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 POETRY 
 
 SIR WALTER SCOTT.
 
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 SIB. WAILTEIR SCOTT. BAIB,T
 
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 THE 
 
 POETICAL WORKS 
 
 OF * 
 
 SIR WALTER SCOTT, Baet. 
 
 INCLUDINO 
 
 THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL; MAROTON; 
 
 THE LADY OF THE LAKE,; THE VISION OF DON RODERICK; 
 
 ROKEBY; THE LORD OF THE ISLES; LYRICAL PIECES; 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS AND BALLADS. 
 
 WITH A MEMOB OF THE AUTHOE. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY ENGRAVINGS. 
 
 EDINBURGH: 
 ADAM AND CHARLES BLACK, NORTH BRIDGE, 
 
 BOOKSELLEES AND PUBLISHERS TO THE QUEEX. 
 MDCCCLVI.
 
 STtREOTTPEO iVD PaiXTED BT STEVENSON 
 lUlSTLE STREET, EDtNBDRGU.
 
 30^ 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 SANTA BARBARA 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Memoiti of Sra Walter Scott 7-19 
 
 The Lay of the Last Minstrel 21-100 
 
 Notes 661-670 
 
 Marmiou 101-233 
 
 Notes 671-696 
 
 The Lauy op the Lake 235-344 
 
 Notes 697-707 
 
 The Vision op Don Roderick 345-368 
 
 Notes 708-714 
 
 RoKEBY 369-479 
 
 Notes 715-726 
 
 The Lord of the Isles 481-580 
 
 Notes 727-742 
 
 Songs, Lyrical Pieces, Miscellaneous Poejis, 
 
 AUD Ballads ...... ... 581-653 
 
 Notes 743-747
 
 ]\IEM01E OF THE AUTHOE. 
 
 Sm Walter Scott -vras bom at Edinburgh on the 15th 
 of August 1771, the same day which gave birth to Napoleon 
 Bonaparte. " My birth," says he, " was neither distinguished 
 nor sordid. According to the prejudices of my country, it 
 was esteemed gentle, as I was connected, though remotely, 
 with ancient famihes, both by my father's and mother's side." 
 His paternal great-grandfather — a cadet of the border family 
 of Harden — was sprung in the fourteenth century from the 
 great house of Buccleuch ; his grandfather became a farmer 
 in Koxburghshire ; and his father, Walter Scott, was a writer 
 to the signet in the Scottish capital. His mother, Anne 
 Rutherford, was the daughter of one of the medical professors 
 in the university of Edinburgh. 
 
 Neither Scott's poetical turn nor his extraordinary powers 
 of memory seem to have been inherited fi'om either of his 
 parents. His early years displayed little precocity of talent ; 
 and the uneventful tenor of his childhood and youth seemed 
 little calculated to awaken in his mind a love of the imagin- 
 ative or romantic. 
 
 Before he had completed his second year, delicacy of con- 
 stitution, and lameness which proved permanent, assailed him, 
 and soon afterwards caused his removal to the country. There, 
 at his grandfather's farm-house of Sandyknowe, situated be- 
 neath the crags of a mined baronial tower, and overlooking 
 a district famous in border-history, the poet passed his child- 
 hood tiD about his eighth year, with scarcely any inten-uption 
 but a year at Bath. At this early age was evinced his warm 
 sympathy with the beauty and grandeur of nature ; and the 
 ballads and legends, recited to him amid the scenes in which 
 their events were laid, co-operated in after-days with family 
 and national pride to decide the bent of the border-minstrel's 
 fancy. 
 
 His health being partially confirmed, he was recalled 
 home ; and from the end of 1778 till 1783 his education was 
 conducted in the High School of Edinburgh, with the assistance 
 of a tutor resident in his father's house. Prior to this change, 
 he bad shewn a decided inclination towards literary pursuits ; 
 but now, introduced with imperfect preparation into a large 
 and thoroughly traLned class, consisting of boisterous boys,
 
 3 MEMOIR OP THE AUTHOR. 
 
 his childish zeal for learning seems to have \eea qnenched 
 by ambition of another kind. His memory, it is true, was 
 still remarkable, and procured for him from his master the 
 title of historian of the class ; while he produced some school- 
 verses, both translated and original, at least creditable for a 
 boy of twelve. Even his intellectual powers, however, were 
 less active in the proper business of the school than in enticing 
 his companions from their tasks by merry jests and little 
 stories ; and his place as a scholar rarely rose above mediocrity. 
 But his reputation stood high in the play-ground, where, pos- 
 sessed of unconquerable courage, and eager to defeat the scorn 
 which his physical defects excited, he performed hazardous feats 
 of agility, and gained pugilistic trophies over comrades who, 
 that they might have no unfair advantage over the lame boy, 
 fought, like him, lashed face to face on a plank. At home, 
 his tutor, a zealous Presbyterian, instructed him, chiefly by 
 conversation in the facts of Scottish history, though without 
 being able to shake those opinions which the boy had already 
 taken up as an inheritance from his Jacobite ancestors. At 
 every interval also which could be stolen from the watchfulness 
 of his elders, he eagerly pursued a course of reading miscel- 
 laneous and undigested, embracing much that to most minds 
 would have been either useless or positively injurious. " I 
 left the High School," says he, " with a great quantity of 
 general information, ill arranged, indeed, and collected without 
 system, yet deeply impressed upon my mind, readily assorted 
 by my power of connection and memory, and gilded, if I may 
 be permitted to say so, by a vivid and active imagination." 
 
 His perusal of histories, voyages, and travels, fairy tales, 
 romances, and Enghsh poetry, was continued with increasing 
 avidity during a long visit which, in his twelfth year, he paid 
 to his father's sister at the village of Kelso, where the young 
 student read for the first time, with entranced enthusiasm, 
 Percy's Keliques of Ancient Poetry. This work, besides the 
 delight imparted by its poems, gave new dignity, in his eyes, 
 to his favourite Scottish ballads, which he had already begun 
 to collect from recitation, and to copy in little volumes, several 
 of which are still preserved. " To this period, also," he tells 
 ns, " I can trace distinctly the awaking of that delightful 
 feeling for the beauties of natural objects, which has never 
 since deserted me. The romantic feelings which I have de- 
 scribed as predominating in my mind, naturally rested upon 
 and associated themselves with the grand features of the land- 
 scape around me ; and the historical incidents or traditional 
 legends connected with many of them gave to my admiration 
 a sort of intense impression of reverence, which at times made 
 my heart feel too big for its bosom. From this time the 
 love of natural beauty, more especially when combined with 
 ancient ruins, or remains of our fathers' piety or splendour, 
 became with me an insatiable passion, which, if circumstances
 
 MEMOIR OP THE AUTHOR. 9 
 
 had permitted, I would willingly have gratified by travelling 
 over half tlie globe." 
 
 In November 1783, Scott became a student in the univer- 
 sity of Edinburgh, where he seems to have attended the classes 
 of Greek, Latin, and logic, during one session, with those of 
 ethics and universal history at a later period, while pre- 
 paring for the bar. At college the scholastic part of his edu- 
 cation proceeded even more unprosperously than it had pre- 
 viously done. For science, mental, physical, or mathematical, 
 he displayed no inclination ; and in the acquisition of languages, 
 for which he possessed considerable aptitude, he was but 
 partially industrious or successful. Of Greek, as his son-in- 
 law and biographer admits, he had in later life forgotten the 
 very alphabet. He had indeed entered on the study with 
 disadvantages similar to those which had formerly impeded 
 his progress in Latin. Inferior to his competitors, he petulantly 
 resolved to despise the study ; and by his carelessness, and 
 by an essay maintaining Ariosto to be a better poet than 
 Homer, he provoked Dr. Dalziel to pronounce of him " that 
 dunce he was, and dunce he would remain." His knowledge 
 of Latin also does not appear to have been more than 
 superficial, although we are informed that for some writers in 
 ihat tongue, especially Lucan, Claudian, and Buchanan, he 
 had in after life a decided predilection. About the time now 
 under review, he also acquired French, Italian, and Spanish, 
 all of which he afterwards read with sufficient ease ; and the 
 German language was learned a few years later, but never 
 critically understood. 
 
 During a severe illness between his twelfth and sixteenth 
 year his stores of romantic and poetical reading received a 
 vast increase, and one of his schoolfellows has given an 
 interesting account of excursions in the neighbourhood of the 
 city, during this period, when the two youths read poems and 
 romances of knight-errantry, and exercised their invention in 
 composing and relating to each other interminable tales 
 modelled on their favourite books. The vocation of the 
 romance-writer and poet of chivalry was thus already fixed. 
 His health likewise became permanently robust, and the 
 lameness in one leg, which was the sole remnant of his early 
 complaints, was through life no obstacle to his habits of active 
 bodily exertion, or to his love for out-of-door sports and exercise. 
 
 The next step in his life did not seem directed towards the 
 goal to which all his favourite studies pointed. His father, a 
 formal though high-spirited and high-principled man, designed 
 him for the legal profession ; and, although he was desirous 
 tliat his son should embrace the highest department of it, 
 considered it advisable, according to a practice not uncommon 
 in Scotland, that he should be prepared for the bar by an 
 ediication as an attorney. Accordingly, in May 1786, Scott, 
 then nearly fifteen years old, was articled for Sve years as an
 
 10 MEMOIR OP THE AUTHOR. 
 
 apprentice to his father, in whose chambers he continued to 
 discharge the humble duties of a clerk, until, about the year 
 1790, he had, with his father's approbation, finally resolved on 
 coming to the bar. Of the amount of the young poet's pro- 
 fessional industry during those years of servitude we possess 
 conflicting representations ; but many circumstances in hia 
 habits, many peculiarities in the knowledge he exhibits inci- 
 dently in his works, and perhaps even much of his resolute 
 literary industry, may be safely referred to the period of his 
 apprenticeship, and be admitted as evidence that at all events 
 he v^as not systematically negligent of his duties. Historical 
 and imaginative reading, however, continued to be prosecuted 
 with undiminished ardour; summer excursions into the High- 
 lands introduced him to the scenes and to more than one of 
 the characters, which afterwards figured in his most success- 
 ful works ; while in the law-classes of the university, as well 
 as in the juvenile debating societies, he formed, or renewed 
 from his school-days, acquaintance with several who became 
 in manhood his cherished friends and his literary advisers. 
 In 1791 the Speculative Society made him acquainted with 
 Mr Jeffrey and those other young men whoso subsequent 
 celebrity has reflected lustre on the arena ot their early 
 training. 
 
 Scott's attempts in poetry had now become more ambitious ; 
 for, about the completion of his fifteenth year, he is said to 
 have composed a poem in four books on the Conquest of 
 Granada, which, however, he almost immediately burned, and 
 no trace of it has been preserved. During some years after 
 this time, we hear of no other literary compositions than essays 
 for the debating societies. 
 
 In July 1792 he was called to the bar. Immediately after 
 his first circuit, he commenced that series of " raids," as he 
 playfully called them, or excursions into the secluded border- 
 districts, which in a few years enabled him to amass the 
 materials for his first considerable work. His walks on the 
 boards of the Parliament House, the Westminster Hall of 
 Scotland, if they gained him for a time few professional fees, 
 speedily procured him renown among his fellow-lawyers as a 
 story-teller of high excellence ; his father's connexions and his 
 own friendships opened for him a ready admission into the 
 best society of the city, in which his cheerful temper and his 
 rich store of anecdotes made him universally popular ; and his 
 German studies produced, in 1796, his earUest poetical efibrts 
 that were published, namely, the translations of Burger's 
 ballads, Lenora, and the Wild Huntsman. The same year 
 witnessed the disappointment of a long and fondly-cherished 
 hope, by the marriage of a young lady, whose image, notwith- 
 standing, clung to his memory through life, and inspired some 
 of the tenderest strains of his poetry. In the summer of 1797, 
 Uowever, on a visit to the watering-place of Gilsland, in Cum-
 
 MEMOIK OP THE AT7TH0R. 11 
 
 berland, he became acquainted with Charlotte Margaret 
 Carpenter, a young lady of French birth and parentage, and a 
 mutual attachment having ensued, they were married at Car- 
 lisle in December of the same year. 
 
 The German ballads served as the translator's introduction 
 to the then celebrated Matthew Gregory Lewis, who enlisted 
 him as a contributor to his poetical Tales of Wonder ; and one 
 cannot now but smile to hear of the elation with which the 
 author of Waverley at that time contemplated the patronising 
 kindness extended to him by the author of The Monk. Early 
 in 1788 was published Scott's translation of Goethe's Goetz 
 von Berlichingen, which, through Lewis's assistance, was sold 
 to a London bookseller for twenty-five guineas ; but, though 
 favourably criticised, it was coldly received by the public. In 
 the summer of 1799, the poet wrote those ballads which he has 
 himself called his " first serious attempts in verse ;" the Glen- 
 finlas, the Eve of St John, and the Grey Brother. 
 
 After Scott's marriage, several of his summers were spent 
 in a pretty cottage at Lasswade, near Edinburgh, where he 
 formed, besides other acquaintances, those of the noble houses 
 of Melville and Buccleuch, whose influence procured for him, 
 in the end of 1799, his appointment as sheriff-depute of Sel- 
 kirkshire, an office imposing little duty, while it yielded a 
 permanent salary of £300 per annum. His father's death had 
 recently bestowed on him a small patrimony ; his wife had an 
 income considerable enough to aid him greatly ; his practice 
 as a lawyer yielded, though not much, yet more than barristers 
 of his standing can usually boast of; and, altogether, his 
 situation in life was strikingly favourable compared with tha/; 
 of most literary men. Still, however, though now twenty-eight 
 years of age, he had done nothing to found a reputation as a 
 man of letters ; and there appeared as yet little probability 
 that he would devote himself to literature as a profession, or 
 consider it as any thing more than a relaxation for those leisure 
 hours left unoccupied by business, and by the enjo}Tnents of 
 society. 
 
 In 1800 and 1801 those hours were employed in the pre- 
 paration of the Border Minstrelsy, the first two volumes of 
 which appeared in the beginning of the next year, and the 
 edition, consisting of eight hundred copies, was sold off before 
 its close. This work, the earliest which can be said to have 
 contributed to his general fame, yielded him about eighty 
 pounds of clear profit ; a sum far inadequate to defray the 
 expense of the investigations out of which it sprang. In 1803 
 it was completed by the publication of the third volume. 
 Besides the value which the Minstrelsy possesses in itself, in 
 the noble antique ballads, so industriously, tastefully, and yet 
 conscientiously edited, in the curious and lively information 
 which overflows through all the prose annotations, and in 
 those few original poems which gave the earliest and most
 
 12 MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 significant intimation of that genius which as yet had lurked 
 unseen, the work has now a separate value and interest, as 
 forming the most curious of all illustrations for the history of 
 its editor's mind and of his subsequent works. " One of the 
 critics of that day," remarks Mr Lockhart, " said that the hook 
 contained ' the elements of a himdred historical romances ;' and 
 this critic was a prophetic one. No person who has not gone 
 through its volumes for the express purpose of comparing their 
 contents with his great original works, can have formed a con- 
 ception of the endless variety of incidents and images, now 
 expanded and emblazoned by his mature art, of which the first 
 hints may be found either in the text of those primitive ballads, 
 or in the notes which the happy rambles of his youth had 
 gathered together for their illustration." 
 
 But before the publication of the Border Minstrelsy, the 
 poet had begun to attempt a higher flight. " In the third 
 volume," says he, writing to his fi-iend George Ellis in 1803, 
 " I intend to publish a long poem of my own. It will be a kind 
 of romance of border chivalry, in a light-horseman sort of 
 stanza." This border romance was the Lay of the Last 
 Minstrel, which, however, soon extended in plan and dimen- 
 sions, and, originating as a ballad on a goblin story, became at 
 length a long and varied poem. The first draught of it, in its 
 present shape, was written in the autumn of 1802, and the 
 whole history of its progress has been delightfully told by the 
 author himself, and is well illustrated by his biographer. 
 
 In 1803, during a visit to London, Scott, already familiarly 
 acquainted with Ellis, Heber, and other literary men, and now 
 possessing high reputation based upon the Minstrelsy, was 
 introduced to several of the first men of the time ; and thence- 
 forth, bland as he was in manner, and kind in heart, inde- 
 fatigable and successful in his study of human character, and 
 always willing to receive with cordiality the strangers whom 
 his waxing fame brought about liim, it is not surprising to 
 find, that not to know personally Walter Scott, argued one's 
 self unknown. The toleration and kindliness of his character 
 are illustrated by the fact, that firm as his own political 
 opinions were, and violently as excitement sometimes led him 
 to express them, not only did he always continue on friendly 
 terms with the chief men of the opposite party in Edinburgh, 
 but several of them were his intimate friends and associates ; 
 and he even was for some years an occasional contributor to 
 the Edinburgh Eeview. 
 
 In 1804 was published his edition of the ancient poem of 
 Sir Tristrem, so valuable for its learned dissertations, and for 
 that admirable imitation of the antique, which appears as a 
 conrinuation of the early minstrel's work. 
 
 During that year and the preceding, the Lay was freely 
 submitted to all the author's friends, Wordsworth and Jeffrey 
 among the rest ; and after undergoing various changes, and
 
 MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. 13 
 
 receiving enthusiastic approval in several quarters from which 
 commendation was wont to issue but sparingly, it was at length 
 pubKshed, in the iirst week of 1805. The poet, now thirty- 
 three years of age, took his place at once as a classic in English 
 literature. Its circulation immediately became immense, and 
 has since exceeded that of any other English poem. 
 
 At this culminating point of the poet's life, we must turn 
 aside from the nan-ative of his literary triumphs, to notice a 
 step of another kind, which proved the most important he ever 
 took. In one of those interesting communications of 1830, 
 which throw so much light on his personal history, he has told 
 us, that from the moment when it became certain that litera- 
 ture was to form the principal emplojTuent of his days, he 
 determined that it should at least not constitute a necessary 
 source of his income. Few literary men, perhaps, have not 
 nourished a wish of this sort ; but very few indeed have pos- 
 sessed, like Scott, the means of converting the desire into an 
 effectual resolution. In 1805, as his biographer tells us, he 
 was, "independently of practice at the bar and of literary 
 profits, in possession of a fixed revenue of nearly, if not quite, 
 £1000 a year." To most men of letters this income would 
 have appeared affluence ; but Scott has frankly avowed, that 
 he did not think it such. His mind was already filled with 
 the ambition, not of founding a new family (for that was too 
 mean an aim for his pride of birth to stoop to), but of adding 
 to his own ancestral pretensions that claim to respect which 
 ancient pedigree does not always possess when it stands alone, 
 but which belongs to it beyond challenge when it is united 
 with territorial possessions. The fame of a great poet, now 
 within his reach, if not already grasped, seemed to him a little 
 thing, compared with the dignity of a well-descended and 
 wealthy Scottish landholder; and, while neither he nor his 
 friends could yet have foreseen the immensity of those resources 
 which his genius was afterwards to place at his disposal for the 
 attainment of his favourite wish, two plans occurred and were 
 executed, which promised to conduct him far at least towards 
 the goal. 
 
 The first of these was the obtaining of one of the principal 
 clerkships in the Scottish Court of Session, offices of high 
 respectability, the duties of which were executed at a moderate 
 cost of time and trouble, and remunerated at that time by an 
 income of about £800 a year, which was afterwards increased 
 to £1300. This object was attained early in 1806, through his 
 ministerial influence, aided by the consideration paid to his 
 talents ; although, owing to a private arrangement with his 
 predecessor, he did not receive any part of the emoluments till 
 six years later. 
 
 The second plan was of a different sort, being in fact a 
 eommercial speculation. James Ballantyne, a schoolfellow of 
 Scott, a man possessing considerable literary talent, having
 
 14 MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 become the editor and printer of a newspaper in Kelso, had 
 been employed to print the Minstrelsy, and acquired great 
 reputation by the elegance with which that work was produced. 
 Soon afterwards, in pursuance of Scott's advice, he removed 
 to Edinburgh, where, under the patronage of the poet and his 
 friends, and assisted by his own character and skill, his print- 
 ing business accumulated to an extent which his capital, even 
 Trith pecuniary aid from Scott, proved inadequate to sustain. 
 An application for a new loan was met by a refusal, accom- 
 panied, however, by a proposal, that Scott should make a large 
 advance, on condition of being admitted as a partner in the 
 firm, to the amount of a third share. Accordingly, in May 
 1805, Walter Scott became regularly a partner of the printing- 
 house of James Ballantyne and Company, though the fact 
 remained for the public, and for all his friends but one, a pro- 
 found secret. " The forming of this commercial connexion 
 was," says his son-in-law, "one of the most important steps in 
 Scott's life. He continued bound by it during twenty years, 
 and its influence on his literary exertions and his worldly 
 fortunes was productive of much good and not a little evil. 
 Its effects were in truth so mixed and balanced during the 
 vicissitudes of a long and vigorous career, that I at this moment 
 doubt whether it ought, on the whole, to be considered with 
 more of satisfaction or of regret." 
 
 From this time we are to view Scott as incessantly engaged 
 in that memorable course of literary industry whose toils ad- 
 vancing years served only to augment, and from which neither 
 the duties of his two professional offices of clerk of session and 
 sheriff, nor the increasing claims made on him by society, were 
 ever able to divert him. He now stood deservedly high in 
 the favour of the booksellers, not merely as a poet and man of 
 genius, but as one possessed of an extraordinary mass of infor- 
 mation, and of such habits as qualified him eminently for turn- 
 ing his knowledge to account. He was therefore soon em- 
 barked in undertakings, not indeed altogether inglorious, but 
 involving an amount of drudgery to which, perhaps, no man 
 of equal original genius has ever condescended. The earliest 
 of these was bis edirion of Dryden, which, entered upon in 
 1805, was completed and published in 1808. 
 
 But the list of works in which his poetical genius shone 
 forth, continued rapidly to increase amidst his multiplicity of 
 other avocations. From the summer of 1804 till that of 1812, 
 the spring and autumnal vacations of the court were spent by 
 him and his family at A shestiel, a small mansion romantically 
 overhanging the Tweed some miles above Melrose, and rented 
 from one of the poet's kinsmen. In this beautiful retreat, at 
 intervals during twelve months, was chiefly composed the 
 magnificent poem of Marmion, which was published in the 
 beginning of 1808. At the same place, likewise, in 1805, were 
 composed the opening chapters of a novel which, on the dia-
 
 MEMOIR OP THE AUTHOR. 15 
 
 approval of one of the author's critical friends, was thro^\^^ 
 aside and not resumed for years. 
 
 Scott's commercial engagements must now again be ad- 
 verted to. In the year 1808 he took a part, perhaps as sug- 
 gester, certainly as a zealous promoter, of a scheme which 
 terminated in the establishment of the Quarterly Review in 
 London, as a political and literary counterpoise to the Edin- 
 burgh Review, the advocate of "\Miig opinions. But the poet 
 had other than political grounds for embarking in this opposi- 
 tion. He had seriously quarrelled with the firm of Constable 
 and Company, the publishers of the Edinburgh Review, and of 
 several of his own earlier works ; and his wish to check the 
 enterprising head of that house in his attempts to obtain a 
 monopoly of Scottish literature, is openly avowed, in Scott's 
 correspondence at the time, as one of his principal motives for 
 framing another scheme. His plan, as far as it was explained 
 either to the public or to his own friends, amounted only to this : 
 That a new publishing house should be set up in Edinburgh, 
 under the management of John Ballantyne, a younger brother 
 of James ; and that this firm, with the acknowledged patron- 
 age of Scott and his friends, should engage in a series of ex- 
 tensive literary undertakings, including, amongst others, the 
 annual publication of a historical and literary Register, con- 
 ducted on Tory principles. But, unfortunatdy both for Scott's 
 peace of mind, and ultimately also for his worldly fortunes, 
 there was here, as in his previously formed connection with 
 the same family, an undivulged secret. The profits of the 
 printing-house had been large ; Scott's territorial ambition 
 Lad been growing faster than his prospect of being able to 
 feed it ; and these causes, inextricably mixed up with pique 
 towards Constable, and kindliness for his Kelso proteges, led 
 him into an entanglement which at length ruined both himself 
 and his associates. By the contract of the publishing house 
 of John Ballantyne and Company, executed in May 1808, 
 Scott became a secret partner to the extent of one third. The 
 unhappy issue of this affair will force itself on our notice at a 
 later stage. 
 
 In the mean time we see him prosecuting for some time 
 his career of poetical success. The Lady of the Lake, pub- 
 lished in 1810, was followed by the Vision of Don Roderick ip 
 1811 ; by Rokeby in 1812 ; and by the Bridal of Triermain, 
 which came out anonymously in 1813. His poems may be 
 said to have closed in 1815 with the Lord of the Isles and the 
 Field of Waterloo; since Harold the Dauntless, in 1817, 
 appeared without the writer's name, and the dramatic poems 
 of 1822 and 1830 are quite unworthy of him. In the midst of 
 these poetical employments he made his second and last great 
 appearance as an editor and commentator of English classics, 
 by piibhshing in 1814 his edirion of Swift. 
 
 But from 1815 till 1825, Scott's name ceased almost en-
 
 16 MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 tirely to be before the public as an avowed author ; and for 
 those who chose to believe that he was not the writer of the 
 Waverley Novels it must have been a question not a little 
 puzzling, if it ever occurred to them, how this man, who wrote 
 \nth such ease, and seemed to take such pleasure in writing, 
 was now occupjang his hours "of leisure. A few articles in the 
 Quarterly Keview, such works as Paul's Letters, and annota- 
 tions in occasional editions of ancient tracts, accounted but 
 poorly for his time during ten years. 
 
 About 1813 and 1814 his popularity as a poet was sensibly 
 on the decline, partly from causes inherent in his later poems 
 themselves, and partly from extraneous causes, among which 
 a prominent place belongs to the appearance of Byron. No 
 man was more quicksighted than Scott in perceiving the ebb 
 of popular favour ; and no man better prepared to meet the 
 reverse with firmness. He put in serious execution a threat 
 which he had playfully uttered to one of his own family even 
 before the pubHcation of the Lady of the Lake. " If I fail 
 now," said he, " I will write prose for life." And in writing 
 prose his genius discovered, on its first attempt, a field in which 
 it earned triumphs even more splendid than its early ones in 
 the domain of poetry. 
 
 The chapters of fiction begun at Ashestiel in 1805, which 
 had already been resumed and again thrown aside, were once 
 more taken up, and the work was finished with miraculous 
 rapidity ; the second and third volumes having been written 
 during the afternoons of three summer weeks in 1814. The 
 novel appeared in July of that year, under the title of Waver- 
 ley, and its success from the first was unequivocal and unpa- 
 ralleled. In the midst of occupations which would have taken 
 away all leisure from other men, the press poured forth novels 
 and romances in a succession so rapid as to deprive of some 
 part of its absurdity one of the absurd suppositions of the day, 
 namely, that more persons than one were concerned in their 
 production. Guy Mannering, the second of the series, in 1815, 
 was followed in 1816 by the Antiquary and the First Series of 
 the Tales of My Landlord. Rob Roy appeared in 1817 ; the 
 Second Series of the Tales in 1818 ; and in 1819 the Third 
 Series and Ivanhoe. Two romances a-year now seemed to be 
 expected as the due of the public. The year 1820 gave them 
 the Monastery and the Abbot: 1821, Kenilworth and the 
 Pirate ; the Fortunes of Nigel, coming out alone in 1822, was 
 followed in 1823 by no fewer than three works of fiction, 
 Peveril of the Peak, Quentin Durward, and St. Ronan's WeU ; 
 and the comparatively scanty number of novels in 1824 and 
 1825, which produced respectively only Redgaimtlet and the 
 Tales of the Crusaders, is accounted for by the fact that the 
 author was engaged in preparing a large historical work. 
 
 It is impossible even to touch on the many interesting 
 details which Scott's personal history presents during these
 
 MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. 17 
 
 btilliant years ; but it is indispensable to say, that his dream 
 of territorial acquisition was realized with a splendour which, 
 a few years before, he himself could not have hoped for. The 
 first step was taken in 1811, by the purchase of a small farm 
 of a hundred acres on the banks of the Tweed, which received 
 the name of Abbotsford, and in a few years grew, by new pur- 
 chases, into a larg3 estate. The modest dwelling first planned 
 on this little manor, with its two spare bed-rooms and its plain 
 appurtenances, expanded itself in like manner with its master's 
 waxing means of expenditure, till it had become that baronial 
 castle which we now reverentially visit as the minstrel's home. 
 The hospitality of the poet increased with his seeming prospe- 
 rity ; his mornings were dedicated to composition, and his 
 evenings to society ; and from the date of his baronetcy ia 
 1820 to the final catastrophe in 1826, no mansion in Europe, 
 of poet or of nobleman, could boast such a succession of guests 
 illustrious for rank or talent, as those who sat at Sir Walter 
 Scott's board, and departed proud of having been so honoured. 
 His family meanwhile grew up around him ; his eldest son 
 and daughter married ; most of his early friends continued to 
 stand by his side ; and few that saw the poet in 1825, a hale 
 and seemingly happy man of fifty-four, could have guessed 
 that there remained for him only a few more years (years ot 
 mortification and of sorrow), before he should sink into the 
 grave, struck down by internal calamity, not by the gentle 
 hand of time. 
 
 And yet not only was this the issue, but, even in the hour 
 of his greatest seeming prosperity, Scott had again and again 
 been secretly struggling against some of the most alarming 
 anxieties. On details as to his unfortunate commercial en- 
 gagements we cannot here enter. It is enough to say, that 
 the printing company of which he was a partner, which seems 
 to have had considerable liabilities even before the establish- 
 ment of the publishing house, was now inextricably entangled 
 with the concerns of the latter, many of whose largest specu- 
 lations had been completely unsuccessful ; that, besides this, 
 both firms were involved to an enormous extent with the house 
 of Constable ; and that large sums, which had been drawn by 
 Sir "Walter as copjTight-money for the novels, had been paid 
 in bills which were still current, and threatening to come back 
 on him. 
 
 In the beginning of 1826, Constable's house stopped pay- 
 ment ; and the failure of the firm of Ballantyne, for a very large 
 sum, followed instantly and of course. Probably even the 
 utter ruin which this catastrophe brought upon Scott, was not 
 more painful to him than the exposure which it necessarily in- 
 volved, of those secret connections, the existence of which even 
 his most confidential friends could till now have at most only 
 suspected. But if he had been imprudent, be was both 
 courageous and honourable ; and in no period of his life does
 
 18 MEMOIR OP THE AUTHOR. 
 
 he appear to such advantage, as when he stood, as iiov7_ 
 heggared, humbled, and covered with a load of debt from 
 which no human exertions seemed able to relieve him. He 
 came forward without a day's delay, and refused to be dealt 
 with as an ordinary bankrupt, or to avail himself of those steps 
 which would have set him free fi-om the claims of his creditors, 
 on suiTendering his property to them. He insisted that these 
 claims should, so far as regarded him, be still allowed to sub- 
 sist ; and he pledged himself that the labour of his future life 
 should be unremittingly devoted to the discharge of them. 
 He did more than fuliil his noble promise ; for the gigantic 
 toil to which, during years after this, he submitted, was the 
 immediate cause that shortened his life. His self-sacrifice, 
 however, effected astonishingly much towards the purpose 
 which it was designed to serve. Between January 1826 and 
 January 1828, he had realized for the creditors the surprising 
 sum of nearly £40,000 ; and soon after his death the principal 
 of the whole Ballant}-ne debt was paid up by his executors. 
 
 We have now briefly to describe the eflbrts by which this 
 result was accomplished. After spending at Abbotsford, in 
 1826, a solitary summer, very unlike its former scenes of 
 splendour, Scott, returning to town for his winter duties, and 
 compelled to leave behind him his dpng wife (who survived but 
 till the spring), took up his residence in lodgings, and there 
 continued that system of incessant andredoubled labour which 
 he had already maintained for months, and maintained after- 
 wards till it killed him. Woodstock, published in 1826, had 
 been writtea during the crisis of his distresses ; and the next 
 fi-uit of his toil was the Life of Napoleon, which, commenced 
 before the catastrophe, appeared in 1827, and was followed by 
 the First Series of Chronicles of the Canongate ; while to 
 these again succeeded, in the end of the same year, the First 
 Series of the Tales of a Grandfather. The year 1828 pro- 
 duced the Second Series of both of these works ; 1829 gave 
 Anne of Geierstein, the first volume of a History of Scotland for 
 Lardner's Cyclop£edia, and the Third Series of the Tales of a 
 Grandfather. The same year also witnessed the commence- 
 ment of that annotated publication of the collected novels, 
 which, together with the similar edition of the poetical works, 
 was so powerful an instrument in effecting Scott's purpose of 
 pecuniary disentanglement. In 1830 came two Dramas, the 
 Letters on Demonology, the Fourth Series of the Tales of a 
 Grandfather, and the second volume of the History of Scot- 
 land. If we are disappointed wheu we compare most of these 
 works with the productions of younger and happier days, our 
 criticism will be disarmed by a recollection of the honourable 
 end which the later works promoted ; and as to the last pro- 
 ductions of the mighty master, the volumes of 1831, containing 
 Count Robert and Castle Dangerous, no one who is acquainted 
 with the melancholy circumstances under which these were
 
 MEMOIR OF THE ATTTHOR. 19 
 
 composed and published, will be capable of any feeling but 
 that of compassionate respect. 
 
 The dejection which it vras impossible for Scott not to feel 
 in commencing his self-imposed task, was materially lightened, 
 and his health invigorated, by an excursion to London and 
 Paris in the course of 1826, for the purpose of collecting mate- 
 rials for the Life of Napoleon. In 1829 alarming symptoms 
 appeared, and were followed by a paralytic attack in Febmary 
 1830, after which the tokens of the disease were always more or 
 less perceptible to his family ; but the severity of his tasks con- 
 tinued unremitted, although in that year he retired from his 
 clerkship, and took np his permanent residence at Abbotsford. 
 The mind was now but too evidently shaken, as well as the 
 body; and the diary which he kept, contains, about and after 
 this time, melancholy misgivings of his own upon this subject. 
 In April 1831 he had the most severe shock of his disease 
 that had yet attacked him ; and having been at length per- 
 suaded to abandon literary exertion, he left Abbotsford in Sep- 
 tember of that year, on his way to the Continent, no country 
 of which he had ever yet visited, except some parts of France 
 and Flanders. This new tour was undertaken with the faint 
 hope that abstinence from mental labour might for a time 
 avert the impending blow. A ship of war, ftimished for the 
 purpose by the Admiralty, conveyeil Sir Walter, first to Malta, 
 and then to Naples ; and the accounts which we have, both of 
 the voyage and of his residence in Italy, abound with circum- 
 stances of melancholy interest. After the beginning of May 
 1832, his mind was completely overthrown ; his nervous impa- 
 tience forced his companions to hurry him homeward from 
 Rome through the Tyrol to Frankfort ; in J une they arrived 
 in London, whence Sir Walter was conveyed by sea to Edin- 
 burgh ; and, having reached Abbotsford on the 11th of July, 
 he there continued to exist, with few intervals of conscious- 
 ness, till the afternoon of the 21st ot September, when he es- 
 jiired, haxnug just completed the sixty-first year of his age. 
 On the 26th he was buried in the beautiful ruins of Dryburgh 
 Abbey.
 
 THE 
 
 LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL: 
 
 A POEM. 
 
 IN SIX CANTOS. 
 
 Dmn relego, scripsisse pudet ; quia plnrima cerno, 
 J[e quoque, qui feci, jndice, digna lini. 
 
 THE RIGHT HOJTOTJRABLE 
 
 CHARLES, EARL OF DALKEITH, 
 THIS POEM IS INSCRIBED 
 
 THE AUTHOR.
 
 PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. 
 
 The Poem, now offered to the, Public, is intended to ilhstrats 
 the customs and manners which anciently prevailed on the Borders 
 of England and Scotland. The inhabitants, living in a state partly 
 pastoral and partly warlike, and combining habits of constant 
 depredation with the infuence of a rude spirit of chivah-y, were 
 often engaged in scenes highly susceptible of poetical ornament. 
 As the description of scenei-y and manners was more the object of 
 the Author tluin a combined and regular narrative, the plan of 
 the Ancient Metrical Romance icas adopted, which allows greater 
 latitude, in this respect, than tcould he consistent with the dignity of 
 a regular Poem. The same model offered^ other facilities, as it 
 permits an occasional alteration of measure, which, in some degree, 
 authorises the change of rhythm in the text. The machinery, also, 
 adopted from popular belief, would have seemed jmerile in a Poem 
 which did not partake of the rudeness of the old Ballad, or Metrical 
 Romance. 
 
 For these reasons, the Poem was put into the mouth of an ancient 
 Minstrel, the last of the race, lolw, as he is supposed to have sur- 
 vived the Revolution, might have caught somewhat of the refinement 
 of modern poetry, without losing the simplicity of his original 
 model. The date of the Tale itself is about the middle of the six- 
 teenth century, when most of the jjersonages actually fiourished. 
 The time occupied by the action is Three Nights and Three Days.
 
 INTEODUCTION TO EDITION 1830. 
 
 A Poem of nearly thirty years' standing may be supposed 
 hardly to need an Introduction, since, without one, it has been 
 able to keep itself afloat through the best part of a generation. 
 Nevertheless, as, in the edition of the "Waverley Novels now in 
 course of publication, [1830,] I have imposed on myself the 
 task of saying something concerning the purpose and history of 
 each, in their turn, 1 am desirous that the Poems for which I 
 first received some marks of the public favour, should also be 
 accompanied with such scraps of their literary history as may 
 be supposed to carri' interest along with them. Even if I should 
 be mistaken in thinking that the secret history of what was once 
 so popular, may still attract public attention and cui'iosity, it 
 seems to me not without its use to record the manner and cir- 
 cumstances under which the present, and other Poems on the 
 same plan, attained for a season an extensive reputation. 
 
 I must resume the story of my literary labours at the period 
 flt which I broke oiT in the Essay on the Imitation of Popular 
 Poetry, when I had enjoyed the first gleam of public favour, 
 by the success of the first edition of the Minstrelsy of the 
 Scottish Border. The second edition of that work, published 
 in 1803, proved, in the language of the trade, rather a heavy 
 concern. The demand in Scotland had been supplied by the 
 first edition, and the curiosity of the English was not much 
 awakened by poems in the rude garb of antiquit}-, accompanied 
 with notes referring to the obscure feuds of barbarous clans, of 
 whose, very names civilized histoiy was ignorant. It was, on 
 the whole, one of those books which are more praised than they 
 are read. 
 
 At this time I stood personally in a difl'erent position from 
 that which I occupied wlien I first dipt my desperate pen in ink 
 for other purposes than those of my profession. In 1796, when 
 I first published the Translations from Burger, I was an insu- 
 lated individual, with only my own wants to provide for, and 
 having, in a great measure, my own inclinations alone to consult. 
 In 1803, when the second edition of the Slinstrelsy appeared, 
 I had arrived at a period of life when men, however thoughtless, 
 encounter duties and circumstances which press consideration
 
 21 INTRODUCTION TO THE 
 
 and plans of life upon the most careless minds. I had been for 
 some time married— was the father of a rising family — and, 
 though fiilly enabled to meet the consequent demands upon me, 
 it was my duty and desire to place myself in a situation which 
 would enable me to make honourable provision against the 
 various contingencies of life. 
 
 It may be readily supposed that the attempts which I had 
 made in literature had been unfavourable to my success at the 
 Bar. The goddess Themis is, at Edinburgh, and I suppose 
 everywhere else, of a peculiarly jealous disposition. She ■will 
 not readily consent to share her authority, and sternly demands 
 from her votaries, not only that real duty be carefully attended 
 to and discharged, but that a certain air of business shall be 
 observed even in the midst of total idleness. It is prudent, if 
 not absolutely necessary, in a young barrister, to appear com- 
 pletely engrossed by his profession ; however destitute of em- 
 ployment he may in reality be, he ought to preserve, if possible, 
 the appearance of full occupation. He should, therefore, seem 
 perpetually engaged among his law papers, dusting them, as it 
 were ; and, as Ovid advises the fair, 
 
 " Si nullus erit piilvis, tamen excute nullum." « 
 
 Perhaps such extremity of attention is more especially required, 
 considering the great number of counsellors who are called to the 
 Bar, and how very small a proportion of them are finally dis- 
 posed, or find encouragement, to follow the law as a profession. 
 Hence the number of deserters is so great, that the least linger- 
 ing look behind occasions a young novice to be set down as one of 
 the intending fugitives. Certain it is, that the Scottish Themis 
 was at this time peculiarly jealous of any flirtation with the Muses, 
 on the part of those who had ranged themselves under her ban- 
 ners. This was probably owing to her consciousness of the supe • 
 rior attractions of her rivals. Of late, however, she has relaxed 
 in some instances in this particular — an eminent example of 
 which has been shown in the case of my friend Mr. Jeftrej^, who, 
 after long conducting one of the most influential literary periodi- 
 cals of the age, with unquestionable ability, has been, by the 
 general consent of his brethren, recently elected to be their Dean 
 of Faculty, or President — being the highest acknowledgment of his 
 professional talents which they had it in their power to offer. But 
 this is an incident much beyond the ideas of a period of thirty 
 years' distance, when a barrister who really possessed any turn for 
 lighter literature, was at as much pains to conceal it as if it had 
 in reality been something to be ashamed of; and I could mention 
 more than one instance in which literature and society have suf- 
 fered much loss, that jurisprudence might be enriched. 
 
 Such, however, was not my case; for the reacer will not won- 
 der that my open interference with matters of light literature di- 
 minished my employment in the weightier matters of the law. Kor 
 did the solicitors, upon whose choice the counsel takes rank in his 
 profession, do me less than justice, by regarding others among ray 
 contemporaries as fitter to discharge the duty due to their clients, 
 
 • " If dust be none, yet brush that none away."
 
 LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 25 
 
 than a young man who was taken up with running after ballads, 
 whether Teutonic or National. My profession and I, therefore, 
 came to stand nearly upon the footing which honest Slender con- 
 soled himself on having established with Mistress Anne Page ; 
 " There was no great love between us at the beginning, and it 
 pleased Heaven to decrease it on fiirther acquaintance." T became 
 sensible that the time was come when I must either buckle my- 
 self resolutely to the " toil by day, the lamp by night," renouncing 
 all the Delilahs of my imagination, or bid adieu to the profession 
 of the law, and hold another course. 
 
 I confess my own inclination revolted from the more severe 
 choice, which might have been deemed by many the wiser alter- 
 native. As my transgressions had been numerous, my repentance 
 must have been signalized by unusual sacrifices. I ought to have 
 mentioned, that since my fourteenth or fifteenth year, my health, 
 originally delicate, had become extremely robust. From infancy 
 I had laboured under the infirmity of a severe lameness, but, as I 
 believe is usually the case with men of spirit who suffer imder 
 personal inconveniences of this nature, I had, since the improve- 
 ment of my health, in defiance of this incapacitating circumstance, 
 distinguished myself by the endurance of toil on foot or horseback, 
 having often walked tliirtj- miles a-day, and rode upwards of a 
 hundred, without resting. In this manner I made many pleasant 
 journeys through parts of the country then not veiy accessible, 
 gaining more amusement and instruction than I have been able to 
 acquire since I have travelled in a more commodious manner. I 
 practised most silvan sports also, with some success, and with 
 great delight. But these pleasures must have been all resigned, 
 or used with great moderation, had I determined to regain my 
 station at the Bar. It was even doubtful wliether I could, with 
 perfect character as a jurisconsult, retain a situation in a volunteer 
 corps of cavalrj% which I then held. The threats of invasion were 
 at this time instant and menacing ; tlie call by Britain on her 
 children was universal, and was answered by some, who, like my- 
 self, consulted rather their desire than their ability to bear arms. 
 My services, however, were found useful in assisting to maintain 
 the discipline of the corps, being the point on which their consti- 
 tution rendered them most amenable to military criticism. In 
 other respects, the squadron was a fine one, consisting chiefiy of 
 handsome men, well moimted and armed at their own expense. 
 My attention to the corps took up a good deal of time; and 
 while it occupied many of the happiest hours of my life, it fur- 
 nished an additional reason for my reluctance again to encounter 
 the severe course of study indispensable to success in the juridical 
 profession. 
 
 On the other hand, my father, whose feelings might have been 
 hurt by my quitting the Bar, had been for two or three years dead, 
 so that I had no control to thwart my own inclination ; and my 
 Income being equal to all the comforts, and some of the elegancies, 
 of life, I was not pressed to an irksome labour by necessitj', that 
 most powerful of motives; consequently, 1 was the more easily 
 seduced to choose the employment whicli was most agreeable to 
 me. This was yet the easier, that in 1800 I had obtained the pre- 
 ferment of Sheriff of Selkirkshire, about £300 a-year in value, and
 
 26 INTBODUCTION TO THE 
 
 TPhich was the more agreeable to me, as in that county I had seve- 
 ral friends and relations. But I did not abandon the profession to 
 which I had been educated, without certain prudential resolutions, 
 which, at the risk of some egotism, I will here mention ; not with- 
 out the hope that they may be useful to young persons who may 
 stand in circimistances similar Jo those in which I then stood. 
 
 In the first place, upon considering the lives and fortunes of 
 persons who had given themselves up to literature, or to the task 
 of pleasing the public, it seemed to me, that the circumstances 
 which chiefly affected their happiness and character, were those 
 from which Horace has bestowed upon authors the epithet of the 
 Irritable Race. It requires no depth of philosophic reflection to 
 perceive, that the petty warfare of Pope with the Dunces of his 
 period could not have been carried on without his suffering the 
 most acute torture, such as a man must endure from musquitoes, 
 by whose stings he suffers agony, although he can crush them in 
 his grasp hy myriads. Nor is it necessary to call to memory the 
 many humiliating instances in which men of the greatest genius 
 have", to avenge some pitiful quarrel, made themselves ridiculous 
 during their lives, to become the still more degraded objects of 
 pity to future times. 
 
 "Upon the whole, as I had no pretension to the genius of the 
 distinguished persons who had fallen into such errors, I concluded 
 there could be no occasion for imitating them in their mistakes, or 
 what I considered as such ; and, in adopting literaiy piu-suits as 
 the principal occupation of my future life, I resolveil, if possible, 
 to avoid those weaknesses of temper which seemed to have most 
 easily beset my more celebrated predecessors. 
 
 With this view, it was my first resolution to keep as far aa 
 was in nw power abreast of society, continuing to maintain my 
 place in general company, without yielding to the very natural 
 temptation of naiTOwing myself to what is called literary society. 
 By doing so, I imagined I sliould escape the besetting sin of 
 listening to language, which, fi-om one motive or otlier, is apt to 
 ascribe a very undue degree of consequence to literary pursuits, as 
 if they were, indeed, the business, rather tlian the amusement, of 
 life. The opposite course can only be compared to the injudicious 
 conduct of one who pampers himself witli cordial and luscious 
 draughts, until he is unable to endure wholesome bitters. Like 
 Gil Bias, therefore, I resolved to stick by the society of my commiif, 
 instead of seeking that of a more literary cast, and to maintain 
 my general interest in what was going on around me, reserving 
 the man of letters for the desk and the library. 
 
 My second resolution was a corollary from the first. I deter- 
 mined that, without shutting my ears to the voice of true criticism, 
 I would pay no regard to that which assumes the form of satire. 
 I therefore resolved to ami myself with that triple brass of Horace, 
 of which those of my profession are seldom held deficient, against 
 all the roving warfare of satire, parody, and sarcasm ; to laugh if 
 the jest was a good one, or, if otherwise, to let it hum and buzz 
 itself to sleep. 
 
 It is to the observance of these rules, (according to my best 
 belief,) that, after a life of thirty years engaged in literary laboui's 
 of various kintls, I attribute my never having been entangled in
 
 LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 27 
 
 any literary quarrel or controversy; and, which is a still more 
 pleasing result, that I have been distinguished by the personal 
 friendship of my most approved contemyioraries of all parties. 
 
 I adopted, at the same time, anotlier resolution, on wliich it 
 may doubtless be remarked, that it was well for me that I had it 
 in my power to do so, and that, therefore, it is a line of conduct 
 which, deperyding upon accident, can be less generally applicable 
 in other cases. Yet I fail not to record this part of my plan, con- 
 vinced that, though it may not be in every one's power to adopt 
 exactly the same resolution, he may nevertheless, by his own 
 exertions, in some shape or other, attain the object on which it 
 was founded, namely, to secure the means of subsistence, without 
 relying exclusively on literary talents. In this respect, I deter- 
 mineil that literature should be my staff, but not my crutch, and 
 that the profits of my literary labour, however convenient other- 
 wise, should not, if I could help it, become necessary to my 
 ordinary expenses. With this piu'pose I resolved, if the interest 
 of my friends could so far favour me, to retire upon any of the 
 respectable offices of the law, in wliich persons of that profession 
 are glad to take refuge, when they feel themselves, or are judged 
 by others, incompetent to aspire to its higher honours. Upon 
 such a post an author might h^pe to retreat, without any per- 
 ceptible alteration of circumstances, whenever tlie time should 
 arrive that the public grew weary of his endeavours to please, or 
 he himself should tire of the pen. At this period of my life, I 
 possessed so many fi-iends capable of assisting me in this object of 
 ambition, that I could hardly overrate my own prospects of ol)tain- 
 ing the preferment to which I limited my wislies ; and, in fact, I 
 obtained in no long period the reversion of a situation which com- 
 pletely met them. 
 
 Thus far all was well, and the Author had been guilty, per- 
 haps, of no great imprudence, when he relinquished his forensic 
 practice with the hope of making some figure in the field of 
 literature. But an established character vdih the public, in my 
 new capacity, still remained to be acquired. I have noticed, 
 that the translations from Burger had been unsuccessful, nor 
 had the original poetry which appeared imder the auspices of 
 IMr. Lewis, in the "Tales of Wonder," in any great degree 
 raised my reputation. It is true, I had private friends disposed to 
 second me in my efforts to obtain popularity. But I was sports- 
 man enough to know, that if the greyhound does not run well, the 
 halloos of his patrons will obtain nothing for him. 
 
 Neither was I ignorant that the practice of ballad-writing was 
 for the present out of fashion, and that any attempt to revive it, 
 or to found a poetical character upon it, would certainly fail of 
 success. The ballad measure itself, which was once listened to as 
 to an enchanting melody, had become hackneyed and sickening, 
 from its being the accompaniment of every gi-inding hand-organ; 
 and besides, a long work in quatrains, whether those of the 
 common ballad, or such as are tenned elegiac, has an effect upon 
 the mmd like that of the bed of Proerustesupon the human body ; 
 for, as it must be both awkward and difficult to cany on a long 
 sentence from one stanza to another, it follows, that the meaning 
 of each peiiod must be comprehended within four lines, and equally
 
 28 INTRODUCTION TO THE 
 
 so that it must be extended so as to fill that space. The alternate 
 dilation and contraction thus rendered necessary is singularly 
 unfavoiu-able to narrative composition ; and the " Gondibert" of 
 Sir William D'Avenant, though containing many striking passages, 
 has never become popular, owing chiefly to its being told in this 
 species of elegiac verse. 
 
 In the dilemma occasioned by this objection, the idea occurred 
 to the Author of using the measured short line, vrliich forms the 
 structure of so much minstrel poetry, that it may be properly 
 termed the Romantic stanza, by way of distinction ; and which 
 appears so natural to our language, that the very best of our poets 
 have not been able to protract it into the verse properly called 
 Heroic, without the use of epithets which are, to say the least, 
 unnecessary. But, on the other hand, the extreme facility of the 
 short couplet, which seems congenial to our language, and was, 
 doubtless for that reason, so popular with our old minstrels, is, for 
 the same reason, apt to prove a snare to the composer who uses it 
 in more modern daj'S, by encouraging him in a habit of slovenly 
 composition. The necessity of occasional pauses often forces the 
 young poet to pay more attention to sense, as the boy's kite rises 
 highest when the train is loaded by a due counterpoise. The 
 Author was therefore intimidated by what Byron calls the " fatal 
 facility" of the octo-syllabic verse, which was otherwise better 
 adapted to his purpose of imitating the more ancient poetry. 
 
 I was not less at a loss for a subject which might admit of 
 being treated with the simplicity and wildness of the ancient 
 ballad. But accident dictated both a theme and measure, which 
 decided the subject, as well as the structure of the poem. 
 
 The lovely young Countess of Dallceith, afterwards Harriet, 
 Duchess of Buccleuch, had come to the land of her husband with 
 the desire of making herself acquainted with its traditions and 
 customs, as well as its manners and history. All who remember 
 this lady will agree, that the intellectual character of her extreme 
 beauty, the amenity and courtesy of her manners, the soundness 
 of her understanding, and her vmbounded benevolence, gave more 
 the idea of an angelic visitant, than of a being belonging to this 
 nether world ; and such a thought was but too consistent with the 
 short space she was permitted to tarry among us. Of course, 
 where all made it a pride and pleasure to gratify her wishes, she 
 soon heard enough of Border lore ; among others, an aged gentle- 
 man of property, " near Langholm, communicated to her ladyship 
 the story of Gilpin Homer, a tradition in which the narrator, and 
 many more of that country, were firm believers. The young 
 
 « This was Mr. Beattie of Mickledale, a man then considerably upwards 
 of eighty, of a shrewd and sarcastic temper, which he did not at aU times 
 suppress, as the following anecdote will show : — A worthy clergyman, now 
 deceased, with better good-will than tact, was endeavouring to push the 
 senior forward in his recollection of Border ballads and legends, by ex- 
 pressing reiterated surprise at his wonderful memory. " No, sir," eaid old 
 Mickledale; "my memory is good for little, for it cannot retain what 
 ought to be preserved. I can remember aU these stories about the auld 
 riding days, which are of no earthly importance; but were you, reverend 
 sir, to repeat your best sermon in this drawing-room, I could not tell you 
 half an hour afterwards what you had been speaking about."
 
 LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 29 
 
 Countess, much delighted with the legend, and the gravity and 
 full confidence -with Trhich it was told, enjoined on me as a task 
 to compose a ballad on the subject. Of course, to hear was to 
 obey ; and thu3 the goblin story, objected to by several critics as 
 an excrescence upon the poem, was, in fact, the occasion of its 
 being written. 
 
 A chancd similar to that which dictated the subject, gave me 
 also the hint of a new mode of treating it. We had at that time 
 the lease of a pleasant cottage, near Lasswade, on the romantic 
 banks of the Esk, to which we escaped when the vacations of the 
 Court permitted me so much leisure. Here I had the pleasure to 
 receive a visit from Sir. Stoddart, (now Sir John Stoddart, Judge- 
 Advocate at Malta,) who was at that time collecting the particu- 
 lars which he afterwards embodied in his Remarks on Local 
 Scenery in Scotland. I was of some use to him in procuring the 
 information which he desired, and guiding him to the scenes which 
 he wished to see. In return, he made me better acquainted than 
 I had hitherto been with the poetic effusions which have since 
 made the lakes of "Westmoreland, and the authors by whom they 
 have been sung, so famous wherever the English tongue is spoken. 
 
 I was already acquainted vnth the " Joan of Arc," the " Tha- 
 laba," and the " Metrical Ballads " of ilr. Southey, which had found 
 their way to Scotland, and were generally admired. But Mr. 
 Stoddart, who had the advantage of personal friendship with 
 the authors, and who possessed a strong memory, vdih an excel- 
 lent taste, was able to repeat to me many long specimens of their 
 poetry, which had not yet appeared in print. Amongst others, 
 was the striking fragment called Christabel, by Mr. Coleridge, 
 which, from the singularly irregular structure of the stanzas, 
 and the liberty which it allowed the author to adapt the sound 
 to the sense, seemed to be exactly suited to such an extravaganza 
 as I meditated on the subject of GUpin Homer. As applied 
 to comic and humorous poetry, this mescolanza of measures had 
 been already used by Anthony Hall, Anstej-, Dr. Wolcott, and 
 others ; but it was in Christabel that I first found it used in 
 serious poetry, and it is to Sir. Coleridge that I am boimd to 
 make the acknowledgment due from the pupil to his master. 
 I observe that Lord Byron, in noticing my obligations to Mr. 
 Coleridge, which I have been always most ready to acknow- 
 ledge, expressed, or was understood to express, a hope that I 
 did not write an unfriendly review on Mr. Coleridge's produc- 
 tiona. On this subject I have only to say, that I do not even 
 know-the review which is alluded to ; and were I ever to take 
 the unbecoming freedom of censuring a man of Mr. Coleridge's 
 extraordinarj' talents, it would be on account of the caprice and 
 indolence with which he has thrown from him, as if in mere 
 wantomiess, those unfinished scraps of poetry, which, like the 
 Torso of antiquity, defy the skill of his poetical brethren to com- 
 plete them. The charming fragments which the author aban- 
 dons to their fate, are surely too valuable to be treated like the 
 proofs of careless engravers, the sweepings of whose studios often 
 make the fortune of some painstaking collector. 
 
 I did not immediately proceed upon my projected labour, 
 though I was now furnished with a subject, and with a structure
 
 30 INTRODUCTION TO THE 
 
 of verse which might have the effect of novelty to the puLlic ear> 
 and afford the author an opportunity of varying his measure with 
 the variations of a romantic theme. On the contrary, it was, to 
 the hest of my recollection, more than a year after Mr. Stoddart's 
 visit, that, by way of experiment, I composed the first two or 
 three stanzas of " The Lay of the Last IMinstrel." I -^vas shortly 
 afterwards visited by two intimate friends, one of whom still sur- 
 vives. Tliey were men whose talents might have raised them to 
 the highest station in literature, had they not preferred exerting 
 them in their own profession of the law, in which they attained 
 equal preferment. I was in the habit of consulting them on my 
 attempts at composition, having equal confidence in their sound 
 taste and friendly sincerity." In this specimen I had, in the 
 phrase of the Highland servant, packed all that was my own at 
 least, for I had also included a line of invocation, a little softened, 
 from Coleridge — 
 
 " Mary, mother, shield us well." 
 
 As neither of my friends said much to me on the subject of the 
 stanzas I showed them before their departure, I had no doubt that 
 their disgust had been greater than their good-nature chose to 
 express. Looking upon them, therefore, as a fuilui-e, I threw the 
 manuscript into the fire, and thought as little more as I could of the 
 matter. Some time afterwards I met one of my two counsellors, 
 who enquired with considerable appearance of interest, about the 
 progress of the romance I had commenced, and was greatly sur- 
 prised at learning its fate. He confessed that neither he nor our 
 mutual friend had been at first able to give a precise opinion on a 
 poem so much out of the common road ; but that as they walked 
 home together to the city, they had talked much on tlie subject, 
 and the result was an earnest deske that I would proceed with the 
 composition. He also added, that some sort of prologue might be 
 necessarj^ to place the mind of the hearers in the situation to 
 vuiderstand and enjoj' the poem, and recommended the adoption of 
 such quaint mottoes as Spenser has used to announce the contents 
 of the chapters of tlie Faery Queen, such as — 
 
 " Babe's bloody hands may not be cleansed. 
 Tlie face of golden Mean : 
 Her sisters two. Extremities, 
 Strive her to banish clean." 
 
 I entirel}' agreed with my friendly critic in the necessity of hav- 
 ing some sort of pitch-pipe, which might make readers aware of 
 the object, or rather the tone, of the publication. But I doubted 
 whether, in assuming the oracular style of Spenser's mottoes, the 
 interpreter might not be censured as the harder to be understood 
 of the two. I therefore introduced the Old Minstrel, as an ap- 
 propriate prolocutor, by whom the Lay might be sung or spoken, 
 and the introduction of whom betwixt the cantos might remind 
 
 « One of these, William Ersliine, Esq. (Lord Kinnedder,) I have often had 
 occasion to mention, and though 1 may hardly be thanked for disclosing the 
 name of the other, yet I cannot but state that the second is George Crans- 
 toun, Esq., now a Senator of the College of Justice, by the title of Lord 
 Corehouse. 1831. — [Mr. Cranstoun resigned his seat on "the bench in 1839.]
 
 tAT OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 31 
 
 the reader at intervals, of the time, place, and circumstances of 
 the recitation. This species of cadre, or frame, afterwards af- 
 forded the poem its name of " The Lay of the Last Minstrel." 
 
 The work was subsequently shown to other friends during its 
 progress, and received the imprimatur of ilr. Francis Jeflrey, 
 ^^•ho had been already for sometime distinfoiished by his critical 
 talent. 
 
 The poem, being once licensed by the critics as fit for the 
 market, was soon linislied, proceeding at about the rate of a canto 
 per week. There was, indeed, little occasion for pause or hesita- 
 tion, when a troublesome rhyme might be accommodated by an 
 alteration of the stanza, or where an incorrect measure might be 
 remedied by a variation of tlie rhyme. It was finally published 
 in 1805, and maj' be regarded as the first work in which the 
 ■wTiter, who has been since so voluminous, laid his claim to be 
 considered as an original author. 
 
 The book was published by Longman and Company, and 
 Ai-chibald Constable and Company. The principal of the latter 
 firm was then commencing that course of bold and liberal indus- 
 try which was of so much advantage to his country, and might 
 have been so to himself, but for causes which it is neeilless to 
 enter into hei'e. The work, brought out on the usual terms of 
 division of profits between the author and publishers, was not 
 long after purchased by them for £500, to which Messrs. Longman 
 and Company afterwards added £100, in their own unsolicited 
 kindness, in consequence of the uncommon success of the work. 
 It was handsomely given to supply the loss of a fine horse, which 
 broke down suddenly while the author was riding -with one of the 
 worthy publishers. 
 
 It would be great affiectation not to own frankh*, that the 
 author expected some success from "The Lay of the Last Min- 
 strel." Tlie attempt to retm-n to a more simple and natural style 
 of poetry was hkely to be welcomed, at a time when the public had 
 become tired of heroic hexameters, with all the buckram and bind- 
 ing which belong to them of later days. But whatever might 
 have been his expectations, whether moderate or unreasonable, 
 the result left them far behind, for among those who smiled on 
 the adventurous Minstrel, were numbered the great names of 
 "William Pitt and Charles Fox." Neither was the extent of the 
 sale inferior to the character of the judges who received the poem 
 with approbation. Upwards of thirty thousand copies of the Lay 
 were disposed of by the trade ; and the author had to perform a 
 task difficult to hmnan vanity, when calle.d upon to make the 
 
 " Througli what channel or iu what terms Tox made known his opinion 
 of the Lay, I liave failed to ascertain. Pitt's praise, as expressed to his 
 n;ece, Lady Hester Stanhope, within a few weeics after the poem appeared, 
 was repeated by her to Mr. William Stewart Ruse, who, of cours* commu- 
 nicated it forthwith to the author; and not lontr after, the Minister, in con- 
 versation witli Scott's early friend, the Right llonoui-able William Dundas, 
 signified that it would give him pleasure to find some opportunity of adv;m- 
 cing the fortunes of such a writer. " I remember," writes this gentleman, 
 "at Mr. Pitt's table in 1S05, the Chancellor asked me about you and your 
 then situation, and after I had answered him, Mr. Pitt observed — ' He can't 
 remain as he is,' and desired me to 'look to it.' " — Lockhabt. Life of Salt, 
 Vol. II. p. 226.
 
 32 
 
 INTRODCCTION. 
 
 necessary deductions from his own merits, in a calm attempt to 
 account for his popularity. " 
 
 A few additional remarks on the author's literary attempts 
 after this period, will be found in the introduction to the Poem of 
 Marmion. 
 
 AsBOTsrORD, April 1830. - 
 
 » " The poet has under-estimated even the patent and tangible evidence 
 of his success. The first edition of the Lay was a magnificent quai-to, 750 
 copies ; but this was soon exhausted, and there followed an octavo impres- 
 sion of 1500 ; in 1806, two more, one of 2000 copies, another of 2250 ; in 1807 
 a fifth edition, of 2000, and a sixth, of 3000; in 1808, 3550; in 1809, 3000— a 
 small edition in quarto (the baUads and lyrical pieces being then annexed 
 to it)— and another octavo edition of 3250 ; in 1811, 3000 ; in 1812, 3000 ; in 
 1816, SOW; in 1823, 1000. A fourteenth impression of 2000 foolscap appeared 
 in 1825; and besides all this, before the end of 1836, 11,000 copies had gone 
 forth in the collected editions of his poetical works. Thus, nearly forty- 
 four thousand copies had been disposed of in this country, and by the legi- 
 timate trade alone, before he superintended the edition of 1830, to which his 
 biographical introductions were prefixed. In the history of British Poetry 
 nothing had ever equalled the demand for the Lay of tlie Last Miustrel." — 
 Life, Vol. II. p. 226.
 
 INTKODUCTION. 
 
 The way was long, the wind was cold. 
 
 The Blmstrel was infirm and old ; 
 
 His wither'd cheek, and tresses grey, 
 
 Seem'd to have known a better day ; 
 
 Tlie harp, his sole remaining joy, 
 
 Was carried by an orphan boj*. 
 
 The last of all the Bards was he, 
 
 Who sung of Border chivaliy ; 
 
 For, weliaday ! their date was fled, 
 
 His tuneful brethren all were dead ; 
 
 And he, neglected and oppress'd 
 
 Wish'd to be with them, and at rest. 
 
 No more on prancing palfrey borne, 
 
 He caroll'd light as lark at mom ; 
 
 No longer courted and caress'd. 
 
 High placed in hall, a welcome guest, 
 
 He poiir'd, to lord and lady gaj-. 
 
 The unpremeditated lay : 
 
 Old times -were changed, old manners gone ; 
 
 A stranger fiU'd the Stuarts' throne ; 
 
 The bigots of the iron time 
 
 Had call'd his harmless art a crime. 
 
 A wandering Harper, scorn'd and poor, 
 
 He begg'd his bread from door to door. 
 
 And tuned, to please a peasant's ear. 
 
 The harp, a king had loved to hear. 
 
 He pass'd where Newark's stately tower 
 Looks out from Yari'ow's birchen bower : 
 The Minstrel gazed with wishfid eye — 
 No humbler resting-place was nigh ; 
 With hesitating step at last. 
 The embattled portal arch he pass'd, 
 AVhose ponderous grate and massy bar 
 Had oft roll'd back the tide of war. 
 But never closed the iron door 
 Against the desolate and poor. 
 The Duchess" mark'd his weary pace, 
 His timid mien, and reverend face, 
 
 <» Anne, Duchess of Bucdeuch and Monmouth, representntive of the 
 p.iicient Lords of Buecleuch, and widow (rf the imfortunate James, Duke of 
 Monmouth, who was beheaded in 1U85 

 
 34 LAY OP THE LAST MINSTREL. 
 
 And bade her page the menials tell 
 That they should tend the old man well : 
 For she had known adversity, 
 Though bom in such a high degree ; 
 In pride of power, in beauty's bloom, 
 Had wept o'er Monmouth's bloody tomb ! 
 
 When kindness had his wants supplied, 
 And the old man was gratified. 
 Began to rise his minstrel pride ; 
 And he began to talk anon, 
 Of good Earl Francis," dead and gone, 
 And of Earl Walter,'' rest him, God ! 
 A braver ne'er to battle rode ; 
 j^nd how full many a tale he knew, 
 Of the old wan-iors of Buccleuch : 
 And, would the noble Duchess deign 
 To listen to an old man's strain, 
 Though stiff his hand, his voice though weatu 
 He thought even yet, the sooth to speak, 
 That, if she loved the harp to hear, 
 He could make music to her ear. 
 
 The humble boon was soon obtain'd ; 
 The Aged 3Iinstrel audience gain'd. 
 But, when he reach'd the room of state. 
 Where she, with all her ladies, sate. 
 Perchance he wish'd his boon denied : 
 For, when to tune his harp he tried, 
 His trembling hand had lost the ease, 
 Which marks security to please ; 
 And scenes, long past, of joy and pain. 
 Came wildering o'er his aged brain — 
 He tried to tmie his harp in vain I 
 The pitying Duchess praised its chime, 
 And gave him heart, and gave him time, 
 Till every string's according glee 
 Was blended into haiTnony. 
 And then, he said, he would full fain 
 He could recall an ancient strain. 
 He never thought to sing again. 
 It was not framed for village churls. 
 But for high dames and mighty earls ; 
 He had play'd it to King Charles the good. 
 When he kept court in Hoh^rood; 
 And much he wish'd, yet fear'd, to try 
 The long-forgotten melody. 
 Amid the strings his finger stray'd. 
 And an uncertain warbling made, 
 And oft he shook his hoary head. 
 But when he caught the measure wild. 
 The old man raised his face, and smiled ; 
 
 a Francis Scott, Earl of Buccleuch, father of the Duchess. 
 b Walter, Earl of Buccleuch, grandlather of the Duchess, and a celebrated 
 *drnor.
 
 INTRODUCTIOlf. 
 
 Aud lighten'd up his faded eye, 
 With all a poet's ecstasy ! 
 In varying cadence, soft or strong, 
 He swept the sounding chords along : 
 The present scene, the future lot, 
 His toUs, his wants, were all forgot : 
 Cold diffidence, and age's fi-ost, 
 In the full tide of song were lost ; 
 Each blank in faithless memory void. 
 The poet's glowing thought supplied ; 
 And, while his harp responsive rung, 
 'Twas thus the Latest Minstkel sun;; 
 
 0^J" 
 
 V
 
 THE 
 
 LAY OF THE LAST MINSTKEL 
 
 CANTO FIRST. 
 
 I. 
 
 The feast was over in Branksome tower. ' 
 
 And the Ladye had gone to her secret bower ; 
 
 Her bower that was guarded by word and by spell. 
 
 Deadly to hear, and deadly to teU — 
 
 Jesu Maria, shield us weU ! 
 
 No living wight, save the Ladye alone, 
 
 Had dared to cross the threshold stone. 
 
 II. 
 
 The tables were dra'n-n, it was idlesse aU ; 
 
 Knight, and page, and household squire, 
 Loiter'd through the lofty hall, 
 
 Or crowded round the ample fire : 
 The stag-hounds, weary with the chase, 
 * Lay stretch'd upon the rushy floor. 
 
 And urged, in dreams, the forest race, 
 
 From Teviot-stone to Eskdale-moor. 
 
 in. 
 
 Nine-and-twenty knights of fame 
 
 Hung their shields in Branksome-Hall ; * 
 Nine-and-twenty squires of name 
 
 Brought them their steeds to bower from stall ; 
 Nine-and-twenty yeomen taU 
 Waited, duteous, on them all : 
 They were all knights of mettle true, 
 Kinsmen to the bold Buccleuch. 
 
 ' See Ifiite 1 of the " Notes to the Lai of the Last Minstrel" lu 
 the Appendix. The figures of refereuce throughout the poem relate Ui 
 further Notes in the Appendix.
 
 CANTO I. THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 37 
 
 IV. 
 
 Ten of them were sheathed in steel, 
 With belted sword, and spur on heel : 
 They quitted not their harness bright, 
 Neither by day, nor yet by night: 
 
 They lay do-mi to rest, 
 
 Witt corslet laced, 
 Pillow'd on buckler cold and hard ; 
 
 They carv'd at the meal 
 
 ^Vith gloves of steel. 
 And they drank the red wine through the helmet 
 barr'd. 
 
 V. 
 
 Ten squires, ten yeomen, mail-clad men, 
 Waited the beck of the warders ten ; 
 Thirty steeds, both tleet and wight. 
 Stood" saddled in stable day and night. 
 Barbed wth frontlet of steel, I trow. 
 And with Jedwood-ase at saddle-bow ; ' 
 A hundred more fed free in stall : — 
 Such was the custom of Brank^ome Hall. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Why do these steeds stand ready dight ? 
 Why watch these warriors, arm'd, by night ? — 
 They watch, to hear the blood-hound baying : 
 They watch, to hear the war-hom braying ; 
 To see St George's red cross streaming. 
 To see the midnight beacon gleaming : 
 They watch, against Southern force and guile. 
 Lest Scroop, or Howard, or Percy's powers. 
 Threaten Branksome's lordly towers. 
 From Waikworth, or Naworth, or merry Carlisle.* 
 
 VII. 
 
 Such is the custom of Branksome Hall. — 
 
 Many a valiant knight is here ; 
 But he", the chieftain of them all, 
 His sword hangs rusting on the wall. 
 Beside his broken spear. 
 
 Bards long shall tell. 
 
 How Lord Walter fell!* 
 
 When startled burghers fled, afar, 
 
 The furies of the Border war ; 
 
 When the streets of high Dunedin a 
 
 Saw lances gleam, and falchions redden. 
 
 And heard the slogan's * deadly yell — 
 
 Then the Chief of Branksome fell. 
 
 vin. 
 
 Can piety the discord heal. 
 
 Or staunch the death-feud's enmity ? 
 
 <» Edinburgh. * The war-cry or gathering word of a Border rjaa.
 
 38 THE LAf OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 
 
 Can Christian lore, can patriot zeal, 
 
 Can love of blessed charitj^? 
 No ! vainly to each holy shrine, 
 
 In mutual pilgrimage, they drew ; 
 Implored, in vain, the grace divine 
 
 For chiefs, their -own red falcMons slew: 
 ^V^lile Cessford owns the rule of Carr, 
 
 "Wliile Ettrick boasts the line of Scott, * 
 The slaiighter'd chiefs, the mortal jar, 
 The havoc of the feudal war. 
 
 Shall never, never be forgot ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 In sorrow o'er Lord Walter's bier 
 
 The warlike foresters had bent ; 
 And many a flower, and many a tear. 
 
 Old Teviot's maids and matrons lent: 
 Rut o'er her warrior's bloody bier 
 The Ladye dropp'4 nor flower nor tear ! 
 Vengeance deep-brooding o'er the slain, 
 
 Had lock'd the source of softer woe ; 
 And burning pride, and high disdain, 
 
 Forbade the rising tear to flow ; 
 Until, amid his sorrowing clan, 
 
 Her son lisp'd from the nm'se's knee — 
 " And if I live to be a man, 
 
 My father's death revenged shall be !" 
 Then fast the mother's tears did seek 
 To dew the infant's kindling cheek. 
 
 All loose her negligent attire. 
 
 All loose her golden hair. 
 Hung MargaretVer her slaughter'd sire, 
 
 And wept in wild despair, 
 But not alone the bitter tear 
 
 Had filial grief supplied ; 
 For hopeless love, and anxious fear, 
 
 Had lent their mingled tide : 
 Nor in her mother's alter'd eye 
 Dared she to look for sympathy. 
 Her lover, 'gainst her father's clan, 
 
 With Carr in arms had stood. 
 When Mathouse-bum to Melrose ran. 
 
 All purple with their blood ; 
 And well she knew, her mother dread. 
 Before Lord Cranstoim she should wed. 
 Would see her on her dying bed. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Of noble race the Ladye came, 
 Her father was a clerk of fame. 
 
 Of Bethune's line of Picai-die : 
 He learned the art that none may name, 
 
 In Padua, far beyond the sea.'
 
 [. THE LAY OF 7HE LAST MINSTREL. 39 
 
 Jlcn said, he changed his mortal frame, 
 
 By feat of magic mystery ; 
 For when in studious mood he paced 
 
 St Andrew's cloister'd hall, 
 His form no darkeiiLng shadow traced 
 
 Upon the sunny M"ail ! 8 
 
 XII. 
 
 And of his skill, as bards avow, 
 
 He taught that Ladye fair, 
 Till to her bidding she coidd bow 
 
 The viewless forms of air. 
 And now she sits in secret bower, 
 In old Lord David's western tower. 
 And listens to a heavy sound. 
 That moans tlie mossy turrets round. 
 Is it the roar of Teviot's tide, 
 That chafes against the scaur's red side ? 
 Is it the wind that swings the oaks ? 
 Is it the echo from the rocks ? 
 \Miat may it be, the heavj- sound. 
 That moans old Branksome's turrets round ? 
 
 XIII. 
 
 At the sullen, moaning sound, 
 
 The ban-dogs bay and howl ; 
 And from the turrets round, 
 
 Loud whoops the startled owl. 
 In the hall, both squire and knight 
 
 Swore that a storm was near, 
 And looked forth to view the night ; 
 
 But the night was still and clear ? 
 
 XIV. 
 
 From the sound of Teviot's tide. 
 Chafing with the mountain's side, 
 From the groan of the wind-swung oak. 
 From the sullen echo of the rock. 
 From the voice of the coming storm. 
 
 The Ladve knew it well ! 
 It was the ^pii'it of the Flood that spoke. 
 
 And he called on the Spirit of the Fell. 
 
 XV. 
 
 RIVER SPIRIT. 
 
 " Sleep'st thou brother?"— 
 
 MOUNTAIN SPIRIT. 
 
 — " Brother, nay — 
 On my hills the moonbeams play. 
 From Craik-cross to Skelf hill pen. 
 By everj' rill, in every glen. 
 Merry elves their morris pacing. 
 To aerial minstrelsy,
 
 40 THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. C 
 
 Emerald rings on broTm heath tracing, 
 
 Trip it deft and merrily. 
 Dp, and mark their nimble feet ! 
 f Up, and list their music sweet ! " 
 
 XVI. 
 
 RIVER SPIRIT. 
 
 " Tears of an imprison'd maiden 
 Mix with my polluted stream ; 
 
 Margaret of Branksorae, sorrow-laden, 
 Mourns beneath the moon's pale beam. 
 
 Tell me, thou, who view'st the stars, 
 
 "When shall cease these feudal jars ? 
 
 What shall be the maiden's fate ? 
 
 Who shall be the maiden's mate ? " 
 
 XVII. 
 
 MOUNTAIN SPIRIT. 
 
 " Arthur's slow wain his coiu-se doth roll, 
 In utter darkness, round the pole ; 
 The Northern Bear lowers black and gi-ini ; 
 Orion's studded belt is dim ; 
 T-\vinkling faint, and distant far, 
 Shimmers through mist each planet star ; 
 
 111 may I read their high decree ! 
 But no kind intiuence deign they shower 
 On Teviot's tide, and Branksome's tower, 
 Till pride be queU'd, and love be free." 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 The imearthly voices ceast. 
 
 And the heavy sound was still ; 
 It died on the river's breast. 
 
 It died on the side of the hiU. 
 But roimd Lord David's tower 
 
 The sound still floated near ; 
 For it rung in the Ladye's bower, 
 
 And it rung in the Ladye's ear. 
 She raised her stately head. 
 
 And her heart throbb'd high with pride : — 
 " Your mountains shall bend. 
 And your streams ascend. 
 
 Ere Margaret be om- foeman's bride ! " 
 
 XIX. 
 The Ladye sought the lofty hall, 
 
 Where many a bold retainer lay, 
 And, with jocund din, among them all. 
 
 Her son jiursued his infant play. 
 A fancied moss-trooper, the boy 
 
 The truncheon of a spear bestrode, 
 And round the hall right merrily, 
 
 In mimic foray rode. 
 Even bearded knights, in arms grown old. 
 
 Share it his fi'olic gambols bore,
 
 CANTO I. THE LAT OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 41 
 
 Albeit their hearts, of rugged mould, 
 Were stubborn as the steel they wore. 
 
 For the grey ivarriors prophesied. 
 How the brave boy, in future war. 
 
 Should tame the unicorn's pride. 
 Exalt the Crescent and the Star. 
 
 XX. 
 
 The Ladye forgot her purpose high, 
 
 One moment, and no more ; 
 One moment gazed with a mother's eye, 
 
 As she paused at the arched door : 
 Then, from amid the armed train. 
 She call'd to her William of Deloraine. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 A stark moss-trooping Scott was he. 
 
 As e'er couch'd Border lance by knee ; 
 
 Through Sohvay samls, through Tarras moss, 
 
 Blindfold, he kiiew the paths to cross ; 
 
 By wily turns, by desperate bounds. 
 
 Had baffled Percj-'s best blood-hounds ; » 
 
 In Eske or Liddel, fords were none. 
 
 But he would ride them, one by one ; 
 
 Alike to him was time or tide, 
 
 December's snow, or Julj-'s pride ; 
 
 Alike to him was tide or time, 
 
 Moonless midnight, or matin prime : 
 
 Steady of heart, and stout of hand. 
 
 As ever drove prey from Cumberland ; 
 
 Five times outlawed had he been. 
 
 By England's King, and Scotland's Queen. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 " Sir William of Deloraine, good at need, 
 Moimt thee on the wightest steed ; 
 Spare not to spur, nor stint to ride, 
 Until thou come to fair Tweedside ; 
 And in Melrose's holy pile 
 Seek thou the ]\Ionk of St Mary's aisle. 
 Greet the Father well from me ; 
 
 Say that the fated hour is come. 
 And to-night he shall watch with thee, 
 To win the treasure of the tomb : 
 For this will be St Michael's night. 
 And, though stars be dim, the moon is bright ; 
 And the Cross, of bloody red, 
 , WiU point to the grave of the mighty dead. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 " What he gives thee, see thou keep ; 
 Stay not thou for food or sleep : 
 Be it scroll, or be it book. 
 Into it. Knight, thou must not look ; 
 If thou reailest, thou art lorn ! 
 Better hadst thou ne'er been bom "—
 
 42 THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. CANTC 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 " swiftly can speed my dapple-grey steed, 
 • WTiich dj-inks of the Teviot clear ; 
 Ere break of day," the Warrior 'gan say, 
 
 " Again will I be here : 
 And safer by none "may thy errand be done. 
 
 Than, noble dame, by me ; 
 Letter nor line know I never a one, 
 
 Wer't my neck-verse at Hairibee/' 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Soon in his saddle sate he fast, 
 And soon the steep descent he past, 
 Soon cross'd the sounding barbican," 
 And soon the Teviot side he won. 
 Eastward the wooded path he rode, 
 Green hazels o'er his basnet nod ; 
 He pass'd the Peel* of Goldiland, 
 And cross'd old Borthwick's roaring strand ; 
 Dimly he viewed the IMoat-hill's mound, 
 Where Druid shades still flitted roimd ; 
 In Hawick twinkled many a light ; 
 Behind him soon they set in night ; 
 And soon he spurr'd his courser keen 
 Beneath the tower of Hazeldean. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 The clattering hoofs the watchmen mark ; — - 
 *' Stand, ho I thou coiu-ier of the dark." — 
 " For Branksome, ho !" the knight rejoin'd. 
 And left the friendly tower behind. 
 He turn'd him now from Teviotside, 
 
 And, guided by the tinkling rill, 
 Northward the dark ascent did ride, 
 And gained the moor at Horsliehill ; 
 Broad on the left before him lay, 
 For many a mile, the Eoman way.« 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 A moment now he slack'd his speed, 
 A moment breathed his panting steed ; 
 Drew saddle-girth and corslet-band, 
 And loosen'd in the sheath his brand. 
 On Minto-crags the moonbeams glint, 
 Where Barnhill hew'd his bed of flint ; 
 Who flung his outlaw'd limbs to rest, 
 Wliere falcons hang their giddy nest, 
 M\d cliffs, from whence his eagle eye 
 For many a league his prey could spy 
 Cliffs, douliling, on their echoes borne, 
 The terrors of the robber's horn ; 
 
 a Barbican, the defence of an outer gate of a feudal nastle. 
 
 *> Feel, a Border tower. 
 
 » An ancient Roman road, crossing through part of Roxburghshire
 
 NTO r. THE LAY OF TUB LAST MINSTREIi. 43 
 
 Cliffs, which, for many a later year, 
 The warbling Doric reed s]\all hear, 
 When some sad swain shall teach the grove, 
 Ambition is no cure for love ! 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Unchallenged, thence pass'd Deloraine, 
 To ancient Riddel's fair domain, 
 
 Where Aill, from mountains freed, 
 Down from the lakes did raving come ; 
 Each wave was crested with tawny foam, 
 
 Like the mane of a chestnut steed. 
 In vain I no torrent, deep or broad, 
 Might bar the bold moss-troopers road. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 At the first plunge the horse sunk low, 
 
 And the water broke o'er the saddlebow ; 
 
 Above the foaming tide, I ween. 
 
 Scarce half the charger's neck was seen ; 
 
 For he was barded" from counter to tail. 
 
 And the rider was armed complete in mail ; 
 
 Never heavier man and horse 
 
 Stemm'd a midnight torrent's force. 
 
 The warrior's very plume, I saj', 
 
 Was daggled by the dashing spray ; 
 
 Yet, through good heart, and Our Ladye's grace 
 
 At length he gain'd the landing place. . 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Now Bowdcn Moor the march-man won. 
 
 And sternly shook his plumed head, 
 As glanced his eye o'er Halidon ;* 
 
 For on his soul the slaughter rev! 
 Of that unhallow'd morn arose. 
 When first the Scott and Carr were foes ; 
 When royal .James belield the fray, 
 Prize to the victor of the day. 
 When Home and Douglas, in the van, 
 Bore down Buccleuch's retiring clan, 
 Till gallant Cessford's heart-blood dear 
 Eeek'd on dark Elliot's Border spear. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 In bitter mood he spurred fast, 
 And soon the hated heath was past ; 
 And fiir beneath, in lustre wan, 
 Old IMelros' rose, and fair Tweed ran. 
 Like some tall rock with lichens grey. 
 Seem'd dimly huge, the dark Abbaye. 
 When Hamck he pass'd, had curfew rung. 
 Now midnight lauds'' were in Melrose sung. 
 
 o Barded, or barbed, — ap])lied to a boi-se accoutred with di;fensi%'e !ira;our. 
 6 An ancient seat of the Kerrs of Cessford, now demoUshed. 
 ' Lauds, the midnight service of the Catholic Chureli.
 
 44 THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. CAN 
 
 The sound, upon the fitful gale. 
 
 In solemn wise did rise and faU, 
 
 Like that wild harp, whose magic tone 
 
 Is waken'd by the winds alone. 
 
 But when Melrose he reach'd, 'twas silence all ; 
 
 He meetly stabled his steed in stall, 
 
 And sought the convent's lonely wall, i" 
 
 Here paused the harp ; and with its swell 
 The Master's fire and courage fell ; 
 Dejectedly, and low, he bow'd. 
 And, gazing timid on the crowd, 
 He seem'd to seek, in every eye. 
 If they approved his minstrelsy ; 
 And, diffident of present praise. 
 Somewhat he spoke of former days. 
 And how old age, and wand'ring long. 
 Had done his hand and harp some wrong 
 The Duchess, and her daughters fair. 
 And every gentle lady there 
 Each after each, in due degree, 
 Gave praises to his melody ; 
 His hand was true, his voice was clear, 
 And much they longed the rest to hear. 
 Encouraged thus, the Aged Man, 
 After meet rest, again began. 
 
 CANTO SECOND. 
 
 I. 
 
 If thou wouldst view fair Melrose aright. 
 
 Go visit it by the pale moonlight ; 
 
 For the gay beams of lightsome day, 
 
 GUd, but to flout, the ruins grey. 
 
 When the broken arches are black in night. 
 
 And each shafted oriel glimmers white ; 
 
 When the cold light's uncertain shower 
 
 Streams on the ndued central tower; 
 
 When buttress and buttress, alternately. 
 
 Seem framed of ebon and ivory ; 
 
 When silver edges the imagery, 
 
 And the scrolls that teach thee to live and die ; 
 
 When distant Tweed is heard to rave. 
 
 And the owlet to hoot o'er the dead man's grave. 
 
 Then go— but go alone the while — 
 
 Then view St I)a^^d''s ruin'd pile;ii 
 
 And, home returning, sootlily swear, 
 
 Was never scene so sad and fair I
 
 CANTO II. THE LAY OP THE LAST MINSTREL. 4.5 
 
 II. 
 
 Sliort halt did Deloraine mate there; 
 
 Little reck'd he of the scene so fair; 
 
 "With dagger's hilt, on the wicket strong, 
 
 He struck full loud, and struck full long. 
 
 The porter hurried to the gate— 
 " Who knocks so loud, and knocks so late?" 
 " From Branksome I," the warrior cried ; 
 
 And straight the wicket open'd wide : 
 
 For Branksome's Chiefs had in battle stood. 
 To fence the rights of fair Melrose ; 
 
 And lands and livings, many a rood. 
 
 Had gifted the shrine for their souls' repose. 
 
 III. 
 
 Bold Deloraine his errand said ; 
 The porter bent his humble head ; 
 With torch m hand, and feet unshod, 
 And noiseless step, the path he trod ; 
 The arched cloister, far and wide, 
 Rang to the warrior's clanking stride, 
 Till, stooping low his lofty crest, 
 He enter'd the cell of the ancient priest, 
 And Ufted his barred aventayle," 
 To hail the Monk of St Mary's aisle. 
 
 IV. 
 
 " The Ladye of Branksome greets thee by me ; 
 
 Says, that the fated hour is come, 
 And "that to-night I shall watch with thee. 
 
 To win the treasm-e of the tomb." 
 From sackcloth couch the monk arose. 
 
 With toil his stiffen'd Umbs he rear'd ; 
 A hundred years had flimg their snows 
 
 On his thin locks and floating beard. 
 
 And strangely on the knight look'd he. 
 And bis blue eyes gleam'd wild and wide;^ 
 " And darest thou, Warrior ! seek to see 
 What heaven and hell alike would hide ? 
 My breast, in belt of iron pent. 
 
 With shirt of hair and scoiu-ge of thorn ; 
 For threescore years, in penance spent, 
 
 My knees tliose flinty stones have worn ; 
 Yet all too little to atone 
 For knowing what should ne'er be known. 
 Would'st thou thy every future year 
 
 In ceaseless prayer and penance drie. 
 Yet wait thy latter end with fear — 
 Then, daring Warrior, foUow me!" 
 
 VI. 
 
 " Penance, father, will I none ; 
 Prayer know I hardly one ; 
 
 AveiUavle. visor of tlie helmet
 
 46 THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. CANTO 11. 
 
 For mass or prayer can I rarely tarry, 
 
 Save to patter an Ave Marj', 
 
 When I ride on a Bordei foray. 
 
 Other prayer can I none ; 
 
 So speed me my errand, and let me be gone." — 
 
 •VII. 
 
 Again on the Knight look'd the Churchman old, 
 
 And again he sighed heavily ; 
 For he had himself been a warrior bold, 
 
 And fought in Spain and Italy. 
 And he thought on the days tliat were long since by, 
 "WHien his limbs were strong, and his courage was 
 
 high : — 
 Now, slow and faint, he led the way, 
 Where, cloister'd round, the garden lay ; 
 The pillar'd arches were over their head, 
 And beneath their feet were the bones of the dead, 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Spreading herbs, and flowerets bright, 
 Glisten'd with the dew of night ; 
 Nor herb, nor "floweret, glisten'd there. 
 But was carved in the cloister-arches as fair. 
 The Monk gazed long on the lovely moon. 
 
 Then into the night he looked forth ; 
 And red and bright the streamers light 
 Were dancing in tlie glowing north. 
 So had he seen, m fair Castile, 
 
 The youth in glittering squadrons stai't ; 
 Sudden the flying jennet wheel. 
 And hurl the unexpected dart. 
 He knew, by the streamers that shot so bright, 
 That spirits were riding the northern light. 
 
 IX, 
 
 By a steel-clenched postern door. 
 
 They enter'd now the chancel tall ; 
 The darken'd roof rose higli aloof 
 
 On pillars lofty and li"'ht and small : 
 The kej'-stone, tliat lock d each ribbed aisle, 
 Was a fleur-de-lys, or a quatre-feuUle ; 
 The corbells " were cars-ed grotesque and grim ; 
 And the pillars, with clustei-'d shafts so trim, 
 With base and with capital floiu-ish'd around, 
 Seem'd bundles of lances which garlands had boiuiJ. 
 
 X, 
 
 Full many a scutcheon and banner riven, 
 Shook to the cold night- wind of heaven, 
 
 Around tlie screened altar's pale ; 
 And there the dying lamps did burn. 
 Before thy low and lonely mu, 
 
 " Corhelh, the prqiections from which the arches spring, usually cut in 
 a fantastic face, or ma^k.
 
 ;an7o rr. the lay of the last minstrel. 47 
 
 gallant chief of Otterbume ! '^ 
 
 And thine, dark Knight of Liddesdale ! 'S 
 O fading honours of the dead ! 
 high ambition, lowly laid 1 
 
 XL 
 The moon on the east oriel shone 
 Through slender shafts of shapely stone. 
 
 By foliaged tracery combined ; 
 Thou would'st have "thought some fair\''s hand 
 'Twixt poplars straight the ozier wand. 
 
 In many a freakish knot, had twined ; 
 Then framed a spell, when the work w;i3 done, 
 And changed the willow wreaths to stone. 
 The silver light, so pale and faint, 
 Show'd many a prophet, and many a saint. 
 
 Whose image on the glass was dyed ; 
 Full in the midst, his Cross of Red 
 Triumphant Michael brandished, 
 
 And trampled the Apostate's pride. 
 The moonbeam kiss'd the holy pane. 
 
 And threw on the pavement a bloody stain. 
 
 XII. 
 
 They sate them do^vn on a marble stone, 
 
 (A Scottish monarch slept below ;) 
 Thus spoke the iMonk, in solemn tone : — 
 
 " I was not always a man of woe ; 
 For Paynun countries I have trod, 
 And fought beneath the cross of God : 
 Now, strange to my eyes thine arms appear, 
 And their iron clang soimds strange to my eat. 
 
 XIII. 
 " In these far climes it was my lot 
 To meet the wondrous Michael Scott ; '* 
 
 A wizard, of such dreaded fame, 
 That when, in Salamanca's cave, 
 Him listed his magic wand to wave. 
 
 The bells would ring in Notre Dame I 
 Some of his skill he taught to me ; 
 And, Warrior, I could say to thee 
 The words that cleft Eildon hills in three,'* 
 
 And bridled the Tweed with a curb of stone : 
 But to speak them were a deadly sin ; 
 And for having but thought them my heart witliin. 
 
 A treble penance must be done. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 " When Michael lay on his dying bed. 
 His conscience was awakened : 
 He bethought him of his sinful deed, - 
 And he gave me a sign to come with speed 
 I was in Spain when the morning rose. 
 But I stood by his bed ere evening close.
 
 48 THE LAY OP THE LAST MINSTREL. CANT( 
 
 The words may not again be said, 
 That he spoke to me, on death-bed laid ; 
 They would rend this Abbaye'? massy nave, 
 And pile it in heaps above his grave. 
 
 . ^^• 
 
 " I swore to bury his Mighty Book, 
 That never mortal might therein look ; 
 And never to tell where it was hid, 
 Save at his Chief of Branksome's need : 
 And when that need was past and o'er, 
 Again the volume to restore. 
 I buried him on St Michael's night. 
 When the bell toU'd one, and the moon was bright, 
 And I dug liis chamber among the dead, 
 When the floor of the chancel was stained red. 
 That his patron's cross might over him wave. 
 And scare the fiends from the Wizard's grave. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 " It was a night of woe and dread, 
 When Michael in the tomb I laid I 
 Strange somids along the chancel pass'd, 
 The banners waved without a blast" — 
 — Still spoke the Monk, when the bell toll'd one I — 
 I tell you, that a braver man 
 Than William of Deloraine, good at need, 
 Against a foe ne'er spurr'd a steed ; 
 Yet somewhat was he chill'd with dread, 
 And his hair did bristle upon his head. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 " Lo, Warrior ! now the Cross of Bed 
 Points to tlie grave of the mighty dead ; 
 Within it burns a wonderous light. 
 To chase the spirits that love the night. 
 That lamp shall bm-n unquenchably, 
 Until the eternal doom shall be." — 
 Slow moved the Monk to the broad flag-stone, 
 Which the bloody Cross was traced upon : 
 He pointed to a secret nook ; 
 An iron-bar the Warrior took ; 
 And the Monk made a sign with his withet'd 
 
 hand, 
 The grave's huge portal to expand. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 With beating heart to the task he went ; 
 
 His sinewy frame o'er the grave-stone bent ; 
 
 With bar of iron heaved amain. 
 
 Till the toil-drojis fell from his brows, like rain. 
 
 It was by dint of passing strength, 
 
 That he moved the massy stone at length., 
 
 I would you had been there, to see 
 
 How the light broke forth so gloriously.
 
 II. THE LAY OP THE LAST MINSTREL. 49 
 
 Stxeam'd upward to the chancel roof. 
 And through the galleries far aloof! 
 No earthly flame blazed e'er so bright : 
 It shone like heaven's own blessed light, 
 
 And, issuing from the tomb, 
 Show'd the Monk's cowl, and visage pale. 
 Danced on the dark-brow'd Warrior's mail. 
 
 And kiss'd hia waving plume. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Before their eyes the Wizard lay. 
 As if he had not been dead a day. 
 His hoary beard in silver roll'd, 
 He seem'd some seventy ■winters old ; 
 
 A palmer's amice wrapp'd him round, 
 
 With a wrought Spanish baldric bound. 
 Like a pOgrim from beyond the sea : 
 
 His left hand held his Book of Might ; 
 
 A silver cross was in his right ; 
 
 The lamp was placed beside his knee : 
 High and majestic was his look. 
 At which the fellest fiend had shook, 
 And all unruffled was his face : 
 They trusted his soul had gotten grace. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Often had William of Deloraine 
 Rode through the battle's bloody plain. 
 And trampled down the warriors slain. 
 
 And neither known remorse nor awe ; 
 Yet now remorse and awe he own'd ; 
 His breath came thick, his head swam roimd, 
 
 When this strange scene of death he saw, 
 Be^viider'd and unnerv'd he stood, 
 And the priest pray'd fervently and loud : 
 With eyes averted prayed he ; 
 He might not endm-e the sight to see, 
 Of the man he had loved so brotherly, 
 
 XXL 
 
 And when the priest his death-prayer had pray'd, 
 Thus unto Deloraine he said : — 
 ' Xow, speed thee what thou hast to do, 
 Or, WaiTior, we may dearly rue ; 
 For those, thou may'st not look upon, 
 Are gathering fast round the yawning stone I " 
 Then, Deloraine, in terror, took 
 From the cold hand the llighty Book, 
 With iron clasp'<l, and with iron bound : 
 He thought, as he took it, the dead man frown'd ; 
 But the glare of the sepulchral light. 
 Perchance, had dazzled the warrior's sight. 
 
 ' XXIL 
 
 When the huge stone sunk o'er the tomb, 
 The night retum'd in double gloom ;
 
 ffO THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. CANTO : 
 
 For the moon had gone down, and the stars were few ; 
 
 And, as the Knight and Priest withdrew, 
 
 With wavering steps and dizzy brain. 
 
 They hardly might the postern gain. 
 
 'Tis said, as through the aisles they pass'd, 
 
 They heard strange ionises on the blast ; 
 
 And through the cloister-galleries small. 
 
 Which at mid-lieiglit thread the chancel wall, 
 
 Loud sobs, and laughter louder, ran, 
 
 And voices unlike the voice of man ; 
 
 As if the fiends kept holiday. 
 
 Because these spells were brought to day, 
 
 I cannot tell how the truth may be ; 
 
 I say the tale as 'twas said to me. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 " Now, hie thee hence," the Father said, 
 " And when we are on death-bed laid, 
 O may our dear Ladye, and sweet St John, 
 Forgive our souls for the deed we have done ! " 
 The Monk return 'd him to his cell. 
 
 And many a prayer and penance sped ; 
 When the convent met at the noontide bell — 
 The Monk of St Mary's aisle was dead I 
 Before the cross was the body laid, 
 With hands clasp'd fast, as if still he pray'd 
 
 XXIV, 
 
 The Knight breathed free in the morning ^vind. 
 
 And strove his hardihood to find : 
 
 He was glad when he pass'd the tombstones gre}'. 
 
 Which ghdle roimd the fair Abbaye ; 
 
 For the mystic Book, to his bosom prest. 
 
 Felt like a load upon his breast ; 
 
 And his joints, with nerves of iron twin'd, 
 
 Shook, like the aspen leaves in wind. 
 
 Full fain was he when the dawn of day 
 
 Began to brighten Cheviot grey ; 
 
 He joy'd to see the cheerful light, 
 
 And he said Ave Mary, as well as he might. 
 
 XXV, 
 The sun had brighten'd Cheviot grey. 
 
 The sun had brighten'd the Carter's" side; 
 And soon beneath the rising day 
 
 Smiled Branksome towers and Teviot's tiiia. 
 The wild birds told tlieir warbling tale, 
 
 And waken'd every flower that blows ; 
 And peeped forth the violet pale. 
 
 And spread her breast the mountam rose. 
 And lovelier than the roSie so red. 
 
 Yet paler than the violet pale, 
 She early left her sleepless bed. 
 
 The fairest maid of Teviotdale. 
 a A mountam on the Border of England, above Jedburgh.
 
 [I. THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 51 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Why does fair Margaret so early awake, 
 
 Aiid don her kirtle so hastilie ; 
 And the silken knots, which in hurry she would make, 
 
 \Vliy tremble her slender fingers to tie ; 
 WTiy does she stop, and look often around, 
 
 As she glides down the secret stair ; 
 And why does she pat the shaggy blood-hound. 
 
 As she rouses him up from his lair ; 
 And, though she passes the postern alone. 
 Why is not the watchman's bugle blown ? 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 The Ladye steps in doubt and dread, 
 
 Lest her watcliful mother hear her tread ; 
 
 The Ladye caresses the rough blood-hound, 
 
 Lest his voice should waken the castle roimd ; 
 
 The watchman's bugle is not blown. 
 
 For he was her foster-father's son ; 
 
 And she glides through the greenwood at dawn of light 
 
 To meet Baron Henrj-, her o^ti true knight. 
 
 XXVIIL 
 
 The Knight and Ladye fair are met, 
 
 And imder the ha\\1.hom's boughs are set. 
 
 A fairer pair were never seen 
 
 To meet beneath the ha'svthom green. 
 
 He was stately, and yoimg, and tall ; 
 
 Dreaded in battle, and loved in hall : 
 
 And she, when love, scarce told, scarce hid, 
 
 Lent to her cheek a livelier red ; 
 
 ■SVhen the half sigh her swelling breast 
 
 Against the silken ribbon prest ; 
 
 When her blue eyes their secret told. 
 
 Though shaded by her locks of gold — 
 
 A^Tiere would you find the peerless fair. 
 
 With Margai-et of Brauksome might compare ! 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 And now, fair dames, methuiks I see 
 You listen to my minstrelsy; 
 Yoiu- waving locks ye backward throw. 
 And sidelong bend your necks of snow : 
 Ye ween to hear a melting tale, 
 Of two true lovers in a dale ; 
 And how the Knight, with tender fire, 
 
 To paint his faithful passion strove ; 
 Swore he might at her feet expire. 
 
 But never, never cease to love ; 
 And how she blush'd and how she sigh'd. 
 And, half consenting, half denied. 
 And said that she would die a maid ; — 
 Yet, might the bloody feud be stayo, 
 Henr)^ of Cranstoun, and only he, 
 Margaret of Brankscime's choice should ba.
 
 52 TUE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. CAN 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Alas ! fair dames, your hopes are vain ! 
 My harp has lost the enchanting strain ; 
 
 Its lightness would my age reprove : 
 My hairs are grey, my limbs are old, 
 My heart is dead, my veins are cold : 
 
 I may not, must not, sing of love. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Beneath an oak, moss'd o'er by eld, 
 The Baron's Dwarf his courser held, '^ 
 
 And held his crested helm and spear : 
 That Dwarf was scarce an earthly man. 
 If the tales were true that of him ran 
 
 Through all the Border, far and near. 
 'Twas said, when the Baron a-himting rode 
 Through Reedsdale's glens, but rarely trode, 
 
 He heard a voice cry, " Lost ! lost ! lost !" 
 And, like tenis-ball by racket toss'd, 
 
 A leap, of thirty feet and three. 
 Made from the gorse this elfin shape. 
 Distorted like some dwarfish ape, 
 
 And lighted at Lord Cranstoun's knee. 
 Lord Cranstomi was some whit dismay'd ; 
 'Tis said that five good miles he rade. 
 
 To rid him of his company ; 
 But where he rode one mile, the Dwarf ran four. 
 And the Dwarf was first at the castle door. 
 
 XXXIL 
 
 Use lessens marvel, it is said : 
 This elfish Dwarf with the Baron staid ; 
 Little he ate, and less he spoke, 
 Nor mingled with the menial flock : 
 And oft apart his arms he toss'd. 
 And often mutter'd "Lost! lost! lost!" 
 He was waspish, arch, and litherlie, 
 But well Lord Granstoun served he : 
 And he of his ser^dce was full fain ; 
 For once he had been ta'en or slain. 
 
 An it had not been for his ministry. 
 All between Home and Hermitage, 
 Talk'd of Lord Cranstoun's Goblin-Page. 
 
 XXXIIL 
 
 For the Baron went on pilgrimage. 
 And took with him this ehish Page, 
 
 To Marj-'s Chapel of the Lowes : 
 For there, beside our Ladye's lake. 
 An offering he had sworn to make, 
 
 And he woidd pay his vows. 
 But the Ladye of Branksome gather'd a band 
 Of the best that woidd ride at her command : 
 
 The tiysting-place was Newark Lee. 
 Wat of Harden came thither amain.
 
 II. THE LAY OF THE LAST MIXSTREL, 53 
 
 And tliither came John of Thirlestane, 
 And thither came William of Deloraine ; 
 
 They were three hundred spears and three. 
 Through Douglas-bum, up Yarrow stream, 
 Their horses prance, their lances gleam. 
 They came to St Mary's lake ere day ; 
 But the chapel was void, and the Baron away. 
 They burn'd the chapel for verv rage, 
 And cursed Lord Cranstoun's (joblin-Page. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 And now, in Branksome's good greenwood, 
 As under the aged oak ne stood, 
 The Baron's courser pricks his ears. 
 As if a distant noise he hears. 
 The Dwarf waves his long lean arm on high, 
 And signs to the lovers to part and fly : 
 No time was then to vow or sigh. 
 Fair Margaret through the hazel grove. 
 Flew like the startled cushat-dove : " 
 The Dwarf the stirrup held and rein ; 
 Vaulted the Knight on liis steed amain, 
 And, pondering deep that morning's scene. 
 Rode eastward through the hawthorns green. 
 
 While thus he pour'd the lengthen'd tale, 
 The Minstrel's voice began to fail : 
 Full slyly smiled the observant page. 
 And gave the wither'd hand of age 
 A goblet, crown'd with mighty •w-ine. 
 The blood of Velez' scorched vine. 
 He raised the silver cup on high, 
 And, whUe the big drop tiU'd his eye, 
 PraVd God to bless the Duchess long. 
 And all who cheer'd a son of song. 
 The attending maidens smiled to see 
 How long, how deep, how zealously, 
 The precious juice the Minstrel quaff'd ; 
 And he, embolden'd by the draught, 
 Look'd gaily back to them, and laugh'd. 
 The cordial nectar of the bowl 
 Swell'd his old veins, and cheer'd his soul , 
 A lighter, livelier prelude ran. 
 Ere thus his tale again began. 
 
 a WooJ-pigeon.
 
