarch's silvan game,Themselves in bloody toils were snared;620And when the banquet they prepared,And wide their loyal portals flung,O'er their own gateway struggling hung.Loud cries their blood from Meggat's mead,noteFrom Yarrow braes, and banks of Tweed,625Where the lone streams of Ettrick glide,And from the silver Teviot's side;The dales, where martial clans did ride,Are now one sheep-walk, waste and wide.This tyrant of the Scottish throne,630So faithless, and so ruthless known,Now hither comes; his end the same,The same pretext of silvan game.What grace for Highland Chiefs, judge yeBy fate of Border chivalry.635Yet more; amid Glenfinlas' green,Douglas, thy stately form was seen.This by espial sure I know:Your counsel in the strait I show."

Ellen and Margaret fearfully640Sought comfort in each other's eye,Then turned their ghastly look, each one,This to her sire, that to her son.The hasty color went and cameIn the bold cheek of Malcolm Graeme;645But from his glance it well appeared,'Twas but for Ellen that he feared;While, sorrowful, but undismayed,The Douglas thus his counsel said:"Brave Roderick, though the tempest roar,650It may but thunder and pass o'er;Nor will I here remain an hour,To draw the lightning on thy bower;For well thou know'st, at this gray headThe royal bolt were fiercest sped.655For thee, who, at thy King's command,Canst aid him with a gallant band,Submission, homage, humbled pride,Shall turn the Monarch's wrath aside.Poor remnants of the Bleeding Heart,660Ellen and I will seek, apart,The refuge of some forest cell,There, like the hunted quarry, dwell,Till on the mountain and the moor,The stern pursuit be passed and o'er."

665"No, by mine honor," Roderick said,"So help me Heaven, and my good blade!No, never! Blasted be yon Pine,My fathers' ancient crest and mine,If from its shade in danger part670The lineage of the Bleeding Heart!Hear my blunt speech: Grant me this maidTo wife, thy counsel to mine aid;To Douglas, leagued with Roderick Dhu,Will friends and allies flock enow;675Like cause of doubt, distrust, and griefWill bind to us each Western Chief.When the loud pipes my bridal tell,The Links of Forth shall hear the knell,noteThe guards shall start in Stirling's porch;680And, when I light the nuptial torch,A thousand villages in flamesShall scare the slumbers of King James!—Nay, Ellen, blench not thus away,And, mother, cease these signs, I pray;685I meant not all my heat might say.Small need of inroad, or of fight,When the sage Douglas may uniteEach mountain clan in friendly band,To guard the passes of their land,690Till the foiled king, from pathless glen,Shall bootless turn him home again."

There are who have, at midnight hour,noteIn slumber scaled a dizzy tower,And, on the verge that beetled o'er695The ocean tide's incessant roar,Dreamed calmly out their dangerous dream,Till wakened by the morning beam;When, dazzled by the eastern glow,Such startler cast his glance below,700And saw unmeasured depth around,And heard unintermitted sound,And thought the battled fence so frail,It waved like cobweb in the gale;Amid his senses' giddy wheel,705Did he not desperate impulse feel,Headlong to plunge himself below,And meet the worst his fears foreshow?Thus, Ellen, dizzy and astound,As sudden ruin yawned around,710By crossing terrors wildly tossed,Still for the Douglas fearing most,Could scarce the desperate thought withstand,To buy his safety with her hand.

Such purpose dread could Malcolm spy715In Ellen's quivering lip and eye,And eager rose to speak—but ereHis tongue could hurry forth his fear,Had Douglas marked the hectic strife,Where death seemed combating with life;720For to her cheek, in feverish flood,One instant rushed the throbbing blood,Then ebbing back, with sudden sway,Left its domain as wan as clay."Roderick, enough! enough!" he cried,725"My daughter cannot be thy bride;Not that the blush to wooer dear,Nor paleness that of maiden fear.It may not be—forgive her, Chief,Nor hazard aught for our relief.730Against his sovereign, Douglas ne'erWill level a rebellious spear.'Twas I that taught his youthful handTo rein a steed and wield a brand;I see him yet, the princely boy!735Not Ellen more my pride and joy;I love him still, despite my wrongs,By hasty wrath, and slanderous tongues.O seek the grace you well may find,Without a cause to mine combined."

740Twice through the hall the Chieftain strode;The waving of his tartans broad,And darkened brow, where wounded prideWith ire and disappointment vied,Seemed, by the torch's gloomy light,745Like the ill Demon of the night,Stooping his pinions' shadowy swayUpon the knighted pilgrim's way.But, unrequited Love! thy dartPlunged deepest its envenomed smart,750And Roderick, with thine anguish stung,At length the hand of Douglas wrung,While eyes, that mocked at tears before,With bitter drops were running o'er.The death-pangs of long-cherished hope755Scarce in that ample breast had scope,But, struggling with his spirit proud,Convulsive heaved its checkered shroud,While every sob—so mute were all—Was heard distinctly through the hall.760The son's despair, the mother's look,Ill might the gentle Ellen brook;She rose, and to her side there came,To aid her parting steps, the Graeme.