 64 
 
 CANTO THIRD. 
 
 I. 
 
 And said I that my limbs were olii. 
 And said I that my blood was cold. 
 And that my kuidly fire was fled. 
 And my poor wither'd heart was dead, 
 
 And that I might not sing of love ? — 
 How coiild I, to the dearest theme 
 That ever warm'd a minstrel's dream. 
 
 So foul, so false a recreant prove I 
 How could I name love's very name, 
 Nor wake my heart to notes of flame ! 
 
 II. 
 
 In peace, Love tunes the shepherd's reed ; 
 
 In war, he mounts the warrior's steed ; 
 
 In halls, in gay attire is seen ; 
 
 In hamlets, dances on the green. 
 
 Love niles the comt, the camp, the grove, 
 
 And men below, and saints above ; 
 
 For love is heaven, and heaven is love. 
 
 in. 
 
 So thought Lord Cranstoun, as I ween. 
 While, pondering deep the tender scene. 
 He rode through Branksome's hawthorn green. 
 
 But the page shouted wild and shi-ill, 
 And scarce his helmet could he don, 
 
 T\lien downward from the shady hiU 
 A stately knight came pricking on. 
 That warrior's steed, so dapple-grey, 
 Was dark with sweat, and splash'd with clay; 
 
 His aimour red with many a stain : 
 He seem'd in such a wear\' plight, 
 As if he had ridden the live-long night ; 
 
 For it was William of Deloraine. 
 
 IV. 
 
 But no whit weary did he seem. 
 When, dancing in the sunny beam. 
 He mark'd the crane on the Baron's crest:" 
 For his ready spear was in his rest. 
 Few were tlie words, and stem and high. 
 That mark'd the foeman's feudal hate ; 
 For question fierce, and proud reply, 
 (rave sigUiU. soon of dire debate. 
 
 " The crest of the Cranstouns, in allusion to their name, is a crane dur- 
 aiaut, holding a stone m his foot, witli ;iu enipliatic Border motto. Thoit 
 shalt want ere I want.
 
 «ANTO III. THE LAY OP THE LAST MINSTREL. .'55 
 
 Their verj- coursers seem'd to know 
 That each was other's mortal foe, 
 And snorted fire when wheel'd around, 
 To give each knight his vantage-gTOund. 
 
 V. 
 
 In rapid round the Baron bent; 
 
 He sigh'd a sigh, and pray'd a prayer ; 
 The praj-er was to his patron saint, 
 
 The sigh was to his ladye fair. 
 Stout Deloraine nor sighed nor praj-'d, 
 Nor saint, nor ladye, call'd to aid ; 
 But he stoop'd his head, and couch'd his spear, 
 And spurr'd his steed to full career. 
 The meeting of these champions proud 
 Seem'd like the bursting thunder-cloud. 
 
 VI. 
 Stem was the dint the Borderer lent ! 
 The stately Baron backwards bent ; 
 Bent backwards to his horse's tail. 
 And his plumes went scattering on the gale ; 
 The tough ash spear, so stout and true, 
 Into a thousand flinders flew. 
 But Cranstoun's lance, of more avail, 
 Pierced through, like silk, the Borderer's mail ; 
 Through shield, and jack, and acton, past. 
 Deep in his bosom broke at last. — 
 Still sate the warrior, saddle-fast, 
 Till, stumbling in the mortal shock, 
 Down went the steed, the girthing broke, 
 Hurl'd on a heap lay man and horse. 
 The Baron onward pass'd his course ; 
 Xor knew — so giddy roll'd his brain — 
 His foe lay stretched upon the plain. 
 
 VII. 
 
 But when he rein'd his courser round. 
 And saw his foeman on the ground 
 
 Lie senseless as the bloody clay. 
 He bade his page to stanch the wound, 
 
 And there beside the warrior stay, 
 And tend him in his doubtfid state, 
 And lead him to Branksome castle-gate ; 
 His noble mind was inly moved 
 For the kinsman of the maid he loved. 
 This shalt thou do without delay : 
 No longer here niyseK may stay ; 
 Unless the swifter I speed away. 
 Short shrift ■will be at my dj-ing day." 
 
 VIII. 
 Away in speed Lord Cranstoun rode ; 
 The Goblin Page behind abode ; 
 His lord's command he ne'er withstood. 
 Though small liis pleasure to do good.
 
 b6 THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTEEL. CANTO III. 
 
 As the corslet off he took, 
 
 The dwarf espied the INIighty Book ! 
 
 Much he marvell'd a knight of pride, 
 
 Like a book-bosom'd priest should ride : 
 
 He thought not to search or stanch the wound 
 
 Until the secret he had found. 
 
 IX. 
 
 The iron band, the iron clasp, 
 Resisted long the elfin grasp : 
 For when the first he had imdone. 
 It closed as he the next begun. 
 Those iron clasps, that iron band. 
 Would not yield to unchristen'd hand. 
 Till he smear'd the cover o'er 
 With the Borderer's curdled gore ; 
 A moment then the volume spread. 
 And one short spell therein he read, 
 It had much of glamour" might, 
 Could make a ladj'e seem a knight ; 
 The cobwebs on a dungeon wall 
 Seem tapestry in lordly haU ; 
 A nut-shell seem a gilded barge, 
 A sheeling * seem a palace large. 
 And youth seem age, and age seem youth- 
 All was delusion, nought was truth. " 
 
 X. 
 
 He had not read another spell. 
 When on his cheek a buffet fell. 
 So fierce, it stretch'd him on the plain, 
 Beside the wounded Deloraine. 
 From the ground he rose dismayed. 
 And shook his huge and matted head ; 
 One word he mutter'd, and no more, 
 " Man of age, thou smitest sore !" — 
 No more the Elfin Page durst try 
 Into the wondrous Book to pry ; 
 The clasps, though smear'd with Christian gore, 
 Shut faster than they were before. 
 He hid it underneath his cloak. — 
 Now, if you ask who gave the sti'oke, 
 I cannot tell, so mot I thrive ; 
 It was not given by man alive. 
 
 XL 
 
 Unwillingly himself he address'd 
 To do his master's high behest : 
 He lifted up the li\'ing corse. 
 And laid it on the weary horse ; 
 He led him into Branksome HaU, 
 Before the beards of the warders all ; 
 And each did after swear and say. 
 There only pass'd a wain of hay. 
 
 » Magical delusion. * A sLeplierd's hut.
 
 OANTO III. THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 57 
 
 He took him to Lord David's tower, 
 
 Even to the Ladye's secret bower ; 
 
 And, but that stronger spells were spread. 
 
 And the door might not be opened, 
 
 He had laid him on her very bed. 
 
 Whate'er he did of gramarj'e," 
 
 Was always done maliciously ; 
 
 He flung the wan'ior on the ground, 
 
 And the blood well'd freshly from the wound. 
 
 XII. 
 
 As he repass'd the outer comi;. 
 
 He spied the fair young child at sport : 
 
 He thought to train hmi to the wood ; 
 
 For, at a word, be it understood. 
 
 He was always for ill, and never for good. 
 
 Seem'd to the boy, some comrade gay 
 
 Led him forth to the woods to play ; 
 
 On the drawbridge the warders stout 
 
 Saw a terrier and lurcher passing out. 
 
 XIIL 
 
 He led the boy o'er bank and fell, 
 
 Until they came to a woodland brook ; 
 
 The nmning stream dissolved the speD,i8 
 And his ovra elvish shape he took. 
 
 Could he have had his pleasure vllde. 
 
 He had crippled the joints of the noble cliild ; 
 
 Or, with his fingers long and lean, 
 
 Had strangled him in fiendish spleen : 
 
 But his awful mother he had in dread. 
 
 And also his power was limited ; 
 
 So he but scowl'd on the startled child. 
 
 And darted through the forest -n-ild ; 
 
 The woodland brook he bounding cross'd, 
 
 And laugh'd, and shouted, " Lost ! lost ! lost!" — 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Full sore amaz'd at the wondrous change. 
 
 And frighten'd as a child might be, 
 At the wild yell and visage sti-ange, 
 
 And the dark words of gramaiye. 
 The child, amidst the forest bower. 
 Stood rooted like a lOj' flower ; 
 
 And when at length, with trembling p'>ce, 
 He sought to find where Branksome lay, 
 
 He fear'd to see that grisly face 
 
 Glare from some tliicket on his way. 
 Thus, starting oft, he joumey'd on. 
 And deeper in the wood is gone, — 
 For aye the more he sought his way. 
 The farther still he went astray, — 
 Lentil he heard the mountains romid 
 Ring to the baying of a hound. 
 
 " Magic.
 
 58 THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. CAN 
 
 XV. 
 
 And hark ! and hark ! the deep-mouth'd bark 
 
 Comes Higher still, and niglier : 
 Bursts on the path a dark blood-hound, 
 His tawny muzzle trjick'd the ground, 
 And his red eye shot fire. 
 Soon as the wilder'd child saw he. 
 He flew at hun right fiu-iouslie 
 I ween you would have seen with joy 
 The bearing of the gallant boy. 
 When, worthy of his noble sire, 
 His wet cheek glow'd 'twixt fear and ire ! 
 He faced the blood-hoimd manfully, 
 And held his little bat on high ; 
 So fierce he struck, the dog, afraid, 
 At cautiou^5 distance hoarsely bay'd, 
 
 But still in act to S])ring ; 
 When dash'd an archer through the glade, 
 And when he saw the hound was stay'd. 
 
 He drew his tough bow-string ; 
 But a rough voice cried, " Shoot not, hoy ! 
 Ho ! shoot not, Edward — 'Tis a boy ! " 
 
 XVI. 
 
 The speaker issued from the wood, 
 And check'd his fellow's siu-ly mood, 
 
 And quell'd the ban-dog's ire : 
 He was an English yeoman good. 
 
 And born in Lancashu-e. 
 Well could he hit a fallow-deer 
 
 Five hundred feet hun fro ; 
 With hand more true, and eye more clear, 
 
 No archer bended bow. 
 His coal-black hair, shorn round and close. 
 
 Set off his sun-burn'd face : 
 Old England's sign, St George's cross, 
 
 His ban-et-cap did grace ; 
 His bugle-horn hung by his side, 
 
 All in a wolf-skin baldric tied ; 
 And his short falchion, sharp and clear, 
 Had pierced the throat of many a deer. 
 
 XVH. 
 
 His kirtle, made of forest green 
 
 Reach'd scantly to his knee ; 
 And, at his belt, of arrows keen 
 
 A fr.rbish'd sheaf bore he; 
 His buckler, scarce in breadth a span, 
 
 No larger fence had he ; 
 He never covnited him a man, 
 
 Would strike below the knee : "'* 
 His slacken d bow was in his hand. 
 And the leash, that was his blood-hound's band-
 
 CANTO III. THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTKEL. 59 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 He would not do the fair child harm, 
 
 But held liim with his powerful ami, 
 
 That he might neither tight nor tiee ; 
 
 For when the Eed-Cross spied he. 
 
 The boy strove long and violently. 
 " Now, by St George," the archer cries, 
 " Edward, methinks we have a prize ! 
 
 This boj'^s fair face, and courage free. 
 
 Show he is come of high degree." — 
 
 XIX. 
 " Yes ! I am come of high degree. 
 
 For 1 am the heir of bold Buccleuch ; 
 And, if thou dost not set me free. 
 
 False Southi-on, thou shalt dearly rue ! 
 For Walter of Harden shall come with speed. 
 And William of Deloraine, good at need. 
 And ever}' Scott, from Esk to Tweed ; 
 And, if thou dost not let me go. 
 Despite thy arrows, and thy bow, 
 I'll have thee hang'd to feed the crow ! " — 
 
 XX. 
 
 " Graraercy, for thy good-wiU, fair boy '. 
 My mind was never set so high ; 
 But if thou art chief of such a clan, 
 And art the son of such a man, 
 And ever comest to thy command, 
 
 Our wardens had need to keep good order ; 
 My bow of ye^v to a hazel wand, 
 
 Thou'lt make them work upon the border. 
 Meantime, be pleased to come with me. 
 For good Lord Daere shalt thou see ; 
 I think our work is well begun, 
 When we have taken thy father's son." 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Although the child was led away. 
 In Branksome still lie seem'd to stay, 
 For so the Dwarf his part did play ; 
 And, in the shape of that young boy, 
 He ■RTOUght the castle much annoy. 
 Tlie comrades of the yomig Buccleucli 
 He pinch'd, and beat, and overthrew ; 
 Nay, some of them he wellnigh slew. 
 He tore Dame JIaudlin's silken tire. 
 And, as Sym Hall stood by the tire. 
 He lighted the niatcli of his bandelier," 
 And wofully scoioh'd the hackbuteer. ** 
 It may be hardly thought or said. 
 The mischiS: that the urchin made. 
 Till many of the castle guess'd, 
 That the yoimg Baron was possess'd 1 
 « liandelier, belt fur carrying aiuiminition. * ffackbuUer, musketeer
 
 60 THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. C 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Well I ween the chaiin he held 
 The noble Ladye had soon dispeU'd ; 
 But she was deeply busy then 
 To tend the wounded Delorame. 
 Much she wonder'd to find him lie, 
 
 On the stone threshold stretch'd along ; 
 She thought some spirit of the sky 
 
 Had done the hold moss-trooper wrong. 
 Because, despite her precept dread, 
 Perchance he in the book had read ; 
 But the broken lance in his bosom stood. 
 And it was earthly steel and wood. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 She drew the splinter from the wound, 
 And with a charm she stanch 'd the blood ; 
 
 She bade the gash be cleansed and bound : 
 No longer by his couch she stood ; 
 
 But she has ta'en the broken lance, 
 And wash'd it from the clotted gore, 
 And salved the splinter o'er and o'er, 
 
 William of Deloraine, in trance, 
 ^V^^ene'er she turned it round and round. 
 Twisted as if she gall'd his wound. 
 Then to her maidens she did say, 
 That he should be whole man and sound, 
 Within the course of a night and day. 
 
 Full long she toO'd ; for she did rue 
 
 Mishap to friend so stout and true. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 So pass'd the day — the evening fell, 
 'Twas near the time of curfew bell ; 
 The air was mild, the wind was calm. 
 The stream was smooth, the dew was balm 
 E'en the rude watchman, on the tower, 
 Enjoy 'd and bless'd the lovely hour. 
 Far more fair Margaret loved and bless'd 
 The hour of silence and of rest. 
 On the high turret sitting lone, 
 She waked at times the lute's soft tone ; 
 Touch'd a wild note, and all between 
 Thought of the bower of hawthorns green. 
 Her golden hair stream'd free from band. 
 Her fair cheek rested on her hand. 
 Her blue eyes sought the west afar, 
 For lovers love the western star.' 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Is yon the star, o'er Penchryst Pen, 
 That rises slowly to her ken. 
 And, spreading broad its wavering light, 
 Shakes its loose tresses on the night ? 
 Is yon red glare the western star ? — 
 Oh I 'tis the beacon-blaze of war 1
 
 < III. TUE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL, 61 
 
 Scarce could she draw her tighten'd breath. 
 For well she knew the fire of death I 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 The warder view'd it blazing strong, 
 And blew his wai'-note loud and long, 
 Till, at the high and haughty sound, 
 Rock, wood, and river, rung around. 
 The blast alarm'd the festal hall, 
 And startled forth the warriors all ; 
 Far downward, in the castle-yard. 
 Full many a torch and cresset glared ; 
 And helms and plumes, confusedly toss'd. 
 Were in the blaze half-seen, half-lost ; 
 And spears m wild disorder shook, 
 Like reeds beside a frozen brook. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 The Seneschal, whose silver hair 
 Was redden'd by the torches' glare. 
 Stood in the midst, with gesture proud. 
 And issued forth his mandates loud : — 
 " On Penchryst glows a bale 2" of tire. 
 And three are kindling on Priesthaughswire ; 
 
 Ride out, ride out. 
 
 The foe to scout ! 
 Mount, mount for Branksome, ever}' man I 
 Thou, Todrig, warn tlie Johnstone clan. 
 
 That ever are true and stout — 
 Ye need not send to Liddesdale ; 
 For when they see the blazing bale, 
 Elliots and Armstrongs never faU. — 
 Ride, Alton, ride, for death and life ! 
 And warn the Warder of the strife. 
 Young Gilbert, let our beacon blaze. 
 Our kin, and clan, and friends, to raise." 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Fair Margaret, from the turret head, 
 Heard, far below, the com-sers' tread, 
 
 While loud the harness rung, 
 As to their seats, with clamour dread, 
 
 The ready horsemen sprung : 
 And trampling hoofs, and iron coats, 
 And leaders' voices, mingled notes, 
 And out ! and out ! 
 In hasty route, 
 
 The horsemen gallop'd forth ; 
 Dispersing to the south to scout, 
 
 And east, and west, and north, 
 To view their coming enemies, 
 And warn their vassals and allies.
 
 62 THE LAY OF THE LAST MlNSTRETj. CANTO III 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 The ready page, -with hurried hand. 
 Awaked the need-fire's" slumbering brand. 
 
 And ruddy blush'd the heaven : 
 For a sheet of flame, from the turret high, 
 Waved like a blood-flag on the sky. 
 
 All flaring and imeven ; 
 And soon a score of fires, I ween. 
 From height, and hill, and cliff, were seen ; 
 Each with warlike tidings fraught ; 
 Each from each the signal caught ; 
 Each after each they glanced to sight. 
 As stars arise upon the night. 
 They gleam'd on many a dusky tarn,'' 
 Haunted by the lonely earn ;' 
 On many a cairu's^^ grey pyramid. 
 Where urns of mighty chiefs lie hid; 
 Till high Dimedin the blazes saw. 
 From Soltra and Dumpeuder Law ; 
 And Lothian heard the Regent's order, 
 That all should bowne<* them for the Border, 
 
 XXX. 
 
 The livelong night in Branksome rang 
 
 The ceaseless sound of steel ; 
 The castle-bell, with backward clang, 
 
 Sent forth the lariun peal ; 
 Was frequent heard the hea\y jar, 
 "V^liere massy stone and iron bar 
 Were piled on echoing keep and tower. 
 To whelm the foe with deadly shower; 
 Was frequent heard the changing guard, 
 And watch-word from the sleepless ward ; 
 Wliile, wearied by the endless din, 
 Blood-hound and ban-dog yell'd within. 
 
 XXXL 
 
 The noble Dame, amid the broil, 
 Shared the grey Seneschal's high tcU, 
 And spoke of danger with a smile ; 
 
 Cheer'd the young knights, and councU sage 
 Held with the chiefs of riper age. 
 No tidings of the foe were brought. 
 Nor of his numbers knew they aught. 
 Nor what in time of truce he sought. 
 
 Some said that there were thousands ten ; 
 And others weeii'd that it was nought 
 
 But Leven Clans, or Tynedale men. 
 Who came to gather in black-mail ; « 
 And Liddesdale, witli small avail, 
 
 Might drive them lightly back agen. 
 So pass'd the anxious night away 
 And welcome was the peep of day. 
 
 « Xeed-fre, beacon. * Tarn, a mountain lake. « Sam, a Scottis^i eagle. 
 <» Bijwnc, make ready. « Protection money exacted by freebooUns.
 
 CANTO rv. THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 63 
 
 Ceased the high sound — the listening throng 
 Applaud the Master of the Song ; 
 And marvel much, in helpless age, 
 So hard should be his pilgrimage. 
 Had he no friend — no daughter dear, 
 His wandering toil to share and cheer; 
 No son to be his father's stay. 
 And guide him on the rugged way ? 
 •' Aj', once he had — but he was dead I " 
 Upon the harp he stoop'd his head. 
 Aid busied himself the strings witliall. 
 To hide the tear that fain would faU. 
 In solemn measure, soft and slow, 
 Arose a father's notes of woe. 
 
 CANTO FOURTH. 
 I. 
 
 Sweet Teviot I on thy silver tide 
 
 The glaring bale-fires blaze no more ; 
 No longer steel-clad warriors ride 
 
 Along thy wild and willow'd shore ; 
 Where'er thou wind'st, by dale or hUl, 
 All, all is peaceful, all is still, 
 
 As if thy waves, since Time was born. 
 Since first they roll'd upon the Tweed, 
 Had only heard the shepherd's reed, 
 
 Nor started at the bugle-horn. 
 
 n. 
 
 Unlike the tide of human time. 
 
 Which, though it change in ceaseless flow, 
 Retains each gi'ief, retains each crime 
 
 Its earliest course was doom'd to know ; 
 And, darker as it downward bears, 
 Is stained with past and present tears. 
 
 Low as that tide has ebb'd with me, 
 It still reflects to Memory's eye 
 The hour my brave, my only boy, 
 
 Fell by the side of great Dimdee.^' 
 Why, when the volleying musket play'd 
 Against the bloody Ilighland blade. 
 Why was not I beside liim laid ?— 
 Enough — he died the death of fame ; 
 Enough — he died vnth conquering Gra;me. 
 
 III. 
 
 Now over Border, dale and fell, 
 
 I'uU -wide and far was terror spread ; 
 
 For pathless marsh, and moiuitain cell. 
 The peasant left his lowly shed.-^
 
 64 THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. CA 
 
 Tlie frighten'd flocks and herds were pent 
 Beneath the peel's rude battlement; 
 And maids and matrons dropp'd the tear, 
 While ready wamors seized the spear. 
 From Branksome's towers, the watchman's eye 
 Dmi wreaths of distant smoke can spy. 
 Which, cm'ling in the rising sun, 
 Show'd southern ravage was begun. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Now loud the heedful gate-ward cried — 
 " Prepare ye all for blows and blood I 
 Watt Tinlinn,2* from the Liddel-side, 
 
 Comes wading through the flood. 
 Full oft the Tynedale snatchers knock 
 At his lone gate, and prove the lock ; 
 It was but last St Bamabright 
 They sieged him a whole simimer night, 
 But fled at morning ; well they knew, 
 In vain he never twang'd the yew. 
 Right sharp has been the evening shower, 
 That drove him from his Liddel tower ; 
 And, by my faith," the gate-ward said, 
 " I think 't'^vill prove a Warden-Raid."" 
 
 While thus he spoke, the bold yoeman 
 
 Entered the echoing barbican. 
 
 He led a small and shaggy nag, 
 
 That through a bog, from hag to hag,* 
 
 Coidd boimd like any Billhope stag. 
 
 It bore his wife and children twain ; 
 
 A half-clothed serf'' was aU their train ; 
 
 His wife, stout, ruddy, and dark-brow'd, 
 
 Of silver brooch and bracelet proud,-' 
 
 Laughed to her friends among the crowd. 
 
 He was of stature passmg tall. 
 
 But sparely fonued, and lean withal ; 
 
 A batter'd morion on his brow ; 
 
 A leather jack, as fence enow, 
 
 On his broad shoidders loosely himg ; 
 
 A border axe behind was slung ; 
 
 His spear, six Scottish ells in length. 
 
 Seemed newlj^ d}'ed ■with gore ; 
 His shafts and bow, of wondrous strength. 
 
 His hardy partner bore. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Thus to the Ladye did Tinlinn show 
 The tidings of the English foe : — 
 "Belted Will Howard ^^i is marching here, 
 And hot Lord Dacre, ^^ with many a spear, 
 
 • An inroad comTaanded by the 'Warden in person. 
 
 • TUe broken ground in a boj;. « Bondsman.
 
 IV. TUE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. C5 
 
 And all the German hackbut-men,'-* 
 
 Who have long lain at Askerten : 
 
 They cross'd the Liddel at curfew hour, 
 
 And" burned my little lonely tower : 
 
 The fiend receive their souls therefor ! 
 
 It had not been bimit this year and more. 
 
 Barn-yard and dwelling, blazing bright, 
 
 Sei-v-ed to guide me on my flight ; 
 
 But I was chased the livelong night. 
 
 Black Jolm of Akeshaw, and Fergus Grsnie, 
 
 Fast upon my traces came. 
 
 Until I tum'd at Priesthaugh Scrogg, 
 
 And shot their horses m the bog, 
 
 Slew FergTis with my lance outright — 
 
 I had him long at high despite : 
 
 He drove my cows last Fastem's night." 
 
 VII. 
 
 Now weary scouts from Liddesdale, 
 Fast hurrying in, confirm'd the tale ; 
 As far as they could judge by ken. 
 
 Three hours would bring to Teviot's strand 
 Three thousand armed Englishmen — 
 Meanwhile, full many a warlike band. 
 From Teviot, Aill, and Ettrick shade, 
 Came in, their Chiefs defence to aid. 
 
 There was saddling and mounting in haste, 
 
 There was pricking o'er moor and lea ; 
 He that was last at the trj-sting-place 
 Was but lightly held of his gaye ladye. 
 
 VIII. 
 From fair St Mary's silver wave, 
 
 From dreary Gamescleugh's dusky height. 
 His ready lances Thirlestane brave 
 
 Array'd beneath a banner bright. 
 The treasured fleur-de-luce he claims, 
 To wi'eathe his shield, since royal James, 
 Encamp'd by Falla's mossy wave. 
 The proud distinction grateful gave, 
 
 For faith 'mid feudal jars ; 
 What time, save Thirlestane alone. 
 Of Scotland's stubborn barons none 
 
 Would march to southern wars ; 
 And hence, in fair remembrance worn, 
 Ton sheaf of spears his crest has borne ; 
 Hence his high motto shines reveal'd — 
 " Ready, aye ready," for the field. 
 
 IX. 
 
 An aged Knight, to danger steel'd. 
 
 With many a moss-trooper came on 
 And azm-e in a golden field. 
 The stars and crescent graced his shieli 
 
 Without the bend of Murdiestou.
 
 66 THE I;AY OP THE LAST MINSTREL. 
 
 Wide lay his lands round Oakwood tower, 
 And wide round haunted Castle-Ower; 
 High over Borth^riclv's mountain ilood, 
 His wood-embosom 'd mansion stood ; 
 In the dark glen, so deep below, 
 The herds of plundered England low ; 
 His bold retainer's daily food, 
 And bought witli danger, blows, and blood. 
 Marauding chief! his sole delight 
 The moonlight raid, the mornmg fight; 
 Not even the Flower of Yarrow's charms, 
 In youth, might tame his rage for arms ; 
 And still, in age, he spum'd at rest, 
 And still his brows the helmet press'd. 
 Albeit the blanched locks below 
 Were white as Dinlay's spotless snow: 
 
 Five stately warriors drew the sword 
 Before their father's band ; ' 
 
 A braver knight than Harden's lord 
 Ne'er belted on a brand. 
 
 Scotts of Eskdale, a stalwart band, 
 
 Came trooping down the Todshawhill ; 
 By the sword they won their land, 
 
 And by the sword they hold it still. 
 Hearken, Lad3'e, to the tale. 
 How thy su-es won fair Eskdale. — 
 Earl Morton was lord of that valley fair, 
 The Beattisons were his vassals there. 
 The Earl was gentle, and mild of mood, 
 The vassals wei'e warlike, and fierce, ami rude ; 
 High of heart, and haughty of word. 
 Little they reck'd of a tame liege Lord. 
 The Earl into fair Eskdale came 
 Homage and seignory to claim : 
 Of Gilbert the Gallia'rd a heriot" he sought, 
 Saying, " Give thy best steed, as a vassal ought." 
 — " Dear to me is my bonny white steed, 
 Oft has he help'd me at pinch of need ; 
 Lord and Earl though thou be, I trow 
 I can reign Bucksfoot better than thou." — 
 W^ord on word gave fuel to fire, 
 Till so highly blazed the Beattison's ire, 
 But that the Earl the flight had ta'en. 
 The vassals there their lord had slain. 
 Sore he plied both whip and spm-. 
 As he m-ged his steed through Eskdale muir; 
 And it fell down a weary weight. 
 Just on the threshold of Branksome gate. 
 
 XL 
 
 The Earl was a wrathful man to see, 
 Full fain avenged would he be. 
 
 « The feudal superior, in certain cases, was entitled to the best horse of 
 the vassnl, in name of Heriot, or Herezeld.
 
 IV. TUE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 67 
 
 In haste to Branksome's Lord he spoke, 
 Sajaug, " Take these traitors to thy yoke ; 
 For a cast of hawks, and a piirse of gold. 
 All Eskdale I'll sell thee, to have and hold : 
 Beshrew thy heart, of the Beattisons' clan 
 If thou leavest on Eske a lauded man ; 
 But spare Woodkerrick's lands alone, 
 For he lent me his horse to escape upon." 
 A glad man then was Branksome bold, 
 Down he tiung him the purse of gold ; 
 To Eskdale soon he spiur'd amain, 
 And with him five hundred riders has ta'en. 
 He left his merrymen in the midst of the hill. 
 And bade them hold them close and still ; 
 And alone he wended to the plain, 
 To meet with the Galliard and all his train. 
 To Gilbert the Galliard thus he said : 
 ' Know thou me for thy liege-lord and head; 
 Deal not with me as with Morton tame. 
 For Scotts play best at the roughest game. 
 Give me in peace my heriot due, 
 Thy bonny white steed, or thou shalt rue. 
 If my horn I three times wind, 
 Eskdale shall long have tne soimd in mind." — 
 
 XII. 
 Loudly the Beattison laugh'd in scorn ; 
 ' Little care we for thy winded horn. 
 !Ne'er shall it be the Galliard's lot, 
 To jneld his steed to a haughty Scott. 
 Wend thou to Branksome back on foot, 
 With rusty spur and muy boot." — 
 He blew his bugle so loud and hoarse, 
 TJiat the dun-deer started at fair Craikcvoss ; 
 He blew again so loud and clear. 
 
 Through the grey moimtain-mist there did lances appear 
 And the third blast rang with such a din, 
 That the echoes answer'd from Pentoun-linn, 
 And all his riders came lightly in. 
 Then had you seen a gallant shock. 
 When saddles were emptied, and lances broke ! , 
 For each scornful word the Galliard had said, 
 A Beattison on the field was laid. 
 His OAvn good sword the chieftain drew. 
 And he bore the Galliard through and through ; 
 Where the Beattisons' blood mix'd with the rill, 
 The Galliard's -Haugh men call it still. 
 The Scotts have scatter'd the Beattison clan. 
 In Eskdale they left but one landed man. 
 The valley of Eske, from the mouth to the source, 
 Was lost and won for that bonny white horse. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Whitslade the Hawk, and Headshaw came. 
 And warriors more than I may name.
 
 G8 THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. CAXTO 1\ 
 
 From Yarrow-cleugh to Hindhaugh-s-wair, 
 
 From Woodhouselie to Chester-glen. 
 Troop'd man and horse, and bow and spear ; 
 
 Their gathermg word was Bellenden.^ 
 And better hearts o'er Border sod 
 To siege or rescue never rode. 
 The Ladye mark'd the aids come in, 
 And high her heart of pride arose : 
 She bade her youthful son attend. 
 That he might know his father's fiiend, 
 And learn to face his foes. 
 " The boy is ripe to look on war ; 
 I saw him draw a cross-bow stiff, 
 And his true arrow struck afar 
 The raven's nest upon the cliff; 
 The red cross, on a southern breast. 
 Is broader than the raven's nest : 
 Thou, Whitslade, shalt teach him his weapon to wield 
 And o'er him hold his father's shield." 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Well may you think, the wily page 
 Cared not to face the Ladye sage. 
 He coimterfeited childish fear. 
 And shriek'd, and shed full many a tear. 
 And moan'd and plain 'd in manner wild. 
 
 The attendants to the Ladye told, 
 Some fairy, sure, had changed the child, 
 That wont to be so free and bold. 
 Then ■wrathful was the noble dame ; 
 She blush'd blood-red for very shame : — 
 " Hence ! ere the clan his faintness view ; 
 Hence with the weakling to Buccleuch ! — 
 Watt Tinlinn, thou shalt be his guide 
 , To Eanglebum's lonely side. — 
 
 Sure some fell fiend has cursed our line, 
 That coward should ere be son of mine !" — 
 
 XV. 
 
 A heavy task Watt Tinlinn had. 
 To guide the coimterfeited lad. 
 Soon as the palfrey felt the weight 
 Of that ill-omen'd elfish freight. 
 He bolted, sprung, and rear'd amain, 
 Nor heeded bit, nor curb, nor rein. 
 
 It cost Watt Tinlinn mickle toil 
 
 To drive him but a Scottish mile ; 
 But as a shallow brook they cross'd, 
 
 The elf, amid the running stream. 
 
 His figure chang'd, like form in diream, 
 And fled, and shouted, " Lost ! lost ! lost !* 
 Full fast the urchin ran and laugh'd. 
 But faster still a cloth-yard shaft 
 "Whistled from startled Tinlinn's yew, 
 And pierced his shoulder through and througs.
 
 IV. THE LAY OP THE LAST MINSTREL. 69 
 
 Although the imp might not be slain, 
 And though the wound soon heal'd again, 
 Yet, as he ran, he yell'd for pain ; 
 And Wat of Tinlinn, much aghast, 
 Kode back to Branksome fiery fast. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Soon on the hiU's steep verge he stood. 
 That looks o'er Branksome's towers and wood ; 
 And martial murmurs, from below, 
 Proclaim'd the approaching southern foe. 
 Through the dark wood, in mingled tone, 
 Were Border pipes and bugles blown ; 
 The coursers' neighing he could ken, 
 A measured tread of marching men ; 
 AVhile broke at times the solemn hum, 
 The Almayn's suUen kettle-drum ; 
 
 And banners tall, of crimson sheen. 
 Above the copse appear ; 
 
 And, glistening through the hawthorns green 
 Shine hehn, and shield, and spear. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Light forayers, first, to view the ground, 
 Spurr'd their fleet coursers loosely round ; 
 
 Behind, in close array, and fast, 
 The Kendal archers, aU in green. 
 
 Obedient to the bugle blast. 
 Advancing from the wood were seen. 
 To back and g^uard the archer band. 
 Lord Dacre's bUl-men were at hand : 
 A hardy race, on Irthing bred, 
 "With kirtles white, and crosses red, 
 Array'd beneath the banner tall. 
 That stream'd o'er Acre's conquer'd wall ; 
 And minstrels, as they march'd in order, 
 Play'd, "Noble LordDacre, he dwells on the Border. ' 
 
 XVIIL 
 Behind the English bill and bow. 
 The mercenaries, firm and slow, 
 
 Moved on to fight, in dark array. 
 By Conrad led of Wolfenstein, 
 Wlio brought the band from distant Rhine, 
 
 And sold their blood for foreign pay. 
 The camp their home, their law the sword. 
 They knew no country, own'd no lord : 
 They were not arm'd like England's sons, 
 But bore the leven-darting guns ; 
 Buflf coats, all frounced and "broider'd o'er. 
 And morsing-homs « and scarfs they wore ^ 
 Each better knee was bared, to aid 
 The warriors in the escalade ; 
 
 o Powder-flasks.
 
 70 THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL, CANTO IV. 
 
 All, as they marchVl, in nigged tongue. 
 Songs of Teutonic feuds they sung. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 But louder still the clamour grew, 
 
 And louder still tlie minstrels blew, 
 
 When, from beneath the greenwood tree, 
 
 Rode forth Lord Howard's chivalni' ; 
 
 His men-at-arms, with glaive and spear, 
 
 Brought up the battle's glittering rear. 
 
 There many a youtliful knight, full keen 
 
 To gain his spurs, in arms was seen ; 
 
 With favour in his crest, or glove, 
 
 Memorial of his ladye-love. 
 
 So rode they forth in fair array. 
 
 Till full their lengthen'd lines display ; 
 
 Then caird a halt, and made a stand. 
 
 And cried, " St George, for meiT}' England! " 
 
 XX. 
 
 Now every English eye, intent 
 On Branksome's armed towers was bent ; 
 So near they were, that they might know 
 The straining liarsh of each cross-bow ; 
 On battlement and bartizan 
 Gleam'd axe, and spear, and partisan ; 
 Falcon and culver," on each tower, 
 Stood prompt their deadly hail to shower ; 
 And flashing amiour frequent broke 
 From eddying whirls of sable smoke. 
 Where upon tower and turret head. 
 The seething pitch and molten lead 
 Heek'd, like a witch's cauldi-on red. 
 While yet they gaze, the bridges fall. 
 The wicket opes, and from the wall 
 Rides forth the lioary Seneschal, 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Armed he rode, all save the head, 
 
 His white beard o'er his breast-plate spread ; 
 
 Unbroke by age, erect his seat. 
 
 He rul'd his eager courser's gait ; 
 
 Forced him, with chasten'd fire, to prance, 
 
 And, high cun'etting, slow advance : 
 
 In sign of truce, his better hand 
 
 Display'd a peeled willow wand ; 
 
 His squu'e, attending in the roar. 
 
 Bore high a gaimtlet on a spear.* 
 
 AMien they espied liim riding out, 
 
 Lord Howard and Lord Dacre stout 
 
 " Ancient pieces of artillery. 
 
 * A glove ui)on a lance Wiis the emhiem of faitli among tlie ancient I? ir- 
 dcrers, wlio were wont, when any one broke his wonl, to expose this erableiii, 
 and proclaim liim a faithless villain at the fii'st Border meeting. This cere- 
 mouv was much dreaded.
 
 CA.VTO IV. THE LAY OF TUE LAST MINSTKEL. 
 
 Sped to the front of their array, 
 
 To hear what tliis old knight should say. 
 
 XXII. 
 " Ye English warden lords, of you 
 Demands the Ladj^e of Buccleuch, 
 Why, 'gainst the truce of Border tide, 
 In hostile guise ye dare to ride, 
 With Kendal bow, and Gilsland brand. 
 And all yon mercenarj- band. 
 Upon the bounds of fair Scotland ? 
 My Ladye reads you swith return ; 
 And, if but one poor straw you bum. 
 Or do our towers so much molest 
 As scare one swallow from her nest, 
 St Marj' ! but we'U light a brand 
 Shall warm yom' hearths in Cimiberland." — 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 A wratliful man was Dacre's lord. 
 But calmer Howard took the word : 
 " ilay't please thy Dame, Sir Seneschal, 
 To seek the castle's outward wall, 
 Our pursuivant-at-armi* shall show 
 Both why we came, and when we go." — 
 The message sped, the noble Dame 
 To the wall's outward ch-cle came ; 
 Each chief aroimd lean'd on his spear, 
 To see the pursuivant appear. 
 All in Lord Howard's livery dress'd. 
 The lion argent deck'd his breast ; 
 He led a boy of blooming hue — 
 sight to meet a mother's \'iew I 
 It was the heir of great Buccleuch. 
 Obeisance meet the herald made. 
 And thus his master's mil he said : — 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 " It irks, high Dame, my noble Lords, 
 'Gainst ladye fair to draw then- swords ; 
 But yet they may not tamely see, 
 All tlirough the Western Wardenry, 
 Your law-contemning kinsmen ride, 
 And bm-n and spoil the Border-side ; 
 And ill beseems yom- rank and birth 
 To make your towers a tlemens-tirth.'' 
 We claim' from thee William of Deloraine, 
 That he may suiter march-treason 3" pain. 
 It was but last St Cuthbert's even 
 He prick'd to Stapleton on Leven, 
 Harried* the lands of Richard Musgrave, 
 And slew his brother by dmt of glaive. 
 Then, since a lone and widow'd Dame 
 These restless riders may not tame, 
 
 » An asylum for outlaws. * Plundered.
 
 72 THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. CANT 
 
 Either receive within thy towers 
 Two hundred of my master's powers, 
 Or straight they soimd their warrison." 
 And storm and spoil thy garrison : 
 And this fair hoy, to London led. 
 Shall good King Edward's page be bred." 
 
 XXV. 
 
 He ceased — and loud the boy did cry, 
 And stretch'd his little arms on high ; 
 Implored for aid each well-known face. 
 And strove to seek the Dame's embrace. 
 A moment changed that Ladye's cheer, 
 Gush'd to her eye the imbidden tear ; 
 She gazed upon the leaders round. 
 And dark and sad each warrior frown 'd ; 
 Then, deep within her sobbing breast 
 She lock'd the struggling sigh to rest ; 
 Unalter'd and collected stood. 
 And thus replied, in dauntless mood : — 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 " Say to your Lords of high emprize. 
 Who war on women and on boys. 
 That either William of Deloraine 
 Will cleanse him, by oath, of march- treason stain. 
 Or else he will the combat take 
 'Gainst Musgrave, for his honour's sake. 
 No knight in Cumberland so good. 
 But William may coimt with him kin and blood. 
 Knighthood he took of Douglas' sword.'i 
 When English blood swell'd Ancram's ford ; '^ 
 And, but Lord Dacre's steed was wight. 
 And bare him ably in the flight, 
 Himself had seen him dubb'd a knight. 
 For the yoimg heir of Branksome's line, 
 God be his aid, and God be mine ; 
 Through me no friend shall meet his doom ; 
 Here, while I live no foe finds room. 
 
 Then, if thy Lords their purpose urge, 
 Take our defiance loud and high ; 
 
 Our slogan is their lyke-wake* dirge, 
 Our moat, the grave where they shall lie." 
 
 XXVIL 
 Proud she look'd round, applause to claim — 
 Then lighten 'd Thirlestane's eye of flame ; 
 
 His bugle Wat of Harden blew ; 
 Pensils and pennons wide were flung, 
 To heaven the Border slogan rung, 
 
 " St Mary for the young Buccleuch ?" 
 The English war-cry answered wide. 
 
 And forward bent each southern spear ; 
 
 <^ Note of assault. 
 
 * Liike-uiake, the watcMng a corpse preWous to interment.
 
 CANTO IV. THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 
 
 Each Kendal archer made a stride, 
 
 And drew the bowstring to Ms ear ; 
 Each minstrel's war-note loud was blo^vii ; — 
 But, ere a grey-goose shaft had flo^vn, 
 A horseman gallop'd from the rear. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 " Ah ! noble Lords !" he breathless said, 
 " What treason has your march beti'ay'd ? 
 What make you here, from aid so fai-, 
 Before you walls, around you war ? 
 Your foemen triumph in the thought, 
 That in the toils the lion's caught. 
 Already on dark Ruberslaw 
 The Douglas holds his weapon-schaw ;" 
 The lances, waving in his train. 
 Clothe the dun heath like autumn grain ; 
 And on the Liddel's northern strand. 
 To bar retreat to Cimiberland, 
 l^rd Maxwell ranks his merry men good. 
 Beneath the eagle and the rood ; 
 And Jedwood, Eske, and Tevlotdale, 
 
 Have to proud Angus come ; 
 And aU the Merse and Lauderdale 
 Have risen with haughty Home. 
 An exile from Northumberland, 
 
 In Liddesdale I've wander'd long ; 
 But still my heart was with merry England, 
 And cannot brook my coimtry's wrong , 
 And hard I've spurr'd aU night to show 
 The mustering of coming foe." 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 '' And let them come !" fierce Dacre cried ; 
 
 '•* For soon yon crest, my father's pride, 
 That swept the shores of Judah's sea. 
 And waved in gales of Galilee, 
 From Branksome's highest towers display'd. 
 Shall mock the rescue's lingering aid ! — 
 Level each harquebuss on row ; 
 Draw, merry archers, draw the bow ; 
 Up, bill-men, to the walls and cry, 
 Dacre for England, win or die !" — 
 
 XXX. 
 
 " Yet hear," quoth Howard, " calmly hear. 
 Nor deem my words the words of fear : 
 For who, in field or foray slack, 
 Saw the blanche lion e'er fall back ? '^ 
 But thus to risk our Border flower 
 In strife against a kingdom's power, 
 Ten thousand Scots 'gainst thousands three, 
 Certes, were desperate poUcy. 
 
 o Weapon-schaw, the military array of a ccunty.
 
 74 THE LAY OF THE LAST MI^STKEL. 
 
 Nay, take the term^s the Ladye made, 
 Ere conscious of tlie advancing aid : 
 Let Musgrave meet fierce Deloraine 
 In single light ; and, if he gain, 
 He gains for us ; but if he's cross'd, 
 'Tis but a single warrior lost : 
 The rest, retreating as they came, 
 Avoid defeat, and death, and shame." 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Ill could the haughty Dacre brook 
 His brother Warden's sage rebuke ; 
 And yet his forward step he staid. 
 And slow and suUenly obeyed. 
 But ne'er again the Border side 
 Did these two lords in friendship ride ; 
 And this slight iliscontent, men say. 
 Cost blood upon another day. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 The piirsuivant-at-arms again 
 
 Before the castle took his stand ; 
 HI'S trumpet call'd, with parleying strain. 
 
 The leaders of the Scottish band ; 
 And he detied, in Musgrave's right, 
 Stout Deloraine to single fight ; 
 A gauntlet at their feet he laid. 
 And thus the terms of fight he said : — 
 " if in the lists good Musgi-ave's swoiii 
 
 Vanquish the knight of Deloraine, 
 Your youthfid chieftain, Branksome's Lor J, 
 
 Shall hostage for his clan remain : 
 If Deloraine foil good jMusgrave, 
 The boy his liberty shall have. 
 
 Howe'er it falls, the English band, 
 Unharming Scots, by Scots unharm'd. 
 In peacefid march, like men unarm'd, 
 
 Shall straight retreat to Cumberland." 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Unconscious of the near relief, 
 
 The proifer pleased each Scottish chief, 
 
 Though much the Ladye sage gainsay'd ; 
 For though their hearts were brave and tnie. 
 From Jedwood's recent sack the}' kne^v. 
 
 How tardy was the Regent's aid ; 
 And j-ou may giiess the noble Dame 
 
 Dm'st not the secret prescience own, 
 Sprung from the art she might not nanr a. 
 
 By which the coming help was kno'mi. 
 Closed was the compact, and agreea 
 That lists should be enclosed with speed. 
 
 Beneath the castle, on a lawn : 
 They fix'd the morrow for the strife, 
 On foot, with Scottish axe and knife. 
 
 At the fourth horn- from peep of da^ra ;
 
 rr. THE LAT OF THE LAST MIXSTRSL. 
 
 When Delorame, from sickness freed, 
 Or else a cnampion in his stead, 
 Should for himself and chieftain stand, 
 Against stout Musgrave, hand to hand. 
 
 XXXIV, 
 I know right well, that, in their lav, 
 Full many minstrels sing and say, 
 
 Such combat should be made on horse, 
 On foaming steed, in full career. 
 With brand to aid, when as the spear 
 
 Shotild shiver in the coiu-se : 
 But he, the jovial harper, taught 
 Me, yet a youth, how it was fought, 
 
 In guise which now I say ; 
 He knew each ordinance and clause 
 Of Black Lord Archibald's battle-laws. 
 
 In the old Douglas' day. 
 He brook'd not, he, that scoffing tongue 
 Should tax his minstrelsy with wTong, 
 
 Or call his song imtrue : 
 For this, when they the goblet plied, 
 And such rude taunt had chafed his pride, 
 
 The bard of Eeull he slew. 
 On Teviot's side, in fight they stood. 
 And tunefal bauds were stain'd with blood; 
 'VMiere stUl the tliorn's white branches wave, 
 Memorial o'er his rival's grave. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 "Why should I tell the rigid doom, 
 That di-agg'd my master to his tomb ; 
 
 How Ousenam's maidens tore their hair, 
 Wept tiU their eyes were dead and dim, 
 And ^vTung their hands for love of him, 
 
 Who died at Jedwood Air ? 
 He died I — his scholars, one by one, 
 To the cold sUent grave are gone; 
 And I, alas I sur\nve alone. 
 To muse o'er rivalries of yore, 
 And grieve that I shall hear no more 
 The strains, with envy heard before ; 
 For, with my minstrel brethren fled. 
 My jealousy of song is dead. 
 
 Hb paused : the listening dames again 
 Applaud the hoary Minstrel's strain. 
 With many a word of kindly cheer, — 
 In pity half, and half sincere, — 
 Marvell'd the Duchess how so well 
 His legendary song could tell — 
 Of ancient deeds, so long forgot ; 
 Of feuds, whose memory was not ;
 
 THE LAY OP THE LAST MINSTREL. Cj 
 
 Of forests, now laid -waste and bare ; 
 Of towers, which harbour now the hare ; 
 Of manners, long since changed and gone; 
 Of chiefs, who under their grey stone 
 So long had slept, that tickle Fame 
 Had blotted fi-om her rolls their name, 
 And twined round some new minion's head 
 The fading wi-eath for which they bled ; 
 In sooth, 'twas strange, this old man's verse 
 Could call them from their marble hearse. 
 
 The Harper smiled, well pleased ; for ne'er 
 Was flattery lost on Poet's ear : 
 A simple race ! they waste their toil 
 For the vain tribute of a smile ; 
 E'en when in age their flame expires, 
 Her dulcet breath can fan its fires : 
 Their drooping fancy wakes at praise. 
 And strives to trun the short-lived blaze. 
 
 Smiled, then, well-pleased, the Aged Man. 
 And thus his tale continued ran. 
 
 CANTO FIFTH. 
 
 I. 
 
 Call it not vain : — they do not err, 
 Who say, that when the Poet dies, 
 
 Mute Nature mourns her worshipper, 
 And celebrates his obsequies : 
 
 Who say, tall cliff, and cavern lone, 
 
 For the departed Bard make moan ; 
 
 That mountains weep in crystal rUl ; 
 
 That flowers in tears of balm distil ; 
 
 Through his loved groves that breftzes sigh. 
 
 And oaks, in deeper groan, reply ; 
 
 And rivers teach their rushing wave 
 
 To murmur dirges round his grave. 
 
 II. 
 
 Not that, in sooth, o'er mortal urn 
 Those things inanimate can mourn ; 
 But that the stream, the wood, the gale, 
 Is vocal with the plaintive wail 
 Of those, who, else forgotten long, 
 Lived in the poet's faithfid song. 
 And, with the poet's parting breath. 
 Whose memory feels a second death. 
 The Maid's pale shade, who wails her lot. 
 That love, true love, should be forgot,
 
 CAJTTO V. THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 
 
 From rose and ha-wthom shakes the tear 
 
 Upon the gentle Minstrel's bier : 
 
 The phantom Knight, his glory fled, 
 
 Moiims o'er the iield he heap'd with dead ; 
 
 Mounts the wUd blast that sweeps amain, 
 
 And shrieks along the battle-plain. 
 
 The chief, whose antique crownlet long 
 
 StiU sparkled ia the feudal song 
 
 Now, from the mountain's misty throne, 
 
 Sees, in the thanedom once his ovm, 
 
 His ashes undistinguished lie, 
 
 His place, his power, his memory die : 
 
 His groans the lonely caverns fill, 
 
 His tears of rage impel the rill ; 
 
 All mourn the Minstrel's harp unstrung, 
 
 Their name unknown, their praise imsung. 
 
 in. 
 
 Scarcelj' the hot assault was staid, 
 
 The terms of truce were scarcely made, 
 
 WTien they could spy, from Branksome's towers. 
 
 The advancing march of martial powers. 
 
 Thick clouds of dust afar appear'd. 
 
 And trampling steeds were faintly heard ; 
 
 Bright spears above the columns dun, 
 
 Glanced momentary to the sun ; 
 
 And feudal banners fair display'd 
 
 The bands that moved to Branksome's aid, 
 
 IV. 
 
 Vails not to tell each hardy clan, 
 
 From the fair Middle Marches came ; 
 The Bloody Heart blazed in the van, 
 
 Annoimcing Douglas, dreaded name ! ^' 
 VaUs not to tell what steeds did spurn. 
 Where the Seven Spears of Wedderburne ss 
 
 Their men in battle-order set ; 
 And Swinton laid the lance in rest. 
 That tamed of yore the spai'kling crest 
 
 Of Clarence's Plantagenet. ^8 
 Nor list I say what himdi-eds more. 
 From the rich Merse and Lammermore, 
 And Tweed's fair borders to the war, 
 Beneath the crest of old Dunbar, 
 
 And Hepburn's mingled banners come, 
 Down the steep mountain glittering far. 
 
 And shouting still, " A Home ! a Home I"^? 
 
 V. 
 
 Now squire and knight, from Branksome sent. 
 
 On many a courteous message went ; 
 
 To every cliief and lord they paid 
 
 Meet thanks for prompt and powerftil aid ; 
 
 And told them, — how a truce was made,
 
 78 THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. CANTO V 
 
 Anrl liow a day of fight was ta'en 
 
 'Tw-ixt Alusgrave and stout Deloraine, 
 And how the Ladye pray'd them dear, 
 
 That all would stay the fight to see, 
 
 And deign, in love .and courtesy, 
 To taste of Branksome cheer 
 Nor, while they bade to feast each Scot, 
 Were England's noble Lords forgot. 
 Himself, the Iioaiy Seneschal 
 Rode forth, in seemly terms to call 
 Those gallant foes to Branksome Hall. 
 Accepted Howard, than whom knight 
 Was never dubb'd, more bold in fight ; 
 Nor, when from war and armour free. 
 More famed for stately courtesy : 
 But angry Dacre rather chose 
 Ib his pavilion to repose, 
 
 VI. 
 
 Now, noble Dame, perchance you ask. 
 
 How these two hostile armies met ? 
 Deeming it were no easy task 
 
 To keep the truce which here was set; 
 Where martial spirits, all on fire, 
 Breathed only blood and mortal ire. — 
 By mutual inroads, mutual blows, 
 By haljit, and by nation, foes, 
 
 They met on Te^■iot's strand ; 
 They met and sate them mingled doivTi, 
 Without a threat, without a frown. 
 
 As brothers meet in foreign land : 
 The hands, the spear that lately grasp'd. 
 Still in the mailed gauntlet clasp'd. 
 
 Were interchanged in greeting dear ; 
 Visors were raised, and faces sho-rni. 
 And many a friend, to friend made known. 
 
 Partook of social cheer. 
 Some drove the jolh' bowl about; 
 
 With dice and di-aughts some chased the day 
 And some, with many a merry shout. 
 In riot, revelrj-, and rout, 
 
 Pui-sued the foot-ball play. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Tet, be it known, had bugles blown. 
 
 Or sign of war been seen. 
 Those bands, so fan- together ranged, 
 Those hands, so frankly interchanged. 
 
 Had dyed ■with gore the green : 
 Tlie mciTy shout by Teviot-side 
 Had sunk in war-cries wild and wide. 
 
 And in the gi'oan of death ; 
 And whingers, " now in friendship bare, 
 The social meal to part and share, 
 
 Had found a bloody sheath, 
 
 <• A sort of knife or poniard.
 
 CAXTO V. THE LAY OP THE LAST MIXSTKEL. 
 
 'Tivixt truce and war, such sudden change 
 "Was not infrequent, nor held strange, 
 
 In the old Border-day : ^ 
 But yet on Branksome's towers and town, 
 In peacefid merriment, sunk down 
 
 The sun's declining ray. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The blithsome signs of wassel gay 
 iJecay'd not -^vith the dying day : 
 Soon through tlie latticed windows tall 
 Of lofty Branksome's lordly hall. 
 Divided square by shafts of stone, 
 Huge flakes of ruddy lustre shone ; 
 Xor less the gilded rafters rang 
 With merry harp and beakers' clang : 
 
 And frequent, on the darkening plain. 
 Loud hollo, whoop, or whistle ran, 
 
 As bands, their stragglers to regain, 
 Give the shrill watchword of their clan ; 
 And revellers, o'er their bowls, proclaim 
 Douglas' or Dacre's conquermg name. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Less frequent heard, and fainter still. 
 
 At length the various clamours died : 
 And you might hear, from Branltsome hill. 
 
 No sound but Teviot's rushing tide ; 
 Save when the changing sentuiel 
 The challenge of his watch could tell ; 
 And save, where, through tlie dark profound. 
 The clanging axe and hammer's sound 
 
 ilimg from the nether lawTi ; 
 For many a busy hand toil'd there, 
 Strong pales to shape, and beams to square, 
 The lists' dread barriers to prepare 
 
 Against the morrow's dawn. 
 
 X. 
 
 Margaret from hall did soon retreat. 
 
 Despite the Dame's reproving eye; 
 Nor markxl she, as she left her seat, 
 
 FuU many a stifled sigh ; 
 For many a noble wan-ior strove 
 To win the Flower of Teviot's love, 
 
 And many a bold ally. — 
 "With throljbing head and anxious heart. 
 All m her lonely bower apart, 
 
 In broken sleep she lay : 
 By times, from sillven couch she rose ; 
 While yet the banner d hosts repose. 
 
 She view'd the da-miing day : 
 Of all the hundreds sunk to rest, 
 First woke the loveliest and the best.
 
 80 THE LAY OP THE LAST MINSTREL. C 
 
 XI. 
 
 She gazed upon the inner court, 
 
 Which in the tower's tall shadow lay; 
 Where coursers' clang, and stamp, and snort, 
 
 Had rung the livelong yesterday ; 
 Now, stiU as death ; till stalking slow, — 
 
 The jingling spurs announced his tread, — 
 A stately warrior pass'd below ; 
 
 But when he raised Ms plumed head — 
 Blessed Mary I can it be ? — 
 Secure, as if in Ousenam bowers. 
 He walks tlu-ough Branksome's hostUe towers, 
 
 With fearless step and free. 
 She dared not sign, she dared not speak — 
 Oh ! if one page's slimibers break. 
 
 His blood the price must pay ! 
 Not all the pearls Queen Mary wears. 
 Not Margaret's yet more precious tears, 
 
 Shall buy his life a day. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Yet was his hazai-d small ; for well 
 You may bethink you of the spell 
 
 Of that sly urchin page ; 
 This to his lord he did impart. 
 And made him seem, by glamour art, 
 
 A knight fi-om Hermitage. 
 Unchallenged thus, the warder's post. 
 The court, unchallenged, thus he cross'd, 
 
 For all the vassalage : 
 But O i what magic's quaint disguise 
 Could blind fair Margaret's azure eyes ! 
 
 She started from her seat ; 
 WhUe wth surprise and tear she strove. 
 And botli could scarcely master love — 
 
 Lord Hemy's at her feet. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Oft have I mused, what purpose bad 
 That foul malicious urchin had 
 
 To bring this meeting rovmd ; 
 For happy love's a heavenly sight. 
 And by a vile malignant sprite 
 
 In such no joy is found ; 
 And oft I 've deem'd, perchance he thought 
 Their erring passion might have wi'ought 
 
 Sorrow, and sin, and shame ; 
 And death to Cranstoun's gallant BJiight, 
 And to the gentle ladye bright, 
 
 Disgrace, and loss of fame. 
 But eartlily spuit could not tell 
 The heart of them that loved so weU. 
 True love's the gift which God has given 
 To man alone beneath the heaven :
 
 CANTO V. THE LAY OF THE LAST MIXSTREL. 81 
 
 It is not fantasy's hot fire, 
 Whose -wTshes, soon as granted, flj- ; 
 
 It liveth not in fierce desire, 
 With dead desire it doth not die ; 
 It is the secret sympathy, 
 The silver link, the silken tie, 
 AVTiich heart to heart, and mind to mind. 
 In body and in soul can bind. — 
 Now leave we Margaret and her Knight, 
 To teU you of the approaching fight. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Their warning blasts the bugles blew, 
 The pipe's shrill port" aroused each clan 
 
 In haste, the deadly strife to vie-w, 
 The trooping warriors eager ran : 
 
 Thick rovind the lists their lances stood, 
 
 Like blasted pines in Ettrick Wood ; 
 
 To Branksome many a look they thre\\". 
 
 The combatants' approach to \aew, 
 
 And bandied many a word of boast. 
 
 About the knight each favour'd most 
 
 XV. 
 Meantime full anxious was the Dame ; 
 
 For now arose disputed claim. 
 Of who should fight for Deloraine, 
 'Twixt Harden and twixt Thirlestaine: 
 
 They 'gan to reckon kin and rent. 
 And frowning brew on brow was bent ; 
 
 But yet not long the strife — for, lo ! 
 Himself, the knight of Deloraine, 
 Strong, as it seem'd and free from paiu. 
 
 In armour sheath'd from top to toe, 
 Appear'd, and craved the combat due. 
 The Dame her charm successful knew, 
 And the fierce chiefe their claims withdrew. 
 
 XVI. 
 When for the lists they sought the plain. 
 The stately Ladye's silken rein 
 
 Did noble Howard hold ; 
 Unarmed by her side he waUc'd, 
 And much, in courteous phrase, they talk'd 
 
 Of feats of arms of old. 
 Costly his garb — his Flemish ruff 
 Fell o'er his doublet, shaped of buff. 
 
 With satin slash'd and lined; 
 Tawny his boot, and gold his spm-, 
 His cloak was all of Poland fur, 
 
 His hose with silver twined ; 
 His Bilboa blade, by Slarchmen felt, 
 Hung in a broad and studded belt ; 
 
 » A martial piece of music, adapted to tlie bagpipes.
 
 82 THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 
 
 Hence, in rude phrase, the Borderers still 
 Call'd noble HoAvard, Belted AVill. 
 
 XVII, 
 
 Behind Lord Howard and the Dame, 
 Fair Margaret on her palfrey came. 
 
 Whose foot-cloth swept the gromid : 
 White was her wimple, and her veil, 
 And her loose loclis a chaplet pale 
 
 Of whitest roses bound ; 
 The lordly Angus, by her side, 
 In coui'tesy to cheer her tried ; 
 Without his aid, her hand in vain 
 Had strove to guide her broider'd rein. 
 He deem'd, she shudder'd at the sight 
 Of warriors met for mortal tight ; 
 But cause of terror, all unguess'd. 
 Was fluttering in her gentle breast. 
 When, in their chairs of crimson placeil, 
 The Dame and she the barriers graced. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Prize of the field, the young Buccleuch, 
 An English knight led forth to view ; 
 Scarce rued the boy his present plight. 
 So much he long'd to see the tight. 
 Within the lists, in knightly pride. 
 High Home and haughty Dacre ride; 
 Their leading stafls of steel they wield, 
 As marshals of the mortal field ; 
 While to each knight their care assigu'd 
 Like vantage of the sun and wind. 
 Then heralds hoarse did loud proclaim, 
 In King and Queen, and Warden's name, 
 
 That none, while lasts the strife. 
 Should dare, by look, or sign, or word. 
 Aid to a champion to alford, 
 
 On peril of his life ; 
 And not a breath the silence broke. 
 Till thus the alternate Herald spoke : — 
 
 XIX. 
 
 ENGLISH HEKAI^D. 
 
 " Here standeth Richard of Musgi-ave, 
 
 Good knight and true, and freely born. 
 Amends from Deloraine to crave. 
 
 For foul despiteous scathe and scorn. 
 He sayeth, that William of Deloraine 
 
 Is traitor ftilse by Border laws ; 
 This with his sword he -will maintain. 
 
 So help him God, and his good cause !" 
 
 XX. 
 
 SCOTTISH HERALD. 
 
 " Here standeth William of Deloraine. 
 Good knight and true, of noble strain.
 
 I V. THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 83 
 
 Who sareth, that foiU treason's stain, 
 Since he bore arms, ne'er soil'd his coat ; 
 
 And that, so help him God above ! 
 
 He -will on IMusgrave's body prove, 
 He lies most foully in his throat." 
 
 LORD DACRE. 
 
 " Forward, brave champions, to the fight I 
 Sound trumpets !" 
 
 LORD HOME. 
 
 " God defend the right T— 
 
 Then Teviot I hoAv thine echoes rancr. 
 When bugle-sound and trumpet-clang 
 
 Let loose the martial foes, 
 And in mid list, idth shield poised high, 
 And measiu-ed step and wary eye, 
 
 The combatants did close. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Ill would it suit your gentle ear. 
 
 Ye lovely listeners, to hear 
 
 How to the axe the helms did sound. 
 
 And blood pour'd down from many a wound ; 
 
 For desperate was the strife, and long, 
 
 And either warrior fierce and strong. 
 
 But, were each dame a listening knight, 
 
 I well could tell how wan-iors fight ! 
 
 For I have seen war's lightning flashing, 
 
 Seen the claymore with bayonet clashing, 
 
 Seen through red blood the war-horse dashing, 
 
 And scom'd, amid the reeling strife. 
 
 To yield a step for death or life. — 
 
 XXII. 
 'Tis done, 'tis done ! that fatal blow 
 
 Has stretch'd him on the bloody plain ; 
 He strives to rise — Brave Jilusgrave, no ! 
 
 Thence never shall tbou rise again ! 
 He chokes in blood — some friendly hand 
 Undo the visors barred band. 
 Unfix the gorget's iron clasp. 
 And give him room for life to gasp ! 
 O, bootless aid ! — haste, holy Friar, 
 Haste, ere the sinner shall expire 1 
 Of all his guilt let him be slu-ivon. 
 And smooth his path from earth to heaven ! 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 In haste the holy Friar sped ; — 
 His naked foot was dyed with retl. 
 
 As through the lists he ran : 
 T'nmindful of the shouts on high. 
 That haU'd the conqueror's \ictory 
 
 He raised the dilng man ;
 
 84 THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. CANTO V, 
 
 Loose ■waved his silver beard and hair. 
 As o'er him he kneel'd down in prayer ; 
 And still the crucifix on high 
 He holds before his darkening eye ; 
 And stiU he bends an anxious ear, 
 His faltering penitence to hear ; 
 
 Still props him from the bloody sod, 
 Still, even when soul and body part. 
 Pours ghostly comfort on his heart. 
 
 And bids him trust in God ! 
 Unheard he prays ; — the death-pang's o'er ! 
 Richard of Musgrave breathes no more. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 As if exhausted in the fight. 
 Or musing o'er the piteous sight. 
 
 The silent victor stands ; 
 His beaver did he not unclasp, 
 Mark'd not the shouts, felt not the gra?p 
 
 Of gratulating hands. 
 When lo ! strange cries of wild surprise, 
 Mingled with seeming terror, rise 
 
 Among the Scottish bands ; 
 And all, amid the throng'd array, 
 In panic haste gave open way 
 To a half-naked ghastly man. 
 Who downward from the castle ran : 
 He cross'd the barriers at a bound, 
 And wild and haggard look'd around. 
 
 As dizzy, and in pain ; 
 And all, upon the armed ground. 
 
 Knew William of Deloraine ! 
 Each ladye spnmg from seat with speed ; 
 Vaulted each marshal from his steed ; 
 
 " And who art thou," thej' cried, 
 " Who hast this battle fought and won ? " 
 His plumed helm was soon undone— 
 
 " Cranstoun of Teviot-side ! 
 For this fair prize I've fought and won,'" — 
 And to the Ladye led her son. 
 
 XXV, 
 FnU oft the rescued boy she kiso'd, 
 And often press'd him to her breast ; 
 For, under all her dauntless show. 
 Her heart had throbb'd at every blow : 
 Yet not Lord Cranstoun deign'd she greet. 
 Though low he kneeled at her feet. 
 Me lists not tell what words were made. 
 What Douglas, Home, and Howard, said— 
 
 — For Howard was a generous foe — 
 And how the clan imited praj'^d 
 
 The Ladye would the feud forego, 
 And deign to bless the nuptial hour 
 Of Cranstoun's Lord and Teviot's Flower
 
 V. THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL 85 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 She look'd to river, look'd to hill, 
 
 Thought on the Spirit's prophecy, 
 Then broke her sUence stem and still, — 
 
 " Not you, but Fate, has vanquish'd me ; 
 Their influence kindly stars may shower 
 Ou Teviot's tide and Branksome's tower, 
 
 For pride is quell'd, and love is free." — 
 She took fair Margaret by the hand, 
 "^Mio, breathless, trembling, scarce might stand ; 
 
 That hand to Cranstoun's lord gave she : — 
 ' As I am true to thee and thine. 
 Do thou be true to me and mine ! 
 
 This clasp of love our bond shall be ; 
 For this is your betrothing day. 
 And all these noble lords shall stay, 
 
 To grace it with their company." 
 
 XXVIT. 
 
 All as they left the listed plain, 
 
 Much of the story she did gain ; 
 
 How Cranstoun fought vrith Deloraine, 
 
 And of his page, and of the Book 
 
 Which from the wounded knight he took ; 
 
 And how he sought her castle high, 
 
 That mom, by help of gramarye ; 
 
 How, in Sir William's armour dight. 
 
 Stolen by his page, while slept the knight. 
 
 He took on him the single fight. 
 
 But half his tale he left xmsaid. 
 
 And linger'd till he join'd the maid. — 
 
 Cared not the Ladye to betray 
 
 Her mystic arts in view of day ; 
 
 But well she thought, ere midiiight came. 
 
 Of that strange page the pride to tame. 
 
 From his foul hands the Book to save, 
 
 And send it back to Alichael's grave. — 
 
 Keeds not to tell each tender word 
 
 'Twixt Margaret and 'twixt Cranstoun's lord ; 
 
 Nor how she told the former woes, 
 
 And how her bosom fell and rose, 
 
 "UTiUe he and Musgrave bandied blows. — 
 
 Keeds not these lovers' joys to tell : 
 
 One day, fair maids, you'll know them well. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 William of Deloraine, some chance 
 Had waken'd from his deathlike trance ; 
 
 And taught that, in the listed plain. 
 Another, in his arms and shield, 
 Against fierce Musgrave axe did wield. 
 
 Under the name of Deloraine. 
 Hence, to the field, unami'd, he ran. 
 And hence his presence scared the cias,
 
 86 THE LAY OP THE LAST MINSTREL. CANTO V. 
 
 Who held him for some fleeting -wraith," 
 And not a man of blood and breath. 
 Not much this new ally he loved, 
 Yet, when he saw what hap had proved, 
 He greeted him right heartilie : 
 He would not waken old debate. 
 For he was void of rancorous hate. 
 
 Though rude, and scant of courtesy ; 
 In raids he spilt but seldom blood 
 Unless when men-at-arms withstood. 
 Or, as was meet, for deadly feud. 
 He ne'er bore grudge for stalwart blow, 
 Ta'en in fair fight from gallant foe : 
 And so 'twas seen of him, e'en now. 
 
 When on dead Musgrave he look'd down; 
 Grief darkened on his rugged brow. 
 Though half disguised with a fro-mi ; 
 And thus, while sorrow bent his head. 
 His foeman's epitaph he made : — 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 " Now, Richard Musgrave, liest thou here I 
 
 I ween, my deadly enemy ; 
 For, if I slew thy brother dear. 
 
 Thou slew'st a sister's son to me ; 
 And when I lay in dungeon dark. 
 
 Of Naworth Castle, long months three, 
 Till ransom'd for a thousand mark. 
 
 Dark MusgTave, it was long of thee. 
 And, Musgrave, could our fight be tried. 
 
 And thou wert now alive, as I, 
 No mortal man should us divide. 
 
 Till one, or both of us, did die : 
 Yet rest thee God ! for well I know 
 I ne'er shall find a nobler foe. 
 In all the northern counties here. 
 Whose word is Snaffle, spur, and spear, 
 Thovi wert the best to follow gear ! 
 'Twas pleasure, as we look'd behind, 
 To see how thou the chase coidd'st wind. 
 Cheer the dark blood-hoimd on his way. 
 And with the bugle rouse the fray ! ^ 
 I'd give the lands of Deloraine, 
 Dark Musgrave were alive again." — 
 
 XXX. 
 
 So moum'd he, till Lord Dacre's band 
 Were bowning back to Cumberland. 
 They raised brave Musgrave from the field, 
 And laid him on his bloody shield ; 
 On levell'd lances, four and four. 
 By turns, the noble burden bore. 
 
 <• The spectral apparition of a living persoa
 
 CANTO vr. THE LAY Of THE LAST MIXSTREL. 
 
 Before, at times, upon the gale. 
 Was heard the Minstrel's plaintive wail ; 
 Behind, four priests, in sable stole. 
 Sung requiem for the warri(ir's soul : 
 Around, the horsemen slowly rode ; 
 AVith trailing pikes the spearmen trode ; 
 And thus the gallant knight they bore, 
 Through Liddesdale to Leven's shore ; 
 Thence to Holme Coltrame's lofty nave, 
 And laid him in his father's grave. 
 
 The harp's wild notes, though hush'd the son^ 
 The mimic march of death prolong ; 
 Now seems it far, and now a-near, 
 Now meets, and now eludes the ear ; 
 Now seems some mountain side to sweej), 
 Now faintly dies in valley deep ; 
 Seems now as if the Minstrel's wail. 
 Now the sad requiem, loads the gale ; 
 Last, o'er the warrior's closing grave, 
 Kung the full choir in choral stave. 
 
 After due pause, they bade him tell. 
 Why he, who touch'd the harp so well. 
 Should thus, with ill-rewarded toil. 
 Wander a poor and thankless soil, 
 When the more generous Southern Land 
 Would well requite his sldlful hand. 
 
 The Aged Harper, howsoe'er 
 His only friend, his harp, was dear, 
 Liked not to hear it rank'd so high 
 Above his flowing poesy : 
 Less lihed he stiU, that scornful jeer 
 Misprised the land he loved so dear ; 
 High was the sound, as thus again 
 The Bard resumed his minstrel strain. 
 
 CANTO SIXTH. 
 
 I. 
 
 Breathes there the man, with soul so dead, 
 Who never to himself hath said. 
 
 This is my own, my native land 1 
 Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd, 
 A.S home his footsteps he hath turn'd, 
 
 E'rom wandering on a foreign strand !
 
 b8 THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. CANTO VI 
 
 If swch there breathe, go, mark him well ; 
 For him no minstrel raptures swell ; 
 High though his titles, proud his name. 
 Boundless his wealth as wish can claim ; 
 Despite those titles, power, and pelf, 
 The wretch, concentred all in self, 
 Living, shall forfeit fair renown, 
 And, doubly dying, shall go down 
 To the vile dust, from whence he spnmg, 
 Unwept, unhonour'd, and unsung. 
 
 II. 
 
 Caledonia ! stern and wild. 
 
 Meet nurse for a poetic child 1 
 
 Land of brown heath and shaggy wood, 
 
 Land of the mountain and the flood, 
 
 Land of my sires I what mortal hand 
 
 Can e'er untie the filial band. 
 
 That knits me to thy rugged strand t 
 
 Still, as I view each well-knoivn scene. 
 
 Think what is now, and what hath been. 
 
 Seems as, to me, of all bereft. 
 
 Sole friends thy woods and streams were left ; 
 
 And thus I love them better still. 
 
 Even in extremity of ill. 
 
 By Yarrow's streams still let me stray. 
 
 Though none shoiild guide my feeble way ; 
 
 Still feel the breeze down Ettrick break. 
 
 Although it chUl my wither'd cheek;" 
 
 StiU lay my head by Teviot Stone, 
 
 Though there, forgotten and alone. 
 
 The Bard may draw his parting groan. 
 
 III. 
 
 Not scorn'd like me I to Branksome Hall 
 The Minstrels came, at festive call ; 
 Trooping thej' came, from near and far. 
 The jovial priests of mirth and war ; 
 Alike for feast and fight prepared. 
 Battle and banquet both they shared. 
 Of late, before each martial clan. 
 They blew their death-note in the van. 
 But now, for every merry mate. 
 Rose the portcuUis' iron grate ; 
 They sound the pipe, they strike the string. 
 They dance, they revel, and they sing. 
 Till the rude turrets shake and ring. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Me lists not at this tide declare 
 The splendour of the spousal rite. 
 
 How muster'd in the chapel fan- 
 Both maid and matron, squire and knight ; 
 
 «• The preceding four lines now form tlie inscription on the monument of 
 Sir Walter Scott in the market-place of Selkirk.
 
 VI. THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 89 
 
 Me lists not tell of owches rare, 
 Of mantels green, and braided hair, 
 And kirtles furr'd with miniver ; 
 What plmnage waved the altar round, 
 How spurs and ringing chainlets sound; 
 And hard it were for bard to speak 
 The changeful hue of INIargaret's cheek ; 
 That lovely hue which comes and flies, 
 As awe and shame alternate rise ! 
 
 V. 
 
 Some hards have sung, the Ladye high 
 Chapel or altar came not nigh ; 
 Nor durst the rites of spousal grace, 
 So much she fear'd each holy place. 
 False slanders these : — I trust right well 
 She wrought not by forbidden spell;** 
 For mighty words and signs have power 
 O'er sprites in planetary hour : 
 Yet scarce I praise their ventui'ous part, 
 Who tamper with such dangerous art, 
 But this for faithful truth I say. 
 
 The Ladye by the altar stood, 
 Of sable velvet her array. 
 
 And on her head a crimson hood. 
 With pearls embroiderVl and entwined, 
 Guarded with gold, with ermine lined ; 
 A merlin sat upon her wrist, *^ 
 Held by a leash of silken twist. 
 
 VI. 
 
 The spousal rites were ended soon : 
 
 'Twas now the merry hour of noon. 
 
 And in the lofty arched hall 
 
 Was spread the gorgeous festival. 
 
 Steward and squire, with heedful haste, 
 
 MarshaO'd the rank of every guest ; 
 
 Pages, with ready blade, were there. 
 
 The mighty meal to carve and share : 
 
 O'er capon, heron-shew, and crane, 
 
 And princely peacock's gilded train, *2 
 
 And o'er the boar-head, garnish'd brave. 
 
 And cygnet from St Mary's wave ; 
 
 O'er ptarmigan and venison, 
 
 The priest had spoke his benison. 
 
 Then rose the riot and the din, 
 
 Above, beneath, without, within 
 
 For, from the lofty balcony, 
 
 Eung trumpet, shalm, and psaltery : 
 
 Their clanging bowls old warriors quaflfd, 
 
 Loudly they spoke, and loudly laugh'd ; 
 
 Whisper'd young knights, in tone more mild. 
 
 To ladies fair, and ladies smiled. 
 
 The hooded hawks, high perch'd on beam. 
 
 The clamour join'd with whistling scream.
 
 90 THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. C 
 
 And flapp'd their wings, and shook their bells. 
 In concert with the stag-hounds' yells. 
 Round go the Hasks of ruddy wine, 
 From Bourdeaux, Orleans, or the Rhine ; 
 Their tasks the busy sewers ply, 
 And aU is mirth and revelry. 
 
 VII. 
 The Goblin Page, omitting still 
 No opportunity of ill. 
 Strove now, while blood ran hot and high, 
 To rouse debate and jealousy ; 
 Till Conrad, Lord of Wolfenstein, 
 By nature fierce, and warm with wine, 
 Aid now in humour highly cross'd. 
 About sonie steeds his band had lost, 
 High words to words succeeding still. 
 Smote, with his gauntlet, stout Hunthill ; " 
 A hot and hardy Rutherford, 
 Whom men called Dickon Draw-the-sword. 
 He took it on the page's saye, 
 Hmithill had di'iven these steeds away. 
 Then Howard, Home, and Douglas rose, 
 The kindling discord to compose : 
 Stern Rutherford right little said. 
 But bit his glove,** and shook his head. — 
 A fortnight thence, in Inglewood, 
 Stout Courade, cold, and drench'd in blood, 
 His bosom gored with many a wound. 
 Was by a woodman's lyme-dog found ; 
 Unknown the manner of his death. 
 Gone was his brand, both sword and sheath ; 
 But ever from that time, 'twas said, 
 That Dickon wore a Cologne blade. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The dwarf, who fear'd his master's eye 
 Might his foul treachery espie, 
 Now sought the castle buttery. 
 Where many a yeoman, bold and free, 
 ReveU'd as merrily and well 
 As those that sat in lordly selle. 
 Watt Tinlinn, there, did frankly raise 
 The pledge to Arthur Fire-the-Braes ; 
 And he, as by his breeding boimd. 
 To Howard's meny-men sent it round. 
 To quit them, on the English side, 
 Red Roland Forster loudly cried, 
 " A deep carouse to yon fair bride I" — 
 At every pledge, from vat and pail, 
 Foam'd forth in floods the nut-brown ale ; 
 While shout the riders every one : 
 Such day of mirth ne'er cheer'd their clan. 
 Since old Buccleuch the name did gain. 
 When in the cleuch the buck was ta'en.
 
 VI. THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 91 
 
 IX. 
 
 The ■wily pasje, with Tenp;efii! thought, 
 
 Kemember'd hini of TinUnn's yev.-, 
 And swore, it should be dearly bought 
 
 That ever he the arrow drew. 
 First, he the yeoman did molest. 
 With bitter gibe and taunting jest ; 
 Told, how he fled at Solway strife, 
 And how Hob Armstrong cheer'd his wife; 
 Then, shunning still his powerful arm, 
 At unawares he ^^Tought him harm ; 
 From trencher stole his choicest cheer, 
 Dash'd from his lips his can of beer ; 
 Then, to his knee sly creeping on. 
 With bodkin pierced him to the bone : 
 The venom'd wound, and festering joint. 
 Long after rued that bodkin's point. 
 The startled yeoman swore and spum'd. 
 And board and flagons overtum'd. 
 Riot and clamour wild began ; 
 Back to the hall the Urchin ran; 
 Took in a darkling nook his post. 
 And grinn'd, and mutter'd, " Lost ! lost ! lost !" 
 
 X. 
 
 By this, the Dame, lest farther fray 
 
 Should mar the concord of the day. 
 
 Had bid the Minstrels tune their lay. 
 
 And first stept forth old Albert Gramme, 
 
 The Minstrel of that ancient name:*^ 
 
 Was none who struck the harji so well. 
 
 Within the Land Debateable ; 
 
 Well friended, too, his hardy kin, 
 
 ^Vhoever lost, were sure to win ; 
 
 They sought the beeves that made their broth. 
 
 In Scotland and in England both. 
 
 In homely guise, as nature bade. 
 
 His simple song the Borderer said. 
 
 XI. 
 
 ALBERT GR.^ME. 
 
 It was an English ladye bright, 
 
 (The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,^ 
 And she would many a Scottish knight, 
 
 For Love will stiU be lord of all. 
 
 Blithely they saw the rising sim. 
 
 When he shone fair on Carlisle wall, 
 But they were sad ere day was done. 
 
 Though Love was still the lord of all. 
 
 Iler sire gave brooch and jewel fine. 
 
 Where the sun shines fiiir on Carlisle wall ; 
 
 Her brother gave but a flask of wine, 
 For ire that Love was lord of all.
 
 92 THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. CA! 
 
 For she had lands, both meadow and lea, 
 ^Vhere the sun shines fan- on Carlisle wall, 
 
 And he swore her death, ere he would see 
 A Scottish knight the lord of all. 
 
 "XII. 
 
 That wine she had not tasted well, 
 (The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,) 
 
 ■When dead, in her true love's arms, she fell, 
 For Love was still the lord of all ! 
 
 He pierced her brother to the heart, 
 ■WTiere the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall :— 
 
 So perish all would true love part. 
 That Love may stiU be lord of all ! 
 
 And then he took the cross divine, 
 
 (Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,) 
 
 And died for her sake in Palestine ; 
 So Love was still the lord of all. 
 
 Now all ye lovers, that faithful prove, 
 (The Sim shines fair on Carlisle wall,) 
 
 Pray for their souls who died for love, 
 For Love shall still be lord of all ! 
 
 XIIL 
 
 As ended Albert's simple lay. 
 
 Arose a bard of loftier port ; 
 For sonnet, rhjrnie, and roimdelay, 
 
 Renown'd Ln haughty Henry's court : 
 There rung thy harp, unrivall'd long, 
 Fitztraver of the sUver song ! 
 
 The gentle Surrey loved his lyre — 
 Who has not heard of Surrey's fame?^' 
 
 His was the hero's soul of tire. 
 And his the bard's immortal name, 
 And his was love, exalted high 
 By aU the glow of chivalry. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 They sought, together, climes afar. 
 
 And oft, within some olive grove. 
 When even came with twinkling star, 
 
 They sung of Surrey's absent love. 
 His step the Italian peasant stay'd, 
 
 And deem'd that spirits from on high. 
 Round where some hermit saint was laid. 
 
 Were breathing heavenly melody ; 
 So sweet did harp and voice combine. 
 To praise the name of Geraldine. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Fitztraver ! what tongue may say 
 The pangs thy faithful bosom knew
 
 r.Ayvo VI. THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTRSI.. 93 
 
 When Surrey, of the deathless lay, 
 
 Ungrateful Tudor's sentence slew i* 
 Regardless of the tjTant's frown, 
 His harp call'd wrath and vengeance down. 
 He left, for Naworth's iron towers, 
 Windsor's green glades, and courtly bowers. 
 And, faithful to his patron's name. 
 With Howard still Fitztraver came ; 
 Lord William's foremost favourite he, 
 And chief of all his minstrelsy. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 FITZTRAVER. 
 
 'Twas All-soul's eve, and Surrey's heart beat high ; 
 
 He heard the midnight bell with anxious start. 
 Which told the mystic hour, approaching nigh, 
 
 When wise Cornelius promised, by his ait, 
 To show to him the ladye of his heart. 
 
 Albeit betwixt them roar'd the ocean grim ; 
 Yet so the sage had hight to play his part, 
 
 That he should see her form in life and limb. 
 And mark, if still she loved, and still she thought of hini. 
 
 XVll. 
 Dark was the vaulted room of gramarye. 
 
 To which the vnzaid led the gallant Knight, 
 Save that before a mirror, huge and high, 
 
 A haUow'd taper shed a gUmmering light 
 On mystic implements of magic might ; 
 
 On cross, and character, and talisman, 
 And almagest, and altar, nothing bright : 
 
 For fitful was the lustre, pale and wan, 
 As watchlight by the bed of some departing man. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 But soon, within that mirror huge and high, *■ 
 
 Was sen a self-emitted light to gleam ; 
 And forms upon its breast the Earl 'gan spy, 
 
 Cloudy and indistinct, as feverish dream ; 
 Till, slow arranging, and defined, they seem 
 
 To form a lordly and a lofty room. 
 Part lighted by a lamp with silver beam, 
 
 Placed by a couch of Agra's silken loom. 
 And part by moonshine pale, and part was hid in gloom. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Fair all the pageant — but how passing fair 
 
 The slender form, which lay on couch of Ind ! 
 O'er her white bosom stray 'd her hazel haii. 
 
 Pale her dear cheek, as if for love she pined ; 
 All in her night-robe loose she lay recUned, 
 
 And, pensive, read from tablet ebumine, 
 Some strain that seem'd her inmost soul to find : — 
 
 That favour'd strain was Surrey's raptured line. 
 That fair and lovely form, the Lady Geraldiue.
 
 94 THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. CANTO VT. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Slow roll'd the clouds upon the lovely form, 
 
 And swept the gjoodly vision all away — 
 So royal envy roll'd the murky storm 
 
 O'er my beloved Master's glorious day. 
 Thou jealous, ruthless tyrant ! Heaven repay 
 
 On thee, and on thy children's latest line, 
 The wild caprice of thy despotic sway. 
 
 The gory bridal bed, the plmider'd shrine, 
 The murder'd Surrey's blood, the tears of Geraldinel 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Both Scots, and Southern chiefs, prolong 
 Applauses of Fitztraver's song ; 
 These hated Henry's name as death. 
 And those still held the ancient faith. — 
 Then, from his seat, with lofty air, 
 Kose Harold, bard of brave St Clair : 
 St Clair, who, feasting high at Home, 
 Had with that lord to battle come. 
 Harold was born where restless seas 
 Howl round the storm-swept Orcades ; 
 ■WTiere erst St Clairs held princely sway 
 O'er isle and islet, strait and bay ; — 
 Still nods their palace to its fall, 
 Thy pride and sorrow, fair Kirkwall ! — 
 Thence oft he mark'd iaerce Pentland rave, 
 As if gTim Odin rode her wave ; 
 And watch'd, the whilst, with visage pale, 
 And tlirobbing heart, the struggling sail ; 
 For all of wonderful and wild 
 Had rapture for the lonely child. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 And much of wild and wonderful 
 In these rude isles might fancy cull ; 
 For thither came, in times afar, 
 Stern Loclilin's sons of roving war. 
 The ]SI orsemen, train'd to spoil and blood. 
 Skilled to prepare the raven's food ; 
 Kings of the main their leaders brave, 
 Their barks the dragons of the wave. 
 And there, in many a stormy vale, 
 The Scald had told his wondrous tale ; 
 And many a Runic colimm high 
 Had ■v\'itness'd grim idolatrj^. 
 And thus had Harold, in his youth, 
 Learn'd many a Saga's rhjine uncouth, — 
 Of that Sea-Snake, tremendous curl'd, 
 Wliose monstrous cu-cle girds the world ; 
 Of those dread Maids,i8 whose hideous yell 
 Maddens the battle's bloody swell ; 
 Of chiefs, who, guided through the gloom 
 By the pale deat)i-lig,hts of the tomb,
 
 CANTO VI. THE LAY OF THE LAST MIXSTREL. 9.T 
 
 Ransack'd the graves of -n-arriors old, 
 Their falchions wrench'd from corpses' hold,*'' 
 Waked the deaf tomb with war's alarms. 
 And bade the dead arise to arms ! 
 With war and wonder all on flame, 
 lo Roslin's bowers young Harold came, 
 Where, by sweet glen and greenwood tree, 
 He leam'd a milder minstrelsy; 
 Yet something of the Northern spell 
 Mix'd with the softer nimabers welL 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 HAKOLD. 
 
 O listen, listen, ladies gay ! 
 
 No haughty feat of anns I tell ; 
 Soft is the note, and sad the lay. 
 
 That mourns the lovely Kosabelle, 
 
 — " Jloor, moor the barge, ye gallant crew! 
 And, gentle ladye, deign to stay ! 
 Rest thee in Castle Ravensheuch, 
 Nor tempt the stormy tirth to-day. 
 
 " The blackening wave is edged with white : 
 To inch" and rock the sea-mews fly; 
 The fishers have heard the Water-Sprite, 
 Whose screams forbode that wreck is nigh. 
 
 " T^ast night the gifted Seer did \-iew 
 
 A wet shroud swathed roimd ladye gay ; 
 Then stay thee, Fair, in Ravensheuch ; 
 Why cross the gloomy firth to-day ?" — 
 
 " 'Tis not because Lord Lindesay's lieir 
 To-night at Koslin leads the ball, 
 But that my ladye-mother there 
 Sits lonely in her castle-hall. 
 
 " 'Tis not because the ring they ride. 
 And Lindesay at the ring rides well. 
 But that mv sire the wine wll chide, 
 If 'tis not fill'd by Rosabelle."— 
 
 O'er Roslin all that dreary night, 
 A wondrous blaze was seen to gleam ; 
 
 'Twas broader than the watch-fire's light. 
 And redder than the bright moon-beam. 
 
 It glared on Roslin's castled rock. 
 
 It ruddied aU the copse-wood glen ; 
 Twas seen from Drj'den's groves of oak, 
 
 And seen from cavem'd Hawthomdeii. 
 
 <• Inch, isle
 
 96 THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. CANTO VI. 
 
 Seem'd all on fire that chapel proud, 
 
 Where Roslin's chiefs uncoffin'd lie, 
 Each Baron, for a sable shroud. 
 
 Sheathed in his u-on panoply, 
 
 Seem'd all on fire within, around, 
 
 Deep sacristy and altar's pale ; 
 Shone every pillar foliage-bound. 
 
 And gliminer'd all the dead men's mail. 
 
 Blazed battlement and pinnet high. 
 
 Blazed every rose-carved buttress fan- — 
 
 So still they blaze, when fate is nigh 
 The lordly Ime of high St Clair. 
 
 There are twenty of Roslin's barons bold 
 Lie buried within that proud chapelle; 
 
 Each one the holy vault doth hold — 
 But the sea holds lovely Eosabelle 1 
 
 And each St Clair was buried there. 
 
 With candle, mth book, and with knell ; 
 
 But the sea-caves rung, and the wild winds sung. 
 The dirge of lovely Rosabelle. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 So sweet was Harold's piteous lay, 
 
 Scarce mark'd the guests the darken'd hall. 
 Though, long before the sinking day, 
 
 A wondrous shade involved them all : 
 It was not eddying mist or fog, 
 Drain'd by the sun from fen or bog ; 
 
 Of no eclipse had sages told ; 
 And yet, as it came on apace. 
 Each one could scarce his neighbour's face. 
 
 Could scarce his own stretch'd hand behold. 
 A secret horror check'd the feast. 
 And chill'd the soul of every guest ; 
 Even the high Dame stood half aghast. 
 She knew some evil on the blast ; 
 The elfish page fell to the ground. 
 And, shuddering, mutter'd, "Found! found 1 found 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Then sudden, through the darken'd au- 
 
 A flash of lightning came ; 
 So broad, so bright, so red the glare. 
 
 The castle seem'd on flame. 
 Glanced every rafter of the hall. 
 Glanced every shield upon the wall ; 
 Each tropliied beam, each sculptm-ed stone, 
 Were instant seen, and instant gone ; 
 Full through the guests' bedazzled band 
 Resistless flash'd the levin-brand,
 
 n. THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 97 
 
 And fiU'd the hall with smouldering smoke, 
 As on the elvish page it broke. 
 
 It broke, -nith thunder long and loud, 
 Dismay'd the brave, appall'd the proud, — 
 
 From sea to sea the larum rung ; 
 On Berwick wall, and at Carlisle withal, 
 To arms the startled warders sprung. 
 ^Vhen ended was the dreadful roar, 
 The eh-ish dwarf was seen no more I 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Some heard a voice in Branksome Hall, 
 Some saw a sight not seen by all ; 
 That dreadful voice was heard by some. 
 Cry, with loud simimons, " Gvlijin, come I" 
 
 And on the spot where burst the brand, 
 Just where the page had tiimg him down, 
 
 Some saw an arm, and some a hand, 
 And some the waging of a gown. 
 The guests in silence prayed and shook. 
 And terror dimm'd each lofty look. 
 But none of all the astonished train 
 Was so dismay'd as Deloraine : 
 His blood did freeze, his brain did bum, 
 'Twas fear'd his mind would ne'er return ; 
 
 For he was speechless, ghastly, wan, 
 
 Like him of wliom the story ran, 
 
 Who spoke the spectre-hound in Man. 
 At length, by fits, he darkly told. 
 With broken hint, and shuddering cold — 
 
 That he had seen right certainly, 
 A shape ivith amice wranp'd around, 
 With a wrought Spanish baldric hound. 
 
 Like pilgrim from beyond the sea; 
 And knew — but how it matter'd not — 
 It was the wizard, Michael Scott. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 The anxious crowd, with horror pale, 
 All trembling heard the wondrous tale : 
 
 Xo sound was made, no word was spoke, 
 
 Till noble Angus sUence broke ; 
 And he a solemn sacred pliglit 
 
 Did to St Bride of Douglas make, '" 
 
 That he a pilgrimage would talie 
 
 To Melrose Abbey, for the salce 
 Of Michael's restless sprite. « 
 
 Then each, to ease liis troubled breast. 
 To some bless'd saint his prayers address'd : 
 Some to St Jlodan made tlieir vows. 
 Some to St Maiy of the Lowes, 
 Some to the Holv Rood of Lisle, 
 Some to our Ladye of the Isle ; 
 Each did his patron witness make, 
 That he sucb pilgrimage would takfl
 
 98 THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. CAT 
 
 And monks should sing, and bells should tol:. 
 All for the weal of Michael's soul. 
 While vows were ta'en, and prayers were prayd, 
 "lis said the noble dame, dismay "d, 
 Renounced, for aye, dark magic's aid. 
 
 XXVIIL 
 
 Nought of the bridal will I tell, 
 Wliich after m short space befell ; 
 Nor how brave sons and daughters fair 
 Bless'd Teviot's Flower, and Cranstoun's heir : 
 After such dreadful scene, 'twere vain 
 To wake the note of muth again. 
 
 More meet it were to mark the day 
 Of penitence, and prayer divine. 
 
 When pilgrim chiefs, in sad array, 
 Sought Melrose' holy shrine. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 With naked foot, and sackcloth vest. 
 And arms enfolded on his breast. 
 
 Did every pilgrim go ; 
 The standers-by might hear imeath. 
 Footstep, or voice, or high-drawn breath, 
 
 Through all the lengthen'd row : 
 No lordly look, nor martial stride ; 
 Gone was their glory, siuik their pride, 
 
 Forgotten theu' renown ; 
 Silent and slow, like ghosts they glide 
 To the high altar's hallow'd side. 
 
 And there they knelt them down : 
 Above the suppliant chieftains wave 
 The banners of departed brave ; 
 Beneath the letter'd stones were laid 
 The ashes of their fathers dead ; 
 From many a gamish'd niche around, 
 Stern saints and tortui-ed martyi-s frOTNii'd. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 And slow up the dim aisle afar, 
 With sable cowl and scapidar, 
 And snow-white stoles, in order due, 
 The holy Fathers, two and two. 
 
 In long procession came ; 
 Taper and host, and book they bare. 
 And holy banner, flourish'd fair 
 
 W^th the Redeemer's name. 
 Above the prostrate pilgrim band 
 The mitred Abbot stretch'd his hand, 
 
 And bless'd them as they kneel'd ; 
 With holy cross he signed them all, 
 And pray'd they might be sage in hall. 
 
 And fortmiate in field. 
 Then mass was sung, and prayers were said. 
 And solemn requiem for the dead ;
 
 VI. THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 99 
 
 And bells toll'd out their mighty peal, 
 For the departed spirit's weal ; 
 And ever in the office close 
 The hymn of intercession rose ; 
 And far the echoing aisles prolong 
 The awful burthen of the song, — 
 Dies iRiE, dies ilia, 
 
 SOLA'^ET S^CLUM IN FA VILLA ; 
 
 While the pealing organ rung. 
 
 Were it meet -witli sacred strain 
 
 To close my lay, so light and vain. 
 Thus the holy Fathers sung : — 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 HYMN FOR THE DEAD. 
 
 That day of wrath, that dreadful day, 
 TMien heaven and earth shall pass away ! 
 What power shall bo the sinner's stay ? 
 How shall he meet that dreadful day? 
 
 When, shrivelling like a parched scroll, 
 The flaming heavens together roll ; 
 When louder yet, and yet more dread, 
 Swells the high trump that wakes the dead ! 
 
 Oh ! on that day, that ■wi-athful day, 
 When man to judgment wakes fi'om clay. 
 Be Thou the trembling sinner's stay. 
 Though heaven and earth shall pass away I 
 
 Hush'd is the harp — the Minstrel gone. 
 And did he wander forth alone ? 
 Alonp, in indigence and age, 
 To linger out his pilgrimage ? 
 No ! — close beneath proud Newark's tower. 
 Arose the jMinsti'el's lowly bower ; 
 A simple hut ; but there was seen 
 The little garden hedged with green. 
 The cheerful hearth, and lattice clean. 
 There shelter'd wanderers, by the blaze, 
 Oft heard the tale of other days ; 
 For much he loved to ope his door, 
 And give the aid he begg'd before. 
 So pass'd the winter's day ; but still. 
 When summer smiled on sweet Bowhill, 
 And July's eve, with balmy breath. 
 Waved the blue-boUs on Newark heath ; 
 When tlirostles sung in Hairhead-shaw, 
 And corn was green on Carterhaugh, 
 And flourish'd, broad, Blackandro's oalc. 
 The aged Harper's soul awoke I
 
 100 
 
 THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 
 
 Then Avould he sing achievements hig 
 And circumstance of chivalry, 
 Till the rapt traveller would stay, 
 Forgetful of the closing day ; 
 And noble youths, the strain to hear, 
 Forsook the hunting of the deer ; 
 And Yarrow, as he roU'd along, 
 Bore burden to the Minstrel sc-n;;.
 
 MARMION: 
 
 A TALE OF FLODDEN FIELD. 
 
 IN SIX CANTOS. 
 
 Alas ! that Scottish maid should sing 
 The combat where her lover fell ! 
 
 That Scottish Bard should wake the string. 
 The triumph of our foes to tell ! 
 
 Letden. 
 
 TO THE 
 
 RIGHT HONOURABLE 
 
 HENRY LOKD MONTAGU, 
 
 ETC. ETC. ETC. 
 THIS 
 
 KOMANGE IS INSCKIBED, 
 
 BY 
 
 THE AUTHOR.
 
 ADVEETISEMXT 
 
 TO THE FIRST EDITION. 
 
 n if hardly to he expected, that an Author whom the Puhlic have 
 honoured with some degree oj" applause, should not be again a tres- 
 passer on their kindness. Yet the Author of SLvkmion must be 
 supposed to feel some anxiety concerning its success, since he is 
 sensible that he hazards, by this second intrusion, any reputation 
 which his first Poem inay have procured him. The present story 
 turns upon the private adventures of a fictitious character; but is 
 called a. Tale ofFlodden Field, because the hero's fate is connected 
 with that memorable defeat, and the causes which led to it. The 
 design of the Author was, if possible, to apprize his readers, at the 
 outset, of the date of his Story, and to prepare them for the man- 
 ners of the Age in which it is laid. Any Historical Narrative, far 
 more an attempt at Epic composition, exceeded his plan of a Roman- 
 tic Tale ; yet he may be permitted to hope, from tJie popularity of 
 The Lay of the Last Minstrel, that an attempt to paint the 
 manners of the feudal times, upon a broader scale, and in the course 
 of a more interesting stoiy, will not be unacceptable to the Public. 
 
 The Poem opens about the commencement of August, and con- 
 cludes with the defeat ofFlodden, 9(A September 1513. 
 
 ASHESTIEL, 1808.
 
 IXTEODUCTION TO MAJIMION. 
 
 EDITION 1830. 
 
 "What I have to sav respecting this Poem may he hriefly tokL 
 In the Introduction to the " Lay of the Last Minstrel," I have 
 mentioned the circumstances, so far as my literaiy life is concerned, 
 •tt-hich induced me to resign the active pursuit of an honourable 
 profession, for the more precarious resources of literature. My 
 appointment to the Sheriffdom of Selkirk called for a change oJ 
 residence. I left, therefore, the pleasant cottage I had upon the 
 side of the Esk, for the "pleasanter banks of the Tweed," in 
 order to comply with the law, which requires that the Sherifl 
 shall be resident, at least during a certain number of months, 
 within his jurisdiction. We foimd a delightful retirement, by my 
 becoming the tenant of my intimate fi-iend and cousin-german, 
 Colonel RusseU, in his mansion of Ashestiel, which was unoccu- 
 pied, during his absence on military service in India. The house 
 was adequate to our accommodation, and the exercise of a limited 
 hospitality. The situation is uncommonly beautiful, by the side 
 of a fine river, whose streams are there very favourable for angling, 
 surrounded by the remains of natural woods, and by hills abound- 
 ing in game. In point of society, according to the heartfelt 
 phrase of Scripture, we dwelt " amongst our own peojile ;" and as 
 the distance from the metropolis was only thirtj' miles, we were 
 not out of reach of our Edinburgh friends, in which city we spent 
 the terms of the simimer and winter Sessions of the Coiurt, that is, 
 five or six months in the year. 
 
 An important circumstance had, about the same time, taken 
 place in my life. Hopes had been held out to me from an influ- 
 ential quarter, of a nature to reUeve me from the anxiety which 1 
 must have otherwise felt, as one upon the precarious temu-e of 
 whose own life rested the principal prospects of his family, and 
 especially as one who had necessarily some dependence upon the 
 favour of the public, which is proverbially capricious ; though it is 
 but Uistice to add, that, in my own case, I have not foimd it so. 
 Mr. ritt had expressed a wish to my personal friend, the Right 
 Honourable William Dimdas, now Lord Clerk Register of Scot- 
 land, that some fitting opportunity should be taken to be of ser- 
 vice to me ; and as my -^news and wishes pointed to a futurfl
 
 104 INTRODUCTION TO MARMION. 
 
 rathftr than an immediate provision, an opportunity of accom- 
 plishing tliis was soon found. One of the Principal Clerks of 
 Session, as they are called, (official persons who occupy an impor- 
 tant and responsible situation, and enjoy a considerable income,; 
 who had served upwards of thirty years, felt himself, from age, 
 and the intirmity of deafness witft which it was accompanied, 
 desirous of retiring from his official situation. As the law then 
 stood, such official persons were entitled to bargain with their 
 successors, either for a sum of money, which was usually a con- 
 siderable one, or for an interest in the emoluments of the office 
 during their life. My predecessor, whose sendees had been mi- 
 usually meritorious, stipulated for the emoluments of his office 
 dm-ing his life, while I should enjoy the survivorship, on the con- 
 dition that I discharged the duties of the office in the meantime. 
 Mr. Pitt, however, having died in the interval, his administration 
 was dissolved, and was succeeded by that known by the name of 
 the Fox and GrenviUe Ministry. My affair was so far completed, 
 that my commission lay in the office subscribed by his Majesty; 
 but, from hurry or mistake, the interest of my predecessor was not 
 expressed in it, as had been usual in such cases. Although, there- 
 fore, it only required pajinent of the fees, I could not in honour take 
 out the commission in the present state, since, in the event of my 
 dj-ing before him, the gentleman whom I succeeded must have lost 
 the vested interest which he had stipulated to retain. I had the 
 honour of an interview with Earl Spencer on the subject, and he, 
 in the most handsome manner, gave du-ections that the commis- 
 sion should issue as originally intended ; adding, that the matter 
 having received the royal assent, he regarded only as a claim of 
 justice what he would have willingly done as an act of favour. I 
 never saw Mr Fox on this, or on any other occasion, and never 
 made any application to him, conceiving that in doing so I might 
 have been supposed to express political opinions contrary to those 
 which I had always professed. In his private capacity, there is 
 no man to whom I would have been more proud to owe an obli- 
 gation, had I been so distingvushed. 
 
 By this arrangement I obtained the survivorship of an office, 
 the emoluments of which were fully adequate to my wishes ; and 
 as the law respecting the mode of providing for superannuated 
 officers was, about five or six years after, altered from that which 
 admitted the arj-angement of assistant and successor, my colleague 
 very handsomely took the opportunity of the alteration, to accept 
 of the retirmg annuity provided in such cases, and admitted me to 
 the full benefit of tlie office. 
 
 But although the certainty of succeeding to a considerable 
 income, at the time I obtained it, seemed to assm-e me of a quiet 
 harbour in my old age, I did not escape my share of inconvenience 
 from the contrary tides and ciurents by which we are so often 
 encountered in our journey through life. Indeed, the publication 
 of my next poetical attempt was prematm-ely accelerated, from 
 one of those unpleasant accidents which can neither be foreseen 
 nor avoided. 
 