Then Roderick from the Douglas broke—765As flashes flame through sable smoke,Kindling its wreaths, long, dark, and low,To one broad blaze of ruddy glow,So the deep anguish of despairBurst, in fierce jealousy, to air.770With stalwart grasp his hand he laidOn Malcolm's breast and belted plaid:"Back, beardless boy!" he sternly said,"Back, minion! hold'st thou thus at naughtThe lesson I so lately taught?775This roof, the Douglas, and that maid,Thank thou for punishment delayed."Eager as a greyhound on his gameFiercely with Roderick grappled Graeme."Perish my name, if aught afford780Its Chieftain's safety save his sword!"Thus as they strove, their desperate handGriped to the dagger or the brand,And death had been—but Douglas rose,And thrust between the struggling foes785His giant strength: "Chieftains, forego!I hold the first who strikes, my foe.Madmen, forbear your frantic jar!What! is the Douglas fallen so far,His daughter's hand is deemed the spoil790Of such dishonorable broil!"Sullen and slowly they unclasp,As struck with shame, their desperate grasp,And each upon his rival glared,With foot advanced, and blade half bared.

795Ere yet the brands aloft were flungMargaret on Roderick's mantle hung,And Malcolm heard his Ellen's scream,As faltered through terrific dream.Then Roderick plunged in sheath his sword800And veiled his wrath in scornful word:"Rest safe till morning; pity 'twerenoteSuch cheek should feel the midnight air!Then mayest thou to James Stuart tell,Roderick will keep the lake and fell,805Nor lackey, with his freeborn clan,The pageant pomp of earthly man.More would he of Clan-Alpine know,Thou canst our strength and passes show.Malise, what ho!"—his henchman came;note810"Give our safe-conduct to the Graeme."Young Malcolm answered, calm and bold,"Fear nothing for thy favorite hold;The spot, an angel deigned to grace,Is blessed, though robbers haunt the place.815Thy churlish courtesy for thoseReserve, who fear to be thy foes.As safe to me the mountain wayAt midnight as in blaze of day,Though with his boldest at his back820Even Roderick Dhu beset the track.—Brave Douglas—lovely Ellen—nay,Nought here of parting will I say.Earth does not hold a lonesome glenSo secret but we meet again.—825Chieftain! we too shall find an hour,"He said, and left the silvan bower.

Old Allan followed to the strand—Such was the Douglas's command—And anxious told, how, on the morn,830The stern Sir Roderick deep had swornThe Fiery Cross should circle o'ernoteDale, glen, and valley, down, and moor.Much were the peril to the GraemeFrom those who to the signal came;835Far up the lake 'twere safest land,Himself would row him to the strand.He gave his counsel to the wind,While Malcolm did, unheeding, bind,Round dirk and pouch and broadsword rolled,840His ample plaid in tightened fold,And stripped his limbs to such array,As best might suit the watery way—

Then spoke abrupt: "Farewell to thee,Pattern of old fidelity!"845The Minstrel's hand he kindly pressed—"Oh, could I point a place of rest!My sovereign holds in ward my land,My uncle leads my vassal band;To tame his foes, his friends to aid,850Poor Malcolm has but heart and blade.Yet, if there be one faithful Graeme,Who loves the chieftain of his name,Not long shall honored Douglas dwellLike hunted stag in mountain cell;855Nor, ere yon pride-swoll'n robber dare,I might not give the rest to air!Tell Roderick Dhu, I owed him nought,Not the poor service of a boat,To waft me to yon mountain-side."860Then plunged he in the flashing tide.Bold o'er the flood his head he bore,And stoutly steered him from the shore;And Allan strained his anxious eye,Far mid the lake his form to spy,865Darkening across each puny wave,To which the moon her silver gave,Fast as the cormorant could skim,The swimmer plied each active limb;Then landing in the moonlight dell,870Loud shouted of his weal to tell.The Minstrel heard the far halloo,And joyful from the shore withdrew.

Time rolls his ceaseless course. The race of yore,Who danced our infancy upon their knee,And told our marveling boyhood legends storeOf their strange ventures happed by land or sea,5How are they blotted from the things that be!How few, all weak and withered of their force,Wait on the verge of dark eternity,Like stranded wrecks, the tide returning hoarse,To sweep them from our sight! Time rolls his ceaseless course.10Yet live there still who can remember well,How, when a mountain chief his bugle blew,Both field and forest, dingle, cliff, and dell,And solitary heath, the signal knew;And fast the faithful clan around him drew,15What time the warning note was keenly wound,What time aloft their kindred banner flew,While clamorous war-pipes yelled the gathering sound,And while the Fiery Cross glanced, like a meteor, round.