 I had formed the prudent resolution to endeavour to bestow a 
 little more labour than I had yet done on my productions, and to 
 be in no huny again to annoimce myself as a candidate for liter-
 
 IXTRODUCTIOX TO MARMIOX. 105 
 
 ary fame. Accordingly, particular passages of a poem, which was 
 finally called " ilarmion," were laboured with a good deal of care, 
 by one by whom much care was seldom bestowed. Whether fhe 
 work was worth the labour or not, I am no competent judge ; but 
 I may be permitted to say, that the period of its composition was 
 a very happy one in my life ; so much so, that I remember ivith 
 pleasure, at this moment, some of the spots in which particular 
 passages were composed. It is probably owing to this, that the 
 Introductions to the several Cantos assumed the form of familiar 
 epistles to my intimate fiiends, in which I alluded, perhaps more 
 than was necessary or graceful, to my domestic occupations and 
 amusements — a loquacity which may be excused by those who 
 remember that I was still young, light-headed, and happy, and 
 that "out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh." 
 
 The misfortunes of a near relation and friend, which happened 
 at this time, led me to alter my prudent determination, which had 
 been, to use great precaution in sending this poem into the world; 
 and made it convenient at least, if not absolutely necessary, to 
 hasten its publication. The publishers of " The Lay of the Last 
 Minstrel,"' emboldened by the success of that poem, willingly 
 offered a thousand pounds for " Mannion." The transaction being 
 no secret, afforded Lord B\Ton, who was then at general war ■n-ith 
 all who blacked paper, an apology for including me in his satire, 
 entitled "English Bards and Scotch Reviewers." I never could 
 conceive how an arrangement between an author and his publish- 
 ers, if satisfactory^ to the persons concerned, could afford matter of 
 censure to any third party. I had taken no unusual or ungener- 
 ous means of entiancing the value of my merchandise — I had never 
 higgled a moment about the bargain, but accepted at once what 
 I considered the handsome offer of my publishers. These gentle- 
 men, at least, were not of opinion that they had been taken 
 advantage of in the transaction, which, indeed, was one of their 
 own framing ; on the contran.% the sale of the Poem was so far 
 beyond their expectation, as to induce them to supply the Author's 
 cellars with what is always an acceptable present to a young 
 Scottish housekeeper, namely, a hogshead of excellent claret. 
 
 The Poem WuS finished in too much haste, to allow me an 
 opportunity of softening down, if not removing, some of its most 
 prominent defects. The nature of JUarmion's guilt, although 
 similar instances were found, and might be quoted, as existing in 
 feudal times, was nevertheless not sufficiently peculiar to be 
 indicative of the character of the period, forgerj^ being the crime 
 of a commercial, rather than of a proud and warlike age. This 
 gross defect ought to have been remedied or palliated. Yet I 
 suffered the tree to lie as it had fallen. I remember my fiiend, 
 Dr Leyden, then in the East, ^Tote me a furious remonstrance on 
 the subject. I have, nevertheless, always been of opinion, that 
 corrections, however in themselves judicious, have a bad effect — 
 after publication. An author is never so decidedly condemned as 
 on his own confession, and may long find apologists and partisans, 
 until he gives up his o^Yn cause. I was not, therefore, inclined to 
 afford matter for censure out of my own admissions ; and, by good 
 fortune, the novelty of the subject, and, if I may so say, some 
 force and vivacity of description, were allowed to atone for many
 
 100 
 
 INTRODUCTION TO MARMION. 
 
 imperfections. Thus the second experiment on the piiljlic patience, 
 generally the most perilous, — for the public are then most apt to 
 judge with rigour, what in the first instance they had received, 
 perhaps, with imprudent generosity, — was in my case decidedly 
 successful. I had the good fortune to pass this ordeal favom-ably, 
 and the return of sales before me makes the copies amount to 
 thirty-six thousand printed between 1808 and 1825, besides a con- 
 siderable sale since that period. I shall here pause upon the 
 subject of " Mannion," and, in a few prefatory words to " The 
 Lady of the Lake," the last poem of mine which obtained eminent 
 success, I will continue the task which I have imposed on myself 
 respecting the origin of my productions. 
 
 Abbotsford, Ap7'il 1830.
 
 MAKMION. 
 
 Ifntroiructifln ta Canto dftriSt. 
 
 To WILLIAM STEWART ROSE, Esq. 
 
 Ashestiel, EUriclc Fcrcet. 
 
 November's sky is chill and drear, 
 November's leaf is red and sear : 
 Late, gazing do-ivn the steepy linn. 
 That hems our little garden in. 
 Low in its dark and nan'ow glen, 
 You scarce the rivulet might ken. 
 So thick the tangled greenwood grevr, 
 So feeble trill'd the streamlet tlu-ough : 
 Now, murmuring hoarse, and frequent seen, 
 Through bush and brier, no longer green, 
 An angry brook, it sweeps the glade. 
 Brawls over rock and wild cascade, 
 And, foaming brown with doubled speed. 
 Hurries its waters to the Tweed. 
 
 No longer Autumn's glowing red 
 Upon our Forest hills is shed ; 
 No more, heneath the evening beam. 
 Fair Tweed reflects their piu-ple gleam ; 
 Awaj' hath passed the heather-bell 
 That bloom'd so rich on Needpath Fell ; 
 Sallow liis brow, and russet bare 
 Are now the sister-heights of Yair. 
 The sheep, before the pincliing heaven, 
 To shelter'd dale and down are driven, 
 "Where yet some faded herbage pines. 
 And yet a wateiy sunbeam shines : 
 In meek despondency the ej-e 
 The wither'd sward and wintry sky. 
 And far beneath their summer hUl, 
 Stray sadly by Glenkinnon's rill : 
 The shepherd shifts his mantle's fold, 
 And wraps him closer from the cold ; 
 His dogs no merry circles wheel. 
 But, shivering, follow at his heel ; 
 A cowering glance they often cast, 
 Ap deeper moans the githering blast.
 
 108 
 
 My imps, though hardy, bold and wild. 
 As best befits the mountain child. 
 Feel the sad influence of the hour, 
 And wail the daisy's vanished flower ; 
 Their summer gambols- tell, and mourn, 
 And anxious ask, — WiU spring return, 
 And birds and lambs again be gay. 
 And blossoms clothe the hawthorn spray ? 
 
 Yes, prattlers, yes. The daisy's flower 
 Again shall paint your summer bower ; 
 Again the hawthorn shall supply 
 The garlands you delight to tie ; 
 The lambs upon the lea shall boimd. 
 The wild birds carol to the round, 
 And while you frolic light as they, 
 Too short shall seem the summer day. 
 
 To mute and to material things 
 New life revoh-ing summer brings ; 
 The genial call dead Nature hears, 
 And in her glory reappears. 
 But oh ! my country^s wintry state 
 What second spring shall renovate ? 
 What powerful call shall bid arise 
 The buried warlike and the wise ; 
 The mind that thought for Britain's weal, 
 The hand that grasp'd the victor steel ? 
 The vernal sun new life bestows 
 Even on the meanest flower that blows ; 
 But vainly, vainly may he shine. 
 Where glory weeps o'er Nelson's shrine ; 
 And vainly pierce the solemn gloom, 
 That shrouds, Pitt, thy hallowed tomb 
 
 Deep graved La every British heart, 
 O never let those names depart ! 
 Say to your sons,— Lo, here his grave. 
 Who victor died on Gadite wave;" 
 To him, as to the burning levin. 
 Short, bright, resistless course was given. 
 Where'er his country's foes were found, 
 Was heard the fated thunder's sound, 
 TOl burst the bolt on yonder shore, 
 Eoll'd, blazed, destroy'd, — and was no moro. 
 
 Nor mourn ye less his perish'd worth, 
 TVTio bade the conqueror go forth, 
 And launch'd that thunderbolt of war 
 On Egj'pt, Hafnia, * Trafalgar ; 
 Who, born to guide such high emprize. 
 For Britain's weal was early wise ; 
 Alas ! to whom the Almighty gave, 
 For Britain's sins, an early grave I 
 
 <" Nelson. '> Copenhaaea.
 
 INTRODUCTION TO CAXTO FIRST. 109 
 
 His ■worth, who, in his mightiest hour, 
 
 A bauble held the pride of power, 
 
 Spum'd at the sordid lust of pelf. 
 
 And served his Albion for herself; 
 
 Who, when the frantic crowd amain 
 
 Strain'd at subjection's bursting rein. 
 
 O'er their wild mood full conquest gain'd, 
 
 The pride, he would not crush, restrain'd, 
 
 SlioVd their fierce zeal a worthier cause, 
 
 And brought the freeman's arm, to aid the freeman's laws. 
 
 Hadst thou but lived, though stripp'd of power, 
 A watchman on the lonely tower. 
 Thy thrilling trump had roused the land, 
 "N^'hen fraud or danger were at hand ; 
 By thee, as by the beacon light, 
 Our pUots had kept course aright ; 
 As some proud colmnn, though alone. 
 Thy strength had propp'd the tottering throu« ; 
 Xow is the stately column broke. 
 The beacon-light is quench'd in smoke, 
 The trumpet's sUver soimd is still, 
 The warder silent on the hUl 1 
 
 Oh think, how to his latest day, 
 "When Death, just hovering, claim'd his prey. 
 With Palinure's unalter'd mood, 
 Firm at his dangerous post he stood ; 
 Each call for needful rest repell'd. 
 With dj-ing hand the rudder held, 
 Till in his fall, with fateful sway. 
 The steerage of the realm gave way ! 
 Then, while on Britain's thousand plains. 
 One unpolluted church remains. 
 Whose peaceful bells ne'er sent around 
 The bloody tocsin's maddening soimd, 
 But still, upon the hallow'd day, 
 Convoke the swains to praise and pray ; 
 While faith and ci\-il peace are dear, 
 Grace tliis cold marble with a tear, — 
 He, who preserved them, Pitt, lies here ! 
 
 Nor yet suppress the generous sigh, 
 Because his rival slumbers nigh ; 
 Nor be thy reqviescat dumb. 
 Lest it be said o'er Fox's tomb. 
 For talents mourn, imtimely lost, 
 When best employ'd, and wanted most ; 
 Mourn genius high, and lore profound, 
 And wit that loved to play, not wound ; 
 And all the reasoning powers divine, 
 To penetrate, resolve, combine ; 
 And feelings keen, and fancy's glow, — 
 They sleep with him who sleeps below :
 
 110 
 
 And, if thoix moum'st they could not sava 
 From error him who owns this grave, 
 Be every harsher thought suppress'd. 
 And sacred be the last .long rest. 
 Here, where the end of earthly things 
 Lays heroes, patriots, bards, and kings ; 
 Where stiff tlie hand, and stUl the tongue, 
 Of those who fought, and spoke, and sung ; 
 Here, where the fretted aisles prolong 
 The distant notes of holy song, 
 As if some angel spoke agen, 
 " All peace on earth, good-will to men ;" 
 If ever from an English heart, 
 O, hei-e let prejudice depart, 
 Aiid, partial feeling cast aside, 
 Eecord, that Fox a Briton died ! 
 When Europe crouch'd to France's yoke, 
 And Austria bent, and Prussia broke. 
 And the firm Russian's purpose brave, 
 Was barter'd by a timorous slave. 
 Even then dishonour's peace he spum'd 
 The sullied olive-branch retum'd. 
 Stood for his country's gloiy fast, 
 And nail'd her colours to the mast ! 
 Heaven, to reward his firmness, gave 
 A portion in this honovu-'d grave, 
 And ne'er lield marble in its trust 
 Of two such wondrous men the dust. 
 
 With more than mortal powers endov,*d. 
 How high they soar'd above the crowd J 
 Theirs was no common party race. 
 Jostling by dark intrigue for place ; 
 Like fabled Gods, their mighty war 
 Shook realms and nations in its jar; 
 Beneath each banner proud to stand, 
 Look'd up the noblest of the land, 
 Till through the British world were known 
 The names of Pitt and Fox alone. 
 Spells of such force no wizard grave 
 E'er framed in dark Thessalian cave, 
 Though his could drain the ocean dry, 
 And force the planets from the sky. 
 These spells are spent, and, spent with these, 
 The wine of life is on the lees. 
 Genius, and taste, and talent gone, 
 For ever tomb'd beneath the stone, 
 Wliere — taming thought to human pride ' — 
 The mighty chiefs sleep side by side. 
 Drop upon Fox's grave the tear, 
 'Twill triclde to his rival's bier ; 
 O'er Pitt's the mournful requiem sound. 
 And Fox's shall the notes rebound. 
 The solemn echo seems to cry, — 
 " Here let their discord with them die.
 
 INTKOBUCTION TO CANTO FIKST. Ill 
 
 Speak not for those a separate doom, 
 "V\'Tiom Fate made brothers in the tomh 
 But search the land of li\'inp; men, 
 Where wilt thou tind their like agen ? " 
 
 Rest, ardent Spirits ! till the cries 
 Of dying Nature bid you rise ; 
 Not even your Britain's groans can pierce 
 The leaden silence of your hearse ; 
 Then, 0, how impotent and vain 
 This grateful tributaiy strain I 
 Though not unmark'd from nortliern clime, 
 Ye heard the Border Minstrel's rhyme : 
 His Gothic harp has o'er you rmig ; 
 The Bard you deign'd to praise, your deathless names 
 has sung. 
 
 Stay yet, Illusion, stay a while, 
 My wilder'd fancy stdl beguile ! 
 From this high theme how can I part, 
 Ere half unloaded is my heart ! 
 For all the tears e'er sorrow drew, 
 And all the raptures fancy knew, 
 And all tlie keener rush of blood. 
 That throbs through bard in bard-like mood, 
 Were here a tribute mean and low. 
 Though all then- mingled streams could flow — 
 Woe, wonder, and sensation high, 
 In one spring-tide of ecstasy !— 
 It will not be — it may not last — 
 The vision of enchantment's past : 
 Like frostwork in the morning ray. 
 The fancied fabric melts away ; 
 Each Gothic arch, memorial-stone, 
 And long, dim, lofty aisle, are gone ; 
 And, lingering last, deception dear, 
 The choir's high sounds die on my ear. 
 Now slow return the lonely do^vn. 
 The silent pastm-es blealv and brown, 
 The farm begirt -with copsewood wild, 
 Tlie gambols of eacli frolic child, 
 Mixing tlieir shrill cries witli the tone 
 Of Tweed's dark waters rushing on. 
 
 Prompt on unetjual tasks to nui, 
 Thus nature disciplines her son : 
 Meeter, she saj's, for me to stray, 
 And waste tlie solitary day. 
 In plucking from yon fen the reed. 
 And watch it floating down tlie Tweed; 
 Or idly list the shrilling lay. 
 With which the milkmaid cheers her way, 
 Marking its cadence rise and fail. 
 As from the field, beneath her pail, 
 She trips it down the imeveu dale :
 
 112 MARMION. 
 
 Meeter for me, by yonder cairn, 
 The ancient shepherd's tale to learn ; 
 Thongli oft he stop in rustic fear, 
 Lest his old legends tire the ear 
 Of one, who, in his simple mind, 
 May boast of book-learn'd taste refined. 
 
 But thou, my friend, canst fitly tell, 
 (For few have read romance so well,) 
 How still the legendary lay 
 O'er poet's bosom holds its sway; 
 How on the ancient minstrel strain 
 Time lays his palsied liand in vain ; 
 And how our hearts at doughty deeds. 
 By warriors -wi-ought in steely weeds. 
 Still throb for fear and pity's sake; 
 As when the Champion of the Lake , 
 Enters Morgana's fated house, 
 Or in the Chapel Perilous, 
 Despising spells and demon's force, 
 Holds converse with the unbiiried corse ;i 
 Or when, Dame Ganore's grace to move, 
 (Alas, tliat lawless was their love !) 
 He sought proud Tarquin in his den, 
 And freed full sixtj' knights ; or when, 
 A sinful man, and unconfess'd, 
 He took tlie Sangreal's lioly quest, 
 And, slumbering, saw the vision high, 
 He might not view with waking eye.^ 
 
 The mightiest chiefs of British song 
 Scorn'd not such legends to prolong : 
 They gleam through Spenser's elfin dream. 
 And mix in Milton's heavenly theme ; 
 And Dryden, in immortal strain, 
 Had raised the Table Round again,' 
 But that a ribald King and Court 
 Bade him toil on, to make them sport ; 
 Demanded for their niggard pay. 
 Fit for then- souls, a looser lay. 
 Licentious satire, song, and play ; 
 The world defrauded of the high design. 
 Profaned the God-given strength, and marr'd the 
 lofty line. 
 
 "Warm'd by such names, well may we then. 
 Though dwindled sons of little men, 
 Essay to brealc a feeble lance 
 In the fair fields of old romance ; 
 Or seek the moated castle's cell, 
 Where long through talisman and spell, 
 
 1 See Note 1 of the "Notes to Maemion" in the Appendix. Tlie 
 figures of reference throughout the poem relate to furtner notes in tlie 
 Appendix
 
 INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FIRST. 
 
 113 
 
 While tjTants ruled, and damsels wept, 
 
 Thy Genius, Chivalry, hath slept : 
 
 There sound the harpings of the North, 
 
 Till he awake and sally forth. 
 
 On venturous quest to prick again, 
 
 In all his anus, vnih all his train. 
 
 Shield, lance, and brand, and plume, and scarf. 
 
 Fay, giant, dragon, sqiure, and dwarf, 
 
 And wizard with his wand of might. 
 
 And en-ant maid on palfrey white. 
 
 Aroimd the Genius weave their spells, 
 
 Piu-e Love, who scarce his passion tells ; 
 
 INIystery, half veil'd and half reveal'd ; 
 
 And Honour, with his spotless shield ; 
 
 Attention, with lix'd eye ; and Fear, 
 
 That loves the tale she shrinks to hear ; 
 
 And gentle Courtesy ; and Faith, 
 
 Unchanged by sufferings, time, or death ; 
 
 And Valour, iion-mettled lord. 
 
 Leaning upon his own good sword. 
 
 Well has thy fair achievement shown, 
 A worthy meed may thus be won ; 
 Ytene's " oaks — beneath whose shade 
 Their theme the merr\' minstrels made. 
 Of Aspacart, and Bevis bold,* 
 And that Picd King,* who, while of old, 
 Through Boldrewood the chase he led, 
 By his lov'd huntsman's arrow bled — 
 Ytene's oaks have heard again 
 Eenew'd such legendary strain ; 
 For thou hast sung how He of Gaul, 
 That Amadis so famed in hall. 
 For Oriana, foil'd in fight 
 The Necromancer's felon might ; 
 And well in modem verse hast wove 
 Partenopex's mystic love : 
 Hear, then, attentive to my lay, 
 A knightly tale of Albion's elder day. 
 
 a Tlie >'ew Forest in Hampshire, anciently so called. 
 t> Wiiliam Rufus.
 
 114 MAR3II0N. 
 
 CANTO FIKST. 
 
 I. 
 
 Day set on Norham's castled steep,' 
 And Tweed's fair river, broad and deep. 
 
 And Cheviot's mountains lone : 
 The battled towers, the donjon keep,^ 
 The loophole grates, where captives weep. 
 The flanking Avails that round it sweep, 
 
 In yellow lustre shone. 
 The warriors on the turrets high, 
 Moving athwart the evening sky, 
 
 Seem'd forms of giant height : 
 Their armom-, as it caught tlie rays, 
 Flash'd back again the western blaiie, 
 
 In lines of dazzling light. 
 
 II. 
 
 Samt George's banner, broad and gay 
 Now faded, as the fading ray 
 
 Less bright, and less, was flung ; 
 The evening gale had scarce the power 
 To wave it on the Donjon Tower, 
 
 So heavily it hung. 
 The scouts had parted on their search. 
 
 The Castle gates were barr'd ; 
 Above the gloomy portal arch. 
 Timing his footsteps to a march. 
 
 The Warder kept his guard ; 
 Low humming, as he paced along, 
 Same ancient Border gathering song. 
 
 IIL 
 
 A distant trampling soxmd he hears ; 
 
 He looks abroad and soon appears, 
 
 O'er Homcliir-hill a plmnp" of spears, • 
 
 Beneath a peimon gay ; 
 A horseman, darting from the crowd. 
 Like lightning from a sujumei cloud, 
 Spiu-s on his mettled coiirser proud. 
 
 Before the dark array. 
 
 " This word properly applies to a flight of water-fowl; but is apph'eil, by 
 a! alogy, to a body of horse . — 
 
 " There is a kaight of the North Country, 
 ■WTiich leads a histy plu7np of sfe^3."—Floddcn f-.elJ.
 
 I. THE CASTLE. 1 ] ,') 
 
 Beneath the saLle palisade, 
 That closed the Castle barricade, 
 
 His bugle-hom he blew ; 
 The warder hasted from the wall. 
 And wam'd the Captain in the hall. 
 
 For well the blast he knew ; 
 And joj'fully that knight did call, 
 To sewer, squire, and seneschal. 
 
 IV. 
 " Xow broach ye a pipe of Malvoisie, 
 
 Bring pasties of the doe. 
 And quickly make the entrance free, 
 And bid my heralds ready be. 
 And every minstrel sound his glee, 
 
 And all our trumpets blow ; 
 And, from the platform, spare ye not 
 To lire a noble salvo-shot ; 
 
 Lord 3lAE>noN waits below I" 
 Then to the Castle's low.er ward 
 
 Sped forty j-eomen tall, 
 The iron-studded gates unbarr'd, 
 Raised the portcullis' ponderous guard, 
 The lofty palisade unsparr'd. 
 
 And let the drawbridge fall. 
 
 V. 
 Along the bridge Lord Marmion rode. 
 Proudly his red-roan charger trode. 
 His helm hung at the sadiUebow : 
 Well by his visage you might know 
 He was a stalworth knight, and keen. 
 And had in many a battle been. 
 . The scar on his brown cheek reveal'd 
 A token true of Bosworth field ; 
 His eyebrow dark, and eye of fire, 
 Show'd spirit proud, and prompt to ire ; 
 Yet lines of thought upon his chee'K 
 Did deep design and counsel speak. 
 His forehead, by his casque worn bare. 
 His thick mustache, and curly hair, 
 Coal black, and grizzled here and there, 
 
 But more through toil than age ; 
 His square-tmu'd joints, and streng-th ol liints 
 ShoVd him no carpet knight so trim, 
 But in close fight a champion grim, 
 
 In camps a leader sage. 
 
 YI. 
 
 Well was he arm'd fi-om head to heel, 
 
 In mail and plate of Milan steel;' 
 
 But his strong helm, of mighty cost. 
 
 Was all with bumish'd gold emboss'd ; 
 
 Amid the plumage of the crest, 
 
 A falcon hover'd on her nest. 
 
 With wings outspread, and forv.-ard brea-St :
 
 116 
 
 E'en such a falcon, on his shield, 
 Soar'd sable in an aznre field : 
 The golden legend bore aright, 
 
 512at)o clbf efts at xnt, to Dratf) is irtg^t. «• 
 
 Blue was the charger's broider'd rein ; 
 Blue ribbons deck'd his arching mane ; 
 The knightly housing's ample fold 
 Was velvet blue, and trapp'dwith gold. 
 
 VII. 
 Behind him rode two gallant squires. 
 Of noble name, and knightly sires ; 
 They bum'd the gilded spurs to claim ; 
 For well could each a war-horse tame, 
 Could draw the bow, the sword could sway 
 And lightly bear the ring away ; 
 Nor less with courteous precepts stored. 
 Could dance in hall, and carve at board. 
 And frame love-ditties passing rare. 
 And sing them to a lady fair. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Four men-at-arms came at their backs, 
 With halbert, bill, and battle-axe : 
 They bore Lord Marmion's lance so strong, 
 And led his sumpter-mules along. 
 And ambling palfrey, when at need 
 Him listed ease his battle-steed. 
 The last and trustiest of the foiu-. 
 On high his forky pennon bore ; 
 Like swallow's tail, in shape and hue, 
 Flutter"d the streamer glossy blue, 
 WTiere, blazon'd sable, as before, 
 The towering falcon seem'd to soar. 
 Last, t^'enty yeomen, two and two. 
 In hosen black, and jerkins blue. 
 With falcons broider'd on each breast, 
 Attended on their lord's behest : 
 Each, chosen for an archer good. 
 Knew himting-craft by lake or wood ; 
 Each one a six-foot bow could bend, 
 And far a cloth-yard shaft could send ; 
 Elach held a boar-spear tough and strong. 
 And at their belts their quivers rung. 
 Their dusty paKreys, and aiTay, 
 Show'd they had march'd a weary way. 
 
 IX. 
 
 'Tis meet that I should tell you now, 
 How faii'ly arm'd, and order'd how. 
 
 The soldiers of the guard, 
 With musket, pike, and morion, 
 To welcome noble Marraion, 
 
 Stood in the Castle-yard ;
 
 CANTO I. THE CASTLE. 117 
 
 Jlinsfarels and trumpeters were there, 
 The guimer held his linstock yare, 
 
 For welcome-shot prepared : 
 Enter'd the train, and such a clang, 
 As then through all his turrets rang. 
 
 Old Norham never heard. 
 
 X. 
 
 The guards their morrice-pikes advanced, 
 
 The tinimpets flourish'd brave, 
 The cannon from the ramparts glanced. 
 
 And thundering welcome gave. 
 A blithe salute, ui martial sort. 
 
 The minstrels well miglit sound. 
 For, as Lord Marmion cross'd the court, 
 
 He scatter'd angels round. 
 " Welcome to Norham, Mannion I 
 
 Stout heart, and open hand ! 
 Well dost thou brook thy gallant roan. 
 
 Thou flower of English land !" 
 
 XI. 
 
 Two pursuivants, whom tabarts deck, 
 With sUver scutcheon round their neck. 
 
 Stood on the steps of stone. 
 By which you reach the donjon gate, 
 AJiid there, with herald pomp and state. 
 
 They haU'd Lord Marmion : 
 They hail'd him Lord of Fontenaye, 
 Of Lutterward, and Scrivelbaye, 
 
 Of Tarn worth tower and town ;' 
 And he, theu' courtesy to requite. 
 Gave them a chain of twelve marks' weight. 
 
 All as he lighted down. 
 " Now, largesse, largesse, " Lord Marmion, 
 
 Knight of the crest of gold ! 
 A blazon'd shield, in battle won, 
 
 Xe'er guarded heart so bold." 
 
 XIL 
 
 They marshall'd him to the Castle-hall, 
 
 Where the guests stood all aside, 
 And loudly flom-ish'd the trumpet-call 
 
 And the heralds loudly cried, — 
 " Room, lordings, room for Lord Marmion, 
 
 With the crest and lielm of gold ! 
 Full well we know the tropliies won 
 
 In the lists at Cottiswold : 
 There, vainly Ralph de Wilton strove 
 
 'Gainst JIarmion's force to stand ; 
 To him he lost his lady-love. 
 
 And to the King his land. 
 
 » The cry with which heralds and pursuivants were wont to acknowlsdse 
 the bounty received from the knights.
 
 118 
 
 Ourselves beheld the listed field, ' 
 
 A sight both sad and fair ; 
 We saw Lord Marmion pierce his shield. 
 
 And saw his saddle bai'e ; 
 We saw the victor win the crest 
 
 He wears with worthy pride ; 
 And on the gibbet-tree, reversed. 
 
 His foeman's scutcheon tied. 
 Place, nobles, for the Falcon- Knight ! 
 
 Room, room, ye gentles gay. 
 For him who conquer'd in the right, 
 
 jMarmion of Fontenaye !" 
 
 XIII. 
 Then stepp'd to meet that noble Lord, 
 
 Sir Hugh the Heron bold. 
 Baron of Twisell, and of Ford, 
 
 And Captain of the Hold, i" 
 He led Lord Marmion to the deas. 
 
 Raised o'er the pavement high, 
 And placed him in the upper place — 
 
 They feasted full and high : 
 The whiles a Northern harper rude 
 Chanted a rhyme of deadlv feud, 
 
 " How the fierce ThirwalU, and Ridleys all. 
 Stout Willimondgwick, 
 And Eardriding Dick, 
 
 And Hughie of Hawdon, and Will d the Wall, 
 Have set on Sir Albany Featherstonhaugh, 
 And taken his life at the Deadman's-shaw." 
 Scantly Lord Marmion's ear could brook 
 
 The harper's barbarous lay ; 
 Yet much he praised the pains he took. 
 
 And well those pains did pay : 
 For lady's suit and minstrel's strain. 
 By knight should ne'er be heard in vain. 
 
 xrv. 
 
 " Now, good Lord Marmion," Heron says, 
 
 " Of your fair courtesy, 
 I pray you bide some little space. 
 
 In this poor tower with me. 
 Here may you keep your arms from rust, 
 
 Jlay breathe yoiu- war-horse well ; 
 Seldom hath past a week but giust 
 
 Or feat of arms befell : 
 The Scots can rein a mettled steed, 
 
 And love to couch a spear ; — 
 St George ! a stirring life they lead, 
 
 That have such neighbours near. 
 Then stay with us a little space. 
 
 Our northern wars to learn ; 
 1 pray you for your lady's grace !" — 
 
 Lord Marmion's broAV grew stem.
 
 > I. THE CASTLi;. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Tlie Captain mark'd his alterd look, 
 
 And gave a squire the sign ; 
 A mighty -wassail-boivl he took. 
 
 And crown'd it high in wine. 
 " Now pledge me here, Lord Marmion : 
 
 But first I pray thee fair, 
 ^^^le^e hast thou left that page of thina. 
 That used to serve thy cup of wine, 
 
 WTiose beautj' was so rare ? 
 Wlien last in Raby towers we met, 
 
 The boy I closely eyed. 
 And often mark'd his cheeks were wet. 
 
 With tears he fain would hide : 
 His was no rugged horse-boy's hand. 
 To burnish shield or sharpen brand, 
 
 Or saddle battle-steed ; 
 But meeter seem'd for lady fau". 
 To fan her cheek or cm-1 her hair, 
 Or through embroiderj- rich and rare. 
 
 The slender silk to lead : 
 His skin was fiilr, his ringlets gold. 
 
 His bosom — when he sigh'd, 
 The russet doublet's rugged fold 
 
 Could scarce repel its pride ! 
 Say, hast thou given that lovely youth 
 
 To serve in ladj-'s bower ? 
 Or was the gentle page, in sooth, 
 
 A gentle paramour ?" 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Lord Marmion ill could brook such jest; 
 
 He roU'd his kindling ej^e, 
 AVith pain his rising wrath suppress'd, 
 
 Yet made a calm reply : 
 " That boy thou thoughtst so goodly fair, 
 He might not brook the northern air. 
 Jlore of his fate if thou wouldst learn, 
 I left him sick in Lindisfam : " 
 Enough of him. — But, Heron, say. 
 Why does thy lovely lady gay 
 Disdain to grace the hall to-day? 
 Or has that dame, so fair and sage. 
 Gone on some pious pilgrimage?" — 
 Ke spoke in covert scorn, for fame 
 Whisper'd light tales of Heron's dame. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Unmark'd, at least unreck'd, the taunt. 
 Careless the knight replied, 
 *•' No bird, whose feathers gaUy fiaunt, 
 Delights in cage to bide : 
 
 o See Kote 2i. 
 
 119
 
 120 
 
 l^orham is grim and grated close, 
 Hemm'd iu by battlement and fosse, 
 
 And many a darksome tower ; 
 And better loves my lady bright 
 To sit in liberty and light, 
 
 In fair Queen Margaret's bower. 
 We hold our greyhound in our hand. 
 
 Our falcon on our glove ; 
 But where shall we find leash or band, 
 
 For dame that loves to rove ? 
 Let the wild falcon soar her swing, 
 She'll stoop when she has tired her wing." — 
 
 XVIII, 
 " Nay, if with royal James's bride 
 The lovely Lady Heron bide. 
 Behold me here a messenger, 
 Your tender greetings prompt to bear ; 
 For, to the Scottish court addi-ess'd, 
 I jom-ney at our King's behest, 
 And pray you, of your grace, provide 
 For me and mine, a trusty guide. 
 I have not ridden in Scotland since 
 James back'd the cause of that mock princa, 
 Warbeck, that Flemish counterfeit, 
 Who on the gibbet paid the cheat. 
 Then did I march with Sun-ej-'s power. 
 What time we razed old Aytoun Tower." — '^ 
 
 XIX. 
 
 " For such-like need, my lord, I trow, 
 Norham can find you guides enow ; 
 For here be some have prick'd as far, 
 On Scottish ground, as to Dunbar; 
 Have drunk the monks of St Bothan's ale. 
 And driven the beeves of Lauderdale ; 
 Harried the wives of Greenlaw's goods, 
 And given them light to set their hoods.'' — " 
 
 XX. 
 
 " Now, in good sooth," Lord Mannion cried, 
 
 " Were I in warlike wise to ride, 
 A better guard I would not lack, 
 Than your stout forayers at my back ; 
 But, as in form of peace I go, 
 A friendly messenger, to know 
 Why through all Scotland, near and far. 
 Their King is mustering troops for war. 
 The sight of plundering Border spears 
 Might justify suspicious fears. 
 And deadly feud, or thirst of spoil. 
 Break out in some unseemly broil : 
 A herald were my fitting guide ; 
 Or Friar, sworn in peace to bide ;
 
 THE CASTLE. 121 
 
 Or pardoner, or travelling priest, 
 Or strolling pilgrim, at the least." 
 
 XXI. 
 
 The Captain mused a little space, 
 And pass'd his hand across his face. — 
 " P'ain would I find the guide you wan t. 
 But ill may spare a pursuivant, 
 The only men that safe can ride 
 Mine errands on the Scottish side : 
 And though a bishop built this fort. 
 Few holy bretliren here resort ; 
 Even our good chaplain, as I ween, 
 Since our last siege we have not seen : 
 The mass he might not sing or say. 
 Upon one stinted meal a-day ; 
 So, safe he sat in Durham aisle. 
 And pray'd for our success the while. 
 Our Xorhani vicar, woe betide, 
 Is all too well in case to ride. 
 The priest of Shoreswood'^ — he could rem 
 The ^^^ldest war-horse in your train ; 
 But then, no spearman in the hall 
 Will sooner swear, or stab, or brawl. 
 Friar John of Tilmouth were the man : 
 A blithesome brother at the can, 
 A welcome guest in hall and bower. 
 He knows each castle, town, and tower. 
 In which the wine and ale is good, 
 'Twixt Newcastle and Holy-Rood. 
 But that good man, as ill befalls, 
 Hath seldom left our castle walls, 
 Since, on the vigil of St Bede, 
 In evil hoiu-, he cross'd the Tweed, 
 To teach Dame Alison her creed. 
 Old Bughti'ig foimd him ■with his wife ; 
 And John, an enemy to strife, 
 Sans frock and hood, fled for liis life. 
 The jealous churl hath deeply swore. 
 That, if again he venture o'er, 
 He shall shrieve penitent no more. 
 Little he loves such risks, I know ; 
 Yet, in your guard, perchance will go." 
 
 XXII. 
 Toung Selby, at the fair hall-board. 
 Carved to his uncle and that lord, 
 And reverently took up the word.- 
 " Kind uncle, woe were we each one. 
 If harm should hap to brother John. 
 He is a man of mirthfid speech, 
 Can many a game and gambol teach. 
 Full well at tables can he play. 
 And sweep at bowls the stake away
 
 122 MARMION. CANTO I. 
 
 None can a lustier carol bawl, 
 The needfulest among us all, 
 When time hangs heavy in the hall, 
 And snow comes thick at Christmas tide, 
 And we can neither hunt, nor ride 
 A foray on the Scottish side. 
 The vow'd revenge of Bughtrig rude. 
 May end in worse than loss of hood. 
 Let friar John, in safety, still 
 In chimney-corner snore his fill. 
 Roast hissing crabs, or flagons swill : 
 Last night, to Norham there came one, 
 Will better guide Lord Marmion." — 
 " Nephew," quoth Heron, " by my fay, 
 Well hast thou spoke ; saj' forth thy say." — 
 
 XXIIL 
 " Here is a holy Palmer come. 
 From Salem first, and last from Rome ; 
 One, that hath kiss'd the blessed tomb, 
 And visited each holy shrine, 
 In Araby and Palestine ; 
 On hills of Armenie hath been. 
 Where Noah's ark may yet be seen ; 
 Ej' that Red Sea, too, liatli he trod, 
 \Vhich parted at the prophet's rod ; 
 In Sinai's wilderness he saw 
 The ]\Iount, where Israel heard the law, 
 '3Iid thunder-dint and flasliing levin. 
 And sliadows, mists, and darkness, given. 
 He shows St James's cockle-shell ; 
 Of fair Montserrat, too, can tell ; 
 
 And of that Grot where Olives nod. 
 Where, darling of each heart and eye, 
 From all the youth of Sicily, 
 Saint Rosalie retired to God. ^* 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 " To stout Saint George of Norwich merry. 
 Saint Thomas, too, of Canterbury, 
 Cuthbert of Durham and Saint Bede, 
 For his sms' pardon hath he pray'd. 
 He knows the passes of the North, 
 And seeks far shrines beyond the Forth ; 
 Little he eats, and long will wake, 
 And drinlcs but of the stream or lake. 
 This were a guide o'er moor and dale ; 
 But, when our John hath quaff d his ale, 
 As little as the wind that blows. 
 And warms itself against his nose, 
 Kens he, or cares, which way he goes."— 
 
 XXV. 
 
 " Grameicy !" quoth Lord Marmion, 
 " Full loth were I that Friar John
 
 i r. THE CASTLE. 123 
 
 That venerable man, for me 
 Were placed in fear or jeopardy. 
 If this same Palmer wiU me lead 
 
 From hence to Holy-Rood, 
 Like his good saint, Til pay his meed, 
 Instead of cockle-shell, or bead. 
 
 With angels fair and good. 
 I love such holy ramblers ; still 
 They know to charm a weary hill. 
 
 With song, romance, or lay : 
 Some jovial tale, or glee, or jest. 
 Some lyuig legend, at the least, 
 They bring to cheer the way." — 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 " Ah ! noble sir," young Selby said. 
 
 And finger on his lip he laid, 
 " This man knows much — perchance e"en more 
 
 Than he could learn by holy lore. 
 
 Still to himself he's muttering, 
 
 Ajid shrinks as at some vmseen thing. 
 
 Last night we listen"d at his cell; 
 
 Strange sounds we heard, and, sooth to tell. 
 
 He murmur'd on till morn, howe'er 
 
 No living mortal could be near. 
 
 Sometimes I thought I heard it plain. 
 
 As other voices spoke again. 
 
 I cannot tell — I like it not — 
 
 Friar John hath told us it is wrote, 
 
 No conscience clear, and void of wrong. 
 
 Can rest awake, and pray so long. 
 
 Himself still sleeps before his beads 
 
 Have mark'd ten aves, and two creeds. — ^ 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 " Let pass," quoth Marmion ; " by my fay, 
 This man shall guide me on my way. 
 Although the great arch-fiend and he • 
 Had sworn themselves of company. 
 So please vou. gentle youth, to call 
 This Palnieri" to the Castle-hall." 
 The siunmon'd Palmer came in place ; 
 His sable cowl o'erhimg his face ; 
 In his black mantle was he clad. 
 With Peter's keys, in cloth of red. 
 
 On his broad shoulders wrought ; 
 The scaUop-sheU his cap did deck ; 
 The crucifix around his neck 
 
 Was from Loretto brought ; 
 His sandals were with travel tore, 
 Staff, budget, bottle, scrip, he wore; 
 The faded palm-branch in his hand 
 Show'd pilgrim fiom the Holy Laud.
 
 124 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 When as the Palmer came in hall, 
 
 Nor lord, uor knight, was there more tall, 
 
 Or had a statelier step withal. 
 
 Or look'd more high and keen ; 
 For no saluting did he wait. 
 But strode across the hall of state. 
 And fronted Marraion where he sate. 
 
 As he his peer had been. 
 But his gaunt frame was worn with toil ; 
 His cheek was sunk, alas the while ! 
 And when he struggled at a smile, 
 
 His eye look'd haggard wild : 
 Poor wretch ! the mother that him bare, 
 If she had been in presence there. 
 In his wan face, and sun-burn'd hair, 
 
 She had not knovvti her child. 
 Danger, long travel, want, or woe. 
 Soon change the form that best we know — 
 For deadly fear can time outgo, 
 
 And blanch at once the hair ; 
 Hard toil can roughen form and face, 
 And want can quench the eye's bright grace, 
 Nor does old age a Avrinkle trace 
 
 More deeply than despair. 
 Happy whom none of these befall, 
 But this poor Palmer knew them all. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Lord Marmion then his boon did ask ; 
 The Pabner took on him the task, 
 So he would march witli morning tide, 
 To Scottish court to be his guide, 
 " But I have solemn vows to pay, 
 And may not Imger by the way, 
 
 To fair St Andrews bound, 
 Within the ocean-cave to pray. 
 Where good Saint Kule his holy lay, 
 From midnight to the dawn of day, 
 
 Sung to the billows' sound j" 
 Thence to Saint Fillan's blessed well, 
 Whose spring can ft-enzied dreams dispeJ, 
 
 And the crazed brain restore : ^^ 
 Saint Mary grant, that cave or spring 
 Could back to peace my bosom bring, 
 
 Or bid it throb no more ! " 
 
 XXX. 
 
 And now the midnight draught of sleup, 
 Where wine and spices richly steep. 
 In massive bowl of silver deep. 
 
 The page presents on knee. 
 Lord Marmion drank a fair good rest.
 
 I. THE CASTLE. 125 
 
 The Captain pledsred his noble guest, 
 The Clip went througli among the rest. 
 
 Who drain'd it merrily ; 
 Alone the Palmer pass'd it by, 
 Though Selbj' press'd him courteously. 
 This was a sign the feast was o'er ; 
 It hush'd the merry wassel roar, 
 
 The minstrels ceased to sound. 
 Soon in the Castle nought was heard, 
 But the slow footstep of the guard, 
 
 Pacing his sober round. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 With early dawn Lord Marmion rose : 
 
 And first the chapel doors unclose ; 
 
 Then, after morning rites were done, 
 
 (A hasty mass from Friar John,) 
 
 And knight and squire had broke their fast 
 
 On rich substantial repast. 
 
 Lord JIarmion's bugles blew to horse : 
 
 Then came the stirnip-cup in course : 
 
 Between the Baron and his host. 
 
 No point of courtesy was lost ; 
 
 High thanks were by Lord ]Marmion paid^ 
 
 Solemn excuse the Captain made. 
 
 Till, filing from the gate, had pass'd 
 
 That noble train, their Lord the last. 
 
 Then loudly rung the trumpet call ; 
 
 Thunder'd the cannon from the wall. 
 
 And shook the Scottish shore ; 
 Aroimd the castle eddied slow. 
 Volumes of smoke as white as snow. 
 
 And hid its turrets hoar ; 
 Till they roll'd forth upon the air. 
 And met the river breezes there, 
 "\Miich gave again the prospect fair.
 
 126 
 3Entr0lfitcti0u tn Canto ^tcants. 
 
 To THE KEY. JOHN MAEEIOTT, A.M. 
 
 Ashestiel, Ettrick Fore.it. 
 
 The scenes are desert now, and bare, 
 
 "WTiere flourish'd once a forest faii-,i' 
 
 ^Vhen these waste glens with copse were lined, 
 
 And peopled with the hart and hind. 
 
 Yon ITiom — perchance whose piickly spears 
 
 Have fenced him for three hundred years, 
 
 While fell around his green compeers — 
 
 Yon lonely Thorn, woidd he could teU 
 
 The changes of his parent dell, 
 
 Since he, so grey and stubborn now, 
 
 Waved in each breeze a sapling bough ; 
 
 Woidd he could tell how deep the sliade 
 
 A thousand mingled branches made ; 
 
 How broad the shadows of the oak, 
 
 How clung the rowan" to the rock. 
 
 And through the foliage sliow'd his head, 
 
 With narrow leaves and berries red ; 
 
 Wliat pines on every mountain sprung. 
 
 O'er even,' deU what birches hung. 
 
 In every breeze what aspens shook, 
 
 ^V^lat alders shaded everj' brook ! 
 
 " Here, in my shade," methinks he'd say, 
 " The mighty stag at noon-tide lay : 
 
 The wolf I've seen, a fiercer game, 
 
 (The neighbouring dingle bears his name,) 
 
 With lurching step around me prowl. 
 
 And stop, against the moon to howl ; 
 
 The mountain-boar, on battle set. 
 
 His tusks upon my stem would whet ; 
 
 While doe, and roe, and red-deer good, 
 
 Have bounded by, through gay green-wood 
 
 Then oft, from Newark's riven tower, 
 
 Sallied a Scottish monarch's power : 
 
 A thousand vassals muster'd roimd. 
 
 With horse, and hawk, and horn, and hound ; 
 
 And I might see the youth intent. 
 
 Guard every pass with crossbow Ijent ; 
 
 And through the brake the rangers stalk. 
 
 And falc'ners hold the ready hawk ; 
 
 And foresters in green-wood trim, 
 
 Lead in the leash the gazehounds grim. 
 
 Attentive as the bratchet's'' bay, 
 
 From the dark covert drove the prey, 
 
 To slip them as he broke away. 
 
 o Jlountain ash. ' SlowiiouE I.
 
 IXTRODtrCTION TO CAXTO SECOND. 127 
 
 The startled quarry bounds amain, 
 As fast the gallant gi-eyhounds strain; 
 Whistles the arrow from the bow, 
 Answers the harquebviss below ; 
 "^VTiile all the rocking hills reply, 
 To hoof-clang, hound, and hunter's cry. 
 And bugles ringing Ughtsomely." 
 
 Of such proud huntings, many tales 
 Yet linger in our lonely dales. 
 Up pathless Ettrick and on Yan-ow, 
 Where erst the outlaw di-ew his arrow. 
 But not more blithe that silvan court. 
 Than we have been at hvmibler sport ; 
 Though small our pomp, and mean our game. 
 Out miith, dear JIarriott, was the same. 
 Eemember'st thou my greyhoimds true ? 
 O'er holt or hiU there never flew, 
 From slip or leash there never sprang. 
 More fleet of foot, or sure of fang. 
 Kor dull, between each merry chase, 
 Pass'd by the intermitted space; 
 For we had fair resource m store. 
 In Classic and in Gothic lore : 
 We mark'd each memorable scene. 
 And held poetic talk between ; 
 Nor hiU, nor brook, we paced along, 
 But had its legend or its song. 
 AU silent now — for now are still 
 Thy bowers, untenanted Bowhill I" 
 Xo longer, from thy mountains dun, 
 The yeoman hears' the well-known gim. 
 And while his honest heart glows warm. 
 At thought of his paternal farm. 
 Round to his mates a brimmer tills. 
 And drinks, " The Chieftain of the Hills !" 
 No fairy forms, in Yarrow's bowers, * 
 
 Trip o'er the walks, or tend the flowers, 
 Fair as the elves whom Janet saw 
 By moonlight dance on Carterhaugh ; 
 No youthful Baron's left to gi-ace 
 The Forest- Sheriff's lonely chase, 
 And ape, in manly step and tone. 
 The majesty of Oberon : 
 And she is gone, whose lovely face 
 Is but her least and lowest grace;* 
 Though if to Sylphid Queen "twere given, 
 To show' our earth the charms of Heaven, 
 She could not glide along the air. 
 With form more light, or face more fair. 
 No more the widow's dcafen'd ear 
 Grows quick that lady's step to hear : 
 
 • A seat of the Duke of Buceleuch on the Yarrow. 
 
 '' Haniet. Countess of Dulkeith, aftenvaids Duchess ot Bucclcucli.
 
 128 MARMION. 
 
 At noontide she expects her not, 
 Nor busies her to trim the cot ; 
 Pensive she turns her humming wlieel, 
 Or pensive codes her. orphans' meal ; 
 Yet blesses, ere she deals their bread, 
 The gentle hand by which they're fed. 
 
 From Yair, — Avhich hills so closely bind. 
 Scarce can the Tweed his passage find. 
 Though much he fret, and chafe, and toil. 
 Till all his eddjnng cirrrents boil, — 
 Her long-descended lord" is gone, 
 And left us by the stream alone. 
 And much I miss those sportive boys,* 
 Companions of my mountain joys. 
 Just at the age 'twixt boy and youth, 
 When thought is speech, and speech is trut'.i. 
 Close to my side, with what delight 
 They press'd to hear of Wallace wight, 
 When, pointing to his airj' mound, 
 I call'd his ramparts holy ground ! ' 
 Kindled their brows to hear me speak ; 
 And I have smiled, to feel my cheek. 
 Despite the difference of our years, 
 Return again the glow of tlieirs. 
 Ah, happy boys ! such feelings pure. 
 They will not, cannot, long endure ; 
 Condemn'd to stem the world's rude tide. 
 You may not linger by the side ; 
 For Fate shall thrust you from the shore. 
 And Passion ply the sail and oar. 
 Yet cherish the remembrance still. 
 Of the lone mountain, and the rill ; 
 For trust, dear boys, the time will come, 
 When fiercer transport shall be dumb. 
 And j'ou will think right frequently. 
 But, well I hope, without a sigh. 
 On the free hoiu-s that we have spent 
 Together, on the brown lull's bent. 
 
 When, musing on companions gone, 
 We doubly feel ourselves alone, 
 Something, my friend, we yet may gam ; 
 There is a pleasm-e in this pain : 
 It soothes the love of lonely rest. 
 Deep in each gentler heart impress'd. 
 'T is silent amid wordly toils. 
 And stifled soon by mental broils ; 
 But, in a bosom thus prepared. 
 Its still small voice is often heard, 
 
 " Tlie late Alexander Pringle, Esq. ofWhytbauk. 
 f' The sons of Mr Prin^le of MTiytbank. 
 
 c On a high mountainous ridge above the farm of Asbestiel is a fosse 
 railed Wallace's Trenct
 
 INTRODUCTION TO CANTO SECOND. 129 
 
 Vn ispering a mingled sentiment, 
 
 'Twixt resignation and content. 
 
 Oft in my mind such thouglits awake, 
 
 By lone Saint Mary's silent lake ; -<• 
 
 Thou know'st it well, — nor fen, nor sedge, 
 
 Pollute the pure lake's crj'stal edge ; 
 
 Abrupt and sheer, the mountains sink 
 
 At once upon the level brmk ; 
 
 And just a trace of silver sand 
 
 Marks where the water meets the land. 
 
 Far in the min-or, bright and blue. 
 
 Each hUl's huge outline you may view ; 
 
 Shaggy with heath, but lonely bare. 
 
 Nor tree, nor bush, nor brake, is there. 
 
 Save where, of land, yon slender line 
 
 Bears thwart the lake the scatter'd pine. 
 
 Yet even this nakedness has power, 
 
 And aids the feeling of the hour : 
 
 Nor thicket, dell, nor copse you spy, 
 
 "Where living thing concealed might lie ; 
 
 Nor point, retiring, hides a dell, 
 
 "Where swain, or woodman lone, might dwell; 
 
 There's nothing left to fancy's guess, 
 
 You see that all is loneliness : 
 
 And silence aids — though the steep hUls 
 
 Send to the lake a thousand rills ; 
 
 In summer tide, so soft they weep, 
 
 The sound but lulls the ear asleep ; 
 
 Your horse's hoof-tread soimds too rude. 
 
 So stUIy is the solitude. 
 
 Nought living meets the eye or ear, 
 But weU I ween the dead are near ; 
 For though, in feudal strife, a foe 
 Hath laid Our Lady's chapel low, ^^ 
 Yet still, beneath the hallow'd soil. 
 The peasant rests him from his toil. 
 And, dj-ing, bids his bones be laid, 
 "Where erst his simple fathers pray'd. 
 
 If age had tamed the passions' strife, 
 And fate had cut my ties to life, 
 Here, have I thought, 'twere sweet to dwell, 
 And rear again the chaplain's cell, 
 Like that same peaceful hermitage, 
 "Where Milton long'd to spend his age. 
 'T were sweet to mark the setting day 
 On Bourhope's lonely top decay ; 
 And, as it faint and feeble died 
 On the broad lake, and mountain's side. 
 To say, " Thus pleasures fode away ; 
 Youth, talents, beauty, thus decay. 
 And leave us dark, forlorn, and grey ; " 
 Then gaze on Dryhope's ruin'd tower. 
 And think on Yarrow's faded Flower:
 
 130 
 
 And when that moimtain-soimd I heard, 
 
 Which bids us Vie for stonn prepared, 
 
 The distant rustling of his wings, 
 
 As up his force the Tempest brings, 
 
 'T were sweet, ere \-et his teiTors rave, 
 
 To sit upon the Wizard's gi-ave — 
 
 That Wizard-Priest's, whose bones are thrust 
 
 From company of holy dust ; -- 
 
 On which no sunbeam ever slunes — 
 
 (So superstition's creed divines) — 
 
 Thence view the lake, with sullen roar, 
 
 Heave her broad billows to the shore ; 
 
 And mark the wild swans mount the gale, 
 
 Spread wide through mist their snowy sail, 
 
 And ever stoop again, to lave 
 
 Their bosoms on the surging wave : 
 
 Then, when against the driving hail 
 
 No longer might my plaid avail, 
 
 Back to my lonely home retire, 
 
 And light my lamp, and trim my fire ; 
 
 There ponder o'er some mystic lay. 
 
 Till the wild tale had all its sway. 
 
 And, in the bittern's distant shriek, 
 
 I heard unearthly voices speak. 
 
 And thought the Wizard-Priest was come, 
 
 To claim again his ancient home ! 
 
 And bade my busy fancy range. 
 
 To fi-ame him fitting shape and strange. 
 
 Till from the task my brow I clear'd, 
 
 And smiled to think that I had fear'd. 
 
 But chief, 'twere sweet to think such life, 
 (Though but escape fi'om fortune's strife,) 
 Something most matchless good and wise, 
 A great and grateful sacrifice ; 
 And deem each hour to musing given, 
 A step upon the road to heaven. 
 
 Yet him, whose heart is ill at ease. 
 Such peaceful sohtudes displease : 
 He loves to di'own his bosom's jar 
 Amid tJie elemental war : 
 And my black Palmer's choice had been 
 Some ruder and more savage scene, 
 Like that which frowns round dark Loch-skeae:.'^ 
 There eagles scream from isle to shore ; 
 DoAvn all the rocks the torrents roar; 
 O'er the black waves incessant driven. 
 Dark mists infect the summer heaven ; 
 Through the rude harriers of the lake. 
 Away its hui-rying waters break. 
 Faster and whiter dash and curl. 
 Till down yon dark abyss they hiu-i. 
 Rises the fog-smoke white as snow. 
 Thunders the viewless stream below,
 
 INTRODUCTION TO CANTO SECOSJ. liJi 
 
 Diving, as if condemn'd to lave 
 Some demon's subterranean cave, 
 ^^'ho, prison'd by enchanter's spell, 
 Shakes the dark rock with groan and yell. 
 And well that Palmer's form and mien 
 Had suited with the stormy scene, 
 Just on the edge, straining his ken 
 To view the bottom of the den, 
 \^^lere, deep deep do-mi, and far wthin, 
 Toils with the rocks the roaring linn ; 
 Then, issuing forth one foamy wave. 
 And wheeling romid the Giant's Grave, 
 ^Vllite as the snowj' charger's tail 
 Drives down the pass of Moffatdale. 
 
 lyfamott, thy harp, on Isis strung. 
 To many a Border theme has rung : 
 Then list to me, and thou shalt know 
 Of this mysterious flian of Woe. 
 
 CANTO SECOND. 
 
 ^rijc Con&rnt. 
 I. 
 
 The breeze, which swept away the smoke, 
 
 Round Norham Castle roll'd, 
 "When all the loud artillerj' spoke. 
 With lightning-flash, and" thunder stroke, 
 
 As Marmiou left the Hold. 
 It curl'd not Tweed alone, that breeze, 
 For, far upon Northumbrian seas. 
 
 It freshly blew, and strong, 
 Where, from high Whitbv's cloister'd pile, 
 Bound to St Cuthbert's Holy Isle,^* 
 
 It bore a bark along. 
 Upon the gale she stoop'd her side. 
 And bounded o'er the swelling tide, 
 
 As she were dancing home ; 
 The merry seamen laugh'd, to see 
 Their gallant ship so lustily 
 
 Furrow the green sea-foam. 
 Much joy'd they in their honom-'d freight; 
 For, on the deck, in chair of state, 
 The Abbess of Saint Hilda placed 
 With five fair nuns, the galley graced.
 
 132 
 
 II. 
 
 'Twas sweet to see these holy maids, 
 Like birds escaped to greenwood shades, 
 
 Their first flight" from the cage, 
 How timid, and how curious too, 
 For all to them was strange and new, 
 And all the common sights they view, 
 
 Their wonderment engage. 
 One eyed the shrouds and swelling sail, 
 
 With many a benedicite ; 
 One at the rippling surge grew pale. 
 
 And would for terror pray; 
 Then shriek'd, because the sea-dog nigh, 
 His round black head, and sparkling eye, 
 
 Eear'd o'er the foaming spray ; 
 And one would stQl adjust her veU, 
 Disorder'd by the summer gale, 
 Perchance lest some more worklh' eye 
 Her dedicated charms might spy ; 
 Perchance, because such action graced 
 Her fair-tum'd arm and slender waist. 
 Light was each simple bosom there. 
 Save two, who ill might pleasure share,— 
 The Abbess, and the Novice Clare. 
 
 in. 
 
 The Abbess was of noble blood, 
 Bjjt early took the veU and hood. 
 Ere upon life she cast a look, 
 Or knew the world that she forsook. 
 Fair too she was, and kind had been 
 As she was fair, but ne'er had seen 
 For her a timid lover sigh. 
 Nor knew the influence of her eye. 
 Love, to her ear, was but a name. 
 Combined with vanity and shame ; 
 Her hopes, her fears, her joys, were all 
 Bounded within the cloister wall : 
 The deadliest sin her mind could reach, 
 "Was of monastic rule the breach; 
 And her ambition's highest aim 
 To emulate Saint Hilda's fame. 
 For this she gave her ample dower. 
 To raise the convent's eastern tower ; 
 For tliis, with carving rare and quaint. 
 She deck'd the chapel of the saint. 
 And gave the relic-shrine of cost, 
 "With ivory and gems emboss'd. 
 The poor her Convenf s bounty blest, 
 The pUgruii in its halls found rest. 
 
 IV. 
 Black was her garb, her rigid rule 
 Reform'd on Benedictine school ;
 
 II. THE CONVENT. 133 
 
 Her cheek was pale, her form -was spare ; 
 Vigils, and penitence austere. 
 Had early quenclrd the light of youth. 
 But gentle was the dame, in sooth ; 
 Though vain of her religious sway, 
 She loved to see her maids obey ; 
 Yet nothing stem was she in cell. 
 And the nuns loved their Abbess well. 
 Sad was this voyage to the dame ; 
 Summon'd to Lindisfame, she came, 
 There, with Saint Cuthbert's Abbot old. 
 And Tynemouth's Prioress, to hold 
 A chapter of Saint Benedict, 
 For inquisition stem and strict, 
 On two apostates fi-om the faith, 
 And, if need were, to doom to death. 
 
 V. 
 
 Nought say I here of Sister Clare, 
 Save this, that she was young and fair ; 
 As yet a novice improfess'd. 
 Lovely and gentle, but distress'd. 
 She was betroth'd to one now dead. 
 Or worse, who had dishonoiu-'d fled. 
 Her kinsmen bade her give her hand 
 To one, who loved her for her land : 
 Herself, almost heart-broken now. 
 Was bent to take the vestal vow. 
 And shroud, within Saint Hilda's gloom, 
 Her blasted hopes and wither'd bloom. 
 
 YI. 
 She sate upon the galley's prow. 
 And seem'd to mark the waves below; 
 Nay, seem'd, so fix'd her look and eye. 
 To count them as they glided by. 
 She saw them not — 'twas seeming all — 
 Far other scene her thoughts recall, — 
 A stm-scorch'd desert, waste and bare, 
 Nor waves, nor breezes, murmur'd there ; 
 There saw she — where some careless hand 
 O'er a dead corpse had heap'd the sand, 
 To hide it till the jackals come. 
 
 To tear it from the scanty tomb. 
 
 See what a wofid look was given. 
 As she raised up her eyes to heaven ! 
 
 YH. 
 
 Lovely, and gentle, and distress'd — 
 
 These charms might tame the fiercest breast. 
 
 Harpers have sung, and poets told, 
 
 That he, in fury imcontroll'd. 
 
 The shaggy monarch of the wood, 
 
 Before a virgin, fair and good. 
 
 Hath pacified his savage mood.
 
 134 
 
 But passions in the human frame 
 
 Oft put the lion's rage to shame : 
 
 And jealousj', by dark intrigue, 
 
 With sordid avarice, in league, 
 
 Had practised -vvith their bowl and knife 
 
 Against the mourner's harmless life. 
 
 This crime "was charged 'gainst those who lay 
 
 Prison'd in Cuthbert s islet grey. ' 
 
 VIII. 
 
 And now the vessel skirts the strand 
 
 Of mountainous Northumberland ; 
 
 Towns, towers, and halls, successive rise, 
 
 And catch the nuns' delighted eyes. 
 
 Monk-Wearmouth soon behind "them lay, 
 
 And Tjmemouth's priory and bay ; 
 
 They mark'd, amid her trees, the hall 
 
 Of lofty Seaton-Delaval ; 
 
 They saw the Blythe and Wansbeck floods 
 
 Eush to the sea through somiding woods ; 
 
 They pass'd the tower of Widderington, 
 
 Mother of many a valiant son ; 
 
 At Coquet-isle then- beads they tell 
 
 To the good Saint who own"d the cell ; 
 
 Then did the Alne attention claim, 
 
 And '\^'arkworth, pi-oud of Percy's name ; 
 
 And next, they cross'd themselves, to hear 
 
 The whitening breakers sound so near, 
 
 Where, boiling thj-ough the rocks, they roar 
 
 On Dunstanborough's cavern'd shore; 
 
 Thy tower, proud iJamborough, mark'd they there. 
 
 King Ida's castle. Luge and square, 
 
 From its tall rock look'd gi-imly down, 
 
 And on the swelling ocean fro'wn ; 
 
 Then from the coast they bore away, 
 
 And reach'd the Holy Island's bay. 
 
 IX. 
 
 The tide did now its flood-mark gain, 
 And girdled in the Saint's domain : 
 For, with the flow and ebb, its style 
 Varies from continent to isle ; 
 Drj'-shod, o'er sands, t^vice every day. 
 The pilgrims to the shrine find way ; 
 Twice everj- day, the waves efface 
 Of staves and sandall'd feet the trace. 
 As to the port the galley flew, 
 Higher and higher rose to view 
 The Castle with its battled walls. 
 The ancient Monasterj^'s halls, 
 A solemn, huge, and dark-red pile. 
 Placed on the margin of the isle. 
 
 X. 
 
 In Saxon strength that Abbey fro^^Tl■|:l, 
 With massive arches broad and round.
 
 -AyXO tl. THE CONVENT. 135 
 
 That rose alternate, row and row, 
 
 On ponderous columns, short and low, 
 Built ere the art was kno-\vn, 
 
 By pointed aisle, and shafted stalk, 
 
 The arcades of an alley'd walk 
 To emulate in stone. 
 On the deep walls the heathen Dane 
 Had pour'd his impious rage in vain ; 
 And needful was such sti-ength to these. 
 Exposed to the tempestuous seas, 
 Scourged by the winds' eternal sway, 
 Open to rovers fierce as they. 
 Which could twelve hundred years withstand 
 Winds, waves, and northern pirates' hand. 
 Kot but that portions of the pile, 
 Eebuilded in a later style, 
 Show'd where the spoiler's hand had been ; 
 Not but the wasting sea-breeze keen 
 Had worn the piUar's carving quaint. 
 And moulder'd in his niche the saint. 
 And roimded, with consiuning power. 
 The pointed angles of each tower ; 
 Yet still entire the Abbey stood, 
 Like veteran, worn, but vinsubdued. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Soon as they uear'd his turrets strong. 
 The maidens raised Saint Hilda's song. 
 
 And ynth the sea-wave and the wind. 
 
 Their voices, sweetly shrill, combined. 
 And made harmonious close ; 
 
 Then, answering from the sandy shore, 
 
 Half-drowTi'd amia the breakers' roar, 
 According chorus rose : 
 
 Down to the haven of the Isle, 
 
 The monks and nims in order file, 
 
 From Cuthbert's cloisters grim ; 
 Banner, and cross, and relics there. 
 To meet Saint Hilda's maids, they bare : 
 And, as they cauglit the soimds on air, 
 
 They echoed back the h_\-nin. 
 The islanders, in joyous mood, 
 Eush'd emulously through the flood. 
 
 To hale the bark to laud : 
 Conspicuous by her veU and hood, 
 Signing the cross, the Abbess stood, 
 
 And bless'd them with her hand. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Suppose we now the welcome said. 
 Suppose the Convent banquet made ; 
 
 All through the holy dome. 
 Through cloister, aisle, and gallery-, 
 Wherever vestal maid might piy,
 
 136 
 
 Nor risk to meet imhallow'd eye, 
 
 The stranger sisters roam : 
 Till fell the evening damp with dew, 
 And the sharp sea-bYeeze coldly blew, 
 For there, even summer night is chill. 
 Then, having stray'd and gazed their lill, 
 
 They closed around the tire ; 
 And all, in tiu-n, essay'd to paint 
 The rival merits of their saint, 
 
 A theme that ne'er can tire 
 A holy maid ; for, be it known, 
 That their saint's honour is their owa. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Then Wliithj^'s nuns exulting told, 
 How to then- house three Barons bold 
 
 Must menial sendee do ; 
 While horns blow out a note of shame, 
 And monks cry " Fy upon your name ! 
 In wrath, for loss of silvan game. 
 
 Saint Hilda's priest ye slew." — 
 ' This, on Ascension-day, each year. 
 While labouring on our harbour-pier, 
 Must Herbert, Bruce, and Percy hear." — 
 They told, how in their convent-cell 
 A Saxon princess once did dwell. 
 
 The lovely Edelfled. 25 
 And how, of thousand snakes, each one 
 Was changed into a coil of stone. 
 
 When holy Hilda pray'd ; 
 Themselves, withm their holy bound. 
 Their stony folds had often foimd. 
 They told, how sea-fowls' pinions fail. 
 As over ^^Tiitby's towers they sail, -^ 
 And, sinking down, with flutterings faint. 
 They do their homage to the saint. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Nor did Saint Cuthbert's daughters fail 
 
 To vie with these in holy tale ; 
 
 His body's resting-place of old. 
 
 How oft their patron changed, they told;'' 
 
 How, when the rude Dane bum'd their pile. 
 
 The monks fled forth from Holy Isle ; 
 
 O'er northern mountain, marsh, and moor, 
 
 From sea to sea, from shore to shore. 
 
 Seven years Saint Cuthbert's corpse they bors. 
 
 They rested them in fair Melrose ; 
 But though, alive, he loved it well, 
 
 Not there his relics might repose ; 
 For, wondrous tale to tell ! 
 
 In his stone-coffin forth he rides, 
 
 A ponderous bark for river tides. 
 
 Yet light as gossamer it glides. 
 Downward to Tilmouth ceUL
 
 ir, THE COXVEXT. 137 
 
 Nor long was his abiding there, 
 For southward did the saint repair 
 Chester-le-Street, and Rippon, saw 
 His holy corpse, ere Waniilaw 
 
 Hail'd him with joy and fear ; 
 And, after many wanderings past. 
 He chose his lordly seat at last, 
 "Where his cathedi-al, huge and vast. 
 
 Looks down mpon the Wear : 
 There deep in Durham's Gothic shade, 
 His relics are in secret laid ; 
 
 But none may know the place. 
 Save of his holiest servants three. 
 Deep sworn to solemn secrecy, 
 
 Who share that wondrous grace. 
 
 XV. 
 
 "Who may his miracles declare ! 
 
 Even Scotland's daimtless king, and heir, 
 
 (Although -with them they led 
 Galwegians, wild as ocean's gale, 
 And Lodon's knights, all sheathed in mail, 
 And the bold men of Teviotdale,) 
 
 Before his standard fled.-s 
 'Twas he, to vindicate his reign. 
 Edged Alfred's falchion on the Dane, 
 And turn'd the Conqueror back again, -9 
 Wlien, -n-ith his Xonnan boiNyer band, 
 He came to waste Xorthumberland. 
 
 XVI. 
 But fain Saint Hilda's nuns would learn 
 If, on a rock, by Lindisfame, 
 Saint Cuthbert sits, and toils to frame 
 The sea-bom beads that bear his name •.'^ 
 Such taks had Whitby's tishers told. 
 And said they might his shape behold, 
 
 And hear liis anvil sound ; 
 A deaden'd clang, — a huge dim form, 
 Seen but, and heard, when gathering storm 
 
 And night was closing roimd. 
 But this, as tale of idle fame. 
 The nuns of Lindiisfarne disclaim, 
 
 XVII. 
 
 While roimd the fire such legends go, 
 Far different was the scene of woe, 
 Where, in a secret aisle beneath, 
 Coimcil was held of life and death. 
 
 It was more dark and lone that vault. 
 Than the worst dungeon cell : 
 
 Old Colwulf 31 built it, for his fault. 
 In penitence to dwell. 
 When he, for cowl and beads, laid dovra 
 The Saxon battle-axe and cro'rni.
 
 i:i8 
 
 This den which, chilling everj' sense 
 
 Of feeling, hearing, sight, 
 Was call'd the Vault of Penitence, 
 
 Excluding air and light, 
 Was, by the prelate Sexhelm, made 
 A place of burial for such dead, 
 As, having died in mortal sin. 
 Might not be laid the church -within. 
 'Twas now a place of pimishment ; 
 Whence if so loud a shriek were sent, 
 
 As reach'd the upper air, 
 The hearers bless'd themselves, and said. 
 The spirits of the sini'id dead 
 
 Bemoan'd then- torments there. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 But though, in the monastic pile. 
 Did of this penitential aisle 
 
 Some vague tradition go, 
 Few only, save the Abbot, knew 
 Where the place lay ; and still more few 
 Were those, who had from him the clew 
 
 To that dread vault to go. 
 Victim and executioner 
 Were blindfold when transported there. 
 In low dark rounds the arches hviog, 
 From the rude rock the side-walls spruvig ; 
 The grave-stones, radely sculptured o'er, 
 Half "sunk in earth, by time half wore, 
 ■W^ere all the ])avement of the floor ; 
 The mildew-drops fell one by one, 
 With tinkling plash upon tlie stone. 
 A cresset," in an iron chain, 
 Which served to light this drear domain. 
 With damp and darkness seemed to striva, 
 As if it scarce might keep alive ; 
 And yet it dimly served to show 
 The awful conclave met below. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 There, met to doom in secrecy, 
 
 Were placetl the heads of convents three : 
 
 All servants of Saint Ijenedict,_ 
 
 The statutes of whose order strict 
 
 On iron table lay ; 
 In long black dress, on seats of stone. 
 Behind were these three judges shown 
 
 By the pale cresset's ray : 
 The Abbess of Saint Hilda's, -there. 
 Sat for a space with visage bare. 
 Until, to hide her bosom's swell, 
 And tear-drops that for pity fell, 
 
 She closely drew her veil : 
 
 <» Antique cliaudelicr
 
 rr. THE CONVENT. 139 
 
 Yon slirouded. figure, as I guess, 
 
 By her proud mien and flowing dress, 
 
 Is Tynemouth's haughty Prioress,'- 
 
 And she with a.^ve looks pale : 
 And he, that Ancient Man, -vvliose sigJit 
 Has long been quenched by age's night, 
 Upon whose ■^Tinkled brow alone, 
 Nor ruth, nor mercy's trace is shown. 
 
 Whose look is hard and stern, — 
 Saint Cuthbert's Abbot is his style ; 
 For sanctity call'd, tlirough the isle. 
 
 The Saint of Lindisfarne. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Before them stood a guilty pair ; 
 But, though an equal fate they shars, 
 Yet one alone deserves our care. 
 Her sex a page's dress belied ; 
 The cloak and doublet, loosely tied, 
 Obscured her charms, but coilld not hii'.e. 
 
 Her cap down o'er her face she drew ; 
 And, on her doublet breast. 
 
 She tried to hide the badge of blue. 
 Lord Manuion's falcon crest. 
 But, at the Prioress' command, 
 A monk undid the silken band. 
 
 That tied her tresses fair. 
 And raised the bonnet from her head, 
 And do'RTi her slender form thej* spread. 
 
 In ringlets rich and rare. 
 Constance de Beverley they know. 
 Sister profess'd of Fontevraud, 
 Whom the chmxh numbered viith the deaJ, 
 For broken vows, and convent fled. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Wlien thus her face was given to \'iew, 
 (Although so palid was her hue, 
 It did a ghastly contrast bear 
 To those bright ringlets glistering fair,) 
 Her look composed, and steady eye, 
 Bespoke a matchless constancy ; 
 And there she stood so calm and pale, 
 That, but her breathmg did not fail. 
 And motion flight crf eye and head. 
 And of her bosom, warranted 
 That neither sense nor pulse she lack=;. 
 You might have thought a form of wax. 
 Wrought to the very life, was there ; 
 So still she was, so pale, so fair. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Her comi'ade was a sordid soul, 
 
 Such as does murder for a meed ; 
 Vt'ho, but of fear, knows no couU'ol,
 
 140 MARMION. 
 
 Because Ms conscience, sear'd and foul, 
 
 Feels not the import of his deed ; 
 One, whose brute-feeling ne'er aspires 
 Beyond his own more- brute desires. 
 Such tools the tempter ever needs, 
 To do the savagest of deeds ; 
 For them no vision'd terrors daunt. 
 Their nights no fancied spectres haunt, 
 One fear with them, of all most base. 
 The fear of death, — alone finds place. 
 This wretch was clad in fi-ock and cowl, 
 And shamed not loud to moan and howl, 
 His body on the floor to dash, 
 And crouch, like hound beneath the lash ; 
 While his mute partner, standing near. 
 Waited her doom without a tear. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Yet well the luckless \^Tetch might shrielc. 
 Well might her paleness terror speak I 
 For there were seen in that dark wall, 
 Two niches, narrow, deep and tall ; — 
 Who enters at such grisly door. 
 Shall ne'er, I ween, find exit more. 
 In each a slender meal was laid. 
 Of roots, of water, and of bread : 
 By each, in Benedictine dress. 
 Two haggard monks stood motionless ; 
 Who, holding high a blazing torch, 
 Show'd the grim entrance of the porch : 
 Reflecting back the smoky beam. 
 The dark-red walls and arches gleam. 
 Hewn stones and cement were displayed. 
 And building tools in order laid. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 These executioners were chose, 
 As men who were with mankind foes, 
 And with despite and envy fired. 
 Into the cloister had retired ; 
 
 Or who, in desperate doubt of grace. 
 Strove, by deep penance, to eftace 
 
 Of some foul crime tlie stain ; 
 For, as the vassals of her will. 
 Such men the Church selected still. 
 As either joy'd in doing ill, 
 
 Or thought more grace to gain. 
 If, in her cause, they wrestled down 
 Feelings their nature strove to own. 
 By strange device were they brought there. 
 They knew not how, nor knew not where. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 And now that blind old Abbot rose, 
 To speak the Chapter's doom
 
 THE CONVENT. I4l 
 
 On those the wall was to enclose, 
 
 Alive, within the tomb;^^ 
 But stopp'd, because that wofiil Maid, 
 Gathering her powers, to speak essay 'd. 
 Twice she essay'd, and twice in vain : 
 Her accents might no utterance gain ; 
 Nought but imperfect murmurs slip 
 From her convulsed and quivering lip ; 
 'Twixt each attempt all was so stUl, 
 You seem'd to hear a distant rill — 
 
 'Twas ocean's swells and falls ; 
 For though this vault of sin and fear 
 Was to the sounding surge so near, 
 A tempest there you scarce could hear 
 So massive were the walls. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 At length, an effort sent apart 
 The blood that curdled to her heart, 
 
 And light came to her eye. 
 And colour dawn'd upon her cheek, 
 A hectic and a fiutterd streak. 
 Like that left on the Cheviot peak. 
 
 By Autumn's stormy sky ; 
 And when her silence broke at length, 
 Still as she spoke she gathered strength. 
 
 And arm'd herself to bear. 
 It was a fearful sight to see 
 Such high resolve and constancy. 
 
 In form so soft and fair. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 ' I speak not to implore your grace, 
 Well know I, for one minute's space 
 
 Successless might I sue : 
 Nor do I speak your prayers to gain 
 For if a death of lingering pain, 
 To cleanse my sins, be penance vain, 
 
 Vain are your masses too. — 
 I listen 'd to a traitor's tale, 
 I left the convent and the veil ; 
 For three long years I bow'd my pride, 
 A horse-boy in his train to ride ; 
 And well my folly's meed he gave. 
 Who forfeited, to be his slave. 
 All here, and all beyond the grave. — 
 He saw yoimg Clara's face more fair, 
 He knew her of broad lands the heir. 
 Forgot his vows, his faith forswore. 
 And Constance was beloved no more.— 
 
 'Tis an old tale, and often told ; 
 But did my fate and wish agree, 
 
 Ne'er had been read, in story old. 
 
 Of maiden true betray'd for gold. 
 That loved, or was avenged, like me
 
 J 42 MARMIOJT, CANTO II. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 " The King approved his favourite's aim ; 
 In vain a rival barr'd his claim, 
 
 Whose fate with Clare's was plight, 
 For he attaints that rival's fame 
 With treason's charge — and on they came, 
 In mortal lists to fight. 
 Their oaths are said, 
 Their prayers are pray'd, 
 Their lances in the rest arc laid. 
 They meet in mortal shock ; 
 And, hark 1 the throng, with thimdering crj-, 
 Shout ' Marmion ! Marmion ! to the sky, 
 
 De Wilton to the block !' 
 Say ye, who preach Heaven shall decide 
 When in the lists two champions ride, 
 
 Say, was Heaven's justice here? 
 When, loyal in his love and faith, 
 Wilton fwmd overthrow or death, 
 
 Beneath a traitoi-'s spear ? 
 How false the charge, how tnxe he fell. 
 This guilty packet best can tell." — 
 Then drew a packet from her breast, 
 Paused, gather'd voice, and spoke the rest.— 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 •* Still was false Marmion's bridal staid ; 
 To Whitby's convent fled the maid. 
 
 The hated match to shim. 
 ' Ho ! shifts she thus ?' king Henry cried ; 
 * Sir Marmion, she shall be thy bride, 
 
 If she were sworn a nuii.' 
 One way reraain'd — the King's command 
 Sent IMarmion to the Scottish land : 
 I linger'd here, and rescue plann'd 
 
 For Clara and for me : 
 This caitiff Monk, for gold, did swear. 
 He would to AVTiitby's shrine repair. 
 And, by his drugs, my rival fair 
 
 A saint in heaven should be. 
 But ill the dastard kept his oath, 
 Whose cowarilice has undone us both. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 " And now my tongue the secret tells, 
 Not that remorse my bosom swells, 
 But to assure my soul that none 
 Shall ever wed with jNIarmion. 
 Had fortune my last hope betray'd. 
 This packet, to the King convey'd, 
 Had given him to the headsman's stroke, 
 Although my heart that instant broke. — 
 Now, men of death, work forth your will. 
 For I can suffer, and be still ;
 
 f!ANTO II, THE CONVERT. 143 
 
 And come he slow, or come lie fast. 
 It is but Death who comes at last. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 " Yet dread me, from my living tomb, 
 Ye vassal slaves of bloody Kome ! 
 If Marmion's late remorse should waive, 
 FiiU soon such veiigeauce vnil he take, 
 That you shall wish the liery Dane 
 Had rather been your guest again. 
 Behind, a darker hoiu* ascends ! 
 The altiirs quake, the crosier bends, 
 The ire of a despotic King 
 Rides forth upon destruction's wing; 
 Then shall these vaults, so strong and deep, 
 Burst open to tiie sea-winds' sweep ; 
 Some traveller then shall find my bones 
 ^^'hitening amid disjointed stones, 
 And, ignorant of priests' cruelty. 
 Marvel such relics here should be." 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Fix'd was her look, and stem her air: 
 Back from her shoidders stream'd her hair 
 The locks, that wont her brow to shade, 
 Stared up erectly from her head ; 
 Her figiu-e seem'd to rise more high ; 
 Her voice, despair's wild energy 
 Had given a tone of prophecy. 
 Appall'd the astonish'd conclave sate ; 
 With stupid eyes, the men of fate 
 Gazed on the light inspired form, 
 And listen'd for the avenging storm ; 
 The judges felt the victim's dread; 
 No hand was moved, no word v.as said, 
 Till thus the Abbot's doom was given. 
 Raising his sightless balls to heaven : — 
 " Sister, let thy sorrows cease ; 
 
 Sinful brother, part in peace l"" 
 
 From that dire dungeon, place of doorrij 
 
 Of execTition too, and tomb. 
 Paced forth the judges three; 
 
 Sorrow it were, and shame, to tell 
 
 The butcher-work that there befell, 
 
 "Wlien they had glided from the cell 
 Of sin and misery. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 An hundred winding steps convey 
 That conclave to the upper day ; 
 But, ere they breathed tie fresher air, 
 They heard the shriekings of despair', 
 And many a stifled groan : 
 
 o See Note 33 on Stanza XXV.
 
 144 
 
 With speed their upward way they take, 
 (Sucli speed as age and fear can make,) 
 And cross'd themselves for terror's sake, 
 
 As hurrying, tottering on : 
 Lven in the vesper's" heavenly tone, 
 Tliey seem d to hear a dying groan, 
 And bade the passing knell to toll 
 For welfare of a parting soul. 
 Slow o'er tlie midnight wave it swimg, 
 Northumlirian rocks in answer rung 
 To Warkworth cell the echoes roU'd, 
 His beads the wakeful hermit told, 
 The Bamborough peasant raised his head, 
 But slept ere half a prayer he said ; 
 So far was heard the mighty knell. 
 The stag sprung up on Cheviot Fell, 
 Spread his broad nostril to the wind. 
 Listed before, aside, behind. 
 Then couch'd him down beside the hind. 
 And quaked among the mountain fern, 
 To hear that sound so dull and stern. 
 
 3i«tv0tiucti0n to Canto Cijtrlr. 
 
 To WILLIAM EESKINE, Esq. 
 
 Ashestiel, Ettnch Foresi. 
 
 Like April morning clouds, that pass, 
 
 With varying shadow, o'er the grass. 
 
 And imitate, on field and furrow. 
 
 Life's chequer'd scene of joy and sorrow; 
 
 Like streamlet of the mountain north, 
 
 Now in a torrent racing forth. 
 
 Now winding slow its silver train, 
 
 And almost slumbering on the plain ; 
 
 Like breezes of the Autumn day, 
 
 Whose voice inconstant dies away. 
 
 And ever swells again as fast. 
 
 When the ear deems its murmur past ; 
 
 Thus various, my romantic theme 
 
 Flits, winds, or sinks, a morning dream. 
 
 Yet pleased, our ej'e pursues the trace 
 
 Of Light and Shade's inconstant race ; 
 
 Pleased, views the rividet afar. 
 
 Weaving its maze irregular ; 
 
 And pleased, we listen as the breeze 
 
 Heaves its wild sigh through Autumn trees •
 
 INTRODUCTION TO CANTO THIRU. 145 
 
 Then, wild as cloud, or stream, or gale, 
 Flow on, flow unconfined, my Tale ! 
 
 Xeed I to thee, dear Erskine, tell 
 I love the license all too well. 
 In sounds now lowly, and now strong, 
 To raise the desultory song ? — 
 Oft, when 'mid such capricious chime, 
 Some transient fit of lofty rhyme 
 To thy kind judgment seem'd excuse 
 For many an error of the muse, 
 Oft hast thou said, "If, still mis-spent, 
 Thiue hours to poetry are lent. 
 Go, and to tame thy Avandering course. 
 Quaff from the fountain at the source ; 
 Approach those masters, o'er whose toml) 
 Inmiortal lam-els ever bloom : 
 Instructive of the feebler bard. 
 Still from the grave their voice is heard ; 
 From them, and from the paths they show d. 
 Choose honour'd guide and practised road ; 
 Nor ramble on through brake and maze. 
 With harpers rude, of barbarous days. 
 
 " Or deem'st thou not our later time 
 Yields topic meet for classic rhyme ? 
 Hast thou no elegiac verse 
 For Brunswick's venerable hearse ? 
 "WTiat! not a line, a tear, a sigh. 
 When valour bleeds for liberty? — 
 Oh, hero of that glorious time. 
 When, with unrivall'd light sublime, — 
 Though martial Austria, and though all 
 The might of Russia, and the Gaul, 
 Though banded Europe stood her foes — 
 The star of Brandenburgh arose ! 
 Thou coiildst not live to see her beam 
 For ever quenched in Jena's stream. 
 Lamented Chief! — it was not given 
 To thee to change the doom of Heaven, 
 And crush that dragon in its birth. 
 Predestined scourge of guilty earth. 
 Lamented Chief! — not thine the power 
 To save in that presumptuous hour, 
 "N\lien Prussia hmTied to the field. 
 And snatched the spear, but left the shield 
 Valour and skill 'twas thine to try. 
 And, tried in vain, 'twas thine to die. 
 Ill had it seem'd thy silver haii- 
 The last, the bitterest pang to share. 
 For princedoms reft, and scutcheons riveu, 
 And birthrights to iisiu-pers given ; 
 Thy land's, thy children's ■s\Tongs to feel, 
 Anid witness woes thou couldst not heal i
 
 146 
 
 On thee relenting Heaven bestows 
 For hononr'd life an honom-'d close ; 
 And when revolves, iu tmie's sm-e change. 
 The hour of Germany's revenge, 
 When, breathing fury for her sake 
 Some new Anueuius shall awake, 
 Her champion, ere he strike, shall come 
 To whet his sword on Brunsavick's tomb. 
 
 " Or of the Red-Cross hero" teach, 
 Dauntless in dimgeon as on breach : 
 Alike to him the sea, the shore. 
 The brand, the bridle, or the oar : 
 Alike to him the war that calls 
 Its votaries to the shattered walls. 
 Which the grim Turk, besmear'd with blood. 
 Against the Invincible made good ; 
 Or that, whose thundering voice coidd wake 
 The silence of the polar lake, 
 WTien stubborn Euss, and metal'd Swede, 
 On the warp'd wave their death-game play'd ; 
 Or that, where Vengeance and Atrright 
 Howl'd roimd the father of the tight, 
 Who snatched, on Alexandria's sand, 
 The conqueror's wi'eath with dying hand.* 
 
 " Or, if to touch such chord be thine, 
 Restore the ancient ti-agic line. 
 And emulate the notes that rung 
 From the wild harp, which sUent hung 
 By silver Avon's holy shore. 
 Till twee an hundred years roU'd o'er ; 
 When she, the bold enchantress," came, 
 With fearless hand and heart on flame ! 
 From the pale mllow snatch'd the ti'easure, 
 And swept it with a kindred measm-e. 
 Till Avon's swans, while rung the grove 
 With Montfort's hate and Basil's love. 
 Awakening at the inspired strain, 
 Deem'd their own Shakspeare lived again." 
 
 Thy friendship thus thy judgment wronging, 
 With praises not to me belonging. 
 In task more meet for mightiest powers, 
 Wouldst thou engage my thriftless hours. 
 But say, my Erskine, hast thou weigh'd 
 That secret power by all obey'd, 
 "VVTiich wai-ps not less the passive mind. 
 Its source conceal'd, or undefined ; ^ 
 Whether an impulse, that has birth 
 Soon as the infant wakes on earth, 
 One with our feelings and our powers, 
 And rather part of us tlian ours ; 
 
 ' .Su- Sidney Smith <> Sir Ualpli Abercromby. ' Jotmna Baillio
 
 n'TRODUCTION TO CANTO THIRD. 147 
 
 Or irhether fitlier term'd the sway 
 Of habit form'cl in early day ? 
 Howe'er derived, its force confest 
 Rules with despotic sway the breast, 
 And drags us on by viewless chain, 
 ^VhUe taste and reason plead in vain. 
 Look east, and ask the Belj;ian why, 
 Beneath Batavia's siiltry sky, 
 He seeks not eager to inhale 
 The freshness of the mountain gale, 
 Content to rear his whitened wall 
 Beside the dank and dull canal ? 
 He 11 say, from youth he loved to see 
 The white sail gliding by the tree. 
 Or see yon weather-beaten hind, 
 "Whose sluggish herds before him wind, 
 Whose tatter'd plaid and rugged cheek 
 His northern clime and kindred speak ; 
 Through England's laughing meads he goea, 
 And England's wealth around him flows ; 
 Ask, if it would content him well, 
 At ease ia those gay plains to dwell, 
 Wliere hedge-rows spread a verdant screen. 
 And spires and forests intervene. 
 And the neat cottage peeps between ? 
 No ! not for these woiild he exchange 
 His dark Lochaber's boundless range : 
 Not for fair Devon's meads forsake 
 Bennevis grey, and Garry's lake. 
 
 Thus while I ape the measure wild 
 Of tales that chann'd me yet a child, 
 Eude though they be, still with the chime 
 Return the thoughts of early time ; 
 And feelings, roused in life's first day. 
 Glow in the line, and prompt the lay. 
 Then rise those crags, that moimtain tower, 
 AVliich charm'd my fancy's wakening hoiir. 
 Though no broad river swept along. 
 To claim, perchance, heroic song ; 
 Though sigh'd no groves in siunmer gale, 
 To prompt of love a softer tale ; 
 Though scarce a pimy streamlet's speed 
 Claim'd homage from a shepherd's reed ; 
 Yet was poetic impulse given, 
 By the green hUl and clear blue heaven. 
 It was a barren scene, and wild. 
 Where naked cliffs were rudely piled ; 
 But ever and anon between 
 Lay velvet tufts of loveliest green ; 
 And well the lonely infant knew 
 Recesses where the wall-flower grew 
 And honeysuckle loved to crawl 
 L'p the low crag and ridn'd walL
 
 148 MARMXON. 
 
 I deem'd such nooks the sweetest shade 
 
 The sun m all its round survey'd ; 
 
 And still I thought that shatter'd tower 
 
 The mightiest work of human power ; 
 
 And marveU'd as the aged hind 
 
 "With some strange tale bewitch'd my mina 
 
 Of forayers, who, with headlong force, 
 
 Down from that strength had spurr'd their horse. 
 
 Their southern rapine to renew, 
 
 Far ui the distant Cheviots blue, 
 
 And, home returning, fill'd the hall 
 
 With revel, wassel-rout, and brawl. 
 
 jMethought that still, with trump and clang, 
 
 The gateway's broken arches rang ; 
 
 IMethought grim features seam'd -vrith scars, 
 
 Glared thi'ough the window's rusty bars, 
 
 And ever, by the winter hearth, 
 
 Old tales I heard of woe or mirth, 
 
 Of lovers' slights, of ladies' charms. 
 
 Of witches' spells, of warriors' arms ; 
 
 Of patriot battles, won of old 
 
 By Wallace wight and Bruce the bold ; 
 
 Of later fields of feud and fight. 
 
 When, pourmg from their Highland heigat. 
 
 The Scottish clans, in headlong sway, 
 
 Had swept the scarlet ranks away. 
 
 WhUe stretch'd at length upon the floor. 
 
 Again I fought each combat o'er. 
 
 Pebbles and shells, in order laid, 
 
 The mimic ranks of war displayed ; 
 
 And onward still the Scottish Lion bore, 
 
 And stUl the scatter'd Southron fled before. 
 
 Still, with vain fondness, could I trace. 
 Anew, each kind familiar face. 
 That brighten'd at our evening fire ! 
 From the thatch'd mansion's grey-hair'd .Su-e, 
 Wise without learning, plain and good. 
 And sprung of Scotland's gentler blood ; 
 "Whose eye, in age, quick, clear, and keen, 
 Show'd what in youth its glance had been ; 
 "WTiose doom discording neighbours sought. 
 Content with eqiuty unbought ; 
 To him the ■venerable Priest ; 
 Our fi-equent and familiar guest. 
 Whose life and manners weU could paint 
 Alike the student and the saint ; 
 Alas ! whose speech too oft I broke 
 With gambol rude and timeless joke : 
 For I was wajTvard, bold, and wild. 
 A self-will'd imp, a graudame's child; 
 But half a plague, ani half a jest, 
 Was still endured, beloved, caress'd.
 
 III. THE HOSTEL, OR INX. 149 
 
 For me, thus nurtured, dost thou asK 
 The classic poet's well-conn"d task ? 
 Nay, Erskiue, nay — On the •wild hill 
 Let the wild heath-beU flourish still ; 
 Cherish the tulip, prune the vine, 
 But freely let the woodbine twine, 
 And leave imtrimm'd the eglantine : 
 Nay, my friend, nay — Since oft thy praise 
 Hath given fresh vigour to my lays ; 
 Since oft thy judgment could refine 
 My flatten'd thought, or cumbrous line ; 
 Still kind, as is thy wont, attend, 
 And in the minstrel spare the friend. 
 Though wild as cloud, as stream, as gale, 
 How forth, flow unrestrain'd, my Tale I 
 
 CANTO THIED. 
 
 m^e Hostel, cr 3tnn. 
 I. 
 
 The livelong day Lord Marmion rode : 
 The mountain path the Palmer show'd. 
 By glen and streamlet winded still. 
 Where stunted birches hid the rill. 
 They might not choose the lowland road, 
 For the Merse forayers were abroad. 
 Who, fired with hate and thirst of prey. 
 Had scarcely fail'd to bar their way. 
 Oft on tne trampling band, from crown 
 Of some tall cliff, the deer look'd down ; 
 On ^ring of jet, from his repose 
 In the deep heath, the black-cock rose ; 
 Sprung from the gorse the timid roe, 
 Is or waited for the bending bow ; 
 And when the stony path began. 
 By which the naked peak they wan. 
 Up flew the snowy ptarmigan. 
 The noon had long been pass'd before 
 They gain'd the height of Lammermoor ; 
 Thence winding down the northern way. 
 Before them, at the close of day. 
 Old Giftbrd's towers and hamlet lay. 
 
 II. 
 
 No summons calls them to the tower, 
 To spend the hospitable hom*. 
 To Scotland's camp the Lord was gone ; 
 His cautious dame, in bower alone,
 
 150 
 
 Dreaded her castle to unclose, 
 So late, to un known friends or foes. 
 On through the hamlet as they paced, 
 Before a porch, whoSe fi-ont was graced 
 With bush and flagon trimly placed, 
 
 Lord Marmion drew his rein : 
 The village inn seemxl large, though rude;>^ 
 Its cheerful tire and hearty food 
 
 Slight well relieve his train. 
 Down from their seats the horsemen sprung. 
 With jingling spurs the couit-yard rung ; 
 They bind tlieir horses to the stall, 
 For forage, food, and firing call. 
 And various clamour fills the hall : 
 Weighing the labour with the cost, 
 Toils everywhere the bustling host. 
 
 III. 
 
 Soon by the chimney's merry blaze, 
 Through the rude hostel might you gaze ; 
 Might see, where, in dark nook aloof, 
 The rafters of the sooty roof 
 
 Bore wealth of winter cheer ; 
 Of sea-fowl dried, and solands store, 
 And gammons of the tusky boai', 
 
 And oavourj^ haunch of deer. 
 The chimney arch projected wide ; 
 Above, around it, and beside. 
 
 Were tools for housewives' hand ; 
 Nor wanted, in that martial day. 
 The implements of Scottish fray, 
 
 The buckler, lance, and brand. 
 Beneath its shade, the place of state. 
 On oaken settle Marmion sate. 
 And ^^ew'd around the blazing hearth. 
 His followers mix in noisy mirth ; 
 Wliom -with brown ale, in jolly tide. 
 From ancient vessels ranged aside, 
 Full actively their host supplied. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Theirs was the glee of martial breast, 
 And laughter theirs at little jest; 
 And oft Lord Marmion deigned to aiii. 
 And mingle in the mu-th they made ; 
 For though, with men of high degree. 
 The proudest of the proud was he 
 Yet, train'd in camps, he knew the art 
 To win the soldier's hardy heart. 
 They love a captain to obey. 
 Boisterous as March, yet fresh as May 
 With open hand, and brow as free, 
 Lover of wine and minstrelsy ; 
 Ever the first to scale a tower, 
 As ventui'ous in a lady's bower .- —
 
 1 III. THE HOSTEL, OR INN. lijl 
 
 Such buxom chief shall lead his host 
 From India's fires to Zembla's frost. 
 
 V. 
 
 Resting upon his pilgrim staff. 
 
 Right opposite the Palmer stood ; 
 His thin dark visage seen but half. 
 
 Half hidden by his hood. 
 StQl fix'd on Mamiion was his look, 
 Which he, w-ho ill such gaze could brook. 
 
 Strove by a fro'mi to queD ; 
 But not for that, though more than once 
 Full met their stem encountering glance. 
 
 The Palmei''s visage fell. 
 
 VI. 
 
 By fits less frequent from the crowd 
 Was heard the burst of laughter loud ; 
 For stiU, as squire and archer stared 
 On that dark face and matted beard, 
 
 Their glee and game declined. 
 All gazed at length in silence drear, 
 Unbroke, save when in comrade's ear 
 Some yoeraan, wondering in his fear, 
 
 Thus whisper'd forth his mind : — 
 " Saint Mary ! saw'st thou e'er such sight ? 
 How pale his cheek, his eye how bright. 
 Whene'er the fii-e-brand's fickle light 
 
 Glances beneath his cowl I 
 FuU on our Lord he sets his eye : 
 For his best palfrey, would not I 
 
 Endure that sullen scowl." 
 
 VII. 
 But Marmion, as to chase the awe 
 Which thus had quell'd their hearts, who sa \t 
 The ever-varying fli-e-light show 
 That figure stem and face of woe, 
 Now call'd upon a squire : — 
 *' Fitz-Eustace, know'st thou not some lay, 
 To speed the lingering night away ? 
 We slumber by the fire." — 
 
 VIII. 
 
 " So please you," thus the youth rejoin'd, 
 " Oiu- choicest miustrel's left behind. 
 
 HI may we hope to please yoiu* ear, 
 
 Accustom'd Constant's strains to hear. 
 
 The harp fuU deftly can he strike, 
 
 And wake the lover's lute alike ; 
 
 To deaj Saint Valentine, no thrush 
 
 Sings livelier from a spring-tide bush, 
 
 No nightingale her love-lorn tune 
 
 More sweetly warbles to the moon.
 
 152 MARMIOJf, 
 
 Woe to the caiise, -whate'er it be. 
 Detains from iis his melody, 
 Lavish'd on rocks, and billows sterOj 
 Or duller monks of Lindisfame. 
 Now must I venture, as 1 may, 
 To sing his favourite roundelay." 
 
 IX. 
 
 A mellow voice Fitz-Eustace had. 
 The air he chose was wild and sad ; 
 Such have I heard, in Scottish land. 
 Rise from the busy harvest band, 
 When falls before the mountaineer, 
 On Lowland plains, the ripen'd ear. 
 Now one shrill voice the notes prolong. 
 Now a wild chorus swells the song : 
 Oft have I listen'd, and stood still, 
 As it came soften'd up the hUl, 
 And deem'd it the lament of men 
 Who languish'd for their native glen ; 
 And thought how sad would be such sound 
 On Susquehana's swampy groimd, 
 Kentuckj-'s wood-encimiber'd brake, 
 Or wild Ontario's boundless lake, 
 \Vliere heart-sick exiles, in the strain, 
 Recall'd fair Scotland's hills again ! 
 
 X. 
 
 Where shall the lover rest, 
 
 Whom the fates sever 
 From his true maiden's breast, 
 
 Parted for ever ? 
 Where, through groves deep and high. 
 
 Sounds the far billow. 
 Where early violets die, 
 
 Under the wUlow. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Eleu loro, &c. Soft shall be his pillow. 
 
 There, through the summer day, 
 
 Cool streams are laving ; 
 There, while the tempests sway, 
 
 Scarce are boughs waving ; 
 There, thy rest shall thou take. 
 
 Parted for ever. 
 Never, again to wake, 
 
 Never, never ! 
 
 CHORUS, 
 
 Eleu loro, &c. Never, O never I 
 
 Where shall the traitor rest. 
 He, the deceiver,
 
 CASTO III. THE HOSTEL. OR INN, 153 
 
 Who could ■win maiden's breast, 
 
 Ruin, and leave her? 
 In the lost battle, 
 
 Borne do-\vn by the flying, 
 "Where mingles war's rattle 
 
 With groans of the dying. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Eku loro, &c. There shaU he be IjTng. 
 
 Her wing shall the eagle flap 
 
 O'er the false-hearted ; 
 His warm blood the wolf shall lap. 
 
 Ere life be parted. 
 Shame and dishonour sit 
 
 By his grave ever ; 
 Blessing shall hallow it, — 
 
 Xever, never ! 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Eleu loro, &c. Never, never t 
 
 XII, 
 
 It ceased, the melancholy sound ; 
 And sQence simk on all around. 
 The air was sad ; but sadder stiU 
 
 It feU on Marmion's ear. 
 And plain'd as if disgrace and ill, 
 
 And shameful death, were near. 
 He drew his mantle past his face. 
 
 Between it and the band. 
 And rested with his head a space. 
 
 Reclining on his hand. 
 His thoughts I scan not ; but I ween. 
 That, could their import have been seen, 
 The meanest groom in all the hall. 
 That e'er tied courser to a stall, 
 Would scarce have wished to be their prey, 
 For Luttcrward and Fontenaye. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 High minds, of native pride and force. 
 Most deeply feel thy pangs, Remorse ! 
 Fear, for their scourge, mean villains have, 
 Thou art the tortiu-er of the brave ! 
 Yet fatal strength they boast to steel 
 Their minds to bear the wounds they feel, 
 Even while they writhe beneath the smart 
 Of civil conflict in the heart. 
 For soon Lord JIarmion raised his head. 
 And, smiling to Fitz-Eustace said — 
 " Is it not strange, that, as ye sung, 
 Seem'd in mine ear a death-peal rung, 
 Such as in nunneries they toll 
 For some departing sister's soul ?
 
 1/54 M.iRMION. 
 
 Say, what may this portend ? " — 
 Then first the Pahner silence broke, 
 (The livelong day he had not spoke,) 
 
 "The death of a dear friend." ^^ 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Marmion, whose steady heart and eye 
 Ne'er changed in worst extremitj' ; 
 Mannion, whose soul could scantly brook, 
 Even fi-om his King, a haughty looli ; 
 Whose accent of command controU'd, 
 In camps, the boldest of the bold ; — 
 Thought, look, and utterance fail'd him now- 
 Fall'n was his glance, and fliish'd his brow : 
 
 For either in the tone. 
 Or something in the Palmer's look, 
 So full upon his conscience strook, 
 
 That answer he found none. 
 Thus oft it haps, that when within 
 They shrink at sense of secret sin, 
 
 A feather daunts the brave ; 
 A fool's wild speech confounds the wise, 
 And proudest princes veil their eyes 
 
 Before their meanest slave. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Well might he falter ! — By his aid 
 
 Was Constance Beverley betray'd. 
 
 Not that he augur'd of the doom, 
 
 Which on the living closed the tomli : 
 
 But, tired to hear the desperate maid 
 
 Threaten by tm-ns, beseech, upbraid; 
 
 And wroth, because in wild despair 
 
 She practised on tlie life of Clare ; 
 
 Its fugitive the Cliurch he gave, 
 
 Though not a \'ictim, but a slave ; 
 
 And deem'd restraint in convent strange 
 
 Would hide her wrongs, and her revenge. 
 
 Himself, proud Henry's favomite peer. 
 
 Held Romish thimders idle fear ; 
 
 Secure his pardon he might hold, 
 
 For some slight mulct of penance-gold. 
 
 Thus judging, he gave secret way. 
 
 When the stern priests surprised their prcj, 
 
 His train but deem'd the favom-ite page 
 
 Was left behind, to spare his age ; 
 
 Or other if they deem'd, none dared 
 
 To mutter what he thought and heard 
 
 Woe to the vassal, who durst pry 
 
 Into Lord Marmion's privacy ! 
 
 XVI. 
 
 His conscience slept — he deem'd her well, 
 And safe secured in distant cell ;
 
 CANTO rir. THE HOSTEL, OR INN. 155 
 
 But, waken'd by her favourite lay, 
 And that strange Palmer's boding say, 
 That fell so ominous and drear, 
 Full on the object of his fear, 
 To aid remorse's venom'd throes, 
 Dark tales of convent- vengeance rose ; 
 And Constance, late betray'd and scorn d, 
 All lovely on his soul retm-n'd ; 
 Lovely as when, at treacherous call, 
 She left her convent's peacefid wall, 
 Ciimsou'd with shame, with terror mute. 
 Dreading alike, escape, pursuit. 
 Till love, %'ictorious o'er alarms, 
 Hid fears and blushes in his arms. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 •' Alas !" he thought, " how changed that mien 5 
 
 How changed these timid looks have been. 
 
 Since years of guilt, and of disguise. 
 
 Have steel'd her brow, and arm'd her eyes ! 
 
 No more of virgin terror speaks 
 
 The blood that mantles in her cheeks : 
 
 Fierce, and imfeminine, are there, 
 • Frenzy for joy, for grief despair ; 
 
 And I the cause — for whom were given 
 
 Her peace on earth, her hopes in heaven I — 
 
 Would," thought he, as the picture grows, 
 " I on its stalk had left the rose ! 
 
 Oh, why shoidd man's success remove 
 
 The very charms that wake his love ! — 
 
 Her convent's peacefid solitude 
 
 Is now a prison harsh and rude ; 
 
 And, pent within the narrow cell. 
 
 How will her spirit chafe and swell ! 
 
 How brook the stem monastic laws ! 
 
 The penance how — and I the cause ! — 
 
 Vigil and scourge — perchance even worse !" — 
 
 And twice he rose to cry, " To horse !" — 
 
 And twice his Sovereign's mandate came, 
 
 Like damp upon a kindling flame ; 
 
 And twice he thought, " Gave I not charga 
 
 She shoidd be safe, though not at large ? 
 
 They dm-st not, for their island, shrod 
 
 One golden ringlet from lier head." 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 While thus in Marmion's bosom strove 
 
 Repentance and reviving love. 
 
 Like whirlwinds, whose contending swav 
 
 I've seen Loch Vennacher obey. 
 
 Their Host the Palmer's speecli had heard. 
 
 And, talkative, took up the word : 
 
 " Ay, reverend Pilgrim, you, who strav 
 From Scotland's simple land away, 
 
 To visit realms afar,
 
 156 MARMIOJr. CAXTO III. 
 
 Full often learn the art to know 
 Of future weal, or future woe, 
 
 By word, or sign, or star ; 
 Yet might a knight his fortune hear 
 If, knight-like, he despises fear, 
 Not far from hence ; — if fathers old 
 Aright our hamlet legend told." — 
 These broken words the menials move, 
 (For marvels still the vulgar love,) 
 And, Marmion giving license cold. 
 His tale the Host thus gladly told :— 
 
 XIX. 
 
 ©fjc P)ost'6 CaU. 
 
 " A Clerk could tell what years have flown 
 Since Alexander fill'd our throne, 
 (Third monarch of that warlike name,) 
 And eke the time when here he came 
 To seek Su: Hugo, then oiu- lord : 
 A braver never drew a sword ; 
 A wiser never, at the hour 
 Of midnight, spoke the word of power : 
 The same, whom ancient records call 
 The founder of the Goblin- Hall.'* 
 I would. Sir Knight, your longer stay 
 Gave you that cavern to sm-vey. 
 Of lofty roof, and ample size, 
 Beneath the castle deep it lies : 
 To hew the living rock profound, 
 The floor to pave, the arch to round, 
 There never toil'd a mortal arm — 
 It aU was wrought by word and chann; 
 And I have heard my grandsire say. 
 That the wild clamour and aflray 
 Of those dread artisans of hell, 
 ■\Mio labour "d under Hugo's spell, 
 Sounded as loud as ocean's war 
 Among the caverns of Dunbar. 
 
 XX. 
 
 « The Kuig Lord Giflbrd's castle souglit. 
 Deep labouring with uncertain thought ; 
 Even then he muster'd all his host. 
 To meet upon the western coast :_ 
 For Norse and Danish galleys plied 
 Their oars within the frith of Clyde. 
 There floated Haco's banner trim," 
 Above Norweyan warriors grim. 
 Savage of heart, and large of limb ; 
 Threatening both continent and isle, 
 Bute, Arran, Cunnmghame, and Kyle. 
 Lord Giiford, deep beneath the ground^ 
 Heard Alexander's bugle sound.
 
 CANTO III. THE HOSTEL, OR IXX. 1 5T 
 
 And tamed not his garb to change. 
 
 But, in his ■wizard habit strange, 
 
 Can\e forth, — a quaint and fearful sight; 
 
 His mantle lined with fox-skins white ; 
 
 His high and wrinkled forehead bore 
 
 A pointed cap, such as of yore 
 
 Clerks say that Pharaoh's Magi wore : 
 
 His shoes were mark'd -^rith cross and spell. 
 
 Upon his breast a pentacle;^ 
 
 His zone, of virgin parchment thin, 
 
 Or, as some tell, of dead man's skin, 
 
 Bore many a planetary sign. 
 
 Combust, and retrograde, and trine ; 
 
 And in his hand he held prepared, 
 
 A naked sword without a guard. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 " Dire dealings with the fiendish race 
 Had mark'd strange lines upon his face ; 
 "Vigil and ftist had wcm him grim ; 
 His eyesight dazzled seem'd and dim, 
 As one unused to upper day ; 
 Even his own menials with dismay 
 Beheld, Sir Knight, the gi-isly Sire, 
 In his imwonted wild attire ; 
 Unwonted, for traditions run. 
 He seldom thus beheld the sun. — 
 ' I know,' he said — (his voice was hoarse^ 
 And broken seem'd its hollow force) — 
 ' I know the cause, although untold, 
 VThy the King seeks his vassal's hold : 
 Vainly from me my liege would know 
 His kingdom's futm-e weal or woe ; 
 But yet, if strong liis arm and heart, 
 His courage may do more than ait. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 " ' Of middle air the demons proud, 
 Who ride upon the racking cloud. 
 Can read, in fix'd or wandering star, 
 The issue of events afar ; 
 But still their sullen aid withhold. 
 Save when by mightier force contror/J. 
 Such late I summon'd to my hall ; 
 And though so potent was the call, 
 That scarce the deepest nook of hell 
 I deem'd a refuge from the spell, 
 Yet, obstinate in silence still, / 
 
 The haughty demon mocks my skill. 
 But thou, — who little know'st thy might. 
 As born upon that blessed night ^^ 
 When yawning g:i-aves, and dj-ing groan, 
 Proclaim'd hell's empire overtlu'own, — 
 With untaught valour shalt compel 
 Kesponse denied to magic spell.'—
 
 158 
 
 • Gramercy, quoth our Monarch free, 
 
 ' Place him but front to front with me, 
 
 And. by this good and honour'd brand, 
 
 The gift of Cceur-de-Lion'a hand, 
 
 Soothly I swear, that, tide what tide, 
 
 The demon shall a buffet bide.' — 
 
 His bearing bold the wizard view'd, 
 
 And thus, well pleased, his speech renewVl : — 
 
 ' There spoke the blood of INIalcolni I — mark : 
 
 Forth pacing hence, at midnight dark. 
 
 The rampart seek, whose chcling crown 
 
 Crests the ascent of yonder down : 
 
 A southern entrance shalt thou find; 
 
 There halt, and there thy bugle wind, 
 
 And trust thine elfin foe to see, 
 
 In guise of thy worst enemy : 
 
 Couch then thy lance, and spur thy steed— 
 
 Upon him ! and Saint George to speed ! 
 
 If he go do-mi, thou soon shalt know 
 
 Wliate'er these airy sprites can show ; — 
 
 If thy heart faU thee in the strife, 
 
 I am no warrant for thy life.' 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 " Soon as the midnight bell did ring, 
 Alone, and arm'd, forth rode the King 
 To that old camp's deserted round : 
 Sir Knight, you well might mark the mound. 
 Left-hand the towTi, — the Pictiah race. 
 The trench, long since, in blood did trace ; 
 The moor around is browTi and bare, 
 The space within is green and fair. 
 The spot our village children know. 
 For there the earliest wild-flowers grow ; 
 But woe betide the wandering wight, 
 That treads its circle in the night I 
 The breadth across, a bowshot clear, 
 Gives ample space for full career : 
 Opposed to the four points of heaven, 
 By four deep gaps are entrance given. 
 The southernmost our IMonarch past, 
 Halted, and blew a gallant blast ; 
 And on the north within the ring, 
 Appear'd the form of England's King, 
 Wlio then, a thousand leagues afar, 
 In Palestine waged holy war : 
 Yet arms like England's did he wield. 
 Alike the leopards in the shield. 
 Alike his Syrian courser's frame, 
 The rider's length of limb the same : 
 Long afterwards did Scotland know, 
 Fell Edward" was her deadliest foe. 
 
 « JidHard I., sui-named LongahankB.
 
 ) I IT. THE HOSTEL. OR INN. 159 
 
 XXIV. 
 " The vision made our Monarch start, 
 But soon he mann'd his noble heart, 
 And in the tu'st career they ran, 
 The Eltin Knight fell, horse and man ; 
 Yet did a splinter of his lance 
 Through Alexander's visor glance, 
 And razed the skin — a puny wound. 
 The King, light leaping to the gTounJ, 
 With naked blade his phantom foe 
 Compell'd the future war to show. 
 Of Largs he saw the glorious plain. 
 Where still gigantic bones remain, 
 
 Memorial of the Danish war ; 
 Himself he saw, amid the field, 
 On high his brandish'd war-axe wield. 
 
 And strike proud Haco from his car, 
 ■^^liile all around the shadowy Kings 
 Denmark's grun ravens cower'd their wing& 
 'Tis said, tliat, in that awful night, 
 Kemoter ^nsions met his sight. 
 Foreshowing future conquests far, 
 When our sons' sons wage northern war ; 
 A royal city, tower and spire, 
 Redden'd the midnight sky with fire, 
 And shouting crews her navy bore. 
 Triumphant to the victor shore. 
 Such signs may learned clerks explain — 
 They pass tlie wit of simple swain. 
 
 XXV. 
 " The joyful King tum'd home again, 
 Headed his host, and quell'd the Dan;' ; 
 But yearly, when return'd the night 
 Of his strange combat with the sprite. 
 
 His woimd must bleed and smart ; 
 Lord GitFord then would gibing say, 
 ' Bold as ye were, my liege, ye pay 
 
 The penance of your start.' 
 Long since beneath Dunfermline's nave, 
 King Alexander fills his grave, 
 
 Our Lady give him rest ! 
 Yet still the knightly spear and shield 
 The Elfin Wan-ior doth wield, 
 
 Upon the bro'rni hill's breast;** 
 And many a knight hath proved his chance^ 
 In the chann'd ring to break a lance, 
 
 But all have foully sped ; 
 Save two, as legends tell, and they 
 Were Wallace wight, and Gilbert Hay.-^ 
 
 Gentles, my tale is said." 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 The quaighs " were deep, the liquor strong, 
 And on the tale the yeoman-throng 
 
 " 4 wooden cup coopospd nf staves hooped togetntj.
 
 180 MARMIOX. 
 
 Had made a comment sage and long, 
 
 But Mann ion gave a sign : 
 And, -with their lord, the squires retire ; 
 The rest around the hostel fire, 
 
 Their drowsy lunbs recline : 
 For pillow, underneath each head, 
 The quiver and the targe were laid. 
 Deep slumbering on the hostel floor, 
 Oppress'd with toil and ale, they snore : 
 The d_\-ing flame in fitful change. 
 Threw on the group its shadows strange. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Apart, and nestling in the hay 
 Of a waste loft, Fitz-Eustace lay ; 
 Scarce, by the pale moonlight, were seen 
 The foldings of his mantle green : 
 Lightly he dreamt, as youth will dream, 
 Of sport by thicket, or by stream. 
 Of hawk or hound, of ring or glove, 
 Or, lighter yet, of lady's love. 
 A cautious tread his slumber broke, 
 And, close beside him, when he woke, 
 In moonbeam half, and half in gloom, 
 Stood a tall form, with nodding plume ; 
 But, ere his dagger Eustace drew. 
 His master Marmion's voice he knew. — 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 " Fitz-Eustace ! rise, — I cannot rest ; — 
 Yon churl's wild legend haunts my breast, 
 And graver thoughts have chafed my mood : 
 The air must cool my feverish blood ; 
 And fain would I ride forth, to see 
 The scene of elfin chivalry. 
 Arise, and saddle me my steed ; 
 And, gentle Eustace, take good heed 
 Thou dost not rouse these drowsy slaves : 
 I would not that the prating knaves 
 Had cause for saying, o'er their ale, 
 That I could credit such a tale." — 
 Then softly do-mi the steps they slid ; 
 Eustace the stable door imdid. 
 And, darkling, Marmion's steed array'd. 
 While, whispering, thus the Baron said : — 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 " Didst never, good my youth, hear tell, 
 That on the hour when I was bom. 
 Saint George, who graced my sire's chapella, 
 Down from his steed of marble fell, 
 
 A wearA' -n-ight forlorn ? 
 The flattering chaplains all agree. 
 The champion left his steed to me.
 
 III. TUB HOSTEL, OE INN. 161 
 
 I would, the omen's truth to show, 
 That I could meet this Elfin Foe ! 
 Blithe would I battle, for the right 
 To ask one question at the sprite : — 
 Vain thought ! for elves, if elves there be. 
 An empty race, by foimt or sea. 
 To dashing waters dance and sing, 
 Or round the green oak wheel their ring." 
 Thus speaking, he his steed bestrode, 
 And from the hostel slowly rode. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Fitz-Enstace followed him abroad. 
 And mark'd him pace the village road. 
 
 And listen'd to his horse's tramp, 
 Till, by the lessening soimd. 
 
 He judged that of the Pictish camp 
 Lord Marmion sought the round. 
 Wonder it seem'd, in the squire's eyes, 
 That one, so wary held, and wise, — 
 Of whom 'twas said, he scarce received 
 For gospel, what the Church believed, — 
 
 Should, stirr'd by idle tale. 
 Ride forth in sOence of the night, 
 As hoping half to meet a sprite, 
 
 Array'd in plate and maU. 
 For little did Fitz-Eustace know, 
 That passions, in contending flow. 
 
 Unfix the strongest mind ; 
 Wearied from doubt to doubt to flee, 
 "We welcome fond credulity. 
 
 Guide confident, though blind. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Little for this Fitz-Eustace cared. 
 But, patient, waited tUl he heard, 
 At distance, prick'd to utmost speed. 
 The foot-tramp of a flviug steed, 
 
 Come townward nishing on ; 
 First, dead, as if on turf it trode. 
 Then, clattering on the village road, — 
 In other pace than forth he yode," 
 
 Retium'd Lord Mannion. 
 Down hastUy he spnmg from selle. 
 And, in his haste, wellnigh he fell ; 
 To the squire's hand the rein he threw 
 And spoke no word as he withdrew : 
 But yet the moonlight did betray. 
 The falcon-crest was soU'd with clay ; 
 And plainly might Fitz-Eustace see, 
 By stains upon the charger's knee. 
 And his left side, that on the moor 
 He had not kept his footing sure. 
 
 " rode, used by old poets for went.
 
 162 
 
 Long musing on these wondrous signs, 
 At length to rest the squire reclines, 
 Broken and short ; for still, between, 
 Would dreams of terror intervene : 
 Eustace did ne'er so blithely mark 
 The first notes of tlie morning lark. 
 
 3intrnlJuctt0n to dLmxta faurttf. 
 
 To JAMES SKENE, Esq. 
 
 Ashestiel, Ettrick Foref* 
 
 An ancient Minstrel sagely said, 
 ' Where is the life which late we led?" 
 That motley clown in Arden wood, 
 "WTiom humorous Jaques with envy view'd, 
 Not even that clown could ampUfj', 
 On this trite text, so long as I. 
 Eleven years we now may tell, 
 Since we have known each other well ; 
 Since, riding side by side, our hand 
 First drew the voluntary- brand ; 
 And sure, through many a varied scene, 
 Unkindness never came between. 
 Away these winged years have flown. 
 To join the mass of ages gone ; 
 And though deep mark'd, like all below, 
 "With chequer'd shades of joy and woe; 
 Though thou o'er realms and seas hast ranged, 
 Mark'd cities lost, and empires changed, 
 While here, at home, my narrower ken 
 Somewhat of manners saw, and men ; 
 Though varj'ing wishes, hopes, and fears 
 Fever'd the progress of these years. 
 Yet now, days, weeks, and months, but seem 
 The recollection of a dream. 
 So still we glide down to the sea 
 Of fathomless eternity. 
 
 Even now it scarcely seems a day, 
 Since first I tuned this idle lay ; 
 A task so often thrown aside. 
 When leisure graver cares denied. 
 That now, November's dreary gale. 
 Whose voice inspir'd my opening tale. 
 That same November gale once more 
 Whirls the dry leaves on Yarrow snore.
 
 INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FOURTH. 163 
 
 Their vex'd boughs streaming to the sky, 
 Once more our naked birches sigh, 
 And Blackhouse heights, and Ettrick Pen, 
 Have donn'd their ■wintry slirouds again : 
 And mountain dark, and flooded mead, 
 Bid us forsake the banks of Tweed. 
 Earlier than wont along the sky, 
 Mix'd with the rack, the snow mists fly ; 
 The shepherd, who in summer sun, 
 Had something of our envy won. 
 As thou with pencil, I ■n-ith pen. 
 The features traced of hill and glen ; — 
 He who, outstretch'd the livelong da}'. 
 At ease among the heath-flowers lay, 
 View'd the light clouds with vacant look. 
 Or slumber'd o'er his tatter'd book. 
 Or idly busied him to guide 
 His angle o'er the lessen'd tide ; — 
 At midnight now, the snowy plain 
 Finds sterner labour for the swain. 
 
 When red hath set the beamless sun, 
 Through hea^y vapoiu-s dark and dun ; 
 When the tired ploughman, dry and warm, 
 Hears half-asleep, the rising storm 
 Hurling the hail, and sleeted rain, 
 Against the casement's tinkling pane ; 
 The soimds that drive wild deer, and fox, 
 To shelter in the brake and rocks. 
 Are warnings which the shepherd ask 
 To dismal and to dangerous task. 
 Oft he looks forth, and hopes, in vain. 
 The blast may sink in mello^ving rain ; 
 Till, dark above, and white below. 
 Decided drives the flaky snow. 
 And forth the hardy swain must go. 
 Long, -nath dejected look and whine. 
 To leave the hearth his dogs repine ; 
 Wliistlmg and cheering them to aid, 
 Aroimd his back he -oTeathes the plaid : 
 His flock he gathers, and he guides. 
 To open downs, and moimtain-sides, 
 Wliere fiercest though the tempest blo^\-. 
 Least deeply lies the drift below. 
 The blast, that whistles o'er the felk, 
 Stiffens Ms locks to icicles ; 
 Oft he looks back, whUe streaming far, 
 His cottage window seems a star, — 
 Loses its feeble gleam, — and then 
 Turns patient to the blast again. 
 And, facing to the tempest's sweep. 
 Drives through the gloom his lagging sheep. 
 If fails his heart, if his limbs fail, 
 Benumbing death is in the gale :
 
 164 
 
 His paths, his landmarks, all unknown. 
 Close to the hut no more his owti. 
 Close to the aid he sought in vain. 
 The morn may tind the stiii'en'd swain :** 
 The widow sees, at dawning pale, 
 His orphans raise their feeble wail ; 
 And, close beside him, in the snow. 
 Poor Yarrow, partner of their woe, 
 Couches upon his master's breast, 
 And Ucks his cheeks to break his rest. 
 
 Who envies now the shepherd's lot. 
 His healthy fare, his rural cot. 
 His summer couch by greenwood tree. 
 His rustic kirn's " loud revelry. 
 His native hUl-notes tuned on high, 
 To Marion of the blithesome eye ; 
 His crook, his scrip, his oaten reed, 
 And all Arcadia's golden creed ? 
 
 Changes not so with us, my Skene, 
 Of hiunan life the varying scene ? 
 Our youthful summer oft we see 
 Dance by on wings of game and glee, 
 WhUe the dark storm reserves its rage, 
 Against the winter of our age : 
 As he, the ancient Chief of Troy, 
 His manhood spent in peace and joy ; 
 But Grecian fires, and loud alarms, 
 CaU'd ancient Priam forth to arms. 
 Then happy those, since each must draiu 
 His share of pleasure, share of pain, — 
 Then happy those, beloved of Heaven, 
 To whom the mingled cup is given ; 
 Whose lenient sorrows find relief. 
 Whose joys are chasten'd by their grief. 
 And such a lot, my Skene, was thine. 
 When thou, of late, wert doom'd to twine, — 
 Just when thy bridal hour was by, — 
 The cj'press witli the mj-rtk tie. 
 Just on thy bride her Sire had smiled. 
 And bless'd the imion of his child. 
 When love must change its joyous cheer, 
 And wipe aflection's filial tear. 
 Nor did the actions next his end, 
 Speak more the father than the friend : 
 Scarce had lamented Forbes *2 paid 
 The tribute to his IMinstrel's shade ; 
 The tale of fi-iendship scarce was told. 
 Ere the naiTator's heart was cold — 
 Far may we search before we find 
 A heart so manly and so kind ! 
 But not around his honoiu-'d urn, 
 Shall friends alone and kindred mourn ; 
 
 " The Scottish Har\'est-liome.
 
 INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FOURTH. IG.'? 
 
 The thousand eyes his care had dried, 
 
 Pour at his name a bitter tide ; 
 
 And frequent falls the grateful dew, 
 
 For benefits the world ne'er knew. 
 
 If mortal charity dare claim 
 
 The Almighty's attributed name, 
 
 Inscribe above his mouldering clay, 
 " The widow's shield, the orphan's stay." 
 
 Nor, though it wake thy sorrow, deem 
 
 My verse intrudes on this sad theme ; 
 
 For sacred was the pen that wrote, 
 " Thy father's friend forget thou not :" 
 
 And grateful title may I plead, 
 
 For many a kindly word and deed, 
 
 To bring my tribute to his grave : — 
 
 'Tis little — but 'tis all I have. 
 
 To thee, perchance, this rambling strain 
 Eecalls our summer walks again ; 
 When, doing nought, — and, to speak true, 
 Not anxious to find aught to do, — 
 The wild imbounded hiUs we ranged, 
 While oft our talk its topic changed, 
 And, desultor}' as our way, 
 Eanged, unconfined, fi-om grave to gay. 
 Even when it flagg'd, as oft iriU chance. 
 No effort made to break its trance. 
 We could right pleasantly pursue 
 Our sports in social silfence too ; 
 Thou gravely labouring to poiu-tray 
 The blighted oak's fantastic spray ; 
 I spelling o'er, with much delight, 
 The legend of that antique knight, 
 Tirante by name, yclep'd the "S^Tiite. 
 At either's feet a trusty squire, 
 Pandour and Camp," with eyes of fire, 
 Jealous, each other's motions \'iew'd, 
 And scarce suppress'd their ancient feud. 
 The laverock whistled from the cloud ; 
 The stream was lively, but not loud ; 
 From the white thorn the May-flower shed 
 Its dewy fragrance round our head : 
 Not Ariel lived more merrily 
 Under the blossom'd bough, than we. 
 
 And blithesome nights, too, have been ours, 
 When Winter stript the sununer's bowers. 
 Careless we heard, what now I hear. 
 The wild blast sighing deep and drear, 
 TSHien fires were bright, and lamps beam'd gay, 
 And ladies tuned the lovely lay ; 
 And he was held a laggard soul, 
 Who shunn'd to quaff the sparkling bowl 
 
 « Camp was a favourite dog of tlie Poet's, a bull-terrier ol extr.iordinary 
 gacity.
 
 166 
 
 Then he, whose absence we deplore, 
 
 Who breathes the gales of Devon's shore, 
 
 The longer miss'd bewail'd the more ; 
 
 And thou, and I, and dear-loved Rae, 
 
 And one whose name I may not say, — 
 
 For not ]\Iimosa's tender tree 
 
 Shrinks sooner from the touch than he, — 
 
 In merry chorus well combined, 
 
 "With laughter drown'd the whistung wind. 
 
 Mirth was within ; and Care without 
 
 Might gnaw her naUs to hear our shout. 
 
 Not but amid the buxom scene 
 
 Some grave discourse might intervene — 
 
 Of the good horse that bore him best, 
 
 His shoulder, hoof, and arching crest : 
 
 For, like mad Tom's, our chiefest care. 
 
 Was horse to ride, and weapon wear. 
 
 Such nights we've had ; and, though the gams 
 
 Of manhood be more sober tame. 
 
 And though the field-day, or the drill 
 
 Seem less important now — yet still 
 
 Such may we hope to share again. 
 
 The sprightly thought inspires my strain ! 
 
 And mark, how like a horseman true, 
 
 Lord Marmion's march I thus renew. 
 
 CANTO FOUETH. 
 
 CI)e Camp. 
 
 I. 
 
 Eustace, I said, did blithely mark 
 The first notes of the merry lark. 
 The lark sang shrill, the cock he crew, 
 And loudlj^ Marmion's bugles blew. 
 And with their light and lively call. 
 Brought groom and yeoman to the stall. 
 
 Whistling they came, and free of heart, 
 But soon their mood was changed ; 
 
 Complaint was heard on every part. 
 Of something disarranged. 
 Some clamour'd loud for armour lost ; 
 Some brawl'd and T\Tangled with the host ; 
 " By Becket's bones," cried one, " I fear. 
 That some false Scot has stolen my spear !" — 
 Young Blount, Lord Marmion's second squire, 
 Found his steed wet with sweat and mire ;
 
 CANTO IV. THE CA3II-. 167 
 
 Although the rated horse-boy sware, 
 
 Last night he dress'd hun sleek and fair. 
 
 While chafed the impatient squire like tlmnder, 
 
 Old Hubert shouts, in fear and wonder, — 
 " Help, gentle Blount ! help, comrades all ! 
 
 Bevis lies dying in liis stall : 
 
 To Marmion who the plight dare tell, 
 
 Of the good steed he loves so well ?" 
 
 Gaping for fear and ruth, they saw 
 
 The charger panting on his straw ; 
 
 Till one who would seem wisest, cried, — 
 " What else but evil could betide. 
 
 With that cursed Palmer for our guide ? 
 
 Better we had through mire and bush 
 
 Been lantern-led by Friar Rush."*^ 
 
 II. 
 
 Fitz-Eustace, who the cause but guess'd, 
 
 Xor wholly tmderstood. 
 His comrades' clamorous plaints suppress'd ; 
 
 He knew Lord Mamiion's mood. 
 Him, ere he issued forth, he sought. 
 And found deep plunged in gloomy thought. 
 
 And did his tale display 
 Simply as if he knew of nought 
 To cause such disarray. 
 Lord Mai'mion gave attention cold, 
 Nor marvell'd at the wonders told, — 
 Pass'd them as accidents of course. 
 And bade his clarions sound to horse. 
 
 in. 
 
 Young Henry Blount, meanwhile, the cost 
 
 Had reckon'd vdth. their Scottish host ; 
 
 And, as the charge he cast and paid, 
 " ni tjfiou dtsen''st thy hire," he said ; 
 " Dost see, thou knave, my horse's plight '? 
 
 Fairies have ridden him all the night. 
 And left him in a foam ! 
 
 I trust'that soon a conjuring band. 
 
 With English cross, and blazing brand, 
 
 Shall drive the de\-ils from this land. 
 To their infernal home : 
 
 For in this haunted den, I trow. 
 
 All night they trample to and fro." — 
 
 The laughing host look'd on the hire, — 
 " Gramercy, gentle southern squire. 
 
 And if thou comest among the rest. 
 
 With Scottish broadsword to be blest. 
 
 Sharp be the brand, and sure the blow, 
 
 And short the pang to undergo." 
 
 Here stay'd their talk, — for Manninn 
 
 Gave now the sipial to set on. 
 
 The Palmer sho^ving forth the way. 
 
 They joumey'd all the morning day.
 
 16S 
 
 IV. 
 
 The green-sward •vray was smooth and good, 
 Through Humbie's and through Saltoun's wood ; 
 A forest glade, which, varj^mg still, 
 Here gave a view of dale and hill. 
 There narrower closed, till over head 
 A vaulted screen the branches made. 
 
 " A pleasant path," Fitz-Eustace said ; 
 
 " Such as where en-ant-knights might sea 
 Adventures of high chivalry ; 
 Slight meet some damsel tlying fast, 
 With hair unbound, and looks aghast ; 
 And smooth and level coui'se were here. 
 In her defence to break a spear. 
 Here, too, are twilight nooks and dells; 
 And oft, in such, the story tells. 
 The damsel kind, from danger freed. 
 Did grateful pay her champion's meed." 
 He spoke to cheer Lord Marmion's mind : 
 Perchance to show his lore designed ; 
 
 For Eustace much had pored 
 Upon a huge romantic tome, 
 In the hall-'ft'indow of his home, 
 Imprinted at the antique dome 
 
 Of Caxton, or De Worde, 
 Therefore he spoke, — but spoke in vain. 
 For Marmion answefd nought again. 
 
 V. 
 Now sudden, distant trumpets shrill. 
 In notes prolong'd by wood and hill, 
 
 Were heard to echo far ; 
 Each ready archer grasp'd his bow. 
 But by the flourish soon they Imow, 
 
 They breathed no point of war. 
 Yet cautious, as in foeman's land. 
 Lord Marmion's order speeds the band, 
 
 Some opener ground to gain ; 
 And scarce a furlong had they rode, 
 When thLaner trees, receding, shoVd 
 
 A little woodland plain. 
 Just in that advantageous glade. 
 The halting troop a line had made, 
 As forth from the opposing shade 
 
 Issued a gallant train. 
 
 VL 
 
 First came the trumpets, at whose clang 
 So late the forest echoes rang ; 
 On prancing steeds they for\vard press'd. 
 With scarlet mantle, azure vest ; 
 Each at his trump a banner wore, 
 Which Scotland's royal scutcheon bore : 
 Heralds and pursuivants, by name 
 Bute, Islay, Marchmount, Kothsay, came
 
 IV. THE CAMP. 169 
 
 in painted tabards, proudly showing 
 Gules, Argent, Or, and Aznre glowing, 
 
 Attendant on a King-at-arms, 
 Whose hand the armorial truncheon held, 
 That feudal strife had often queli'd. 
 
 When wildest its alarms. 
 
 VII. 
 
 He was a man of middle age ; 
 In aspect manly, grave, and sage. 
 
 As on King's errand come ; 
 But in the glances of his eye, 
 A penetrating, keen, and sly 
 
 Expression found its home ; 
 The flash of that satiric rage. 
 Which, bursting on the early stage, 
 Branded the vices of the age. 
 
 And broke the keys of Kome. 
 On milk-white palfrey forth he paced ; 
 His cap of maintenance was graced 
 
 With the proud heron-plume. 
 From his steed's shoulder, loin, and breast, 
 
 SUk housings swept the ground, 
 With Scotland's anns, device, and crest, 
 
 Embroider'd round and round. 
 The double tressure might you see, 
 
 First by Achaius borne. 
 The thistle and the tleur-de-lis. 
 
 And gallant unicorn. 
 So bright the King's armorial coat. 
 That scarce the dazzled eye could note. 
 In living colours, blazon'd brave, 
 The Lion, wliich his title gave ; 
 A train, which well beseem'd his state, 
 But all unarm'd around him wait. 
 StUl is thy name in high account 
 
 And still thy verse has charms. 
 Sir Da\dd Lindesay of the Mount, 
 
 Lord Lion King-at-arms ! 
 
 VIIL 
 Down from his horse did Marmion spring. 
 Soon as he saw the Lion- King ; 
 For well the stately Baron knew 
 To him sucli courtesy was due, 
 Whom royal James himself had cro-s\-n"d, 
 And on his temples placed the roimd 
 
 Of Scotland's ancient diadem : 
 And wet his brow with haUow'd wine. 
 And on his finger given to shine 
 
 The emblematic gem. 
 Tlieir mutual greetings duly made. 
 The Lion thus his message said : — 
 " Though Scotland's King hath deeply swore 
 Ne'er to knit faith with Henrj' more,
 
 170 MARMION. 
 
 And strictly hath forbid resort 
 From England to his royal court ; 
 Yet, for he knows Lord Marmiou's name, 
 And honours much his warlike fame. 
 My liege hath deem'd it shame, and lack 
 Of courtesy, to turn him back ; 
 And, by his order, I, your guide, 
 Must lodging fit and fair provide, 
 i'Ul finds King James meet time to see 
 The flower of English chivalry." 
 
 IX. 
 
 Though inly chafed at this delay. 
 Lord Marniion bears it as he may. 
 The Palmer, his mysterious guide, 
 Beholding thus his place supplied, 
 
 Sought to take leave in vain : 
 Strict was the Lion- King's command. 
 That none, who rode in Marmion's band. 
 
 Should sever fi-om the tram : 
 " England has here enow of spies 
 In Lady Heron's wifbhing eyes:" 
 To Marchmount thus, apart, he said, 
 But fair pretext to Marniion made. 
 The right-hand path they now decline. 
 And trace against the stream the Tj-ne. 
 
 At length up that wild dale they wind, 
 
 Where Crichtoun Castle" crowns the bank; 
 For there the Lion's care assign'd 
 
 A lodging meet for Marmion's rank. 
 That Castle rises on the steep 
 
 Of the green vale of Tyne : 
 And far beneath, where slow they creep, 
 From pool to eddy, dark and deep, 
 "Where alders moist, and willows weep, 
 
 You hear her streams repine. 
 The towers in diflferent ages rose ; 
 Their various architecture shows 
 
 The builders' various hands ; 
 A mighty mass, that could oppose. 
 When deadliest hatred fired its foes. 
 
 The vengeful Douglas bands. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Crichtoun ! though now thy miry court 
 But pens the lazy steer and sheep. 
 Thy turrets rude, and totter'd Keep, 
 
 Have been the minstrel's loved resort. 
 
 Oft have I traced, within thy fort, 
 Of mouldering shields the m}^stic senses 
 Scutcheons of honovir, or pretence, 
 
 Quarter'd in old annorial sort. 
 Remains of rude magnificence.
 
 CAXTO IT. THE CAMP. 171 
 
 Nor wholly yet had time defaced 
 
 Thy lordly gallery fair ; 
 Nor yet the stony cord unbraced, 
 "Whose twisted knots, with roses laced. 
 
 Adorn thy ruin'd stair. 
 StUl rises unimpair'd below, 
 The court-yard's graceful portico ; 
 Above its cornice, row and row 
 Of fair he'^ni facets richly show 
 Their pointed diamond form, 
 Though there but houseless cattle go, 
 
 To shield them fi-om the storm. 
 And, shuddering, still may we explore, 
 
 ^\niere oft whilom were captives pent, 
 The darkness of thy Massy ^lore ;<» 
 Or, from thy grass-grown battlement, 
 Jlay trace, in undulating line, 
 The sluggish mazes of the TjTie. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Another aspect Crichtoun show'd. 
 
 As through its portal Marmion rode; 
 
 But yet 't was melancholy state 
 
 Keceived him at the outer gate ; 
 
 For none were in the Castle then, 
 
 But women, boys, or aged men. 
 
 With eyes scarce dried, the sorrowing dame, 
 
 To welcome noble Marmion, came ; 
 
 Her son, a stripling twelve j-ears old, 
 
 Proifer'd the Baron's rein to hold ; 
 
 For each man that could draw a sword 
 
 Had march'd that morning with then- lord, 
 
 Eai-1 Adam Hepburn, — he who died 
 
 On Flodden, by his sovereign's side :•' 
 
 Long may his Lady look in vain ! 
 
 She ne'er shall see his gallant train 
 
 Come sweeping back through Criclitoim-Deaii. 
 
 'Twas a brave race, before the name 
 
 Of hated Bothwell stain'd their fame. 
 
 XIIL 
 
 And here two days did IMarmion rest, 
 
 With every rite that honour claims. 
 Attended as the King's own guest; — 
 
 Such the command of Royal James, 
 Who marshall'd then his land's an'ay. 
 Upon the Borough-moor that lay. 
 Perchance he would not foeman's eye 
 Upon his gathering host should pry, 
 Till full prepared was every band 
 To march against the Englisli land. 
 Here while the}' dwelt, did Lindesay's wit 
 Oft cheer the Baron's moodier fit ; 
 
 <• The pit, or piisou vault. — See Appeudk, Koie i-t.
 
 172 
 
 And, in his turn, he knew to prize 
 Lord Marmion's powerful mind, and wise,— 
 Train'd in the lore of Rome and Greece, 
 And policies of war and peace. 
 
 XIV. 
 It chanced, as fell the second night, 
 
 That on the battlements they walk'd. 
 And, by the slowly fading light, 
 
 Of varying topics talked ; 
 And, unaware, the Herald-tjard 
 Said, Marmion might his toil have spared, 
 
 In travelling so far ; 
 For that a messenger from heaven 
 In vain to James had counsel given 
 
 Against the English war ; ** 
 And, closer question'd, thus he told 
 A tale, which chronicles of old 
 In Scottish story have enroll'd : — 
 
 XV. 
 
 Sir IBabilr ILtnlresaB's ©ale. 
 
 Of all the palaces so fair. 
 
 Built for the royal dwelling, 
 In Scotland far beyond compare, 
 
 Linlithgow is excelling; 
 And in its park, in jovial June, 
 How sweet the merry linnet's tune, 
 
 How blithe the blackbird's lay ! 
 The wild-buck bells " from ferny brake, 
 The coot dives merry on the lake ; 
 The saddest heart might pleasure take 
 
 To see all nature gay. 
 But Jime is, to oiu- Sovereign dear, 
 The heaviest month in all the year : 
 Too well his cause of grief you know. — 
 June saw his father's overthrow.** 
 Woe to the traitors, who could bring 
 The princely boy against his King ! 
 StiU in his conscience burns the sting. 
 In offices as strict as Lent, 
 King James's June is ever spent. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 When last this ruthful month was come. 
 And in Linlithgow's holy dome 
 
 The King, as wont, was prapng ; 
 While, for his royal father's soul, 
 The chanters siuig, the bells did toll. 
 
 The Bishop mass was saying — 
 For now the year brought round again 
 The day the luckless king was slain — 
 In Katharine's aisle the Monarch knelt. 
 With sackcloth-shirt and iron belt.
 
 ) IV. THE CAMP. 173 
 
 And eye3 witli sorrow streaming ; 
 Around him, in their stalls of state, 
 The Thistle's Knight-Companions sate, 
 
 Their banners o"er them beaming. 
 I too was there, and, sooth to tell, 
 Bedeafen'd with the janghng knel]. 
 Was watching where the sunbeams fell, 
 
 Through the stain'd casement gleaming ; 
 But, while I marked what next befell, 
 
 It seem'd as I were dreaming. 
 Stepp'd from the crowd a ghostly wight, 
 In azure gown, with cincture white ; 
 His forehead bald, his head was bare, 
 Down himg at length his yellow hair. — 
 Now, mock me not, when, good my Lord, 
 I pledge to you my knightly word. 
 That, when I saw his placid grace, 
 His simple majesty of face. 
 His solemn bearing, and his pace 
 
 So stately gliding on, 
 Seem'd to me ne'er did limner paint 
 So just an image of the Saint, 
 Who propp'd the Virgin in her faint, — 
 
 The loved Apostle John ! 
 
 XVII. 
 ♦' He stepp'd before the Monarch's chair. 
 And stood with rustic plainness there, 
 
 And little reverence made ; 
 Nor head, nor body, boVd nor bent. 
 But on the desk his arm he leant, 
 
 And words like these he said. 
 In a low voice — but never tone 
 So thrill'd through vein, and nerve, and bone : — 
 ' ]My mother sent me from afar. 
 Sir King, to warn thee not to war, — 
 
 Woe waits on thine array ; 
 If war thou wilt, of woman fair. 
 Her witching wiles and wanton snare, 
 James Stuart, doubly wani'd, beware : 
 God keep thee as he may ! ' — 
 
 The wondering Monarch seem'd to seek 
 For answer, and found none ; 
 
 And when he raised his head to speak. 
 The monitor was gone. 
 The Marshal and myself had cast 
 To stop him as he outward pass'd ; 
 But, lighter than the whirlwind's blast, 
 
 He vanish'd from our eyes, 
 Like sunbeam on the billow cast. 
 
 That glances but, and dies." 
 
 XVIII. 
 While Lindesay told his marvel strange, 
 The twilight was so pale.
 
 174 
 
 He mark'd not Marmion's colour change, 
 While listening to the tale ; 
 
 But, after a suspended pause. 
 
 The Baron spoke :-^" Of Nature's laws 
 So strong I held the force, 
 
 That never superhuman cause 
 Could e'er control their course. 
 And, three days since, had judged your aim 
 Was but to make your guest your game. 
 But I have seen, since past the Tweed, 
 What much has changed my sceptic creed, 
 And made me credit aught — " He staid, 
 And seem'd to wish his words imsaid : 
 But, by that strong emotion press'd. 
 Which prompts us to unload our breast. 
 
 Even when discovery 's pain, 
 To Lindesay did at length imfold 
 The tale his village host had told, 
 
 At GLfford, to his train. 
 Nought of the Palmer says he there, 
 And nought of Constance or of Clare ; 
 The thoughts wliicli broke his sleep, he seems. 
 To mention but as feverish dreams. 
 
 XIX. 
 * In vain," said he, " to rest I spread 
 My burning limbs, and couch'd my head : 
 
 Fantastic thoughts returned ; 
 And, by their wild dominion led. 
 
 My heart Avithin me bm-n'd. 
 So sore was the delirious goad, 
 I took my steed, and forth I rode, 
 And, as the moon shone bright and cold. 
 Soon reach'd the camp upon the wold. 
 The southern entrance I pass'd through. 
 And halted, and my bugle blew. 
 Methought an answer met my ear, — 
 Yet was the blast so low and drear, 
 So hollow, and so faintly blown. 
 It might be echo of my o-n-n. 
 
 XX. 
 
 " Thus judging, for a little space 
 I listen'd, ere I left the place ; 
 
 But scarce could trust my eyes, 
 Nor yet can think they sensed" me true;, 
 When sudden in the ring I view, 
 In form distinct of shape and hue, 
 
 A mounted champion rise. — 
 I've fought, Lord-Lion, many a day. 
 In single fight, and mLs.'d aflflray. 
 And ever, I myself my say, 
 
 Have borne me as a knight ; 
 But when this unexpected foe 
 Seem'd starting from the gulf belo^v—
 
 IV. THE CAMP. 17 f> 
 
 1 care not though the truth I show, — 
 
 I trembled with affright ; 
 And as I placed in rest my spear, 
 My hand so shook for very fear, 
 
 I scarce could couch it right. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 " Why need my tongue the issue tell ? 
 We ran our course, — my charger fell; — 
 What could he 'gainst the shock of hell ? — 
 
 I roll'd upon the plain. 
 High o'er my head, with threatening hand. 
 The spectre shook his naked brand, — 
 
 Yet did the worst remain : 
 My dazzled eyes I upward cast, — 
 Not opening hell itself could blast 
 
 Their sight, like what I saw I 
 Full on his face the moonbeam strook, — 
 A face could never be mistook ! 
 I knew the stem vindictive look. 
 
 And held my breath for awe. 
 I saw the face of one who, fled 
 To foreign climes, has long been dead, 
 
 I well believe the last ; 
 For ne'er, from -s-izor raised, did stare 
 A himian warrior, with a glare 
 
 So gi-imly and so ghast. 
 Thrice o'er my head he shook the blade ; 
 But when to good Saint George I pray'd, 
 (The first time e'er I ask'd his aid,) 
 
 He plimged it in the sheath ; 
 And, on his courser moimting light. 
 He seem'd to vanish from my sight : 
 The moonbeam droop'd, and" deepest night 
 
 Sunk down upon the heatll — 
 
 'Twere long to tell what cause I have 
 To know his face, tliat met me there, 
 
 Call'd by his hatred from the grave. 
 To cumber upper air : 
 Dead or alive, gocid cause had he 
 To be my mortal enemj-." 
 
 xxn. 
 
 Mar\'eU'd Sir David of the Mount; 
 Then, leam'd in storj-, 'gan recount 
 
 Such chance had happ'd of old. 
 When once, near Norliam, there did fight 
 A spectre feU of fiendish might, 
 In likeness of a Scottish knight. 
 
 With Brian Bidmer bold. 
 And train'd him nigh to disallow 
 The aid of his baptismal vow. 
 " And such a phantom, too, 'tis said, 
 With Highland broadsword, targe, and plaiii 
 
 And fingers red -vvith gore,
 
 176 MARMION. CANTO IV 
 
 Is seen in Rothiemurcus' glade, 
 Or where the sable pine-trees shade 
 Dark Tomantoul and Auchnaslaid, 
 
 Dromouchty, or Glenmore." 
 And yet, whate'er such legends say. 
 Of warlike demon, ghost, or fay, 
 
 On mountain, moor, or plain. 
 Spotless in faith, in bosom bold, 
 True son of chivalry should hold 
 
 These midnight terrors vain ; 
 For seldom hath such spirits power 
 To harm, save in the evil hour. 
 When guilt we meditate within. 
 Or harbour unrepented siu." — 
 Lord Mannion tum'd him half aside. 
 And twice to clear his voice he tried. 
 
 Then press'd Sir David's hand, — 
 But nought, at length, in answer said, 
 And here their farther converse staid. 
 
 Each ordering that his band 
 Should bo'^vne them with the rising day, 
 To Scotland's camp to take their way, — 
 
 Such was the King's command. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Early they took Dun-Edin's road. 
 And I could trace each step they trode : 
 HiU, brook, nor deU, nor rock, nor stone, 
 Lies on the path to me tmknown. 
 Much might it boast of storied lore ; 
 But, passing such digression o'er, 
 Suffice it that the rout was laid 
 Across the furzy hills of Braid. 
 They pass'd the glen and scanty rill, 
 And climbed the opposing bank, until 
 They gain'd the top of Blackford Hill. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Blackford ! on whose uncultured breast, 
 
 Among the broom, and thorn, and whin, 
 A truant-boy, I sought the nest. 
 Or listed, as I lay at rest. 
 
 While rose on breezes thin. 
 The miuTum- of the city crowd. 
 And, from his steeple jangling loud, 
 
 Saint Giles's mingling din. 
 Now, from the summit to the plain. 
 Waves all the hill with yellow grain ; 
 
 And o'er the landscape as I look. 
 Nought do I see unchanged remain, 
 
 Save the rude cliffs and chiming brook. 
 
 " See the traditions concerning the spectre called Lhamdeary, or Bloody- 
 liaud, in a note on Canto iii.. Appendix, Note 40.
 
 [V. THE CAMP. 
 
 To me they make a heavy moan, 
 Of early fnendships past and gone, 
 
 XXV. 
 
 But different far the change has been, 
 
 Since Marmion, from the crown 
 Of Blackford, saw that martial scene 
 
 Upon the bent so bromi : 
 Thousand pavilions, white as snow. 
 Spread all the Borough-moor below,*' 
 
 Upland, and dale, and down • — 
 A thousand, did I say ? I ween. 
 Thousands on thousands, there were seen. 
 That chequer'd all the heath between 
 
 The streamlet and the town ; 
 In crossing ranks extending far, 
 Forming a camp irregxilar ; 
 Oft giving way, where stiU there stood 
 Some relics of the old oak wood. 
 That darkly huge did intervene. 
 And tamed the glaring white with green : 
 In these extended lines there lay, 
 A martial kingdom's vast array. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 For from Hebudes, dark with rain. 
 To eastern Lodon's fertile plain, 
 And from the southern Redswire edge, 
 To farthest Rosse's rocky ledge ; 
 From west to east, from south to north . 
 Scotland sent all her warriors forth. 
 Marmion might hear the mingled hum 
 Of mjTiads up the moimtain come ; 
 The horses' tramp, and tingling clank. 
 Where chiefe reviewed their vassal rank. 
 
 And charger's shrilling neigh ; 
 And see the shifting lines advance, 
 "WTiile frequent flash'd, from shield and lance. 
 
 The sun's reflected ray. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Thin cm-ling in the morning air. 
 
 The wreaths of failing smoke declare 
 
 To embers now the brands decay'd, 
 
 Where the night-watch their fires had made. 
 
 They saw, slow rolling on the plain, 
 
 FuU many a baggage-cart and wain. 
 
 And dire artiller\''s clumsy car. 
 
 By sluggish oxen tugg'd to war ; 
 
 And there were Borth wick's sisters seven," 
 
 And culverins which France had given. 
 
 Ill-omen'd gift ! the gvms remain 
 
 The conqueror's spoil on Flodden plain. 
 
 " Seven culverins so called, cast by one BortSwlcs^ 
 M
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Nor mark'd they less, where in the air 
 A thousand streamers flaunted fair ; 
 
 Various in shape, de^'ice, and hlie. 
 
 Green, sanguine, purple, red, and blue. 
 Broad, narrow, swallow-tailed, and square, 
 Scroll, pennon, pensil, bandrol," there 
 
 O'er the pavilions flew. 
 Highest and midmost, was descried 
 The royal banner floating wide ; 
 
 The stafi", a pine-tree, strong and straight, 
 Pitch'd deeply in a massive stone. 
 Which still in memory is shown, 
 
 Yet bent beneath the standard's weight 
 Whene'er the western vdnd unrollM, 
 With toil, the huge and cumbrous fold. 
 And gave to view the dazzling field. 
 Where, in proud Scotland's royal shield. 
 The ruddy lion ramp'd in gold.^ 
 
 XXIX. 
 Lord Marmion view'd the landscape bright, — 
 He view'd it ■\Tith a chief's delight, — 
 Until within him bum'd his heart. 
 And Ughtning from his eye did part. 
 
 As on the battle-day ; 
 Such glance did falcon never dart. 
 When stooping on his prey, 
 " Oh ! well, Lord-Lion, hast thou said. 
 Thy King from warfare to dissuade 
 
 Were but a vain essay : 
 For, by St George, were that host mine, 
 Not power infernal nor divine, 
 Should once to peace my soul incline. 
 Till I had dimm'd their armour's shine 
 
 In glorious battle-fray ! " 
 Answer'd the Bard, of mOder mood, — 
 " Fair is the sight, — and yet 'twere good, 
 That kings would think withal. 
 When peace and wealth their land has blessd, 
 'Tis better to sit stUl at rest. 
 Then rise, perchance to fall." 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Still on the sp^ot Lord Marmion stay'd. 
 For fairer scene he ne'er survey'd. 
 
 When sated -with the martial show 
 
 That peopled all the plain below. 
 
 The wandering eye could o'er it go, 
 
 And mark the distant city glow 
 With gloomy splendour red ; 
 
 " Each of ttiese leudal ensigus intimated the different rank of those 
 entitled to display them.
 
 ^f^tyt' .i^'^^k^vt/^,,,*,^. c^ c-^^r^^ 
 
 

 
 'J 
 
 
 . ^M/i-^v\yyQ (T-u^-^v { fX-^ y^'^^ csyt-^^yj^ tc^ 'L^ -tyjnyL.
 
 3 IV. THE CAMP. 179 
 
 For on the smoke-'nTeaths, huge and slow. 
 
 That round her sable turrets flow, 
 The morning beams were shed, 
 
 And tinged them with a lustre proud, 
 
 Like that which streaks a thunder-cloud. 
 Such dusky grandeur clothed the height. 
 Where the huge Castle holds its state, 
 
 And all the steep slope do'mi. 
 Whose ridgy back heaves to the sky, 
 POed deep and massy, close and high, 
 
 Mine ovra romantic town ! 
 But northward far, -n-ith pui-er blaze. 
 On Ochil moimtaius fell the rays. 
 And as each heathy top they kissed. 
 It gleam'd a purple amethyst. 
 Yonder the shores of Fife you saw ; 
 Here Preston-Bay and Berwick-Law : 
 
 And, broad between them roll'd. 
 The gallant Frith the eye might note. 
 Whose islands on its bosom float, 
 
 Like emeralds chased in gold. 
 Fitz-Eustace' heart felt closely pent ; 
 As if to give his rapture vent. 
 The spur he to his charger lent. 
 
 And raised his bridle hand. 
 And making demi-volte in air, 
 Cried, " Where's the coward that would not dare 
 
 To fight for such a land !" 
 The Lindesay smiled his joy to see ; 
 Nor Marmion's frown repress'd his glee. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Thus while they look'd, a flourish proud, 
 Where mingled trump, and clarion loud, 
 
 And fife, and kettle-drum. 
 And sacbut deep, and psalteiy, 
 And war-pipe with discordant cry. 
 And cymbal clattering to the sky, 
 Making wild music bold and high. 
 
 Did up the mountain come ; 
 The whilst the bells, with 'distant chime. 
 Merrily toU'd the hour of prime. 
 
 And thus the Lindesay spoke : 
 " Thus clamour still the war-notes when 
 The King to mass his way has ta'en. 
 Or to St Katharine's of Sienne, 
 
 Or Chapel of Saint Rocque. 
 To you they speak of martial fame ; 
 But me remind of peaceful game, 
 
 When blither was their cheer. 
 Thrilling in Falkland-woods the air, 
 In signal none his steed should spai-e, 
 But strive which foremost might repair 
 
 To the downfall of the deer.
 
 180 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 " Nor less," he said, — " when looking forth, 
 I vie-vv yon Empress of the North 
 
 Sit on her hilly throne ; 
 Her palace's imperial bowers. 
 Her castle, proof to hostile powers, 
 Her stately halls and holy towers — 
 
 Nor less," he said, " I moan. 
 To think what woe mischance may bring, 
 And how these merry bells may ring 
 The death-dirge of our gallant "Kmg; 
 
 Or with the larum call 
 The burghers forth to watch and ward, 
 'Gainst southern sack and fires to guard 
 
 Dun-Edin's leaguer'd wall. — 
 But not for my presaging thought. 
 Dream conquest sure, or cheaply bought ! 
 
 Lord Marmion, I say nay : 
 God is the guider of the field. 
 He breaks the champion's spear and shield,— 
 
 But thou thyself shalt say, 
 "When joins yon host in deadly sto'WTe, 
 That England's dames must weep in bower, 
 
 Her monks the death-mass sing ; 
 For never saw'st thou such a power 
 
 Led on by such a King." — 
 And now, down winding to the plain. 
 The barriers of the camp they gain. 
 
 And there they made a stay. — 
 There stays the Minstrel, till he fling 
 His hand o'er every Border string, 
 And fit his harp, the pomp to sing 
 Of Scotland's ancient Court and King, 
 
 In the succeeding lay. 
 
 Sntrnlfucttoit ta Canto dftftl). 
 
 To GEOKGE ELLIS, Esq. 
 
 Edinburgfi. 
 
 When dark December glooms the day. 
 
 And takes our autumn joys away ; 
 
 When short and scant the sunbeam tlirows, 
 
 Upon the weary waste of snows, 
 
 A cold and profitless regard. 
 
 Like patron on a needy bard ;
 
 INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FIFTH. 181 
 
 When silvan occupation's done, 
 
 Ami o'er the chimney rests the gun, 
 
 Aud hang, in idle trophy, near, 
 
 The game-pouch, fishing-rod, and spear ; 
 
 Wnen wiry terrier, rough and grim. 
 
 And greyhound, with his length of limb, 
 
 ^ nd pointer, now employ'd no more. 
 
 Cumber our parlour's naiTOW floor ; 
 
 VVlien in his stall the impatient steed 
 
 Is long condemn d to rest and feed ; 
 
 Wlien from our snow-encircled home, 
 
 Scarce cares the hardiest step to roam, 
 
 Since path is none, save that to bring 
 
 The needful water from the spring ; 
 
 When wrinkled news-page, thrice conn'd o'er, 
 
 Beguiles the dreary hour no more, 
 
 And darkling politician, cross'd, 
 
 Inveighs against the Imgering post, 
 
 And answering housewife sore complains 
 
 Of carriers' snow-impeded wains ; — 
 
 When such the country cheer, I come, 
 
 Well pleased, to seek our city home ; 
 
 For converse, and for books, to change 
 
 The Forest's melancholy range, 
 
 And welcome, with renew'd delight, 
 
 The busy day and social night. 
 
 Not here need my desponding rhyme 
 Lament the ravages of tune, 
 As erst by Newark's riven towers. 
 And Ettrick stripp'd of forest bowers. 
 True, — Caledonia's Queen is changed,*^ 
 Since on her dusky summit ranged, 
 Within its steepy limits pent, 
 By bulwark, line, and battlement, 
 And flanking towers, and laky flood, 
 Guarded and garrison'd she stood, 
 Denying entrance or resort. 
 Save at each tall embattled port ; 
 Above whose arch, suspended, hung 
 Portcullis spiked with iron prong. 
 That long is gone, — but not so long, 
 Since, early closed, aud opening late. 
 Jealous revolved the studded gate, 
 Whose task, from eve to morning tide, 
 A wicket churlishly supplied. 
 Stern then, and steel-girt was thy brow, 
 Dim-Edin I 0, how alter'd now, 
 When safe amid thy mountain court 
 Thou sit'st, like Empress at her sport. 
 And liberal, unconfined, and free. 
 Flinging thy white anns to the sea. 
 For thy dark cloud, with umbei'd lower, 
 That hung o'er clift", and lake, and tower.
 
 182 
 
 Thou gleam'st against the western ray 
 Ten thousand lines of brighter day. 
 
 Not she, the Championess of old, 
 In Spenser's magic tale enroU'd, — 
 She for the charmed spear renown 'd, 
 Which forced each linight to kiss the ground,- 
 Not she more changed, when, placed at rest. 
 What time she was Malbecco's guest," 
 She gave to flow lier maiden vest ; 
 When from the corslet's grasp relieved, 
 Free to the sight her bosom heaved ; 
 Sweet was her blue eye's modest smUe, 
 Erst hidden by the aventayle ; 
 And do^vn her shoulders graceful roU'd 
 Her locks profuse, of paly gold. 
 They who whilom, in midnight fight. 
 Had marveU'd at her matchless might. 
 No less her maiden charms approved. 
 But looking liked, and liking loved. 
 The sight could jealous pangs beguile. 
 And charm Malbecco's cares a while ; 
 And he, the wandering Squire of Dames, 
 Forgot his Columbella's claims. 
 And passion, erst unknown, could gain 
 The breast of blunt Sir Satyrane ; 
 Nor durst light Paridel advance, 
 Bold as he was, a looser glance. 
 She charm'd, at once, and tamed the heart. 
 Incomparable Britomarte ! 
 
 So thou, fan- City ! disarray'd 
 Of battled wall, and rampart's aid, 
 As stately seem'st, but lovelier far 
 Than in that panoply of war. 
 Nor deem that from thy fenceless throne 
 Strength and security are flown ; 
 Still, as of yore. Queen of the North ! 
 StUl canst thou send thy children forth. 
 Ne'er readier at alarm-beU's call 
 Thy burgliers rose to man thy wall. 
 Than now, in danger, shall be thine. 
 Thy dauntless voluntary line ; 
 For fosse and turret proud to stand, 
 Their breasts the bulwarks of the land. 
 Thy thousands, train'd to martial toU, 
 Full red would stain their native soil. 
 Ere from thy mural crown there fell 
 The slightest knosp, or pinnacle. 
 And if it come, — as come it may. 
 Dun-Edin ! that eventful day, — 
 Renown'd for hospitable deed, 
 That virtue much with Heaven may plead, 
 
 o See " The Fairy Queen," book iii canto ix.
 
 INTBODUCTIOX TO CANTO FIFTH. 183 
 
 In patriarchal times whose care 
 
 Descending angels deign'd to share ; • 
 
 That claim may wrestle blessings down 
 
 On those who fight for The Good Town, 
 
 Destined in every age to be 
 
 Refuge of injured royalty; 
 
 Since first, when conquering York arose. 
 
 To Henry meek she gave repose. 
 
 Till late, with wonder, grief, and awe, 
 
 Great Bourbon's relics, sad she saw. 
 
 Truce to these thoughts ! — for, as they rise. 
 How gladly I avert mine eyes, 
 Bodings, or true or false, to change, 
 For Fiction's fair romantic range. 
 Or for tradition's dubious light. 
 That hovers 'twixt the day and night : 
 Dazzling alternately and dim, 
 Her wavering lamp I 'd rather trim, 
 Knights, squires, and lovely dames to see 
 Creation of my fantasy. 
 Then gaze abroad on reeky fen. 
 And make of mists invading men. 
 Who loves not more the night of June 
 Than dull December's gloomy noon ; 
 The moonlight than the fog of fi'ost ? 
 And can we say, which cheats the most ? 
 
 But who shall teach mj' harp to gain 
 A sound of the romantic strain. 
 Whose Anglo-Norman tones whUere 
 Could win the royal Henry's ear. 
 Famed Beauclerc call'd, for that he loved 
 The minstrel, and his lay approved ? 
 Who shall these lingering notes redeem. 
 Decaying on Oblivion's stream ; 
 Such notes as from the Iketon tongue 
 Marie translated. Blonde! -iung? — • 
 
 O ! bom, Time's ravage to repair. 
 And make the djdng Sluse thy care ; 
 WTio, when his scythe her hoary foe 
 Was poising for the final blow. 
 The weapon from his hand coiild ■ming. 
 And break his glass, and shear his wing, 
 And bid, reviving in his strain. 
 The gentle poet live again ; 
 Thou, who canst give to lightest lay 
 An unpedantic moral gay, 
 Nor less the dullest theme bid flit 
 On wings of unexpected wit; 
 In letters as in life approved. 
 Example honour'd, and beloved, — 
 Dear Ellis ! to the bard impart 
 A lesson of thy magic art. 
 To win at once the head and heart. —
 
 184 
 
 At once to charm, instruct, and mend, 
 My guide, my pattern, and my friend ! 
 
 Such minstrel lesson to bestow 
 Be long thy pleasing" taslv, — but ! 
 No more by thy example teach, 
 — What few can practise, all can preadi, • 
 With even patience to endure 
 Lingering disease, and painful cirre. 
 And boast affliction's pangs subdued 
 By mild and manly fortitude. 
 Enough, the lesson has been given : 
 Forbid the repetition, Heaven ! 
 
 Come listen, then ! for thou hast known. 
 And loved the Minstrel's varj-ing tone, 
 WTio, like his Border sires of old. 
 Waked a wUd measure rude and bold. 
 Till Windsor's oaks, and Ascot plain, 
 With wonder heard the northern strain. 
 Come listen ! bold in thy applause, 
 The Bard shall scorn pedantic laws; 
 And, as the ancient art could stain 
 Achievements on the storied pane, 
 Irregularly traced and planned. 
 But yet so glowing and so grand, — 
 So shall he strive, in changeful hue, 
 Field, feast, and combat, to renew. 
 And loves, and arms, and harpers' glee. 
 And all the pomp of chivalry. 
 
 CANTO FIFTH. 
 
 Cfie CTourt. 
 
 I. 
 
 The train has left the hills of Braid ; 
 The barrier guard have open made 
 (So Lindesay bade) the palisade. 
 
 That closed the tented ground ; 
 Their men the warders backward drew, 
 And carried pikes as they rode through, 
 
 Into its ample bound. 
 Fast ran the Scottish warriors there, 
 Upon the Southern band to stare. 
 And envy with their wonder rose, 
 To see such well-appointed foes ; 
 Such length of shafts, such mighty bows.
 
 
 f ?
 
 V. THE COURT. 185 
 
 So huge, that many simply thought, 
 But for a vaunt such weapons wrought ; 
 And little deem'd their force to feel, 
 Through links of mail, and plates of steel, 
 %\1ien rattling upon Flodden vale, 
 The cloth-yard arrows flew like haU.*^ 
 
 II. 
 
 Nor less did Marmion's skilful ^^ew 
 Glance everj' line and squadi-on through ; 
 And much he marvell'd one smaU land 
 Could marshal forth such various band ; 
 
 For men-at-anns were here. 
 Heavily sheathed in mail and plate. 
 Like iron towers for strength and weight, 
 On Flemish steeds of bone and height, 
 
 "With battle-axe and spear. 
 Young knights and squires, a lighter train. 
 Practised their chargers on the plain. 
 By aid of leg, of hand, and rein. 
 
 Each warlike feat to show. 
 To pass, to wheel, the croupe to gain. 
 And high curvett, that not in vain 
 The sword sway might descend amain 
 
 On foeman's casque below. 
 He saw the hardy burghers there 
 March arm'd, on foot, mth faces bare,*^ 
 
 For vizor they wore none. 
 Nor waving plume, nor crest of knight ; 
 But burnished were their corslets bright. 
 Their brigantines, and gorgets Light, 
 
 Like very silver slione. 
 Long pikes they had for standing fight. 
 
 Two-handed swords they wore. 
 And many wielded mace of weight. 
 
 And bucklers bright they bore. 
 
 Ill, 
 
 On foot the voeman too, but dress'd 
 In his steel-jack, a swarthy vest, 
 
 With iron quilted weU ; 
 Each at his back (a slender store) 
 His forty days' pro-\-ision bore, 
 
 As feudal statutes tell. 
 His arms were halbert, axe, or spear,** 
 A crossbow there, a hagbut here, 
 
 A dagger-knife, and brand. 
 Sober he seem'd, and sad of cheer. 
 As loth to leave his cottage dear, 
 
 And march to foreign strand ; 
 Or musing, who would guide his steer. 
 
 To till the fallow land. 
 Yet deem not, in his thoughtful ey^ 
 Did aught of dastard terror he ; 
 
 More dreadful far his ii-e,
 
 186 
 
 Th;n theirs, who, scorning danger's name, 
 In eager mood to battle came, 
 Their valour like light straw on flame, 
 A fierce but fading fire. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Not so the Borderer : — bred to war, 
 He knew the battle's din afar, 
 
 And joyed to hear it swell. 
 His peaceful day was slotliful ease ; 
 Nor harp, nor pipe, his ear could please 
 
 Like the loud slogan yell. 
 On active steed, with lance and blade, 
 The light-ai-m'd pricker plied his trade, — 
 
 Let nobles fight for fame ; 
 Let vassals follow where they lead. 
 Burghers to guard their townships bleed, 
 
 But war 's the Borderer's game. 
 Their gain, their glory^, their delight. 
 To sleep the day, maravid the night. 
 
 O'er movmtatn, moss, and moor ; 
 Joyful to fight they took their way. 
 Scarce caring who might win the day, 
 
 Their booty was secure. 
 These, as Lord Marmion's train pass'd by, 
 Look'd on at first with careless eye, 
 Nor marvell'd aught, well taught to know 
 The form and force of English bow. 
 But when they saw the Lord array'd 
 In splendid arms and rich brocade. 
 Each Borderer to his kinsman said, — 
 
 " Hist, RLngan ! seest thou there ! 
 Canst guess which road they '11 homewai'd rida ?- 
 ! could we but on Border side, 
 By Eusedale glen, or Liddell's tide. 
 
 Beset a prize so fair ! 
 That fangless Lion, too, their guide. 
 Might chance to lose his glistering hida 
 Brown Maudhn, of that doublet pieci. 
 
 Could make a kirtle rare." 
 
 V. 
 
 Next, Marmion mark'd the Celtic race, 
 Of dilFerent language, form, and face, , 
 
 A various race of man ; 
 Just then the Chiefs their tribes array'd 
 And wild and garish semblance made. 
 The chequer'd trews, and belted plaid, 
 And varymg notes the war-pipes bray"d. 
 
 To every varying clan ; 
 Wild through their red or sable hair 
 Look'd out their ayes with savage stare, 
 
 On Marmion as he pass'd ; 
 Their legs above the knee were bare ; 
 Their frame was sinewy, short and spare. 
 
 And harden'd to the blast ;
 
 r. THE COURT. 187 
 
 Of taller race, the chiefs they own 
 Were by the eagle's plumage known. 
 The hunted Red-deer's undi'ess'd hide 
 Their hairy buskins well supplied; 
 The graceful bonnet deck'd their head : 
 Back from their shoulders hung the plaid 
 A broadsword of unwieldy length, 
 A dagger proved for edge and strength, 
 
 A studded targe they wore. 
 And quivers, bows, and shafts, — but ! 
 Short was the shaft, and weak the bow, 
 
 To that which England bore. 
 The Isles-men carried at their backs 
 The ancient Danish battle-axe. 
 They raised a wild and wondering cry, 
 As with his guide rode IMarmion by. 
 Loud were their clamouring tongues, as when 
 The clanging sea-fowl leave the fen, 
 And, with their cries discordant mix'd. 
 Grumbled and yell'd the pipes bet\vLst. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Thus through the Scottish camp they pass'd. 
 
 And reach'd the City gate at last. 
 
 Where all around, a wakeful guard, 
 
 Arm'd burghers kept their watch and ward. 
 
 WeU had they cause of jealous fear. 
 
 When lay encamp'd, in field so near, 
 
 The Borderer and the Moimtaineer. 
 
 As through the bustling streets they go, 
 
 All was alive with martial show : 
 
 At every tiun, with dinning clang. 
 
 The amiourer's anvil clash'd and rang ; 
 
 Or toil'd the swarthy smith, to wheel 
 
 The bar that arms the chai'ger's heel ; 
 
 Or axe, or falchion, to the side 
 
 Of jarring grindstone was applied. 
 
 Page, groom, and S(iuire, with hunying pace, 
 
 Through street, and lane, and market-place. 
 
 Bore lance, or casque, or sword ; 
 While biu-ghers, with important face. 
 
 Described each new-come lord, 
 Discuss'd his lineage, told his name. 
 His following, and his warlike fame. 
 The Lion led to lodging meet. 
 Which high overlooked the crowded street ; 
 
 There must the Baron rest, 
 Till past the hour of vesper tide. 
 And then to Holy-Rood must ride, — 
 
 Such was the king's behest. 
 Meanwhile the Lion's care assigmi 
 A banquet rich, and costly wines, 
 
 To Marmion and his train ;*^ 
 And when the appointed hour succeeds.
 
 188 MARMION. 
 
 The Baron dons his peaceful weeds, 
 And following Lindesay as he leads, 
 The palace-halls they gain. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Old Holy-Kood mng memly. 
 That night, with wassell, mirth, and glee : 
 King James within her princely bower, 
 Feasted the Chiefs of Scotland's power, 
 Summon'd to spend the parting hour ; 
 For he had charged, that his array 
 Should southward march bj' break of day. 
 Well loved that splendid Monarch aye 
 
 The banquet and the song ; 
 By day the tourney, and by night 
 The merry dance, traced fast and light. 
 The maskers quaint, the pageant bright, 
 
 The revel loud and long. 
 This feast outshone his banquets past. 
 It was his blithest — and his last. 
 The dazzling lamps, ft-om gallery gay. 
 Cast on the Com-t a dancing ray. 
 Here to the harp did minstrels sing ; 
 There ladies touch'd a softer string ; 
 With long-ear'd cap, and motley vest, 
 The licensed fool retail'd his jest ; 
 His magic tricks the juggler pUed; 
 At dice and draughts the gallants vied : 
 WhUe some, in close recess apart. 
 Courted the ladies of their heart, 
 
 Nor courted them in vain ; 
 For often, in the parting hour. 
 Victorious Love asserts his power 
 
 O'er coldness and disdain ; 
 And flinty is her heart, can view 
 To battle march a lover true — 
 Can hear, perchance, his last adieu. 
 
 Nor own her share of pain. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Through this mix'd crowd of glee and game. 
 The King to greet Lord Marniion came. 
 
 While, reverent, all made room. 
 An ea^ task it was, I trow, 
 King James's manly form to know. 
 Although, his com-tesy to show. 
 He dolTd, to Marmion bending low, 
 
 His broider'd cap and plume. 
 For royal was his garb and mien. 
 
 His cloali, of crimson velvet piled, 
 
 Trimm'd with the fur of martin wild ; 
 His vest of changeful satin sheen, 
 
 The dazzled eye beguiled ; 
 His gorgeous collar hung adown, 
 Wrought with the badge of Scotland's cro^vn,
 
 QANTO V. THE COURT. 1H9 
 
 The thistle brave, of old reno^ra : 
 His trusty blade, Toledo right, 
 Descended from a baldric bright ; 
 White were his biisliins; on the heel 
 His spurs inlaid of gold and steel ; 
 His bonnet, all of crimson fair. 
 Was button'd with a ruby rare : 
 And Marmion deem'd he ne'er had seen 
 A prince of such a noble mien. 
 
 IX. 
 
 The Monarch's form was middle size ; 
 For feat of strength, or exercise, 
 
 Shaped in proportion fair ; 
 And hazel was his eagle eye. 
 And aubm*n of the darkest dye. 
 
 His short ciu-l'd beard and hair. 
 Light was his footstep in the dance, • 
 
 And firm his stirrup in the lists ; 
 And, oh ! he had that merry glance, 
 
 That seldom lady's heart resists. 
 Lightly from fair to fair he flew. 
 And loved to plead, lament, and sue ;- - 
 Suit lightly won, and short-lived pain. 
 For monarchs seldom sigh in vain. 
 
 I said he joy'd in banquet bower; 
 But 'mid his mirth, 'twas often strange, 
 How suddenly his cheer would change. 
 
 His look o'ercast and lower, 
 If, in a sudden turn, he felt 
 The pressure of his iron belt, 
 That bound his breast in penance pain. 
 In memory of his father slauL'^ 
 Even so 'twas strange how, evermore, 
 Soon as the passing pang was o'er 
 Forivard he rush'd, with double glee. 
 Into the stream of revelry : 
 Thus, dim-seen object of aft'right 
 Startles the courser in his flight. 
 And half he halts, half springs aside ; 
 But feels the quickening spur applied. 
 And, straining on the tighten'd rein, 
 Scours doubly swift o"er hill and plain. 
 
 X. 
 
 O'er James's heart, the com-ticrs say. 
 
 Sir Hugh the Heron's wife held sway:*' 
 
 To Scotland's Court she came. 
 
 To be a hostage for her lord, 
 
 Who Cessford's gallant heart had gored. 
 
 And with the King to make accord, 
 
 Had seMt his lovely dame. 
 Nor to that lady free alone 
 Did the gay King allegiance own; 
 
 For the fair Queen of France
 
 190 
 
 Sent him a turquois ring and glove, 
 And charged him, as her knight and love, 
 
 For her to break a,lance ; 
 And strike three strokes with Scottish brand,*^ 
 And march three miles on Southron land, 
 And bid the banners of his band 
 
 In English breezes dance. 
 And thus, for France's Queen he drest 
 His manly limbs in mailed vest ; 
 And thus admitted English fair 
 His inmost counsels still to share ; 
 And thus, for both, he madly plann'd 
 The ruin of himself and land 1 
 
 And yet, the sooth to tell. 
 Nor England's fair, nor France's Queen, 
 Were worth one pearl-drop, bright and sheen, 
 
 From Margaret's eyes that fell, — 
 His own Queen j^iargaret, who, in Lithgow's bcv.'er 
 All lonely sat, and wept the weary hour. 
 
 XI. 
 
 The Queen sits lone in Lithgow pile, 
 
 And weeps the wcaiy day. 
 The war against her native soU, 
 Her Monarch's risk in battle broil : — 
 And in gay Holy-Rood, the while, 
 Dame Heron rises with a smile, 
 
 Upon the harp to play. 
 Fair was her rounded arm, as o'er 
 
 The strings her fingers flew ; . 
 And as she touch'd and tuned them all, 
 Ever her bosom's rise and fall 
 
 Was plainer given to view ; 
 For, all for heat, was laid aside 
 Her wimple, and her hood imned. 
 And first she pitch'd her voice to sing. 
 Then glanced her dark eye on the King. 
 And then around the silent ring ; 
 And laugh'd, and blush'd, and oft did say 
 Her pretty oath, by Yea, and Nay, 
 She could not, would not, diu-st not play I 
 At length, upon the harp, with glee, 
 Mingled with arch simplicity, 
 A soft, yet lively, air she rimg, 
 While thus the wily lady sung : — 
 
 XII. 
 
 LOCHINl'AR. 
 
 aa^B ?^cron's gong, 
 
 0, young Lochinvar is come out of the west, 
 Through all the wide border his steed was the besl ; 
 And save his good broadsword, he weapons had uoue, 
 He rode all unarm'd, and he rode all alone.
 
 INTO T. THE COURT. 19l 
 
 So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, 
 There never was knight like the young LochiB\ ar. 
 
 He staid not for brake, and he stopp'd not for stone, 
 He swam the Eske river where ford there was none ; 
 But ere he alighted at Netherby gate, 
 The bride had consented, the gallant came late ; 
 For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war. 
 Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. 
 
 So boldly he enter'd the Netherby Hall, 
 Among bride's-men, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all : 
 Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword, 
 ( For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,) 
 " O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, 
 Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Locliinvar ?" — 
 
 " I long woo'd your daughter, my suit you denied ; — 
 Love swells like the Solway, hut ebbs like its tide — 
 And now am 1 come, with tliis lost love of mine. 
 To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. 
 There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, 
 That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar." 
 
 The bride kiss'd the goblet : the knight took it up. 
 He quaflf'd off the wine, and he threw down the cup. 
 She look'd down to blush, and she look'd up to sigh. 
 With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye. 
 He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar, — 
 " Now tread we a measure !" said yoimg Lochinvar. 
 
 So stately his form, and so lovely her face. 
 
 That never a hall such a galliard did grace; 
 
 While her mother did fret, and her father did fume, 
 
 And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume; 
 
 And the bride-maidens whisper'd, " 'T were better by fai% 
 
 To have match'd our fair cousin with young Lochinvar." 
 
 One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear. 
 When theyreach'd the hall-door, and the charger stood near; 
 So light to the croupe the fair lady he s^vuug. 
 So light to the saddle before her he sprvmg ! 
 " She is won ! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scam- ; 
 They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar. 
 
 There was mounting 'mong Gr»mes of the Netherby clan ; 
 
 Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran ; 
 
 There was racing and chasing, on Cannobie Lee, 
 
 But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. 
 
 So daring in love, and so dauntless in war. 
 
 Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar ? 
 
 XIIL 
 
 The Monarch o'er the siren hung 
 And beat the measure as she sung ;
 
 192 MARMION. CANTO T 
 
 And, pressing closer, and more near. 
 He whisper'd praises in her ear. 
 In loud applause the. courtiers vied ; 
 And ladies wink'd, and spoke aside. 
 
 The witching dame to Marmion threw 
 A glance, where seem'd to reign 
 
 The pride that claims applauses due, 
 
 And of her royal conquest too, 
 A real or feigu'd disdain : 
 Familiar was the look, and told, 
 Marmion and she were friends of old. 
 The King observed their meeting eyes. 
 With something like displeased surprise; 
 For monarchs ill can rivals brook, 
 Even in a word, or smile, or look. 
 Straight took he fortli the parchment broad 
 Which Marmion's high commission show'd 
 " Our Borders sack'd by many a raid, 
 
 Om- peaceful liegemen robb'd," he said ; 
 " On day of truce our Warden slain, 
 Stout Barton kill'd, his vassals ta'en — 
 Unworthy were we here to reign, 
 Should these for vengeance cry in vain : 
 Our full defiance, hate, and scorn, 
 Our herald has to Henry borne." 
 
 XIV. 
 He paused, and led where Douglas stood, 
 And with stern eye the pageant vieVd : 
 I mean that Douglas, sixth of yore, 
 Who coronet of Angus bore. 
 And, when his blood and heart were high 
 Did the third James in camp defy, 
 And all his minions led to die 
 
 On Lauder's dreary flat : 
 Princes and favourites long grew tame, 
 And trembled at the homely name 
 
 Of Archibald Bell-the-Cat ; *» 
 The same who left the dusky vale 
 Of Hermitage in Liddisdale, 
 
 Its dungeons and its towers, 
 Where Bothwell's turrets brave the air. 
 And Bothwell bank is blooming fair, 
 
 To fix his princely bowers. 
 Though now, in age, he had laid down 
 His armovir for the peaceful gown. 
 
 And for a staft' his brand. 
 Yet often would flash forth the fire. 
 That could, in youth, a monarch's ire 
 
 And minion's pride withstand; 
 And even that day, at council board, 
 
 Unapt to soothe his sovereign's mood 
 
 Against the war had Angus stood, 
 And chafed his roval lord.**
 
 ) V. THE COURT. 193 
 
 XV. 
 
 His giant foiin, like ruin'd tower, 
 Though fall'n its muscles' bra-\\-ny vaunt. 
 Huge-boned, and tall, and grim, and gaunt, 
 
 Seem'd o'er the gaudy scene to lower : 
 His lockg, and beard in silver grew ; 
 His eyebrows kept their sable hue. 
 Near Douglas when the Monarch stood. 
 His bitter speech he thus pursued : 
 " Lord Marmion, since these letters say. 
 That in the North you needs must stay, 
 
 WhUe slightest hopes of peace remain, 
 Uncourteous speech it were, and stem. 
 To say — Retiu-n to Lindisfarne, 
 
 Until my herald come again. 
 Then rest you in Tantallon Hold ; "i 
 Your host shall be the Douglas bold, — 
 A chief unlike his sires of old. 
 He wears their motto on his blade, ^- 
 Their blazon o'er his towers displaj^'d ; 
 Yet loves his sovereign to oppose. 
 More than to face his country's foes. 
 
 And, I bethink me, by St Stephen, 
 But e'en this mom to me was given 
 A prize, the first-fi-uits of the war, 
 Ta'en by a galley from Dunbar, 
 
 A bevy of the maids of Heaven. 
 Under your guard, these holy maids 
 Shall safe return to cloister shades. 
 And, while they at Tantallon staj-. 
 Requiem for Cochrane's soid may say." 
 And, with the slaughter'd favourite's name, 
 Across the Monarch's brow there came 
 A cloud of u'e, remorse, and shame. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 In answer nought could Angus speak ; 
 
 His proud heart swell'd wellnigh to break : . 
 
 He turn'd aside, and down his cheek 
 
 A burning tear there stole. 
 His hand the Monarch sudden took, 
 That sight his kind heart could not brook : 
 
 " Now, by the Bruce's soul, 
 
 Angus, my hasty speech forgive 1 
 For sure as doth his spirit live, 
 As he said of the Douglas old, 
 
 I well may say of you, — 
 That never Idng did subject hold. 
 In speech more fi-ee, in war more bold. 
 
 More tender and more true : 
 Forgive me, Douglas, once again." — 
 And, while the King his hand did strain, 
 The old man's tears fell down like rain. 
 To seize the moment Marmion tried. 
 And whisper'd to the King aside •
 
 194 
 
 * Oh ! let such tears unwonted plead 
 For respite short from dubious deed ! 
 A child -will weep a bramble's smart, 
 A maid to see her sparrow part, 
 A stripling for a woman's lieart: 
 But woe awaits a country, when 
 Slie sees the tears of bearded men. 
 Tlien, oh ! what omen, dark and high, 
 When Douglas wets his manly eye ! " 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Displeased was James, tliat stranger view'd 
 And tamper'd with his changing mood. 
 
 " Laugh those that can, weep those that may " 
 Thus did tiie fiery Monarch say, 
 
 " Southward I march by break of day ; 
 And if within Tantallon strong, 
 The good Lord Marmion tarries lons^, 
 Percliance our meeting next may fall 
 At Tamworth, in his castle-hall." — 
 The haughty Marmion felt the taunt, 
 And answer'd, grave, the royal vaunt : 
 
 " Much honour'd were my humble home, 
 If in its halls King James should come ; 
 But Nottingham has archers good. 
 And Yorkshire men are stern of mood ; 
 Northumbrian prickers wild and nide. 
 On Derby liills the paths are steep ; 
 In Ouse and Tyne the fords are deep ; 
 And many a banner will be tora, 
 And many a knight to earth be borne. 
 And many a sheaf of arrows spent, 
 Ere Scotland's King shall cross the Trent : 
 Yet pause, brave Prince, while yet you may I" 
 The Monarch lightly turn'd away, 
 And to his nobles loud did call, — 
 
 " Lords, to the dance, — a haU ! a hall !" 
 Himself his cloak and sword flung by. 
 And led Dame Heron gallantly ; 
 And minstrels, at the i-oyal order, 
 Rung out—" Blue Bonnets o'er the Border." 
 
 xvin. 
 
 Leave we these revels now, to tell 
 What to Saint Hilda's maids befell. 
 Whose gallej^, as they saiFd agam 
 To Whitby, by a Scot was ta'en. 
 Now at Dun-Edin did they bide, 
 Till James should of their fate decide ; 
 
 And soon, by his command. 
 Were gently smnmon'd to prepare 
 To joiu-ney under Marmion's care, 
 As escort honourd, safe, and fair, 
 
 Again to English land. 
 
 » The ancient cry to make room for a dance, or pageant.
 
 V. THE COURT. 195 
 
 The Abbess told her chaplet o'er, 
 
 Nor knew which saint she should implore ; 
 
 For, when slie thought of Constance, sore 
 
 She fear'd Lord Marmion's mood. 
 And judge what Clara must have felt ! 
 T lie sword, that huni^ in Marmion's belt, 
 
 Had drunk De 'Wilton's blood. 
 Unwittingly, King James had given, 
 
 As guard to Whitby's shailes. 
 The man most dreaded imdcr Heaven 
 
 By these defenceless maids : 
 Yet what petition could avail. 
 Or who would listen to the tale 
 Of woman, prisoner, and nun, 
 'Mid bustle of a war begun ? 
 They deeni'd it hopeless to avoid 
 The convoy of their dangerous guide. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Their lodging, so the King assign'd, 
 To Marmion's, as their guardian, join'd ; 
 And thus it fell, that, passing nigh. 
 The Palmer caught the Abbess' eye, 
 
 Wlio wam'd him by a scroll, 
 She had a secret to reveal, 
 That much concern'd the Church's weal. 
 
 And health of sinner's soid ; 
 And, i^ith deep charge of secrecy, 
 
 She named a place to meet, 
 Within an open balcony. 
 That hung from dizzy pitch, and high, 
 
 Above the stately street ; 
 To which, as common to each home, 
 At night they might in secret come. 
 
 XX. 
 
 At night, in secret, there they came, 
 The Palmer and the holy Dame. 
 The moon among the clouds rose high, 
 And all the city hum was by. 
 Upon the street, where late before 
 Did din of war and waiTiors roar. 
 
 You might have heard a pebble fail, 
 A beetle hum, a cricket sing, 
 An owlet flap Bis boding wing 
 
 On Giles's steeple tall. 
 The antique buildings, climbing high, 
 ^\^lose Gothic frontlets sought the sky, 
 
 Were here -m-apt deep in shade : 
 There on their brows the moonbeam broke. 
 Through the faint -wreathes of silvery smoke, 
 
 And on the casements plaj-'d. 
 
 And other light was none to see. 
 Save torches gliding far
 
 196 MARMION. 
 
 . Before some chieftain of degree, 
 Who left the royal revelry 
 To bowne him, for the war. — 
 A solemn scene the Abbess chose — 
 A solemn hour, her secret to disclose. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 " 0, holy Palmer I" she began, — 
 " For sure he must be sainted man. 
 Whose blessed feet have trod the ground 
 Where the Redeemer's tomb is found, — 
 For his dear Church's sake, my tale 
 Attend, nor deem of light avail. 
 Though I must speak of worldly love, — 
 How vain to those who wed above I — 
 De Wilton and Lord Marmion woo'd 
 Clara de Clare, of Gloster's blood ; 
 (Idle it were of Whitby's dame. 
 To say of that same blood I came ;) 
 And once, when jealous rage was high, 
 Lord Marmion said despiteously, 
 Wilton was traitor in his heart. 
 And had made league vnth Martin Swart,*' 
 When he came here on Simnel's part ; 
 And only cowardice did restrain 
 His rebel aid on Stokefield's plain, — 
 And down he threw his glove : — the thing 
 Was tried, as wont, before the King ; 
 Where frankly did De Wilton owa, 
 That Swart in Gueldres he had known ; 
 And that between them then there went 
 Some scroll of courteous complimenL 
 For this he to his castle sent ; 
 But when his messenger retm-n'd. 
 Judge how De Wilton's furj' burn'd ! 
 For in his packet there was laid 
 Letters that claim'd disloyal aid. 
 And proved King Henry's cause betray'd. 
 His fame, thus blighted, in the field 
 He strove to clear, by spear and shield ; — 
 To clear his fame in vain he strove, 
 For wondrous are His ways above ! 
 Perchance some fonn was unobserved ; 
 Perchance in prayer, or faith, he swerved ; 
 Else how could guiltless champion quail. 
 Or how the blessed ordeal fail ? 
 
 XXII. 
 
 " His squire, who now De Wilton saw 
 As recreant doom'd to suffer law, 
 
 Repentant, own'd in vain. 
 That, while he had the scrolls in care, 
 A stranger maiden, passing fair. 
 Had drencli'd him with a beverage rare 
 His words no faith could gain.
 
 ) V. THE COURT. 197 
 
 With Clare alone he credence won, 
 Who, rather than wed Jlarmion, 
 Did to Saint Hilda's shrine repair, 
 To give our house her livings fair, 
 And die a vestal vot'ress there. 
 The impulse from the earth was given, 
 But bent her to the paths of heaven. 
 A purer heart, a lovelier maid, 
 i^e'er shelter'd her in Wliitbys shade. 
 Ko, not since Saxon EdeWed ; 
 
 Only one trace of earthly strain. 
 That for her lover's loss 
 
 She cherishes a sorrow vain. 
 And murmurs at the cross. — 
 
 And then her heritage ; — it goes 
 Along the banivs of lame * 
 
 Deep iields of grain the reaper mows, 
 
 In meadows rich the heifer lows. 
 
 The falconer and huntsman knows 
 Its woodlands for the game. 
 Shame were it to Saint Hilda dear 
 And I, her hmnble vot'ress here. 
 
 Should do a deadly sin. 
 Her temple spoil'd before mine eves. 
 If this false Marmion such a prize 
 
 By my consent should win ; 
 Yet hath our boisterous Monarch sworn 
 That Clare shall from our house be torn 
 And grievous cause have 1 to fear. 
 Such mandate doth Lord Marmion beai. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 " Now, prisoner, helpless, and betray'd 
 To evil power, I claim thine aid. 
 
 By eveiy step that thou hast trod 
 To holy shrine and grotto dim. 
 By every mart\T's tortured limb, 
 By angel, saint, and seraphim. 
 
 And by the Church of God ! 
 For mark : — When Wilton was betray'd, 
 And ^vith his squire forged letters laid, 
 She was, alas ! that sinful maid 
 
 B}' whom the deed was done, — 
 O ! shame and horror to be said ! — 
 
 She was a perjured nun ! 
 No clerk in all tlie land, like her. 
 Traced quaint and varying character. 
 Perchance you may a marvel deem. 
 
 That Marmion's paramour 
 (For such vile thing she was) should scheme 
 
 Her lover's nuptial hour ; 
 But o'er him thus she hoped to gain, 
 As privy to his honour's stain. 
 
 Illimitable power :
 
 198 
 
 For this she secretly retaiii'd 
 Each proof that mi(i;ht the plot reveal, 
 Instructions with his hand and seal ; 
 And thus Saint Hilda deii^n'd, 
 
 Tlu-ough sinners' pcrhdy impure, 
 Her house's glory to secure. 
 And Clare's immortal weal. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 " 'T were long, and needless, here to tell. 
 How to my hand these papers fell ; 
 
 With me they must not stay. 
 Saint Hilda keep her Abbess true ! 
 Who knows what outrage he might do, 
 
 AVhile journeying by the way ? — 
 O, blessed Saint, if e'er again 
 I venturous leave thy calm domain. 
 To travel or by land or main. 
 
 Deep penance may I pay ! — 
 Now, saintly Palmer, mark my prayer : 
 I give this packet to thj' care, 
 For thee to stop they will not dare ; 
 
 And 0, with cautious speed, 
 To Wolsey's hand the papers bring, 
 That he riiay show them to the King : 
 
 And, for thy well-earn'd meed. 
 Thou holy miin, at ■\^'Tiitbr"s shrine 
 A weekly mass shall still be thine. 
 
 While priests can sing and read. — 
 What ail'st thou?— Speak 1 " — For as he took 
 The charge, a strong emotion shook 
 
 His frame ; and, ere reply. 
 They heard a faint, yet shrilly tone. 
 Like distant clarion feebly blown. 
 
 That on the breeze did die ; 
 And loud the Abbess shriek'd in fear, 
 " Saint Withold, save us ! — What is hert ■• 
 
 Look at yon City Cross 1 
 See on its battled tower appear 
 Phantoms, that scutcheons seem to rear, 
 
 And blazou'd banners toss ! " — 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Dun-Edhi's Cross, a pillar'd stone. 
 
 Rose on a turret octagon ; 
 
 (But now is razed that monument. 
 
 Whence royal edict rang. 
 And voice of Scotland's law was sent 
 
 In glorious trumpet-clang. 
 O ! be his tomb as lead to lead. 
 Upon its didl destroyer's head ! — 
 A minstrel's malison is said.) — ^ 
 Then on its battlements they saw 
 A vision, passing Nature's law. 
 
 Strange, wild, and dimly aecn ;
 
 THE COURT. 199 
 
 Figures that seem to rise and die, 
 Gibber and sign, advance and fly, 
 WMle nought confirm'd could ear or eye 
 
 Discern of sound or mien. 
 Yet darkly "did it seem, as there 
 Heralds and pursuivants prepare. 
 With trumpet sound and blazon fair, 
 
 A summons to proclaim : 
 But indistinct the pageant proud, 
 As fancy forms of midnight cloud, 
 "VVTien flings the moon upon her shroud 
 
 A •wavering tinge of flame ; 
 It flits, expands, and shifts, till loud, 
 From midmost of the spectre crowd. 
 
 This awful summons came : — ^* 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 "Prince, prelate, potentate, and peer, 
 
 ■WTiose names I now shall call ' 
 Scottish, or foreigner, give ear ; 
 Subjects of him who sent me here, 
 At his tribunal to appear, 
 
 I summon one and all : 
 I cite tou by each deadly sin. 
 That eVr hath soil'd your hearts within : 
 I cite you by each brutal lust, 
 That e'er defiled your earthly dust, — 
 
 By wrath, by pride, by fear. 
 By each o'er-mastering passion's tone. 
 By the dark grave, and dying groan ! 
 "When forty days are pass'd and gone, 
 I cite you, at your IMonarch's throne, 
 
 To answer and appear." 
 Then thunder'd forth a roll of names : 
 Tlie first was thine, unliappy James I 
 
 Then all thy nobles came ; 
 Crawford, Glencaim, JMontrose, Argyle, 
 Boss, Bothwell, Forbes, Lennox, Lyli\ — 
 A^'liy should I tell their separate sl^ie ? 
 
 Each chief of birth and fame. 
 Of Lowland, Highland, Border, Isle, 
 Fore-doom'd to Flodden's carnage pile, 
 
 Was cited there by name ; 
 And Marmion, Lord of Fontenaye, 
 Of Luttenvard, and Scrivelljaye; 
 De Wilton, erst of Aberley, 
 The self-same thimderina- voice did siay.- 
 
 But then another spoke : 
 " Thy fatal summons I deny. 
 And thine infernal Lord defy, 
 Appealing me to Him on High, 
 
 AVTio burst the sinner's voke." 
 At that di-ead accent, with a scrcaio. 
 Parted the pageant like a dream, 
 
 The sununoner was gone.
 
 liOO MARMION 
 
 Prone on her face the Abbess fell, 
 And fast, and fast, her beads did tell ; 
 Her nuns came, startled by the yell, 
 And foimd her there alone. 
 • She mark'd not, at the scene aghast, 
 "What tune, or how, the Palmer pass'd. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Shift we the scene.— The camp doth move 
 
 Dun-Edin's streets are empty now, 
 Save when, for weal of those they love, 
 
 To pray the prayer and vow the vow. 
 The tottering child, the anxious fair, 
 The grey-hair'd sire, with pious care. 
 To chapels and to shrines repair — 
 Where is the Palmer now ? and where 
 The Abbess, Marmion, and Clare? — 
 Bold Douglas ! to Tantallon fair 
 
 They journey in thy charge : 
 Lord Marmion rode on his right hand, 
 The Palmer still was with the band ; 
 Angus, like Lindesay, did command. 
 
 That none should roam at large. 
 But in that Palmer's alter'd mien 
 A wondrous change might now be seen ; 
 
 Freely he spoke of war. 
 Of mai-vels wrought by single hand, 
 "WTien lifted for a native land : 
 And still look'd high, as if he plann'd 
 
 Some desperate deed afar. 
 His courser would he feed and stroke. 
 And, tucking up his sable frocke. 
 Would first his mettle bold provoke, 
 
 Then soothe or quell his pride. 
 Old Hubert said, that never one 
 He saw, except Lord Marmion, 
 
 A steed so fairly ride. 
 
 XXVIIL 
 
 Some half-hour's march behind, there came, 
 By Eustace govern'd fair, 
 
 A troop escorting Hilda's Dame, 
 With all her nuns, and Clare. 
 
 No audience had Lord Marmion sought ; 
 Ever he fear'd to aggravate 
 Clara de Clare's suspicions hate ; 
 
 And safer 't was, he thought, 
 
 To wait till, from the nuns removed. 
 The influence of kinsmen loved. 
 And suit by Henrj^'s self approved. 
 
 Her slow consent had wrought. 
 His was no flickering flame, that dies 
 Unless when fann'd by looks and sighs, 
 And lighted oft at lady's eyes ;
 
 ) V. THE COURT. 201 
 
 He long'd to stretch his wide command 
 
 O'er luckless Clara's ample land : 
 
 Besides, when "Wilton with him vied, 
 
 Although the pang of humbled pride 
 
 The place of jealousy supplied, 
 Yet conquest, by that meanness won 
 He almost loath'd to think upon. 
 Led him, at times, to hate the cause 
 Which made him burst through honour's laws. 
 If e'er he lov'd, 't was her alone. 
 Who died within that vault of stone. 
 
 XXIX. 
 And now, when close at hand they saw 
 North Berwick's tovm, and lofty Law, 
 Fitz-Eustace bade them pause a while, 
 Before a venerable pile. 
 
 Whose turrets view'd, afar, 
 The lofty Bass, the Lambie Isle, 
 
 The ocean's peace or war. 
 At tolling of a bell, forth came 
 The convent's venerable Dame, 
 And pray'd Saint Hilda's Abbess rest 
 With her, a loved and honour'd guest. 
 Till Douglas should a bark prepare 
 To waft her back to Whitby fair. 
 Glad was the Abbess, you may guess, 
 And thank'd the Scottish Prioress ; 
 And tedious were to tell, I ween, 
 The courteous speech that pass'd between. 
 
 O'erjoy'd the nuns their palfreys leave- 
 But when fair Clara did intend 
 Like them, from horseback to descend, 
 
 Fitz-Eustace said, — " I grieve, 
 Fair lady, grieve e'en from my heart, 
 Such gentle company to part ; — 
 
 Think not discourtesy. 
 But lords' commands must be obeyed ; 
 And Marmion and the Douglas said. 
 
 That you must wend with me. 
 Lord Marmion hath a letter broad, 
 Which to the Scottish Earl he sliow'd. 
 Commanding that, beneath his care, 
 Without delay, you shall repair 
 To your yoimg kinsman. Lord Fitz-Clare." 
 
 XXX. 
 
 The startled Abbess loud exclaim'd : 
 
 But she, at whom the blow was aim'd, 
 
 Grew pale as death, and cold as lead, — 
 
 She deem'd she heard her death-doom read 
 " Cheer thee, my child I'" the Abbess said, 
 " They dare not tear thee from mv hand, 
 
 To ride alone vnth armed band.'' — 
 " Nay, holy mother, nay,"
 
 202 MARMION. 
 
 Fitz-Eustace said, "the lovely Clare 
 Will be iu Lady Angus' care, 
 
 In Scotland while we stay ; 
 And, when we move, an easy ride 
 Will bring us to the English side, 
 Female attendance to provide 
 
 Befitting Gloster's heir : 
 Nor tliuiks nor dreams my noble lord, 
 By slightest look, or act, or word, 
 
 To harass Lady Clare ; 
 Her faithful guardian he will be, 
 Nor sue for sliglitest courtesy 
 
 That e'en to stranger falls. 
 Till lie shall place her, safe and firee, 
 
 Witliin her kinsman's halls." 
 He spoke, and blush'd with earnest gi-ace 
 His fiuth was painted on his face. 
 
 And Clare's worst fear relieved. 
 The Lady Abbess loud exclaim'd 
 On Henry, and the Douglas blamed, 
 
 Entreated, tlu-eaten'd, grieved; 
 To martjT, saint, and prophet pray'd, 
 Against Lord 3Iarmion inveigh'd. 
 And call'd the Prioress to aid, 
 To curse with candle, bell, and book. 
 Her head the grave Cistertian shook : 
 " The Douglas, and the King," she said, 
 " In theh commands will be obey'd ; 
 Grieve not, nor dream that harm can fail 
 The maiden m TautaUon hall." 
 
 XXXL 
 
 The Abbess, seeing strife was vain, 
 
 Assimied her wonted state again, — 
 For much of state she had, — 
 
 Composed her veil, and raised her head, 
 
 And — " Bid," in solemn voice she said, 
 " Thy master, bold and bad. 
 
 The records of his house turn o'er. 
 And, when he shall there written see, 
 That one of his own ancestry 
 Drove the Monks forth of Coventr},''* 
 
 Bid him his fate explore ! 
 
 Prancing in pride of earthly trust. 
 His charger hurl'd him to the dust. 
 And, by a base plebeian thrust. 
 
 He died his band before. 
 
 God judge 'twixt Mannion and me: 
 He is a Chief of high degree. 
 
 And I a poor recluse : 
 
 Yet oft, in holy writ, we see 
 Even such weak mmister as me 
 
 May the oppressor bruise : 
 For thus, inspired, did Judish slay 
 The mighty in his &in.
 
 ) V. THE COURT. 203 
 
 And Jael thus, and Deborah " 
 
 Here hasty Blount broke in : 
 " Fitz-Eustace, we must march our bcind : 
 St Anton' fire tliee I wilt thou stand 
 All day, with bonnet in thy haml. 
 
 To hear the Lady preach ? 
 By this good light ! if thus we stay, 
 Lord Marmion, for our fond delay, 
 
 WUI sharper sermon teach. 
 Come, don thy cap, and mount thy horse ; 
 The Dame must patience take perforce." — 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 " Submit we then to force," said Clare, 
 •' But let this barbarous lord despair 
 
 His purposed aim to win ; 
 Let him take living, land, and life ; 
 But to be Marmion's wedded wife 
 
 In me w'ere deadly sin : 
 And if it be the King's decree. 
 That I must find no sanctuary, 
 In that inviolable dome, 
 AVhere even a homicide might come. 
 
 And safely rest his head, 
 Though at its open portals stood. 
 Thirsting to pom- forth blood for blood. 
 
 The kinsmen of the dead : 
 Yet one asylum is my owii 
 
 Against the dreaded hour ; 
 A low, a silent, and a lone, 
 
 \Vliere kings have little power. 
 One victim is before me there. — 
 Mother, your blessing; and in pray,?r 
 Remember your unhappy Clare !" 
 Loud weeps the Abbess, and bestows 
 
 Kind blessings many a one : 
 Weeping and wailing loud arose, 
 Kound patient Clare, the clamorous woes 
 
 Of every simple nun. 
 His eyes the grntle Eustace dried. 
 And scarce rude Blount the sight could bids. 
 
 Then took the squu-e her rein, 
 And gently led away her steed, 
 And, b}^ each com-teous word and deed. 
 
 To cheer her strove in vain. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 But scant three miles the band had rode. 
 
 When o'er a height they pass'd. 
 And, sudden, close before them show'd 
 
 His towers, Tantallon vast ; 
 Broad, massive, high, and stretching fur. 
 And held impreg-uable in war, 
 On a projecting rock they rose, 
 And round three sides the ocean flows.
 
 204 
 
 The fourth did battled walls enclose, 
 
 And double mound and fosse. 
 By narrow drawbridge, outworks stronfj, 
 Through studded gates^ an entrance long, 
 
 To the main couit they cross. 
 It was a wide and stately square : 
 Around were lodgings, fit and fair, 
 
 And towers of various fonn, 
 Which on the court projected far. 
 And broke its lines quadrangular. 
 Here was square keep, there turret high. 
 Or pinnacle that sought the sky, 
 Whence oft the Warder could descry 
 
 The gathering ocean-storm. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 Here did they rest. — The princely care 
 Of Douglas, why should I declare. 
 Or say thej' met reception fair ? 
 
 Or why the tidings say, 
 "Which var3'ing, to Tantallon came. 
 By hurrying posts or fleeter fame, 
 
 With every varying day ? 
 And, first, they heard King James had won 
 
 Etall, and Wark, and Ford; and then. 
 
 That Norham Castle strong was ta'en. 
 At that sore marvell'd Marmion ; — 
 And Douglas hoped his Monarch's hand 
 "Would soon subdue Northumberland : 
 
 But whisper'd news there came. 
 That, while his host inactive lay, 
 And melted by degrees away, 
 King James was dallying off the day 
 
 With Heron's wily dame. — 
 Such acts to chronicles I yield ; 
 
 Go seek them there and see : 
 Mine is a tale of Flodden Field, 
 
 And not a history. — 
 At length the}^ heard the Scottish host 
 On that high ridge had made their post, 
 
 Which fl•o^vns o'er Milfield Plain; 
 And that brave Surrey many a baud 
 Had gather'd in the Southern land. 
 And march'd into Northiunberland, 
 
 And camp at Wooler ta'en. 
 Marmion, like charger in the stall. 
 That hears, without, the trumpet-call 
 
 Began to chafe, and swear : — 
 ' A sorry thing to hide my head 
 In castle, like a fearful maid. 
 
 When such a field is near ! 
 Needs must I see this battle-day : 
 Death to my fame if such a fray 
 Were fought, and Marmion awayl
 
 INTRODUOTIOX TO CANTO SIXTH. 205 
 
 The Douglas, too, I wot not why. 
 Hath 'bated of his courtesy : 
 No longer in his halls I '11 stay." 
 Then bade his band they should array 
 For march against the dawning day. 
 
 intrnlrurtton ta Ganto ^tjrtlj. 
 
 To RICHARD HEBER, Esq. 
 
 Mertoun-House, Chi'istmas. 
 
 Heap on more wood ! — the wind Ls chill ; 
 
 But let it whistle as it will, 
 
 We 11 keep our Christmas merry still. 
 
 Each age has deem'd the new-born year 
 
 The fittest time for festal cheer : 
 
 Even, heathen yet, the savage Dane 
 
 At lol more deep the mead did drain ; ^ 
 
 High on the beach his gallej's drew. 
 
 And feasted all his pirate crew ; 
 
 Then in his low and pine-built hall, 
 
 WTiere shields and axes deck'd the wall ; 
 
 They gorged upon the half-dress'd steer ; 
 
 Caroused in seas of sable beer ; 
 
 While roimd, in brutal jest, were thrown 
 
 The half-gnaw'd rib, and marrow-bone : 
 
 Or listen'd all, in grim delight. 
 
 While Scalds yell'd out the joys of fight. 
 
 Then forth, in frenzy, would they hie, 
 
 While wDclly-loose their red locks tly, 
 
 And dancing roimd the blazing pile, 
 
 They make such barbarous mirth the while, 
 
 A_g best might to the mind recall 
 
 The boisterous joys of Odin's hall. 
 
 And well our Christian sires of old 
 
 Loved when the year its course had roll'd, 
 
 And brought blithe Christmas back again, 
 
 With all his hospitable train. 
 
 Domestic and religious rite 
 
 Gave honour to the holy niglit ; 
 
 On Christmas eve the bells were rung ; 
 
 On Christmas eve the mass was sung : 
 
 That only night in all the year. 
 
 Saw the stoled priest the chalice rear.** 
 
 The damsel donn'd her kirtle sheen ; 
 
 The hall was dress'd witli holly green ; 
 
 Forth to the wood did merry men go. 
 
 To gather in the misletoe.
 
 5i06 
 
 Then open'd wide the Baron's hall 
 To vassal, tenant, serf, and all ; 
 Power laid his rod of rule aside, 
 And Ceremony doff'd his pride. 
 The heir, mtla roses in his shoes, 
 That night might village partner choose ; 
 The Lord, iinderogating, share 
 The vulgar game of " post and pair." 
 All hail'd, with imcontroll'd delight, 
 And general voice, the happy nigtit, 
 That to the cottage, as the crown. 
 Brought tidings of salvation down. 
 