10Yet live there still who can remember well,How, when a mountain chief his bugle blew,Both field and forest, dingle, cliff, and dell,And solitary heath, the signal knew;And fast the faithful clan around him drew,15What time the warning note was keenly wound,What time aloft their kindred banner flew,While clamorous war-pipes yelled the gathering sound,And while the Fiery Cross glanced, like a meteor, round.

The summer dawn's reflected hue20To purple changed Loch Katrine blue;Mildly and soft the western breezeJust kissed the lake, just stirred the trees,And the pleased lake, like maiden coy,Trembled but dimpled not for joy;25The mountain-shadows on her breastWere neither broken nor at rest;In bright uncertainty they lie,Like future joys to Fancy's eye.The water-lily to the light30Her chalice reared of silver bright;The doe awoke, and to the lawn,Begemmed with dew-drops, led her fawn;The gray mist left the mountain side,The torrent showed its glistening pride;35Invisible in fleckéd sky,The lark sent down her revelry;The blackbird and the speckled thrush,Good-morrow gave from brake and bush;In answer cooed the cushat dovenote40Her notes of peace, and rest, and love.

No thought of peace, no thought of rest,Assuaged the storm in Roderick's breast.With sheathéd broadsword in his hand,Abrupt he paced the islet strand,45And eyed the rising sun, and laidHis hand on his impatient blade.Beneath a rock, his vassals' careWas prompt the ritual to prepare,With deep and deathful meaning fraught;50For such Antiquity had taughtWas preface meet, ere yet abroadThe Cross of Fire should take its road.The shrinking band stood oft aghastAt the impatient glance he cast—55Such glance the mountain eagle threw,As, from the cliffs of Benvenue,She spread her dark sails on the wind,And, high in middle heaven reclined,With her broad shadow on the lake,60Silenced the warblers of the brake.

A heap of withered boughs was piled,Of juniper and rowan wild,Mingled with shivers from the oak,noteRent by the lightning's recent stroke.65Brian, the Hermit, by it stood,Barefooted, in his frock and hood.His grizzled beard and matted hairObscured a visage of despair;His naked arms and legs, seamed o'er,70The scars of frantic penance bore.That monk, of savage form and face,The impending danger of his raceHad drawn from deepest solitude,Far in Benharrow's bosom rude.note75Not his the mien of Christian priest,But Druid's, from the grave released,Whose hardened heart and eye might brookOn human sacrifice to look;And much, 'twas said, of heathen lore80Mixed in the charms he muttered o'er.The hallowed creed gave only worseAnd deadlier emphasis of curse;No peasant sought that Hermit's prayer,His cave the pilgrim shunned with care,85The eager huntsman knew his bound,And in mid chase called off his hound;Or if, in lonely glen or strath,noteThe desert-dweller met his path,He prayed, and signed the cross between,90While terror took devotion's mien.

Of Brian's birth strange tales were told.His mother watched a midnight fold,Built deep within a dreary glen,Where scattered lay the bones of men95In some forgotten battle slain,And bleached by drifting wind and rain.It might have tamed a warrior's heart,To view such mockery of his art!The knot-grass fettered there the hand100Which once could burst an iron band;Beneath the broad and ample bone,That bucklered heart to fear unknown,A feeble and a timorous guest,The fieldfare framed her lowly nest;note105There the slow blindworm left his slimeOn the fleet limbs that mocked at time;And there, too, lay the leader's skull,Still wreathed with chaplet, flushed and full,For heath-bell with her purple bloom110Supplied the bonnet and the plume.All night, in this sad glen, the maidSat, shrouded in her mantle's shade:She said no shepherd sought her side,No hunter's hand her snood untied;115Yet ne'er again to braid her hairThe virgin snood did Alice wear;noteGone was her maiden glee and sport,Her maiden girdle all too short,Nor sought she, from that fatal night,120Or holy church or blessed rite,But locked her secret in her breast,And died in travail, unconfessed.

Alone, among his young compeers,Was Brian from his infant years;125A moody and heartbroken boy,Estranged from sympathy and joy,Bearing each taunt with careless tongueOn his mysterious lineage flung.Whole nights he spent by moonlight pale,130To wood and stream his hap to wail,Till, frantic, he as truth receivedWhat of his birth the crowd believed,And sought, in mist and meteor fire,To meet and know his Phantom Sire!135In vain, to soothe his wayward fate,The cloister oped her pitying gate;In vain, the learning of the ageUnclasped the sable-lettered page;Even in its treasures he could find140Food for the fever of his mind.Eager he read whatever tellsOf magic, cabala, and spells,And every dark pursuit alliedTo curious and presumptuous pride;145Till with fired brain and nerves o'erstrung,And heart with mystic horrors wrung,Desperate he sought Benharrow's den,And hid him from the haunts of men.