 The fire, with well-dried logs supplied. 
 Went roaring up the chimney wide ; 
 The huge hall-table's oaken face, 
 Scrubb'd till it shone, the day to grace, 
 Bore then upon its massive board 
 No mark to part the squire and lord. 
 Then was brought in the lusty brawn. 
 By old blue-coated serving-man ; 
 Then the grim boar's head frown'd on high. 
 Crested -with bays and rosemary. 
 "Well can the green-garb'd ranger tell. 
 How, when, and where, the monster fell ; 
 \Miat dogs before his death he tore. 
 And all the baiting of the boar. 
 The wassel round, in good brown bowls, 
 Gamish'd ^vith ribbons, blithely trowls. 
 There the huge sirloin reek'd ; hard by 
 Plum-poiTidge stood, and Christmas pie; 
 Nor faU'd old Scotland to produce. 
 At such high tide, her savoury goose. 
 Then came the merry maskers in. 
 And carols roar'd with blithesome din ; 
 If unmelodious was the song. 
 It was a hearty note, and strong. 
 Who lists may in their mumming see 
 Traces of ancient mysterj';^' 
 White shirts supplied the masquerade. 
 And smutted cheeks the ^^so^s made ; 
 But, O ! what maskers, richly dight, 
 Can boast of bosoms half so light ! 
 England was merry England, when 
 Old Christmas brought his sports again. 
 'Twas Christmas broach'd the mightiest alej 
 'Twas Christmas told the merriest tale; 
 A Christmas gambol oft could cheer 
 The poor man's heart tlurough half the year. 
 
 Still linger, in our northern clime, 
 Some remnants of the good old time ; 
 And still, within our valleys here. 
 We hold the kindred title "deir,
 
 INTRODUCTIOX TO CANTO SIXTH. ?0" 
 
 Even when, perchance, its far-fetch'd claim. 
 To Southern ear sounds empty name ; 
 For course of blood, our proverbs deem. 
 Is warmer than the mountain-stream. 
 And thus, my Christmas still I hold. 
 Where my great-grandsire came of old, 
 With amber beard, and flaxen hair, 
 And reverend apostolic air — 
 The feast and holy-tide to share. 
 And mix sobriety with -nine, 
 Ajid honest mirth with thoughts divine : 
 Small thought was his, in after time 
 E'ei to be hitch'd into a rhyme. 
 The simple sire could only boast. 
 That he was loyal to his cost ; 
 The banish'd race of kings revered. 
 And lost his land, — but kept his beard. 
 
 In these dear halls, where welcome kind 
 Is with fair liberty combined ; 
 ■^Tiere cordial friendship gives the hand. 
 And flies constraint the magic wand 
 Of the fair dame that rules the land. 
 Little we heed the tempest drear, 
 While music, mirth, and social cheer, 
 Speed on their wings the passing year. 
 Arid Mertoun's halls are fair e'en now, 
 Wlien not a leaf is on the bongli. 
 Tweed loves them well, and turns again, 
 As loath to leave the sweet domain. 
 And holds his miiTor to her face, 
 And clips her with a close embrace : — 
 Gladly as he, we seek the dome. 
 And as reluctant turn us home. 
 
 How just, that, at this time of glee, 
 My thoughts should, Heber, turn to thee I 
 For many a merry hour we 've known. 
 And heard the ctnmes of midnight's tone. 
 Cease, then, my friend ! a moment cease. 
 And leave these classic tomes in peace ! 
 Of Roman and of Grecian lore. 
 Sure mortal brain can hold no more. 
 These ancients, as Noll Bluti' might say, 
 ' Were pretty fellows in their day ;" 
 But time and tide o'er all prevail — 
 On Christmas eve a Christmas tale — 
 Of wonder and of war — " Profane I 
 What ! leave the lofty Latiau strain. 
 Her stately prose, her verse's charms, 
 To hear the clash of rusty anns : 
 In Fairy Laud or Linibo lost. 
 To jostle conjurer and ghost, 
 Goblin and witch !" — Nay, Heber dear. 
 Before you touch my charter, hear.
 
 208 
 
 Though Leyden aids, alas ! no more, 
 My cause with many-languaged lore, 
 This may I say : — in. realms of death 
 Ulysses meets Alcides' loraith; 
 ^neas, upon Thracia's shore. 
 The ghost of murder'd Polydore ; 
 For omens, we in Livy cross, 
 At every turn, locutus Bos. 
 As grave and duly speaks that ox, 
 As if he told the price of stocks ; 
 Or held, in Rome republican, 
 The place of Common-councilman. 
 
 All nations have their omens drear, 
 Their legends wild of woe and fear. 
 To Cambria look — the peasant see. 
 Bethink him of Glendowerdy, 
 And shun " the spirit's Blasted Tree." 
 Highlander, whose red claymore 
 The battle turn'd on Maida's shore, 
 Will, on a Friday morn, look pale, 
 If ask'd to tell a "fairy tale :"> 
 He fears the vengefid Elfin King, 
 Who leaves that day his grassy ring : 
 Invisible to human ken, 
 He walks among the sons of men. 
 
 Didst e'er, dear Heber, pass along 
 Beneath the towers of Franchemont, 
 Which, like an eagle's nest in air. 
 Hang o'er the stream and hamlet fair ? 
 Deep in their vaults, the peasants say, 
 A mighty treasure bm-ied lay, 
 Amass'd through rapine and through wrong 
 By the last Lord of Franchemont.'"^ 
 The iron chest is bolted hard ; 
 A huntsman sits, its constant guard ; 
 Around his neck his horn is hung, 
 His hanger in his belt is slung ; 
 Before his feet his blood-hoimds lie : 
 An 'twere not for his gloomy eye, 
 Whose withering glance no heart can brook, 
 As true a huntsman doth he look. 
 As bugle e'er in brake did sound. 
 Or ever halloo'd to a hound. 
 To chase the fiend, and win the prize. 
 In that same dungeon ever tries 
 An aged necromantic priest ; 
 It is an hundred years at least. 
 Since 'twixt them first the strife begim, 
 And neither yet has lost nor won. 
 And oft the Conjurer's words will make 
 The stubborn Demon groan and quake ; 
 And oft the bands of iron break,
 
 INTEODUCTION TO CANTO SIXTH. 209 
 
 Or bursts one lock, that still amain, 
 Fast as 'tis open'd, shuts again. 
 That magic strife within the tomb 
 Blay last until the day of doom. 
 Unless the adept shall learn to tell 
 The very word that clench'd the spell, 
 When Franch'mont lock'd the treasure cell. 
 An hundred years are pass'd and gone, 
 And scarce three letters has he won. 
 
 Such general superstition may 
 Excuse for old Pitacottie say ; 
 Whose gossip history has given 
 IMy song the messenger from Heaven, « 
 That warn'd, in Lithgow, Scotland's King, 
 Nor less the infernal siunmoning; 
 lilay pass the Monk of Durham's tale, 
 Whose demon fought in Gothic mail ; 
 IMay pardon plead for Fordun grave. 
 Who told of Gilford's Goblin-Cave. 
 But why such instances to you 
 AVho, in an instant, can renew 
 Your treasured hoards of various lore. 
 And furnish twenty thousand m<fS-e ? 
 Hoards, not like theirs whose volumes rest 
 Like treasures in the Franch'mont chest, 
 While gripple owners still refuse 
 To others what they cannot use ; 
 Give them the priest's whole century. 
 They shall not spell you letters three ; 
 Their pleasm-e in the books the same 
 The magpie takes in pilfer'd gem. 
 Thy volumes, open as thy heart, 
 Delight, amusement, science, ait, 
 '1 o every ear and eye impart ; 
 Yet who of all who thus employ them, 
 Can like the owner's self enjoy them ?— 
 But, hark ! I hear the distant drum 
 The daj' of Flodden Field is come. — 
 Adieu, dear Heber ! life and health. 
 And store of literary wealth ! 
 
 o See >ote 46.
 
 •210 
 
 CANTO SIXTH. 
 
 mt 33attl0. 
 I. 
 
 ■While great events were on the s;a\e. 
 
 And each hour brought a varying tale, 
 
 And the demeanour, changed and cold, 
 
 Of Douglas, fretted Mannion bold, 
 
 And, like the impatient steed of war. 
 
 He sniilTd the battle from afar ; 
 
 And hopes were none, that back again 
 
 Herald should come from Teroueune, 
 
 Where England's King in leaguer lay. 
 
 Before decisive battle-day ; 
 
 Whilst these things were, the raoumfitl Clara 
 
 Did in the Dame's devotions share : 
 
 For the good Countess ceaseless pray'd 
 
 To Heaven and Saints, her sons to aid. 
 
 And, with short interval, did pass 
 
 From prayer to book, from book to mass. 
 
 And all in high Baronial pride, — 
 
 A life both dull and dignified; — 
 
 Yet as Lord Jlannion nothing press'd 
 
 Upon her intervals of rest. 
 
 Dejected Clara well could bear 
 
 The formal state, the lengthen'd prayer. 
 
 Though dearest to her wounded heart 
 
 The hours that she might spend apart. 
 
 II. 
 I said, Tantallon's dizzy steep 
 Hung o'er the margin of the deep. 
 Many a rude tower and rampart there 
 Repell'd the insult of the ah-. 
 Which, when the tempest vex'd the sky. 
 Half breeze, half spray, came whistling by. 
 Above the rest, a turret square 
 Did o'er its Gothic entrance bear. 
 Of sculpture rude, a stony shield; 
 The Bloody Heart was m the Field. 
 And in the chief three mullets stood, 
 The cognizance of Douglas blood. 
 The turret held a narrow stair. 
 Which, mounted, gave you access where 
 A parapet's embattled row 
 Did seaward roimd the castle go.
 
 rr. THE BATTLE. 211 
 
 Sometimes in dizzy steps descending, 
 
 Sometimes in naiTow circuit bendini^, 
 
 Sometimes in platform broad extending, 
 
 Its varying circle did combine 
 
 Bulwark, and bartizan, and line. 
 
 And bastion, tower, and vantage-coign : 
 
 Above the booming ocean leant 
 
 The far projecting battlement ; 
 
 The billows burst, in ceaseless iiow. 
 
 Upon the precipice below. 
 
 Where'er Tantallon faced the land. 
 
 Gate-works, and walls, were strongly mann'd; 
 
 No need upon the sea-girt side — 
 
 The steepy rock, and frantic tide. 
 
 Approach of human step denied ; 
 
 And thus these lines, and ramparts rude. 
 
 Were left in deepest solitude. 
 
 III. 
 
 Ana, for they were so lonely, Clare 
 Would to these battlements" repair. 
 And muse upon her sorrows there, 
 
 And list the sea-bird's cry ; 
 Or slow, like noontide ghost, would glide 
 Along the dark-grey bulwarks' side 
 And ever on the heaving tide 
 
 Look down with wearj- eye. 
 Oft did the cliif, and swelling main. 
 Recall the thoughts of Whitby's fane, — 
 A home she ne'er might see again ; 
 
 For she had laid ado-mi, 
 So Douglas bade, the hood and veil, 
 And frontlet of the cloister pale, 
 
 And Benedictine gown : 
 It were imseemly sight, he said, 
 A novice out of convent shade. — 
 Now her bright locks, with sunny glow, 
 Again adom'd her brow of snow ; 
 Her mantle rich, whose borders, roimd, 
 A deep and fretted broidery boimd. 
 In golden foldings sought the ground ; 
 Of holy ornament, alone 
 Remain'd a cross with ruby stone ; 
 
 And often did she look 
 On that which in her hand she bore, 
 With velvet bound, and broider'd o'er, 
 
 Her breviary book. 
 In such a place, so lone, so grim. 
 At dawning pale, or twUight dim, 
 
 It fearful would have been 
 To meet a form so richly dress'd. 
 With book in hand, and cross on bresst, 
 
 And such a woefid mien. 
 Fitz-Eustace, loitering with his bow. 
 To practise on the gull and crow.
 
 212 
 
 Saw her, at distance, glidijig slow, 
 
 And did by Mary swear, — 
 Some love-lorn Fay she might have been. 
 Or, in Romance, some spell-bound Queen ; 
 For ne'er, in work-day world, was seen 
 
 A form so mtching fair. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Once walking thus, at evening tide, 
 
 It chanced a gliding sail she spied. 
 
 And, sighing, thought — " The Abbess, there, 
 
 Perchance, does to lier home repair; 
 
 Her peaceful rule, where Duty, free, 
 
 Walks hand in hand with Charity ; 
 
 Where oft Devotion's tranced glow 
 
 Can such a glimpse of heaven bestow, 
 
 That the enraptured sisters see 
 
 High vision and deep mystery ; 
 
 The very form of Hilda fair. 
 
 Hovering upon the sunny air. 
 
 And smiling on her votaries' prayer. 
 
 O ! wherefore, to my duller eye. 
 
 Did still the Saint her form deny ? 
 
 Was it, that, sear'd by sinful scorn 
 
 My heart could neither melt nor burn ? 
 
 Or lie my wami affections low. 
 
 With him that taught them first to glow ? 
 
 Yet, gentle Abbess, well I knew. 
 
 To pay thy kindness gTateful due. 
 
 And well could brook the mild command, 
 
 That ruled thy simple maiden band. 
 
 How different now ! condemn'd to bide 
 
 My doom from this dark tyrant's pride. — 
 
 But Marmion has to learn, ere long. 
 
 That constant mind, and hate of wi'ong. 
 
 Descended to a feeble girl. 
 
 From Eed De Clare, stout Gloster's Earl: 
 
 Of such a stem, a sapling weak. 
 
 He ne'er shall bend, although he break. 
 
 V. 
 
 " But see ! — what makes this armour here ?" — 
 
 For in her path there lay 
 Targe, corslet, helm ; — she view'd them near. — 
 * The breast-plate pierced I — Ay, much I fear, 
 Weak fence wert thou 'gainst foeman's spear, 
 That hath made fatal entrance here, 
 
 As these dark blood-gouts say. — 
 Thus Wilton ! Oh ! not corslet's ward, 
 Kot truth, as diamond pure and hard. 
 Could be thy manly bosom's guard, 
 
 On j'on disastrous day !" — 
 She raised her eyes in moumfiJ mood, — 
 Wilton himself before her stood !
 
 CANTO VI. THE BATTLE. 213 
 
 It might have seem'd his passing ghost, 
 For every youthful grace was lost ; 
 And joy unwonted, and surprise, 
 Gave their strange wildness to his eyes. — 
 Expect not, noble dames and lords, 
 That I can tell such scene in words : 
 What skilful limner e'er would choose 
 To paint the rainbow's varying hues, 
 Unless to mortal it were given 
 To dip his brush in dyes of heaven? 
 Far less can my weak line declare 
 
 Each changing passion's shade ; 
 Brightening to raptiu-e from despair, 
 Sorrow, surprise, and pity there, 
 And joy, with her angelic air, 
 And hope, that paints the future fair, 
 
 Their varying hues display'd : 
 Each o'er its rival's ground extending. 
 Alternate conquering, shifting, blending. 
 Till all, fatigued, the conflict jaeld. 
 And mighty Love retains the field. 
 Shortly I tell what then he said, 
 By many a tender word delay'd, 
 And modest blush, and bursting sigh, 
 And question kind, and fond reply : — 
 
 VI. 
 
 Be ©a:trtan'6 W^tavyi, 
 
 ** Forget we that disastrous day, 
 When senseless in the lists I lay. 
 
 Thence dragg'd, — but how I cannot kno\T, 
 For sense and recollection fled, — 
 
 I found me on a pallet low, 
 With'n my ancient beadsman's shed. 
 
 Austin, — Remember'st thou, my Clare, 
 How thou did'st blush, when the old man. 
 When first our infant love began. 
 
 Said we would make a matchless pair? — 
 IMenials, and friends, and kinsmen fled 
 From the degraded traitor's bed, — 
 He only held my burning head. 
 And tended me for many a day, 
 Wliile wounds and fever held their sway. 
 But far more needful was his care. 
 When sense return 'd to wake despair ; 
 
 For I did tear the closing wound. 
 
 And dash me frantic on the gi'ound. 
 If e'er I heard the name of Clare. 
 At length, to calmer reason brought. 
 Much by his kind attendance ■\\Tought, 
 
 With "him I left my native strand, 
 And, in a Palmer's weeds array'd. 
 My hated name and form to shade, 
 
 I journey 'd many a land ;
 
 214 MARMION. CAKTO VI. 
 
 No more a lord of rank and birth, 
 But mingled -with the dregs of earth. 
 
 Oft Austin for my reason fear'd, 
 When I would sit, and deeply brood 
 On dark revenge, and deeds of blood, 
 
 Or wild mad schemes uprear'd. 
 My fiiend at length fell sick, and said, 
 
 God would remove him soon : 
 And, while upon his dying bed, 
 
 He begg'd of me a boon — 
 If e'er my deadliest enemy 
 Beneath my brand should conquer'd lie, 
 Even then my mercy should awake, 
 And spare his life for Austin's sake. 
 
 VII. 
 
 " Still restless as a second Cain, 
 To Scotland next my route was ta en, 
 
 Full weU the paths I knew. 
 Fame of my ftite made various sound. 
 That death in pilgiimage I found. 
 That I had perish'd of my womid, — 
 
 None cared which tale was true : 
 And living eye could never guess 
 De Wilton in his Palmer's djess ; 
 For now that sable slough is shed. 
 And trimm'd my shaggy beard and head, 
 I scarcely know me in the glass. 
 A chance most wondrous did provide, 
 That I should be that Baron's guide — 
 
 I -vdW not name his name ! — 
 Vengeance to God alone belongs ; 
 But, when I think on all my Avrongs, 
 
 My blood is liquid flame ! 
 And ne'er the time shall I forget. 
 When, in a Scottish hostel set. 
 
 Dark looks we did exchange : 
 What were his thoughts I cannot tell ; 
 But in my bosom muster'd Hell 
 
 Its plans of dark revenge. 
 
 VIII. 
 " A word of vulgar augury, 
 That broke from me, I scarce knew why. 
 
 Brought on a village tale ; 
 AVhich wrought upon his moody sprite, 
 And sent him armed forth by night. 
 
 I borrow'd steed and maU, 
 And weapons, from his sleeping band ; 
 
 And, passing from a postern door, 
 We met, and counter'd hand to hand, — 
 
 He fell on Giftbrd moor. 
 For the death-stroke my brand I drew 
 (0 then my helmed head he knew 
 
 The Palmer's cowl was gone,)
 
 3 VI. THE BATTLE. 2] 5 
 
 Then had three inches of my blade 
 Tlie hea^'y debt of vengeance paid, — 
 My hand the thought of Austin staid ; 
 
 I left him there alone. — 
 O good old man ! even from the grave 
 Thy spirit could thy master save : 
 If I had slain my foeman, ne'er 
 Had AVhitb\''s Abbess, in her fear, 
 (riven to my hand tliis packet dear, 
 Of power to clear my injured fame. 
 And vindicate De Wilton's name. — 
 Perchance you heard the Abbess tell 
 Of the strange pageantry of Hell, 
 
 That broke our secret speech — 
 It rose fi-om the infernal shade. 
 Or featly was some juggle play'd, 
 
 A tale of peace to teach. 
 Appeal to heaven I judged was best. 
 When my name came among the rest. 
 
 IX. 
 
 " Now here, within Tantallon Hold, 
 To Douglas late my tale I told. 
 To whom my house was known of old. 
 Won by my proofs, his falchion bright 
 This eve anew shall dub me knight. 
 These were the arms that once did tuin 
 The tide of fight on Otterbm-ne, 
 And Harry Hotspur forced to yield, 
 When the" Dead Douglas won the field. 
 These Angus gave — his armourer's care. 
 Ere morn, shall every breach repair; 
 For nought, he said, was in his halls, 
 But ancient armour on the walls. 
 And agt^d chargers in the stalls. 
 And women, priests, and grey-hau-"d men ; 
 The rest were all in Twisel glen. 
 And now I watch my armoiu- here. 
 By law of arms, till midnight 's near ; 
 Then, once again a belted knight. 
 Seek Surrey's camp with dawn of light. 
 
 X. 
 
 * There soon again we meet, my Clare ! 
 This Baron means to guide thee there : 
 Douglas reveres his King's command, 
 Else would he take thee from his band 
 And there thy kinsman, Surrey, too, 
 Will give De Wilton justice due. 
 Now meeter far for martial broil, 
 Firmer my limbs, and strung by toil, 
 
 Once more" " Wilton ! must we than 
 
 Risk new-found happiness again, 
 Trust fate of arms once more ?
 
 216 
 
 And is there not an humble glen, 
 
 Where we, content and poor, 
 Might build a cottage in the shade, 
 A shepherd thou, and I to aid 
 
 Thy task on dale and moor ? 
 
 That reddening brow ! — too well I know, 
 Not even thy Clare can peace bestow, 
 
 While falsehood stains thy name : 
 Go then to fight ! Clare bids thee go ! 
 Clare can a warrior's feelings know, 
 
 And weep a warrior's shame ; 
 Can Red Earl Gilbert's spirit feel. 
 Buckle the spurs upon thy heel. 
 And belt thee with thy brand of steel, 
 
 And send thee forth to fame!" 
 
 XI. 
 That night, upon the rocks and bay, 
 The midnight moonbeam slumbering lay. 
 And poiu-'d its silver light, and pure. 
 Through loop-hole, and through embrazure, 
 
 Upon Tantallon tower and hall ; 
 But chief where arched windows wide 
 Illuminate the chapel's pride. 
 
 The sober glances fall. 
 Much was their need ; though seam'd with scars 
 Two veterans of the Douglas' wars, 
 
 Though two grey priests were there. 
 And each a blazing torch held high. 
 You could not by their blaze descry 
 
 The chapel's carving fair. 
 Amid that dim and smoky light, 
 Chequering the sliver moonshine bright, 
 
 A bishop by the altar stood, 
 
 A noble lord of Douglas blood, 
 With mitre sheen, and rocquet white. 
 Yet showed his meek and thoughtful eye 
 But little pride of prelacy ; 
 Jlore pleased that, in a barbarous age. 
 He gave rude Scotland Virgil's page, 
 Thau that beneath his rule he held 
 The bishopric of fair Dimkeld. 
 Beside bun ancient Angus stood, 
 DofF'd his fuiT'd gown, and sable hood : 
 O'er his huge form and visage pale. 
 He wore a cap and shirt of mail ; 
 And lean'd his large and ^vriukled hand 
 Upon the huge and sweeping brand 
 Which wont of yore, m battle fray. 
 His foeman's hmbs to shred away. 
 As wood-knife lops tlie sapUng spray.'* 
 
 He seem'd as, from the tombs around 
 Rising at judgment-day. 
 
 Some giant Douglas may be foimd 
 In all his old array ;
 
 3AST0 VI. THE BATTLE. 21" 
 
 So pale his face, so huge his limb, 
 So old his arms, his look so gi-im. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Then at the altar Wilton kneels, 
 And Clare the spm's bound on his heels ; 
 And think what next he must have felt, 
 At buckling of the falchion belt ! 
 
 And judge how Clara changed her hue. 
 While fastening to her lover's side 
 A friend, which, though Ln danger tried. 
 
 He once had found imtrue ! 
 Then Douglas struck him with his blade : 
 " Saint Michael and Saint Andrew aid, 
 I dub thee knight. 
 Arise, Sir Ralph, De WUton's heir ! 
 For King, for Church, for Lady fair, 
 
 See that thou fight." — 
 And Bishop Gawain, as he rose. 
 Said — " Wilton ! grieve not for thy woes, 
 
 Disgrace, and trouble ; 
 For He, who honour best bestows. 
 
 May give thee double." — 
 De Wilton sobb'd, for sob he must — 
 " Where'er I meet a Douglas, trust 
 
 That Douglas is my brother ! " — 
 •' Nay, nay," old Angus said, " not so ; 
 To Surrey's camp thou now must go, 
 
 Thy wrongs no longer smother. 
 I have two sons Ln yonder field ; 
 And, if thou meet'st them under shield, 
 Upon them bravely — do thy worst; 
 And foul fall him that blenches first ! " 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Not far advanced was morning day, 
 
 When Manuion did his troop array 
 To Smrey's camp to ride ; 
 
 He had safe-conduct for his band. 
 
 Beneath the royal seal and hand. 
 And Douglas gave a guide : 
 
 The ancient Earl, with stately grace. 
 
 Would Clara on her palfrey place, 
 
 And whisper'd in an imder tone, 
 " Let the hawk stoop, his prey is flown." — 
 
 The train from out the castle drew. 
 
 But Marmion stopp'd to bid adieu : — 
 " Though something I might plain," he said, 
 " Of cold respect to stranger guest. 
 
 Sent hither by j^our King's behest, 
 While in Tantallon's towers I staid ; 
 
 Part we in friendship from your land. 
 
 And, noble Earl, receive my hand.'' — 
 
 But Douglas round him drew his cloak. 
 
 Folded his arms, and thus he spoke : -
 
 218 
 
 " My manors, halls, and bowers, shall still 
 Be open, at my Sovereign's ■svill, 
 To each one whom he lists, howe'er 
 Unmeet to be the o^\Tier's peer. 
 My castles are my King's alone, 
 From turret to fouudation-stone — 
 The hand of Douglas is his own ; 
 And never shall in friendly grasp 
 The hand of such as JIarmion clasp." — 
 
 XIV. 
 Bum'd Marmion's swarthy cheek like lire, 
 And shook his very frame for ire, 
 
 And — " Tliis to me ! " he said — 
 " An "t were not for thy hoary beard, 
 Such hand as Marmion's had not spared 
 
 To cleave the Douglas' head 1 
 And, first, I tell thee, haughty Peer, 
 He, who does England's message here, 
 Although the meanest in her state, 
 May well, proud Angus, be thy mate: 
 And, Douglas, more I tell thee here, 
 
 Even in thy pitch of pride, 
 Here in thy hold, thy vassals near, 
 (Nay, never look upon yom- lord. 
 And lay your hands upon your sword,) 
 
 I tell tiiee, thou'rt defied! 
 And if thou saidst I am not peer 
 To any lord in Scotland here. 
 Lowland or Higldand, far or near, 
 
 Lord Angus, thou hast lied !" — 
 On the Earl's cheek the flush of rage 
 O'ercame the ashen hue of age : 
 Fierce he broke forth — "And darest thou then 
 To beard the lion in his den. 
 
 The Douglas in his hall ? 
 And hopest thou hence unscathed to go ? — 
 No, by Saint Bride of Bothwell, no I 
 Up drawbridge, grooms ! — ^what. Warder, ho 1 
 
 Let the portcullis fall." — '^ 
 Lord Mannion tuni'd, — well was his need. 
 And dash'd the rowels in his steed. 
 Like arrow tlu-ough the arcliway spnmg, 
 The ponderous grate behind him rung : 
 To pass there was such scanty room. 
 The bars, descending, razed his plume. 
 
 XV. 
 
 The steed along the drawbridge flies. 
 Just as it trembled on the rise ; 
 Nor lighter does tlie swallow skim 
 Along the smooth lake's level brim : 
 And when Lord Marmion reach'd his band. 
 He halts, and turns with clenched hand,
 
 CANTO VI. TUE BATTLE. -PA9 
 
 And shout of loud defiance pours, 
 
 And shook his gauntlet at the towers. 
 " Horse ! horse !" the Douylas cried, " and chase !' 
 
 But soon he rein'd his fur\"'s pace : 
 " A ro3'al messenger he came, 
 
 Though most unworthy of the name. — 
 
 A letter forged ! Saint Jude to speed ! 
 
 Did ever kiught so foul a deed ! '* 
 
 At first in heiirt it liked me ill, 
 
 AVhen the King praised liis clerkly skill. 
 
 Thanks to Saint Bothan, son of mine, 
 
 Save Gawain, ne'er could pen a line : 
 
 So swore I, and I swear it still. 
 
 Let my boy-bishop fret his till. — 
 
 Saint Mary mend my fieiy mood ! 
 
 Old age ne'er cools the Douglas blood, 
 
 I thought to slay him where he stood. 
 
 'T is pity of him too," he cried : 
 " Bold can he speak, and fairly ride ; 
 
 I warrant him a warrior tried." 
 
 With this his mandate he recalls, 
 
 And slowly seeks his castle halls. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 The day m Marmion's journey wore ; 
 
 Yet, ere his passion's gust was o'er. 
 
 They cross'd the heights of Stanrig-moor. 
 
 His troop more eloselj' there he scann'd. 
 
 And miss'd the Palmer from the band. — 
 " Palmer or not," young Bloimt did say, 
 " He parted at the peep of day ; 
 
 Good sooth, it was in strange array." — 
 " In what array ? " said Marmion, quick. 
 " My Lord, I ill can spell the trick ; 
 
 But all night long, with clink and bang. 
 
 Close to my couch did hammers clang ; 
 
 At dawn the falling drawbridge rang. 
 
 And from a loop-hole while I peep. 
 
 Old Bell-the-Cat came from the Keep, 
 
 Wrapp'd in- a gown of sables fair. 
 
 As fearful of the morning air ; 
 
 Beneath, when that was blown aside, 
 
 A rust}' shirt of mail I spied, 
 
 Bj' Archibald won in bloody work, 
 
 Against the Saracen and Tm-k : 
 
 Last night it hung not in the hall ; 
 
 I thought some mars'el would befall. 
 
 And next I saw them saddled lead 
 
 Old Cheviot forth, the Earl's best steed ; 
 
 A matchless horse, though something old. 
 
 Prompt in his paces, cool and bold. 
 
 I heard the Sherilf Sholto say, 
 
 The Earl did much the IVIaster pray 
 
 To use hun on the battle-day
 
 220 MARMION. CANTO VI. 
 
 But he preferr'd " " Nay, Henry, cease ! 
 
 Thou sworn horse-courser, hold thy peace. — 
 Eustace, thou bear'st n brain — I pray 
 What did Blount see at break of day ? " — 
 
 XVII. 
 
 " In brief, my lord, we both descried 
 ^For then I stood by Henry's side) 
 The Palmer mount, and outwards ride, 
 
 Upon the Earl's own favourite steed : 
 All sheathed he was in armoiu- bright, 
 And much resembled that same knight, 
 Subdued by you in Cotswold fight : 
 
 Lord Angus wish'd him speed." — 
 The instant that Fitz-Eustace spoke, 
 A sudden light on Marmion broke ; — 
 " Ah ! dastard fool, to reason lost ! " 
 He mutter'd ; " 'T was nor fay nor ghost 
 I met upon the moonlight wold. 
 But living man of earthly mould. — 
 
 O dotage blmd and gross ! 
 Had I but fought as wont, one thrust 
 Had laid De Wilton in the dust. 
 My path no more to cross. — 
 How stand we now ? — he told his tale 
 To Douglas ; and with some avail ; 
 
 'Twas therefore gloom'd his rugged brow. — 
 Will Surrey dare to entertain, 
 'Gainst Marmion, charge disproved and vain f 
 
 Small risk of that, I trow, 
 Yet Clare's sharp questions must I shun •, 
 Must separate Constance from the Nun — 
 O, what a tangled web we weave. 
 When first we practise to deceive ! 
 A Palmer too ! — no wonder why 
 I felt rebuked beneath his eye : 
 I might have known there was but one, 
 Whose look could quell Lord Marmion." 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Stung with these thoughts, he urged to speed 
 His troop, and reach'd, at eve, the Tweed, 
 Where Lennel's convent closed their march ; 
 (There now is left but one frail arch. 
 
 Yet mourn thou not its cells ; 
 Our time a fair exchange has made ; 
 Hard by, in hospitable shade, 
 
 A I'everend pilgrim dwells. 
 Well worth the whole Bernardine brood, 
 That e'er wore sandal, frock, or hood.) 
 Yet did Saint Bernard's Abbot there 
 Give Marmion entertainment fair, 
 And lodging for his train and Clare. 
 Next morn the Baron climb'd the tower, 
 To view afar the Scottish power,
 
 l!A..VTO VI. THE BATTLE. 221 
 
 Encamp d on Flodden edge : 
 The white pavilions made a show, 
 Like remnants of the winter snow, 
 
 Along the dusky ridge. 
 Lord ilarmion look'd : — at length his eye 
 Unusual movement might descry 
 
 Amid the shifting lines : 
 The Scottish host dra-mi out appears, 
 FDr, flashing on the hedge of spears 
 
 The eastern sunbeam shines. 
 Their front now deepening, now extending; 
 Their flank inclining, wheeling, bending, 
 Now drawing back, and now descending, 
 The skilful Jlarmion well could know. 
 They watch 'd the motions of some foe. 
 Who traversed on the plain below. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Even so it was. From Flodden ridge 
 
 The Scots beheld the English host 
 
 Leave Bannore-wood, their evening post, 
 
 And heedful watch'd them as thev cross'd 
 The Till by Twisel Bridge.'* 
 
 High sight it is, and haughty, while 
 
 They dive into the deep defile ; 
 
 Beneath the cavem'd cliif they fall, 
 
 Beneath the castle's airy wall. 
 By rock, by oak, by hawthorn-tree, 
 
 Troop after troop are disappearing ; 
 
 Troop after troop their banners rearing. 
 Upon the eastern bank you see. 
 Still pouring down the rocky den, 
 
 Where flows the sullen Till, 
 And rising from the dim-wood glen. 
 Standards on standards, men on men, 
 
 In slow succession still. 
 And, sweeping o'er the Gothic arch. 
 And pressing on, in ceaseless march. 
 
 To gain tiie opposing hill. 
 That mom, to many a trumpet clang, 
 Twisel ! thy rock's deep echo rang ; 
 And man)- a chief of birth and rank, 
 Saint Helen ! at thy fountain drank. 
 Thy hawthorn glade, which now we see 
 In spring-tide bloom so lavishly. 
 Had then from many an axe its doom, 
 To give the marching columns room. 
 
 XX. 
 
 And why stands Scotland idly now 
 Dark Flodden ! on thy airj- brow. 
 Since England gauis the pass the while. 
 And struggles through the deep defile ? 
 What checks the fiery soul of James? 
 Why sits that champion of the dames
 
 222 
 
 Inacti-5 e on his steed, 
 And sees, between him and his land. 
 Between him and Tweed's southern strand, ' 
 
 His host Lord SuiYey lead? 
 What Vails the vain kiiight-eiTant's brand? — 
 0, Douglas, for thy leading wand ! 
 
 Fiei'ce Randolph, for thy speed! 
 O for one hour of Wallace wight, 
 Or well-skiU'd Bruce to rule the fight, 
 And cry — " Saint Andi-ew and our right ! " 
 Another sight had seen that mom. 
 From Fate's dark book a leaf been torn. 
 And P'lodden had been Bannockbom-ne I — 
 The precious hour has pass'd in vain, 
 And England's host has gain'd the plain ; 
 Wheeling their march, and circling still, 
 Aromid the base of Flodden hill. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Ere yet the bands met Mai-mion's eye, 
 Fitz-Eustace shouted loud and high, 
 * Hark ! hark ! my lord, an English drum ! 
 And see ascenduig squadrons come 
 
 Between Tweed's river and the hill, 
 Foot, horse, and cannon : — hap what hap. 
 My basnet to a prentice cap. 
 
 Lord Surrey 's o'er the Till ! — 
 Yet more ! yet more ! — how far array'd 
 They file from out the hawthorn shade, 
 
 Ajid sweep so gallant by ! 
 With aU their banners bravely spread, 
 
 And all their amioiu- flashing high. 
 Saint George might waken from the dead, 
 
 To see fair England's standards fly." — 
 " Stint in thj' prate," quoth Blount, " thou 'dst beot, 
 And listen to oiu" lord's behest." — 
 With kindling brow Lord Marmion said, — 
 " This instant be oiu- band array'd ; 
 The river must be quickly cross'd. 
 That we may join Lord Surrey's host. 
 If fight King James, — as well I trust, 
 That fight he ■will, and fight he must, 
 The Lady Clare behind our lines 
 Shall tarry while the battle joins." 
 
 xxn. 
 
 Himself he swift on horseback threw. 
 Scarce to the Abbot bade adieu ; 
 Far less would listen to his prayer. 
 To leave behind the helpless Clare. 
 Down to the Tweed his band he drew. 
 And mutter'd, as the flood they view, 
 " The pheasant in the falcon's claw, 
 He scarce will j-ield to please a daw : 
 Lord Angus may the Abbot awe,
 
 71. TIIK BATTLR. 223 
 
 So Clare shall bide with me." 
 Then on that dangerous ford, and deep. 
 Where to the Tweed Leat's eddies creep, 
 
 He ventiired desperately : 
 And not a moment will he bide, 
 Till squire, or groom, before him ride ; 
 Headmost of all he stems the tide, 
 
 And stems it gallantly. 
 Eustace held Clare upon her horse, 
 
 ( >ld Hubert led her rein, 
 Stoutly they braved the cuiTent's course, 
 And, though far downward driven per force. 
 
 The southern bank they gain ; 
 Behind them straggling, came to shore, 
 
 As best they might, the train : 
 Eacli o'er his head his yew-bow bore, 
 
 A caution not in vain : 
 Deep need that day, that every string, 
 By wet unharm'd, should sharply ring. 
 xV moment then Lord iSIarmion staid," 
 And breathed his steed, his men an-aj^'d. 
 
 Then forward moved his band. 
 Until, Lord SurreVs rear-guard won. 
 He haulted by a Cross of Stone, 
 That on a hillock standing lone. 
 
 Did all the field command. 
 
 xxin. 
 
 Hence might they see the fidl array 
 
 Of either host, for deadly fray ; '•^ 
 
 Their marshall'd lines stretch'd east and west. 
 
 And fronted north and south. 
 And distant salutation pass'd 
 
 From the loud caimon mouth ; 
 Not in the close successive rattle. 
 That breathes the voice of modern battle, 
 
 But slow and far between. — 
 The hillock gain'd, Lord JIarmion staid : 
 " Here, by this Cross," he gently said, 
 " You well may view the scene. 
 Here shalt thou tarry, lovely Clare : 
 ! think of Marmion in thy prayer ! — 
 Thou wilt not?— well, — no less my care 
 Shall, watchful, for thy weal prepare. — 
 You, Blount and Eustace, are her guard. 
 
 With ten pick'd archers of my train ; 
 With England if the day go hard, 
 
 To Berwick speed amain. — 
 But if we conquer, cruel maid, 
 Jly spoils shall at yom- feet be laid, 
 
 When here we meet again." 
 He waited not for answer there. 
 And would not mark the maid's despiiir.
 
 224 MABMION. CANTO VI 
 
 Nor heed the discontented look 
 From either squire ; but spurr'd amain, 
 And, dashing tlirough the battle plain, 
 
 His way to Surrey took. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 ♦* The good Lord Marmion, by my life ! 
 
 Welcome to danger's hour I — 
 Short greeting serves in time of strife : — 
 
 Thus have I ranged my power : 
 Myself will rule this central host, 
 
 Stout Stanley fronts their right. 
 My sons command the vanward post, 
 
 With Brian Tunstall, stainless knight ; " 
 
 Lord Dacre, with his horseman light, 
 
 Shall be in rear- ward of the fight. 
 And succour those that need it most. 
 
 Now gallant Mamiion, well 1 know, 
 
 Would gladly to the vanguard go ; 
 Edmund, the Admiral, Tunstall there. 
 With thee their charge will blithely share ; 
 There fight thine own retainers too. 
 Beneath De Burg, thy steward true." — 
 " Thanks, noble Siurey ! " Marmion said. 
 Nor farther greeting there he paid ; 
 But parting like a thunderbolt. 
 First in the vanguard made a halt, 
 
 Wliere such a shout there rose 
 Of " Marmion ! Marmion ! " that the cry 
 Up Flodden Mountain shrilling high, 
 
 Startled the Scottish foes. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Blount and Fitz-Eustace rested still 
 With Lady Clare upon the hill ! 
 On which, (for far the day was spent,) 
 The western simbeams now were bent. 
 The cry they heard, its meaning knew, 
 Could plain their distant comrades view : 
 Sadly to Bloimt did Eustace say, 
 " Unworthy ofiice here to stay I 
 v^ No hope of gilded spurs to-day. — 
 ^ But see I look up ! — on Flodden bent 
 The Scottish foe has fired his tent." 
 
 And sudden, as he spoke. 
 From the sharp ridges of tlie hill. 
 All downward to the banks of Till, 
 
 Was wreathed in sable smoke. 
 Volumed and fast, and rolling far. 
 The cloud enveloped Scotland's war, 
 
 As doA\Ti the hill they broke ; 
 Nor martial shout, nor minstrel tone, 
 Announced their march ; their tread alone, 
 At times one warning trumpet blcini, 
 
 At times a stilled hum.
 
 Vr. THE BATTLE. 225 
 
 Told England, from his mountain-throne 
 
 King James did rushing come. — 
 Scarce could they hear, or see their foes, 
 
 Until at weapon-point thev close. — 
 They close, in clouds of smoke and dust, 
 With sword-sway, and with lance's thrust ; 
 
 And such a yell was there. 
 Of sudden and portentous birth, 
 As if men fought iipon the earth. 
 And fiends in upper air ; 
 Oh I life and death were in the shout, 
 Recoil and rally, charge and roat, 
 
 And triumph and despair. 
 Long look'd the anxious squires ; their eye 
 Could in the darkness nought descrj-. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 At length the freshening western blast 
 Aside the shroud of battle cast ; 
 And, first, the ridge of mingled spears 
 Above the brightening cloud appears ; 
 And in the smoke the pennons flew. 
 As in the storm the white sea-mew. 
 Then mark'd they, dashing broad and far. 
 The broken billows of the war. 
 And plumed crests of chieftains brave. 
 Floating like foam upon the wave ; 
 
 But nought distinct they see : 
 Wide raged the battle on the plain ; 
 Spears shook, and falchions flash'd amain ; 
 Fell England's arrow-flight like rain ; 
 Crests rose, and stoop'd, and rose again. 
 
 Wild and disorderly. 
 Amid the scene of tumult, high 
 They saw Lord Marmion's falcon fly: 
 And stainless Tunstall's banner white, 
 And Edmund Howard's lion bright, 
 Still bear them bravely in the fight : 
 
 Although against them come. 
 Of gallant Gordons many a one, 
 And many a stubborn Badenoch-man, 
 And many a rugged Border clan. 
 
 With Huntly, and with Home. 
 
 XXYIL 
 
 Far on the left, unseen the while, 
 Stanley broke Lennox and Argyle; 
 Tliough there the western moiuitaineer 
 Rush'd with bare bosom on the spear, 
 •And flung the feeble targe aside, 
 And with both hands the broadsword plied, 
 'Twas vain : — But Fortune, on the right. 
 With fickle smile, cheer'd Scotland's fight. 
 Then fell that spotless banner white, 
 The Howard's lion fell ;
 
 226 MARMIOX. Ci 
 
 Yet still Lord Marmion's falcon flew 
 With Avavering flight, while fiercer grew 
 
 Around the battle-yell. 
 The Border slogan rent the sky ! 
 A Home ! a Gordon ! was the cry ; 
 Loud were the clanging blows ; 
 Advanced, — forced back,— now low, now high. 
 
 The pennon sunk and rose ; 
 As bends the bark's mast in the gale, 
 When rent are rigging, shrouds, and sail, 
 
 It waver'd 'mid the foes. 
 No longer Bloimt the view could bear : 
 " By Heaven and all its saints I swear, 
 
 I wiU not see it lost ! 
 Fitz-Eustace, yon with Lady Clare 
 May bid your beads, and patter prayer, — 
 
 I gallop to the host." 
 And to the fray he rode amain, 
 Follow'd by all the archer train. 
 The fiery youth, with desperate charge, 
 Made, for a space, an opening large, — 
 
 The rescued banner rose, — 
 But darkly closed the war around. 
 Like pine-tree, rooted from the ground. 
 
 It sunk among the foes. 
 Then Eustace moimted too : — yet staid. 
 As loath to leave the lielpless maid. 
 
 When, fast as shaft can fly. 
 Blood-shot his eyes, his nostrils spread. 
 The loose rein dangling from his head. 
 Housing and saddle bloody red, 
 
 Lord Marmion's steed rush'd by ; 
 And Eustace, maddening at the sight, 
 
 A look and sign to Clara cast, 
 
 To mark he would return in haste. 
 Then plunged into the fight. 
 
 XXVIIL 
 
 Ask me not what the maiden feels, 
 Left in that dreadful hour alone : 
 
 Perchance her reason stoops, or reels ; 
 Perchance a courage, not her own, 
 Braces her mind to desperate tone. — 
 
 The scatter'd van of England wheels ; — 
 She only said, as loud in air 
 The tumult roar'd, "Is Wilton there?" — 
 They fly, or, madden'd by despair. 
 Fight but to die,— "Is Wilton there?" 
 
 With that, straight up the hill there rode 
 Two horsemen drench'd with gore, 
 
 And in their arms, a helpless load, 
 A wounded knight they bore. 
 
 His hand stUl strain'd the broken brand ; 
 
 His arms were smear'd with blood and sand :
 
 VI. THE BATTLE. 227 
 
 Dragg'd from among the horses' feet, 
 With dinted shield, and hehnet beat, 
 The falcon-crest and plumage gone. 
 Can that be haughty Mannion 1 . . . . 
 Young Blount his armour did unlace, 
 And, gazing on his ghastly face. 
 
 Said — " By Saint George, he's gone ! 
 That spear-womid has our master sped. 
 And see the deep cut on his head ! 
 
 Good-night to Mannion." — 
 ' Unnurtui'ed Bloimt ! thy brawling cease : 
 He opes his eyes," said Eustace ; " peace I " 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 When, doff'd his casque, he felt free air, 
 Aroimd 'gan Marmion wildly stare : — 
 ' Where 's Harrj^ Blount ? Fitz-Eustace where 
 Linger ye here, ye hearts of hare ! 
 Redeem my pennon, — charge again ! 
 Cry — ' Marmion to the rescue !' — Vain \ 
 Last of my race, on battle-plain 
 That shout shall ne'er be heard again I — 
 Yet my last thought is England's — fly, 
 
 To Dacre bear my signet-ring : 
 
 Tell him his squadrons up to bring. — 
 Fitz-Eustace, to Lord Surrey hie ; 
 
 Tunstall lies dead upon the tield. 
 
 His life-blood stains the spotless shield : 
 
 Edmund is down : — my life is reft ; 
 
 The Admiral alone is left. 
 
 Let Stanley charge with spur of fire, — 
 
 With Chester charge, and Lancashire, 
 
 Full upon Scotland's central host, 
 
 Or victory and England's lost. — 
 
 Must I bid twice ? — hence, varlets ! fly 1 
 
 Leave Marmion here alone — to die." 
 
 They parted, and alone he lay ; 
 
 Clare drew her from the sight away. 
 Till p.ain rung forth a lowly moan. 
 And half he murmur'd, — " Is there none. 
 
 Of all my halls have nurst. 
 Page, squire, or groom, one cup to bring 
 Of blessed water from the spring, 
 
 To slake my dying thirst I " 
 
 XXX. 
 
 O, woman ! in oiu* hours of ease, 
 Uncertain, coy, and hard to please, 
 And variable as the shade 
 By the light quivering aspen made ; 
 When pain and anguish ring the brow, 
 A ministering angel thou"! — 
 Scarce were the piteous accents said. 
 When, with the Baron's casque, the maid 
 To the nigh streimilet ran :
 
 228 MARMIOX. CANTO VI, 
 
 Forgot -were hatred, wrongs, and fears — 
 The plaintive voice alone she hears. 
 
 Sees but the dying man. 
 She stoop'd her by the runnel's side, 
 
 But in abhorrence backward drew ; 
 For, oozing from the mountain's side, 
 WTiere raged the war, a dark-red tide 
 
 Was curdling in the streamlet blue. 
 Where shall she turn ? — behold her mark 
 
 A little fountain cell, 
 ^Miere water, clear as diamond-spark. 
 
 In a stone basin fell. 
 Above, some half- worn letters say, 
 
 JBrinft . toearg . pilgrim . irrinfe . an& . prag 
 jFor . ttc . feiutr . soul . of . Ssfiil . Orag • 
 fflSaijo . fiuilt . tft is . cross . antr . toell . 
 
 She fill'd the helm, and back she hied, 
 And with surprise and joy espied 
 
 A Monk supportmg Marmion's head — 
 A pious man, whom duty brought 
 To dubious verge of battle fought, 
 
 To shrieve the dying, bless the dead. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Deep drank Lord Marmion of the wave. 
 And, as she stoop'd his brow to lave — 
 " Is it the hand of Clare," he said, 
 "Or injured Constance, bathes my head?" 
 
 Then, as remembrance rose, — 
 " Speak not to me of shrift or prayer ! 
 
 I must redress her woes. 
 Short space, few words, are mine to spare ; 
 Forgive and listen, gentle Clare ! " — 
 
 " Alas ! " she said, " the while, — 
 0, think of your immortal weal ! 
 In vain for Constance is your zeal ; 
 
 She died at Holy Isle." — 
 
 Lord Marmion started from the ground. 
 As light as if he felt no wound ; 
 Though in the action burst the tide, 
 In toiTents, from his wounded side. 
 " Then it was truth," he said—" I knew 
 That the dark presage must be true.— 
 I would the Fiend, to whom belongs 
 The vengeance due to all her wrongs, 
 
 Would spare me but a day ! 
 For wasting fire, and dying groan. 
 And priests slain on the altar stone. 
 
 Might bribe him for delay. 
 It may not be ! — this dizzy trance — 
 Curse on yon base marauder's lance. 
 And doubly cursed my failing brand 1 
 A sinful heart makes "feeble hand." 
 Then, fainting, do^^^l on earth he sunk. 
 Supported by the trembling Monk
 
 I VI. THE BATTLE. 229 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 With fruitless labour, Clara bound, 
 
 And strove to stanch the gushing wound : 
 
 The Monk, with unavailing cares, 
 
 Exhausted all the Church's prayers. 
 
 Ever, he said, that, close and near, 
 
 A lady's voice was in his ear, 
 
 And that the priest he could not hear 
 
 For that she ever sung, 
 " In the lost battle, borne down by the flying, 
 Where mingles war's rattle with groans of the dying!'* 
 
 So the notes rung ; — 
 " Avoid thee. Fiend ! — with cruel hand. 
 Shake not the dying sinner's sand ! — 
 look, my son, upon yon sign 
 Of the Redeemer's grace divine ; 
 
 O think on faith and bliss ! — 
 By many a death-bed I have been, 
 AJad many a sinner's parting seen, 
 
 But never aught like this." — 
 The war, that for a space did fail, 
 Now trebly thundering swell'd the gale. 
 
 And — Stanley! was the cry; — 
 A light on Marmion's visage spread, 
 
 And fired his glazing eye : 
 With djTng hand, above his head. 
 He shook the fragment of his blade. 
 
 And shouted " Victory ! — 
 Charge, Chester, charge ! On, Stanley, on I " 
 Were the last words of Marmion. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 By this, though deep the evening fell, 
 StiU rose the battle's deadly swell. 
 For still the Scots, around their King, 
 Unbroken, fought in desperate ring. 
 Where's now their ^-ictor vanward wing, 
 
 "Where Huntly, and where Home ? — 
 for a blast of that dread horn. 
 On Fontarabian echoes borne, 
 
 That to King Charles did come, 
 When Rowland brave, and Olivier, 
 And everj' paladin and peer. 
 
 On Roncesvalles died ! 
 Such blast might warn them, not in vain. 
 To quit the plimder of the slain, 
 And turn the doubtful day agahi. 
 
 While j-et on Flodden side. 
 Afar, the Royal Standard tlies, 
 And round it toils, and bleeds, and dies, 
 
 Our Caledonian pride ! 
 In vain the wish — for far away, 
 AVhile spoil and havoc mark their way, 
 Near Sybil's Cross the plunderers stray.— 
 " Lady," cried the Monk, " away 1"
 
 230 
 
 And placed her on her steed, 
 And led her to the chapel fair, 
 
 Of Tilmouth upon Tweed. 
 There all the night they spent in prayer. 
 And at the dawn of morning, there 
 She met her kinsman, Lord fitz-Clare. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 But as they left the dark'ning heath, 
 More desperate grew the strife of death. 
 The English shafts in volleys hail'd. 
 In headlong charge their horse assail'd ; 
 Front, flank, and rear, the squadrons sweep 
 To break the Scottish circle deep. 
 
 That fought around their King. 
 But yet, though thick the shafts as snow, 
 Though charging knights like whirlwinds go. 
 Though bill-men ply the ghastly blow, 
 
 Unbroken was the ring ; 
 The stubborn spear-men still made good 
 Their dark impenetrable wood, 
 Each stepping where his comrade stood. 
 
 The instant that he fell. 
 No thought was there of dastard flight; 
 Link'd in the serried phalanx tight. 
 Groom fought like noble, squire like knight. 
 
 As fearlessly and weU ; 
 Till utter darkness closed her wing 
 O'er their thin host and wounded King. 
 Then skilful Surrey's sage commands 
 Led back from strife his shatter'd bands ; 
 
 And from the charge they drew. 
 As mountain-waves, from wasted lands. 
 
 Sweep back to ocean blue. 
 Then did their loss his foemen know ; 
 Their King, their Lords, their mightiest low. 
 They melted from the field, as snow. 
 When streams are swoln and south winds blow 
 
 Dissolves in silent dew. 
 Tweed's echoes heard the ceaseless plash. 
 
 While many a broken band, 
 Disorder'd, through her currents dash, 
 
 To gain the Scottish land ; 
 To town and tower, to down and dale. 
 To tell red Flodden's dismal tale, 
 And raise the universal wail. 
 Tradition, legend, tune, and song. 
 Shall many an age that wail prolong : 
 Still from the sire the son shall hear 
 Of the stem strife, and carnage drear, 
 
 Of Flodden's fatal field. 
 Where shiver'd was fair Scotland's spear. 
 
 And broken was her shield !
 
 AXTO TI. THE BATTLE. 231 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Day dawns upon the mountain's side : — 
 There, Scotland ! lay thy bravest pride, 
 Chiefe, knights, and nobles, many a one : 
 The sad survivors aU are gone. — 
 View not that corpse mistrustfully, 
 Defaced and mangled though it be ; 
 Nor to yon Border castle high, 
 Look northward with upbraiding eye ; 
 
 Nor cherish hope in vain, 
 Tliat, journeying far on foreign strand. 
 The Royal Pilgrim to his land 
 
 May yet return again. 
 He saw the wreck his rashness wrought; 
 Reckless of life, he desperate fought. 
 
 And fell on Flodden plain : 
 And well in death his trusty brand. 
 Firm clench'd within his manly hand, 
 sy Beseem'd the Monarch slain.'* 
 V\ But, O ! how changed since yon blithe night . — 
 /Vr^ Gladly I turn me from the sight, 
 
 Unto my tale again. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Short is my tale : — Fitz-Eustace' care 
 
 A pierced and mangled body bare 
 
 To moated Lichfield's lofty pile ; 
 
 And there, beneath the southern aisle, 
 
 A tomb, with Gothic sculpture fair. 
 
 Did long Lord Mamiion's image bear, 
 
 (Now vainly for its sight you look ; 
 
 'Twas levell'd M-hen fanatic Brook 
 
 The fair cathedi-al storm'd and took ; '* 
 
 But, thanks to Heaven and good Saint Chad ! 
 
 A guerdon meet the spoiler had.) 
 
 There erst was martial Marmion found. 
 
 His feet upon a couchant hound, 
 
 His hands to heaven upraised ; 
 And aU around, on scutcheon rich. 
 And tablet can-ed, and fretted niche, 
 
 His amis and feats were blazed. 
 And yet, though aU was carved so fair. 
 And priest for Marmion breathed the prayer, 
 The last Lord Marmion lay not there. 
 From Ettrick woods, a peasant swain 
 FoUow'd his lord to Flodden plain, — 
 One of those flowers whom plaintive lay 
 In Scotland mourns as " wede away : " 
 Sore woimded, Sybil's Cross he spied. 
 And dragg'd him to its foot, and died. 
 Close by the noble Marmion's side. 
 The spoOers stripp'd and gash'd the slain, 
 And thus their corpses were mista'eu ; 
 And thus, iu the proud Baron's tomb. 
 The lowly woodsman took the room.
 
 232 
 
 XXXVII. 
 Less easy task it were, to show 
 Lord Marmion's uaniBless grave, and low. 
 
 They dug his grave e'en where he lay, 
 But every mark is gone ; 
 
 Time's wasting hand has done away 
 
 The simple Cross of SybU Gray, 
 And broke her font of stone : 
 But yet out from the little hill 
 Oozes the slender springlet still. 
 
 Oft halts the stranger there, 
 For thence may best his curious eye 
 The memorable field descry ; 
 
 And shepherd boys repair 
 To seek the water-flag and rush. 
 And rest them by the hazel bush, 
 
 And plait their garlands fair ; 
 Nor dream they sit upon the grave 
 That holds the bones of Mamiion brave. — 
 When thou shalt iind the little hill, 
 With thy heart commune, and be still. 
 If ever, in temptation strong, 
 Thou left'st the right path for the wrong ; 
 If every deWous step, thus trod, 
 Still led thee further from the road ; 
 Dread thou to speak presumptuous doom 
 On noble Marmion's lowly tomb ; 
 But say, " He died a gallant knight. 
 With sword in hand, for England's right." 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 I do not rhjTne to that dull elf, 
 Who cannot image to himself. 
 That all through Flodden's dismal night, 
 Wilton was foremost in the fight ; 
 That, when brave Surrey's steed was slain, 
 'T was Wilton mounted him again ; 
 'Twas Wilton's brand that deepest hew'd. 
 Amid the spearman's stubborn wood : 
 Unnamed by HoUinshed or Hall, 
 He was the living soul of all ; 
 That, after fight, his faith made plain. 
 He won his rank and lands again ; 
 And charged his old paternal shield 
 With bearings won on Flodden Field. 
 Nor sing I to that simple maid, 
 To whom it must in tenns be said. 
 That King and kinsmen did agree 
 To bless fair Clara's constancy ; 
 Who cannot, unless I relate. 
 Paint to her mind the bridal's state ; 
 That Wolsey's voice the blessing spoke. 
 More, Sands, and Denny, pass'd the joke ; 
 That bluff King Hal the curtain drew, 
 And Catherine's hand the stocking threw ;
 
 THE BATTLE. 
 
 233 
 
 And afterwards, for many a day, 
 That it was held enough to say, 
 In blessing to a wedded pair, 
 Love they like Wilton and like Clare > 
 
 TO THE READER. 
 
 Why then a final note prolong, 
 
 Ur lengthen out a closing song, 
 
 Unless to bid the gentles speed, 
 
 Wl\o long have listed to my rede ? 
 
 To Statesmen grave, if such may deign 
 
 To read the Minstrel's idle strain, 
 
 Sound head, clean hand, and piercing wit, 
 
 And patriotic heart — as Pitt ! 
 
 A garland for the hero's crest, 
 
 And t-\vined by her he loves the best ; 
 
 To every lovely lady bright, 
 
 What can I wish 1)ut faitlifixl knight ? 
 
 To every faithfid lover too, 
 
 What can I wish but lady true ? 
 
 And knowledge to the studious sage; 
 
 And pillow to the head of age. 
 
 To thee, dear school-boy, whom my lay 
 
 Has cheated of thy hour of play. 
 
 Light task, and merry holiday ! 
 
 To all, to each, a fair good-riight. 
 
 And pleasing dreams, and slumbers light I
 
 THE 
 
 LADY OF THE LAKE 
 
 A POEM. 
 IX SIX CANTOS. 
 
 TO THE 
 
 MOST NOBLE 
 
 JOHN" JAMES 
 MARQUIS OF ABERCORX, 
 
 ETC. ETC. ETC. 
 THIS 
 
 POEM IS INSCEIBED 
 
 BY 
 
 THE AUTHOR
 
 IXTEODUCIION 
 
 TO THE 
 
 LADY OF THE LAKE. 
 
 EDITION 1830. 
 
 After the success of " ^Marmion," I felt inclined to exclaim with 
 Ulysses in the Odyssey " — 
 
 OvTi; fill "hn aiiXoi aaart; iKTiriXia'Tcci. 
 
 Huv avTi trx-oToy aX'/.ov. „, . ■, . 
 
 Odvs. X-i--^- 
 
 '•One venturous game my hand has won to-day — 
 Another, gallants, yet remains to play." 
 
 The ancient manners, the habits and customs of the aboriginal 
 race by whom the Highlands of Scotland were inhabited, had 
 always appeared to me peculiarly adapted to poetry. The change 
 in their manners, too, had taken place almost within my own 
 time, or at least I had learned many particulars concerning the 
 ancient state of the Highlands from the old men of the last genera- 
 tion. I had always thought the old Scottish Gael highly adapted 
 for poetical composition. The feuds, and political dissensions, 
 which, half a century earlier, would have rendered the richer and 
 wealthier part of the kingdom indisposed to coimtenance a poem, 
 the scene of which was laid in the Higlilands, were now sunk in 
 the generous compassion ^^■hich the English, more than any other 
 nation, feel for the misfortunes of an honourable foe. The Poems 
 of Ossian had, by their popularity, sufliciently sho-mi, that if -ivrit- 
 ings on Highland subjects were qualided to interest the reader, 
 mere national prejudices were, in the present day, very unlikely 
 to interfere with their success. 
 
 I had also read a great deal, seen much, and heard more, of that 
 romantic country, where I was in the habit of spending some time
 
 238 INTEODTTCTION TO THE 
 
 every autumn ; and the scenery of Loch Katrine was connected 
 with the recollection of many a dear friend and merry expedition 
 of former daj'S. This poem, the action of which lay among scenes 
 so beautiful, and so deeply imprinted on my recollection, was a 
 labour of love, and it was no less so to recall the manners and 
 incidents introduced. The frequent custom of James IV., and 
 particularly of James V., to walk through their kingdom in dis- 
 giuse, afforded me the hint of an incident, which never fails to be 
 interesting, if managed with the slightest address or dexterity, 
 
 I may now confess, however, that the employment, though at- 
 tended with great pleasm'e, was not without its doubts and 
 anxieties. A lady, to whom I was nearly related, and with whom 
 I lived, during her whole life, on the most brotherly terms of 
 affection, was residing with me at the tune when the work was in 
 progress, and used to ask me, what I could possibly do to rise so 
 early in the morning, (that happening to be the most convenient 
 time to me for composition.) At last I told her the subject of 
 my meditations ; and I can never forget the anxiety and affection 
 expressed in her reply. "Do not be so rash," she said, "my 
 dearest cousin. You are already popular — more so, perhaps, than 
 you yourself wiU believe, or than even I, or other partial friends, 
 can fairly allow to your merit. You stand high — do not rashly 
 attempt to climb higher, and incur the risk of a fall ; for, depend 
 upon it, a favourite wU not be permitted even to stumble wiih 
 impunity." I replied to this affectionate expostulation in the word,s 
 of Montrose — 
 
 " He either fears liis fate too much, 
 
 Or his deserts are small, 
 Who dares not put it to the touch 
 
 To gain or lose it all." 
 
 " If I fail," I said, for the dialogue is strong in my recollection, 
 " it is a sign that I ought never to have succeeded, and I wiU 
 write prose for life : you shall see no change m mj' temper, nor 
 win I eat a single meal the worse. But if I succeed, 
 
 ' TJp with the honnie blue bonnet 
 The diik, and the feather, and a' ' '" 
 
 Afterwards I showed my affectionate and anxious critic the 
 first canto of the poem, which reconciled her to my imprudence. 
 Nevertheless, although I answered thus confidently, with the 
 obstinacy often said to be proper to those who bear my siuname, I 
 acloiowledge that my confidence was considerably shaken by the 
 warning of her excellent taste and unbiassed friendsliip. Nor 
 was I much comforted by her retractation of the unfavourable 
 judgment, when I recollected how likely a natural partiality was 
 to affect that change of opinion. In such cases, affection rises 
 like a light on the canvass, improves any favourable tints which 
 it formerly exhibited, and throws its defects into the shade, 
 
 I remember that about the same time a friend started in to 
 •' heeze up my hope," like the " sportsman with his cutty-gun," 
 in the old song. He was bred a farmer, but a man of powerful 
 understanding, natural good taste, and warm poetical feelings 
 perfectly competent to supply the wants of an imperfect or irra-
 
 LAPT OF THE LAKE. 239 
 
 gular education. He Tvas a passionate admirer of field-sports, 
 which we often pursued together. 
 
 As this friend happened to dine with me at Ashestiel one day, 
 I took the opportunity of reading to him the first canto of " The 
 Lady of the Lake," in order to ascertain the effect the poem was 
 likely to produce upon a person who was but too favourable a 
 representative of readers at large. It is, of course, to be supposed, 
 that I determined rather to guide my opinion by what my friend 
 might appear to feel, than by what he might think fit to say. His 
 reception of my recitation, or prelection, was rather singular. He 
 placed his hand across his brow, and listened with great attention 
 through the whole account of the stag-hunt, till the dogs threw 
 themselves into the lake to follow their master, who embarks with 
 Ellen Douglas. He then started up with a sudden exclamation, 
 struck his hand on the table, and declared, in a voice of censm-e 
 calculated for the occasion, that the dogs must have been totally 
 rained by bemg permitted to take the water after such a severe 
 chase. I own I was much encouraged by the species of reverie 
 which had possessed so zealous a follower of the sports of the 
 ancient Nimrod, who had been completely surprised out of all 
 doubts of the reality of the tale. Another of his remarks gave me 
 less pleasure. He detected the identity of the King with the 
 wandering knight, Fitz-James, when he "winds his bugle to sum- 
 mon his attendants. He was probably thinking of the lively, 
 but somewhat licentious, old ballad, in which the denouement of 
 a royal intrigue takes place as follows : — 
 
 " He took a bugle frae his side, 
 He blew both loud and shiiU, 
 Ajid four-and-twenty belted knights 
 
 Came skipping ower the hill ; 
 Then he took out a little knife, 
 
 Let a' his duddies fa', 
 And he was the brawest gentleman 
 That was amang them a'. 
 
 And we'll go no more a-roving," kc." 
 
 This discovery, as Mr Pepys says of the rent in his camlet 
 cloak, was but a trifle, yet it troubled me ; and I was at a good 
 deal of pains to efface any marks by which T thought my secret 
 could be traced before the conclusion, when I relied on it viith. the 
 same hope of producing eftect, with which the Irish post-boy is 
 said to reserve a " trot for the avenue." 
 
 I took uncommon pains to verifj- the accuracy of the local cir- 
 cumstances of this story. I recollect, in particular, that to ascer- 
 tain whether I was telling a probable tale, I went into Perthshire, 
 to see whether King James could actually have ridden from the 
 banks of Loch Yennachar to Stirling Castle -n-ithin the time sup- 
 posed in the Poem, and had the pleasure to satisfy myself that it 
 was quite practicable. 
 
 After a considerable delay, " The Lady of the Lake " appeared 
 in May, 1810 : and its success was certainly so extraordinary as 
 to induce me for the moment to conclude that I had at last fixed 
 a nail in the proverbially inconstant wheel of Fortime, whose sta- 
 
 » The Jolly 'ReggaT, attributed to King James V.— Herd's Collection, 1776.
 
 240 rXTRODUCTION TO THE 
 
 bilitv in behalf of an individual who had so boldly co\\rted hci 
 favours for three successive times had not as yet been shaken. I 
 had attained, perhaps, that degree of public reputation at which pru- 
 dence, or certainly timidity, would have made a halt, and discon- 
 tinued efforts by which I was far more likely to diminish my fame 
 than to increase it. But, as the celebrated John Wilkes is said to 
 have explained to his late ilajesty, that he himself, amid his full tide 
 of popularity, was never a Wilkite, so I can, with honest truth, ex- 
 culpate myseK from ha^-ing been at any time a partisan of my own 
 poetry, even when it was in the highest fashion with the million. 
 It must not be supposed that I was either so ungrateful, or so 
 superabundantly candid, as to despise or scorn the value of those 
 whose voice had elevated me so much higher than my own opinion 
 told me I deserved. I felt, on the contrary, the more grateful to 
 the public, as receiving that from partiality to me, which I could 
 not have claimed from merit ; and I endeavoured to deserve the 
 partiality, by continuing such exertions as I was cafpable of for 
 their amusement. 
 
 It may be that I did not, in tliis continued course of scribbling, 
 consult either the interest of the public or my own. But the for- 
 mer had effectual means of defending themselves, and could, by 
 their coldness, sufficiently check any approach to intrusion ; and 
 for myself, I had now for several years dedicated my hours so 
 much to literary labour, that I should have felt difficulty in em- 
 ploying myself otherwise; and so, like Dogberry, I generously 
 bestowed all my tediousness on the public, comforting myself with 
 the reflection, that if posterity should think me undeserving of the 
 favour with which I was regarded by my contemporaries, " they 
 could not but say I had the cro'Nvn," and had enjoyed for a time 
 that popularity which is so much coveted. 
 
 I conceived, however, that I held the distinguished situation 
 I had obtained, however unworthily, rather like the champion of 
 pugilism," on the condition of being always ready to show proofs 
 of my skill, than in the manner of the champion of chivaliy, who 
 performs his duties only on rare and solemn occasions. I was in 
 any case conscious that I could not long hold a situation which 
 the caprice, rather than the judgment, of the public, had bestowed 
 upon me, and prefeiTed being deprived of my precedence by some 
 more worthy rival, to sinking into contempt for my indolence, 
 and losing my reputation by what Scottish lawyers call the negative 
 prescrqMon. Accordingly, those who choose to look at the Intro- 
 duction to Eokeby, in the present edition wiU be able to trace 
 the steps by which I declined as a poet to figure as a novelist ; 
 as the ballad says. Queen Eleanor sunk at Charing-Cross to rise 
 again at Queenhithe. 
 
 It only remains for me to say, that, during my short pre- 
 eminence of popidarity, I faithfully observed the rules of modera- 
 tion which I had resolved to follow before I began my course as 
 a man of letters. If a man is determined to make a noise in the 
 
 " " In twice five years the ' greatest living poet,' 
 Like to tlie champion in the fisty ring, 
 Is call'd on to support his claim, or show it. 
 Although 'tis an imaginary thing," &c. 
 
 Don Juan, cauto xi. St. 55
 
 LADY OF THE LAKE. 
 
 241 
 
 world, he is as sure to encounter abuse and ridicule, as he -who 
 gallops furiously through a village must reckon on being followed 
 by the curs in full cry. Experienced persons know, that in 
 stretching to flog the latter, the rider is very apt to catch a bad 
 fall; nor is an attempt to chastise a malignant critic attended 
 with less danger to tlie author. On this principle, I let parody, 
 burlesque, and squibs, find their own level ; and while the latter 
 hissed most fiercely, I was cautious never to catch them up, as 
 schoolboys do, to throw them back against the naughty boy who 
 fired them oflT, wisely remembering that they are, in such cases 
 apt to explode in the handling. Let me add, that my reign" 
 (since BjTon has so called it) was marked by some instances of 
 good-nature as well as patience. I never refused a literary person 
 of merit such services in smoothing his way to the public as were in 
 my poAver : and I had the advantage, rather an uncommon one 
 with our irritable race, to enjoy general favour, without incurring 
 permanent ill--wTll, so far as is known to me, among any of my 
 contemporaries. 
 
 W. S. 
 Abbotsfgrd, April 1830. 
 
 " '_" Sir Walter reigned before me," &c. 
 
 Don Juan, canlo xi. St. 37.]
 
 aegument. 
 
 The Scene of the following Poem is laid chiefy in the Vicinift) 
 of Loch Katrine, in the Western Highlands of Perthshire. The 
 time of Action inchtdes Six Days, and the transactions of each 
 Day ocetqiy a Canto.
 
 THE 
 
 LADY OF THE LAKE 
 
 CANTO FIKST. 
 
 BUrp of the North I that mouldering long hast hung 
 
 On the witch-elm that shades Saint Fillan's spring, 
 And down the fitful breeze thy nmnbers flung, 
 
 Till envious ivy did around thee cling, 
 Mufiling with verdant ringlet every string, — 
 
 Minstrel Harp, still must thine accents sleep ? 
 Mid rustling leaves and fountains murmuring, 
 
 Still must thy sweeter sounds their silence keep, 
 Nor bid a warrior smile, nor teach a maid to weep ? 
 
 Not thus, in ancient days of Caledon, 
 
 "Was thy voice mute amid the festal crowd, 
 ^\^len lay of hopeless love, or glory won. 
 
 Aroused the fearful, or subdued the proud. 
 At each according pause, was heard aloud 
 
 Thine ardent symphony sublime and high ! 
 Fair dames and crested chiefs attention bow'd ; 
 
 For still the burden of thy minstrelsy 
 Was Knighthood's dauntless deed, and Beauty's matchless 
 eye. 
 
 wake once more ! how rude soe'er the hand 
 
 That ventures o'er thy magic maze to stray ; 
 wake once more I though scarce my skQl command 
 
 Some feeble echoing of thine earlier lay : 
 Though harsh and faint, and soon to die away, 
 
 And all unworthy of thy nobler strain. 
 Yet if one heart throb higher at its sway, 
 
 The wizard note has not been touch'd in vain. 
 Then silent be no more! Enchantress, wake again 1
 
 244 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 
 
 I. 
 
 The stag at eve had drunk his fill, 
 
 Where danced the moon on Monan's rill, 
 
 And deep his midnight lair had made 
 
 In lone Glenartney's hazel shade ; 
 
 But, when the sun his beacon red 
 
 Had kindled on Benvoirlich'shead, 
 
 The deep-mouth'd bloodhound's heavy bay 
 
 Resounded up the rocky way, 
 
 And faint, from farther distance borne. 
 
 Were heard the clanging hoof and horn. 
 
 II. 
 
 As Chief, who hears his warder call, 
 " To arms ! the foemen storm the wall," 
 The antler'd monarch of the waste 
 Sprung from his heathery couch in haste. 
 But, ere his fleet career he took, 
 The dew-drops from his flanks he shook ; 
 Like crested leader proud and high, 
 Toss'd his beam'd frontlet to the sky ; 
 A moment gazed adown the dale, 
 A moment snuff'd the tainted gale, 
 A moment listen'd to the cry. 
 That thicken'd as the chase drew nigh ; 
 Then, as the headmost foes appear'd, 
 With one brave boimd the copse he clear'!. 
 And, stretching forward free and far. 
 Sought the wild-heaths of Uam-Var. 
 
 III. 
 
 Yell'd on the view the opening pack ; 
 Hock, glen, and cavern, paid them back ; 
 To many a mingled soimd at once 
 The awaken'd mountain gave response. 
 A hundred dogs bay'd deep and strong, 
 Clatter'd a hundred steeds along. 
 Their peal the merry horns nmg out, 
 A hundred voices join'd the shout; 
 With hark and whoop and wild halloo, 
 No rest Benvoirlich's echoes knew. 
 Far from the timiult fled the roe, 
 Close in her covert cower'd the doe ; 
 The falcon, from her cairn on high. 
 Cast on the rout a wondering eye. 
 Till far beyond her piercing ken 
 The hurricane had swept the glen. 
 Faint, and more faint, its failing din 
 Eeturn'd from cavern, cliff, and linn. 
 And sOence settled, wide and still. 
 On the lone wood and mighty hill, 
 
 rv. 
 
 Less loud the sounds of silvan war 
 Disturb'd the heights of Uam-Var,
 
 :;anto r. the chase. 245 
 
 And roused the cavern, ■where, 'tis told, 
 A giant made his den of old ; ^ 
 For ere that steep ascent was won. 
 High in his pathway hung the sim, 
 And many a gallant, stay'd perforce. 
 Was fain to breathe his faltering horse. 
 And of the trackers of the deer, 
 Scarce half the lessening pack was near ; 
 So shrewdly on the mountain side. 
 Had the bold burst their mettle tried. 
 
 V. 
 
 The noWc stag was pausing now 
 Upon the mountain's southern brow, 
 Where broad extended, far beneath, 
 The varied realms of fair IMenteith. 
 With anxious eye he wander'd o'er 
 INIoimtain and meadow, moss and moor. 
 And ponder'd refuge from his toil, 
 By far Lochard or Aberfoyle. 
 But nearer was the copsewood grey, 
 That waved and wept on Loch-Achray, 
 And mingled with the pine-trees blue 
 On the bold cliflFs of Benvenue. 
 Fresh vigour with the hope retum'd, 
 With flying foot the heath he spuni'd, 
 Held westward with imwearied race, 
 And left behind the panting chase. 
 
 VI. 
 
 'T were long to tell what steeds gave o'er. 
 As swept the hunt through Cambus-more ; 
 What reins were tighten'd in despair, 
 When rose Benledi's ridge in air ; 
 "Who flagg'd upon Bochastle's heath. 
 Who shunn'd to stem the flooded Teith, — 
 For twice that day, from shore to shore, 
 The gallant stag swam stoutly o'er. 
 Few were the stragglers, following far. 
 That reach'd the lake of Vennachar ; 
 And when the Brigg of Turk was won, 
 The headmost horseman rode alone. 
 
 vn. 
 
 Alone, but with unbated zeal. 
 That horseman plied the scourge and steel ; 
 For jaded now, and spent with toil, 
 Emboss'd with foam, and dark with soil, 
 "While every gasp with sobs he drew. 
 The labouring stag strain'd full in view. 
 Two dogs of black Saint Hubert's breed, 
 Unmatch'd for courage, breath, and speed ' 
 
 « See Note 1 of the "Notes to the Lady or the Lake" in the 
 Appendix. The ficrures of reference throughout the poem relate to further 
 notes iu the Appendix.
 
 246 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 
 
 Fast on his flying traces came. 
 
 And all but won that desperate game ; 
 
 For, scarce a spear's length from his haimch. 
 
 Vindictive toil'd the bloodhounds stanch ; 
 
 Nor nearer might the dogs attain. 
 
 Nor farther might the quarry strain. 
 
 Thus up the margin of the lake, 
 
 Between the precipice and brake, 
 
 O'er stock and rock their race they take. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The Hunter mark'd that mountain high, 
 The lone lake's western boundary, 
 And deem'd the stag must turn to bay, 
 Where that huge rampart barr'd the way ; 
 Already glorying in the prize, 
 Measured his antlers with his eyes ; 
 For the death-wound and death-halloo, 
 Muster'd his breath, his whmyard drew ;— ' 
 But thundering as he came prepai'ed, 
 With ready arm and weapon bared. 
 The wily quarry shunn'd the shock, 
 And tum'd him from the opposing rock ; 
 ITien, dashing down a darksome glen, 
 Soon lost to hound and Hunter's ken, 
 In the deep Trosachs' wildest nook 
 His solitary refuge took. 
 There, while close couch' d, the thicket shpd 
 Cold dews and wild-flowers on his head, 
 He heard the baffled dogs in vain 
 Rave through the hollow pass amain. 
 Chiding the rocks that yell'd again. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Close on the hounds the Hunter came, 
 To cheer them on the vanish 'd game; 
 But, stiunbling in the rugged deU, 
 The gallant horse exhausted fell. 
 The impatient rider strove in vain 
 To rouse him with the spur and rein. 
 For the good steed, his labours o'er, 
 Stretch'd his stiff limbs, to rise no more ; 
 Then, touch'd with pity and remorse. 
 He sorrow'd o'er the expiring horse. 
 " I little thought, when fij-st thy rein 
 I slack'd upon the banks of Seine, 
 That Highland eagle e'er should feed 
 On thy fleet limbs, my matchless steed 1 
 Woe worth the chase, woe worth the day, 
 That costs thy life, my gallant grey !" 
 
 X. 
 
 Then .through the deU his horn resounds, 
 From vain pursuit to call the hounds.
 
 I. THE CHASE. 24< 
 
 Back limp'd, w-ith slow and crippled pace, 
 The sulky leaders of the chase ; 
 Close to theur master's side they press'o. 
 With drooping tail and humbled crest; 
 But still the dingle's hollow throat 
 Prolong'd the swelling bugle-note. 
 The owlets started from their dream. 
 The eagles answer'd with their scream. 
 Bound and aroimd the sounds were cast. 
 Till echo seem'd an answering blast ; 
 And on the Hunter hied his way, 
 To join some comrades of the day ; 
 Yet often paused, so strange the road. 
 So wondrous were the scenes it show'd. 
 
 XI. 
 
 The western waves of ebbing day 
 Eoll'd o'er the glen their level way ; 
 Each purple peak, each flinty spire. 
 Was bathed in floods of living tire. 
 But not a setting beam could glow 
 Within the dark ravines below, 
 Where twined the path in shadow hid. 
 Round many a rocky pyramid. 
 Shooting abruptly from the dell 
 Its thunder-splinter'd pinnacle ; 
 Roimd many an insulated mass. 
 The native bulwarks of the pass, 
 Huge as the tower which builders vain 
 Presumptuous piled on Shinar's plain. 
 The rocky summits, split and rent, 
 Form'd turret, dome, or battlement. 
 Or seem'd fantastically set 
 With cupola or minaret, 
 Wild crests as pagod ever deck'd. 
 Or mosque of Eastern architect. 
 Nor were these earth-born castles bare, 
 Nor lack'd they many a banner fair ; 
 For, from their shiver'd brows display'd, 
 Far o'er the unfathomable glade. 
 All twinkling with the dewdrops sheen, 
 The briar-rose fell in streamers green, 
 And creeping shrubs, of thousand dyes. 
 Waved in the west-wind's summer sighs. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Boon nature scatter'd, free and wild, 
 Each plant or flower, the mountain's child. 
 Here eglantine embalm'd the air, 
 Hawthorn and hazel mingled there ; 
 The primrose pale and violet flower, 
 Foimd in each clitf a narrow bower ; 
 Fox-glove and night-shade, side by side. 
 Emblems of punishment and pride.
 
 248 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. CANTO I 
 
 Group'd their dark hues with every stain 
 The weather-heaten crags retain, 
 With boughs that quaked at every breath. 
 Grey birch and aspen wept beneath ; 
 Aloft, the ash and warrior oak 
 Cast anchor in the rifted rock ; 
 And, higher yet, the pine-tree hung 
 His shatter'd trunk, and frequent flung, 
 Where seem'd the cliffs to meet on high, 
 His boughs athwart the narrow'd sky. 
 Highest of all, where white peaks glanced. 
 Where glist'ning streamers waved and danced, 
 The wanderer's eye could barely view 
 The summer heaven's delicious blue ; 
 So wondrous wild, the whole might seem 
 The scenery of a fairy dream. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Onward, amid the copse 'gan peep 
 A narrow inlet, still and deep. 
 Affording scarce such breadth of brim 
 As served the wild duck's brood to swim. 
 , Lost for a space, through thickets veering. 
 But broader when again appearing, 
 TaU rocks and tufted knolls their face 
 Could on the dark-blue mirror trace ; 
 And farther as the Hunter stray'd, 
 StiU broader sweep its channels made. 
 The shaggy movmds no longer stood, 
 Emerging from entangled wood. 
 But, wave-encircled, seem'd to float, 
 Like castle girdled with its moat ; 
 Yet broader floods extending still 
 Divide them from their parent hill, 
 Till each, retiring, claims to be 
 An islet in an inland sea, 
 
 XIV. 
 
 And now, to issue from the glen. 
 
 No pathway meets the wanderers ken, 
 
 Unless he climb, with footing nice, 
 
 A far projecting precipice.* 
 
 The broom's tough roots his ladder made. 
 
 The hazel saplings lent their aid ; 
 
 And thus an airy point he won, 
 
 "\ATiere, gleaming with the setting sun. 
 
 One bumish'd sheet of living gold, 
 
 Loch Katrine lay beneath him roll'd," 
 
 In aU her length far winding lay, 
 
 With promontory, creek, and bay. 
 
 And islands that, empurpled bright. 
 
 Floated amid the livelier light, 
 o Loch-Ketturin is the Celtic pronunciation. In his notes to The Fait 
 Maid of Perth, the author has signified his belief that the lake was namod 
 after the Caiierins, or wild robbers, who haunted its shores
 
 CANTO I. THE CHASE. 249 
 
 And mountains, that like giants stand, 
 
 To sentinel enchanted land. 
 
 High on the south, huge Benvenue " 
 
 Down on the lake in masses threw 
 
 Crags, knoUs, and mounds, confusedly hurl'd, 
 
 The fragments of an earlier world ; 
 
 A wildering forest feather'd o'er 
 
 His ruin'd sides and simimit hoar, 
 
 While on the north, through middle air, 
 
 Ben-an heaved high his forehead bare. 
 
 XV. 
 
 From the steep promontory gazed 
 The stranger, raptured and amazed. 
 And, " What a scene were here," he cried, 
 " For princely pomp, or churchman's pride ! 
 On this bold brow, a lordly tower ; 
 In that soft vale, a lady's bower ; 
 On yonder meadow, far away. 
 The turrets of a cloister grey ; 
 How blithely might the bugle-horn 
 Chide, on the lake, the lingering mom I 
 How sweet, at eve, the lover's lute 
 Chime, when the groves were still and mutol 
 And, when the midnight moon should lave 
 Her forehead in the silver wave. 
 How solemn on the ear would come 
 The holy matins' distant hum, 
 While the deep peal's commanding tone 
 Should -wake, in yonder islet lone, 
 A sainted hermit from his cell. 
 To drop a bead with every knell — 
 And bugle, lute, and bell, and all. 
 Should each bewilder'd stranger call 
 To friendly feast, and lighted hall. 
 
 XVI. 
 " Blithe were it then to wander here ! 
 But now, — beshrew yon nimble deer, — 
 Like that same hermit's thin and spare, 
 The copse must give my evening fare ; 
 Some mossy bank my couch must be, 
 Some rustling oak my canopy. 
 Yet pass we that ; the war and chase 
 Give little choice of resting-place ; — 
 A summer night, in greenwood spent, 
 Were but to-morrow's merriment : 
 But hosts may in these wilds abound. 
 Such as are better miss'd than found ; 
 To meet with Highland plunderers here 
 Were worse than loss of steed or deer. — ' 
 I am alone ; — my bugle strain 
 May call some straggler of the train ; 
 
 o Benvenue is literally the little mountain— i.e. as contrasted with Ben- 
 ledi and Benlomond.
 
 250 THE LADY OP THE LAKE. 
 
 Or, fall the worse that may betide, 
 Ere now this falchion has been tried." 
 
 ■ XVII. 
 
 But scarce again his horn he wound, 
 
 When lo ! forth starting at the sound. 
 
 From imderneath an aged oak. 
 
 That slanted from the islet rock, 
 
 A damsel guider of its way, 
 
 A little skiff shot to the bay. 
 
 That round the promontorj- steep 
 
 Led its deep line in graceful sweep. 
 
 Eddying, in almost viewless wave. 
 
 The weeping willow twig to lave. 
 
 And kiss, with whispering sound and slow, 
 
 The beach of pebbles bright as snow. 
 
 The boat had touched the silver strand. 
 
 Just as the Hivnter left his stand, 
 
 And stood conceal'd amid the brake. 
 
 To view this Lady of the Lake. 
 
 Tlie maiden paused, as if again 
 
 She thought to catch the distant strain. 
 
 With head up-raised, and look intent, 
 
 And eye and ear attentive bent. 
 
 And locks flung back, and lips apart. 
 
 Like monument of Grecian art, 
 
 In listening mood, she seem'd to stand. 
 
 The guardian Naiad of the strand. , 
 
 XVIIL 
 
 And ne'er did Grecian chisel trace 
 
 A Nymph, a Naiad, or a Grace, 
 
 Of finer form, or lovelier face ! 
 
 What though the sun, with ardent frown. 
 
 Had slightly tinged her cheek with brown, — 
 
 The sportive toil, which, short and light. 
 
 Had dyed her glowing hue so bright. 
 
 Served too in hastier swell to show 
 
 Short glimpses of a breast of snow : 
 
 What though no rule of courtly grace 
 
 To measur'd mood had train'd her pace, — 
 
 A foot more light, a step more true. 
 
 Ne'er from the heath-flower dash'd the dew ; 
 
 E'en the slight harebell raised its head. 
 
 Elastic from her airy tread : 
 
 What though upon her speech there hung 
 
 The accents of the moxmtain tongue, — 
 
 Those silver soimds, so soft, so dear. 
 
 The list'ner held his breath to hear ! 
 
 XIX. 
 
 A chieftain's daughter seem'd the maid ; 
 Her satin snood," her sUken plaid. 
 Her golden brooch such birth betray'd. 
 » See Note on Cauto III,, stanza 5.
 
 CANTO I. THE CHASE. 251 
 
 And seldom was a snood amid 
 
 Such wild luxuriant ringlets hid, 
 
 Whose glossy black to shame might bring 
 
 The plumage of the raven's wing ; 
 
 And seldom o'er a breast so fair, 
 
 Mantled a plaid with modest care, 
 
 And never brooch the folds combined 
 
 Above a heart more good and idnd. 
 
 Her kindness and her worth to spy, 
 
 You need but gaze on Ellen's eye ; 
 
 Not Katrine, in her mirror blue. 
 
 Gives back the shaggy banks more true. 
 
 Than every free-born glance confess'd 
 
 The guileless movements of her breast ; 
 
 Whether joy danced in her dark eye, 
 
 Or woe or pity claimed a sigh. 
 
 Or filial love was glowing there. 
 
 Or meek devotion pour'd a prayer. 
 
 Or tale of injurj^ called forth 
 _ The indignant spirit of the North. 
 ' One only passion unreveal'd. 
 
 With maiden pride the maid conceal'd, 
 
 Yet not less purely felt the flame : — 
 
 O ! need I tell that passion's name ? 
 
 XX. 
 
 Impatient of the silent horn. 
 
 Now on the gale her voice was borne : — 
 " Father!" she cried ; the rocks around 
 
 Loved to prolong the gentle sound. 
 
 A while she paused, no answer came, — 
 " Malcolm, was thine the blast?" the name 
 
 Less resolutely utter'd fell. 
 
 The echoes could not catch the swell. 
 " A stranger I," the Huntsman said, 
 
 Advancing from the hazel shade. 
 
 The maid, alarm'd, with hasty oar, 
 
 Push'd her light shallop from the shore, 
 
 And when a space was gain'd between. 
 
 Closer she dj-ew her bosom's screen ; 
 
 (So forth the startled swan would swing, 
 
 So turn to pnine his ruffled wing.) 
 
 Then safe, though flutter'd and amazed. 
 
 She paused, and on the stranger gazed. 
 
 Not his the form, nor his the eye, 
 
 That youthful maidens wont to tly. 
 
 XXL 
 
 On his bold visage middle age 
 Had slightly press'd its signet sage, 
 Yet had not quench'd the open trutii 
 And fiery vehemence of j'outh ; 
 Forward and frolic glee was there, 
 The will to do, the soul to dare,
 
 252 THE LADY OF THE LAKL. 
 
 The sparkling glance, soon blown to fire, 
 
 Of hasty love, or headlong ire. 
 
 His limbs were cast in manly mould. 
 
 For hardy sports or contest bold ; 
 
 And though in peaceful garb array'd, 
 
 And weaponless except his blade, 
 
 His stately mien as well implied 
 
 A high-bom heart, a martial pride. 
 
 As if a Baron's crest he wore, 
 
 And sheathed in armour trod the shore. 
 
 Slighting the petty need he show'd. 
 
 He told of his benighted road ; 
 
 His ready speech flow'd fair and free, 
 
 In phrase of gentlest courtesy ; 
 
 Yet seem'd that tone, and gesture bland, 
 
 Less used to sue than to command. 
 
 xxn. 
 
 A while the maid the stranger eyed, 
 And, reassured, at length replied, 
 That Highland halls were open stiU 
 To wilder'd wanderers of the hill. 
 
 " Nor think you imexpected come 
 To yon lone isle, our desert home ; 
 Before the heath had lost the dew. 
 This mom, a couch was pull'd for you ; 
 On yonder mountain's purple head 
 Have ptarmigan and heath-cock bled. 
 And our broad nets have swept the mere. 
 To fumish forth j'our evening cheer."— 
 
 " Now, by the rood, my lovely maid. 
 Your courtesy has err'd," he said ; 
 
 " No right have I to claim, misplaced. 
 The welcome of expected guest. 
 A wanderer, here by fortune tost. 
 My way, my friends, my courser lost, 
 I ne'er before, believe me, fair. 
 Have ever drawn your mountain air, 
 Till on this lake's romantic strand, 
 I found a fay in fairy land ! " — 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 " I well believe," the maid replied. 
 As her light skiff approach'd the side, — 
 
 " I well believe, that ne'er before 
 Your foot has trod Loch Katrine's shore 5 
 But yet, as far as yesternight. 
 Old Allan-Bane foretold your plight, — 
 A grey-halr'd sire, whose eye intent 
 Was on the vision'd future bent.* 
 He saw your steed, a dappled grey, 
 Lie dead beneath the birchen way ; 
 Painted exact your form and mien, 
 Your himting suit of Lincoln green,
 
 Ci-STO I. THE CHASE. 253 
 
 That tassell'd horn so gaily gilt, 
 That falchion's crooked blade and hilt, 
 That cap with heron plumage trim. 
 And yon two hounds so dai-k and grim. 
 He bade that all should ready be. 
 To grace a guest of fair degree ; 
 But light I held his prophecy, 
 And deem'd it was my father's horn, 
 \Vhose echoes o'er the lake were borne." 
 
 XXIV, 
 
 The stranger smiled : — " Since to your home 
 
 A destined errant-knight I come. 
 
 Announced by prophet sooth and old, 
 
 Doom'd, doubtless, for achievement bold, 
 
 111 lightly front each high emprise, 
 
 For one kind glance of those bright eyes. 
 
 Permit me, first, the task to guide 
 
 Tour faiiy frigate o'er the tide."' 
 
 The maid, with smile suppress'd and sly, 
 
 The toil imwonted saw him try ; 
 
 For seldom sure, if e'er before, 
 
 His noble hand had grasp'd an oar : 
 
 Yet with main strength his strokes he drew, 
 
 And o'er the lake the shallop flew ; 
 
 With heads erect, and whimpering cry. 
 
 The hounds behind their passage ply. 
 
 Nor frequent doets the bright oar break 
 
 The darkening mirror of the lake, 
 
 Until the rocky isle they reach, 
 
 And moor their shallop on the beach. 
 
 XXY. 
 
 The stranger view'd the shore around ; 
 'Twas all so close with copsewood bound, 
 Nor track nor pathway might declare 
 That human foot frequented there. 
 Until the mountain-maiden show'd 
 A clambering unsuspected road. 
 That winded through the tangled screen. 
 And open'd on a narrow green. 
 Where weeping birch and -wlUow round 
 With their long fibres swept the ground. 
 Here, for retreat in dangerous horn'. 
 Some chief had framed a rustic bower.^ 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 It was a lodge of ample size. 
 
 But strange of structure and device ; 
 
 Of such materials, as around 
 
 The workman's hand had readiest fomid. 
 
 Lopp'd off their boughs, their hoar trunks bared. 
 
 And by the hatchet rudely squared. 
 
 To give the walls their destined height. 
 
 The sturdy oak and ash unite ;
 
 254 THE LADT OF THE LAKE. CANTO L 
 
 While moss and clay and leaves combined 
 To fence each crevice from the wind. 
 The lighter pine-trees, overhead, 
 Their slender length for rafters spread, 
 And -mther'd heath and rushes dry 
 Supplied a russet canopy. 
 Due westward, fronting to the green, 
 A rural portico was seen. 
 Aloft on native pillars borne. 
 Of mountain fir with bark unshorn. 
 Where EUen's hand had taught to twine 
 The ivy and Idsean vine. 
 The clematis, the favour'd flower 
 Which boasts the name of virgin-bower, 
 And eveiy hardy plant could bear 
 Loch Katrine's keen and searching air. 
 An instant in this porch she staid. 
 And gaily to the stranger said, 
 " On heaven and on thy lady caU, 
 And enter the enchanted hall ! " 
 
 XXVII, 
 
 " My hope, my heaven, my trust must be, 
 My gentle guide, in following thee." 
 He cross'd the threshold — and a clang 
 Of angry steel that instant rang. 
 To his bold brow his spirit rush'd, 
 But soon for vain alann he blush'd. 
 When on the floor he saw displa/d, 
 Cause of tlie din, a naked blade 
 Dropp'd from the sheath, that careless flung 
 Upon a stag's huge antlers swung ; 
 For all around the walls to grace, 
 Himg trophies of the fight or chase : 
 A target there, a bugle here, 
 A battle-axe, a himting spear, 
 And broadswords, bows, and arrows store, 
 With the tusk'd trophies of the boar. 
 Here grins the wolf as when he died. 
 And there the wUd-cat's brindled hide 
 The frontlet of the elk adorns. 
 Or mantles o'er the bison's horns ; 
 Pennons and flags defaced and stain'd. 
 That blackening streaks of blood retain'd, 
 And deer-skins, dappled, dim, and white. 
 With otter's fur and seal's unite, 
 In rude and imcouth tapestry all, 
 To garnish forth the silvan hall. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 The wondering stranger round him gazed. 
 And next the fallen weapon raised : — 
 Pew were the arms wliose sinewy strength 
 Sufficed to stretcii it forth at length.
 
 CANTO I. THE CHASE. 256 
 
 And as the orand he poised and swaj^d, 
 " I never knew but one," he said, 
 " Whose stalwart arm might brook to wield 
 
 A blade like this in battle-field." 
 
 She sigh'd, then smiled and took the word : 
 " Yon see the guardian champion's sword ; 
 
 As light it trembles in his hand, 
 
 As in my grasp a hazel wand ; 
 
 My sire's tall form miglit grace the part 
 
 Of Ferragus, or Ascabart ; * 
 
 But in the absent giant's hold 
 
 Are women now, and menials old." 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 The mistress of the mansion came. 
 Mature of age, a graceful dame ; 
 Whose easy step and stately port 
 Had well become a princely court, 
 To whom, though more than kindred knew. 
 Young Ellen gave a mother's due. 
 Meet welcome to her guest she made. 
 And every courteous rite was paid. 
 That hospitality could claim. 
 Though all unask'd his birth and name.* 
 Such then the reverence to a guest. 
 That feUest foe might join the feast. 
 And from his deadliest foeman's door 
 Unquestion'd turn, the banquet o'er. 
 At length his rank the stranger names, 
 " The Knight of Snowdoun, James f itz-Jaaes ; 
 Lord of a ban-en heritage, 
 Which his brave sires, from age to age. 
 By their good swords had held with toil ; 
 His sire had fall'n in such turmoil. 
 And he, God wot, was forced to stand 
 Oft for his right with blade in hand. 
 This morning with Lord Jloray's train 
 He chased a stalwart stag in vain, 
 Outstripp'd his comrades, miijs'd the deer, 
 Lost his good steed, and wander'd here." 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Fain would the Knight in turn require 
 The name and state of EUen's sh-e. 
 Well show'd the elder lady's mien. 
 That courts and cities she had seen ; 
 Ellen, though more her looks display'd 
 The simple grace of sUvan maid. 
 In speech and gesture, form and face, 
 Show'd she was come of gentle race. 
 'Twere strange in ruder rank to find 
 Such looks, such manners, and such mind. 
 Each hint the Knight of Snowdoun gave. 
 Dame Margaret heard with silence grave ;
 
 256 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. CANTO I 
 
 Or Ellen, innocently gay, 
 Tum'd all enquiry light away : — 
 " Weird women we ! by dale and down 
 We dwell, afar from tower and town. 
 We stem the flood, we ride the blast, 
 On wandering knights our spells we cast ; 
 While viewless minstrels touch the string, 
 'Tis thus our charmed rhymes we smg.' 
 She sung, and still a harp imseen 
 Fill'd up the symphony between. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Song. 
 
 " Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er. 
 
 Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking; 
 Dream of battled fields no more. 
 
 Days of danger, nights of waking. 
 In our isle's enchanted hall, 
 
 Hands unseen thy couch are strewing. 
 Fairy strains of music fall. 
 
 Every sense in sliunber dewing. 
 Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er, 
 Dream of fighting fields no more : 
 Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking. 
 Morn of toil, nor night of waking. 
 
 " No rude sound shall reach thine ear, 
 
 Armour's clang, or war-steed champing, 
 Trump nor pibroch summon here 
 
 Mustering clan, or squadron tramping. 
 Yet the lark's shrill fife may come 
 
 At the day-break from the fallow. 
 And the bittern sound his drum. 
 
 Booming from the sedgy shallow. 
 Kuder sounds shall none be near, 
 Guards nor warders challenge here. 
 Here 's no war-steed's neigh and oliamping. 
 Shouting clans or squadrons stamping." 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 She paused — then, blushing, led the lay 
 To grace the stranger of the day. 
 Her mellow notes awhile prolong 
 The cadence of the flowing song. 
 Till to her lips in measured frame 
 The minstrel verse spontaneous came. 
 
 Song continueU. 
 
 " Huntsman, rest ! thy chase is done ; 
 
 While our slumbrous spells assail ye, 
 Dream not, with the rising sun. 
 
 Bugles here shall sound reveilld 
 Sleep ! the deer is in his den ; 
 
 Sleep ! tliy hounds are by thee lying ;
 
 r. THE CHASE. 257 
 
 Sleep ! nof dream in yonder glen, 
 
 How thy gallant steed lay dj-ing. 
 Huntsman, rest ! thy chase is done, 
 Think not of the rising sun. 
 For at dawning to assail ye, 
 Here no bugles sound reveille." 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 The haU was clear'd — the stranger's bed 
 
 Was there of mountain heather spread, 
 
 ■\Vhere oft a hundred guests had lain. 
 
 And dream'd their forest sports again. 
 
 But vainly did the heath-flower shed 
 
 Its moorland fragrance round his head ; 
 
 Not Ellen's spell had lull'd to rest 
 
 The fever of his troubled breast. 
 
 In broken dreams the image rose 
 
 Of varied perils, pains, and woes : 
 
 His steed now flounders in the brake, % 
 
 Is ow sinks his barge upon the lake ; 
 
 Now leader of a broken host, 
 
 His standard falls, his honour's lost. 
 
 Then, — from my couch may heavenly might 
 
 Chase that worst phantom of the night ! — 
 
 Again retum'd the scenes of youtli. 
 
 Of confident undoubting truth ; 
 
 Again his soul he interchanged 
 
 With friends whose hearts were long estranged. 
 
 They come, in dim procession led. 
 
 The cold, the faithless, and the dead ; 
 
 As warm each hand, each brow as gay, 
 
 As if they parted yesterday. 
 
 And doubt distracts him at the view — 
 
 were his senses false or true ? 
 
 Dream'd he of death, or broken vow, 
 
 Or is it all a vision now ? 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 At length, with Ellen in a grove 
 
 He seem'd to walk, and speak of love ; 
 
 She listen'd ■\vith a blush and sigh. 
 
 His suit was wann, his hopes were high. 
 
 He sought her yielded hand to clasp. 
 
 And a cold gauntlet met his grasp : 
 
 The phantom's sex was changed and gone, 
 
 Upon its head a helmet shone ; 
 
 Slowly enlarged to giant size. 
 
 With darken'd cheek and threatening eyes. 
 
 The grisly visage, stern and hoar. 
 
 To EJlen still a likeness bore. — 
 
 He woke, and, panting with afiright, 
 
 Eecall'd the vision of the night. 
 
 The hearth's deca%'ing brands were red. 
 
 And deep and dusky lustre shed.
 
 258 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. CANTO I. 
 
 Half showing, half concealing, all 
 The uncouth trophies of the hall. 
 Mid those the stranger fix'd his eye, 
 Where that huge falchion hung on high. 
 And thoughts on thought', a countless throng^ 
 Rush'd, chasing countless thoughts along, 
 Until, the giddy whirl to cure, 
 He rose, and sought the moonshine pure. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 The wild rose, eglantine, and broom, 
 "Wasted aroimd their rich perfume : 
 The birch-trees wept in fragrant balm, 
 The aspens slept beneath the calm ; 
 The silver light, with quivering glance, 
 Play'd on the water's still expanse, — 
 Wild were the heart whose passions' sway 
 Could rage beneath the sober ray ! 
 He felt its cahn, that warrior guest. 
 While thus he commvmed with his breast :— 
 *' Why is it, at each turn I trace 
 Some memory of that exiled race ? 
 
 Can I not mountain-maiden spy, 
 But she must bear the Douglas eye? 
 
 Can I not ^^ew a Highland brand. 
 But it must match the Douglas hand? 
 
 Can I not frame a fever'd djream. 
 
 But still the Douglas is the theme ? 
 
 rU dream no more — by manly mind 
 
 Not even in sleep is will resign'd. 
 
 My midnight orisons said o'er, 
 
 I'll turn to rest, and dream no more." 
 
 His midnight orisons he told, 
 
 A prayer with every bead of gold, 
 
 Consign'd to heaven his cares and woes, 
 
 And sunk in imdisturb'd repose ; 
 
 Unta the heath-cock shrilly crew. 
 
 And morning dawn'd on Benvenue. 
 
 CANTO SECOND. 
 
 I. 
 
 At mom the black-cock trims his jetty wing, 
 'Tis morning prompts the linnet's blithest lay, 
 
 .AJl Nature's children feel the matin spring 
 Of life reviving, with reviving day ;
 
 CAXTO II. THE ISLAND. 259 
 
 And ■while 7011 little bark glides down the bay, 
 
 Wafting the stranger on his way again, 
 Mom's genial influence roused a minstrel grey, 
 
 And sweetly o'er the lake was heard thy strain, 
 Mix'd with the sounding harp, white hair'd Allan-Bane 1 1* 
 
 II. 
 
 " Not faster yonder rowers' might 
 
 Flings from their oars the spray. 
 Not faster yonder rippling bright, 
 That tracks the shallop's course in light. 
 
 Melts Ln the lake away. 
 Than men from memory erase 
 The benefits of former days; 
 Then, stranger, go 1 good speed the while. 
 Nor think again of the lonely isle. 
 
 " High place to thee in royal court, 
 
 High place in battle line, 
 Good hawk and hound for silvan sport. 
 Where beauty sees the brave resort. 
 
 The honour'd meed be thine ! 
 True be thy sword, thy friend sincere. 
 Thy lady constant, kind, and dear. 
 And lost in love and friendship's smile 
 Be memory of the lonely isle. 
 
 III. 
 
 ^ontj coitttnuctr. 
 
 " But if beneath yon southern sky 
 
 A plaided stranger roam, 
 "UTiose drooping crest and stifled sigh. 
 And sunken cheek and heavy eye, 
 
 Pine for his Highland home ; 
 Then, warrior, then be thine to show 
 The care that soothes a wanderer's woe ; 
 Eemember then thy liap ere while, 
 A stranger in the lonely isle. 
 
 " Or if on life's uncertain main 
 
 Mishap shall mar thy sail ; 
 If faithful, wise, and brave in vain. 
 Woe, want, and exile thou sustain 
 
 Beneath the fickle gale ; , 
 
 Waste not a sigh on fortime changed. 
 On thankless courts, or friends estranged. 
 But come where kindred worth shall smUe, 
 To greet thee in the lonely isle." 
 
 IV. 
 
 As died the sounds upon the tide, 
 The shallop reach'd the mainland side. 
 And ere his onward way he took. 
 The stranger cast a lingering look,
 
 260 THE LADY OP THE LAKE. 
 
 Whire easily his eye might reach 
 
 The Harper on the islet beach, 
 
 Reclined against a blighted tree, 
 
 As wasted, grey, and Avorn as he. 
 
 To minstrel meditation given, 
 
 His reverend brow was raised to heaven, 
 
 As from the rising sun to claim 
 
 A sparkle of inspiring flame. 
 
 His hand, reclined upon the wire, 
 
 Seem'd watching the awakening fire ; 
 
 So still he sate, as those who wait 
 
 Till judgment speak the doom of fate; 
 
 So still, as if no breeze might dare 
 
 To lift one lock of hoary hair ; 
 
 So still, as life itself were fled. 
 
 In the last sound his harp had sped. 
 
 V. 
 
 Upon a rock with lichens wild. 
 Beside him EUen sate and smiled. — 
 SmUed she to see the stately drake 
 Lead forth his fleet upon the lake. 
 While her vex'd spaniel, from the beach^ 
 Bay'd at the prize beyond his reach ? 
 Yet tell me, then, the maid who knows. 
 Why deepen'd on her cheek the rose? — 
 Forgive, forgive. Fidelity ! 
 Perchance the maiden smiled to see 
 Yon parting lingerer wave adieu, 
 And stop and tirni to wave anew ; 
 And, lovely ladies, ere your ire 
 Condemn the heroine of my lyre. 
 Show me the fair would scorn to spy, 
 And prize such conquest of her eye ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 While yet he loiter'd on the spot. 
 It seem'd as Ellen mark'd him not ; 
 But when he tm-n'd him to the glade, 
 One courteous parting sign she made ; 
 And after, oft the knight would say, 
 That not when prize of festal day 
 Was dealt him by the brightest fair. 
 Who e'er wore jewel in her hair, 
 So highly did his bosom swell, 
 As at that simple mute farewell. 
 Now with a trusty mountain-guide, 
 And his dark stag-hoimds by his side, 
 He parts — the maid, imconscious stiU, 
 Watch'd him wind slowly round the hill ; 
 But when his stately form was hid, 
 The guardian in her bosom chid — 
 " Thy Malcolm ! vain and selfish maid !" 
 'T was thus upbraiding conscience said, —
 
 ) II. THE ISLAND. 261 
 
 " Not SO had Malcolm idly hung 
 
 On the smooth phrase of southem tongue ; 
 " Not so had Malcolm strain'd his eye. 
 
 Another step than thine to spy. — 
 
 Wake, Allan-Bane," aloud she cried. 
 
 To the old Minstrel by her side, — 
 " Arouse thee from thy moody dream ! 
 
 1 11 give thy harp heroic theme. 
 
 And warm thee with a noble name ; 
 
 Pour forth the glory of the Grasme!"'^ 
 
 Scarce from her lip the word had rush'd, 
 
 WTien deep the conscious maiden bluslvd; 
 
 For of his clan, in hall and bower. 
 
 Young Malcolm Graeme was held the flower. 
 
 VII. 
 
 The Minstrel waked his harp — three times 
 
 Aros6 the well-known martial chimes. 
 
 And thrice their high heroic pride 
 
 In melancholy murmurs died. 
 " Vainly thou bid'st, noble maid," 
 
 Clasping his witherd hands, he said, 
 " Vainly thou bid'st me wake the strain, 
 
 Though all imwont to bid in vain. 
 
 Alas ! than mine a mightier hand 
 
 Has tuned my harp, my strings has spann'd ! 
 
 I touch the cords of joy, but low 
 
 And mournful answer notes of woe ; 
 
 And the proud march, which victors tread. 
 
 Sinks in the wailing for the dead. 
 
 O well for me, if mine alone 
 
 That dirge's deep prophetic tone ! 
 
 If, as my tuneful fathers said, 
 
 This harp, which erst Saint Modan sway'd, '* 
 
 Can thus its master's fate foretell, 
 
 Then welcome be the minstrel's knell ! 
 
 VIII. 
 " But ah ! dear lady, thus it sigh'd 
 The eve thy sainted mother died ; 
 And such the sounds which, while I strove 
 To wake a lay of war or love. 
 Came marring all the festal mirth. 
 Appalling me who gave them birth. 
 And disobedient to my call, 
 Wail'd loud through IJothwell's banner'd hall. 
 Ere Douglasses, to ruin driven, '^ 
 Were exiled from their native heaven. — 
 Oh ! if yet worse mishap and woe, 
 Jly master's house must undergo, 
 Or aught but weal to Ellen fiiir. 
 Brood in these accents of despair, 
 No future bard, sad Harp ! shall tling 
 Tritmiph or rapture from thy string ; 
 One short, one final strain shall flow 
 Fraught with unutterable ";roe.
 
 262 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 
 
 Then shiver'd shall thj' fragments lie, 
 Thy master cast him down and die !" 
 
 • IX. 
 
 Soothing she answer'd him — " Assuage, 
 Mine honour'd friend, the fears of age ; 
 All melodies to thee are known, 
 That harp has rung, or pipe has blown, 
 In Lowland vale or Highland glen, 
 From Tweed to Spey — what marvel, then. 
 At times, unbidden notes should rise. 
 Confusedly bound m memory's ties. 
 Entangling, as they rush along, 
 The war-march with the funeral song ? — 
 Small ground is now for boding fear ; 
 Obscure, but safe, we rest us here. 
 My sire, in native virtue great, 
 Resigning lordship, lands, and state, 
 Not then to fortime more resign'd. 
 Than yonder oak might give the wind ; 
 The graceful foliage storms may reave. 
 The noble stem they cannot grieve. 
 For me," — she stoop'd, and, looking round, 
 Pluck'd a blue hare-beU from the ground,— 
 ** For me, whose memory scarce conveys 
 An image of more splendid days, 
 This little flower, that loves the lea. 
 May weU my simple emblem be ; 
 It drinks heaven's dew as blithe as rose 
 That in the King's o'lvn garden grows ; 
 And when I place it in my hair, 
 AUan, a bard, is boimd to swear. 
 He ne'er saw coronet so fair." 
 Then plaj-fully the chaplet wild 
 She wreath'd in her dark locks, and smilea. 
 
 X. 
 
 Her smile, her speech, with winning sway, 
 Wiled the old harper's mood away. 
 With such a look as hermits throw, 
 When angels stoop to soothe then- woe. 
 He gazed, tiU fond regret and pride 
 Thrill'd to a tear, then thus replied : 
 " Loveliest and best! thoa little know'st 
 The rank, the honours, thou hast lost ! 
 O might I live to see thee grace. 
 In Scotland's court, thy birth-right place, 
 To see my favourite's step advance, 
 The lightest in the courtly dance, 
 Ihe cause of eveiy gallant's sigh, 
 And leading star of every eye, 
 And theme of every minstrel's art. 
 The lady of the Bleeding Heart!"—" 
 
 ■ The well-known cognizance of tLe Douglas familj
 
 UANTO II. THE ISLAND. 2fi3 
 
 XL 
 
 " Fair dreams are these," the maiden cried, 
 
 (Light was her accent, yet she sigh'd;) 
 " Yet is this mossy rock to me 
 
 Worth splendid chair and canopy ; 
 
 Nor woiild my footsteps spring more gay 
 
 In comtly dance than blithe strathspey, 
 
 Nor half so pleased mine ear incline 
 
 To royal minstrel's lay as thine. 
 
 And then for suitors proud and high, 
 
 To bend before my conquering eye, — 
 
 Thou, flattering bard ! thyself wilt say. 
 
 That grim Sir Roderick owns its sway. 
 
 The Saxon scourge, Clan-Alpine's pride, 
 
 The terror of Locli-Lomond's side. 
 
 Would, at my suit, thou know'st, delay 
 
 A Lennox foray — for a day." — 
 
 XIT. 
 The ancient bard his glee repress'd : 
 " 111 hast thou chosen theme for jest 1 
 For who, through all this western wild, 
 Named Black Sir Eoderick e'er, and srniled ! 
 In Holy- Rood a knight he slew ; i* 
 I saw, when back the dirk he drew, 
 Courtiers give place before the stride 
 Of the vmdaunted homicide ; 
 And since, though outlaw'd, hath his hand 
 Full sternly kept his moimtain land. 
 Who else dared give — ah I woe the day, 
 That I such hated truth should say — 
 The Douglas, like a striken deer, 
 Disown'd by every noble peer,i' 
 Even the rude refuge we have here ? 
 Alas, this wild marauding Chief 
 Alone might hazard our relief. 
 And now thj^ maiden charms expand. 
 Looks for his guerdon in thy hand ; 
 Full soon may dispensation sought. 
 To back his suit, from Rome be brought. 
 Then, though an exile on the hUl, 
 Thy father, as the Douglas, still 
 Be held in reverence and fear ; 
 And though to Roderick thou'rt so dear. 
 That thou might'st guide with silken tlureivd, 
 Slave of thy wUl, this chieftain dread ; 
 Yet, loved maid, thy mirth refrain ! 
 Thy hand is on a lion's mane." — 
 
 XIIL 
 
 " Minstrel," the maid replied, and high 
 
 Her father's soul glanced from her eye, 
 " My debts to Roderick's house I know : 
 
 AU that a mother could bestow, 
 
 To Lady Margaret's care 1 owe^
 
 264 THE LADY OF THE LAKE, CANTO XI. 
 
 Since first an orphan in the wild 
 She sorrow'd o'er her sister's child ; 
 To her brave chieftaip son, from ire 
 Of Scotland's king who shrouds my sire, 
 A deeper, holier debt is owed ; 
 And, could I pay it with my blood, 
 Allan ! Sir Roderick should command 
 My blood, my life, — but not my hand. 
 Kather will fillen Douglas dwell 
 A votaress Ln Maronnan's cell ; ^^ 
 Rather through realms beyond the sea, 
 Seeking the world's cold charity, 
 Where ne'er was spoke a Scottish word, 
 And ne'er the name of Douglas heard. 
 An outcast pilgrim will she rove. 
 Than wed the man she cannot love. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 " Thou shakest, good friend, thy tresses grey, — 
 That pleading look, what can it say 
 But what I o^vn ? — I grant him brave. 
 But wild as Bracklinn's thundering wave ; ^ 
 And generous — save vindictive mood. 
 Or jealous transport, chafe his blood: 
 I grant him true to friendly band. 
 As his cla\Tiiore is to his hand ; 
 But ! that very blade of steel 
 More mercy for a foe would feel : 
 I grant him liberal, to fling 
 Among his clan the wealth they bring, 
 "When back by lake and glen they wind, 
 And in the Lowland leave behind. 
 Where once some pleasant hamlet stood, 
 A mass of ashes slaked with blood. 
 The hand that for my father fought, 
 I honour, as his daughter ought ; 
 But can I clasp it reeking red. 
 From peasants slaughter'd in their shed ? 
 No ! wildly while his virtues gleam. 
 They make his passions darker seem. 
 And" flash along his spirit high, 
 Like lightning o'er the midnight sky. 
 While yet a child, — and children know, 
 Instinctive taught, the friend and foe,^ 
 I shudder'd at his brow of gloom. 
 His shadowA' plaid, and sable plume ; 
 A maiden grown, I ill could bear 
 His haughty mien and lordly air : 
 But, if thou join'st a suitor's claim. 
 In serious mood, to Roderick's name, 
 I thrill with anguish I or, if e'er 
 A Douglas knew the word, with fear. 
 To change such odious theme were best, — 
 What thinkst thou of our stranger guest?" —
 
 [I. THE ISLAND. 2G5 
 
 XV. 
 ■ What think I of him ? — -woe the while 
 That brought such -wanderer to our isle ! 
 Thy father's battle-brand, of yore 
 For Tine-man forged by fairy lore/^ 
 What time he leagued, no longer foes, 
 His Border spears with Hotspur's bows, 
 Did, seK-unscabbarded, foreshow 
 The footstep of a secret foe.^^ 
 If courtly spy hath harbour'd here, 
 "WTiat may we for the Douglas fear ? 
 What for this island, deem'd of old 
 Clan- Alpine's last and surest hold? 
 If neither spy nor foe, I pray 
 What yet may jealous Roderick say? 
 — Nay, wave not thy disdainful head. 
 Bethink thee of the discord dread, 
 That kindled when at Beltane game 
 Thou ledst the dance with Malcolm Graeme ; 
 Still, though thy sire the peace renew'd, 
 Smoulders in Roderick's breast the feud. 
 BeAvare ! — But hark, what sounds are these ? 
 My dull ears catch no faltering breeze, 
 No weeping birch, nor aspens wake. 
 Nor breath is dimpling in the lake, 
 StUl is the canna's " hoar\' beard. 
 Yet, by my minstrel faith, I heard — 
 And hai'k again ! some pipe of war 
 Sends the bold pibroch from afar." 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Far up the lengthen'd lake were spied 
 Four darkening specks upon the tide. 
 That, slow enlarging on the view. 
 Four mann'd and masted barges grew. 
 And, bearing downwards from Glengj-le, 
 Steerd fuU upon the lonely isle ; 
 The point of Brianchoil they pass'd. 
 And, to the windward as they cast. 
 Against the sun tliey gave to shine 
 The bold Sir Roderick's bannerd Pine. 
 Nearer and nearer as they bear. 
 Spear, pikes, and axes flash hi air. 
 Now might you see the tartans brave. 
 And plaids and plumage dance and wave : 
 Now see the bonnets sink and rise, 
 As his tough oar the rower plies ; 
 See, flashing at each sturdy stroke. 
 The wave ascending mto smoke ; 
 See the proud pipers on the bow. 
 And mark the gaudy streamers flow 
 From their loud chanters* do'\vn, and sweep 
 The furrow'd bosom of the deep, 
 
 " The cotton-grass. ' The jiipe of the bagpioe.
 
 266 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. CANTO II. 
 
 As, rushing through the lake amain, 
 They plied the ancient Highland strain. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Ever, as on they bore, more loud 
 
 And louder rung the pibroch proud. 
 
 At first the sound, by distance tame, 
 
 MelloVd along the waters came, 
 
 And, lingering long by cape and bay 
 
 Wail'd every harsher note away ; 
 
 Then bursting bolder on the ear, 
 
 The clan's slu-ill Gathering they could hear ; 
 
 Those thrilling soimds, that caU the might 
 
 Of Old Clan- Alpine to the fight.=» 
 
 Thick beat the rapid notes, as when 
 
 The mustering hmidreds shake the glen. 
 
 And, hurrying at the signal dread, 
 
 The batter'd earth returns their tread. 
 
 Then prelude light, of livelier tone, 
 
 Express'd their merry marching on. 
 
 Ere peal of closing battle rose, 
 
 With mingled outcry, shrieks, and blows *, 
 
 And mimic din of stroke and ward, 
 
 As broadsword upon target jarr'd; 
 
 And groaning pause, ere yet again 
 
 Condensed, the battle yell'd amain ; 
 
 The rapid charge, the ralljTBg shout. 
 
 Retreat borne headlong into rout. 
 
 And bursts of triumph, to declare 
 
 Clan-Alpine's conquest — all were there. 
 
 Nor ended thus the strain ; but slow 
 
 Simk in a moan prolong'd and low. 
 
 And changed the conquering clarion swell. 
 
 For wild lament o'er those that fell. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 The war-pipes ceased ; but lake and hill 
 Were busy with their echoes still ; 
 And, when they slept, a vocal strain 
 Bade then- hoarse chorus wake again, 
 While loud a hundred clansmen raise 
 Their voices in their Chieftain's praise. 
 Each boatman, bending to his oar, 
 With measured sweep the burden bore. 
 In such wild cadence, as the breeze 
 Makes through December's leafless trees. 
 The chorus first could Allan know, 
 " Roderick Vich Alpine, ho ! iro !" 
 And near, and nearer as they row^d, 
 Distinct the martial ditty flow'd. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 33oat ^0nfl. 
 
 Hail to the Chief who in triumph advances ! 
 Honour'd and bless'd be the ever-green Pine I
 
 fro ir. THE ISLAND. 267 
 
 Long may the tree, in his banner that glances. 
 Flourish, the shelter and grace of our line i 
 Heaven send it happy dew 
 Earth lend it sap anew, 
 Gayly to bourgeon, and broadly to grow, 
 Wlule every Higliland glen 
 Sends our shout back agen, 
 " Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho ! ieroe !"-^ 
 
 Ours is no sapling, chance-sown by the fountain, 
 
 Bloonung at Beltane, in winter to fade ; 
 When the whirlwind has stripp'd every leaf on the mountain 
 The more shall Clan- Alpine exult in her shade. 
 Moor'd in the rifted rock, 
 Proof to the tempest's shock, 
 Firmer he roots him the ruder it blow ; 
 Menteith and Breadalbane, then, 
 Echo his praise agen, 
 " Koderigh" Vich Alpine dhu, ho ! ieroe !" 
 
 XX. 
 
 Proudly our pibroch has thrill'd in Glen Fruin, 
 
 And Bannochar's groans to our slogan replied ; 
 Glen Luss and Ross-dhu, they are smoking in i-uin, 
 And the best of Loch-Lomond lie dead on her side. 
 Widow and Saxon maid 
 Long shall lament oiu- raid, 
 Think of Clan- Alpine with fear and with woe ; 
 Lennox and Leven-glen 
 Shake when they hear agen, 
 " Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho ! ieroe !" 
 
 Ro^w, vassals, row, for the pride of the Highlands ! 
 
 Stretch to your oars, for the ever-green Pine ! 
 that the rose-bud that graces j'on islands. 
 Were wreathed in a garland around him to twine 1 
 that some seedling gem. 
 Worthy such noble stem, 
 Honour'd and bless'd in their shadow might grow 1 
 Loud should Clan-AJpine then 
 Ring from the deepmost glen, 
 " Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho ! ieroe ! " 
 
 XXL 
 
 With all her joyful female band. 
 Had Lady Margaret sought the strand. 
 Loose on the breeze their tresses flew, 
 And high their snowy arms they threw. 
 As echoing back with shrill acclaim. 
 And chorus wild, the Chieftain's name ; 
 While, prompt to please, with mother's art, 
 The darling passion of his heart, 
 
 o Black Roderick, the desceudant of Alpines
 
 268 THE LADY OF THE LAKL. 
 
 The Dame called Ellen to the strand, 
 To greet her kinsman ere he land : 
 
 " Come, loiterer, come ! a Douglas thQU, 
 And shun to wreathe a victor's brow ? " — 
 Reluctantly and slow, the maid 
 The unwelcome summoning obey'd, 
 And, when a distant bugle rung. 
 In the mid-path aside she sprung : — 
 
 " List, Allan-Bane ! From mainland cast 
 I hear my father's signal blast. 
 Be ours," she cried, " the skiff to guide. 
 And waft him from the mountain-side." 
 Then, like a sunbeam, swift and bright, 
 She darted to her shallop light, 
 And, eagerly while Roderick scann'd. 
 For her dear form, his mother's band, 
 The islet far behind her lay. 
 And she had landed in the bay. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Some feelings are to mortals given. 
 
 With less of earth in them than heaven • 
 
 And if there be a human tear 
 
 From passion's dross refined and clear, 
 
 A tear so limpid and so meek. 
 
 It would not stain an angel's cheek, 
 
 'Tis that which pious fathers shed 
 
 Upon a duteous daughter's head ! 
 
 And as the Douglas to his breast 
 
 His darling Ellen closely press'd. 
 
 Such holy drops her tresses steep'd. 
 
 Though 'twas a hero's eye that weep'd. 
 
 Nor while on Ellen's faltering tongue 
 
 Her filial welcomes crowded hung, 
 
 Mark'd she, that fear (affection's proof) 
 
 Still held a graceful j'outh aloof; 
 
 No I not till Douglas named his name. 
 
 Although the youth was Malcolm Graeme. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Allan, with wistful look the while, 
 Mark'd Roderick landing on the isle ; 
 His master piteously he eyed. 
 Then gazed upon the Chieftain's pride. 
 Then dash'd, with hasty hand, away 
 From his dimm'd eye the gathering spray ; 
 And Douglas, as his hand he laid 
 On Malcolm's shoulder, kindly said, 
 " Canst thou, yoimg friend, no meaning spy 
 In my poor follower's gUstening eye ? 
 I'll tell thee : — he recalls the day 
 When in my praise he led the lay 
 O'er the arch'd gate of Bothwell proud, 
 While many a minstrel answer'd loud,
 
 rr. THE ISLAND. 269 
 
 AMien Percy's Xorman pennon, won 
 In bloody field, before me sbone, 
 And twice ten knights, the least a name 
 As mighty as yon Chief may claim, 
 Gracing my pomp, behind me came. 
 Yet trust me, Malcolm, not so proud 
 Was 1 of all that marshall'd crowd. 
 Though the waned crescent O'vvn'd my might. 
 And in my train troop'd lord and knight. 
 Though BlantjTe hymn'd her holiest lays, 
 And Bothwell's bards flung back my praise, 
 As when this old man's silent tear, 
 And this poor maid's affection dear, 
 A welcome give more kind and true. 
 Than aught my better fortunes knew. 
 Forgive, my friend, a father's boast, 
 O ! it out-beggars all I lost ! " 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Delightful praise ! — like summer rose, 
 That brighter in the dew-drop glows, 
 The bashful maiden's cheek appear'd. 
 For Douglas spoke, and Malcolm heard. 
 The flush of shame-faced joy to hide. 
 The hoimds, the hawk, her cares divide ; 
 The loved caresses of the maid 
 The dogs with crouch and whimper paid; 
 And, at her whistle, on her hand 
 The falcon took his favourite stand. 
 Closed his dark wing, relax 'd his eye. 
 Nor, though unhooded, sought to fly. 
 And, trust, while in such guise she stood, 
 Like fabled Goddess of the wood, 
 That if a father's partial thought 
 O'erweigh'd her worth, and beauty aught, 
 Well might the lover's judgment fail 
 To balance with a juster scale; 
 For with each secret glance he stole. 
 The fond enthusiast sent his soul. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Of stature tall, and slender frame. 
 But firmly knit, was Malcolm Grame. 
 The belted plaid and tartan hose 
 Did ne'er more graceful limbs disclose ; 
 ffis flaxen hair, of sunny hue, 
 Curl'd closely round his bonnet blue. 
 Train'd to the chase, his eagle eye 
 The ptarmigan in snow could spy : 
 Each pass, by mountain, lake, and heath, 
 He knew, tlirough Lennox and Menteith ; 
 Vain was the bound of dark-bro'wn doe. 
 When Malcobn bent his sounding bow ; 
 And scarce that doe, though wing'd with fear 
 Outstripp'd in speed the mountaineer :
 
 270 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 
 
 Right up Ben-Lomond could he press, 
 And not a sob his toil confess. 
 His form accorded with a mind 
 Lively and ardent, frank and kind ; 
 A blither heart, till EUen came, 
 Did never love nor sorrow tame ; 
 It danced as lightsome in his breast. 
 As play'd the feather on his crest. 
 Yet friends, who nearest knew the youth. 
 His scorn of vsrong, his zeal for truth, 
 And bards, who saw his features bold, 
 When kindled by the tales of old. 
 Said, were that youth to manhood grown, 
 Not long should Roderick Dhu's renown 
 Be foremost voiced by mountain fame. 
 But quail to that of Malcolm Graeme. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Now back they wend their waterj- way. 
 And, " my sire ! " did Ellen say, 
 
 " Why urge thy chase so far astray ? 
 And why so late return 'd ? — And why " — 
 The rest was in her speaking eye. — 
 
 " My child, the chase I follow far, 
 'T is mimicry of noble war ; 
 And with that gallant pastime reft 
 Were all of Douglas I have left. 
 I met young Malcolm as I stray'd 
 Far eastward, in Glenfinlas* shade. 
 Nor stray'd I safe ; for, all around. 
 Hunters and horsemen scom^'d the ground, 
 This youth, though stUl a royal ward, 
 Risk'd life and land to be my guard. 
 And through the passes of the wood 
 Guided my steps, not unpursued ; 
 And Roderick shall his welcome make, 
 Despite old spleen, for Douglas' sake. 
 Then must he seek Strath-Endrick glen, 
 Nor peril aught for me agen." 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Sir Roderick, who to meet them came. 
 Redden 'd at sight of Malcolm Graeme, 
 Yet, not in action, word, or eye, 
 Fail'd aught in hospitality. 
 In talk and sport they whiled away 
 The morning of that summer day ; 
 But at high noon a courier light 
 Held secret parley with the knight. 
 Whose moody aspect soon declared. 
 That evU were the news he heard. 
 Deep thought seem'd toiling in his head ; 
 Yet was the evening banquet made, 
 Ere he assembled roimd the flame. 
 His mother, Douglas, and the Graeme,
 
 OANTO n. THE ISLAND. 271 
 
 And Helen, too ; then cast around 
 
 His eyes, then fix'd them on the ground. 
 
 As studying phrase that might avail 
 
 Best to convey unpleasant tale. 
 
 Long with his dagger's hilt he play'd, 
 
 Then raised his haughty brow, and said : — 
 
 XXVIII. 
 " Short be my speech ; — nor time affords, 
 Nor my plain temper, glozing words. 
 Kinsman and father, — if such name 
 Douglas vouchsafe to Roderick's claim ; 
 Mine honour'd mother : — Ellen — why. 
 My cousin, turn away thine eye ? — 
 And Graeme ; in whom I hope to know 
 FuU soon a noble friend or foe, 
 When age shall give thee thy command, 
 And leading in thy native land, — 
 List aU ! — The King's vindictive pride 
 Boasts to have tamed the Border-side, 
 Where chiefs, with hound and hawk who came 
 To share their monarch's silvan game. 
 Themselves in bloody toils were snared ; 
 And 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, 
 From Yarrow braes, and banks of Tweed, 
 Where the lone streams of Ettrick glide, 
 Andtfrom the silver Teviot's side ; 
 The dales, where martial clans ^id ride. 
 Are now one sheep-walk, waste and wide. 
 This tyrant of the Scottish throne. 
 So faithless, and so ruthless kno'wn. 
 Now hither comes ; his end the same. 
 The same pretext of silvan game. 
 What grace for Highland Chiefs, judge ye 
 By fate of Border chivalry. 
 Yet more ; amid Glenfinlas green, 
 Douglas, thy stately form was seen— 
 This by espial sure I know : 
 Your counsel in the streight I show ? " 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Ellen and Margaret foarfidly 
 Sought comfort in each other's eye, 
 Then tum'd their ghastly look, each one, 
 This to her sire — that to her son. 
 The hasty colour went and came 
 In the bold cheek of Malcolm Graeme ; 
 But from his glance it well appear'd, 
 'Twas but for Ellen that he fear'd ; 
 While, sorrowful, but vmdismay'd, 
 The Douglas thus Ms counsel said : —
 
 272 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. CANTO H. 
 
 •' Brave Roderick, though the tempest roar, 
 It 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 grey head 
 The royal bolt were fiercest sped. 
 For 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, 
 Ellen 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 pass'd and o'er." — 
 
 XXX. 
 
 " No, by mine honour," Roderick said, 
 " So help me. Heaven, and my good blade ! 
 * No, never ! Blasted be yon Pine, 
 
 My father's ancient crest and mine, 
 
 If from its shade in danger part 
 
 The lineage of the Bleeding Heart 1 
 
 Hear my blunt speech : grant me this maid 
 
 To wife, thy counsel to mine aid ; 
 
 To Douglas, leagued with Roderick Dhu, 
 
 Will friends and allies flock enow ; 
 
 Like cause of doubt, distrust, and grief, 
 
 "Will bind to us each Western Chief. 
 
 When the loud pipes my bridal tell, 
 
 The Links of Forth shall hear the knell, 
 
 The guards shall start in Stirling's porch ; 
 
 And, when I light the nuptial torch, 
 
 A thousand villages in flames 
 
 Shall scare the slumbers of King James I 
 
 — Nay, Ellen, blench not thus away, 
 
 And, mother, cease these signs, I pray ; 
 
 I meant not all my heart might say. 
 
 Small need of inroad, or of fight,_ 
 
 When the sage Douglas may unite 
 
 Each mountain clan in friendly band. 
 
 To guard the passes of their land, 
 
 . Till the foil'd king, from pathless glen, 
 
 Shall bootless turn him home agen." 
 
 XXXL 
 
 There are who have, at midnight hour. 
 In slumber scaled a dizzy tower, 
 And, on the verge that beetled o'er 
 The ocean tide's incessant roar, 
 Dream'd calmly out their dangerous dream. 
 Till waken'd by the morning beam ; 
 When, dazzled by the eastern glow, 
 Such startler cast his glance below,
 
 ' II. THE ISLAND. 273 
 
 And saw unmeasured depth around, 
 
 And heard unmtermitted sound, 
 
 And thought the battled fence so frail, 
 
 It waved like cobweb in the gale ; — 
 
 Amid his senses' giddy wheel, 
 
 Did 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 ya'\vn'd around. 
 
 By crossing terrors wildly toss'd, 
 
 Still for the Douglas fearing most, 
 
 Could scarce the desperate thought withstand. 
 
 To buy his safety with her hand. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Such purpose dread could Malcobn spy 
 
 In Ellen's quivering lip and eye, 
 
 And eager rose to speak — but ere 
 
 His tongue could hurry forth his fear. 
 
 Had Douglas mark'd the hectic strife. 
 
 Where death seem'd combating with life ; 
 
 For to her cheek, in feverish flood, 
 
 One instant rush'd the throbbing blood, 
 
 Then ebbing back, with sudden sway. 
 
 Left its domam as wan as clay. 
 " Roderick, enough ! enough ! " he cried, 
 " 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. 
 
 Against his sovereign, Douglas ne'er 
 
 AViU level a rebellious spear. , 
 
 'Twas I that taught his youthful hand 
 
 To rein a steed and wield a brand ; 
 
 I see him yet, the princely boy I 
 
 Not Ellen more my pride and joy ; 
 
 I love him still, despite my -nTongs, 
 
 By hasty wrath, and slanderous tongues. 
 
 O seek the grace you well may find, 
 
 Without a cause to mine combined." 
 
 XXXIII. 
 Twice through the hall the Chieftain strode; 
 The waving of his tartans broad. 
 And darken'd brow, where wounded pride 
 With ire and disappointment vied, 
 Seem'd, by the torch's gloomy light, 
 Like the iU Demon of the night. 
 Stooping his pinions' shadowy sway 
 Upon the nighted pilgrim's way : 
 But, unrequited Love ! thy dart 
 Plunged deepest its envenom'd smart,
 
 »,J74 THE liADY OF THE LAKE. CANTO II. 
 
 And Roderick, with thine anguish stung, 
 At length the hand of Douglas wrung. 
 While eyes, that mQck'd at tears before, 
 With bitter drops were running o'er. 
 Tlie death-pangs of long-cherish'd hope 
 Scarce in that ample breast had scope. 
 But, struggling with his spirit proud, 
 Convulsive heaved its chequer'd shroud, 
 While every sob — so mute were all — 
 Was heard distuictly through the hall. 
 The son's despair, the mother's look, 
 111 might the gentle Ellen brooK ; 
 She rose, and to her side there came, 
 To aid her parting steps, the Greeme. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 Then Roderick from the Douglas broke — 
 
 As flashes flame through sable smoke, 
 
 Kindling its wreaths, long, dark, and low, 
 
 To one broad blaze of ruddy glow. 
 
 So the deep anguish of despair 
 
 Burst, in fierce jealousy, to air. 
 
 With stalwart grasp his hand he laid 
 
 On Malcolm's breast and belted plaid : 
 " Back, beardless boy ! " he sternly said, 
 ** Back, minion ! hold'st thou thus at nought 
 
 The lesson I so lately taught ? 
 
 This roof, the Douglas, and that maid, 
 
 Thank thou for punishment delay'd." 
 
 Eager as greyhound on his game, 
 
 Fiercely with Roderick grappled Grreme. 
 " Perish my name, if aught afford 
 
 Its Chieftain safety save his sword !" 
 
 Thus as they strove, their desperate hand 
 
 Griped to the dagger or the brand. 
 
 And death had been — but Douglas rose. 
 
 And thrust between the struggling foes 
 
 His giant strength :— " Chieftains, forego I 
 
 I hold the first who strikes, my foe. — 
 
 Madmen, forbear your frantic jar ! 
 
 What ! is the Douglas fall'n so far, 
 
 His daughter's hand is doom'd the spoil 
 
 Of such dishonourable 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. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Ere yet the brands aloft were flung, 
 Margaret on Roderick's mantle himg. 
 And Malcolm heard his Ellen's scream. 
 As falter'd through terrific dream. 
 Then Roderick plunged in sheath his sword. 
 And veil'd his wrath in scornful word :
 
 ) II. THE ISLAND. 275 
 
 " Rest safe till morning ; pitj' 't were 
 
 Such cheek should feel the midniixht itir ! 
 
 Then mayest thou to James Stuart teU, 
 
 Roderick will keep the lake and fell, 
 
 Nor lackey, with his freebom clan, 
 
 The pageant pomp of earthly man. 
 
 More would he of Clan- Alpine know, 
 
 Thou canst our strength and passes show. — 
 
 Jlalise, what ho !" — his henchman came ; 
 " Give our safe-conduct to the Gra;me." 
 
 Young Malcolm answer'd, calm and bold, 
 " Fear nothing for thy favourite hold ; 
 
 The spot an angel deign'd to gi'ace. 
 
 Is bless'd, though robbers haunt the place. 
 
 Thy chm-lish courtesy for those 
 
 Reserve, who fear to be thy foes. 
 
 As safe to me the mountain way 
 
 At midnight as in blaze of day. 
 
 Though with Ms boldest at his back, 
 
 Even Roderick Dhu beset the track. — 
 
 Brave Douglas, — lovely Ellen, — nay, 
 
 Nought here of parting will I say. 
 
 Earth does not hold a lonesome glen 
 
 So secret, but we meet agen. — 
 
 Chieftain I we too shall find an hour," — 
 
 He said, and left the silvan bower. 
 
 xxxvr. 
 
 Old Allan follow'd to the strand, 
 
 (Such was the Douglas's command,) 
 
 And anxious told, how, on the mom, 
 
 The stem Sir Roderick deep had sworn. 
 
 The Fiery Cross should circle o'er 
 
 Dale, glen, and valley, down, and moor. 
 
 Much were the peril to the GrsEme, 
 
 From those who to the signal came ; 
 
 Far 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 poucli and broadsword roU'd, 
 
 His ample plaid in tighten'd fold, 
 
 And stripp'd his limbs to such an-ay. 
 
 As best might suit the watery waj-, — 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 Then spoke abrupt : " Farewell to thee, 
 Pattern of old fidelity !"' 
 The Minstrel's hand he kindly press'd, — 
 " ! 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. 
 Poor Malcolm has but heart and blade.
 
 276 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 
 
 Yet, if there be one faithful Graeme, 
 Who loves the chieftain of bis name, 
 Not long shall honom-'d Douglas dwell. 
 Like hunted stag, in moimtain cell; 
 Nor, ere yon pride-swoU'n robber dare,— 
 I may 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." 
 Then plunged he in the flashing tide. 
 Bold o'er the flood his head he bore. 
 And stoutly steer'd him from the shore ; 
 And Allan strain'd his anxious eye, 
 Far 'mid the lake his fonn to spy. 
 Darkening across each puny wave, 
 To which the moon her silver gave, 
 J"ast as the cormorant could skim. 
 The swimmer plied each active limb ; 
 Then landing in the moonlight dell, 
 Loud shouted of his weal to tell. 
 The Minstrel heard the far halloo. 
 And joyful from the shore withdrew. 
 
 CANTO THIED. 
 
 CTjE <§afl)cruta[. 
 L 
 
 TniE rolls his ceaseless course. The race of yore, 
 
 Who danced our infancy upon their knee. 
 And told our marvelling boyhood legends store, 
 
 Of their strange ventures happ'd by land or sea, 
 How are they blotted from the things that be ! 
 
 How few, all weak and wither "d of their force. 
 Wait on the verge of dark eternity. 
 
 Like stranded wrecks, the tide returning hoarse. 
 To sweep them from our sight ! Tune roUs Ms ceaseless cour<»e 
 
 Yet live there still who can remember well, 
 
 How, when a mountain chief liis bugle blew, 
 Both field and forest, dingle, cliff, and dell. 
 
 And solitary heath, the signal knew ; 
 And fast the faithful clan around him drew. 
 
 What time the warning note was keenly woimd, 
 What time aloft their kindred banner flew, 
 
 AV'liile clamorous war-pipes yell'd the gathering sound, 
 And whUe the Fiery Cross glanced, like a meteor, round. ^-
 
 [II. THE GATHERIXG. 277 
 
 IT. 
 The summer davm's reflected hue 
 To purple changed Loch Katrine blue ; 
 Mildly and soft the -western breeze 
 Just kiss'd the lake, just stirr'd the trees ; 
 And the pleased lake, like maiden coy, 
 Trembled but dimpled not for joy ; 
 The mountain-shadows on lier breast 
 Were neither broken nor at rest ; 
 In bright uncertainty they lie. 
 Like future joys to Fancy's eye. 
 The water-lily to the light 
 Her chalice rear'd of silver bright ; 
 The doe awoke, and to the lawn, 
 Begemm'd with dewdrops, led her fawn ; 
 The grey mist left the mountain side. 
 The torrent show'd its glistening pride ; 
 Invisible in flecked sky, 
 The lark sent down her revelry ; 
 The blackbird and the speckled tlirush 
 Good-morrow gave from brake and bu.sh ; 
 In answer coo'd the cushat dove 
 Her notes of peace, and rest, and love. 
 
 in. 
 
 No thought of peace, no thought of rest, 
 Assuaged the storm in Roderick's breast. 
 With sheathed broadsword in his hand, 
 Abrupt he paced the islet strand, 
 And eyed the rising sun, and laid 
 His hand on his impatient blade. 
 Beneath a rock, his vassals' care 
 Was prompt the ritual to prepare, 
 With deep and deathful meaning fraught 
 For such Antiquity had taught 
 Was preface meet,' ere yet abroad 
 The Cross of Fire should take its road. 
 The shrinking band stood oft aghast 
 At the impatient glance he cast ; — 
 Such glance the mountain eagle threAv, 
 As, from the cliffs of Benvenue, 
 She spread her dark sails on the wind. 
 And, high in middle heav'n reclined. 
 With her broad shadow on the lake, 
 Silenced the warblers of the brake. 
 
 IV. 
 A heap of wither'd boughs was piled. 
 Of juniper and rowan wild, 
 Mingled with shivers from the oak, 
 Kent by the lightning's recent stroke. 
 Brian, "the Hermit, by it stood, 
 Barefooted, in his frock and hood. 
 His grisled beard and matted hair 
 Obscured a visage of despair ;
 
 278 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 
 
 His naked arms and legs, seam'd o'er, 
 
 I'he scars oi frantic penance bore. 
 
 That monk, of savage form and face, -^ 
 
 The impending danger of his race 
 
 Had drawn fiom deepest solitude, 
 
 Far in Benharrow's bosom rude. 
 
 Not his the mien of Christian priest, 
 
 But Druid's, from the grave released. 
 
 Whose harden'd heart and ej'e might brook 
 
 On human sacrifice to look ; 
 
 And much, 't was said, of heathen lore 
 
 MLx'd in the charms he mutter'd o'er. 
 
 Tlie hallow'd creed gave only worse 
 
 And deadlier emphasis of curse ; 
 
 No peasant sought that Hermit's prayer. 
 
 His cave the pilgrim shunn'd with care, 
 
 The eager huntsman knew his bound. 
 
 And in mid chase call'd off his hoimd ; 
 
 Or if, in lonely glen or strath, 
 
 The desert-dweller met his path. 
 
 He pray'd, and sign'd the cross between, 
 
 While terror took devotion's mien. 
 
 V. 
 
 Of Brian's birth strange tales were told. '* 
 His mother watch'd a midnight fold, 
 Built deep within a drearj' glen, 
 Where scatter 'd lay the bones of men, 
 In some forgotten battle slain. 
 And bleach'd by drifting wind and rain. 
 It might have tamed a warrior's heart, 
 To view such mockeiy of his art ! 
 The knot-grass fetter'd there the hand. 
 Which once could burst an iron band ; 
 Beneath the broad and ample bone. 
 That buckler'd heart to fear unknown, 
 A feeble and a timorous guest. 
 The field-fare framed her lowly nest; 
 There the slow blind-worm left his slime 
 On the fleet limbs that mock'd at time ; 
 And there, too, lay the leader's skull, 
 Still wreath'd with chaplet, flush'd and full. 
 For heath-bell with her purple bloom, 
 Supplied the bonnet and the plume. 
 AH night, in this sad glen, the maid 
 Sate, shrouded in her mantle's shade : 
 — She said, no shepherd sought her side. 
 No hunter's hand her snood untied, 
 Yet ne'er again, to braid her hair. 
 The virgin snood did Alice wear -,25 
 Gone was her maiden glee and sport. 
 Her maiden girdle all too short ; 
 Nor sought she, fi-om that fatal night. 
 Or holy chm-ch, or blessed rite,
 
 CAN'TO III. THE GATHERING. 279 
 
 But lock'd her secret in her breast, 
 And died La travail, unconfess'd 
 
 VI. 
 Alone, among his young compeers, 
 Was Brian from his infant years; 
 A moody and heart-broken boy, 
 Estranged from sympathy and jo}% 
 Bearing each taunt which careless tongue 
 On his mysterious lineage flung. 
 Whole nights he spent by moonlight pale. 
 To wood and stream his hap to wail. 
 Till, frantic, he as truth received 
 What of his birth the crowd believed, 
 And sought, in mist and meteor fire, 
 To meet and know his Phantom Sire I 
 In vain, to soothe his waywai-d fate, 
 The cloister oped her pitying gate ; 
 In vain, the learning of the age 
 Unclasp'd the sable-Ietterd page ; 
 Even in" its treasures he could find 
 Food for the fever of his mind. 
 Eager he read whatever tells 
 Of magic, cabala, and spells, 
 And every dark pursuit allied 
 To curious and presiunptuous pride ; 
 TiU, with fired brain and nerves o'erstrung, 
 And heart with mystic horrors wrung, 
 Desperate he sought Benhan-OAv's den. 
 And hid him from the haunts of men. 
 
 Vli. 
 The desert gave him visions wild, 
 Such as might suit the spectre's child. 
 Where with black clifls the torrents toU, 
 He watch'd the wheeling eddies boil, 
 Till, from their foam, his dazzled eyes 
 Beheld the Kiver Demon rise ; 
 The mountain mist took form and limb. 
 Of noontide hag, or goblin grim ; 
 The midnight wind came wild and dread, 
 Swell'd with the voices of the dead; 
 far on the future battle-heath 
 His eye beheld the ranks of death : 
 Thus the lone Seer, from mankind hurl'd. 
 Shaped forth a disembodied world. 
 One lingering sympathy of mind 
 Still bound him to the mortal kind ; 
 The only parent he could claim 
 Of ancient Alpine's lineage came. 
 Late had he heard, in prophet's dream, 
 The fatal Ben-Shie's boding scream;-' 
 Sounds, too, had come in midnight blast, 
 Of charging steeds, careering fast
 
 280 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 
 
 Along Benharrow's shingly side, 
 
 Where mortal horsemen ne'er might ride ;'' 
 
 The thunderbolt had split the pine, — 
 
 All augur'd ill to Alpine's line. 
 
 He girt his loins, and came to show 
 
 The signals of impending woe, 
 
 And now stood prompt to bless or ban. 
 
 As bade the Chieftain of his clan. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 'Twas all prepared; — and from the rock, 
 A goat, the patriarch of the flock, 
 Before the kindling pile was laid. 
 And pierced by Roderick's ready blade. 
 Patient the sickening victim eyed 
 The life-blood ebb in crimson tide, 
 Down his clogg'd beard and shaggy limb. 
 Till darkness glazed his eyeballs dim. 
 The grisly priest, with murmuring prayer, 
 A slender crosslet form'd with care, 
 A cubit's length in measure due ; 
 The shaft and limbs were rods of yew. 
 Whose parents in Inch-Cailliach wave 
 Their shadows o'er Clan Alpine's grave, 
 And, answering Lomond's breezes deep, 
 Soothe many a chieftain's endless sleep. 
 The Cross, thus form'd, he held on high. 
 With wasted hand, and haggard eye, 
 And strange and mingled feelings woke, 
 While his anathema he spoke : 
 
 IX. 
 
 " Woe to the clansman, who shall view 
 This symbol of sepulchral yew. 
 Forgetful that its branches grew 
 Where weep the heavens their holiest dew 
 
 On Alpine's dwelling low I 
 Deserter of his Chieftain's trust. 
 He ne'er shall mingle with their dust, 
 But, from his sires and kindred thrust, 
 Each clansman's execration just 
 
 Shall doom him wrath and woe." 
 He paused ; — the word the vassals took. 
 With 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, 
 That far to seaward finds his source, 
 And flings to shore his muster'd force. 
 Burst, with loud roar, their answer hoarse, 
 
 " Woe to the traitor, woe ! " 
 Ben-an's grey scalp the accents knew. 
 The joyous wolf from covert drew.
 
 THE GATHERIXG. 281 
 
 The exulting eagle scream'd afar, — 
 They knew the voice of Alpine's war. 
 
 The shout was hush'd on lake and fell, 
 The Monk resumed his mutter'd spell : 
 Dismal and low its accents came, 
 The while he scathed the Cross with flame ; 
 And the few words that reach'd the air, 
 Although the holiest name was there, 
 Had more of blasphemy than prayer. 
 But when he shook above t!ie crowd 
 Its kindled points, he spoke aloud : — 
 " Woe to the wretch who fails to rear 
 At this dread sign the ready spear I 
 For, as the flames this symbol sear, 
 His home the refuge of his fear, 
 
 A kindred fate shall know ; 
 Far o'er its roof the volumed flame 
 Clan- Alpine's vengeance shall proclaim, 
 While maids and matrons on his name 
 Shall call down wretchedness and shame. 
 
 And infamy and woe." 
 Then rose the cry of females, shrill 
 As goss-hawk's whistle on the hill, 
 Denouncing misery- and ill, 
 Mingled with childhood's babbling trill 
 
 Of curses stammer'd slow ; 
 Answering, with imprecation dread, 
 " Sunk be his home in embers red! 
 And cursed be the meanest shed 
 That e'er shall hide the houseless head, 
 
 We doom to want and woe ! " 
 A sharp and shrieking echo gave^ 
 Coir-Uriskin, thy goblin cave ! 
 And the grey pass where birches wave. 
 
 On Beala-nam-bo. 
 
 XL 
 
 Then deeper paused the priest anew. 
 And hard his labouring breath he drew, 
 While, with set teeth and clenched hand, 
 And eyes that glow'd like fiery brand, 
 He meditated curse more dread. 
 And deadlier, on the clansman's head, 
 Wlio, summon'd to his chieftain's aid. 
 The signal saw and disobey'd. 
 The crosslet's points of sparkling wood. 
 He quenched among the bubbling blood. 
 And, as again the sign he rear'd, 
 Hollow and hoarse his voice was heard : 
 " When flits this Cross from man to man, 
 Vich-Alpine's summons to his clan. 
 Burst be the ear that fails to heed ! 
 Palsied the foot that shuns to speed !
 
 282 THE LADY OP THE LAKE. < 
 
 May ravens tear the careless eyes, 
 Wolves make the coward hear"- their prize ! 
 As sinks that blood-stream in the earth, 
 So may his heart's-blood drench his heartli ! 
 As dies in hissing gore the spark, 
 Quench thou liis light, Destruction dark, 
 And be the grace to him denied, 
 Bought by this sign to all beside ! " 
 He ceased ; no echo gave agen 
 The murmur of the deep Amen. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Then Roderick, ■with impatient look, 
 From Brian's hand the svmbol took : 
 
 " Speed, Malise, speed ! " he said, and gave 
 The crosslet to his henchman brave. 
 
 " The muster-place be Lanrick mead — 
 Instant the time — speed, Malise, speed ! " 
 Like heath-bird, -ivhen the hawks pm-sue, 
 A barge across Loch Katrine flew ; 
 High stood the henchman on the prow ; 
 So rapidly the barge-men row. 
 The bubbles, where they laimch'd the boat, 
 "Were all unbroken and afloat, 
 Dancing in foam and ripple still, 
 When it had near'd the mainland hill ; 
 And from the silver beach's side 
 Still was the prow three fathom wide, 
 WTien lightly bounded to the land 
 The messenger of blood and brand. 
 
 XIIL 
 
 Speed, Malise, speed ! the dun deer's hide 
 On fleeter foot was never tied.'^ 
 Speed, Malise, speed ! such cause of haste 
 Thine active sinews never braced. 
 Bend 'gainst the steepy hQl thy breast. 
 Burst down like torrent from its crest ; 
 With short and springing footstep pass 
 The ti'embling bog and false morass ; 
 Across the brook lilie roebuck boimd. 
 And thread the brake like questing hound ; 
 The crag is high, the scaux is deep. 
 Yet shrink not from the desperate leap : 
 Parch'd are thy burning lips and brow, 
 Yet by the fountain pause not now ; 
 Herald of battle, fate, and fear. 
 Stretch onward in thy fieet career ! 
 The wounded hind thou track'st not now, 
 Pursuest not maid through greenwood bough, 
 Nor pliest thou now thy fljTng pace, 
 Witli rivals in the mountain race ; 
 But danger, death, and warrior deed, 
 Ai-e in thy course — speed, Malise, speed t
 
 Iir. THE OATHERn'G. 283 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Fast as the fatal symbol flies, 
 In arms the huts and hamlets rise ; 
 From winding glen, from upland brown. 
 They pour'd each hardy tenant down. 
 Nor slack'd the messenger liis pace ; 
 He show'd the sign, he named the place, 
 And, pressing forward like the wind, 
 Left clamour and surprise behind. 
 The fisherman forsook the strand, 
 The swarthy smith took dirk and brand 
 "With changed cheer, the mower blithe 
 Left in the half-cut swathe the sej-the ; 
 The herds without a keeper stray'd. 
 The plough was in mid-furrow staid. 
 The falc'ner toss'd his hawk away. 
 The hunter left the stag at bay ; 
 Prompt at the signal of alarms. 
 Each son of Alpine rush'd to arms ; 
 So swept the tumult and affray 
 Along the mai'gin of Achray. 
 Alas, thou lovely lake ! that e'er 
 Thy banks shoidd echo sounds of fear ! 
 The rocks, the bosky thickets, sleep 
 So stilly on thy bosom deep. 
 The lark's blithe carol, from the cloud. 
 Seems for the scene too gaUy loud. 
 
 XV. 
 Speed, Malise, speed ! — The lake is past, 
 Duncraggan's huts appear at last. 
 And peep, Uke moss-grown rocks, half-seen, 
 Half hidden in the copse so green ; 
 There mayst thou rest, thy labour done. 
 Their Lord shall speed the signal on. — 
 As stoops the hawk upon his prey, 
 The henchman shot him down the way. 
 — What woeful accents load the gale ?" 
 The funeral yeU, the female waU ! 
 A gallant hunter's sport is o'er, 
 A valiant warrior fights no more. 
 Who, in the battle or the chase. 
 At Roderick's side shall fill his place I — 
 Within the hall, where torches' ray 
 Supplies the excluded be«ms of day, 
 Lies Duncan on his lowly bier. 
 And o'er him streams his widow's tear. 
 His stripling son stands mournful by 
 His yoimgest weeps, but knows not wny ; 
 The village maids and matrons round 
 rhe dismal coronach resound.^
 
 284 THE liABY OF THE LAKE. CANTC 
 
 XVI. 
 Coronarl^. 
 
 He is gone on the mountain, 
 
 He is lost to the forest, 
 Like a summer-dried fountain. 
 
 When our need was the sorest. 
 The font reappearing, 
 
 From the rain-drops shall borrow, 
 But to us comes no cheering, 
 
 To Duncan no morrow 1 
 The hand of the reaper 
 
 Takes the ears that are hoary. 
 But the voice of the weeper 
 
 Wails manhood in glory. 
 The autumn winds rusliing 
 
 Waft the leaves that are searest, 
 But our flower was in flushing, 
 
 When blighting was nearest. 
 
 Fleet foot on the correi," 
 
 Sage coimsel in cumber, 
 Red hand in the foray. 
 
 How sound is thy slumber ! 
 Like the dew on the moimtain, 
 
 Like the foam on the river, 
 Like the bubble on the fountain. 
 
 Thou art gone, and for ever ! 
 
 XVIL 
 
 See Stumah,"" who, the bier beside. 
 His master's corpse with wonder eyed, 
 Poor Stumah 1 whom his least lialoo 
 Could send like lightning o'er the dew. 
 Bristles his crest, and points his ears. 
 As if some stranger step he hears. 
 'Tis not a mourner's muffled tread, 
 ^Mio comes to sorrow o'er the dead. 
 But headlong haste, or deadly fear. 
 Urge the precipitate career. 
 All stand aghast : — unheeding all, 
 The henchman bursts into the hall ; 
 Before the dead man's bier he stood ; 
 Held forth the cross besmear'd -with blood — 
 " The muster-place is L*nrick mead — 
 Speed forth the signal ! clansmen, speed !" 
 
 XVIIL 
 
 Angus, the heir of Duncan's line, 
 Spinmg forth and seized the fatal sign. 
 In haste the stripling to his side 
 His father's dirk and broadsword tied ; 
 
 a Or corn, the hollow side of the hill, where game usually lio3. 
 <> Faithful, the name of a dog.
 
 CANTO III. THE GATHERINQ. 285 
 
 But when he saw his mother's eye 
 
 Watch him in speechless agony. 
 
 Back to her open'd arms he flew, 
 
 Press'd on her lips a foucl adieu — 
 " Alas ! " she sobb'd, — " and yet, be gone, 
 
 And speed thee forth, like Dimcan's son !" 
 
 One look he cast upon the bier, 
 
 Dash'd from his eye the gathering tear. 
 
 Breathed deep to clear his labovu'ing breast, 
 
 And toss'd aloft liis bonnet crest, 
 
 Then, like the high-bred colt, when, freed, 
 
 First he essays his fire and speed, 
 
 He vanish'd, and o'er moor and moss 
 
 Sped forward with the Fiery Cross. 
 
 Suspended was the widow's tear, 
 
 While yet his footsteps she could here ; 
 
 And when she mark'd the henchman's eye 
 
 Wet with imwonted sjTnpathy, 
 " Kinsman," she said, " liis race is run. 
 
 That should have sped thine errand on ; 
 
 The oak has faU'u, — the sapling bough 
 
 Is all Duncraggan's shelter now. 
 
 Yet trust I well, his duty done. 
 
 The orphan's God •will guard my son. — 
 
 And you, in many a danger true. 
 
 At Duncan's best your blades that drew. 
 
 To arms, and guard that orphan's head I 
 
 Let babes and women wad the dead." 
 
 Then weapon-clang, and martial call, 
 
 Eesounded through the funeral hall, 
 
 WhUe from the walls the attendant band 
 
 Snatch'd sword and t.u'ge, with hm-ried hand 
 
 And short and flitting energy 
 
 Glanced from the mourner's smiken eye. 
 
 As if the sounds to wan-ior dear. 
 
 Might rouse her Dmican from his bier. 
 
 But faded soon that bonow'd force ; 
 
 Grief claim'd his right, and teai's then' course. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Benleai saw the Cross of Firp, 
 It glanced like lightning up Strath-Ire. 
 O'er dale and lull the siumnons flew. 
 Nor rest nor pause yomig Angus knew ; 
 The tear that gather'd in his eye 
 He left the mountain-breeze to dry ; 
 Untn, where Teith's yoimg waters roll, 
 Betwixt him and a wooded knoU, 
 That graced the sable strath with green, 
 The chapel of Saint Bride was seen. 
 Swoln was the stream, remote the bridge. 
 But Angus paused not on the edge ; 
 Though the dark waves danced dizzilj-. 
 Though reel'd his sympathetic eye.
 
 286 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. CANTO III. 
 
 He dash'd araid the torrent's roar : 
 His right hand iiigh the crosslet bore, 
 His left the pole-axe grasp'd, to guide 
 And stay his footing in the tide. 
 He stumbled twice — the foam splash'd high. 
 With hoarser swell the stream raced by ; 
 And had he fall'a, — for ever there, 
 Farewell Duncraggan's orphan heir ! 
 But still, as if in parting life. 
 Firmer he grasp'd the Cross of strife, 
 UntU the opposing bank he gain'd. 
 And up the chapel pathway strained. 
 
 XX. 
 
 A blithesome rout, that morning tide. 
 Had sought the chapel of St Bride. 
 Her troth Tombea's Mary gave 
 To Norman, heir of Armandave. 
 And, issuing from the Gothic arch, 
 The bridal now resiuned their march. 
 In rude, but glad procession, came 
 Bonneted sire and coif-clad dame ; 
 And plaided youth, with jest and jeer. 
 Which snooded maiden would not hear ; 
 And children, that, unwitting why. 
 Lent the gay shout theu- sluilly cry ; 
 And minstrels, that in measures vied 
 Before the young and bonny bride. 
 Whose downcast eye and cheek disclose 
 The tear and blush of morning rose. 
 With virgin step, and bashful hand. 
 She held the 'kerchief's snowj' band ; 
 The gallant bridegroom by her side, 
 Beheld his prize ■nith victor's pride. 
 And the glad mother in her ear 
 Was closely whispering word of cheer. _ 
 
 XXI. 
 
 \Vho meets them at the churchyard gate? 
 The messenger of fear and fate ! 
 Haste in his hiuried accent lies. 
 And grief is swimmmg in his eyes. 
 All dripping from the recent flood. 
 Panting ancl travel-soil'd he stood, 
 The fatal sign of fire and sword 
 Held forth, and spoke the appointed word : 
 " The muster-place is Lanrick mead — 
 Speed forth the signal ! Norman, speed ! " 
 And must he change so soon the hand, 
 Just link'd to his by holy band, 
 For the fell Cross of blood and brand ? 
 And must the day, so blithe that rose, 
 And promised rapture in the close, 
 Before its setting hour, divide 
 The bridegroom from the plighted bride?
 
 OANTO III. THE GATHERING. 287 
 
 fatal doom ! — it must ! it must ! 
 Clan-Alpine's cause, her Chieftain's trust. 
 Her summons dread, brook no delay , 
 Stretch to the race — away ! away ! 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Yet slow he laid his plaid aside, 
 
 And, lingering, eyed his lovely bride, 
 
 Until he saw the starting tear 
 
 Speak woe he might not stop to cheer ; 
 
 Then, trusting not a second look. 
 
 In haste he sped him up the brook, 
 
 Nor backward glanced, till on the heatli 
 
 Where Lubnaig's lade supplies the Teith. 
 
 — ^\'^lat in the racer's bosom stirr'd? 
 
 The sickening pang of hope deferr'd. 
 
 And memory, with a torturing train 
 
 Of all his morning visions vain. 
 
 Mingled with love's impatience, came 
 
 The manly thirst for martial fame ; 
 
 The stormy joy of mountaineers, 
 
 Ere yet they rush upon the spears ; 
 
 And zeal for Clan and Chieftain burning. 
 
 And hope, fi-om well-fought field retuniLiig, 
 
 With war's red honours on his crest. 
 
 To clasp his Marj^ to his breast. 
 
 Stung by such thoughts, o'er bank and brae, 
 
 Like fire from flint he glanced away, 
 
 WJiile high resolve, and feeling strong. 
 
 Burst into voluntary song. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 The heath this night must be my bed, 
 The bracken" curtain for my head. 
 My lullabv the warder's tread, 
 
 Far, far, from love and thee, Marj- ; 
 To-morrow eve, more stilly laid, 
 My couch may be my bloody plaid. 
 My vesper song thy wail, sweet maid I 
 
 It will not waken me, Mary ! 
 
 1 may not, dare not, fancy now 
 
 The grief that clouds thy lovely brow; 
 I dare not think upon thy vow, 
 
 And all it promised me, ]\Iary ! 
 No fond regret must Norman know ; 
 When bursts Clan-Alpine on the foe, 
 His heart must be like bended bow. 
 
 His foot like an-ow free, Mary. 
 
 A time will come with feeling fraught, 
 For, if I fall in battle fought, 
 
 o Bracien, fern
 
 288 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 
 
 Thy hapless lover's dying thought 
 
 Shall be a thought on thee, Mary. 
 And if return'd from ? onquer'd foes. 
 How blithely wiU the evening close, 
 How sweet the linnet sing repose, 
 
 To my young bride and me, Mary ! 
 
 XXIV. 
 JTot faster o'er thy heathery braes, 
 Balquhidder, speeds the midnight blaze,-''* 
 Rushing, in conflagration strong. 
 Thy deep ravines and dells along. 
 Wrapping thy cliffs in pm-ple glow. 
 And reddening the dark lakes below ; 
 Kor faster speeds it, nor so far, 
 As o'er thy heaths the voice of war. 
 The signal roused to martial coil 
 The sullen margin of Loch VoU, 
 Waked still Loch Doine, and to the source 
 Alarm'd, Balvaig, thy swampy course ; 
 Thence southward tum'd its rapid road 
 Ado^vn Strath-Gai-tney's valley broad, 
 TOl rose in arms each man might claim 
 A portion in Clan-Alpine's name. 
 From the grey sire, whose trembling hand 
 Could hardly buckle on his brand. 
 To the raw boy, whose shaft and bow 
 Were yet scarce teiTor to the crow. 
 Each valley, each sequester'd glen, 
 Muster'd its little horde of men. 
 That met as torrents from the height 
 In Highland dales their streams unite. 
 Still gathering, as they pour along, 
 A voice more loud, a tide more strong, 
 TiU at the rendezvous they stood 
 By hundreds prompt for blows and blood. 
 Each train'd to arms since life began. 
 Owning no tie but to his clan. 
 No oath, but by his chieftain's hand. 
 No law, but Eoderick Dhu's conmiand. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 That svmamer mom had Roderick Dhu 
 Survey'd the sku-ts of Ben venue, 
 And sent his scouts o'er hill and heath. 
 To view the frontiers of Menteith. 
 All backward came with news of truce ; 
 Still lay each martial Grame and Bruce, 
 In Eednock courts no horseman wait, 
 No banner waved on Cardross gate. 
 On Duchraj-'s towers no beacon shone. 
 Nor scared the herons from Loch Con ; 
 AD aeem'd at peace. — Now wot ye why 
 The Chieftain, with sucn anxious eye. 
 Ere to the muster he repair, 
 This western frontier scann'd with care?—
 
 THE GATHERIXG. 289 
 
 In Benvenue's most darksome cleft, 
 A fair, though cruel, pledge was left; 
 For Douglas, to his promise true. 
 That morning from the isle -withdreWj 
 And in a deep sequester'd dell 
 Had sought a low and lonely ceU. 
 By many a bard, in Celtic tongue. 
 Has Coir-nan-Uriskin been sung; '•'^ . 
 A softer name the Saxons gave, 
 And called the grot the Goblin-cave. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 It was a wild and strange retreat, 
 As e'er was trod by outlaw's feet. 
 The dell, upon the moimtain's crest, 
 Yawn'd like a gash on warrior's breast ; 
 Its trench had staid fiiU many a rock, 
 Hurl'd by primeval earthquake shock 
 From Benvenue's grey summit wild. 
 And hei'e, in random ruin pUed, 
 They frown'd incumbent o'er the spot, 
 And form'd the rugged silvan grot. 
 The oak and birch, -with mingled shade, 
 At noontide there a twilight made. 
 Unless when short and sudden shone 
 Some straggHng beam on cliff or stone, 
 With such a glimpse as prophet's eye 
 Gains on thy depth. Futurity. 
 No murmur waked the solemn still. 
 Save tinkling of a fountain rill ; 
 But when the ^vind chafed with the lake, 
 A suUen sound would upward break, 
 TVith dashing hollow voice, that spoke 
 The incessant war of wave and rock. 
 Suspended cliffs, with hideous sway, 
 Seem'd nodding o'er the cavern grey. 
 From such a don the wolf had sprung, 
 In such the ■nild-cat Isaves her young ; 
 Yet Douglas and his daughter fair 
 Sought for a space their safety there. 
 Grey Superstition's whisper dread 
 Debarr'd the spot to vulgar tread ; 
 For there, she said, did fays resort, 
 And satyrs hold their silvan court. 
 By moonh'ght tread their mystic maze, 
 AJad blast the rash beholder's gaze. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Now eve, with western shadows long, 
 Floated on Katrine bright and strong, 
 When Eoderick, -n-ith a chosen few, 
 Eepass'd the heights of Benvenue. 
 Above the Goblin-cave they go. 
 Through the wild pass of Beal-nam-bo ;
 
 290 THE LADY OP THE LAKE. ( 
 
 The prompt retainers speed before, 
 
 To launch the shallop from the shore, 
 
 For cross Loch Katrine lies his way 
 
 To view the passes of Achray, 
 
 And place his clansmen in array. 
 
 Yet lags the chief in musing mind, 
 
 Unwonted sight, his men behind. 
 
 A single page, to bear his sword, 
 
 Alone attended on his lord ; 
 
 The rest their way through thickets break. 
 
 And soon await him by the lake. 
 
 It was a fair and gallant sight, 
 
 To view them fi-om the neighbouring height} 
 
 By the low-levell'd sunbeam's light ! 
 
 For strength and stature, from the clan 
 
 Each warrior was a chosen man, 
 
 As even afar might well be seen, 
 
 By their proud step and martial mien. 
 
 Their feathers dance, their tartans float, 
 
 Their targets gleam, as by the boat 
 
 A wild and warlike group they stand, 
 
 That well became such moimtain-strand. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Their Chief, with ste|) reluctant, still 
 Was lingering on the craggy hill. 
 Hard by where tum'd apart the road 
 To Douglas's obscure abode. 
 It was but with that dawning mom, 
 That Roderick Dhu had proudly sworn 
 To drown his love in war's wild roar, 
 Nor think of Ellen Douglas more ; 
 But he who stems a stream with sand. 
 And fetters flame with flaxen band. 
 Has yet a harder task to prove — 
 By firm resolve to conquer love ! 
 Eve finds the Chief, like restless ghost, 
 StUl hovering near his treasure lost ; 
 For though his haughty heart deny 
 A parting meeting to his eye, 
 StUl fondly strains his anxious ear. 
 The accents of her voice to hear, 
 And inly did he curse the breeze 
 That waked to sound the rustling trees. 
 But hark I what mingles in the strain ? 
 It is the harp of Allan-Bane, 
 That wakes its measiu-e slow and high, 
 Attuned to sacred minstrelsy. 
 What melting voice attends the strings ? 
 'Tis Ellen, or an angel, sings. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 ?l^jimii t0 tt)e SFtrfltn. 
 
 Ave Maria ! maiden mild ! 
 Listen to a maiden's prayer
 
 fll. THE GATHERING. 291 
 
 Thou canst hear though from the wild, 
 
 Thou canst save amid despair. 
 Safe may we sleep beneath thy care, 
 
 Though banish'd, outcast, and revOed — 
 Maiden ! hear a maiden's prayer I 
 
 Mother, hear a suppliant child 1 
 
 Ave Maria .' 
 
 Ave Maria ! un defiled ! 
 
 The flinty couch we now must share 
 Shall seem with down of eider piled. 
 
 If thy protection hover there. 
 The murky cavern's heavj' air 
 
 Shall breathe of balm if thou hast smiled ; 
 Then, Maiden ! hear a maiden's praj-er I 
 
 Mother, list a suppliant child 1 
 
 Ave Malta I 
 
 Ave Maria ! Stainless styled ! 
 
 Foul demons of the earth and air. 
 From this their wonted haunt esilefl. 
 
 Shall flee before thy presence fair. 
 "We bow us to our lot of care, 
 
 Beneath thy guidance reconciled ; 
 Hear for a maid a maiden's prayer I 
 
 And for a father hear a child t 
 
 Ave Maria ! 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Died on the harp the closing hj-mn — 
 Unmoved in attitude and limb. 
 As listening still, Clan-Alpine's lord 
 Stood leaning on his heavy sword. 
 Until the page, vnth. humble sign,' 
 Twice pointed to the sun's decUne. 
 Then while his plaid he round him cast, 
 It is the last time — 'tis the last," 
 He mutter'd thrice, — " the last time e'er 
 That angel-voice shall Roderick hear 1" 
 It was a goading thought — his stride 
 Hied hastier down the muuntain-side ; 
 Sullen he fliuig him in the boat. 
 And instant 'cross the lake it shot. 
 They landed in that silvery bay. 
 And eastward held their hasty wav, 
 Till, with the latest beams of'liglit. 
 The band arrived on Lanrick height, 
 "Wliere muster'd, in the vale Ijelow, 
 Clan- Alpine's men in martial show. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 A various scene the clansmen made ; 
 Some sate, some stood, some slowly stray d; 
 But most, with mantles folded round. 
 Were couch'd to rest upon the ground,
 
 292 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. CANTO IV. 
 
 Scarce to be knovra by curious eye, 
 
 From the deep heather where they lie, 
 
 So well was match.'d the tartan screen 
 
 With heath-bell dark and brackens green ; 
 
 Unless where, here and there, a blade, 
 
 Or lance's point, a glimmer made. 
 
 Like glow-worm twinkling through the shade. 
 
 But when, advancing through the gloom. 
 
 They saw the Chieftain's eagle plume. 
 
 Their shout of welcome, shrill and wide. 
 
 Shook the steep mountain's steady side. 
 
 Thrice it arose, and lake and fell 
 
 Three times return d the martial veil 
 
 It died upon Bochastle's plain. 
 
 And Silence claim d her evening reigu. 
 
 CA.NTO FOURTH. 
 
 I. 
 
 " The rose is fairest when 'tis budding new, 
 
 And hope is brightest when it dawns from fears ; 
 The rose is sweetest wash'd with morning dew, 
 
 And love is loveliest when embalm'd in tears. 
 wilding rose, whom fancy thus endears, 
 
 I bid your blossoms in my bonnet wave. 
 Emblem of hope and love through future years !" — 
 
 Thus spoke young Norman, lieir of Armandave, 
 What time the sun arose on Vennachar's broad wave. 
 
 II. 
 
 Such fond conceit, half said half sung. 
 
 Love prompted to the bridegroom's tongue. 
 
 All while he stripp'd the wild-rose spray. 
 
 His axe and bow beside him lay. 
 
 For on a pass 'twixt lake and wood, 
 
 A wakeful sentinel he stood. 
 
 Hark ! on the rock a footstep rung. 
 
 And instant to his arms he sprimg. 
 " Stand, or thou diest ! — What, Malise ? — soon 
 
 Art thou return'd from Braes of Doune. 
 
 By thy keen step and glance I know. 
 
 Thou bring'st us tidings of the foe." — 
 
 (For while the Fiery Cross hied on, 
 
 On distant scout had Malise gone.) 
 " Where sleeps the Chief?" the henclunan said.—
 
 '} IT. THE PROI HECT. 293 
 
 " Apart, in j-onder misty glade ; 
 
 To his lone couch I'll be your guide." — 
 
 Then call'd a slumberer by his side, 
 
 And stirr'd liim with his slacken 'd bow — 
 " Up, up, Glentarkin ! rouse thee, ho ! 
 
 We seek the Chieftain ; on the track, 
 
 Keep eagle watcli till I come back." 
 
 III. 
 
 Together up the pass they sped : 
 " What of the foeman ? " Norman said. — 
 " Varying reports from near and far ; 
 
 This certain, — that a band of war 
 
 Has for two days been ready boune. 
 
 At prompt command, to march from Doune ; 
 
 King James, the while, with princely powers. 
 
 Holds revelry in Stirlinl, towers. 
 
 Soon will this dark and gathering cloud 
 
 Speak on our glens in thunder loud. 
 
 Inured to bide such bitter bout. 
 
 The warrior's plaid may bear it out ; 
 
 But, Norman, how wilt thou provide 
 
 A shelter for thy bonny bride ? " — 
 " What ! know ye not that Roderick's care 
 
 To the lone isle hath caused repair 
 
 Each maid and matron of the clan, 
 
 And every child and aged man 
 
 Unfit for arms ; and given his charge, 
 
 Nor skiff nor shallop, boat nor barge. 
 
 Upon these lakes shall float at large. 
 
 But all beside the islet mooi-. 
 
 That such dear pledge may rest secure ? " — 
 
 IV. 
 
 " 'T is wer advised — the Chieftain's plan 
 
 Bespeaks the father of his clan. 
 
 But wlierefore sleeps Sir Roderick Dhu 
 
 Apart from all his followers true ? " — 
 " It is, because last evening-tide 
 
 Brian an augury hath tried. 
 
 Of that di'ead kind which must not be 
 
 Unless m dread extremity, 
 
 The Taghairm call'd ; by which, afar, 
 
 Our sires foresaw the events of war.^' 
 
 Duncraggan's milk-white bull the}' slew." 
 
 MAI.ISE. 
 
 " Ah I well the gallant brute I knew ! 
 The choicest of the prey we had. 
 When swept our merry-men Gallangad. 
 His hide was snow, his horns were dark. 
 His red eye glow'd like fiery spark ; 
 So fierce, so tameless, and so fleet, 
 Sore did he cumber om- retreat,
 
 294 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 
 
 And kept our stoutest kemes in awe, 
 EA'en at the pass of Beal 'niaha. 
 But steep and flinty was tlie road, 
 And sharp the hurrj-ing pikemen's goad, 
 And when we came to Dennan's Eow, 
 A child might scatheless stroke his brow.' 
 
 NORIIAX. 
 
 •• That bull was slain : his reeking hide 
 They stretch'd the cataract beside, 
 Whose waters their wild tumult toss 
 Adown the black and craggj' boss 
 Of that huge clitF, whose ample verge 
 Tradition calls the Hero's Targe.'* 
 Couch'd on a shelve beneath its brink. 
 Close where the thundering torrents sink, 
 Kocking beneath their headlong sway, 
 And drizzled by the ceaseless spray. 
 Midst groan of rock, and roar of stream. 
 The wizard waits prophetic dream. 
 Nor distant rests the Chief; — but hush I 
 See, gliding slow through mist and bu.^h. 
 The hermit gains yon rock, and staniia 
 To gaze upon our slumbering bands. 
 Seems he not, Malise, like a ghost, 
 That hovers o'er a slaughter'd host? 
 Or raven on the blasted oak, 
 That, watching while the deer is broke," 
 His morsel claims with sullen croak i' " 
 
 MALISE. 
 
 --"Peace! peace! to other than to me, 
 
 Thy words were evil augurj' ; 
 
 But still I hold Sir Eoderick's blade 
 
 Clan-Alpine's omen and her aid, 
 
 Not aught that, glean'd from heaven oi hell, 
 
 Yon fiend-begotten ilonk can tell. 
 
 The Chieftain joins him, see — and now, 
 
 Together they descend the brow." 
 
 VI. 
 
 And, as they came, with Alpine's Lord 
 The Hermit Jlonk held solemn word: — 
 " Koderick ! it is a fearful strife, 
 For man endow'd with mortal life, 
 Whose shroud of sentient clay can still 
 Feel feverish pang and fainting chUl, 
 ^Vl^ose eye can stare in stony trance. 
 Whose hair can rouse like warrior's lance,— 
 'Tis hard for such to view, unfurl'd, 
 The curtain of the future world. 
 
 » Quartered.
 
 ) IV. THE PROPHECY. 295 
 
 Tet, witness every quaking limb, 
 
 My sunken pulse, my eyeballs dim, 
 
 ]\Iy soul with harrowing anguish torn, — 
 
 This for my Chieftain have I borne ! — 
 
 The shapes that sought my fearful couch, 
 
 A hviman tongue may ne'er avouch ; 
 
 No mortal man, — save he, who, bred 
 
 Between the li%-ing and the dead, 
 
 Is gifted beyond nature's law, — 
 
 Had e'er survived to say he saw. 
 
 At length the fatal answer came, 
 
 In characters of li\ang flame ! 
 
 Not spoke in word, nor blazed in scroll. 
 
 But borne and branded on my soul ; — 
 
 Which spills the foremost foeman's life. 
 
 That party conquers ln the strife." — ^ 
 
 VII. 
 " Thanks, Brian, for thy zeal and care ! 
 Good is thine aug-ury, and fail-. 
 Clan- Alpine ne'er in battle stood. 
 But tirst our broadswords tasted blood. 
 A surer victim still I know, 
 Self-ofier'd to the auspicious blow : 
 A spy has sought my land this mom, — 
 No eve shall witness his return ! 
 BIy followers guard each pass' mouth. 
 To east, to westward, and to south ; 
 Red Murdoch, bribed to be his guide, 
 Has charge to lead his steps aside, 
 TUl, in deep path or dingle brown. 
 He light on those shall bring him down. 
 — But see, who comes his news to show I 
 Malise ! what tidings of the foe?" — 
 
 YIII. 
 • At Doune, o'er many a spear and glaive 
 
 Two Barons proud their banners wave. 
 
 I saw the I\Ioray's silver star, 
 
 And mark'd the sable pale of Mar." — 
 " By Alpine's soul, high tidings those ! 
 
 I love to hear of worthy foes. 
 
 AVhen move they on ? " — " To-morrow's noon 
 
 TVUl see them here for battle boune." — <» 
 " Then shall it see a meeting stem ! — 
 
 But, for the place — say, coiddst thou learn 
 
 Nought of the friendly clans of Earn ? 
 
 Stengthened by them, we well might bide 
 
 The battle on Benledi's side. 
 
 Thou couldst not ? — well ! Clan Alpine's men 
 
 Shall man the Trosachs' shaggj' glen ; 
 
 Within Loch Katrine's gorge we '11 tight, 
 
 All in our maids' and matrons' sight, 
 
 <• For battle Jo*?.*— ready for battle.
 
 296 THE LADY OF THE lAKE. 
 
 Each for liis hearth and household fire. 
 Father for child, and son for sire, — 
 Lover for maid belpved ! — But why — 
 Is it the breeze aifects mine eye ? 
 Or dost thou come, ill-omened tear ! 
 A messenger of doubt or fear ? 
 No ! sooner may the Saxon lance 
 Unfix Benledi from his stance, 
 Than doubt or terror can pierce through 
 The unyielding heart of Roderick Dhu ! 
 'T is stubborn as his trusty targe. — 
 Each to his post — all know their charge." 
 The pibroch sounds, the bands advance. 
 The broadswords gleam, the banners dance. 
 Obedient to the Chieftain's glance. 
 — I turn me from the martial roar, 
 And seek Coir-Uriskin once more. 
 
 IX. 
 Where is the Douglas ? — he is gone ; 
 And Ellen sits on the grey stone 
 Fast by the cave, and makes her moan ; 
 While vainly Allan's words of cheer 
 Are pour'd on her imheeding ear. — 
 He will return — Dear lady, trust ! — 
 With joy retm-n ; — he will— he must. 
 Well was it time to seek, afar, 
 Some refuge from impending war. 
 When e'en Clan-Alpine's rugged swarm 
 Are cow'd by the approaching storm. 
 I saw their boats, with many a light. 
 Floating the livelong yesternight, 
 Shifting like flashes darted forth 
 By the red streamers of the north ; 
 1 mark'd at morn how close they ride, 
 Thick moor'd by the lone islet's side. 
 Like wild ducks couching in the fen, 
 "When stoops the hawk upon the glen. 
 Since this rude race dare not abide 
 The perU on the mainland side. 
 Shall not thy noble father's care 
 Some safe retreat for thee prepare ?" — 
 
 " No, Allan, no I Pretext so kind 
 My wakeful terrors could not blind. 
 WTien in such tender tone, yet gi-ave, 
 Douglas a parting blessmg gave, 
 The tear that glisten'd in his eye 
 Drown'd not liis purpose tix'd on high. 
 My soul, though feminine and weak. 
 Can image his ; e'en as the lake. 
 Itself disturb 'd by slightest stroke. 
 Reflects the invulnerable rock.
 
 IV. THE PROPHECY. 297 
 
 He hears report of battle rife, 
 He deems himself the cause of strife. 
 I saw Mm redden, when the theme 
 Turn'd, Allan, on thine idle dream 
 Of Malcolm Graeme in fetters bound. 
 Which I, thou saidst, about him wound. 
 Thinkst thou he trow'd thine omen aught ? 
 Oh no ! 't was apprehensive thought 
 For the kind youth, — for Roderick too- 
 (Let me be just) that friend so true; 
 In danger both, and in our cause ! 
 Minstrel, the Douglas dare not pause. 
 Why else that solemn warning given, 
 ' If not on earth, we meet in heaven ?' 
 Why else, to Cambus-kenneth "s fane, 
 If eve return him not again, 
 Am I to hie, and make me known ? 
 Alas ! he goes to Scotland's throne. 
 Buys his friend's safety -ivith his own ;— 
 He goes to do — what t had done, 
 Had Douglas' daughter been his son !"— 
 
 XI. 
 
 " Nay, lovely Ellen ! — dearest, nay ! 
 If aught should his return delay. 
 He only named yon holy fane 
 As fitting place to meet again. 
 Be sure he's safe ; and for the Graeme, — 
 Heaven's blessing on his gallant name I — 
 My vision'd sight may yet prove true. 
 Nor bode of ill to him or you. 
 When did my gifted dream beguile ? 
 Think of the stranger at the isle. 
 And think upon the harpings slow. 
 That presaged this approaching woe ! 
 Sooth was my prophecy of fear ; 
 Believe it when it augurs cheer. 
 Would we had left this dismal spot! 
 Ill luck still haunts a fairj' grot. 
 Of such a wonderous tale I know — 
 Dear lady, change that look of woe, 
 My harp was wont thy grief to cheer." — 
 
 ELLEN. 
 
 " Well, be it as thou wilt ; I hear. 
 But cannot stop the bursting tear." 
 The Minstrel tried his simpre art. 
 But distant far was Ellen's heart. 
 
 XII. 
 
 ALICE BR.4JJD. 
 
 Merrj' it is in the good greenwood. 
 
 When the mavis" and merle* are singing, 
 a Thrush. » Blackbiid.
 
 ^98 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. CANTO I 
 
 VYhen the deer sweeps by, and the hounds are La cry, 
 And the hunter's horn is ringing. 
 
 " Alice Brand, my native land 
 Is lost for love of you ; 
 And we must hold by wood and woia, 
 As outlaws wont to do. 
 
 " Alice, 'twas all for thy locks so bright, 
 And 't was all for thine eyes so blue, 
 That on the night of our luckless flight, 
 Thy brother bold I slew. 
 
 " Now must I teach to hew the beech 
 
 The hand that held the glaive, 
 
 For leaves to spread our lowly bed, 
 
 And stakes to fence our cave. 
 
 " And for vest of pall, thy fingers small. 
 That wont on harp to stray, 
 A cloak must sheer from the slaughter'd deer. 
 To keep the cold away." — 
 
 " Richard ! if my brother died, 
 'T was but a fatal chance ; 
 For dai'kling was the battle tried, 
 And fortune sped the lance." 
 
 •' If pall and vair no more I wear. 
 Nor thou the crimson sheen. 
 As warm, we'll say, is the russet grey, 
 As gay the forest-green. 
 
 " And, Richard, if our lot be hard. 
 And lost thy native land. 
 Still Alice has her owti Richard, 
 And he his Alice Brand." 
 
 XIII. 
 
 UaTIati c0ntmucif. 
 
 'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good greenwood. 
 
 So blithe Lady Alice is singing ; 
 On the beech's pride, and oak's bro'ivn side. 
 
 Lord Richard's axe is ringing. 
 
 Up spoke the moody Elfin King, 
 
 Who won'd ■nithija the hill, — 
 Like -vvind in the porch of a ruin'd church, 
 
 His voice was ghostly shrill. 
 
 " Why soimds yon stroke on beach and oak. 
 
 Our moonlight circle's screen ? 
 Or who comes here to chase the deer. 
 
 Beloved of our Elfin Queen ? '' 
 Or who may dare on wold to wear 
 
 The fairies' fatal green 1 3*
 
 CANTO rV. THE PROPHECY. 299 
 
 " Up, Urgan, up ! to yon mortal hie. 
 For thou wert christen 'd man ; ^^ 
 For cross or sign thou wilt not tiy, 
 For mutter 'd word or ban. 
 
 " Lay on him the curse of the wither'd heart, 
 The curse of the sleepless eye ; 
 TiU he wish and pray that his life would pan, 
 Nor yet find leave to die." 
 
 XIV. 
 
 SSaTIalr continuctf. 
 
 'Tis merr\', 'tis merr}', in good greenwood, 
 Though the birds have still'd their singing 1 
 
 The evening blaze doth Alice raise. 
 And Richard is fagots bringing. 
 
 Up Urgan starts, that hideous dwarf. 
 
 Before Lord Richard stands, 
 And, as he cross'd and bless'd himself, 
 " I fear not sign," quoth the grisly elf, 
 " That is made with bloody hands." 
 
 Bnt out then spoke she, Alice Brand, 
 That woman void of fear, — 
 "And if there's blood upon his hand, 
 'T is but the blood of deer." — 
 
 ♦' Now loud thou liest, thou bold of mood ! 
 It cleaves unto his hand. 
 The stain of thine own kindly blood, 
 The blood of Ethert Brand." 
 
 Then forward stepp'd she, Alice Brand, 
 And made the holy sign, — 
 "And if there's blood on Richard's hand, 
 A spotless hand is mine. 
 
 " And I conjure thee. Demon elf. 
 By him whom Demons fear, 
 To show us whence thou art thyself 
 And what thine errand here ? " 
 
 XV. 
 SSallaU rDnttnuetr. 
 
 'Tis merry, 'tis merrj^ in Fairy-land, 
 
 When fairy birds are singing. 
 When the court doth rile by their monarch s side, 
 
 With bit and bridle ringing : 
 
 " And gaily shines the Fairy-land — 
 But all is glistening show, 
 Like the idle gleam that December's beam 
 Can dart on ice and snow.
 
 300 THE LADY OP THE LAKE. CAN' 
 
 " And fading, like that varied gleam, 
 Is our inconstant sliape, 
 Who now like knight and lady seem, 
 And now like dwarf and ape. 
 
 " It was between the night and day, 
 When the Fairy King has power. 
 That I sunk down in a sinful fray. 
 And, 'twixt life and death, was snatched awav 
 To the joyless Elfin bo-\ver. 
 
 " But wist I of a woman bold, 
 
 Wlio thrice my brow durst sig^, 
 I might regain my mortal mold. 
 As fair a form as thine." 
 
 She cross'd him once — she cross'd him twice — 
 
 That lady was so brave ; 
 The fouler grew his goblin hue. 
 
 The darker grew the cave. 
 
 She cross'd him thrice, that lady bold ; 
 
 He rose beneath her hand 
 The fairest knight on Scottish mold. 
 
 Her brother, Ethert Brand I 
 
 Merry it is in good greenwood. 
 When the mavis and merle are singing. 
 
 But merrier were they in Dunfermline grey, 
 When all the bells were ringing. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Just as the minstrel sounds were staid, 
 
 A stranger climb'd the steepy glade ; 
 
 His martial step, his stately mien. 
 
 His hunting suit of Lincoln green. 
 
 His eagle glance, remembrance claims — 
 
 'Tis Snowdoun's Knight, 'tis James Fitz-Jamec 
 
 Ellen beheld as in a dream. 
 
 Then, starting, scarce suppress'd a scream : 
 " O stranger ! in such hour of fear, 
 
 Wliat evil hap has brought thee here ? "^ 
 " An evil hap how can it be, 
 
 That bids me look again on thee ? 
 
 By promise bomid, my former guide 
 
 ]\Iet me betimes this niorning tide, 
 
 And marshall'd, over bank and bourne. 
 
 The happy path of my return." — 
 " The happy path I— what ! said he nought 
 
 Of war, of battle to be fought. 
 
 Of guarded pass?" — " No, by my faith ! 
 
 Nor saw I aught could augm- scathe." — 
 " haste thee, Allan, to tlie kern, 
 
 — Yonder his tartans I discern ;
 
 CANTO IV. THE PllOPHECY. 301 
 
 Learn thou his purpose, and conjure 
 That he will guide the stranger sure ! — 
 "VMiat prompted thee, unhappy man ? 
 The meanest serf in Roderick's clan 
 Had not been bribed by love or fear, 
 Unknown to him to guide thee here." — 
 
 XYIT 
 
 " Sweet EUen, dear my life must be, 
 
 Since it is worthy care from thee ; 
 
 Yet life I hold but idle breath, 
 
 When love or honour's weigh'd with death. 
 
 Then let me profit by my chance, 
 
 And speak my purpose bold at once. 
 
 I come to bear thee from a wild, 
 
 \Yhere ne'er before such blossom smiled ; 
 
 By this soft hand to lead thee far 
 
 From frantic scenes of feud and war. 
 
 Near Bochastle my horses wait ; 
 
 They bear us soon to Stirling gate. 
 
 I'U place thee in a lovely bower, 
 
 I' U guard thee like a tender flower " 
 " ! hush. Sir Knight ! 't were female art. 
 
 To say I do not read thy heart ; 
 
 Too much, before, my selfish ear 
 
 Was idly soothed my praise to hear. 
 
 That fatal bait hath lured thee back, 
 
 In deathful hour, o'er dangerous track ; 
 
 And how, O how, can I atone 
 
 The wreck my vanity brought on ! — 
 
 One way remains — I'll tell him all — 
 
 Yes! struggling bosom, forth it shall ! 
 
 Thou, whose light folly bears the blamo 
 
 Buy thine own pardon with thy shame ! . 
 
 But first — mj' father is a man 
 
 Outlaw 'd and exiled, under ban ; 
 
 The price of blood is on his head. 
 
 With me 'twere infamy to wed. — 
 
 Still would'st thou speak? — then hear the truth! 
 
 Fitz-Jame.s, there is a noble youth, — 
 
 If yet he is ! — exposed for me 
 
 And mine to di-ead extremity — 
 
 Thou hast the secret of my heart ; 
 
 Forgive, be generous, and depart '. " 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Fitz-James knew every wily train 
 A lady's fickle heart to gain ; 
 But here he knew and felt them vain. 
 There shot no glance from Ellen's eye, 
 To give her steadfast speech the lie ; 
 In maiden confidence she stood. 
 Though mantled in her cheek the blood, 
 And told her love with such a sigh 
 Of deep and hopeless agony,
 
 302 THE LADY OP TUE LAKE. C, 
 
 As death had seal'd her Malcolm's doom, 
 And she sat sorrowing on his tomb. 
 Hope vanish'd from Fitz-James's eye, 
 But not with hope fled sympathy. 
 He profFer'd to attend her side, 
 As brother would a sister guide. — 
 " O ! little know'st thou Roderick's heart 1 
 Safer for both we go apart. 
 O haste thee, and from Allan learn, 
 If thou ma3'st ti-ust yon wily kern." 
 AVith hand upon his forehead laid, 
 The conflict of his mind to shade, 
 A parting step or two he made ; 
 Then, as some thought had cross'd his brain. 
 He paus'd, and tum'd, and came again. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 " Hear, lady, yet, a parting word ! — 
 It chanced in tight that my poor sword 
 Preserved the life of Scotland's lord. 
 This ring the grateful Monarch gave, 
 And bade, when I had boon to crave. 
 To bring it back, and boldly claim 
 The recompense that I woiild name. 
 Ellen, I am no courtly lord. 
 But one who lives by lance and sword, 
 "Whose castle is his helm and shield. 
 His lordship the embattled tield. 
 What from a prince can I demand, 
 Who neither reck of state nor land ? 
 Ellen, thy liand — the ring is thine; 
 Each guard and ushei knows the sign. 
 Seek tliou the King without delay ; 
 This sipiet shall seciu-e thy way ; 
 And claim thj' suit, Avhate'er it be. 
 As ransom of his pledge to me." 
 He placed the golden circlet on, 
 Paus'd — kissd her hand— and then was gone. 
 The aged Minstrel stood aghast. 
 So hastily Fitz-James shot past. 
 He join d" his guide, and wending down 
 The ridges of the mountain brown, 
 Across the stream they took their 'way. 
 That joins Loch Katrine to Achray. 
 
 XX. 
 
 All in the Trosachs' glen was still, 
 Noontide was sleeping on the hill : 
 Sudden his guide whoop'd loud and high — 
 " Murdoch ! was that a signal cry ? " — 
 He stammer'd forth — " I shout to scare 
 Yon raven from his dainty fare." 
 He look'd — he knew the raven's prey 
 His o^^^l brave steed : — " Ah ! gallant grey !
 
 [V. THE PROPHECY. 303 
 
 For thee — for me, perchance — 'twere well 
 We ne'er had seen the Trosachs' dell. — 
 Murdoch, move first — but silent!}- ; 
 Whistle or whoop, and thou shalt die I" 
 Jealous and sullen, on they fared. 
 Each silent, each upon his guard. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Now wound the path its dizzy ledge 
 Around a precipice's edge, 
 'Ulien lo ! a wasted female fohn, 
 Blighted by wrath of sim and storm. 
 In tatter'd weeds and wild array, 
 Stood on a cliff beside the way. 
 And glancing round her restless eye, 
 Upon the wood, the rock, the sky, 
 Seem'd nought to mark, yet all to spy. 
 Her brow was wreath'd with gaudy broom 
 With gesture wild she waved a plume 
 Of feathers, which the eagles fling 
 To crag and cliff from dusk}' wing ; 
 Such spoUs her desperate step had sought. 
 Where scarce was footing for the goat. 
 The tartan plaid she first descried. 
 And shriek'd till all the rocks replied ; 
 As loud she laugh 'd when near they drew. 
 For then the Lowland garb she knew ; 
 And then her hands she wildly wning, 
 And then she wept, and then she sung — 
 She sung 1 — the voice, in better time. 
 Perchance to harp or lute might chime ; 
 And now, though strain'd and roughen'd, still 
 Kung wildly sweet to dale and hill. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 They bid me sleep, they bid me pray. 
 They say my brain is warp'd and rung — 
 
 I cannot sleep on Higliland brae, 
 I cannot pray in Highland tongue. 
 
 But were I now where Allan glides, 
 
 Or heard my native Devau's tides. 
 
 So sweetly would I rest, and pray 
 
 That Heaven would close my wintry day i 
 
 T was thus my hair they bade me braid, 
 
 They made me to the church repair ; 
 It was my bridal morn, they said, 
 
 And my true love would meet me there. 
 But woe betide the cruel guile, 
 That drown 'd in blood the morning smile 
 And woe betide the fiiiry dream ! 
 I only waked to sob and scream.
 
 304 THE LADY OP THE LAKE. CA 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 " Who is this maid? what means her lay? 
 She hovers o'er the hollow way, 
 And flutters wide her mantle grey, 
 As the lone heron spreads his wing, 
 By twilight, o'er a haunted spring." - 
 
 " 'T is Blanche of Devan," Murdoch said, 
 
 " A crazed and captive Lowland maid, 
 Ta'en on the morn she was a bride, 
 "When Roderick foray'd Devan-side ; 
 The gay bridegroom resistance made, 
 And felt our Chiefs imconquer'd blade. 
 I marvel she is now at large, 
 But oft she 'scapes fi-om Jlaudlin's charge. — 
 Hence, brain-sick fool I" — He raised his bow :^ 
 
 " Now, if thou strikest her but one blow, 
 I '11 pitch thee from the cliff as far 
 As ever peasant pitch'd a bar!" — 
 
 " Thanks, champion, thanks !" the Maniac cried, 
 And press'd her to Fitz-James's side. 
 
 " See the grey pennons I prepare. 
 To seek my true-love through the air I 
 I will not lend that savage groom. 
 To break his fall, one downy plume I 
 No ! — deep amid disjointed stones. 
 The wolves shall batten on his bones. 
 And then shall his detested plaid. 
 By bush and brier in mid air staid. 
 Wave forth a banner fair and fi-ee. 
 Meet signal for their revelrj'." — 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 " Hush thee, poor maiden, and be still I"^ 
 " O ! thou look'st kindly, and I will. — 
 Mine eye has dried and wasted been. 
 But still it loves the Lincoln green ; 
 And, though mine ear is all nnstnmg. 
 Still, still it loves the Lowland tongue. 
 
 " For O my sweet William was forester true. 
 He stole poor Blanche's heart away ! 
 His coat it was all of the greenwood hue, 
 And so blithely he trUl'd the Lowland lay I 
 
 " It was not that I meant to teU . . . 
 But thou art wise, and guessest well." 
 Then, in a low and broken tone. 
 And hurried note, the song went on. 
 Still on the Clansman, fearfully. 
 She fixed her apprehensive eye ; 
 Then tiim'd it on the Knight, and then 
 Her look glanced wildly o'er the glen. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 " The toils are pitch'd, and the stakes are set, 
 Ever sing merrily, merrily ;
 
 I rV. THE PROPHECY. 305 
 
 The bows they bend, and the knives they whet. 
 Hunters live so cheerily. 
 
 " It was a stag, a stag of ten," 
 Bearing its branches sturdUy ; 
 He came stately do-\vn the glen, 
 Ever sing hardily, hardily. 
 
 " It was there he met with a wounded doe, 
 She was bleeding deathfully ; 
 She warned him of the toils below, 
 0, so faithfully, faithfully ! 
 
 " He had an eye, and he could heed. 
 Ever sing warily, warily ; 
 He had a foot, and he could speed — 
 Hunters watch so naiTOwly." 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Fitz-James's mind was passion-toss'd, 
 "WTien EUen's hints and fears were lost ; 
 But Murdoch's shout suspicion wrought, 
 And Blanche's song conviction brought. — 
 Not like a stag that spies the snare, 
 But lion of the hunt aware. 
 He waved at once his blade on high, 
 " Disclose thy treachery, or die ! " 
 Forth at full speed the Clansman flew, 
 But in his race his bow he drew. 
 The shaft just grazed Fitz-James's crest. 
 And thriird in Blanche's faded breast. — 
 iMurdoch of Alpine ! prove thy speed, 
 For ne'er had Alpine's son sucii need ! 
 With heart of fire, and foot of wind. 
 The tierce avenger is behind ! 
 Fate judges of the rapid strife — 
 The forfeit death — the prize is life ! 
 Thy kindred ambush lies before. 
 Close couclfd upon the heatheiy moor; 
 Them couldst thou reach ! — it may not be— 
 Thine ambush'd kin thou ne"er shalt see, 
 The &ery Saxon gains on thee ! 
 — Resistless speeds the deadly thrust. 
 As lightning strU^es the pine to dust ; 
 With foot and hand Fitz-James must strain. 
 Ere he can win his blade again. 
 Bent o'er the fiill'n, with f;ilcon eye. 
 He gTimly smiled to see him die ; 
 Then slower wended back his way, 
 Where the poor maiden bleeding lay. 
 
 XXYII. 
 She sate beneath the birchen tree, 
 Her elbow resting on her knee ; 
 
 " Ha\-iQg ten branches on his antlers. 
 
 V
 
 306 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. ( 
 
 „ She had Tvithdrawn the fatal shaft. 
 And gazed on it, and feebly laugh'd ; 
 Her wreath of broom and feathers gi-ey 
 Daggled with blood" beside her lay. 
 The Knight to stanch the life-stream tried, — 
 
 " Stranger, it is in vain !" she cried. 
 
 " This hour of death has given me more 
 Of reason's power than years before 
 For, as these ebbing veins decay, 
 My frenzied visions fade away. 
 A helpless injured wretch I die, 
 And something tells me in thine eye, 
 That thou wert mine avenger born. — 
 Seest thou this tress ? — O ! still I 've worn 
 This little tress of yellow hair, 
 Through danger, frenzy, and despair ! 
 It once was bright and clear as thine, 
 But blood and tears have dimm'd its shino. 
 I will not tell thee when 'twas shred. 
 Nor from what guiltless victim's head — 
 My brain would tui-n ! — but it shall wave 
 Like plumage on thy helmet brave, 
 TiU sun and wind shall bleach the stain, 
 And thou wilt bring it me again. — 
 I waver still. — O God! more bright 
 Let reason beam her parting light ! — 
 O ! by thy knighthood's honom-'d sign, 
 And for thy life preserved by mine. 
 When thou shalt see a darksome man. 
 Who boasts him Chief of Alpine's Clan, 
 With tartans broad, and shadowy plume. 
 And hand of blood, and brow of gloom. 
 Be thy heart bold, thy weapon strong. 
 And wi-eak poor Blanche of Devan's wrong t 
 'They watch for thee by pass and fell . . . 
 Avoid the path ... 6 God ! . . . farewell." 
 
 xxvin. 
 
 A kindly heart had brave Fitz-James ; 
 Fast pour'd his eyes at pity's claims, 
 And now with mingled grief and ire, 
 He saw the murder'd maid expire. 
 
 " God, in my need, be my relief. 
 As I wreak this on yonder Chief! " 
 A lock from Blanche's tresses fair 
 He blended with her bridegroom's hair ; 
 The mingled braid in blood he dyed. 
 And placed it on his bonnet-side : 
 
 " By him whose word is truth ! I swear, 
 No other favour will I wear. 
 Till this sad token I imbrue 
 In the best blood of Roderick Dhu. 
 — But hark! what means yon faint halloo 1* 
 The chase is up, — but they shall know, 
 The stag at bay 's a dangerous foe "
 
 3 IV. THE PROPHECY. 307 
 
 Barr'd from the known but guarded way, 
 Tlirough copse and cliffs Fitz-.James must stray, 
 And oft must change his desperate track. 
 By stream and precipice turn'd back. 
 Heartless, fatigued, and faint, at length. 
 From lack of food and loss of strength. 
 He couch'd him in a thicket hoar. 
 And thought his toils and perils o'er : — 
 " Of all my rash adventures past. 
 This fi-autic feat must prove the last ! 
 Who e'er so mad but might have guess'd. 
 That all this Highland hornet's nest 
 Woidd muster up in swarms so soon 
 As e'er they heard of bands at Doune ? 
 Like bloodliounds now they search me out, — 
 Hark to the whistle and the shout ! — 
 If further through the wilds I go, 
 I only fall upon the foe : 
 I '11 couch me here till evening grej''. 
 Then darkling try my dangerous way." 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 The shades of eve come slowly down, 
 
 The woods are wrapt in deeper brown, 
 
 The owl awakens from her dell, 
 
 I'he fox is heard upon the fell ; 
 
 Enough remains of glimmering light 
 
 To guide the wanderer's steps aright, 
 
 Yet not enough from far to show 
 
 His figure to the watchful foe. 
 
 With cautious step and ear awake. 
 
 He climbs the crag and threads the brake ; 
 
 And not the summer solstice, there, 
 
 Temper'd the midnight moimtain air. 
 
 But every breeze that swept the wold 
 
 Benumb'd his drenched limbs with cold. 
 
 In dread, in danger, and alone, 
 
 Famish'a and chill'd, through ways miknown. 
 
 Tangled and steep, he jom-ney'd on ; 
 
 Till, as a rock's huge point he turn'd, 
 
 A watch-fij-e close before him buru'd. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Beside its embers red and clear, 
 
 Bask'd, in his plaid, a mountaineer ; 
 
 And up he sprung with sword in hand, — 
 " Thy name and purpose? Saxon, stand !" — 
 " A stranger." — " What dost thou requhe ? " — 
 " Rest and a guide, and food and fire. 
 
 My life 's beset, my path is lost. 
 
 The gale has chill'd my limbs -with frost." — 
 " Art thou a friend to Roderick ? " — " No." — 
 " Thou darest not call thyself a foe ? " — 
 " I dare ! to him and all the band 
 
 He brings to aid his muixlerous hand." —
 
 308 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. CA 
 
 " Bold words ! — but, thovigh the beast of game 
 The privilege of chase may claim, 
 Though space and law the stag we lend. 
 Ere hound we slip, or boAv we bend. 
 Who ever reck'd, where, how, or when. 
 The prowling fox was trapp'd or slain ?^ 
 Thus treacherous scouts, — yet sure they lie. 
 Who say thou earnest a secret spy !" — 
 
 " They do, by heaven ! — Come Eoderick Dhu, 
 And of his clan the boldest two. 
 And let me but till morning rest, 
 I write the falsehood on their crest." — 
 
 " If by the blaze I mark aright. 
 Thou bear'st the belt and spur of Knight." — 
 
 " Then by these tokens mayest thou know 
 Each proud oppressor's mortal foe." — 
 
 " Enough, enough ; — sit down, and share 
 A soldier's couch, a soldier's fare. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 He gave him of his Highland cheer. 
 
 The harden'd flesh of mountain deer;^ 
 
 Dry fuel on the fire he laid, 
 
 And bade the Saxon shfxe his plaid. 
 
 He tended him like welcome guest, 
 
 Then thus his farther speech address'd : — 
 " Stranger, I am to Roderick Dhu 
 
 A clansman born, a kinsman true ; 
 
 Each word against his honour spoke, 
 
 Demands of me avenging stroke ; 
 
 Yet more, upon thy fate, 'tis saicl, 
 
 A mighty augiuy is laid. 
 
 It rests with me to wind my horn, — 
 
 Thou art with numbers overborne ; 
 
 It rests with me, here, brand to brand, 
 
 Worn as thou art, to bid thee stand : 
 
 But, not for clan, nor kincbed's cause, 
 
 Will I depart from honour's laws ; 
 
 To assail a wearied man were shame, 
 
 And stranger is a holy name ; 
 
 Guidance and rest, and food and fire. 
 
 In vain he never must requu-e. 
 
 Then rest thee here till dawn of day ; 
 
 Myself will guide thee on the way, 
 
 O'er stock and stone, through watch and ward. 
 
 Till past Clan-Alpine's utmost guard, 
 
 As far as CoUantogle's ford ; 
 
 From thence thy warrant is thy sword." — 
 " I take thy courtesy, by heaven. 
 
 As freely as 'tis nobly given!" — 
 " Well, rest thee ; for the bittern's cry 
 
 Sings us the lake's wild lullaby." 
 
 With that he shook the gather'd heatli, 
 
 Aud spread his plaid upon the '.vreath;
 
 THE COMBAT. 309 
 
 And the brave foemen, side by side, 
 Lay peaceful do^^ n, like brothers tried, 
 And slept until the dawning beam 
 Purpled the mountain and the stream. 
 
 CANTO FIFTH. 
 
 CTje C0m6at. 
 I. 
 
 Fair as the earliest beam of eastern light, 
 
 When tii-st, by the bewilder'd pilgrim spied. 
 It smiles upon the dreaiy brow of night. 
 