The desert gave him visions wild,150Such as might suit the specter's child.Where with black cliffs the torrents toil,He watched the wheeling eddies boil,Till, from their foam, his dazzled eyesBeheld the River Demon rise;note155The mountain mist took form and limb,Of noontide hag, or goblin grim;noteThe midnight wind came wild and dread,Swelled with the voices of the dead;Far on the future battle-heath160His eyes beheld the ranks of death.Thus the lone Seer, from mankind hurled,Shaped forth a disembodied world.One lingering sympathy of mindStill bound him to the mortal kind;165The only parent he could claimOf ancient Alpine lineage came.Late had he heard, in prophet's dream,The fatal Ben-Shie's boding scream;noteSounds, too, had come in midnight blast,170Of charging steeds, careering fastAlong Benharrow's shingly side,Where mortal horseman ne'er might ride;The thunderbolt had split the pine—All augured ill to Alpine's line.175He girt his loins, and came to showThe signals of impending woe,And now stood prompt to bless or ban,As bade the Chieftain of his clan.

'Twas all prepared—and from the rock,180A goat, the patriarch of the flock,Before the kindling pile was laid,And pierced by Roderick's ready blade.Patient the sickening victim eyedThe life-blood ebb in crimson tide,185Down his clogged beard and shaggy limb,Till darkness glazed his eyeballs dim.The grisly priest, with murmuring prayer,A slender crosslet formed with care,A cubit's length in measure due;190The shaft and limbs were rods of yew,Whose parents in Inch-Cailliach wavenoteTheir shadows o'er Clan-Alpine's grave,And, answering Lomond's breezes deep,Soothe many a chieftain's endless sleep.195The Cross, thus formed, he held on high,With wasted hand and haggard eye,And strange and mingled feelings woke;While his anathema he spoke.

"Woe to the clansman, who shall viewnote200This symbol of sepulchral yew,Forgetful that its branches grewWhere weep the heavens their holiest dewOn Alpine's dwelling low!Deserter of his Chieftain's trust,205He ne'er shall mingle with their dust,But, from his sires and kindred thrust,Each clansman's execration justShall doom him wrath and woe."He paused—the word the vassals took,210With forward step and fiery look,On high their naked brands they shook,Their clattering targets wildly strook;And first in murmur low,Then, like the billow in his course,215That far to seaward finds his source,And flings to shore his mustered force,Burst, with loud roar, their answer hoarse,"Woe to the traitor, woe!"Ben-an's grey scalp the accents knew,220The joyous wolf from cover drew,The exulting eagle screamed afar—They knew the voice of Alpine's war.

The shout was hushed on lake and fell,The Monk resumed his muttered spell;225Dismal and low its accents came,The while he scathed the Cross with flame:And the few words that reached the air,Although the holiest name was there,Had more of blasphemy than prayer.230But when he shook above the crowdIts kindled points, he spoke aloud:"Woe to the wretch, who fails to rearAt this dread sign the ready spear!For, as the flames this symbol sear,235His home, the refuge of his fear,A kindred fate shall know;Far o'er its roof the volumed flameClan-Alpine's vengeance shall proclaim,While maids and matrons on his name240Shall call down wretchedness and shame,And infamy and woe."Then rose the cry of females, shrillAs goshawk's whistle on the hill,Denouncing misery and ill,245Mingled with childhood's babbling trillOf curses stammered slow;Answering, with imprecation dread,"Sunk be his home in embers red!And curséd be the meanest shed250That e'er shall hide the houseless headWe doom to want and woe!"A sharp and shrieking echo gave,Coir-Uriskin, thy goblin cave!noteAnd the gray pass where birches wave,255On Beala-nam-bo.

Then deeper paused the priest anew,And hard his laboring breath he drew,While, with set teeth and clenched hand,And eyes that glowed like fiery brand,260He meditated curse more dread,And deadlier, on the clansman's head,Who, summoned to his chieftain's aid,The signal saw and disobeyed.The crosslet's points of sparkling wood265He quenched among the bubbling blood,And, as again the sign he reared,Hollow and hoarse his voice was heard:"When flits this Cross from man to man,Vich-Alpine's summons to his clan,270Burst be the ear that fails to heed!Palsied the foot that shuns to speed!May ravens tear the careless eyes,Wolves make the coward heart their prize!As sinks that blood-stream in the earth,275So may his heart's blood drench his hearth!As dies in hissing gore the spark,Quench thou his light, Destruction dark!And be the grace to him denied,Bought by this sign to all beside!"280He ceased; no echo gave againThe murmur of the deep Amen.

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