 And silvers o'er the torrent's foaming tide, 
 And lights the fearful path on mountain side ; — 
 
 Fair as that beam, although the fairest far, 
 Giving to horror grace, to danger pride. 
 
 Shine martial Faith, and Courtesy's bright star. 
 Through aU the wreckful storms that cloud the brow of ^^■a^. 
 
 II. 
 
 That early beam, so fair and sheen. 
 Was twinkling through the hazel screen, 
 When, rousing at its glimmer red, 
 The warriors left their lowly bed, 
 Look'd out upon the dappled sky, 
 Mutter'd their soldier matins by, 
 And then awaked their fire, to "steal, 
 As short and rude, their soldier meal. 
 That o'er the Gael" around him tlu-ew 
 His graceful plaid of varied hue, 
 And, true to promise, led the waj'. 
 By tliicket green and mountain grey. 
 A wildering path ! — tliey winded now 
 Along the precipice's brow, 
 Commanding the rich scenes beneath. 
 The mndings of the Forth and Teith, 
 And aU the vales beneath that lie, 
 Till Stirling's tim-ets melt in sky ; 
 Then, sunk in copse, their forthest glance 
 tiain'd not the length of horseman's lance. 
 'Twas oft so steep, the foot was fain 
 Assistance from the hand to gain ; 
 
 " The Scottish Highlander calls himself Gael, or Gaul, and terms thr 
 Ix)»iander8 Sassenach, or Saxons.
 
 iJlO THE LADY OP THE LAKE. < 
 
 So tangled oft, that, bursting through, 
 Each hawthorn slied her showers of dew, — 
 That diamond dew, so pure and clear, 
 It rivals all but Beauty's tear ! 
 
 III. 
 
 At length they came where, stem and steep, 
 
 The hill sinks do^-n upon the deep. 
 
 Here Vennachar in silver flows, 
 
 There, ridge on ridge, Benledi rose ; 
 
 Ever the holly path twined on, 
 
 Beneath steep bank and tlireatening stone ; 
 
 An hundred men might hold the post 
 
 With hardihood against a host. 
 
 The rugged mountain's scanty cloak 
 
 Was dwarfish shrubs of birch and oak, 
 
 With shingles bare, and clifts between, 
 
 And patches bright of bracken green. 
 
 And heather black, that waved so high. 
 
 It held the copse in rivalry. 
 
 But where tlie lake swept deep and still, 
 
 Dank osiers fringed the swamp and liill ; 
 
 And oft both path and hill were tom, 
 
 Wliere wintrj^ torrents down had borne, 
 
 And heap'd upon the cumber'd land 
 
 Its wreck of gravel, rocks, and sand. 
 
 So toilsome was the road to trace, 
 
 The guide, abating of his pace. 
 
 Led slowly through the pass' jaws. 
 
 And ask'd Fitz-James, by what strange cause 
 
 He sought these vnlds ! traversed by few, 
 
 Without a pass from Roderick Dhu". 
 
 IV. 
 
 " Brave Gael, my pass in danger tried, 
 Hangs in mj^ belt, and by my side ; 
 Yet, sooth to tell," the Saxon said, 
 
 " I dreamt not now to claim its aid. 
 WTien here, bat three days since, I came, 
 Bewilder'd in pursuit of game. 
 All seem'd as peacefid and as still 
 As the mist slumbering on yon hill ; 
 Thy dangerous Chief was then afar, 
 Nor soon expected back from war. 
 Thus said, at least, my mountain-guide. 
 Though deep, perchance, the villain lied." — 
 
 " Yet why a second venture try ? " — 
 
 " A warrior thou, and ask me why ! — 
 Moves our free course by such fix'd cause 
 As gives the poor mechanic laws ? 
 Enough, I sought to drive away 
 The lazy hours of peaceful day ; 
 Slight cause will then suffice to guide 
 A Knight's free footsteps far and wide, —
 
 I V. THE COMBAT.- 311 
 
 A falcon flown, a greyhomid stray'd, 
 The merrj' glance of mountain maid : 
 Or, if a path be dangerous known, 
 The danger's self is lure alone." — 
 
 V. 
 
 " Thy secret keep, I urge thee not ; — 
 
 Yet, ere again ye sought this spot, 
 
 Say, heard ye nought of Lowland war, 
 
 Against Clan- Alpine, raised by Mar?" 
 
 — " Xo, by my word; — of bands prepared 
 
 To guard King James's sports I heard ; 
 
 Nor doubt I aught, but, when they hear 
 
 This muster of the mountaineer. 
 
 Their pennons will abroad be flung, 
 
 "Which else in Doune had peaceful hung.'' — 
 " Free be they flung !— for we were loth 
 
 Their silken folds should feast the moth. 
 
 Free be they flung ! — as free shall wave 
 
 Clan-Alpine's pine in banner brave. 
 
 But, Stranger, peaceful since you came, 
 
 Bewilder'd in the mountain game, 
 
 Whence the bold boast by which you show 
 
 Vich- Alpine's vow'd and mortal foe ? " — 
 " Warrior, but yester-morn, I knew 
 
 Nought of thy Chieftain, Roderick Dhu, 
 
 Save as an outlaw'd desperate man. 
 
 The chief of a rebellious clan. 
 
 Who, in the Regent's court and sight. 
 
 With ruffian dagger stabb'd a knight : 
 
 Tet this alone might from his part 
 
 Sever each true and loyal heart." 
 
 VI. 
 
 Wrothful at such arraignment foul, 
 
 Dark lower'd the clansman's sable scowl. 
 
 A space he paused, then sternly said, 
 " And heardst thou why he drew his blade ? 
 
 Heardst thou, that shameful word and blow 
 
 Brought Roderick's vengeance on his foe ? 
 
 What reck'd the Chieftain if he stood 
 
 On Highland heath, or Holy-Rood? 
 
 He rights such -oTong where it is given. 
 
 If it were in the coiut of heaven." — 
 " Still was it outrage; — yet, 'tis true, 
 
 Not then claim'd sovereignty his due ; 
 
 While Albany, with feeble liand. 
 
 Held borrow'd truncheon of command,'"' 
 
 The young King, mew'd in Stlrlmg tower. 
 
 Was stranger to respect and power. 
 
 But then, thj' Chieftain's robber life ! — 
 
 Winning mean prey by causeless strife. 
 
 Wrenching from ruin'd Lowland swain 
 
 His herds and harvest rear'd in vain. —
 
 312 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 
 
 Methinks a soul, like thine, should scorn 
 The spoUs from such foul foray borne." 
 
 . VII. 
 The Gael beheld him grim the -while, 
 And answer'd with disdainful smile, — 
 
 " Saxon, from yonder mountain high, 
 I mark'd thee send delighted eye. 
 Far to the south and east, where lay, 
 Extended in succession gay. 
 Deep wa\'ing iields and pastures green, 
 "With gentle slopes and groves between :— 
 These fertile plains, that soften'd vale, 
 Were once the birthright of the Gael ; 
 The stranger came with iron hand, 
 And ft-om our fathers reft the land. 
 Where dwell we now ? See, rudely swell 
 Crag over crag, and fell o'er fell. 
 Ask we this savage hiU we tread. 
 For fatten'd steer or household bread ; 
 Ask we for flocks' these shingles dry. 
 And well the mountain miglit reply, — 
 
 • To you, as to your sires of yore. 
 Belong the target and claymore ! 
 I give you shelter in my breast. 
 Your own good blades must ivin the rest. 
 Pent in this fortress of the Xorth, 
 Thinkst thou we will not sally forth. 
 To spoil the spoiler as we maj"^. 
 And from the robber rend the prey? 
 Ay, by my soul ! — While on yon plain 
 The Saxon rears one shock of gTain ; 
 While, of ten thousand herds, there strays 
 But one along yon river's maze, — 
 The Gael, of plain and river heir. 
 Shall, with strong hand, redeem his share. 
 Where live the mountain Chiefs who hold. 
 That plundering Lowland field and fold 
 Is aught but retribution true? 
 Seek other cause 'gainst Koderick Dhu." — 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Answer'd Fitz-Jaraes, — " And, if I sought, 
 Thinkst thou no other coiUd be brought ? 
 What deem ye of my path waylaid? 
 My life given o'er to ambuscade ? " — 
 " As of a meed to rashness due : 
 Hadst thou sent warning fair and true, — 
 I seel? my hound, or falcon stray'd, 
 I seek, good faith, a Highland maid, — 
 Free hadst thou been to come and go ; 
 But secret path marks secret foe. 
 Nor yet, for this, even as a spy, 
 Hadst thou, unheard, been doom'd to die
 
 • V. THE COMBAT. 313 
 
 Save to fulfil an augury." — 
 " Well, let it pass ; nor will I now 
 Fresh cause of enmity avow. 
 To chafe thy mood and cloud thy brow. 
 Enough, I am by promise tied 
 To match me with this man of pride : 
 Twice have I sought Clan-Alpine's glen 
 In peace ; but when I come again 
 1 come with banner, brand, and bow, 
 As leader seeks his mortal foe. 
 For love-lorn swain, in lady's bower, 
 Ne'er panted for the appointed hour, 
 As 1, nntU before me stand. 
 This rebel Chieftain and his band !" — 
 
 IX. 
 " Have, then, thy wish !" — he whistled shrill. 
 And he was answer'd from the hUl ; 
 "Wild as the scream of the curlew, 
 From crag to crag the signal flew. 
 Instant, through copse and heath, arose 
 Bomiets and spears and bended bows ; 
 On right, on left, above, below. 
 Sprung up at once the lurking foe ; 
 From shingles grey their lances start. 
 The bracken bush sends forth the dart. 
 The rushes and the wiLlow-wand 
 Are bristling into axe and brand, 
 And ever}"- tuft of broom gives life 
 To plaided warrior arm'd for strife. 
 That whistle garrison'd the glen 
 At once with fidl five hundred men, 
 As if the yawning hUl to heaven 
 A subterranean host had given. 
 Watching their leaders beck and will. 
 All sUent there they stood, and stUl. 
 Like the loose crags, whose threatening mass 
 Lay tottering o'er the hollow pass, 
 As if an infant's touch could urge 
 Their headlong passage down the verge, 
 With step and weapon forward flung. 
 Upon the mountain-side they hung. 
 The Mountaineer cast glance of pride 
 Along Benledi's living side. 
 Then fix'd his eye and sable brow 
 Full on Fitz-James — " How say'st thou now ? 
 These are Clan-Alpine's warriors true ; 
 And, Saxon, — I am Eoderiek Dhu !" 
 
 X. 
 
 Fitz-James was brave : — Thongh to his heart 
 The life-blood thrill'd -n-ith sudden stai t. 
 He mann'd himself with davmtless air, 
 Retum'd the Chief his haughty stare,
 
 314 THE LADY OP THE LAKE. C 
 
 His back against a rock he bore, 
 And firmly placed his foot before : — 
 •' Come one, come all I this rock shall fly 
 From its firm base as' soon as I." 
 Sir Roderick mark'd — and in his eyes 
 Respect was mingled with surprise, 
 And the stem joy which warriors feel 
 In foemeu worthy of their steel. 
 Short space he stood — then waved his hand : 
 Do-svn sunk the disappearing band ; 
 Each warrior vanish'd where he stood, 
 In broom or bracken, heath or wood ; 
 Sxmk brand and spear and bended bow, 
 In osiers pale and copses low ; 
 It seem'd as if their mother Earth 
 Had swallowed up her "tvarlike birth. 
 The wind's last breath had toss'd in air. 
 Pennon, and plaid, and plumage fair, — 
 The next but swept a lone hill-side, 
 "Where heath and fern were waving wide 
 The sun's last glance was glinted back, 
 From spear and glaive, from targe and jack, — 
 The next, all unreflected, shone 
 On bracken green, and cold grey stone. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Fitz-James look'd round — yet scarce believed 
 The witness that his sight received ; 
 Such apparition well might seem 
 Delusion of a dreadful dream. 
 Sir Roderick in suspense he eyed. 
 And to his look the Chief replied, 
 " Fear nought — nay, that I need not say — 
 But — doubt not aught fi-om mine array. 
 Thou art my guest ; — I pledged my word 
 As far as Coilantogle ford : 
 Nor would I call a clansman's brand 
 For aid against one valiant hand, 
 Though on our strife lay every vale 
 Rent by the Saxon from the Gael. 
 So move we on ; — I onlj' meant 
 To show the reed on which you leant. 
 Deeming tliis path you might pursue 
 Without a pass from Roderick Dhu."*' 
 They mov'd : — I said Fitz-James was brave, 
 As ever knight that belted glaive ; 
 Yet dare not say, that now his blood 
 Kept on its wont and temper'd flood. 
 As, following Roderick's stride, he drew 
 That seeming lonesome pathway througli, 
 TMiich yet, by fearful proof, was rife 
 "With lances, "that, to take his life, 
 Waited but signal from a guide 
 So late dishouour'd and defied.
 
 ) V. THE COMBAT. 315 
 
 Ever, by stealth, his eve sought round 
 The vanish'd guardians of the groimd, 
 And still, from copse and heather deep. 
 Fancy saw spear and broadsword peep. 
 And in the plover's shrilly strain, 
 The signal whistle heard again. 
 Nor breathed he free till far behind 
 The pass was left ; for then they wind 
 Along a ^"ide and level green, 
 Where neither tree nor tuft was seen. 
 Nor rush nor bush of broom was near. 
 To hide a bonnet or a spear. 
 
 XII. 
 
 The Chief in silence strode before. 
 And reach'd that torrent's sounding shore, 
 Which, daughter of three mighty lakes, 
 From Vennachar in silver breaks. 
 Sweeps through the plain, and ceaseless mlnea 
 On Bochastle the moiddering lines, 
 Where Rome, the Empress of tlie world, 
 Of yore her eagle wings unfurl'd. ^^ 
 And here his course the Chieftain staid. 
 Threw down his target and his plaid, 
 And to the Lowland warrior said — 
 " Bold Saxon ! to his promise just, 
 Vich Alpine has discharged his trust. 
 This murderous Chiet^ this ruthless man, 
 This head of a rebellious clan. 
 Hath led thee safe, through watch and ward, 
 Far past Clan-Alpine's outmost guard. 
 Now, man to man, and steel to steel, 
 A Chieftain's vengeance thou shalt feel. 
 See here, all vantageless I stand, 
 Ann'd, like thyself, with single brand : *^ 
 For this is Coilantogle foi-d, 
 And thou must keep thee with thy sword." 
 
 XIII. 
 
 The Saxon paused : — " I ne'er delay'd. 
 
 When foeman bade me draw my blade ; 
 
 Nay, more, brave Chief, I vow'd thy death : 
 
 Yet sure thy fair and generous faith. 
 
 And my deep debt for life preserv'd, 
 
 A better meed have well deserved : 
 
 Can nought but blood our feud atone ? 
 
 Are there no means ?" — " No, Stranger, none 
 
 And hear, — to tire thy flagging zeal, — 
 
 The Saxon cause rests on thy steel; 
 
 For thus spoke Fate, by propliet bred 
 
 Between the living and the dead : 
 
 Who spills the foremost foeman's life, 
 
 His party conquers in the strife.' " — 
 " Then, by my word," the Saxon said, 
 " The riddle is already read.
 
 316 THE LABY OF THE LAKE. 
 
 Seek yonder brake beneath the cliff, — 
 There lies Ked Murdoch, stark and stiff. 
 Thus Fate has solved her prophecy. 
 Then yield to Fate, and not to me. 
 To James, at Stirling, let us go, 
 When, if thou wilt be still his foe, 
 Or if the King shall not agree 
 To grant thee grace and favour free, 
 I plight mine honour, oath, and word. 
 That, to thy native strengths restored, 
 With each advantage shalt thou stand, 
 That aids thee now to guard thy land." 
 
 XIV. 
 Dark lightning flash'd from Roderick's eye — 
 
 " Soars thy presumption, then, so high, 
 Because a wTCtched kern ye slew. 
 Homage to name to Roderick Dhu ? 
 He yields not, he, to man nor Fate ! 
 Thou add'st but fuel to my hate : — 
 My clansman's blood demands revenge. 
 Not yet prepared ? — By heaven, I change 
 My thought, and hold thy valour light 
 As that of some vain carpet knight, 
 Who ill deserved my courteous care. 
 And whose best boast is but to wear 
 A braid of his ftiir lady's hair." — 
 
 " I thank thee, Roderick, for the word 
 It nerves my heart, it steels my sword 
 For I have sworn this braid to stain 
 In the best blood that warms thy vein. 
 Now, truce, farewell ! and, ruth, begone ! — 
 Yet think not that by thee alone. 
 Proud Chief! can courtesy be shown; 
 Though not from copse, or heath, or cairn, 
 Start at my whistle clansmen stern. 
 Of this small horn one feeble blast 
 Would fearful odds against thee cast. 
 But fear not — doubt not — which thou wilt— 
 We tiy this quarrel hilt to hilt." — 
 Then each at once his falchion drew. 
 Each on the ground his scabbard threw. 
 Each look'd to sun, and stream, and plain. 
 As what they ne'er might see again ; 
 Then foot, and point, and eye opposed, 
 In dubious strife they darkly closed. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Ill fared it then with Roderick Dhu, 
 That on the field his targe he threw,** 
 Whose brazen studs and tough bull-liide 
 Had death so often dash"d aside ; 
 For, train'd abroad his arms to wield, 
 Fitz-James's blade was sword and shield.
 
 > V. THE COMBAT. 317 
 
 He practised every pass and ward, 
 To thrust, to strike, to feint, to guard ; 
 While less expert, though stronger far. 
 The Gael maintain'd unequal ■vrar. 
 Three times in closing strife they stood. 
 And thrice the Saxon blade drank blood; 
 No stinted draught, no scanty tide. 
 The gushing flood tlie tartans dyed. 
 Fierce Roderick felt the fatal drain, 
 And shower "d his blows like wintry rain ; 
 And, as firm rock, or castle-roof. 
 Against the winter shower is proof, 
 The foe, invulnerable stiJl, 
 Foird his ^vild rage by steady skill ; 
 Till, at advantage ta'en, his brand 
 Forced Roderick's weapon from his hand. 
 And backward borne upon the lea. 
 Brought the proud Chieftain to his knee. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 " Xow, jaeld thee, or by Him who made 
 
 The world, thy heart's blood dyes my blade ! "— 
 " Thy threats, thy mercy, I defy ! 
 
 Let recreant yield, who fears to die." 
 
 — Like adder darting fi'om his coil, 
 
 Like wolf that dashes through the toil. 
 
 Like mountain-cat who guards her young, 
 
 FuU at Fitz-James's throat he sprung ; 
 
 Eeceiv'd, but reck'd not of a wound. 
 
 And lock'd his arms his foeman round. — 
 
 Now, gallant Saxon, hold tliiue own ! 
 
 No maiden's hand is romid thee thrown ! 
 
 That desperate grasp thy frame might feel, 
 
 Through bars of brass and triple steel! — 
 
 Thej' tug, the_v strain ! do'wn, down they go. 
 
 The Gael above, Fitz-James below. 
 
 The Chieftain's gripe his throat compress'd. 
 
 His knee was planted on his breast; 
 
 His clotted locks he backward threw, 
 
 Across his brow his hand he drew. 
 
 From blood and mist to clear his sight. 
 
 Then gleam'd aloft his dagger bright ! — 
 
 — But hate and furj' ill supplied 
 
 The stream of life's exhausted tide, 
 
 And all too late the advantage came, 
 
 To turn the odds of deadly game ; 
 
 For, while the dagger gleam'd on high, 
 
 Reel'd soul and sense, reel'd brain and eye 
 
 Down came the blow ! but in the heath 
 
 The erring blade found bloodless sheath. 
 
 The struggling foe may now imclasp 
 
 The fainting Chief's relaxing grasp ; 
 
 Unwounded from the dreadful close, 
 
 But breathless all, Fitz-James arose.
 
 318 THE LADY OF THE J.AKE. 
 
 XVII. 
 He falter'd thanks to Heaven for life, 
 Redeem'd, unhoped, from desperate strife ; 
 Next on his foe his look ne cast 
 Whose every gasp appear'd his last; 
 In Roderick's gore he dipp'd the braid, — 
 " Poor Blanche ! thy wrongs are dearly paid : 
 Yet with thy foe must die, or live. 
 The praise that faith and valour give." 
 With that he blew a bugle note, 
 Undid the collar from his throat, 
 Unbonneted, and by the wave 
 Sate down his brow and hands to lave. 
 Then faint afar are heard the feet 
 Of rushing steeds in gallop fleet ; 
 The soxmds increase, and now are seen 
 Four mounted squires in Lincoln green ; 
 Two who bear lance, and two who lead, 
 By loosen'd rein, a sadcUed steed ; 
 Each onward held his headlong course. 
 And by Fitz-James rein'd up his horse, — 
 With wonder view'd the bloody spot — 
 — " Exclaim not, gallants ! question not. — 
 You, Herbert and Lufiness, alight, 
 And bind the wounds of yonder knight ; 
 Let the grey palfrey bear his weight. 
 We destined for a fairer freight. 
 And bring him on to Stirling straight ; 
 I wiU before at better speed, 
 To seek fresh horse and fitting weed. 
 The sun rides high ; — I must b| boune, 
 To see the archer game at noon ; 
 But lightly Baj-ard clears the lea. — 
 De Vaux and Herries, follow me. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 " Stand, Bayard, stand ! "—the steed obey'd. 
 With arching neck and bended head, 
 And glancing eye and quivering ear, 
 As if lie loved his lord to hear. 
 No foot Fitz-James in stirrup staid, 
 No grasp upon the saddle laid. 
 But MTeathed liis left hand in the mane. 
 And lightly bounded from the plain, 
 Tum'd on the horse his armed heel, 
 And stirr'd his courage with the steel. 
 Bounded the fierj' steed in air, 
 The rider sate erect and fair, 
 Then like a bolt fi'om steel crossbow 
 Forth launch'd, along the plain they go. 
 They dash'd that rapid torrent througli. 
 And up Carhonie's hiU they flew ; 
 Still at the gallop prick'd the Knight, 
 His merry-men foUow'd as they miglit.
 
 i V. THE co:mbat. 319 
 
 Along thy banks, swift Teith ! they rWe, 
 And in the race they mock thy tide ; 
 Tony and Lendrick now are past, 
 And Deansto^vn lies behind them cast ; 
 They rise, the banner'd towers of Doime, 
 They sink in distant woodland soon ; 
 Blair-Drumniond sees the hoofs strike fire, 
 They sweep like breeze through Ochtertyre ; 
 They mark just glance and disappear 
 The lofty brow of ancient Kier ; 
 They bathe their coursers' sweltering sides, 
 Dark Forth ! am.id thy sluggish tides, 
 And on the opposing shore take ground. 
 With plasli, with scramble, and with bound. 
 Kight-hand they leave thy clifts, Craig-Forth ! 
 And soon the bulwark of the North, 
 Grey Stirling, with her towers and town, 
 Upon their fleet career look'd doT\Ti. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 As up the flinty path they strain'd, 
 
 Sudden his steed the leader rein'd ; 
 
 A signal to his squire he flung, 
 
 "^Mio instant to his stirrup sprung : — 
 " Seest thou, De Vaux, yon woodsman grey 
 
 Who town-ward liokls the rocky way, 
 
 Of stature tail and poor array ? 
 
 Mark'st thou the firm, yet active stride. 
 
 With which he scales the moimtain-side ? 
 
 Know'st thou from whence he comes, or whom ' " — . 
 " No, by my word ; — a burly groom 
 
 He seems, who in the field or chase 
 
 A baron's train would nobly grace." — 
 •' Out, out, De Vaux I can fear supply, 
 
 And 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. 
 
 'Tis James of Douglas, by Saint Serle 1 
 
 The uncle of the banish'd Earl. 
 
 Away, away, to court, to show 
 
 The near approach of dreaded foe : 
 
 The King must stand upon his guard ; 
 
 Douglas and he must meet prepared." 
 
 Then right-hand wheel'd their steeds, and straight 
 
 They won the castle's postern gate. 
 
 XX. 
 
 The Douglas, who had bent his way 
 From Cambus-Kennetli's abbey grey. 
 Now, as he climb'd the rocky shelf, 
 Held sad communion with himself : — 
 • i'es ! aU is true my fears could frame ; 
 A prisoner lies the noble Grasme,
 
 320 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. C 
 
 And fiery Roderick soon will feel 
 
 The venge<ince 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 chUd shall be the bride of heaven ;— 
 
 — ^Be pardon'd 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 dread 
 
 A Douglas by his sovereign bled ; 
 
 And thou, O'sad and fatal mound ! 
 
 That oft hast heard the death-axe sound, 
 
 As on the noblest of the land 
 
 Fell the stern headsman's bloody hand, — 
 
 The dvmgeon, block, and nameless tomb 
 
 Prepare — for Douglas seeks his doom I 
 
 — But hark! what blithe and jolly peal 
 
 Makes the Francisqan steeple reel ? 
 
 And see ! upon the crowded street 
 
 In motley groups what masquers meet ! 
 
 Banner and pageant, pipe and drim. 
 
 And merry morrice-dancers come. 
 
 I guess, by all this quaiut array. 
 
 The burghers hold their sports to-day.^' 
 
 James Avill 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. 
 
 I'll follow to the Castle-park, 
 
 And play my prize ; — King James shall mark. 
 
 If age has tamed these sinews stark, 
 
 "VMiose force so oft, in happier days, 
 
 His boyish wonder loved to praise." 
 
 XXI. 
 
 The Castle gates were open flung, 
 
 The quivering draw-bridge rock'd and rung, 
 
 And echo'd loud the flinty street 
 
 Beneath the coursers' clattering feet. 
 
 As slowly do'(vn the steep descent 
 
 Fair Scotland's King and nobles went, 
 
 While all along the crowded way 
 
 Was jubilee and loud hazza. 
 
 And ever James was bending low. 
 
 To his white jennet's saddlebow, 
 
 Doffing his cap to city dame, 
 
 AVho smiled and blush'dfor pride and shame. 
 
 And well the simperer might be vain — 
 
 He chose the fairest of the train. 
 
 Gravely he greets each city sire, 
 
 Commends each pageant's quaint attire,
 
 » V. THE flOMBAT. 321 
 
 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, Bang James '" 
 Behind the King throng'd peer and knight, 
 And noble dame and damsel bright, 
 Whose fiery steeds iU brook'd the stay 
 Of the steep street and crowded way. 
 — But in the train you might discern 
 Dark lowering brow and visage stem : 
 There nobles moum'd their pride restrain'd, 
 And the mean burgher's joys disdain'd ; 
 And chiefs, who, hostage for their clan, 
 Were each from home a banish'd man, 
 There thought upon their own grey tower, 
 Their waving woods, their feudal power. 
 And deem'd themselves a shameful part 
 Of pageant which they cursed in heart. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Now, in the Castle-park, drew out 
 Their chequer'd bands the joyous route. 
 There morricers, with bell at heel. 
 And blade in hand, their mazes wheel ; 
 But chief, beside the butts, there stand 
 Bold Robin Hood*^ and all his band, — 
 Friar Tuck with quarterstaft' and cowl, 
 Old Scathelock with his surly scowl. 
 Maid Marion, fair as ivorj' bone, 
 Scarlet, and Mutch, and Little John ; 
 Their bugles challenge all that will, 
 In archery to prove their skill. 
 The Douglas bent a bow of might, — 
 His first shaft centred in the white, 
 And when in turn he shot again. 
 His second split the first in trsvain. 
 From the King's hand must Douglas tako 
 A silver dart, the archer's stake ; 
 Fondly he watch'd, with waterj' eye, 
 Some answering glance of sympatW, — 
 No kind emotion made reply ! 
 Indifferent as to archer wght. 
 The monarch gave the arrow bright. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Now, clear the ring ! for, hand to hand. 
 The manly wrestlers take their stand. 
 Two o'er the rest superior rose. 
 And proud demanded mightier foes. 
 Nor caU'd in vain ; for Douglas came. 
 — For life is Hugh of Larbert lame ; 
 Scarce better John of Alloa's fare. 
 Whom senseless home his comrades bare 
 Prize of the wrestling match, the King 
 To Douglas gave a golden ring "
 
 322 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 
 
 WhUe coldly glanced his eye of blue, 
 
 As frozen drop of wintry dew. _ 
 
 Douglas would speak, but in his breast 
 
 His struggling soul his words supyn-essVl ; 
 
 Indignant then he turn'd him where 
 
 Their arms the brawny yeomen bare, 
 
 To hurl tlie massive bar in air. 
 
 "When each his utmost strength had shown. 
 
 The Douglas rent an earth-fast stone 
 
 From 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. 
 
 The grey-hair'd sires, who know the past. 
 
 To strangers point the Douglas cast, 
 
 And moralize on the decay 
 
 Of Scottish strength m modem day. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 The vale with loud applauses rang. 
 The Ladies' Rock sent back the clang. 
 The King, with look unmoved, bestow'd 
 A purse well filled with pieces broad. 
 Indignant smiled the Douglas proud. 
 And threw the gold among the crowd. 
 Who now, with anxious wonder, scan, 
 And sharper glance, the dark grey man ; 
 Till whispers rose among the throng. 
 That heart so free, and band so strong, 
 Must to the Douglas blood belong ; 
 The old men mark'd, and shook the head, 
 To see his hair with silver spread, 
 And wink'd aside, and told each son. 
 Of feats upon the English done. 
 Ere Douglas of the stalwart hand 
 Was exiled from his native land. 
 The women prais'd his stately form. 
 Though -^NTCck'd by many a -winter's storm ; 
 The youth with awe and wonder saw 
 His strength surpassing Nature's law. 
 Thus judged, as is their wont, the crowd, 
 Till murmur rose to clamours loud. 
 But not a glance from that proud ring 
 Of peers who circled round the King, 
 With Douglas held commimion kind. 
 Or call'd the banish'd man to mind ; 
 No, not from those who, at the chase. 
 Once held his side the honour'd place, 
 Begirt his board, and, in the field, 
 Eound safety undenieath his shield ; 
 For he, whom royal eyes disown, 
 AVhen was his form to courtiers known 1 
 
 XXV. 
 
 The Monarch saw the gambols flag, 
 And bade let loose a gallant stag,
 
 I V. THE COMBAT. 323 
 
 "\nic«e pride, the holiday to crown, 
 
 Two favoiu'ite greyliounds should pull dowTi, 
 
 That venison free, and Bourdeanx wine, 
 
 IMight serve the archery to dine. 
 
 But Lufra, — whom from Douglas' side 
 
 Nor bribe nor threat could e'er divide. 
 
 The fleetest hound in all the North, — 
 
 Brave Lufre saw, and darted forth. 
 
 She left the voyal hounds mid-way, 
 
 And dashing on the antler'd prey. 
 
 Sunk her sharp muzzle in his flank, 
 
 And deep the flowing life-blood drank. 
 
 The King's stout huntsman saw the sport 
 
 By strange intruder broken short, 
 
 Came up, and with his leash unbound, 
 
 In anger struck the noble hound. 
 
 — The 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. 
 
 To share his board, to watch his bed. 
 
 And oft would Ellen Lufra's neck 
 
 In maiden glee with garlands deck ; 
 
 They were such playmates, that with name 
 
 Of Lufra, Ellen's image came. 
 
 His stifled wrath is brimming high, 
 
 In darken'd brow and flashing eye ; 
 
 As waves before the bark divide. 
 
 The crowd gave way before his stride; 
 
 Needs but a buflTet and no more, 
 
 The groom lies senseless in his gore. 
 
 Such blow no other hand could deal. 
 
 Though gauntleted in glove of steeL 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Then clamour'd loud the royal train, 
 
 And brandish'd swords and staves amain. 
 
 But stern the Baron's warning — " Back ! 
 
 Back, on your lives, ye menial pack ! 
 
 Beware the Douglas. — Yes 1 behold. 
 
 King James ! The Douglas, doom'd of eld, 
 
 And vainly sought for near and far, 
 
 A 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 1" the Monarch said ; 
 " Of thy mis-proud ambitious clan. 
 
 Thou, James of Bothwell, wert the man, 
 
 The only man, in whom a foe 
 
 My woman-mercy would not know : 
 
 But shall a INIonarch's presence brook 
 
 Injurious blow, and haughty look ? — 
 
 Wiiat ho ! the Captain of our Guard 1 
 
 Give the oft'ender fitting ward. —
 
 ^24 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. CANTO V. 
 
 Break off the sports !" — for tumult rose, 
 
 And yeomen 'gan to bend their bows, — 
 " Break off the sports !" he said, and frown'd, 
 " And bid our horsemen clear the ground." 
 
 XXVIl. 
 
 Then uproar wild and misarray 
 Marr'd the fair form of festal day. 
 The horsemen prick'd among the crotvd, 
 Eepell'd 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. 
 At once round Douglas darkly sweep 
 The royal spears in circle deep. 
 And slowly scale the pathway steep ; 
 While on the rear in thunder pour 
 The rabble with disorder'd roar. 
 With grief the noble Douglas saw 
 The Commons rise against the law. 
 And to the leading soldier said, — 
 " Sir John of Hyndford ! 't was mj' blade 
 That knighthood on thy shoulder laid ; 
 For that good deed, permit me then 
 A word with these misguided men. — 
 
 XXVIII. 
 " Hear, gentle friends ! ere yet for me 
 Ye break the bands of fealty. 
 My Ufe, my honour, and my cause, 
 I tender free to Scotland's laws. 
 Are these so weak as must require 
 The aid of your misguided ire ? 
 Or, if I suffer causeless wrong, 
 Is then my seli5sh rage so strong, 
 My sense of pul:)lic weal so low, 
 That, for mean vengeance on a foe. 
 Those cords of love I should unbind, 
 Which knit my country and my kind ? 
 Oh no ! Believe, in yonder tower 
 It ■n-ill not soothe my captive hour, 
 To know those spears o\ir foes should dread^ 
 For me in kindred gore are red ; 
 To know, in fruitless brawl begim. 
 For me that mother wails her son ; 
 For me, that widow's mate expires ; 
 For me, that orphans weep their sires ; 
 That patriots mourn insidted laws. 
 And curse the Douglas for the cause. 
 let your patience ward such ill. 
 And keep your right to love me still !" 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 The crowd's wild fury simk again 
 In tears, as tempests melt in rain.
 
 7. THE COMBAT. 3)^5 
 
 With lifted kinds and eyes, they pray'd 
 
 Fur blessings on his generous head, 
 
 Who for his country felt alone, 
 
 And prized her blood beyond his own. 
 
 Old men, upon the verge of life, 
 
 Bless'd him who stay'd the ci\'il strife ; 
 
 And motliers held tlieir babes on high. 
 
 The 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, 
 
 With trailing arms and drooping head. 
 
 The Douglas up the hill he led, 
 
 And at the Castle's battled verge. 
 
 With sighs resign'd his honour'd charge. 
 
 XXX, 
 
 The offended Monarch rode apart, 
 With bitter thought and swelling heart. 
 And would not now vouchsafe again 
 Through Stirling streets to lead his train. — 
 ' O Lennox, who would wish to rule 
 This changeling crowd, this common fool? 
 Hear'st thou," he said, " the loud acclaim. 
 With wliich they shout the Douglas name? 
 With like acclaim, the vulgar throat 
 Strain'd for King James their morning note ; 
 With like acclaim they hail'd the day 
 When first I broke tlie 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 ! 
 Vain as the leaf upon the stream. 
 And fickle as a changeful dream ; 
 Fantastic as a woman's mood. 
 And fierce as Frenzy's fever'd blood. 
 Thou many-headed monster-thing, 
 
 who would msh to be thy king ! 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 ' But soft ! w^hat messenger of speed 
 Spurs hitherward his panting steed ? 
 
 1 guess his cognizance afar — 
 
 What from our cousin, John of Mar?" — 
 ' He prays, my liege, your sports keep bound 
 Within the safe and guai-ded ground : 
 For some foul purpose yet unknown, — 
 Most sure for evil to the throne, — 
 The outlaw'd Chieftain, Roderick Dhu, 
 Has summon'd his rebellious crew ; 
 'Tis said, in James of Bothwell's aid 
 These loose banditti stand array'd.
 
 326 THE LADY OP THE LAKE. 
 
 The Earl of Mar, this mom, from Donne, 
 To break their muster march'd, and soon 
 Your grace ■will bear of battle fought ; 
 But earnestly the Earl besought, 
 Till for such danijer he provide. 
 With scanty ti'ain you wiU not ride." 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 " Thou wam'st me I have done amiss — 
 I should have earlier look'd to this : 
 I lost it in this bustling day. 
 — Retrace with speed thy former way ; 
 Spare not for spoiling of thy steed. 
 The best of mine shall be thy meed. 
 Say to our faithful Lord of Mar, 
 We do forbid the intended war : 
 Roderick, this mom, in single fight. 
 Was made our prisoner by a knight ; 
 And Douglas hath himself and causa 
 Submitted to our kingdom's laws. 
 The tidings of their leaders lost 
 Will soon dissolve the mountain host. 
 Nor would we that the vulgar feel. 
 For their Chiefs crimes, avenging steel. 
 Bear Mar our message, Braco : fly!" — 
 He tum'd his steed, — " ]My liege, I hie,^ 
 Yet, ere I cross this lily lawn, 
 I fear the broadswords will be drawn." 
 The tiu^' the fljing courser spurn'd, 
 And to his towers the King return'd. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 lU with King James' mood that day. 
 Suited gay feast and minstrel lay ; 
 Soon were dismiss'd the courtly tlirong. 
 And soon cut short tlie festal song. 
 Nor less upon the sadden'd to^vn 
 The evening sunk in sorrow do^m. 
 The burghers spoke of civil jar. 
 Of rumour'd fevids and mountain war. 
 Of Moray, Mar, and Roderick Dhu, 
 All up in arms : — the Douglas too. 
 They mourn'd him pent within the hold, 
 " Where stout Earl William was of old'' — 
 And there his word the speaker staid, 
 And finger on his lip he laid. 
 Or pointed to his dagger blade. 
 But jaded horsemen, from the west. 
 At evening to the Castle press'd ; 
 And busy talkers said they bore 
 Tidings of fight on Katrine's shore; 
 At noon the deadly fray begun, 
 And lasted till the" set of sim. 
 Thus giddy rumour shook the to^T., 
 Till closed the Night her pennons brown.
 
 327 
 
 CANTO SIXTH. 
 
 C!)e (§uarif--3Soom. 
 I. 
 
 The sun, awakening, through the smoky air 
 
 Of the dark city casts a sullen glance, 
 Rousing each caitiff" to his task of care, 
 
 Of sinful man the sad inheritance ; 
 Summoning revellers from the lagging dance, 
 
 Scaring the prowling robber to his den ; 
 (iilding 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. 
 
 What various scenes, and, ! what scenes of woe. 
 
 Are witness'd by that red and strugglmg beam ! 
 The fever'd patient, from his pallet low, 
 
 Through crowded hospital beholds its stream ; 
 The ruin'd maiden trembles at its gleam, 
 
 The debtor wakes to thought of gyve and jail, 
 The love-lorn -nTetch starts from tormenting dream ; 
 
 The wakeful mother, by the glimmering pale. 
 Trims her sick infant's couch, and soothes his feeble ^vail. 
 
 ir. 
 
 At dawn the towers of Stirling rang 
 With soldier-step and weapon-clang, 
 While drums, with rolling note, foretell 
 Relief to weary sentinel. 
 Tiirough narrow loop and casement ban"'d, 
 The sunbeams sought the Court of Guard, 
 And, struggling with the smoky air, 
 Deaden'd the torches' yellow glare. 
 In comfortless alliance shone 
 The lights through arch of blacfeen'd stone, 
 And show'd wild shapes in garb of war, 
 Faces deform'd with beard and scar, 
 All haggard from the midnight watch. 
 And fever'd with the stern debauch; 
 For the oak table's massive board, 
 Flooded with wine, with fragments stored, 
 And beakers ckain'd, and cups o'erthrown, 
 Show'd in what sport the night had flowu. 
 Some, weary, snored on floor and bench ; 
 Some labour'd still their thirst to quench ;
 
 328 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. CA! 
 
 Some, chill'd with watching, spread their hands 
 O'er the huge chimney's djdng brands, 
 \VTiUe round them, or beside them flung, 
 At every step their" harness rung. 
 
 III. 
 
 These drew not for their fields the sword, 
 
 Like tenants of a feudal lord, 
 
 Nor own'd the patriarchal claim 
 
 Of 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. 
 
 The swarthy Spaniard's there you trace ; 
 
 The mountain-loving Switzer there 
 
 More freely breath'd in mountain-air ; 
 
 The Fleming there despised the soil. 
 
 That paid so ill the labourer's toil ; 
 
 Their rolls show'd French and German name ; 
 
 And merry England's exiles came. 
 
 To share, with ill-conceal'd disdain. 
 
 Of Scotland's pay the scanty gain. 
 
 All brave in arras, well train'd to wield 
 
 The heavy halberd, brand, and shield ; 
 
 In camps licentious, wild, and bold ; 
 
 In pillage fierce and uncontroll'd ; 
 
 And now, by holylide and feast. 
 
 From rules of discipline released, 
 
 IV. 
 
 They held debate of bloody fray, 
 
 I"ought t'wixt 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 ear 
 
 Of wounded comrades groaning near, 
 
 Whose mangled limbs, and bodies gored, 
 
 Bore token of the mountain sword. 
 
 Though, neighboui-ing to the Court of Guard, 
 
 Their prayers and feverish wails were heard ; 
 
 Sad 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. 
 
 In 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. 
 
 And marr'd the dicer's brawling sport. 
 
 And shouted loud, " Renew the bowl ! 
 
 And, while a merry catch I troll, 
 
 Let each the buxom chorus bear, 
 
 Like brethren of the brand and spear."
 
 S'TO VI. THE GUARD-ROOM. 329 
 
 V. 
 
 Oiir vicar still preaches that Peter and Poiile 
 
 Laid a swing-ing long curse en the bonny brown bowl, 
 
 That there's wrath and despair in the jolly black-jack. 
 
 And the seven deadly sins in a flagon of sack ; 
 
 Yet whoop, Bamaby ! oif ■with thy liquor, 
 
 Drink upsees" out, and a fig for the vicar ! 
 
 Our vicar he calls it damnation to sip 
 
 The 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 ; 
 
 Yet 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 ; 
 And 'tis right of his office poor laymen to lurch. 
 Who infringe the domains of our good Mother Chiu'ch. 
 Y'et whoop, bully-boys I olf with your liquor. 
 Sweet Marjorie's the word, and a fig for the vicar I 
 
 VI. 
 
 The warder's challenge, heard without, 
 
 Staid in mid-roar tlie merry shout. 
 
 A soldier to the portal went, — 
 " Here is old Bertram, sks, of Ghent ; 
 
 And, — beat for jubilee the drum ! 
 
 A maid and minstrel with him come." 
 
 Bertram, a Fleming, grey and scarr'd. 
 
 Was entering now the Court of Guard, 
 
 A harper with him, and in plaid 
 
 All muffled close, a mountain maid. 
 
 Who backward shrunk to 'scape the view 
 
 Of the loose scene and boisterous crew. 
 " What news ?" they roar'd. — " I only know. 
 
 From noon tiU eve we fought -with foe, 
 
 As wild and as untameable 
 
 As the rude mountains where they dwell; 
 
 On both sides store of blood is lost. 
 
 Nor much success can either boast." — 
 " But whence thy captives, friend? such spoil 
 
 As theirs must needs reward thy toil. 
 
 Old dost thou wax, and wars grow sharp ; 
 
 Thou now hast glee-maiden and harp ! 
 
 Get thee an ape, and trudge the laud, 
 
 The leader of a juggler band." — ** 
 
 YII. 
 
 " No, comrade ; — no such fortune mine. 
 After the fight, these sought our Une, 
 
 <" Bacchanalian inteiiection, borrowed from the Dutch.
 
 330 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. CANTO VI. 
 
 That aged harper and the girl, 
 
 And, having audience of the Earl, 
 
 Mar bade I sliould purvey them steed. 
 
 And bring them hitberward with speed. 
 
 Forbear yoiu- mirth and rude alarm, 
 
 For none shall do them shame or harm." — 
 " Hear ye his boast ? " cried John of Brent, 
 
 Ever to strife and jangling bent ; 
 " Shall he strike doe beside om- lodge, 
 
 And yet the jealous niggard grudge 
 
 To pay the forester liis fee ? 
 
 I'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 imfit for strife. 
 
 Laid hand upon his dagger-knife ; 
 
 But Ellen boldly stepp'd between. 
 
 And dropp'd at once the tartan screen : — 
 
 So, from his mourning cloud, appears 
 
 The sun of May, tlirough summer tears. 
 
 The savage soldier}-, amazed. 
 
 As on descended angel gazed ; 
 
 Even hardy Brent, abash'd and tamed. 
 
 Stood half admu-ing half ashamed. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Boldly she spoke, — " Soldiers, attend ! 
 
 My father was the soldier's friend ; 
 
 Cheer'd 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." — 
 
 Answerd De Brent, most forward still 
 
 In every feat or good or ill, — 
 " I shame me of the part I play'd; 
 
 And thou an outlaw's child, poor maid I 
 
 An outlaw I by forest laws. 
 
 And meny Needwood knows the cause. 
 
 Poor Kose, — 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 call 
 
 The 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, 
 
 IMy shaft shall quiver in his heart ! — 
 
 Beware loose speech, or jesting rough : 
 
 Ye all know John de Brent. Enough." 
 
 IX. 
 
 Their Captain came, a gallant j-oung . 
 
 (Of Tullibar line's house he sprung,)
 
 CANTO TI. THE GUARD-KOOM. 331 
 
 Nor wore he yet the spurs of knight ; 
 
 Gay was his mieu, his humour light, 
 
 And, though by courtesy controll'd, 
 
 Forward his speech, his bearing bold. 
 
 The high-born maiden ill could brook 
 
 The scanning of his curious look 
 
 And dauntless eye : — and yet, in sooth. 
 
 Young Lewis was a generous youth ; 
 
 But Ellen's lovely face and mien, 
 
 HI suited to the garb and scene. 
 
 Might lightly bear construction strange, 
 
 And 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 ? 
 
 Does thy high quest a knight require. 
 
 Or may the venture suit a squire ? " — 
 
 Her dark eye tlash'd ; — she paused and sigh'd, — 
 " what have I to do with pride ! — 
 
 Through scenes of sorrow, shame, and strife, 
 
 A suppliant for a father's life, 
 
 I crave an auilience of the King. 
 
 Behold, to back my suit, a ring. 
 
 The royal pledge of grateful claims, 
 
 Given by the monarch to Fitz-James." 
 
 The signet-ring young Lewis took. 
 With deep respect and alterd look ; 
 And said — " This ring our duties own ; 
 And pardon, if to worth xmkno^vn, 
 In semblance mean obscurely veil'd. 
 Lady, in aught my folly fail'd. 
 Soon as the day llings wide his gates, 
 The King shall know what suitor waits. 
 Please you, meanwliile, in fitting bower 
 Eeposeyou till his waking hour ; 
 Female attendance shall obey 
 Your best, for service or array. 
 Permit I marshal you the way." 
 But, ere she foUow'd, with the grace 
 And open bounty of her race. 
 She bade her slender purse be shared 
 Among the soldiers of the guard. 
 The rest with thanks their guerdon took ; 
 But Brent, with shy and awkward look, 
 On the reluctant maiden's hold 
 Forced bluntly back the profier'd gold ; — 
 " Forgive a haughty English heait, 
 And O forget its ruder part 1 
 The vacant purse shall be my share, 
 Which in my barret-cap I'll bear. 
 Perchance in jeopardy of war. 
 Where gayer crests may keep afar."
 
 332 THE LADY OP THE LAKE, C 
 
 ■^rith thanks — 'twas all she could — the maid 
 His rugged courtesy repaid. 
 
 •XL 
 
 When Ellen forth with Lewis went, 
 Allan made suit to John of Brent : — 
 " My lady safe, O let your gi-ace 
 Give me to see my master's face . 
 His minstrel I, — to share his doom 
 Bound from the cradle to the tomb. 
 Tenth in descent, since first my sires 
 "Waked for his noble house their lyres, 
 Nor one of all the race was known 
 But prized its weal above their own. 
 With the Chiefs birth begins our care 
 Our harp must soothe the infant heir. 
 Teach tlie youth tales of fight, and grace 
 ' His earliest feat of field or chase ; 
 In peace, in war, our rank we keep, 
 ' We cheer his board, we soothe his sleep, 
 
 Nor leave liim 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, 
 " 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 ! 
 And, but I loved to drive the deer, 
 Jlore than to guide the laboimng steer, 
 I had not dwelt an outcast here. 
 Come, good old ilinstrel, follow me ; 
 Thy Lord and Chieftain shalt thou see." 
 
 XII. 
 Then, from a rusted iron hook, 
 A bunch of ponderous keys he took, 
 Lighted a torch, and Allan led 
 Through grated arch and passage dread. 
 Portals they pass'd, where, deep within. 
 Spoke prisoner's moan, and fetters' din ; 
 Through rugged vaults, where, loosely stored. 
 Lay wheel, and axe, and headsman's sword. 
 And many a hideous engine grim. 
 For wrenching joint, and crushing limb, 
 By artist formVl who deem'd it shame 
 And sin to give their work a name. 
 They halted at a low-brow'd porch, 
 And Brent to Allan gave the torch. 
 While bolt and chain he backward roll'd. 
 And made the bar unhasp its hold. 
 They enter'd : — 't was a prison-room 
 Of stem securitv and gloom,
 
 Vr. THE GUARD-ROOM. 333 
 
 Yet not a dungeon ; for the day 
 Through lofty gratings found its way, 
 And rude and antique garniture 
 Deck'd the sad walls and oaken floor ; 
 Such as the rugged days of old 
 Deem'd fit for captive noble's hold. 
 " Here," said De Brent, " thou mayest remain 
 Till the Leech ^-isit 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 miirmiu-s growl'd anew. 
 Roused at the sound, from lowly bed 
 A captive feebly raised his head ; 
 The wondering Minstrel look'd, and knew — 
 Not his dear lord, but Roderick Dhu ! 
 For, come from where Clan-Alpine fought. 
 They, erring, deem'd the Chief he sox.ght. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 As the tall ship, whose lofty prore 
 
 Shall never stem the billows more, 
 
 Deserted by her gallant band. 
 
 Amid the breakers lies astrand, — 
 
 So, on his couch, lay Roderick Dhn I 
 
 And oft his fever'd limbs he threw 
 
 In toss abrupt, as when her sides 
 
 Lie rocking in tlie advancing tides, 
 
 That shake her frame ivith ceaseless beat 
 
 Yet cannot heave her from the seat ; — 
 
 O ! how unlike her course at sea ! 
 
 Or his free step on hill and lea ! — 
 
 Soon as the Minstrel he could scan, 
 " What of thv ladv ?— of mv clan ?— 
 
 My mother?— Douglas ?-^tell me all? 
 
 Have they been ruin'd in my fall ? 
 
 Ah, yes ! or wherefore art tliou here ? 
 
 Yet speak, — speak boldly, — do not fear." — 
 
 (For Allan, who liis mood well knew. 
 
 Was choked with grief and terror too.) 
 " Who fought?— who fled?— Old man, be briel:— 
 
 Some might — for they had lost their Chief. 
 
 AVho basely live? — who bravely died?" — 
 " 0, cahn thee. Chief!" the Minstrel cried; 
 " EUen is safe ; " — " For that, thank Heaven ! '' — 
 '• And hopes are for the Douglas given ; — 
 
 The Lady Margaret, too, is weU ; 
 
 And, for "thy clan, — on field or fell, 
 
 Has never harp of minstrel told 
 
 Of combat fought so true and bold. 
 
 Thy stately Pine is yet unbent, 
 
 Though many a goodly bow is rent." 
 
 XIV. 
 The Chieftain rear'd his form on high, 
 And fever's fire was in his eve ;
 
 334 THE LAI>T OF THE LAKE. 
 
 But ghastly, pale, and li\'id streaks 
 Chequer'd his swarthy brow and cheeks. 
 — " Hark, Minstrel ! I have heard thee play, 
 With measure bold an festal day, 
 In yon lone isle, . . . again where ne'er 
 Shall 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. 
 Fling me the picture of the tight, 
 "When met my clan the Saxon might. 
 I '11 listen, till my fancy hears 
 The clang of swords, the crash of spears ! 
 These grates, these walls, shall vanish then, 
 For the fair field of fighting men, 
 And my free spirit burst away, 
 As if it soar'd from battle fray." 
 The trembling Bard wth awe obey'd, — 
 Slow on the harp his hand he laid ; 
 But soon remembrance of the sight 
 He witness'd from the mountain's height, 
 . "With what old Bertram told at night, 
 Awaken'd the full power of song, 
 And bore him in career along ; — 
 As shallop launch'd on river's tide, 
 That slow and fearful leaves the side. 
 But, when it feels the middle stream. 
 Drives downward swift as lightning's beam. 
 
 XV. 
 38attlc of 33far an JBtifne." 
 
 " The Minstrel came once more to view 
 The eastern ridge of Benvenue, 
 For ere he parted, he would say 
 Farewell to lovely Loch Achray — 
 Where shall he find, in foreign land. 
 So lone a lake, so sweet a strand ! 
 There is no breeze upon the fern, 
 
 Nor ripple on the lake, 
 Upon her eyry nods the erne. 
 
 The deer has sought the brake; 
 The small birds will not sing aloud. 
 
 The springing trout lies still, 
 So darkly glooms yon thunder cloud. 
 That swathes, as with a purple shroud, 
 
 Benledi's distant hUl. 
 Is it the thunder's solemn sound 
 That mutters deep and dread, 
 Or echoes from the groaning ground 
 
 The warrior's measured tread ? 
 Is it the lightning's quivering glance 
 
 That on the thicket streams, 
 Or do they flash on spear and lance 
 The aim's retiring beams
 
 ) VI. THE GUARD-ROOM. 33-5 
 
 — I see the dagger-crest of Slar, 
 1 see the Moray's silver star, 
 Wave o'er the cloud of Saxon Tvar, 
 That up the lake comes winding far ! 
 To hero boimd for battle-strife. 
 
 Or bard of martial lay, 
 'T were worth ten years of peaceful life, 
 One glance at their array I 
 
 XVI. 
 
 " Their light-arm'd archers far and near 
 Sur\'ey'd the tangled ground ; 
 Their centre ranks, with pike and spear, 
 
 A twilight forest frown 'd ; 
 Their barbed horsemen, in the rear, 
 
 The stern battalia crown'd. 
 No cymbal clash'd, no clarion rang, 
 
 StUl were the pipe and drum ; 
 Save heavy tread, and armour's clang. 
 
 The sullen march was dumb. 
 There breathed no wind their crests to shake. 
 
 Or wave their flags abroad ; 
 Scarce the frail aspen seem'd to quake. 
 
 That shadow'd o'er tlieir road. 
 Their vanward scouts no tidings bring. 
 
 Can rouse no lurking foe, 
 Nor spy a trace of living thing, 
 
 Save when they stirr'd the roe ; 
 Tlie host moves like a deep-sea wave, 
 Where rise no rocks its pride to brave, 
 High-swelling, dark, and slow. 
 The lake is pass'd, and now they gain 
 A narrow and a broken plain. 
 Before the Trosachs' rugged jaws; 
 And here the horse and spearmen pause, 
 While, to explore the dangerous glen, 
 Dive through the pass the archer-men. 
 
 XYII. 
 * At once there rose so wild a yell 
 Within that dark and narrow dell, 
 As all the fiends, from heaven that fell, 
 Had peal'd the banner-cry of hell ! 
 Forth from the pass in tumult driven, 
 Like chafi^ before the wind of heaven. 
 
 The archery appear ; 
 For life ! for life ! their plight they ply — 
 And shriek, and shout, and battle-cr\-, 
 And plaids and bonnets waving high, 
 And broadswords flashing to the sky. 
 
 Are maddening in the rear. 
 Onward they drive, in dreadful race. 
 
 Pursuers and pursued ; 
 Before that tide of flight and chase.
 
 336 THE LADT OF THE LAKE. CANTO VI. 
 
 How shall it keep its rooted place, 
 The spearmen's twilight wood ? — 
 ' Down, down,' cried Mar, 'your lances downl 
 Bear back both- friend and foe !' — 
 Like reeds before the tempest's frown. 
 That serried gi-ove of lances brown 
 " At once lay levell'd low ; 
 
 And closely shouldering side to side, 
 
 The bristling ranks the onset bide. — 
 
 ' We 'U quell the savage mountaineer, 
 
 As their Tinchel" cows the game I 
 
 They come as fleet as forest deer, 
 
 We 'U drive them back as tame.' — 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 " Bearing before them, in their course, 
 The relics of the archer force, 
 Like wave with crest of sparkling foam. 
 Eight onward did Clan-Alpine come. 
 Above the tide, each broadsword bright 
 Was brandishing like beam of hght, 
 
 Each targe was dark below ; 
 And with the ocean's mighty swing, 
 When heaving to the tempest's wing. 
 They hurl'd them on the foe. 
 1 heard the lance's shivering crash, 
 As' when the whirhvind rends the ash ; 
 I heard the broadsword's deadly clang, 
 As if an hundred anvils rang 1 
 But Moray wheel'd his rearw^ard rank 
 Of 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 I' — 
 The horsemen dash'd 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 — 
 
 Where, where was Eoderick then ? 
 One blast upon his bugle-horn 
 
 Were worth a thousand men ! 
 And refluent through the pass of fear 
 
 The battle's tide was pour'd ; 
 Yanish'd the Saxon's struggling spear, 
 
 Vanish'd the moimtain-sword. 
 As BracklLnn's chasm, so black and steep, 
 
 Receives her roaring linn. 
 
 As the dark caverns of the deep 
 
 Suck the vrHd whirlpool in, 
 
 " A circle of sportsmen, who, by surrounding a great space, and gradually 
 narrowiug, brought immense quantities of deer together, which usually made 
 desperate" efforts to break through the Tinchel.
 
 5ANTU VI. THE GUARD-ROOM, 337 
 
 So did the deep and darksome pass 
 Devour the battle's mingled mass : 
 None linger now upon the plain, 
 Save those who ne'er shall fight again. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 " Now westward rolls the battle's din, 
 That deep and doubling pass withiu, 
 — Minstrel, away ! the work of fate 
 Is bearing on : its issue wait, 
 "\Miere the rude Trosachs' dread defile 
 Opens on Katrine's lake and isle. 
 Grey Benvenue I soon repass'd. 
 Loch Katrine lay beneath me cast. 
 
 The sun is set ; — the clouds are met, 
 The lowering scowl of heaven 
 
 An inky hue of vivid blue 
 To the deep lake has given ; 
 Strange gusts of wind from mountaia-glea 
 Swept o'er the lake, then sunk agen. 
 I heeded not the eddying surge, 
 Mine eye but saw the Trosachs' gorge, 
 Mine ear but heaj-d the sullen soimd, 
 ^Vhich like an earthquake shook the ground, 
 And spoke the stern and desperate strife 
 That parts not but with parting life. 
 Seeming, to minstrel ear, to toll 
 The dirge of many a passing soid. 
 
 Nearer it comes — the dim-wood glen 
 
 The martial flood disgorged agen. 
 But not in mingled tide : 
 
 The plaided warriors of the North 
 
 High on the mountain thunder forth 
 And overhang its side ; 
 
 While by the lake below appears 
 
 The dark'ning cloud of Saxon spears. 
 
 At weary bay each shatter'd Usnd, 
 
 Eyeing their foemen, sternly stand ; 
 
 Their banners stream like tatter'd sail. 
 
 That flings its fragments to tlie gale, 
 
 And broken arms and disarray 
 
 Mark'd the fell havoc of the day. 
 
 XX. 
 
 " Viewing the mountain's ridge askance, 
 The Saxon stood in sullen trance. 
 Till Moray pointed with his lance. 
 
 And cried — ' Behold yon isle ! — 
 See ! none are left to guard its strand, 
 But women weak, that wring the hand i 
 'Tis there of yore the robber band 
 
 Their booty wont to pile ; — 
 IMy purse, with bonnet-pieces store, 
 To him wiU swim a bow-shot o'er, 
 And loose a shallop fi-om the shore.
 
 338 THE LADY OP THE LAKE. 
 
 Lightly we'll tame the war- wolf then, 
 Lords of his mate, and brood, and den.' — 
 Forth from the ranks a spearman sprung, 
 On earth liis casqite and corslet rung, 
 
 He plunged him in the wave : — 
 AU saw the deed — the purpose knew. 
 And to their clamours Benvenue 
 
 A mmgled echo gave ; 
 The 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, 
 Pour'd down at once the lowering heaven ; 
 A whirlwind swept Loch Katrine's breast. 
 Her billows rear'd their sno^vy crest. 
 Well for the ST\immer swell'd they high. 
 To mar the Highland marksman's eye ; 
 For round him shower'd, 'mid rain and hail. 
 The 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 liame ;— 
 I mark'd Duncraggan's widow'd dame — 
 Behind an oak I saw her stand, 
 A naked dirk gleam'd in her hand : 
 It darken'd, — ^but, amid the moan 
 Of waves, I heard a dying groan ; 
 Another flash ! — the spearman floats 
 A welteruig corse beside the boats. 
 And the stern matron o'er him stood, 
 Her hand and dagger streaming blood. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 " ' Revenge ! revenge ! ' the Saxons cried— 
 The Gael's 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. 
 Sprung from his horse, and, from a crag. 
 Waved 'twLxt the hosts a nulk-white flag. 
 Clarion and trumpet by his side 
 Rung forth a truce-note high and wide, 
 While, in the Monarch's name, afar 
 An herald's voice forbade the war. 
 For Bothwell's lord, and Roderick bold, 
 Were both, he said, in captive hold." — 
 — But here the lay made sudden stand I— 
 The harp escaped the Minstrel's hand I — 
 Oft had he stolen a glance, to spy 
 Hew Roderick brook'd his minstrelsy : 
 At first, the Chieftain, to the cliime, 
 W-th lifted hand, kept feeble time ;
 
 ) Vr. IHE GUARD-ROOM. 339 
 
 That motion ceased, — yet feeling stronj:; 
 
 Varied his look as changed the soug ; 
 
 At length, no more his deafen'd ear 
 
 The minstrel melody can hear ; 
 
 His face grows sharp, — his hands are clencli'd, 
 
 As if some pang his heart-strings ^vrench'd ; 
 
 Set are his teeth, his fading eye 
 
 Is sternly fix'd on vacancy ; 
 
 Thus, motionless, and moanless, drew 
 
 His parting breath, stout Roderick Dhu ! — 
 
 Old Allan-Bane look'd on aghast, 
 
 "\^'^lile grim and stiU his spirit pass'd : 
 
 But when he saw that life was tied, 
 
 He pour'd his waQing o'er the dead. 
 
 XXII. 
 Itamcnt. 
 
 " And art thou cold and lowly laid. 
 Thy foemeu's dread, thy people's aid, 
 Breadalbane'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 exUed line, 
 E'en in this prison-house of thine, 
 I'll wail for Alpine's honour'd Pine I 
 
 " WTiat groans shall yonder valleys fill ! 
 What shrieks of grief shall rend yon hill 
 What tears of bm-ning rage shall thrill, 
 When 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. — 
 woe for Alpine's honour'd Pine ! 
 
 " Sad was thy lot on mortal stage ! — 
 The captive thrush may brook the cage, 
 The prison'd eagle dies for rage. 
 Brave spirit, do not scorn my strain ! 
 And, 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 honour'd Pine." — 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Ellen, the while, with bursting heart, 
 Kemain'd in lordly bower apart. 
 Where play'd, with many-coloured gleara^ 
 Through storied pane the rising beams. 
 In vain on gilded roof they fall. 
 And lighten' d up a tapestried wall.
 
 340 ' THE LADY OF THE LAKE. ( 
 
 And for her use a menial train 
 
 A rich collation spread in vain. 
 
 The banquet proud, the chamber gay, 
 
 Scarce drew one curious glance astray ; 
 
 Or if she look'd 'twas but to say, 
 
 With better omen dawn'd the day 
 
 In that lone isle, where waved on high 
 
 The dun-deer's hide for canopy ; 
 
 Where oft her noble father shared 
 
 The simple meal her care prepared. 
 
 While Lufra, crouching by her side, 
 
 Her station claini'd with jealous pride, 
 
 And Douglas, bent on woodland game, 
 
 Spoke of the chase to jNIalcolm Gramme, 
 
 Whose answer, oft at random made. 
 
 The wandering of his thoughts betray'd. — 
 
 Those who such simple joys have known. 
 
 Are taught to prize them when they're gone. 
 
 But sudden, see, she lifts her head ! 
 
 The window seeks with cautious tread. 
 
 What distant music has tlie power 
 
 To win her in tliis wofiil hour ! 
 
 'T was from a turret that o'erhung 
 
 Her latticed bower, the strain was sung. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Hag 0f tlje im^vi^antti fj^unt^maii 
 
 " My hawk is tired of perch and hood. 
 My idle greyhound Igathes his food, 
 My horse is weary of his stall, 
 And I am sick of captive thrall. 
 I wish I were, as I have been, 
 Hunting 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 di'owsy chime. 
 Or mark it as the sunbeams crawl, 
 Inch after inch, along the wall. 
 The lark was wont my matins ring, 
 The sable rook my vespers suig ; 
 These towers, although a king's they be, 
 Have not a hall of joy for me. 
 No more at dawning mom I rise, 
 And sun myself in Ellen's eyes. 
 Drive the fleet deer the forest through, 
 And homeward wend with evening dew ; 
 A 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 !" 
 
 XXV. 
 
 The heart-sick lay was hardly said. 
 The list'ner had not turn'd her head.
 
 VI. THE GUARD-ROOM. 341 
 
 It trickled still, the starting tear, 
 
 When light a footstep struck her ear. 
 
 And Snowdoun's graceful Knight was near. 
 
 She turn'd the hastier, lest again 
 
 The prisoner should renew his strain. — 
 " O welcome, hrave Fitz-James ! " she said 
 " How may an almost orphan maid 
 " Pay the deep debt" " say not so! 
 
 To me no gratitude you owe. 
 
 Not 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 tjTant he, though ire and pride 
 
 May lay his better mood aside. 
 
 Come, Ellen, come ! 't is more than time — 
 
 He holds his court at morning prime." 
 
 With beating heart, and bosom wrung, 
 
 As to a brother's arm she clung : 
 
 Gently he dried the falling tear, 
 
 And gently whisper'd hope and cheer ; 
 
 Her faltering steps half led, half staid. 
 
 Through gallerj' fair, and high arcade, 
 
 Till, at his touch, its wings of pride 
 
 A portal arch imfolded wide. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Within 't was brilliant all and light, 
 
 A thronging scene of figures bright ; 
 
 It glow'd on Ellen's dazzled sight, 
 
 As when the setting sun has given 
 
 Ten thousand hues to summer even, 
 
 And from their tissue, fancy frames 
 
 Aerial knights and fairy dames. 
 
 Still by Fitz-James her footing staid ; 
 
 A few fiiint steps she forward made. 
 
 Then slow her drooping head she raised. 
 
 And fearful round the presence gazed ; 
 
 For him she sought, who own'd this state, 
 
 The dreaded Prince, whose will was fate. 
 
 She gazed on many a princely port, 
 
 JNIight well have ruled a royal court ; 
 
 On many a splendid garb she gazed. 
 
 Then tmii'd bewilder'd and amazed, 
 
 For all stood bare ; and, in the room, 
 
 Fitz-James alone wore cap and plume. 
 
 To him each lady's look was lent; 
 
 On tiim each courtier's eye was bent ; 
 
 Midst furs, and silks, and jewels sheen. 
 
 He stood, in simple Lincoln green. 
 
 The centre of the glittering ring, — 
 
 And Snowdoun's Knight is Scotland's King ! '^^ 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 As wreath of snow, on mountain-breast, 
 Slides from the rock that gave it rest.
 
 342 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 
 
 Poor Ellen glided from hei stay, 
 A nd at the Monarch's feet she lay ; 
 Xo word her choking voice commands, — 
 She show'd the ring — she clasp'd her hands. 
 O ! not a moment could he brook, 
 The generous Prince, that suppliant look ! 
 Gently he raised her ; and, the while, 
 Check'd with a glance the circle's smile; 
 Graceful, but grave, her brow he kiss'd. 
 And bade her terrors be dismiss'd : — 
 " Yes, Fair ; the wandering poor Fitz-James 
 The fealty of Scotland claims. 
 To liim thy woes, thy wishes, bring ; 
 He will redeem his signet ring. 
 Ask nought for Douglas ; yester even, 
 His Prince and he have much forgiven : 
 Wrong hath he had from slanderous tongue- 
 I, from his rebel kinsmen, wrong. 
 We would not, to the vulgar crowd, 
 Yield what tliey craved with clamour loud ; 
 Calmly we heard and judged his cause, 
 Our council aided, and our laws. 
 I stanch'd thy father's death-feud stem 
 With stout De Vaux and Grej' Glencairn ; 
 And Bothwell's Lord henceforth we own 
 The friend and bulwark of our Tlirone. — 
 But, lovely infidel, how now ? 
 What clouds thy misbelieving brow? 
 Lord James of Douglas, lend thine aid ; 
 Thou must confirm this doubting maid." 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Then forth the noble Douglas sprung, 
 And on his neck his daughter hung. 
 The monarch drank, that happy hour. 
 The sweetest, holiest draught of Power, — 
 When it can say, with godlike voice, 
 Arise, sad Vhtue, and rejoice ! 
 Yet would not James the general eye 
 On Nature's raptures long should pry ; 
 He stepp'd between — " Nay, Douglas, nay. 
 Steal not my proselyte away ! 
 The riddle 'tis my right to read. 
 That brought this happy chance to speed. 
 Yes, Ellen, when disguised I stray 
 In life's more low but happier way, 
 'T is under name which veils my power ; 
 Nor falsely veils — for Stirling's tower 
 Of yore the name of Snowdoun claims,** 
 And Normans call me James Fitz-James. 
 Thus watch I o'er insulted laws, 
 Thus learn to right tlie injured cause." — 
 Then, in a tone apart and low, — 
 •• Ah, little traitress ! none must know 
 What idle dream, what ligiiter thought, 
 What vanity full dearly bought.
 
 ) VI. THE GUARD-ROOM. 343 
 
 Join'd to thine eye's dark ■witchcraft, di'cw 
 
 My spell-bound steps to Benvenue, 
 
 In dangerous hour, and all but gave 
 
 Thy monarch's life to mountain glaive ! " — 
 
 Aloud he spoke — " Thou still dost hold 
 
 That little talisman of gold, 
 
 Pledge of my faith, Fitz-James' ring — 
 
 What seeks fair Ellen of the King ? " 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Full Tvell the conscious maiden guess'd 
 
 He probed the weakness of her breast ; 
 
 But, with that consciousness, there came 
 
 A lightening of her fears for Gr£eme, 
 
 And more she deem'd the monarch s ire 
 
 Kindled 'gainst him, who for her sire, 
 
 EebelHous broadsword boldly drew ; 
 
 And, to her generous feeling true, 
 
 She craved the grace of Roderick Dim. 
 " Forbear thy suit : — the King of kings 
 
 Alone can stay life's parting wings : 
 
 I know his heart, I know his hand. 
 
 Have shared his cheer, and proved his brand-^ 
 
 My fau'est earldom would I give 
 
 To bid Clan Alpine's Chieftain live ! — 
 
 Hast thou no other boon to crave ? 
 
 No other captive friend to save ? " 
 
 Blushing, she turn'd her from the King, 
 
 And to the Douglas gave the ring, 
 
 As if she wish'd her sire to speak 
 
 The suit that stain'd 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 kneel'd the Grajme to Scotland's Lord, 
 " For thee, rash youth, no suppliant sues, 
 
 From thee may Vengeance claim her dues, 
 
 Who, nurtured underneath om- smile. 
 
 Hast paid our care by treacherous wile. 
 
 And sought, amid thy faithful clan, 
 
 A refuge for an outlaw'd man. 
 
 Dishonouring thus thy loyal name. — 
 
 Fetters and warder for tlie Gr.-eme ! " 
 
 His chain of gold the King imstrung. 
 
 The links o'er Malcolm's neck he flung, 
 
 Then gently drew the glittering ban d, 
 
 And laid the clasp on Ellen's hand.
 
 ,{44 
 
 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 
 
 Harp of the North, farewell ! The hills grow dark. 
 
 On pvirple peaks a deeper shade descending ; 
 In twilight copse the glow-worm lights her spark. 
 
 The deer, half-seen, ate to the covert wending. 
 Resume thy wizard elm ! the fountain lending, 
 
 And the wild breeze, thy wilder minstrelsy ; 
 Thy numbers sweet with nature's vespers blending. 
 
 With distant echo from the fold and lea. 
 And herd-boj-'s evening pipe, and himi of housing bee. 
 
 Yet, once again, farewell, thou Minstrel harp ! 
 
 Yet, once again, forgive my feeble sway ! 
 And little reck I of the censure sharp 
 
 May idly cavil at an idle lay. 
 Much have I owed thy strains on life's long way, 
 
 Through secret woes the world has never known, 
 When on the weary night dawn'd wearier day, 
 
 And bitterer was the grief devour'd alone. 
 That I o'erlived such woes, Enchantress ! is thine own. 
 
 Hark ! as my lingering footsteps slow retire, 
 
 Some Spirit of the Air has waked thy string ! 
 'Tis now a seraph bold, with touch of fire — 
 
 'T is now the brush of Fairy's frolic wing ; — 
 Receding now, the dying numbers ring 
 
 Fainter and fainter down the rugged dell — 
 And now the mountain breezes scarcely bring 
 
 A wandering witch-note of the distant spell — 
 And now, 'tis silent all ! — Enchantress, fare thee well
 
 THE 
 
 VISION OF DON RODERICK. 
 
 Quid dignnm memorare tnis, Hispania, terns, 
 vox liumana valet ! Claudian. 
 
 JOHN WHITMOEE, Esq. 
 
 AND TO THE 
 
 COMMITTEE OF SUBSCBIBERS 
 POR RELIEF OF THE PORTUGUESE SLTFEP.ERS. 
 
 IX WHICH HE PBFSTDES, 
 
 THIS POEM, 
 
 ■ THE VISION OF DON RODERICK, 
 
 COMPOSED rOK THE BENEFIT OT THE FUND UXDEE THEIK MANAGEMENT 
 
 IS respectfci.lt INSCKIBED 
 
 EY 
 
 WALTER SCOTT.
 
 PUEFACE 
 
 THE VISION OF DON EODEKICK. 
 
 The following Poem is founded upon a Spanish Traditiorj, 
 rai'ticiilarly detailed in the Notes ; but bearing, in general, that 
 l)on Roderick, the last Gothic King of Spain, when the Invasion 
 of the Moors was impending, had the temerity to descend into an 
 ancient vault, near Toledo, the opening of which had been de- 
 nounced as fatal to the Spanish Monarchy. The legend adds, 
 that his rash curiosity was mortified by an emblematical repre- 
 sentation of those Saracens who, in the year 714, defeated him in 
 battle, and reduced Spain under their dominion. I havepresumeu 
 to prolong the Vision of tlie Revolutions of Spain down to the 
 present eventful crisis of the Peninsula ; and to divide it, by a 
 supposed change of scene, into Three PEPaoDS. The First of 
 these represents the Invasion of the Moors, the Defeat and Death 
 of Roderick, and closes with the peaceful occupation of the country 
 by the Victors. The Second Period embraces the state of the 
 Peninsula, when the conquests of the Spaniards and Portuguese 
 in the East and West Indies had raised to the highest pitch the 
 reno'SNTi of their arms ; sullied, however, by superstition and cruelty. 
 An allusion to the inhumanities of the Inquisition terminates this 
 picture. The Last Part of the Poem opens with the state of 
 Spain previous to the xmparalleled treacherj' of Buonaparte; 
 gives a sketch of the usurpation attempted upon that unsuspicious 
 and friendly kingdom, and terminates with the arrival of the 
 British succours. It may be further proper to mention, that the 
 object of the Poem is less to commemorate or detail particular 
 incidents, than to exhibit a general and impressive picture of the 
 several periods brought upon the stage. 
 
 I am too sensible of tlie respect due to the Public, especially 
 bv one who has already experienced more than ordinaiy indul- 
 gence, to offer any apolo^ for the inferiority of the poetry to the
 
 348 PREFACE. 
 
 subject it is chiefly designed to commemorate. Yet I think it 
 proper to mention, that •while I was hastily executing a work, 
 written for a temporary purpose, and on passing events, the task 
 was most cruelly interrupted by the successive deaths of Lord 
 PRESinHNT Blair, and Lord Viscount Melville. In those 
 distinguished characters, I had not only to regret persons whose 
 lives were most important to Scotland, but also whose notice and 
 patronage honoured my entrance upon active life; and, I may 
 add, with melancholy pride, who permitted my more advanced 
 age to claim no common share in their friendship. Under such 
 interruptions, the followng verses, which my best and happiest 
 efforts must have left far unworthy of their theme, have, I am 
 myself sensible, an appearance of negligence and incoherence 
 which, in other circumstances, I might have been able to remove. 
 
 Edinburgh, June 21, 1811.
 
 THE 
 
 VISION OF DON RODEEICK. 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 I. 
 
 Lives there a strain, whose sounds of mounting fire 
 
 May rise distinguished o'er the din of war ; 
 Or died it with yon blaster of the Lyre, 
 
 Who sung beleaguer'd Ilion's evil star? 
 Such, Wei.llxgtox, might reach thee from afar. 
 
 Wafting its descant -wide o'er Ocean's range : 
 Nor shouts, nor clashing arms, its mood could mar. 
 
 All as it swell'd 'twixt each loud trumpet-change. 
 That clangs to Britain victory, to Portugal revenge! 
 
 IL 
 
 Yes ! such a strain, -svith all-o'erpouring measure, 
 
 Slight melodize with each tumultuous sound. 
 Each voice of fear or triumph, woe or pleasure. 
 
 That rings Mondego's ravaged shores around ; 
 The thundering cry of hosts with conquest crown'd. 
 
 The female shriek, the ruia'd peasant's moan, 
 The shout of captives from their chains imbound. 
 
 The foil'd oppressor's deep and sullen groan, 
 A Nation's choral hymn for tyranny o'erthiowu. 
 
 III. 
 
 But we, weak minstrels of a laggaid day, 
 
 Skill'd but to imitate an elder page. 
 Timid and raptureless, can we repay 
 
 The debt thou claim'st in this exhausted age? 
 Thou givest our lyres a theme, that might engage 
 
 Those that coald send thy name o'er sea and land, 
 While sea and land shall last ; for Homer's rage 
 
 A theme ; a theme for Milton's mighty baud — 
 How much unmeet for us, a faint degenerate band I 
 
 IV. 
 Ye monntains stern ! within whose rugged breast 
 The friends of Scottish freedom found repose
 
 350 THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 
 
 Ye fx:rrents I whose hoarse sounds have soothed their rest, 
 Returning from the field of vanquish'd foes ; 
 
 Say, have ye lost each wild majestic close, 
 That erst the choir of Bai-ds or Druids flung, 
 
 TSIiat time their hymn of victory arose, 
 And Cattraeth's glens with voice of triumph rung, 
 And mystic Merlin harp'd, and grey-hair'd Lly war;h sung I - 
 
 V. 
 
 ! if your wilds such minstrelsy retain. 
 
 As sure your changeful gales seem oft to say 
 When sweeping wild, and sinking soft again. 
 
 Like trumpet-jubilee, or harp's wild sway ; 
 If ye can echo such triumphant lay, 
 
 Then lend the note to him has loved you long ! 
 Who pious gather'd each tradition grey. 
 
 That floats your solitary wastes along, 
 And with afiection vain gave them new voice in song 
 
 VI. 
 
 For not till now, how oft soe'er the task 
 
 Of truant verse hath lighten'd graver care, 
 From Muse or Sylvan was he wont to ask, 
 
 In phrase poetic, inspiration fair ; 
 Careless he gave his numbers to the air, 
 
 They came unsought for, if applauses came ; 
 Nor for himself prefers he now tlie prayer ; 
 
 Let but his verse befit a hero's fame, 
 Immortal be the verse!— forgot the poet's name I 
 
 vn. 
 
 Hark, from j^on misty cairn their answer tost : 
 
 " Minstrel ! the fame of whose romantic lyre. 
 Capricious-swelling now, may soon be lost, 
 
 Like the light flickering of a cottage fire ; 
 If to such task presumptuous thou aspire. 
 
 Seek not from us the meed to warrior due : 
 Age after age has gather'd son to sire, 
 
 Since our grey cliffs the din of conflict knew. 
 Or, pealing through our vales, victorious bugles blew. 
 
 VIIL 
 
 " Decay'd our old traditionary lore, 
 
 Save where the lingering fays renew their ring. 
 By milk-maid seen beneath the hawthorn hoar. 
 
 Or round the marge of Minchmore's haunted spring ; 8 
 Save where their legends grey-hair'd shepherds sing. 
 
 That now scarce win a listening ear but thine, 
 Of feuds obscm-e, and Border ravaging, 
 And rugged deeds recount in rugged line. 
 Of moonlight foray made on Teviot, Tweed, or Tjme. 
 
 1 See Note 1 of the " Notes to the Vision op Don Roderick " in 
 the Appendix. Tlie liguree of reference throughout the poem relate to 
 fui'ther Notes in the Appendix.
 
 INTEODtrCTION. 351 
 
 IX. 
 
 " No ! search romantic lands, where the near Sun 
 Gives with unstinted boon ethereal tiame, 
 Where the rude villager, his labour done. 
 
 In verse spontaneous ^ chants some favour'd name ; 
 Whether Olalia's charms his tribute claim, 
 Her eye of diamond, and her locks of jet; 
 .Or whether, kindling at the deeds of Gra;me,* 
 He sing, to wild Morisco measure set. 
 Old Albin's red clajTnore, green Erin's bayonet ! 
 
 X. 
 
 " Explore those regions, where the flinty crest 
 Of wild Nevada ever gleams with snows, 
 Where in the proud Alhambra's ruin'd breast 
 
 Barbaric monuments of pomp repose ; 
 Or where the banners of more ruthless foes 
 
 Than the fierce Moor, float o'er Toledo's fane, 
 From whose tall towers even now the patriot throws 
 An anxious glance, to spy upon the plain 
 The blended ranks of England, Portugal, and Spain. 
 
 XL 
 
 " There, of Nuraantian fire a swarthy spark 
 Still lightens in the sunburnt native's eye ; 
 The stately port, slow step, and visage dark. 
 Still mark endming pride and constancy. 
 And, if the glow of feudal chivalry 
 
 Beam not, as once, thy nobles' dearest pride, 
 Iberia ! oft thy crestless peasantry 
 Have seen the plumed Hidalgo quit their side, 
 Have seen, yet dauntless stood — 'gainst fortime fought and 
 died. 
 
 XII. 
 
 " And cherish'd still by that unchanging race. 
 
 Are themes for minstrelsy more high tlian thine ; 
 Of strange tradition many a mystic trace, 
 Legend and vision, prophesy and sign ; 
 Where wonders wild of Arabesque combine 
 
 With Gothic imagery of darker shade. 
 Forming a model meet for minstrel line. — 
 
 Go, seek such theme ! " — The ^lountain Spirit said : 
 With filial awe I heard — I heard, and I obeyed.
 
 »52 
 
 THE VISION OF DON EODEEICK. 
 
 I. 
 
 Reaklng their crests amid the cloudless skies, 
 
 And darkly clustering in the pale moonlight, 
 I'oledo's holy towers and sph-es arise, 
 
 As from a trembling lake of silver white ; 
 Their mingled shadows intercept the sight 
 
 Of the broad burial-ground outstretch'd below, 
 And nought disturbs the silence of the night ; 
 
 All sleeps in sidlen shade, or silver glow, 
 All save the heavy swell of Teio's ceaseless flow. 
 
 II. 
 
 All save the rushing swell of Teio's tide. 
 
 Or, distant heard, a courser's neigh or tramp; 
 Their changing rounds as watchful horsemen ride. 
 
 To guard the limits of King Koderick's camp ; 
 For, through the river's night-fog rolling damp, 
 
 Was many a proud pavilion dimly seen, 
 \\'Tiich glimmer'd back, against the moon's fair lamp. 
 
 Tissues of silk and silver t'wisted sheen, 
 And standai'ds proudly pitch'd, and warders arm'd between. 
 
 III. 
 
 But of their Monarch's person keeping ward, 
 
 Smce last the deep-mouth'd bell of vespers toU'd, 
 The chosen soldiers of the royal guard 
 
 The post beneath the proud Cathedi-al hold : 
 A band unlike their Gothic sires of old. 
 
 Who, for the cap of steel and iron mace, 
 Bear slender darts, and casques bedeck'd with gold. 
 
 While silver-studded belts their shoulders grace, 
 Where ivory quivers ring in the broad falchion's place. 
 
 IV. 
 
 In the light language of an idle court, 
 
 They murmur'd at their master's long delay, 
 And held Ids lengthen'd orisons in sport : — 
 
 " What ! will Don Roderick here till morning stay 
 To wear in shrift and prayer the night away ? 
 
 And are his hours in such dull penance past, 
 For fair Florinda's plunder'd charms to pay?" — * 
 
 Then to the east their weary eyes they cast, 
 And wish'd the lingeruig da-\ra would glknmer forth at lai^t
 
 TUE VISIOX OF DON RODERICK. '3o',i 
 
 V. 
 But, far within, Toledo's Prelate lent 
 
 An ear of fearful wonder to the King ; 
 The silver lamp a fitful lustre sent, 
 
 So long that sad confession witnessing : 
 For Roderick told of many a hidden thing, 
 
 Such as are lothly utter'd to the air, 
 When Fear, Eemorse, and Shame, the hosom wring, 
 
 And Guilt his secret burden cannot bear. 
 And Conscience seeks in speech a respite from Despair. 
 
 YI. 
 Full on the Prelate's face, and silver hair. 
 
 The stream of failing light was feebly roll'd : 
 But Eoderick's visage, though his head was bare, 
 
 Was shadow'd by his hand and mantle's fold. 
 While of his hidden soul the sins he told. 
 
 Proud Alaric's descendant could not brook, 
 That mortal man his bearing should behold, 
 
 Or boast that he had seen, when Conscience shook. 
 Fear tame a monarch's brow, Eemorse a warrior's look. 
 
 VII. 
 
 The old man's faded cheek wax'd yet more pale, 
 
 As many a secret sad the King bewray'd ; 
 As sign and glance eked out the imfinislii'd tale, 
 When in the midst his faltering whisper staid. — 
 " Thus royal Witiza was slain," — he said ; 
 " Yet, holy Father, deem not it was I." 
 Thus still Ambition strives her crimes to shade. — 
 " Oh ! rather deem 'twas stem necessity- 1 
 Self-preservation bade, and I must kiU or die. 
 
 YIII. 
 " And if Florinda's shrieks alarm 'd the air, 
 If she invoked her absent sire in vain. 
 And on her knees implored that I would spare. 
 
 Yet, reverend priest, thy sentence rash refrain ! — 
 AU is not as it seems — the female train 
 
 Know by their bearing to disguise their mood : " — 
 But Conscience here, as if in high disdain, 
 Sent to the Monarch's cheek the burning blood — 
 He stay'd his speech abrupt — and up the Prelate stood. 
 
 IX. 
 
 " harden'd offspring of an iron race ! 
 
 What of thy crimes, Don Eoderick, shall I say ? 
 What alms, or prayers, or penance, can efface 
 
 Murder's dark spot, wash treason's stain away ? 
 For the foul ravlsher how shall I pray. 
 
 Who, scarce repentant, makes his crime his boa&t <• 
 How hope Almighty vengeance shall delay, 
 Unless in mercy to yon Christian host. 
 He spare the shepherd, lest the guiltless sheep be lo.'.?.?"
 
 354 THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 
 
 X. 
 
 Then kindled the dark Tyrant in his mood, 
 And to his brow return'd its dauntless gloom : 
 " And welcome then," he cried, " be blood for blood. 
 For treason treachery, for dishonour doom ! 
 Yet will I know whence come they, or by whom. 
 Show, for thou canst — give forth the fated kej-, 
 And guide me. Priest, to that mysterious room. 
 Where, if aught true in old tradition be, 
 His nation's future fates a Spanish King shall see." — 
 
 XI. 
 
 " El-fated Prince ! recall the desperate word, 
 Or pause ere yet the omen thou obey ! 
 Bethink, yon spell-bound portal would afford 
 
 Never to former Monarch entrance-way ; 
 Nor shall it ever ope, old records say. 
 
 Save to a King, the last of all his line, 
 What time his empire totters to decay, 
 And treason digs, beneath, her fatal mine. 
 And, high above, impends avenging wrath divine." — 
 
 XII. 
 
 " Prelate ! a Monarch's fate brooks no delay; 
 
 Lead on 1 " — The ponderous key the old" man took, 
 And held the winking lamp and led the way. 
 
 By winding stair, dark aisle, and secret nook, 
 Then on an ancient gateway bent his look ; 
 
 And, as the key the desperate King essay'd. 
 Low mutter'd thunders the Cathedral shook. 
 And twice he stopp'd, and twice new effort made. 
 Till the huge bolts roll'd back, and the loud hinges bray'd. 
 
 xin. 
 
 Long, large, and lofty, was that vaulted hall ; 
 
 Roof, walls, and floor, were all of marble stone. 
 Of polish'd marble, black as funeral pall. 
 
 Carved o'er with signs and cliaracters unknown. 
 A paly light, as of the dawning, shone 
 
 Through the sad bounds, but whence, they could not spy ; 
 For window to the upper air was none ; 
 
 Yet, by that light, Don Roderick could descry 
 Wonders that ne'er till then were seen by mortal eye. 
 
 XIV. 
 Grim sentinels, against the upper wall, 
 
 Of molten bronze, two Statues held their place ; 
 Massive their naked limbs, their stature tall. 
 
 Their frowning foreheads golden circles grace. 
 Moulded they seem'd for kings of giant race. 
 
 That lived and sinn'd before the avenging flood ; 
 This grasp'd a scythe, that rested on a mace ; 
 
 This spread his wings for flight, that pondering stooii 
 Each stubborn seem'd and steru. inunutable of mood.
 
 THE VISION OF BON RODERICK^ 355 
 
 XV. 
 
 Fix'd was the right-hand Giant's brazen look 
 
 Upon his brother's glass of shifting sand. 
 As if its ebb he measured by a book, 
 
 Whose iron volume loaded his huge hand ; 
 In which was wrote of many a fallen land, 
 
 Of empires lost, and kings to exile driven : 
 And o'er that pair their names in scroll expand — 
 
 " Lo, Destiny and Time ! to whom by Heaven 
 The guidance of the earth is for a season given." — 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Even while they read, the sand-glass wastes away ; 
 
 And, as the last and lagging grains did creep, 
 That right-hand Giant 'gan his club upsway, 
 
 As one that startles from a heavy sleep. 
 Full on the upper wall the mace's sweep 
 
 At once descended with the force of thunder, 
 And hurtling down at once, in crumbled heap. 
 
 The marble boundary was rent asunder. 
 And gave to Roderick's view new sights of fear and wonder. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 For they might spy, beyond that mighty breach. 
 
 Realms as of Spain in vision'd prospect laid. 
 Castles and towers, in due proportion each. 
 
 As by some skilful artist's hand portray'd : 
 Here, crossed by many a wild SieiTa's shade. 
 
 And boundless plains that tire the traveller's e^-e ; 
 There, rich with vineyard and with olive glade. 
 
 Or deep-embrown'd by forests huge and high. 
 Or wash'd by mighty streams, that slowly murmur'd by. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 And here, as erst upon the antique stage, 
 
 Pass'd forth the band of masquers trimly led, 
 In various forms, and various equipage. 
 
 While fitting sti-aius the hearer's fancy fed ; 
 So, to sad Roderick's eye in order spread. 
 
 Successive pageants fiU'd that mystic scene. 
 Showing the fate of battles ere they bled. 
 
 And issue of events that had not been ; 
 And, ever and anon, strange sounds were heard between. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 First shrill'd an unrepeated female shriek ! — 
 
 It seem'd as if Don Roderick knew the call. 
 For the bold blood was blanching in his cheek. — 
 
 Then answer'd kettle-drum and atabal, 
 Gong-peal and cymbal-clank the ear appal, 
 
 The Tecbir war-ciy, and the Lelie's yell,* 
 Ring wildly dissonant along the hall. 
 
 Needs not to Roderick their dread import tell — 
 ' The Moor I" he cried, " the Moor ! — ring out the Tocsin bell !
 
 356 TUE VISION OF DON RODEKICK. 
 
 XX. 
 
 " They come ! they come ! I see the groaning lands 
 White with the turbans of each Arab horde ; 
 Swart Zaarah joins her misbelieving bands, 
 
 Alia and Mahomet their battle-word, 
 The choice they yield, the Koran or the Sword — 
 Sse how the Christians rush to arms amain ! — 
 In yonder shout the voice of conflict roar'd, 
 The shadowy hosts are closing on the plain — 
 Now, God and Saint lago strike, for the good cause of Spain ! 
 
 XXI. 
 
 " By Heaven, the Moors prevail ! the Christians yield 1 
 Their coward leader gives for flight the sign ! 
 The sceptred craven moimts to quit the field — 
 
 Is not yon steed Orelio? — Yes, 'tis mine !' 
 But never was she tum'd from battle-line : 
 
 Lo ! where the recreant spurs o'er stock and stone ! 
 Ciu-ses pursue the slave, and wrath divine ! 
 
 Rivers ingulph him !" — " Hush," in shuddering tone. 
 The Prelate said — " rash Prince, yon vision'd form's thine own. ' 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Just then, a torrent cross'd the flier's course ; 
 
 Tlie dangerous ford the Kingly Likeness tried ; 
 But the deep eddies whelm'd both man and horse. 
 
 Swept like benighted peasant do^vn the tide ; 
 And the proud Moslemah spread far and wide, 
 
 As nimierous as their native locust band ; 
 Berber and Ismael's sons the spoils divide. 
 
 With naked scimitars mete out the land. 
 And for the bondsmen base, the freeborn natives brand. 
 
 XXIII. 
 Then rose the grated Harem, to enclose 
 
 The loveliest maidens of the Christian line ; 
 Then, menials, to their misbelie^^ng foes, 
 
 Castile's young nobles held forbidden vnne ; 
 Then, too, the holy Cross, salvation's sign. 
 
 By impious hands was from the altar thrown. 
 And the deep aisles of the polluted shrine 
 
 Echo'd, for holy hjnnn and organ-tone, 
 The Santon's frantic dance, the Fakir's gibbering moan. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 How fares Don Roderick? — E'en as one who spies 
 
 Flames dart their glare o'er midnight's sable woof. 
 And hears aroimd his children's piercing cries, 
 
 And sees the pale assistants stand aloof; 
 While cruel Conscience brings him bitter proof. 
 
 His folly or his crime have caused his grief; 
 And while above him nods the crumbling roof. 
 
 He curses earth and Heaven — himself in chief — 
 Desperate of earthly aid, despairing Heaven's relief'
 
 THE VISrOX OF DON RODERICK. 35" 
 
 XXV. 
 
 That scythe-ann'd Giant tum'd his fatal glass 
 
 And twlight on the landscape closed her wings ; 
 Far to Asturian hills the war-sounds pass, 
 
 And in their steed rebeck or timbrel rings ; 
 And to the sound the bell-deck'd dancer springs, 
 
 Bazaars resound as when their marts are met, 
 In tourney light the Moor his jerrid flings, 
 
 And on the land as evening seem'd to set, 
 The Imaum"s chant was heard from mosque or minaret, 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 So pass'd that pageant. Ere another came, 
 
 The ^^sionar^' scene was wrapp'd in smoke, 
 "WTiose sulph'rous wreaths were cross'd by sheets of flame 
 
 With every flash a bolt explosive broke, 
 TiU Roderick deem'd the fiends had burst their yoke. 
 
 And waved 'gainst heaven the infernal gonfalone ! 
 For War a new and dreadful language spoke. 
 
 Never by ancient warrior heard or known ; 
 Lightning and smoke her breath, and thunder was her tone. 
 
 XXVII. 
 From the dim landscape roll the clouds away — 
 
 The Christians have regain'd their heritage ; 
 Before the Cross has waned the Crescent's ray 
 
 And many a monastery decks the stage, 
 And lofty church, and low-brow'd hermitage. 
 
 The land obeys a Hermit and a Knight, — 
 The Genii those of Spain for many an age ; 
 
 This clad in sackcloth, that in armour bright, 
 And that was Valouk named, this Bigotry was hight. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 Valour was hamess'd like a chief of old, 
 
 Arm'd at all points, and prompt for knightly gest ; 
 His sword was temper'd in the Ebro cold, 
 
 Morena's eagle plume adorn'd his crest. 
 The spoUs of Afric's lion bound his breast. 
 
 Fierce he stepp'd forward and flung down his gage; 
 As if of mortal kind to brave the best. 
 
 Him follow'd his Companion, dark and sage, 
 As he, my Master, sung the dangerous Archimage. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Haughty of heart and brow the Warrior came, 
 
 In look and language proud as proud might be. 
 Vaunting his lordsiiip, lineage, tights, and fame : 
 
 Yet was that barefoot Monk more proud than he ; 
 And as the ivy climbs the tallest tree, 
 
 So round the loftiest soul his toils he woimd. 
 And with his spells subdued the fierce and free. 
 
 Till ermined Age, and Youth in arms renoun'd. 
 Honouring his scoiu-ge and haircloth, meekly kiss'd the 
 ground.
 
 358 THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 And thus it chanced that Valour, peerless knight. 
 
 Who ne'er to King or Xaiser veil'd his crest. 
 Victorious still in bull-feast or in fight, 
 
 Since first his limbs with mail he did invest, 
 Stoop'd ever to that Anchoret's behest ; 
 
 Nor reason'd of the right, nor of the wrong. 
 But at his bidding laid the lance in rest. 
 
 And wrought fell deeds the troubled world along. 
 For he was fierce as brave, and pitiless as strong. 
 
 XXXI, 
 
 Oft his proud galleys sought some new-found world. 
 
 That latest sees the sun, or first the morn ; 
 Still at that Wizard's feet their spoils he hurl'd, — 
 
 Ingots of ore from rich Potosi borne, 
 Crowns by Caciques, aigrettes by Onirahs worn, 
 
 Wrought of rare gems, but broken, rent, and foiil ; 
 Idols of gold from heathen temples torn. 
 
 Bedabbled all with blood. — With grisly scowl 
 The Hermit marked the stains, and smiled beneath his cowL 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Then aid he bless the offering, and bade make 
 
 Tribute to heaven of gratitude and praise ; 
 And at his word the choral h3'mns awake, 
 
 And many a hand the silver censer sways. 
 But with the incense-breath these censers raise, 
 
 Mix steams from corpses smouldering in the fire ; 
 The groans of prison'd victims mar the lays, 
 
 And shrieks of agony confoimd the quire ; 
 While, 'mid the mingled sounds, the darken'd scenes expire. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 Preluding light, were strains of music heard, 
 
 As once again revolved that measured sand ; 
 Such sounds as when, for sylvan dance prepared. 
 
 Gay Xeres summons forth her vintage band ; 
 When for the light bolero ready stand 
 
 The mozo blithe, with gay muchacha met,* 
 He conscious of his broider'd cap and band, 
 
 She of her netted locks and light corsette. 
 Each tiptoe perch'd to spring, and shake the castanet. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 And well such strains the opening scene became ; 
 
 For Valour had relax'd his ardent look. 
 And at a lady's feet, like lion tame. 
 
 Lay stretcii'd, full loth the weight of arms to brook; 
 And soften'd Bigotry, iipon his book, 
 
 Patter'd a task of little good or ill : 
 But the blithe peasant plied his pnming-hook, 
 
 Wliistled the muleteer o'er vale and hUl, 
 Aud rung from village-green the merry seguidille.
 
 THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 359 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Grey Royalty, grown impotent of toil, 
 
 Let the grave sceptre slip his lazy hold ; 
 And, careless, saw his riile become the spoil 
 
 Of a loose Female and her minion bold. 
 But peace was on the cottage and the fold. 
 
 From court intrigue, from bickermg faction far ; 
 Beneath the chestnut-tree Love's tale was told. 
 
 And to the tinkling of the light guitar, 
 Sweet stoop'd the western sun, sweet rose the evening star. 
 
 XXXVL 
 
 As that sea-cloud, in size like human hand, 
 
 When first from Carmel by the Tishbite seen. 
 Came slowly overshadowing Israel's land, 
 
 A while, perchance, bedeck'd with colours sheen, 
 While yet the sunbeams on its skirts had been, 
 
 Limning with purple and with gold its shroud, 
 Till darker folds obscured the blue serene. 
 
 And blotted heaven with one broad sable cloud, 
 Then sheeted rain burst down, and whirlwinds howlxl aloud : 
 
 xxxvn. 
 
 Even so, upon that peaceful scene was pour'd. 
 
 Like gathering clouds, full many a foreign band, 
 And He, their Leader, wore in sheath his sword, 
 
 And offer'd peaceful front and open hand. 
 Veiling the perjured treachery he plann'd, 
 
 By friendship's zeal and honour's specious guise. 
 Until he won the passes of the land ; 
 
 Then burst were honour's oath, and friendship's ties I 
 lie clutch'd his vulture grasp, and cali'd fair Spain his prize. 
 
 XXXVIIL 
 
 An Iron Crown his anxious forehead bore ; 
 
 And well such diadem his heart became. 
 Who ne'er his purpose for remorse gave o'er, 
 
 Or check'd his course for piety or shame ; 
 "Who, train'd a soldier, deem'd a soldier's fame 
 
 Might flourish in the wreath of battles won. 
 Though neither truth nor honour deck'd his name 
 
 Who, placed by fortune on a iMonarch's throne, 
 Reck'd not of Monarch's faith, or Mercy's kingly tone. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 From a rude isle his ruder lineage came. 
 
 The spark, that, from a subHrb-hovel's hearth 
 Ascending, wraps some capital in flame. 
 
 Hath not a meaner or more sordid birth. 
 And for the soul that bade him waste the earth — 
 
 The sable land-flood from some swamp obscure, 
 That poisons the glad husband-field with dearth. 
 
 And by destruction bids its fome endure. 
 Hath not a source more sullen, stagnant, and impure.
 
 300 THE VISION OP DON RODERirir, 
 
 XL. 
 
 Before that Leader strode a shadowy Form ; 
 
 Her limbs like mist, her torch like meteor show'd, 
 With which she beckon'd hun through fight and storm. 
 
 And aU he crush'd that cross'd his desperate road, 
 Nor thought, nor fear'd, nor look'd on what he trode. 
 
 Realms could not glut his pride, blood could not slake. 
 So oft as e'er she shook her torch abroad — 
 
 It was Ajibition bade her teiTors wake, 
 Nor deign'd she, as of yore, a milder form to take. 
 
 XLL 
 
 No longer now she spivm'd at mean revenge. 
 
 Or staid her hand for conquer'd foeman's moan ; 
 As when, the fates of aged Eome to change, 
 
 By Caesar's side she cross'd the Rubicon. 
 Nor joy'd she to bestow the spoils she won, 
 
 As when the banded powers of Greece were task'd 
 To war beneath the Youth of Jlacedon : 
 
 No seemly veil her modem minion ask'd, 
 He saw her hideous face, and loved the fiend unmask'd. 
 
 XLIL 
 
 That Prelate mark'd his march — On banners blazed 
 
 With battles won in many a distant land. 
 On eagle-standards and on arms he gazed ; 
 
 " And hopest thou then," he said, " thy power shall stand ? 
 ! thou has builded on the shifting sand. 
 
 And thou hast tempered it with slaughter's flood ; 
 And know, fell scourge in the Almighty's hand, 
 
 Gore-moisten'd trees shall perish in the bud, 
 And by a bloody death, shall die the Man of Blood !" 
 
 XLIIL 
 The ruthless Leader beckon'd fi-om his train 
 
 A wan fraternal Shade, and bade him kneel. 
 And paled liis temples with the crowTi of Spain, 
 
 While trumpets rang, and heralds cried " Castile ! '" * 
 Not that he loved liim — No ! — In no man's weal, 
 
 Scarce in his own, e'er joy'd that sullen heart ; 
 Yet round that throne he bade his warriors wheel. 
 
 That the poor puppet might perform his part, 
 And be a scepti-ed slave, at his stem beck to start. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 But on the Natives of that Land misiised. 
 
 Not long the silence of amazement hung. 
 Nor brook'd they long their friendh^ faith abused ; 
 
 For, with a common shriek, the general tongue 
 Exclaim'd, " To arms ! " — and fast to arms they sprung. 
 
 And Valour woke, that Genius of the Land ! 
 Pleasure, and ease, and sloth, aside he flung. 
 
 As bm'st the awakening Nazarite his band. 
 When 'gainst his treacherous foes he clench'd his dreadful han^l
 
 THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 2G\ 
 
 XLV. 
 That Mimic Monarch now cast anxious eye 
 
 Upon the Satraps that begirt him romid, 
 Now dofTd his royal robe iu act to fly, 
 
 And from lais brow the diadem imbound. 
 So oft, so near, the Patriot bugle wound. 
 
 From Tarick's walls to BUboa's mountains blown, 
 These martial satellites hard labour found. 
 
 To guard a while his substituted throne — 
 Light recking of his cause, but battling for their own. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 From Alpuhara's peak that bugle rung, 
 
 And it was echo'd from Corunua's wall ; 
 Stately Seville responsive wai--shot flung, 
 
 Grenada caught it in her Moorish hall ; 
 Galicia bade her children fight or fall, 
 
 Wild Biscay shook his mountain-coronet, 
 Valencia roused her at the battle-call, 
 
 And, foremost still where Valour's sons are met. 
 First started to his gim each fiery Sliquelet. 
 
 XLVII. 
 But unappall'd, and burning for the fight, 
 
 The Invaders march, of factory secure ; 
 Skilful their force to sever or unite, 
 
 And train'd alike to vanquish or endure. 
 Nor skilful less, cheap conquest to ensure. 
 
 Discord to breathe, and jealousy to sow. 
 To quell by boasting, and by bribes to lure ; 
 
 While nought against them briug the unpractised foe, 
 Save hearts for Freedom's cause, and hands for Freedom's blow 
 
 XLVIII. 
 Proudly they march — but, ! they march not forth 
 
 By one hot field to cro-wn a brief campaign. 
 As when their Eagles, sweeping through the North, 
 
 Destroy'd at every stoop an ancient reign ! 
 Far other fate had Heaven decreed for Spain ; 
 
 In vain the steel, in vain the torch was plied, 
 New Patriot armies started from the slain, 
 
 High blazed the war, and long, and far, and wide, '" 
 And oft the God of Battles blest the righteous side. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 Nor unatoned, where Freedom's foes prevail, 
 
 Remain'd their savage waste. With blade and brand. 
 By day the Invaders ravaged hill and dale. 
 
 But, with the darkness, the Guerilla band 
 Came like night's tempest, and avenged the land. 
 
 And claim'd for blood the retribution due, 
 Probed the hard heart, and lopp'd the murd'rous hand ; 
 
 And Da-vvn, when o'er the scene her beams she threw, 
 Midst ruins they had made, the spoilers' corpses knew
 
 362 THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 
 
 L. 
 
 What minstrel verse may sing, or tongue may tell, 
 
 Amid the vision'd strife from sea to sea, 
 How oft the Patriot banners rose or fell, 
 
 Still honour'd in defeat as factory ! 
 For that sad pageant of events to be, 
 
 Show'd every form of light by field and flood ; 
 Slaughter and Ruin, shouting forth their glee, 
 
 Beheld, while riding on the tempest scud. 
 The waters choked with slain, the earth bedrench'd with blood 
 
 LI. 
 
 Then Zaragoza — blighted be the tongue 
 
 That names thy name without the honour due I 
 For never hath the harp of Minstrel rung, 
 
 Of faith so felly proved, so firmly true ! 
 Mine, sap, and bomb, thy shatter'd ruins knew, 
 
 Each art of war's extremity had room. 
 Twice from thy half-sack'd streets the foe withdrew, 
 
 And when at lengtli stern fate decreed thy doom, 
 They won not Zaragoza, but her children's bloody tomb. '^ 
 
 LIT. 
 
 Yet raise thy head, sad city ! Though in chains, 
 
 Enthrall'd thou canst not be ! Arise, and claim 
 Reverence from every heart where Freedom reigns, 
 
 For what thou worshippest ! — thy sainted dame, 
 She of the Column, honour'd be her name 
 
 By all, whate'er their creed, who honour love ! 
 And like the sacred relics of the flame. 
 
 That gave some martyr to the bless'd above. 
 To every loyal heart may thy sad embers prove I 
 
 LIII. 
 
 Nor thine alone such wreck. Gerona fair ! 
 
 Faithful to death thy heroes shall be sung, 
 Manning the towers, while o'er their heads the air 
 
 Swart as the smoke from raging furnace hung ; 
 Now thicker dark'ning wliere the mine was sprung. 
 
 Now briefly ligliten'd by the cannon's flare, 
 Now arcli'd witli fire-sparks as the bomb was flung, 
 
 And redd'ning now with conflagration's glare, 
 While by the fatal light the foes for storm prepare. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 While all around was danger, strife, and fear. 
 
 While the earth shook, and darken'd was the sky 
 And wide Destruction stunn'd the listening ear, 
 
 Appall'd the heart, and stupified the eye, — 
 Afar was heard that thrice-repeated cry, 
 
 In which old Albion's heart and tongue unite. 
 Whene'er lier soul is up, and pulse beats high. 
 
 Whether it liail tlie wine-cup or the fight, 
 And bid each arm be strong, or bid each heart be light.
 
 THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 363 
 
 LV. 
 
 Don Roderick tum'd him as the shout grew loud— 
 
 A varied scene the changeful vision show'd, 
 For, where the ocean mingled with the cloud, 
 
 A gallant navy stemm'd the billows broad. 
 From mast and stem, St George's symbol flow'd, 
 
 Blent with the silver cross to Scotland dear; 
 Mottling the sea their landward barges row'd. 
 
 And flash'd the sun on bayonet, brand, and spear, 
 And the wild beach return'd the seamen's jovial cheer. 
 
 LVI. 
 
 It was a dread, yet spirit-stirring sight ! — 
 
 The billows foam'd beneath a thousand oars ; 
 Fast as they land, the red-cross ranks unite, 
 
 Legions on legions bright'ning all the shores ; 
 Then banners rise, and cannon-signal roars. 
 
 Then peals the warlike thunder of the drum. 
 Thrills the loud fife, the trumpet-flourish pours. 
 
 And patriot hopes awake, and doubts are dumb, 
 For, bold in Freedom's cause, the bands of Ocean come ! 
 
 LVII. 
 
 A various host they came — whose ranks display 
 
 Each mode in which the warrior meets the fight : 
 The deep battalion locks its firm aiTay, 
 
 And meditates his aim the marksman light ; 
 Far glance tlie light of sabres flashing bright, 
 
 Where mounted squadrons shake the echoing mead ; 
 Lacks not artilleiy breathing flame and night. 
 
 Nor the fleet ordnance whirl'd by rapid steed, 
 That rivals lightning's flash in ruin and in speed. 
 
 LVIIL 
 
 A various host — from kindred realms they came, 
 
 Brethren in arms, but rivals in renown — 
 For yon fair bands shall merry England claim. 
 
 And with their deeds of valour deck her cro\vn. 
 Hers their bold port, and hers their martial frown, 
 
 And hers their scorn of death in fi'eedom's cause, 
 Their eyes of azure, and tiieir locks of brown, 
 
 And the blunt speech that bursts witliout a pause, 
 And freeborn thoughts, which league the Soldier with the Laws 
 
 LIX. 
 And, O ! loved warriors of tlie jMinstrel's land ! 
 
 Yonder your bonnets nod, your tartans wave ! 
 The rugged form may mark the mountain band. 
 
 And harsher features, and a mien more grave ; 
 But ne'er in battle-field throbb'd heart so brave 
 
 As that which beats beneath the Scottish plaid ; 
 And when the pibroch bids the battle rave, 
 
 And level for the charge your anns are laid, 
 Where lives the desperate foe that for such onset staid I
 
 364 THE VISION OP DON RODERICK. 
 
 LX. 
 
 Hark ! from yon stately ranks what laugliter rings, 
 
 Mingling wild mirtli with war's stern minstrelsy, 
 His jest while each blithe comrade round him flings, 
 
 And moves to death with military glee ! 
 Boast, Erin, boast them ! tameless, frank, and fi-ee. 
 
 In kindness warm, and fierce in danger known, 
 Rough nature's children, humorous as she : 
 
 And He, yon Chieftain — strike the proudest tone 
 Of thy bold harp, green Isle ! — the Hero is thine own. 
 
 LXI. 
 
 Now on the scene Vimeira should be shown. 
 
 On Talavera's fight should Roderick gaze, 
 And hear Corunna wail her battle won, 
 
 And see Busaco's crest with lightning blaze : — 
 But shall fond fable mix with heroes' praise ? 
 
 Hath Fiction's stage for Truth's long triumphs room ? 
 And dare her wild-flowers mingle with the bays. 
 
 That claim a long eternity to bloom 
 Around the warrior's crest, and o'er the warrior's tomb? 
 
 LXII. 
 
 Or may I give adventurous Fancy scope. 
 
 And stretch a bold hand to the awfiil veil 
 That hides futurity from anxious hope, 
 
 Bidding beyond it scenes of glory hail. 
 And painting Europe rousing at the tale 
 
 Of Spain's invaders from her confines hurl'd. 
 While kindling nations buckle on their mail. 
 
 And Fame, with clarion-blast and wings unfurl'd. 
 To Freedom and Revenge awakes an injured World ? 
 
 LXIII. 
 vain, though anxious, is the glance I cast, 
 
 Since Fate has mark'd futurity her own : 
 Yet Fate resigns to Worth the glorious past, 
 
 The deeds recorded, and the laurels won. 
 Then, though the Vault of Destiny ^^ be gone, 
 
 King, Prelate, all the phantasms of my brain. 
 Melted away like mist-i^Teaths in the sun. 
 
 Yet grant for faith, for valour, and for Spain, 
 One note of pride and fire, a Patriot's parting strain
 
 TUE VrSIOX OF DON RODERICK. 365 
 
 CONCLUSIOK 
 
 I. 
 
 " Who shall command Estrella's mountain-tide 
 
 Back to the source, when tempest-chafed, to hie ? 
 Who, when Gascogne's vex'd giilf is raging wide, 
 
 Shall hush it as a nurse her infant's cry ? 
 His magic power let such vain boaster try. 
 
 And when the torrent shall his voice obey. 
 And Biscay's wliirlwinds list his lullaby, 
 
 Let him stand forth and bar mine eagles' way. 
 And they shall heed his voice, and at his bidding stay. 
 
 II. 
 
 " Else ne'er to stoop, till high on Lisbon's towers 
 They close their wings, the s^inbol of our yoke, 
 And their own sea hath whelm 'd yon red-cross powers !" 
 
 Thus, on the summit of Alverca's rock. 
 To Marshal, Duke, and Peer, Gaul's Leader spoke. 
 
 While downward on the land his legions press. 
 Before them it was rich witli %'ine and flock. 
 And smiled like Eden in her summer dress; — 
 Behind their wasteful march a reeking wilderness. ^* 
 
 III. 
 
 And shall the boastful Chief maintain his word, 
 
 Though Heaven hatli heard the wailings of the land, 
 Though Lusitania whet her vengefid sword, 
 
 Though Britons ann, and Wkllington command ? 
 No ! grim Busaco's iron ridge shall stand 
 
 An adamantine barrier to his force ; 
 And from its base shall wheel his shatter'd band. 
 
 As from the unshaken rock the torrent hoarse 
 Bears off its broken waves, and seeks a devious course. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Yet not because Alcoba's mountain-hawk 
 
 Hath on his best and bravest made her food, 
 In numbers confident, yon Chief shall baulk 
 
 His Lord's imperial thirst for spoil and blood : 
 For full in view the promised conquest stood. 
 
 And Lisbon's matrons from tlieir walls, might sum 
 The myriads that had half the world subdued. 
 
 And hear the distant thimders of the drum. 
 That bids the bands of France to stoiTa and havoc come. 
 
 V. • 
 
 Four moons have heard these thunders idly roll'd. 
 Have seen these wistful mj-riads eye their prey,
 
 366 THE VISION OP DON KODERICK. 
 
 As famish'd wolves survey a guarded fold — 
 
 But in the middle path a Lion la)' ! 
 At length they move — but not to battle-fray, 
 
 Xor blaze yon fires where meets the manly fight : 
 Beacons of infamy, they light the way 
 
 Where cowardice and crueltj' unite 
 To damn with double shame their ignominious flight I 
 
 VI. 
 
 triumph for the Fiends of Lust and Wrath ! 
 
 Ne'er to be told, yet ne'er to be forgot. 
 What wanton horrors mark'd their -wTeckful path I — 
 
 The peasant butcher'd in his ruin'd cot. 
 The hoary priest even at the altar shot, 
 
 Childhood and age given o'er to sword and flame. 
 Woman to infamy ; — no crime forgot. 
 
 By which inventive demons miglit proclaim 
 Immortal hate to man, and scorn of God's great name ! 
 
 VIL 
 The rudest sentinel, in Britain bom. 
 
 With horror paused to view the havoc done. 
 Gave his poor crust to feed some wretch forlorn,'* 
 
 Wiped his stern eye, then fiercer grasp'd his gun. 
 Nor ^vith less zeal shall Britain's peaceful son 
 
 Exult the debt of sjonpathy to pay ; 
 Riches nor poverty the tax shall shun. 
 
 Nor prince nor peer, the Ws^althy nor the gay, 
 Noi the poor peasant's mite, nor bard's more worthless laj . 
 
 YIII. 
 
 But thou — unfoughten wilt thou yield to Fate, 
 
 Minion of Fortune, now miscall'd in vain ! 
 Can vantage-ground no confidence create, 
 
 Marcella's pass, nor Guarda's mountain-chain ? 
 Vainglorious fugitive ! i' yet turn again ! 
 
 Behold, where, named by some prophetic Seer, 
 Flows Honour's Fountain," as foredoom'd the stain 
 
 From thy dishonom-'d name and arms to clear — 
 Fallen Child of Fortune, tiu-n, redeem her favour here I 
 
 IX. 
 
 Yet, ere thou tum'st, collect each distant aid ; 
 
 Those chief that never heard the lion roar ! 
 With'in whose souls lives not a trace portray'd. 
 
 Of Talavera, or Mondego's shore ! 
 Marshal each band thou hast, and simimon more ; 
 
 Of war's fell stratagems exhaust the whole ; 
 Rank upon rank, squadron on squadron pour. 
 
 Legion on legion on thy foeman roU, 
 And weary out his arm — thou canst not quell his souL 
 
 " The literal trauslation of Fuentes cCHonoro.
 
 THE VISION OP DON RODERICK. 3G7 
 
 X. 
 
 O vainly gleams with steel Agueda's shore, 
 
 Vainly thy squadrons hide Assuava's plain, 
 And front the flying thunders as they roar. 
 
 With frantic charge and tenfold odds, in vain I ^* 
 And what avails thee that, for Casieron slain,i' 
 
 Wild from his plaided ranks the yell was given — 
 Vengeance and grief gave mountain-rage the rein, 
 
 And, at the bloody spear-point headlong driven. 
 Thy Despot's giant guards fled like the rack of heaven. 
 
 XI. 
 Go, baffled boaster I teach thy haughty mood 
 
 To plead at thine imperious master's throne ; 
 Say, thou hast left his legions in their blood. 
 
 Deceived his hopes, and frustrated thine own ; 
 Say, that thine utmost skill and valour shown. 
 
 By British skill and valour were outvied ; 
 Last say, thy conqueror was Wellington ! 
 
 And if he chafe, be his own fortune tried — 
 God and our cause to friend, the venture we '11 abid<>. 
 
 XII. 
 
 But you, ye heroes of that well-fought day. 
 
 How shall a bard imknowing and unknown, 
 His meed to each victorious leader pay. 
 
 Or bind on every brow the lam-els won ? 
 Yet fain my harp would wake its boldest tone, 
 
 O'er the wide sea to hail Cadogan brave ; 
 And he, perchance, the minstrel-note might own, 
 
 ilindjful of meeting brief that Fortune gave 
 'Mid yon far western isles that hear the Atlantic rave. 
 
 XIII. 
 Yes ! hard the task, when Britons wield the sword, 
 
 To give each Chief and every field its fame : 
 Hark ! Albuera thunders Bekesford ! 
 
 And Eed Barossa shouts for dauntless Gr..E>iE ! 
 O for a verse of tumult and of flame, 
 
 Bold as the bursting of their cannon soimd. 
 To bid the world re-echo to their fame! 
 For never, upon gory battle-ground. 
 With conquest's well-bought wreath were braver victors 
 crown'd ! 
 
 XIV. 
 
 who shall grudge him Albuera's bays. 
 
 Who brought a race regenerate to the field. 
 Housed them to emulate their fathers' praise, 
 
 Temper'd their headlong rage, their courage steel'd,'' 
 And raised fair Lusitania's tiillen shield. 
 
 And gave new edge to Lusitania's sword. 
 And taught her sons forgotten arms to vricU — 
 
 Shiver'd my harp, and burst its every choid. 
 If it forget thy worth, victorious Beresfokd 1
 
 368 THE VISIOX OF DON RODERICK. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Not on that bloody field of battle won, 
 
 Though Gaul's proud legions roll'd like mist away, 
 Was half his self-devoted valour shown, — 
 
 He gaged but life on that illustrious day ; 
 But when he toil'd those squadrons to array, 
 
 ■\\Tiio fought like Britons in the bloody game. 
 Sharper than Polish pike or assagay. 
 
 He braved the shafts of censure and of shame, 
 And, dearer far than life, he pledged a soldier's fame. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Nor T^e his praise o'erpast who strove to hide 
 
 Beneath the warrior's vest affection's wound, 
 Whose wish Heaven for his country's weal denied ; 
 
 Danger and fate he sought, but glory found. 
 From clime to clime, where'er war's trumpets sound, 
 
 The wanderer went ; yet, Caledonia ! still 
 Thine was his thought in march and tented ground ; 
 
 He dream'd 'mid Alpine cliffs of Athole's hill. 
 And heard in Ebro's roar his Lyndoch's lovely rilL 
 
 xvn. 
 
 hero of a race renown'd of old, 
 
 Whose war-cry oft has waked the battle-swell, 
 Since first distinguish'd in the onset bold, 
 
 Wild sounding when the Roman rampart fell I 
 By Wallace' side it rung the Southron's knell, 
 
 Aldeme, Kilsythe, and Tibber, own'd its fame, 
 Tummell's rude pass can of its terrors tell. 
 
 But ne'er from prouder field arose the name, 
 Than when wild Ronda leam'd the conquering shout of 
 Graeme ! i9 
 
 xvni. 
 
 But all too long, through seas unknown and dark, 
 
 (With Spenser's parable I close my tale,) 
 By shoal and rock hath steer'd my venturous bark, 
 
 And landward now I drive before the gale. 
 And now the blue and distant shore I hail. 
 
 And nearer now I see the port expand, 
 And now I gladly furl my weary sail, 
 
 And as the prow light touches on the strand, 
 I strike my red-cross flag, and bind my skiff to lund.
 
 R K E B Y : 
 
 A POEM. 
 IN SIX CANTOS. 
 
 JOHN B. S. MOKKITT, Esq. 
 THIS POEM, 
 
 THE SCENE OE WHICH IS LAID IN HIS BEAUTIFUL DEllESKE OF aCKEBI 
 IS INSCRIBED, 
 
 1>: TOKEN OF SINCERE FRIENDSHIP, 
 
 WALTER SCOTT.
 
 ADVERTISEMENT TO THE FIRST EDITION. 
 
 The Scene of this Poem is laid at Rolceby, near Greta Bridge, 
 in Toi'kshire, and shifts to the adjacent Fortress of Barnard 
 Castle, and to other places in that Vicinity. 
 
 The Time occupied by the Action is a space of Five Days, Three 
 oj which are supposed to elapse between the end of the Fifth and 
 the beginning of the Sixth Canto. 
 
 The Date of the supposed events is immediately subsequent to 
 the great Battle of Marston Moor, 3d July 1644. This period of 
 public confusion has been chosen, without any purpose of combining 
 the Fable with the Military or Political Events of the Civil War, 
 but only as affording a degree of probability to the Fictitious narra- 
 tive now presented to the Public.
 
 INTEODIICTION TO EOKEBY. 
 
 EDITION 1830. 
 
 Between the publication of " The Lady of the Lake," which was 
 so eminently successful, and that of " Rokeby," in 1813, three years 
 had intervened. I shall not, I believe, be accused of ever havinj^ 
 attempted to usurp a superiority over many men of genius, my 
 contemporaries ; but, in point of popularity, not of actual talent, 
 the caprice of the public had certainly given me such a temporary 
 superiority over men, of whom in regard to poetical fancy and 
 feeling, I scarcely thought myself worthy to loose the shoe-latch. 
 On the other hand, it would be absurd affectation in me to den}-, 
 that I conceived myself to understand, more perfectly than many 
 of my contemporaries, the maimer most likely to interest the great 
 mass of mankind. Yet, even with this belief, I must truly and 
 fairly say, that I always considered myself rather as one who held 
 the bets, in time to be paid over to the winner, than as having 
 any pretence to keep them in my own right. 
 
 In the meantime years crept on, and not without their usual 
 depredations on the passing generation. My sons had arrived at 
 the age when the paternal home was no longer tlieir best abode, 
 as both were destined to active life. The tield-sports, to which I 
 was peculiarly attached, had now less interest, and were replaecd 
 by other amusements of a more quiet character; and the means 
 and opportunity of pursuing these were to be sought for. I had, 
 indeed, for some years attended to farming, a knowledge of which 
 is, or at least was then, indispensable to tlie comfort of a family 
 residing in a solitaiy coimtry-house ; but although this was the 
 favourite amusement of many of my friends, I have never been 
 able to consider it as a source of pleasure. Inever could think it 
 a matter of passing importance, that my cattle, or crops, were bet- 
 ter or more plentiful than those of my neighbours, and neverthe- 
 less I began to feel the necessity of some more quiet out-door oc- 
 cupation, different from those I had hitherto pursued. I purchased 
 a small farm of about one hundred acres, with the purpose of 
 planting and improving it, to which property circumstances after- 
 wards enabled me to make considerable additions ; and thus an 
 era took place in my life, almost equal to the important one men- 
 tioned by the Vicar of Wakefield, when he remo\ed from the 
 Blue-room to the Brown. In point of neighbourhood, at least, 
 the change of residence made little more difl'erence. Abbotsford, 
 to which vie, removed, was only six or seven miles down the 
 Tweed, and lay on the same beautiful stream. It did not possess 
 the romaritic character of Ashastiel, my former residence ; but it
 
 372 INTRODUCTION TO ROKEBr. 
 
 had a stretch of meadow-land along the river, and possessed, m 
 the plirase of the landscape-gardener, considerable capabilities. 
 Above all, the land was my own, lilse Uncle Toby's Bowling-green, 
 to do what I would mth. It had been, though the gratification 
 was long postponed, an early wish of m i n e to connect myself with 
 my mother-earth, and prosecute those experiments by which a 
 species of creative power is exercised over the face of nature. I 
 can trace, even to childliood, a pleasure derived from Dodsley's 
 account of Shenstone's Leasowes, and I envied the poet much 
 more for the pleasure of accomplishing the objects detailed in his 
 friend's sketch of his grounds, than for the possession of pipe, 
 crook, flock, and Phillis to boot. My memory, also, tenacious of 
 quaint expressions, still retained a phrase which it had gathered 
 from an old almanack of Charles the Second's time, (when every 
 tiling do^vn to almanacks affected to be smart,) in which the reader, 
 in the month of June, is advised, for health's sake, to walk a mile 
 or two every day before breakfast, and, if he can possibly so man- 
 age, to let his exercise be taken upon his own land. 
 
 With the satisfaction of having attained the fulfilment of an 
 early and long cherished-hope, I commenced my improvements, 
 as delightful in their progress as those of the child who first makes 
 a dress for a new doll. The nakedness of the land was in time 
 hidden by woodlands of considerable extent — the smallest of pos- 
 sible cottages was progressively expanded into a sort of dream of 
 a mansion-house, whimsical in the exterior, but convenient -vNathin. 
 Nor did I forget what is the natural pleasure of every man who 
 has been a reader, I mean the filling the shelves of a tolerably 
 large library. All these objects I kept in view, to be executed as 
 convenience should serve; and, although I knew many years 
 must elapse before they could be attained, I was of a disposition 
 to comfort myself withthe Spanish proverb, " Time and I against 
 any two." 
 
 The difficult and indispensable point, of finding a permanent 
 subject of occupation, was now at length attained; but there was 
 annexed to it the necessity of becoming again a candidate for 
 public favour ; for, as I wa* tiu-ned improver on the earth of the 
 everj'-day world, it was luider condition that the small tenement 
 of Parnassus, which might be accessible to my labours, should 
 not remain uncultivated. 
 
 1 meditated, at first, a poem on the subject of Bruce, in which 
 I made some progress, but afterwards judged it advisable to lay 
 it aside, supposing that an English story might have more 
 novelty; in consequence, the precedence was given to " Eokeby." 
 
 If subject and scenery could have influenced the fate of a poem, 
 that of " Eokeby" should have been eminently distinguished ; for 
 the grounds belong to a dear fnend, with whom I had lived in 
 habits of intimacy for many years, and the place itself united the 
 romantic beauties of the wilds of Scotland v,dth the rich and smil- 
 ing aspect of the southern portion of the island. But the Cava • 
 liers and Roundheads, whom I attempted to summon up to tenant 
 this beautiful region, had for the public neither the novelty nor 
 the peculiar interest of the primitive Highlanders. This, perhaps, 
 was scarcely to be expected, considering that the general muid 
 sympathises readily and at once with the stamp which nature 
 herself has atfixed upon the manners of a people living in a simple
 
 INTRODUCTION TO ROKEBT. 373 
 
 and patriarchal state ; whereas it has more difficulty in under- 
 standing or interesting itself in manners founded upon those pecu- 
 liar habits of thinking or acting, which are produced by the pro- 
 gress of society. We could read -with pleasure the tale of the 
 adventures of a Cossack or a Mongol Tartar, while we only won- 
 der and stare over those of the lovers in the " Pleasing Chinese 
 History," where the embarrassments turn upon difficulties arising 
 out of unintelligible delicacies peculiar to the customs and manners 
 of that affected people. 
 
 The cause of my failure had, however, a far deeper root. The 
 manner, or style, which, by its novelty, attracted the public in an 
 unusual degree, had now, after having been three times before 
 them, exhausted the patience of the reader, and began in the 
 fourth to lose its charms. The reviewers may be said to have 
 apostrophized the author in the language of Parnell's Edwin ; — 
 
 " And here reverse the charm, he cries, 
 And let it fairly now suflice, 
 The gambol has been shown." 
 
 The licentious combination of rhymes, in a manner not perhaps 
 very congenial to our language, had not been confined to the 
 author. Indeed, in most similar cases, the inventors of such 
 novelties have their reputation destroyed by their own imitators, 
 as Actieon fell under the fury of his own dogs. The present 
 author, like Bobadil, had taught his trick of fence to a hundred 
 gentlemen, (and ladies) who could fence verj- nearly, or quite, as 
 well as himself. For this there was no remedy ; the harmony 
 became tiresome and ordinary, and both the original inventor and 
 his invention must have fallen into contempt, if he had not found 
 out another road to public favour. What has been said of the 
 metre only, must be considered to apply equally to the structure 
 of the Poem and of the style. The very best passages of any 
 popular style are not, perhaps, susceptible of imitation, but they 
 may be approached by men of talent ; and those who are less able 
 to copy them, at least lay hold of their peculiar features, so as to 
 produce a strong biu-lesque. In either way, the eflect of the 
 manner is rendered cheap and common ; and, in the latter case, 
 ridiculous to boot. The evil consequences to an author's reputa- 
 tion are at least as fatal as those which come upon the musical 
 composer, when his melody falls into the hands of the street baUad- 
 einger. 
 
 Of the unfavourable species of imitation, the author's style 
 gave room to a verj- large number, owing to an appearance of 
 facility to which some of those who used the measure imquestioii- 
 ably leaned too far. The effect of the more favourable imitations, 
 composed by persons of talent, was almost equally unfortunate to 
 the original minstrel, by showing that they could overshoot him 
 with his own bow. In short, the popularity which once attended 
 the School, as it was called, was now fast decaying. 
 
 Besides all this, to have kept his ground at the crisis when 
 " Rokeby"' appeared, its author ought to have put forth his utmost 
 strength, and to have possessed at least all his original advan- 
 tages, for a mighty and xmexpected rival was advancing on the 
 stage — a rival not in poetical powers only, but in that art of 
 attracting popularity, in which the present writer had hitherto
 
 374 INTRODUCTION TO ROKEBY. 
 
 preceded better Dien than himself. The reader will easily see thai 
 Byron is here meant, who, after a little velitation of no great 
 promise, now appeared as a serious candidate, in the " First two 
 Cantos of Childe Harold." I was astonished at the power evinced 
 by that work, which neither the "Hours of Idleness," nor the 
 " English Bards and Scotch Reviewers," had prepared me to expect 
 from its author. There was a depth in his thought, an eager 
 abundance in his diction, wliich argued full confidence in the 
 inexhaustible resources of which he felt himself possessed; and 
 there was some appearance of that labour of the tile, which 
 indicates that the author is conscious of the necessity of doing 
 every justice to his work, that it may pass warrant. Lord Byron 
 was also a traveller, a man whose ideas were fired by having seen, 
 in distant scenes of difliculty and danger, the places whose very 
 names are recorded in our bosoms as the shrines of ancient poetry. 
 For his own misfortune, perhaps, but certainly to the high increase 
 of his poetical character, nature had mixed in Lord Byron's system 
 those passions which agitate the human heart with most violence, 
 and which may be said to have hurried his bright career to an 
 early close. There would have been little wisdom in measuring 
 my force with so formidable an antagonist ; and I was as likely 
 to tire of playing the second fiddle in the concert, as my audience 
 of hearing me. Age also was advancing. I was growing insen- 
 sible to those subjects of excitation by which youth is agitated. 
 I had around me the most pleasant but least exciting of all society, 
 that of kind friends and an affectionate family. My circle of 
 emplojTnents was a narrow one ; it occupied me constantly, and it 
 became daily more difficult for me to interest myself in poetical 
 somposition : — 
 
 " How happOy the days of Thalaba went by !" 
 
 Yet, though conscious that I must be, in the opinion of good 
 judges, inferior to the place I had for four or five years held in 
 letters, and feeling alike that the latter was one to which I had 
 only a temporary right, I could not brook the idea of relinquishing 
 literary occupation, which had been so long my chief diversion. 
 Neither was I disposed to choose the alternative of sinking into 
 a mere editor and commentator, though that was a species of 
 labour which I had practised, and to which I was attached. But 
 I could not endure to think that I might not, whether known or 
 concealed, do something of more importance. My inmost thoughts 
 were those of the Trojan Captain in the galley race, — 
 
 Nonjam, prima peto Mnestheus, neque vincere certo; 
 Quanquam ! — sed supereut, quibus lioc, Neptune, dedisti ; 
 Extremos pudeat rediisse : hoc vincite, cives, 
 Et prohibete nefas."* — ^^n. hb. v. 194. 
 
 I had, indeed, some private reasons for my " Quanquam O ! " 
 which were not worse than those of Mnestheus. I have already 
 hinted that the materials were collected for a poem on the subject 
 
 * " I seek not now the foremost palm to ^ain ; 
 
 'rhou;;;h yet— but ah ! tliat haughty -nish is vain! 
 Let those enjoy it wliora the gods ordain. 
 But to be last,"the lags of all the race!— 
 ■Redeem yourselves aiid me from that disgrace." 
 
 Dbydem.
 
 INTRODUCTION TO KOKEBY. 3/5 
 
 ot Bruce, and fragments of it had been shown to some of my 
 friends, and received with applause. Notwithstanding, therefore, 
 the eminent success of Byron, and the great chance of his taking 
 the wind out of my sails, there was, I judged, a species of cowardice 
 in desisting from the task which I had undertaken, and it was 
 time enough to retreat when the battle should be more decidedly 
 lost. The sale of " Rokeby," excepting as compared with that of 
 " The Lady of the Lake," was in the highest degree respectable ; 
 and as it included fifteen hundred quartos, in those quarto-reading 
 days, the trade had no reason to be dissatistied. 
 
 W. S. 
 Abboisford, April, 1830. 
 
 NOTICE TO EDITION 1833. 
 
 Sir TValter Scott commenced the composition of Rokeby 
 at Abbotsford, on the 15th of September 1812, and finished it on 
 the last day of the following December. 
 
 The reader may be interested with the following extracts from 
 his letters to his friend and printer, Sir Ballantyne. 
 
 « Abbotsford, 28/A Oct. 1812. 
 " Dear Ja:mes — I send you to-day better than the third sheet 
 of Canto IL, and I trust to send the other three sheets in the com-se 
 of the week. I expect that you will have three cantos complete 
 before I quit this place — on the 11th of November. Surely, if j-ou 
 do your part, the poem may be out by Chrietmas ; but you must 
 not daudie over your typographical scruples. I have too much 
 respect for the public to neglect any thing in my poem to attract 
 their attention; and you misunderstood me much when you 
 supposed that I designed any new experiments in point of com- 
 position. I only meant to say, that, knowing well that the said 
 public will never be pleased with exactly the same thing a second 
 time, I saw the necessity of gi\ing a certain degree of noveltj', by 
 throwing the interest more on character than in my former poems, 
 without certainly meaning to exclude either incident or descrip- 
 tion. I think you ■\yill see the same sort of difference taken in 
 all my former poems, of which I would say, if it is fair for me to 
 say any thing, that the force in the Lay is thrown on style — in 
 Marmion, on description, — and in the Lady of the Lake, on incident." 
 
 3d November. — " As for my storj', the conduct of the plot, which 
 must be made natural and easy, prevents my introducing any 
 thing light for some time. You must advert, that in order to 
 give poetical efi"ect to any incident, I am often obliged to be much
 
 376 XOTICE. 
 
 longer than I expected in the detail. Yoii are too much like (Iia 
 coimtrj' squire in the what d' ye call it, who commands that tlie 
 play should not only be a tragedy and comedy, but that it should 
 be crowned with a spice of your pastoral. As for what is popular, 
 and what people like, and so forth, it is all a joke. Be interesting ; 
 do the thing well, and the only difference will be, that people vv ill 
 like what they never liked before, and will like it so much the 
 better for the novelty of their feelings towards it. Dullness and 
 lameness are the only irreparable faults." 
 
 December 31st. — "With kindest wishes on the return of the 
 season, I send you the last of the copy of Rokeby. If you are not 
 engaged at home, and like to call in, we will drink good luck to 
 it ; but do not derange a family party. 
 
 " There is something odd and melancholy in concluding a poem 
 with the year, and I could be almost silly and sentimental about 
 it. I hope you think I have done my best. I assure you of my 
 wishes the work may succeed; and my exertions to get out in 
 time were more inspired by your interest and John's, than my own. 
 And so vogue la galire. 
 
 «W. S."
 
 ROKEBY 
 
 CANTO FIEST. 
 
 The Moon is in her summer gloTv, 
 But hoarse and high the breezes blow, 
 And, racking o'er her face, the cloud 
 Varies the tincture of her shroud ; 
 On Barnard's towers, and Tees's stream.' 
 She changes as a guilty di-eam, 
 When Conscience, with remorse and fear. 
 Goads sleeping Fancy's ■vvild career. 
 Her light seems now the blush of shame, 
 Seems now fierce anger's darker flame, 
 Shifting that shade, to come and go. 
 Like apprehension's hurried glow ; 
 Then sorrow's livery dims the air. 
 And dies in darkness, like despair. 
 Such varied hues the warder sees 
 Reflected from the woodland Tees, 
 Then from old Baliol's tower looks forth. 
 Sees the clouds mustering in the north, 
 Hears, upon turret-roof and wall. 
 By fits the plashing rain-drop fall. 
 Lists to the breeze's boding sound, 
 And wraps his shaggy mantle round. 
 
 n. 
 
 Those towers, which in the changeful gleam 
 Throw murky shadows on the stream. 
 Those towers of Barnard hold a guest. 
 The emotions of whose troubled breast. 
 In wild and strange confusion driven. 
 Rival the flitting rack of heaven. 
 Ere sleep stem Oswald's senses tied. 
 Oft had he changed his wearj- side. 
 Composed his limbs, and vainly sought 
 By effort strong to banish thought. 
 Sleep came at length, but with a train 
 Of feelings true and fancies vain, 
 
 1 See Note 1 of the "Xotes to Eokebt" in the Appenrlix. Tlie 
 fijures of reference througliout the poem relate to further ^'otes iu the 
 Appendix
 
 ;J78 ROKEBT. 
 
 Mingling, in wild disorder cast, 
 The expected tiiture with the past. 
 Conscience, anticipating time, 
 Already rues the enacted crime, 
 And ciills her furies forth, to shake 
 The sounding scourge and hissing snake; 
 While her poor victim's outward throes 
 Bear witness to his mental woes, 
 And show what lesson may be read 
 Beside a sinner's restless bed. 
 
 III. 
 
 Thus Oswald's labouring feelings trace 
 Strange changes in his sleeping face, 
 Kapid and ominous as these 
 With which the moonbeams tinge the Teos. 
 . There might be seen of shame the blush, 
 There anger's dark and fiercer flush, 
 \Miile the perturbed sleeper's hand 
 Seem'd grasping dagger-knife, or brand. 
 Eelax'd that grasp, the heavy sigh, 
 The tear in the half-opening eye, 
 The pal id cheek and brow, confess'd 
 That grief was busy in his breast ; 
 Nor paused that mood — a sudden start 
 Impell'd the life-blood from the heart : 
 Featiu'es convulsed, and mutterings dread. 
 Show terror reigns in sorrow's stead. 
 That pang the painful slumber broke. 
 And Oswald with a start awoke. 
 
 IV. 
 
 He woke, and fear'd again to close 
 His eyelids in such dire repose ; 
 He woke, — to watch the lamp, and tell 
 From hour to hour the castle-bell. 
 Or listen to the owlet's cry. 
 Or the sad breeze that whistles by. 
 Or catch, by fits, the tuneless rhyme 
 With which the warder cheats the time, 
 And env'ying think, how, when the suu 
 Bids the poor soldier's watch be done, 
 Couch'd on his straw, and fancy-free, 
 He sleeps like careless infancy. 
 
 V. 
 
 Far town-ward sounds a distant tread, 
 And Oswald, starting from his bed. 
 Hath caught it, though no human ear, 
 Unsharpen'd by revenge and fear, 
 Could e er distingi^ish horse's clank, 
 Until it reach'd the castle bank. 
 Now nigh and plain the sound appears, 
 The warders challenge now he hears.
 
 CAXTO r. ROKEBT. 379 
 
 Then clanking chains and levers tell, 
 That o'er the moat the drawbridge fell. 
 And, in the castle court below. 
 Voices are heard, and torches glow, 
 As marshalling the stranger's way. 
 Straight for the room where Oswald laj' ; 
 The crj' was, — " Tidings from the host, 
 Of weight — a messenger comes post." 
 Stifling the tumult of his breast. 
 His answer Oswald thus express'd — 
 Bring food and wine, and trim the fire ; 
 Admit the stranger, and retire." 
 
 VI. 
 
 The stranger came with heavy stride ; 
 
 The morion's plumes his visage hide. 
 
 And the buft-coat, an ample fold, 
 
 Mantles his form's gigantic mould. * 
 
 Full slender answer deigned he 
 
 To Oswald's anxious courtesy, 
 
 But mark'd, by a disdainful smile, 
 
 He saw and scom'd the petty wile, 
 
 When Oswald changed the torch's place, 
 
 Anxious that on the soldier's face 
 
 Its partial lustre might be thrown, 
 
 To show his looks, yet hide his own. 
 
 His guest, the while, laid low aside 
 
 The ponderous cloak of tough bull's hide. 
 
 And to the torch glanced broad and clear 
 
 The corslet of a cuirassier ; 
 
 Then from his brows the casque he drew. 
 
 And from the dank plume dash'd the de^v-, 
 
 From gloves of mail relieved his hands, 
 
 And spread them to the kindling brands, 
 
 And. turning to the genial board, 
 
 "Without a health, or pledge, or word 
 
 Of meet and social reverence said, 
 
 Deeply he drank, and fiercely fed ; 
 
 As free from ceremony's sway. 
 
 As famish'd wolf that tears his prey. 
 
 VII. 
 With deep impatience, tmged with fear. 
 His host beheld him gorge his cheer, 
 And quaflf the full carouse, that lent 
 His brow a fiercer hardiraent. 
 Now Oswald stood a space aside, 
 Now paced the room ■vrith hasty stride. 
 In feverish agony to learn 
 Tidings of deep and dread concern, 
 Cui'sing each moment that his guast 
 Protracted o'er his ruffian feast. 
 Yet, viewing with alarm, at last. 
 The end of that uncouth repast.
 
 3S0 
 
 Almost he seem'd their haste to nie. 
 As, at his sign, his train withdrew, 
 And left him with the stranger, free 
 To question of his mystery. 
 Then did his silence long proclaim 
 A struggle between fear and shame. 
 
 VIII. 
 Much in the stranger's mien appears, 
 To justify suspicious fears. 
 On his dark face a scorching clime, 
 And toil, had done the work of time, 
 Eoughen'd the brow, the temples bared. 
 And sable hairs with silver shared. 
 Yet left — what age alone could tame — 
 The lip of pride, the eye of flame ; 
 The full-drawn lip that upward curl'd, 
 The eye that seem'd to scom the world. 
 That lip had terror never blench'd : 
 Ne'er in that eye had tear-drop quench'd 
 The flash severe of swarthy glow. 
 That mock'd at pain, and knew not woe. 
 Inured to danger's direst form, 
 Tornade and earthquake, flood and storm, 
 Death had he seen by sudden blow, 
 By wasting plague, by tortures slow, ^ 
 By mine or breach, by steel or ball. 
 Knew all his shapes, and scorned them all. 
 
 IX. 
 
 But yet, though Bertram's harden'd loolc. 
 Unmoved could blood and danger brook, 
 Still worse than apathy had place 
 On his swart brow and callous face ; 
 For evU passions, cherish'd long. 
 Had plough'd them with impression sti'ong. 
 All that gives gloss to sin, all gay 
 Light folly, past -nith j^outh away, 
 But rooted stood, in manhood's hour, 
 The weeds of vice -without their flower. 
 And yet the soil in which they grew. 
 Had it been tamed when life was new, 
 Had depth and vigour to bring forth 
 The hardier fruits of virtuous worth. 
 Not that, e'en then, his heart had knoi\Ti 
 The gentler feelings' kindly tone ; 
 But la^^sh waste had been refined 
 To bounty in his chasten'd mind. 
 And lust of gold, that waste to feed, 
 Been lost in love of glory's meed. 
 And, frantic then no more, his pride 
 Had ta'en fair virtue for its guide. 
 
 X. 
 
 Even now, by conscience unrestrain'd, 
 Clogg'd by gross vice, by slaughter stain'd.
 
 381 
 
 Still knew his daring soul to soar, 
 And mastery o'er the mind he bore ; 
 For meaner guilt, or heart less hard, 
 Quail'd beneath Bertram's bold regard. 
 And this felt Oswald, while in vain 
 He strove, by many a winding train, 
 To lure his sullen guest to show, 
 Unask'd, the news he long'd to know. 
 While on far other subject hung 
 His heart, then falter'd from bis tongue. 
 Yet nought for that his guest did deign 
 To note or spare his secret pain, 
 But still, in stern and stubborn sort, 
 Keturn'd him answer dark and short. 
 Or started from the theme, to range 
 In loose digression wild and strange. 
 And forced the embarass'd host to buy. 
 By query close, direct reply. 
 
 XI. 
 
 A while he glozed upon the cause 
 Of Commons, Covenant, and Laws, 
 And Church Reform'd — but felt rebuke 
 Beneath grim Bertram's sneering look. 
 Then stammer'd — " Has a held been fought? 
 Has Bertram news of battle brought ? 
 For sure a soldier, famed so far 
 In foreign fields for feats of war. 
 On eve of fight ne'er left the host, 
 Until the field were won and lost." 
 
 " Here, in j'our towers by circling Tees, 
 You, Oswald Wyclifte, rest at ease ; 
 Why deem it strange that others come 
 To share such safe and easy home. 
 From fields where danger, death, and toil, 
 Are the reward of civil broil ? " — 
 
 " Nay, mock not, friend ! since well we knovv 
 The near advances of the foe. 
 To mar our northern army's work, 
 Encamp'd before beleaguer'd York ; 
 Thy horse with valiant Fairfax lay, 
 And must have fought — how went the day ? " 
 
 XII. 
 
 " Wouldst hear the tale ? — On Marston heath * 
 Met, front to front, the ranks of death ; 
 Flourish'd the trumpets fierce, and now 
 Fired was each eye, and tiush'd each brow : 
 On either side loud clamours ring, 
 ' God and the Cause ! ' — ' God and the King ! 
 Right English all, they rush'd to blows. 
 With nouglit to win, and all to lose. 
 I could have laugh'd— but lack'd the time — 
 To see, in phrenesy sublime,
 
 382 ROKEBT, 
 
 How the fierce zealots fought and bled, 
 For king or state, as humour led ; 
 Some for a dream of public good. 
 Some for church-tippet, gown and hood, 
 Draining their veins, in death to claim 
 A patriot's or a martyr's name. — 
 Led Bertram Risiagham the hearts. 
 That counter'd there on adverse parts, 
 No superstitious fool had I 
 Sought El Dorados in the skj' ! 
 Chili had heard me through her states. 
 And Lima oped her silver gates, 
 Rich jMexico I had march'd througli. 
 And sack'd the splendours of Peru, 
 Till sunk Pizarro's daring name. 
 And, Cortez, thine, in Bertram's fame." — 
 " Still from the purpose wilt thou stray I 
 Good gentle friend, how went the day ? " — 
 
 XIII. 
 " Good am I deem'd at trumpet-sound. 
 And good where goblets dance the round, 
 Though gentle ne'er was join'd, till now. 
 With rugged Bertram's breast and brow. — 
 But I resume. The battle's rage 
 Was like the strife which cuiTents wage, 
 Where Orinoco, in his pride. 
 Rolls to the main no tribute tide. 
 But 'gainst broad ocean urges far 
 A rival sea of roaring war ; 
 While, in ten thousand eddies driven. 
 The billows flmg their foam to heaven, 
 And the pale pilot seeks in vain, 
 TMiere rolls the river, where the main. 
 Even thus upon the bloody field. 
 The eddyuig tides of conflict wheel'd 
 Ambiguous, till that heart of flame. 
 Hot Rupert, on our squadrons came, 
 Hurling against our spears a line 
 Of gallants, fiery as their wine ; 
 Then ours, though stubborn in their zeal. 
 In zeal's despite began to reel. 
 What wouldst thou more ? — in tumult tost, 
 Our leaders fell, our ranks were lost. 
 A thousand men who drew the sword 
 For both the Houses and the Word, 
 Preach'd forth from hamlet, grange, and dovni- 
 To curb the crosier and the crown. 
 Now, stark and stifl-', lie stretch 'd in gore. 
 And ne'er shall rail at mitre more. — 
 Thus fared it, when I left the fight. 
 With the good Cause and Commons' right." — 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Disastrous news ! " dark Wycliflfe said ; 
 Assumed despondence bent "his head.
 
 CASTO I. ROKEBY. 383 
 
 While troubled joy was in his eye. 
 The weU-feign'd sorrow to belie. — 
 " Disastrous news ! — when needed most, 
 Told ye not that your chiefs were lost ? 
 Complete the woful tale, and say, 
 Who fell upon that fatal day ; 
 What leaders of repute and name 
 Bought by their death a deathless fame. 
 If such my direst foeman's doom, 
 My tears shall dew his honom-'d tomb. — 
 No answer ? — Friend, of all our host, 
 Thou know'st whom I should hate the most. 
 Whom thou too, once, wert wont to hate, 
 Yet lea vest me doubtful of his fata" — 
 With look immoved, — " Of fi-iend or foe. 
 Aught," answer'd Bertram, " wouldst thou know. 
 Demand in sunple terms and plain, 
 A soldier's answer shall thou gain ; — 
 For question dark, or riddle high, 
 I have nor judgment nor reply." 
 
 XV, 
 
 The wrath his art and fear suppress'd, 
 
 Now blazed at once in WyclLtt'c's breast ; 
 
 And brave, from man so meanly bom. 
 
 Boused his hereditary scorn. 
 " Wretch ! hast thou paid thy bloody debt? 
 
 Philip of Mokth am, lives he yet ? 
 
 False to thy patron or thine oath, 
 
 Trait'rous or perjured, one or both. 
 
 Slave 1 hast thou kept thy promise plight. 
 
 To slay thy leader in the fight?" — 
 
 Then from his seat the soldaer sprung, 
 
 And Wycliffe's hand he strongly wrung ; 
 
 His grasp, as hard as glove of mail. 
 
 Forced the red blood-drop from the naU — 
 " A health I " he cried ; and, ere he quaff 'd. 
 
 Flung from him Wycliffe's hand, and laugh'd; 
 
 — " Now, Oswald Wyclitfe, speaks tliy heart ! 
 
 Now play'st thou well thy geniune part ! 
 
 Worthy, but for thy craven fear. 
 
 Like me to roam a bucanier. 
 
 "What reck'st thou of the Cause divine, 
 
 If Mortham's wealth and lands be thine ? 
 
 What carest thou for beleaguer'd York, 
 
 If this good hand have done its work? 
 
 Or what tliough Faufax and his best 
 
 Are reddening Marston's swarthy breast. 
 
 If Philip Jlortham with them lie. 
 
 Lending his ILt'e-blood to the dye ? — 
 
 Sit, then ! and as mid comrades fi-ee 
 
 Carousing after ■\'ictory. 
 
 When tales are told of blood and fear, 
 
 That boys and women shrink to heai, 
 
 From point to point I frankly tell 
 
 The deed of death as it befell.
 
 384 
 
 XVI. 
 
 " When purposed vengeance I forego, 
 Term me a wretch, nor deem me foe ; 
 And when an insult 1 forgive. 
 Then brand me as a slave, and live 1 — 
 Philip of ]\Iortham is with those 
 Whom Bertram Risingham calls foes ; 
 Or whom more sure revenge attends. 
 If number'd with ungrateful friends. 
 As was his wont, ere battle glow'd. 
 Along the marshall'd ranks he rode, 
 And wore his visor up the while. 
 I saw his melancholy smUe, 
 When, fidl opposed in front, he knew 
 "WTiere Rokeby's kindred banner flew. 
 
 'And thus,' he said, 'will friends di\'1de !' — 
 I heard, and thought how, side by side, 
 We two had tum'd the battle's tide. 
 In many a well-debated field, 
 Where Bertram's breast was Philip's shield- 
 I thought on Darien's deserts pale. 
 Where death bestrides the evening gale ; 
 How o'er my friend my cloak I threw. 
 And fenceless faced the deadly dew; 
 I thought on Quariana's cliff. 
 Where, rescued from our foundering skiif, 
 Tlu^ough the white breakers' •wrath I bore 
 Exhausted ^lortham to the shore ; 
 And when his side an arrow found, 
 I suck'd the Indian's venom'd wound. 
 These thoughts like torrents rush'd along, 
 To sweep away my purpose strong. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 •* Hearts are not flint, and flints are rent ; 
 Hearts are not steel, and steel is bent. 
 When Mortham bade me, as of yore, 
 Be near him in the battle's roar, 
 I scarcely saw the spears laid low, 
 I scarcely heard the trumpets blow ; 
 Lost was the war in inward strife. 
 Debating ilortham's death or life. 
 'Twas then I thought, how, lured to come. 
 As partner of his wealth and home. 
 Years of piratic wandering o'er. 
 With him I sought our native shore. 
 But Mortham's lord grew fur estranged 
 From the bold heart with whom he ranged ; 
 Doubts, hon-ors, superstitious fears, 
 Sadden'd and dimm'd descending years ; 
 The ■wily priests their ■i'ictim sought. 
 And damn'd each free-born deed and thought. 
 Then must I seek another home, 
 My license shook his sober dome ;
 
 385 
 
 If gold he gave, in one Trild day 
 I revell'd thrice the sum away. 
 An idle outcast then I stray'd. 
 Unfit for tillage or for trade ; 
 Deem'd, like the steel of rusted lance. 
 Useless and dangerous at once. 
 The women feaPd my hardy look, 
 At my approach the peaceful shook ; 
 The merchant saw my glance of flame, 
 And lock'd his hoards when Bertram camcj 
 Each child of coward peace kept far 
 From the neglected son of war. 
 
 XVIII. 
 " But civil discord gave the call, 
 And made mj- trade the trade of all. 
 By Mortham urged, I came again 
 His vassals to the fight to train. 
 What guerdon waited on my care ? 
 I could not cant of creed or prayer ; 
 Sour fanatics each trust obtain'd. 
 And I, dishonour'd and disdain'd, 
 Gain'd but the high and happy lot, 
 In these poor arms to front the shot ! — 
 All this thou know'st, thy gestures tell ; 
 Yet hear it o'er, and mark it well. 
 'T is honour bids me now relate 
 Each circumstance of Mortham's fate. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 " Thoughts, from the tongue that slowly part, 
 Glance quick as lightning through the heart. 
 As my spur press'd my courser's side, 
 Philip of Mortham's cause was tried, 
 And, ere the charging squadrons mix'd, 
 His plea was cast, his doom was fix'd. 
 I watch'd him through the doubtful fray, 
 That chang'd as March's moody day, 
 Till, like a stream that bursts its bank. 
 Fierce Rupert thunder'd on our flank. 
 'T was then, midst tumult, smoke, and strife. 
 Where each man fought for death or life, 
 'T was then I fired my petronel. 
 And Mortham, steed and rider, fell. 
 One dying look he upward cast. 
 Of wrath and anguish — 'twas his last. 
 Think not that there I stopp'd, to view 
 What of the battle should ensue ; 
 But ere I clear'd that bloody press, 
 Our northern horse ran masterless ; 
 Monckton and Mitton told the news, 
 How troops of roundheads choked the Ouse, 
 And many a bonny Scot, aghast. 
 Spurring his palfrey northward, past, 
 2 B
 
 386 ROKEBT. 
 
 Cursing the day when zeal or meed 
 First lured their Lesley o'er the Tweed, 
 Yet when I reacli'd the banks of Swale, 
 Had rumour leam'-d another tale; 
 With his barb'd horse, fresh tidings say, 
 Stout Cromwell has redeem'd the day : * 
 But whether false the news, or true, 
 Oswald, I reck as light as j'ou." 
 
 XX. 
 
 Not then by Wj-clifFe might be shown, 
 How his pride startled at the tone 
 In which his complice, fierce and ft-ee, 
 Asserted guilt's equality. 
 In smoothest temis his speech he wove. 
 Of endless friendship, faith, and love ; 
 Promised and vow'd in courteous sort. 
 But Bertram broke professions short. 
 " WyclifFe, be sure not here I stay, 
 JNo, scarcely tUl the rising day ; 
 Wam'd bj' the legends of ray youth, 
 I trust not an associate's truth. 
 Do not my native dales prolong 
 Of Percy Rede the tragic song, 
 Train'd forward to his bloody fall. 
 By Girsonfield, that ti-eacherous Hall?^ 
 Oft, by the Pringle's haunted side. 
 The shepherd sees his spectre glide. 
 And near the spot that gave me name, 
 The moated mound of Kisingham, 
 "Where Reed upon her margin sees 
 Sweet Woodburne's cottages and trees. 
 Some ancient sculptor's art has shown 
 An outlaw's image on the stone ; ^ 
 Unmatch'd in strength, a giant he, 
 "With quiver'd back, and kirtled knee. 
 Ask how he died, that hunter bold. 
 The tameless monarch of the wold. 
 And age and infancy can tell, 
 By brother's treachery he fell. 
 Thus wam'd by legends of my youth, 
 I trust to no associate's truth. 
 
 XXI. 
 " When last we reason'd of this deed. 
 Nought, I bethink me, was agreed, 
 Or by what rule, or when, or where. 
 The wealth of Mortham we should share; 
 Then list, while I the portion name. 
 Our differing laws give each to claim. 
 Thou, vassal sworn to England's throne, 
 Her rules of heritage must own ; 
 They deal thee, as to nearest htlr, 
 Thy kinsman's lands and livings fair.
 
 CAXTO I. ROKEBY. 387 
 
 And these I yield :— do thou revere 
 
 The statutes of the Bucanier.* 
 
 Friend to the sea, and foenian sworn 
 
 To all that on her waves are borne, 
 
 When falls a mate in battle broil. 
 
 His comrade heirs his portion'd spoil ; 
 
 Whan dies in fight a daring foe, 
 
 He claims his wealth who struck the blow ; 
 
 And either rule to me assigns 
 
 Those spoils of Indian seas and mines, 
 
 Hoarded in Mortham's caverns dark ; 
 
 Ingot of gold and diamond spai'k, 
 
 Chalice and plate from churches borne. 
 
 And gems from shrieking beauty torn, 
 
 Each string of pearl, each silver bar. 
 
 And all the wealth of western war. 
 
 I go to search, where, dark and deep, 
 
 Those Trans-atlantic treasures sleep. 
 
 Thou must along — for, lacking thee, • 
 
 The heir will scarce find entrance free ; 
 
 And then farewell. I haste to try 
 
 Each varied pleasure wealth can buy ; 
 
 Wlien cloy'd each wish, these wars afford 
 
 Fresh work for Bertram's restless sword." 
 
 XXII. 
 
 An undecided answer himg 
 On Oswald's hesitating tongue. 
 Despite his craft, he heard with awe 
 This ruffian stabber fix the law ; 
 AVhile his own troubled passions veer 
 Throiigh hatred, joy, regret, and fear: — 
 Joy'd at the soul that Bertram flies. 
 He grudged the murderer's mighty prize, 
 Hated his pride's presumptuous tone, 
 And fear'd to wend -with him alone. 
 At length, that middle course to steer, 
 To cowardice and craft so dear, 
 " His charge," he said, " would ill allow 
 His absence from the fortress now; 
 Wilfrid on Bertram should attend. 
 His son should journey with liis friend." 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Contempt kept Bertram's anger down, 
 And wreathed to savage smile his frown. 
 " Wilfrid, or thou— 'tis one to me. 
 Whichever bears the golden key. 
 Yet thuik not but I mark, and smile 
 To mark, thy poor and selfish wile I 
 If injiuy from me you fear, 
 What, Oswald Wyclifte, shields thee here ? 
 I've sprung from walls more high than these, 
 I've swam through deeper streams than Tees.
 
 388 BOKEBT. CANTO L 
 
 Might I not stab thee ere one yell 
 Could rouse the distant sentinel ? 
 Stai't not — it is not my design, 
 But, if it were, weak fence were thine; 
 And, trust me, that, in time of need. 
 This hand hath done more desperate deed. 
 Go, haste and rouse thy slumbering son ; 
 Time calls, and I must needs be gone " 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Nought of his sire's ungenerous part 
 Polluted Wilfrid's gentle heart ; 
 A heart too soft from early life 
 To hold with fortune needful strife. 
 His sire, while yet a hardier race 
 Of numerous sons were Wycliffe's grace, 
 On Wilfrid set contemptuous brand. 
 For feeble heart and forceless hand ; 
 But a fond mother's care and joy 
 Were centred in her sickly boy. 
 No touch of childhood's frolic mood 
 Show'd the elastic spring of blood ; 
 Hour after hour he loved to pore 
 On Shakspeare's rich and varied lore, 
 But turn'd from martial scenes and light, 
 From Falstatf 's feast and Percy's fight, 
 To ponder Jacques' moral strain, 
 And muse with Hamlet, wise in vain ; 
 And weep himself to soft repose 
 O'er gentle Desdemona's woes. 
 
 XXV. 
 In youth he sought not pleasures found 
 By youth in horse, and hawk, and hound. 
 But loved the quiet joys that wake 
 By lonely stream and silent lake ; 
 In Deepdale's solitude to lie. 
 Where all is cliff and copse and sky ; 
 To climb Catcastle's dizzy peak. 
 Or lone Pendragon's mound to seek. 
 Such was his wont ; and there his dream 
 Soar'd on some wild fantastic theme, 
 Of faithful love, or ceaseless spring, 
 Till Contemplation's wearied wing 
 The enthusiast could no more sustain. 
 And sad he sunk to earth again. 
 
 XXVI, 
 
 He loved — as many a lay can tell, 
 Preserved in Stanmore's lonely dell ; 
 For his was minstrel's skill, he caught 
 The art unteachable, untaught ; 
 He loved — his soul did nature frame 
 For love, and fancy nursed the flame;
 
 389 
 
 Vainly he loved — for seldom swaia 
 Of such soft mould is loved again ; 
 Silent he loved — in every gaze 
 Was passion, friendship in his phrase. 
 So mused his Ufe away — till died 
 His brethren all, their father's pride. 
 "Wilfrid is now the only heir 
 Of all his stratagems and care, 
 And destined, darkling, to pursue 
 Ambition's maze by Oswald's clue. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Wilfrid must love and woo the bright 
 Matilda, heir of Eokeby's knight. 
 To love her was an easy best, 
 The secret empress of his breast ; 
 To woo her was a harder task 
 To one that durst not hope or ask. 
 Yet all Matilda could, she gave 
 In pity to her gentle slave ; 
 Friendship, esteem, and fair regard. 
 And praise, the poet's best reward I 
 She read the tales his taste approved, 
 And sung the lays he framed or loved ; 
 Yet, loath to nurse the fatal flame 
 Of hopeless love in friendship's name, 
 In kind caprice she oft withdrew 
 The favouring glance to friendship due, 
 Then grieved to see her victim's pain. 
 And gave the dangerous smiles again. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 So did the suit of Wilfrid stand, 
 
 When war's loud summons waked the land. 
 
 Three banners, floating o'er the Tees, 
 
 The wo-foreboding peasant sees ; 
 
 In concert oft they braved of old 
 
 The bordering Scot's incursion bold ; 
 
 Frowning defiance in their pride, 
 
 Their vassals now and lords di\'ide. 
 
 From his fair hall on Greta banks. 
 
 The Knight of Rokeby led his ranks. 
 
 To aid the valiant northern Earls, 
 
 Who drew the sword for royal Charles. 
 
 Mortham, b)- marriage near allied, — 
 
 His sister had been Kokeby's bride. 
 
 Though long before the civil fray. 
 
 In peaceful grave the lady lay, — 
 
 Philip of Mortham raised his band. 
 
 And march'd at Fairfax's command ; 
 
 While WyclifFe, bound by many a train 
 
 Of kindred art with wily Vane, 
 
 Less prompt to brave the bloody field. 
 
 Made Barnard's battlements his shieli
 
 390 ROKEBr. 
 
 Secured them witli liis Lunedale po-\ver3 
 And for ihe Commons held the towers. 
 
 ■XXIX. 
 
 The lovely heir of Eokeby's Kniffht 
 Waits in his halls the event of fight; 
 For England's war rever'd the claim 
 Of every unprotected name, 
 And spared, amid its fiercest rage, 
 Childhood and womanhood and age. 
 But Wilfrid, son to Eokeby's foe, 
 Must the dear privilege forego, 
 By Greta's side, in evening grey, 
 To steal upon Matilda's way, 
 Striving, with fond hypocrisy, 
 For careless step and vacant eye ; 
 Calming each anxious look and glance, 
 To give the meeting all to chance, 
 Or framing, as a fair excuse. 
 The book, the pencil, or the muse ; 
 Something to give, to sing, to say. 
 Some modem tale, some ancient lay. 
 Tlien, while the long'd-for minutes last, — 
 Ah! minutes quickly over-past 1 — 
 Recording each expression free, 
 Of kind or careless courtesy, 
 Each friendly look, each softer tone. 
 As food for fancy when alone. 
 All this is o'er — but still, unseen, 
 Wilfrid may Im-k in Eastwood green. 
 To watch Matilda's wonted romid, 
 While springs his heart at every sound. 
 She comes ! — 'tis but a passing sight, 
 Yet serves to cheat his weary night ; 
 She comes not — He will wait the hoiu', 
 When her lamp liglitens in the tower ; 
 'T is something yet, if, as she past. 
 Her shade is o'er the lattice cast. 
 
 " What is my life, my hope ? " he said ; 
 
 " Alas ! a transitory shade I " 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Thus wore his life, though reason strove 
 For mastery in vain with love, 
 Forcing upon his thoughts the sum 
 Of present woe and ills to come, 
 'While still he turned unpatient ear 
 From Truth's intrusive voice severe. 
 Gentle, indifferent, and subdued. 
 In all but this, unmoved he view'd 
 Each outward change of ill and good : 
 But Wilfrid, docile, soft, and mild. 
 Was Fanc}''s spoil'd and wayward child ; 
 In her bright car she bade hiui ride. 
 With one fair form to grace his side.
 
 391 
 
 Or, in some wild and lone retreat, 
 Flung her higli spells around his seat, 
 Bathed in her dews his languid head. 
 Her fairy mantle o'er him spread. 
 For him her opiates gave to flow, 
 Which he who tastes, can ne'er forego, 
 And placed him in her circle, free 
 From every stern reality. 
 Till, to the Visionary, seem 
 Her day-dreams truth, and truth a dream. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Woe to the youth whom Fancy gains. 
 Winning from Eeason's hand the reins. 
 Pity and woe ! for such a mind 
 Is soft, contemplative, and kind ; 
 And woe to those who train such youth, 
 And spare to press the rights of truth. 
 The mind to strengthen and anneal. 
 While on the stithy glows the steel ! 
 O teach him, while yom- lessons last. 
 To judge the present by the past; 
 Remind him of each wish pui'sued. 
 How rich it glow'd with promised good ; 
 Remind him of each wish enjoy'd. 
 How soon his hopes possession cloy'd I 
 Tell him, we play unequal game. 
 Whene'er we shoot by Fancy's aim ! 
 And, ere he strip him for her race, 
 Show the conditions of the chase: 
 Two sisters by the goal are set, 
 Cold Disappointment and Regret ; 
 One disenchants the wiimer's eyes. 
 And strips of all its worth the prize ; 
 While one augments its gaudy show, 
 INIore to enhance the loser's woe. 
 The victor sees his fiiiry gold, 
 Transfomied, when won, to drossy mold ; 
 But still the vanquish'd mourns his loss. 
 And rues, as gold, that glittering dross. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 More would'st thou know — yon tower survey 
 Yon couch unpress'd since parting day. 
 Yon untrimni'd lamp, whose yellow gleam 
 Is mingling with the cold moonbeam, 
 And yon thin form ! — the hectic red 
 On his pale cheek unequal spread ; 
 The head reclined, the loosen'd hair. 
 The limbs relax'd, the mournful air. — 
 See, he looks up ; — a woful smile 
 Lightens his wo-worn cheek a while, — 
 'Tis fancy wakes some idle thou^ut. 
 To gild the ruin she has wrought ;
 
 392 ROKEBT. 
 
 For, like the bat of Indian brakes, 
 Her pinions fan the wound she makes, 
 And soothing thus the dreamer's pain, 
 She drinks his life-blood from the vein. 
 Now to the lattice turn his eyes, 
 Vain hope I to see the sun arise. 
 The moon with clouds is stUl o'ercast, 
 Still howls by fits the stormy blast ; 
 Another hour must wear away, 
 Ere the East kindle into day. 
 And hark ! to waste that weary hour, 
 He tries the minstrel's magic power. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 TO THE MOON. 
 
 Hail to thy cold and clouded beam, 
 
 Pale pilgrim of the troubled sky ! 
 Hail, though the mists that o'er thee stream 
 
 Lend to thy brow their sullen d3'e ! 
 ' How should thy pure and peaceful eye 
 
 Untroubled view our scenes below. 
 Or how a tearless beam supply 
 
 To light a world of war and wo ! 
 
 Fair Queen ! I will not blame thee now, 
 
 As once by Greta's fairy side ; 
 Each little cloud that dimm'd thy brow 
 
 Did then an angel's beauty hide. 
 And of the shades I tlien eould chide, 
 
 Still are the thoughts to memory dear, 
 For, while a softer strain I tried, 
 
 They hid my blush, and calm'd my fear. 
 
 Then did I swear thy ray serene 
 
 Was form'd to light some lonely dell. 
 By two fond lovers only seen, 
 
 Reflected from the crystal well, 
 Or sleeping on their mossy cell. 
 
 Or quivering on the lattice bright. 
 Or glancing on their couch, to tell 
 
 How swiftly wanes the summer night ! 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 He starts — a step at this lone hour I 
 A voice ! — his father seeks the tower, 
 With haggard look and troubled sense. 
 Fresh from his dreadful conference. 
 " Wilfrid ! — what, not to sleep address'd ? 
 Thou hast no cares to chase thy rest. 
 Mortham has fall'n on Marston-moor ; 
 Bertram brings warrant to secure 
 His treasures, bought by spoil and blood. 
 For the state's use and public good.
 
 393 
 
 The menials will thy voice obey ; 
 Let his commission have its way. 
 In every point, in every word." — 
 Then, in a whisper, — " Take thy sword 
 Bertram is — what I must not tell. 
 I hear his hasty step — farewell I " 
 
 CANTO SECOND. 
 
 I. 
 
 Far in the chambers of the west. 
 The gale had sigh'd itself to rest ; 
 The moon was cloudless now and clear, 
 But pale, and soon to disappear. 
 The thin grey clouds wax climly light 
 On Brusleton and Houghton height. 
 And the rich dale, that eastward lay, 
 Waited the wakeniag touch of day, 
 To give its woods and cultured plain. 
 And towers and spires, to light again. 
 But, westward, Stanmore's shapeless swell, 
 And Lunedale wild, and Kelton-feU, 
 And rock-begirdled Gilmanscar, 
 And Arkingarth, lay dark afar ; 
 While, as a livelier twilight falls, 
 Emerge proud Barnard's banner'd walls. 
 High crown'd he sits, in dawning pale. 
 The sovereign of the lovely vale. 
 
 II. 
 
 What prospects, from his watch-tower high. 
 Gleam gradual on the warder's eye ! — 
 Far sweeping to the east, he sees 
 Down his deep woods the course of Tees, i* 
 And tracks his wanderings by the steam 
 Of summer vapours from the stream ; 
 And ere he paced his destined hour 
 By Brackenbury's dungeon-tower. 
 These sUver mists shall melt away. 
 And dew the woods with glittering spray. 
 Then in broad lustre shall be shown 
 That mighty trench of living stone, 
 And each huge trunk that, from the side, 
 Reclines him o'er the darksome tide, 
 Where Tees, full many a fathom low. 
 Wears with his rage no common foe ; 
 For pebbly bank, nor sand-bed here. 
 Nor clay-mound, checks his fierce career, 
 Condemu'd to mine a channell'd way, 
 O'er solid sheets of marble grey.
 
 394 EOKEBT. CANTO II 
 
 ni. 
 
 Nor Tees alone, in dawning bright. 
 
 Shall rush upon the fa^^sh'd siglit ; 
 
 But many a tributary stream 
 
 Each from its own dark dell shall gleam : 
 
 Stamdrop, who, from her silvan bowere, 
 
 Salutes proud Raby's battled towers ; 
 
 The rural brook of Egliston, 
 
 And Balder, named from Odin's son ; 
 
 And Greta, to whose banks ere long 
 
 AVe lead the lovers of the song ; 
 
 And silver Lune, from Stanmore wild. 
 
 And fairy Thorsgill's mui'muring child ; 
 
 And last and least, but loveliest still, 
 
 Romantic Deepdale's slender riU. 
 
 Who in that dim-wood glen hath stray'd, 
 
 Yet long'd for Eoslin's magic glade ? 
 
 Who, wandering there, hath sought to change, 
 
 Even for that vale so stem and strange, 
 
 Where Cartland's Crags, fantastic rent, 
 
 Tlirough her green copse like spires are sent ? 
 
 Yet, Aibin, yet the praise be tliine, 
 
 Thy scenes and story to combine ! 
 
 Thoa bid'st him, who by Roslin strays, 
 
 List to the deeds of other days ; 
 
 'Mid Cartland's Crags thou show'st the cave, 
 
 The refuge of thy champion brave;" 
 
 Giving each rock its storied tale. 
 
 Pouring a lay for every dale, 
 
 Knitting, as with a moral band, 
 
 Thy native legends vdth thy land. 
 
 To lend each scene the interest high 
 
 Which genius beams from Beauty's eye. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Bertram awaited not the sight 
 
 Which sun-rise shows from Barnard's height. 
 
 But from the towers, preventing day, 
 
 With Wilfiid took his early way. 
 
 While misty dawn, and moonbeam pale, 
 
 Still mingled in the silent dale. 
 
 By Barnard's bridge of stately stone. 
 
 The southern bank of Tees they won ; 
 
 Their winding path then eastward cast. 
 
 And Egliston's grey ruins pass'd ; '^^ 
 
 Each on his own deep \'isions bent, 
 
 Silent and sad they onward went. 
 
 Well may you think that Bertram's mood, 
 
 To Wilfrid savage seem'd and rude ; 
 
 Well mav you think bold Eisingham 
 
 Held Wilfrid trivial, poor, and tame ; 
 
 And small the intercourse, I ween, 
 
 Such uncongenial souls between. 
 
 " Cartland Crn^s, near Lanark, celebrated as among the favcurite 
 retreads of Sir William Wallace.
 
 CANTO ir. ROKEBY. 395 
 
 Stern Bertram shunn'd the nearer way, 
 Through Kokeby's paik and chase that lay, 
 And, skirting high the valley's ridge. 
 They cross'd by Greta's ancient bridge. 
 Descending where her waters -wind 
 Free for a space and uncontined, 
 As, 'scaped from Brignall's dark- wood glen, 
 She seeks wild Mortham's deeper den. 
 There, as his eye glanced o'er the mound, 
 Eaised by that Legion i- long renown 'd. 
 Whose Totive shrine asserts thek claim, 
 Of pious, faithful, conquering fame, 
 " Stem sons of ^var ! " sad Wilfrid sigh'd, 
 " Behold the boast of Roman pride ! 
 What now of all your toils are known ? 
 A grassy trench, a broken stone ! " — 
 This to himself; for moral strain 
 To Bertram were address'd in vain. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Of different mood, a deeper sigh 
 Awoke, when Eokeby's turrets high ^^ 
 Were northward in the dawning seen 
 To rear them o'er the thicket green. 
 O then, though Spenser's self had stray'd 
 Beside him through the lovely glade, 
 Lending his rich luxuriant glo^v 
 Of fancy, all its charms to show. 
 Pointing the stream rejoicing free. 
 As captive set at liberty. 
 Flashing her sparkling waves abroad, 
 And clamouring joyful on her road : 
 Pointing where, up the sunny banks. 
 The trees retire in scatter'd ranks. 
 Save where, advanced before tlie rest, 
 On knoll or hillock rears his crest, 
 Lonely and huge, the giant Oak, 
 As champions, when their band is broke. 
 Stand forth to guard the rearward post. 
 The bulwark of the scatter'd host — 
 All this, and more, might Spenser say. 
 Yet waste in vain his magic lay. 
 While Wilfrid eyed the distant tower, 
 Whose lattice lights MatUda's bower. 
 
 YIL 
 
 The open vale is soon pass'd o'er, 
 Rokeby, though nigh, is seen no more ; 
 Sinking mid Greta's thickets deep, 
 A wild and darker course they keep, 
 A stern and lone, yet lovely road. 
 As e'er the foot of Jlmstrel trode ! '* 
 Broad shadows o'er their passage fell. 
 Deeper and narrower grew the dell ;
 
 396 
 
 It seem'd some mountain, rent and nven, 
 A channel for the stream had given. 
 So high the clifi's of limestone grey 
 Hung beetling o'er the torrent's way 
 Yielding, along their rugged base, 
 A flinty footpath's niggard space, 
 Where he, who winds 'twixt rock and wave, 
 May hear the headlong torrent rave, 
 And like a steed in frantic fit, 
 That flings the froth from curb and bit, 
 May view her chafe her waves to spray, 
 O'er every rock that bars her way, 
 Till foam-globes on her eddies ride, 
 Thick as the schemes of human pride 
 That down life's current drive amain. 
 As fraU, as frothy, and as vain ! 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The cliffs that rear their haughty head 
 High o'er the river's darksome bed. 
 Were now all naked, wild, and grey. 
 Now waving all with greenwood spray ; 
 Here trees to every crevice clung. 
 And o'er the dell their branches hung ; 
 And there, all splinter'd and uneven. 
 The shiver'd rocks ascend to heaven ; 
 Oft, too, the ivy swathed their breast, 
 And wreathed its garland round their crest. 
 Or from the spires bade loosely flare 
 Its tendrils in the middle air. 
 As pennons wont to wave of old 
 O'er the high feast of Baron bold, 
 When revell'd loud the feudal rout, 
 And the arch'd halls return 'd their shout 
 Such and more wild is Greta's roar, 
 And such the echoes from her shore. 
 And so the ivied banners gleam. 
 Waved wildly o'er the brawling stream. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Now from the stream the rocks recede, 
 
 But leave between no simny mead, 
 
 No, nor the spot of pebbly sand. 
 
 Oft found by such a mountain strand ; 
 
 Forming such warm and dry retreat. 
 
 As fancy deems the lonely seat, 
 
 Wliere hermit, wandering from his cell, 
 
 His rosary might love to tell. 
 
 But here, 'twixt rock and river, grew 
 
 A dismal grove of sable yew. 
 
 With whose sad tints were mingled seen 
 
 The blighted fir's sepvdchral green. 
 
 Seem'a tliac the trees their shadows cast. 
 
 The e.arth that nourish'd them to blast ;
 
 397 
 
 For never knew that swarthy grove 
 
 The verdant hue that fairies love ; 
 
 Nor wilding green, nor woodland flower, 
 
 Arose within its baleful bower : 
 
 The dank and sable earth receives 
 
 Its only carpet from the leaves, 
 
 That, from the withering branches cast, 
 
 Bestrew'd the ground with every blast. 
 
 Though now the sun was o'er the hill, 
 
 In this dark spot 'twas twilight still. 
 
 Save that on Greta's farther side 
 
 Some straggling beams through copsewood glide ; 
 
 And wild and savage contrast made 
 
 That dingle's deep and funeral shade, 
 
 With the bright tints of early day. 
 
 Which, glimmering through the ivy spray, 
 
 On the opposing summit lay. 
 
 X. 
 
 The lated peasant shunn'd the dell ; 
 
 For Superstition wont to tell 
 
 Of many a grisly sound and sight, 
 
 Scaring his path at dead of night. 
 
 When Christmas logs blaze high and wide. 
 
 Such wonders speed the festal tide ; 
 
 While Curiosity and Fear, 
 
 Pleasure and Pain, sit crouching near. 
 
 Till childhood's cheek no longer glows. 
 
 And village maidens lose the rose. 
 
 The thrilling interest rises higher. 
 
 The circle closes nigh and nigher. 
 
 And shuddering glance is cast behind, 
 
 As louder moans the wintry wind. 
 
 Believe, that fitting scene was laid 
 
 For such wild tales in IMortham glade ; 
 
 For who had seen, on Greta's side. 
 
 By that dim light fierce Bertram stride. 
 
 In such a spot, at such an hour, — 
 
 If touch'd by Superstition's power, 
 
 Might well "have deem'd that Hell had given 
 
 A murderer's ghost to upper heaven, 
 
 WhUe Wilfrid's form had seem'd to glide 
 
 Like his pale victim by his side. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Nor think to village swains alone 
 Are these unearthly terrors known ; 
 For not to rank nor sex confined 
 Is this vain ague of the mind : 
 Hearts firm as steel, as marble hard, 
 'Gainst faith, and love, and pity barr'd, 
 Have quaked, like aspen leaves in May, 
 Beneath its vmiversal sway. 
 Bertram had listed many a tale 
 Of wonder in hia native dale.
 
 398 ROKEBY. CAKTO 11. 
 
 That in his secret soul retain'd 
 The credence they in childhood gain'd: 
 Nor less his wild adventurous youth 
 Believed in every legend's truth ; 
 Leam'd when, beneath the tropic gale, 
 Full swell'd the vessel's steady sail. 
 And the broad Indian moon her liplit 
 Pour'd on the watch of middle niiiht, 
 When seamen love to hear and teU 
 Of portent, prodigy', and spell: 
 What gales are sold on Lapland's shore. 
 How whistle rash bids tempests roar, 
 Of witch, of mermaid, and of sprite, 
 Of Erick's cap and Elmo's light ; i* 
 Or of that Phantom Ship, whose form 
 Shoots like a meteor through the storm ; 
 When the dark scud comes driving haxd. 
 And lower'd is every top-sail yard, 
 And canvass wove in earthly looms. 
 No more to brave the storm presumes ! 
 Then, 'mid the war of sea and sky, 
 Top and top-gallant hoisted high, 
 Full spread and crowded every sail, 
 The Demon Frigate braves the gale ; " 
 And well the doom'd spectators know 
 The harbinger of wreck and woe. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Then, too, were told, in stifled tone, 
 Marvels and omens all their own ; 
 How, by some desert isle or kiy," 
 Where Spaniards wrought their cruelty. 
 Or where the savage pirate's mood 
 Repaid it home in deeds of blood, 
 Sti'ange nightly soimds of woe and fear 
 Appall'd the listening Bucanier, 
 Whose light-armed shallop anchored lay 
 In ambush by the lonely bay. 
 The groan of grief, the shriek of pain, 
 Ring from the moonlight groves of cane ; 
 The fierce adventurer's heart they scare, 
 Who wearies memory for a prayer, 
 Curses the road-stead, and with gale 
 Of early morning lifts the sail. 
 To give, in thirst of blood and prey, 
 A legend for another bay. 
 
 XIII. 
 Thus, as a man, a youth, a child, 
 Train'd in the mystic and the wild, 
 With this on Bertram's soul at times 
 Rush'd a dark feeling of his crimes ; 
 Such to his troubled soul their form, 
 Aa the pale Death-ship to the storm.
 
 399 
 
 And such their omen dim and dread. 
 As shrieks and voices of the dead, — 
 That pang, whose transitory force 
 Hover'd 'twixt horror and remorse — 
 That pang, perchance, his bosom press'd, 
 As Wilfriil sudden he address'd : — 
 
 ♦' WUfrid, this glen is never trode 
 Until the sun rides high abroad ; 
 Yet thrice have 1 beheld to-day 
 A Fonn, that seem'd to dog our way ; 
 Twice from my glance it seem'd to flee, 
 And shroud itself bj' cliff or tree. 
 How think'st thou ? — Is our path way-laid ? 
 Or hath thy sire ray trust betray'd? " 
 
 K so" Ere, starting from his dream, 
 
 That turn'd upon a gentler theme, 
 Wilfrid had roused him to reply, 
 Bertram sprung forward, shouting high, 
 
 " Whate'er thou art, thou now shalt stand I "- 
 And forth he darted, sword in hand. 
 
 XIV. 
 As bursts the levin in its wrath. 
 He shot him down the sounding path ; 
 Rock, wood, and stream, rang wildly out. 
 To his loud step and savage shout. 
 Seems that the object of his race 
 Hath scal'd the clLifs ; his frantic chase 
 Sidelong he turns, and now "t is bent 
 Right up the rock's tall battlement ; 
 Straining each sinew to ascend. 
 Foot, hand, and knee, their aid must lend. 
 "Wilfrid, all dizzy with dismay. 
 Views, from beneath, his dreaclful way : 
 Now to the oak's warp'd roots he clings. 
 Now trusts his weight to ivy strings ; 
 Now, like the wild-goat, must he dai'e 
 An unsupported leap in air ; 
 Hid in the shrubby rain-course now, 
 Tou mark him by the crashing bough. 
 And by his corslet's sullen clank. 
 And by the stones spurn'd from the bank. 
 And by the hawk scared from her nest, 
 And raven's croaking o'er their guest. 
 Who deem his forfeit limbs shall pay 
 The tribute of his bold essay. 
 
 XV. 
 
 See, he emerges ! — desperate now 
 
 All farther course — Yon beetling brow, 
 
 In craggy nakedness sublime, 
 
 What heart or foot shall dare to climb? 
 
 It bears no tendril for his clasp, 
 
 Presents no angle to his grasp :
 
 400 KOKEBT. 
 
 Sole stay his foot may rest upon, 
 Is yon earth-bedded jetting stone. 
 Balanced on such precarious prop, 
 He strains his grasp to reach the top. 
 Just as the dangerous stretch he makes, 
 By heaven, his faithless footstool shakes ! 
 Beneath his tottering bulk it bends, 
 It sways, ... it loosens, ... it descends 1 
 And downward holds its headlong way. 
 Crashing o'er rock and copsewood spray. 
 Loud thunders shake the echoing deU ! — 
 Fell it alone ? — alone it fell. 
 Just on the very verge of fate. 
 The hardy Bertram's falling weight 
 He trusted to his sinewy hands. 
 And on the top unharm'd he stands ! 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Wilfrid a safer path pursued ; 
 At intervals where, roughly hew'd, 
 Rude steps ascending from the dell 
 Render'd the cliffs accessible. 
 By circuit slow he thus attain'd 
 The height that Risingham had gain'd. 
 And when he issued from the wood, 
 Before the gate of Mortham stood.is 
 'T was a fair scene ! the sunbeam lay 
 On battled tower and portal grey : 
 And from the grassy slope he sees 
 The Greta flow to meet the Tees ; 
 Where, issuing from her darksome bed. 
 She caught the morning's eastern red. 
 And through the softening vale below 
 Roll'd her bright waves, in rosy glow. 
 All blushing to her bridal bed. 
 Like some shy maid in convent bred ; 
 ■While linnet, lark, and blackbird gay, 
 Sing forth her nuptial roundelay. 
 
 XVIL 
 
 Twas sweetly sung that roundelay ; 
 That summer morn shone blithe and gay 
 But morning beam, and wild-bird's call, 
 Awaked not Mortham's silent hall. 
 No porter, by the low-brow'd gate. 
 Took in the wonted niche his seat ; 
 To the paved court no peasant drew ; 
 Waked to their toil no menial crew ; 
 The maiden's carol was not heard. 
 As to her morning task she fared : 
 In the void offices around. 
 Rung not a hoof, nor bay'd a hound ; 
 Nor eager steed, with shrilling neigh. 
 Accused the lagging groom's delay ;
 
 BOKEBY. ' 401 
 
 Untrimm'd, undress'd, neglected now, 
 Was alley'd walk and orchard bough ; 
 All spoke the master's absent care, 
 All spoke neglect and disrepair. 
 South of the gate, an arrow flight. 
 Two mighty elms their limbs unite. 
 As if a canopy, to spread 
 O'er the lone dwelling of the dead ; 
 For their huge bows in arches bent 
 Above a massive monument. 
 Carved o'er in ancient Gothic wise, 
 With many a fcutcheon and device : 
 There, spent with toil and sunk in gloom, 
 Bertram stood pondering by the tomb. 
 
 xvm. 
 
 " It vanish'd like a flitting ghost I 
 Behind this tomb," he said, "'twas losf^— 
 This tomb, where oft I deera'd lies stored 
 Of Mortham's Indian wealth the hoai'd. 
 'T is true, the aged servants said 
 Here his lamented wife is laid ; 
 But weightier reasons may be guess'd 
 For their lord's strict andistern behest. 
 That none should on his steps intrude. 
 Whene'er he sought this solitude. — 
 An ancient mariner I knew. 
 What time I sail'd with Morgan's crew, 
 Who oft, 'raid our carousals, spake 
 Of Raleigh, Forbisher, and Drake ; 
 Adventurous hearts ! who barter'd, bold. 
 Their English steel for Spanish gold. 
 Trust not, would his experience say. 
 Captain or comrade with your prey; 
 But seek some charnel, when, at full, 
 The moon gilds skeleton and skull : 
 There dig, and tomb your precious heap. 
 And bid the dead your treasure keep ; '* 
 Sure stewards they, if fitting spell 
 Their sers'ice to the task compel. 
 Lacks there such charnel ? — kiU a slave, 
 Or prisoner, on the treasure-grave ; 
 And bid his discontented ghost 
 Stalk nightly on his lonely post. — 
 Such was his tale. Its truth, I ween, 
 Is in my morning vision seen." — 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Wilfrid, who scom'd the legend wild. 
 In mingled mulh and pity smiled, 
 Much marvelling that a breast so bold 
 In such fond tale belief should hold ; 
 But yet of Bertram sought to know 
 The apparition's form and show. — 
 2 c
 
 402 ROKEBY. CANTO II 
 
 The power within the guilty breast, 
 
 Oft vanquish'd, never quite suppress'd. 
 
 That unsubdued and lurking lies 
 
 To take the felon hf surprise, 
 
 And force him, as by magic spell, 
 
 In his despite his guilt to tell, — -" 
 
 That power in Bertram's breast awoke ; 
 
 Scarce conscious he was heard, he spoke ; 
 *' 'T was Mortham's form, from foot to head ! 
 
 His morion, with the plume of red. 
 
 His shape, Ms mien — 't was Mortham, right 
 
 As when 1 slew him in the fight." — 
 " Thou slay him? — thou?" — With conscious start 
 
 He heard, then mann'd his haughty heart — 
 " I slew him ? — I ! — I had forgot 
 
 Thou, stripling, knew'st not of the plot. 
 
 But it is spoken — nor will I 
 
 Deed done, or spoken word, deny. 
 
 I slew him ; I ! for thankless pnde ; 
 
 'Twas by this hand that llortham died!" 
 
 XX. 
 
 Wilfrid, of gentle hand and heart, 
 Averse to every active part, 
 But most averse to martial broil. 
 From danger shrimk, and tum'd from toil ; 
 Yet the meek lover of the lyre — 
 Nursed one brave spark of noble fire ; — 
 Against injustice, fraud, or wrong. 
 His blood beat high, his hand wax'd strong. 
 Not his the nerves that could sustain. 
 Unshaken, danger, toil, and pain ; 
 But, when that spark blazed forth to flame, 
 He rose superior to his frame. 
 And now it came, that generous mood ; 
 And, in full current of his blood. 
 On Bertram he laid desperate hand. 
 Placed firm his foot, and drew his brand. 
 " Should every fiend, to whom thou'rt sold. 
 Rise in thine aid, I keep my hold. — 
 Arouse there, ho ! take spear and swcrd I 
 Attach the murderer of your lord !" 
 
 XXI. 
 
 A moment, fix'd as by a spell. 
 
 Stood Bertram — It seem'd miracle, 
 
 That one so feeble, soft, and tame, 
 
 Set grasp on warlike Kisingham, 
 
 But "when he felt a feeble stroke. 
 
 The fiend within the ruffian woke ! 
 
 To wrench the sword from Wilfrid's hand. 
 
 To dash him headlong on the sand, 
 
 'Was but one moment's work, — one more 
 
 Had drench'd the blade in Wilfrid's gore
 
 403 
 
 But, in the instant it arose, 
 To end his life, his love, his woes, 
 A ■warlike fonn, that mark'd the scene. 
 Presents his rapier sheathed between, 
 Parries the fast-descending blow, 
 And stepts 'twixt Wilfrid and his foe ; 
 Nor then unscabbarded his brand. 
 But, sternly pointing with his hand, 
 With monarch's voice forbade the fight, 
 And motion'd Berti'am from his sight. 
 " Go, and repent," — he said, " while time 
 Is given thee ; add not crime to crime." 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Mute, and uncertain, and amazed. 
 As on a vision, Bertram gazed ! 
 'Twas Mortham's bearing, bold and high. 
 His sinewy frame, his falcon eye. 
 His look and accent of command. 
 The maitial gesture of his hand. 
 His stately form, spare-built and tall, 
 His war-bleach'd locks — "twas Mortham all. 
 Through Bertram's dizzy brain career 
 A thousand thoughts, and aU of fear ; 
 His wavering faith received not quite 
 The form he saw as Mortham's sprite. 
 But more he fear'd it, if it stood 
 His lord, in living tiesh and blood. — 
 What spectre can the charnel send. 
 So dreadful as an injured friend? 
 Then, too, the habit of command. 
 Used by the leader of the band, 
 "Wlien Eisingham, for many a day. 
 Had march'd and fought beneath his sway. 
 Tamed him — and, with reverted face, 
 Backwards he bore his sullen pace ; 
 Oft stopp'd, and oft on Mortham stared, 
 And dark as rated mastiff glared ; 
 But when the tramp of steeds was heard. 
 Plunged in the glen, and disappear'd ; — 
 Nor longer there the Wanior stood. 
 Retiring eastward through the wood , 
 But first to Wilfrid warning gives, 
 " Tell thou to none that Mortham lives." 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Still rung these words in Wilfrid's ear, 
 Hinting he knew not what of fear; 
 When nearer came the coursers' tread. 
 And, with his father at their head. 
 Of horsemen arm'd a gallant power 
 Reign'd up their steeds before the tower. 
 " Whence these pale looks, mv son?" he said : 
 " Wlieres Bertram?— Whv that naked blatli!?'
 
 404 ROKEBY. 
 
 Wilfrid ambiguously replied, 
 (For Mortham's charge his honour tied,) 
 " Bertram is gone — the villain's word 
 Avouch'd him murderer of his lord ! 
 Even now we fought — but, when your tread 
 Announced you nigh, the felon fled." 
 In WyclifFe's conscious eye appear 
 A guilty hope, a guilty fear ; 
 On his pale brow the dewdrop broke, 
 And his lip quiver'd as he spoke : — 
 
 XXIV. 
 •* A murderer ! — Philip Mortham died 
 Amid the battle's wildest tide. 
 Wilfrid, or Bertram raves, or you ! 
 Yet, grant such strange confession true, 
 Pursuit were vain — let him fly far — 
 Justice must sleep in civil war." 
 A gallant Youth rode near his side, 
 Brave Rokeby's page, in battle tried ; 
 That morn, an embassy of weight 
 He brought to Barnard's castle gate. 
 And follow'd now in Wycliffe's train. 
 An answer for his lord to gain. 
 His steed, whose arch'd and sable neck 
 An hundred wreaths of foam bedeck. 
 Chafed not against the curb more high 
 Than he at Oswald's cold reply; 
 He bit his lip, implored his saint, 
 (His the old faith) — then burst restraint : — ■ 
 
 XXV. 
 
 " Yes ! I beheld his bloody fall. 
 By that base traitor's dastard ball, 
 Just when I thought to measure sword, 
 Presumptuous hope ! with Mortham's lord. 
 And shall the murderer 'scape, who slew 
 His leader, generous, brave, and time ? 
 Escape, while on the dew you trace 
 The marks of his gigantic pace ? 
 No ! ere the sun that dew shall drj'. 
 False Risingham shall yield or die. — 
 King out the castle 'larum bell ! 
 Arouse the peasants with the knell ! 
 Meantime disperse — ride, gallants, ride I 
 Beset the wood on every side. 
 But if among you one there be. 
 That honours Mortham's memory, 
 Let him dismount and follow me ! 
 Else on your crests sit fear and shame. 
 And foul suspicion dog your name ! " 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Instant to earth young Redmond sprung; 
 Instant on earth the harness rung
 
 CANTO II. EOKEBY. 406 
 
 Of twenty men of "Wycliffe's band, 
 
 Who waited not their lord's command. 
 
 Redmond his spm-s from buskins drew, 
 
 His mantle from his shoulders threw, 
 
 His pistols in his belt he placed, 
 
 The green-wood gain'd, the footsteps traced, 
 
 Shouted like himtsman to his hounds, 
 " To cover, hark ! " — and in he bounds. 
 
 Scarce heard was Oswald's anxious crj^ 
 •* Suspicion ! yes — pursue him — fly — 
 
 But ^venture not, in useless strife, 
 
 On ruffian desperate of his life ; * 
 
 Whoever finds him, shoot him dead ! " 
 
 Five hundred nobles for his head 1 " 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Th3 horsemen gaUop'd, to make good 
 
 Each path that issued from the wood. 
 
 Loud from the thickets rung the shout 
 
 Of Redmond and his eager rout ; 
 
 With them was Wilfrid, stung with ire. 
 
 And envying Redmond's martial fire, 
 
 And emiilous of fame. — But where 
 
 Is Oswald, noble Mortham's heir ? — 
 
 He, bound by honoiu", law, and faith, 
 
 Avenger of his kinsman's death ? — 
 
 Leaning against the elmin tree, 
 
 With drooping head and slacken'd knee. 
 
 And clenched teeth, and close-clasp'd hands, 
 
 In agony of soul he stands ! 
 
 His downcast eye on earth is bent, 
 
 His soul to every sound is lent ; 
 
 For in each shout that cleaves the air, 
 
 May ring discovery and despair. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 What 'vail'd it him, that brightly play'd 
 The morning sim on Mortham's glade ? 
 All seems in giddy roimd to ride. 
 Like objects on a stormy tide. 
 Seen eddying by the moonlight dim, 
 Imperfectly to sink and swim. 
 
 <• MS. — To the Printer. — "On the disputed line, it may stand thus — 
 
 ' Whoever finds him, strike Mm dead ;' 
 Or, 
 
 ' Who first shall find him, strike him dead.' 
 
 But I think the addition oi felon, or any such word, will impair the strength 
 of the passage. Oswald is too anxious to use epithets, and is hallooujg alter 
 the men, by this time entering the wood. The simpler the line the better. 
 In my humble opinion, shoot him dead, was nuich better than any other: it 
 implies, Do not even approach him; kill him at a distance. I leave it, how- 
 ever, to you, only saying, that I never shun common words when they are to 
 the purpose. As to your criticisms, I cannot but attend to them, becauar- 
 tliey touch passages with which I am myself discontented. — W. S."
 
 406 ROKEBT. 
 
 What 'vail'd it, that the fair domain, 
 Its battled mansion, hill, and plain, 
 On which the sun so brightly shoue, 
 Envied so long, was now his OAvn? 
 The lowest dungeon, in that hour, 
 Of Brackenbury's dismal tower, 
 Had been his choice, could such a doom 
 Have open'd Mortham's bloody tomb ! 
 Forced, too, to turn unwilling ear 
 To each surmise of hope or fear, 
 Murmur'd among the rustics round, 
 Who gather'd at the 'larum sound ; 
 He dared not turn liis head away, 
 E'en to look up to heaven to pray, 
 Or call on hell, in bitter mood. 
 For one sharp death-shot from the wood ! 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 At length, o'erpast that dreadful space. 
 Back straggling came the scatter'd chase ; 
 Jaded and weary, horse and man, 
 Retnm'd the troopers, one by one.; 
 Wilfrid, the last, arrived to say, 
 All trace was lost of Bertram's wa}% 
 Though Redmond still, up Brignall wood. 
 The hopeless quest in vain pursued. — 
 O, fatal doom of human race ! 
 What tjTant passions passions chase ! 
 Remorse from Oswald's brow is gone — 
 Avarice and pride resume their throne ; 
 The pang of instant terror by, 
 They dictate thus their slave's reply : — 
 
 XXX. 
 
 " Ay — let him range like hasty hound I 
 And if the grim wolf's lair be found. 
 Small is my care how goes the game 
 With Redmond, or with Risingham. — 
 Kay, answer not, thou simple boy ! 
 Thy fair Matilda, all so coy 
 To thee, is of another mood 
 To that bold youth of Erm's blood. 
 Thy ditties will she freely praise. 
 And pay thy pains with courtly phrase ; 
 In a rough path -nnll oft command — 
 Accept at least — thy friendly hand ; 
 His she avoids, or, urged and pray'd, 
 Unwilling takes his proffer'd aid. 
 While conscious passion plainly speaks 
 In downcast look and blushing cheeks. 
 Whene'er he sings, will she glide nigh, 
 And all her soul is in her eye ; 
 Yet doubts she still to tender free 
 The wonted words of courtesy.
 
 CASTO HI. ROKEBY. 407 
 
 These are strong signs I — yet wherefore sigh, 
 And wipe, effeminate, thine eye? 
 Thine shall she be, if thou attend 
 The counsels of thy sire and friend. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 " Scarce wert thou gone, when peep of light 
 Brought genuine news of Marston's fight. 
 Brave Cromwell turu'd the doubtfid tide, 
 And conquest bless'd the rightful side ; 
 Three thousand cavaliers lie dead, 
 Rupert and that bold Marquis fled ; 
 Nobles and knights, so proud of late, 
 Must fine for freedom and estate. 
 Of these, committed to my charge, 
 Is Rokeby, prisoner at large ; 
 Redmond, his page, arrived to say 
 He reaches Barnard's towers to-day. 
 Right heavy shall his ransom be. 
 Unless that maid compound with thee I '* 
 Go to her now — be bold of cheer, 
 While her soul floats 'twixt hope and fear ; 
 It is the ven,' change of tide, 
 When best the female heart is tried — 
 Pride, prejudice, and modesty. 
 Are in the current swept to sea ; 
 And the bold swain, who plies his oar, 
 ilay lightly row his bark to shore." 
 
 CANTO THIRD. 
 
 The hunting tribes of air and earth 
 Respect the brethren of their birth : 
 Nature, who loves the claim of kind. 
 Less cruel chase to each assign'd. 
 The falcon, poised on soaring wing. 
 Watches the ■^\-ild-duck by the spring; 
 The slow-hound wakes the fox's lair ; 
 The greyhound presses on the hare; 
 The eagle pounces on the lamb ; 
 The wolf devom's the fleecy dam : 
 Even tiger fell, and sullen bear. 
 Their likeness and their lineage spare ;- 
 Man, only, mars kind Nature's plan. 
 And turns the fierce pursuit on man ; 
 Plying war's desultory trade. 
 Incursion, flight, and ambuscade.
 
 408 ROKEBT. CANTO III. 
 
 Since Ninirod, Gush's mighty son, 
 At first the bloody game begun. 
 
 . II. 
 The Indian, prowKng for his prey, 
 Who hears the settlers track his way. 
 And knows in distant forest far 
 Camp his red brethren of the war — 
 He, when each double and disguise 
 To baffle the pursuit he tries, 
 Low crouching now his head to hide, 
 Where swampy streams through rushes glide, 
 Now covering with the wither'd leaves 
 The foot-prints that the dew receives — 
 He, skill'd in every silvan guile. 
 Knows not, nor tries, such various wile. 
 As Risingham, when on the wind 
 Arose the loud pursuit beliind. 
 In Redesdale his youth had heard 
 Each art her wily dalesmen dared. 
 When Rooken-edge, and Redswair high, 
 To bugle rung and blood-hound's cry,^'' 
 Annoimcing Jedwood-axe and spear. 
 And Lid'sdale riders in the rear ; 
 And weU his venturous life had proved 
 The lessons that his childhood loved. 
 
 in. 
 
 Oft had he shown, in climes afar. 
 Each attribute of roving war : 
 The sharpen'd ear, the piercing eye, 
 The quick resolve in danger nigh ; 
 The speed, that in the flight or chase, 
 Outstripp'd the Charib's rapid race ; 
 The steady brain, the sinewy limb. 
 To leap, to climb, to dive, to swim ; 
 The iron frame, inured to bear 
 Each dire inclemency of air ; 
 Nor less confinn'd to undergo 
 Fatigue's faint chill, and famine's throe. 
 These arts he proved, his life to save. 
 In peril oft by land and wave. 
 On Arawaca's desert shore. 
 Or where La Plata's billows roar. 
 When of the sons of vengeful Spain 
 Track'd the marauder's steps in vain ; — 
 These arts, in Indian warfare tried. 
 Must save him now by Greta's side. 
 
 IV. 
 
 'T was then, in hour of utmost need, 
 He proved his courage, art, and spaed. 
 Now slow he stalk'd with stealthy pace, 
 Now started forth in rapid race.
 
 CANTO IIT. ROKEBT, 409 
 
 Of doubling back in mazy train, 
 
 To blind the trace the dews retain ; 
 
 Now clombe the rocks projecting high, 
 
 To baffle the pursuer's eye ; 
 
 Now sought the stream, whose brawling sound 
 
 The echo of his footsteps drown'd. 
 
 But if the forest verge he nears. 
 
 There trample steeds, and glimmer spears ; 
 
 If deeper down the copse he drew, 
 
 He heard the rangers' loud halloo, 
 
 Beating each cover while they came. 
 
 As if to start the silvan game. 
 
 'Twas then — like tiger close beset 
 
 At every pass with toil and net, 
 
 'Counter'd, where'er he turns his glare, 
 
 By clashing arms and torches' flare, 
 
 \Yho meditates, with furious boimd. 
 
 To burst on hunter, horse, and hound, — 
 
 'Twas then that Bertram's soul arose, 
 
 Prompting to rush upon his foes : 
 
 But as that crouching tiger, cow'd 
 
 By brandish'd steel and shouting crowd 
 
 Retreats beneath the jungle's shroud, 
 
 Bertram suspends his purpose stem, 
 
 And couches in the brake and fern, 
 
 Hiding his face, lest foemen spy 
 
 The sparkle of his swarthy eye.^ 
 
 "V. 
 
 Then Bertram might the bearing trace 
 Of the bold youth who led the chase ; 
 Who paused to list for every sound, 
 Climb every height to look around. 
 Then rushing on with naked sword. 
 Each dingle's bosky depth explored. 
 'Twas Redmond — by the azure eye; 
 'Twas Redmond — by the locks that fly 
 Disorder'd from his glowing cheek ; 
 Mien, face, and form, young Redmond speak. 
 A form more active, light, and strong, 
 Ne'er shot the ranks of war along ; 
 The modest, yet the manly mien, 
 Jlight grace the court of maiden queen ; 
 A face more fair you well might find, 
 For Redmond's knew the sun and wind, 
 Nor boasted, from their tinge when free. 
 The charm of regularity ; 
 But every feature had the power 
 To aid the expression of the hour: 
 Whether gav wit, and humour sly. 
 Danced laughing in his light-blue eye ; 
 Or bended brow, and glance of fire, 
 And kindling cheek, spoke Erin's ire ; 
 Or soft and sadden'd glances show 
 Her ready sympathy irith woe ;
 
 410 
 
 Or in that wayward mood of mind, 
 
 When various feelings are combined, 
 
 When joy and sorrow mingle near. 
 
 And hope's bright %vings are check'd by fear. 
 
 And rising doubts keep transport down, 
 
 And auger lends a short-lived ft-own ; 
 
 In that strange mood which maids approve 
 
 Even when they dare not call it love ; 
 
 With every change his features play'd, 
 
 As aspens show the light and shade. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Well Risingham yoimg Redmond knew : 
 And much he marvell'd that the crew. 
 Roused to revenge bold Mortham dead. 
 Were by that Mortham's foeman led ; 
 For never felt his soul the woe, 
 That wails a generous foeman low. 
 Far less that sense of justice strong, 
 That wreaks a generous foeman's wrong. 
 But small his leisure now to pause ; 
 Redmond is first, whate'er the cause : 
 And twice that Redmond came so near 
 Where Bertram couch'd like hunted deer, 
 The very boughs liis steps displace, 
 Rustled against the ruffian's face, 
 Who, desperate, twice prejJared to start, 
 And plunge his dagger in his heart ! 
 But Redmond tum'd a different waj'. 
 And the bent boughs resumed their sway 
 And Bertram held it Avise, imseen, 
 Deeper to plunge in coppice green. 
 Thus, circled in his coil, the snake, 
 Wlien roving himters beat the brake, 
 Watches with red and ghstening eye. 
 Prepared, if heedless step di-aw nigh. 
 With forked tongue and venom'd fang 
 Instant to dart the deadly pang ; 
 But if the intruders turn aside. 
 Away his coils unfolded glide. 
 And through the deep savannah wind. 
 Some undisturb'd retreat to find. 
 
 VII. 
 
 But Bertram, as he backward drew. 
 And heard the loud piu-suit renew, 
 And Redmond's hollo on the wind, 
 Oft mutter'd in his savage mind — 
 " Redmond O'Neale I were thou and I 
 Alone this day's event to try. 
 With not a second here to see, 
 But the grey cliff and oaken tree, — 
 That voice of thine, that shouts so loud. 
 Should ne'er repeat its summons proud !
 
 OANTO in. ROKEBl. 411 
 
 No ! nor e'er try its melting power 
 Again in maiden's summer bower." 
 Eluded, now behind him die, 
 Faint and more faint each hostile cry ; 
 He stands in Scargill wood alone, 
 Nor hears he now a harsher tone 
 Than the hoarse cushat's plaintive cry, 
 Or Greta's sound that murmurs by ; 
 And on the dale, so lone and wild. 
 The summer sim in quiet smiled. 
 
 VIII. 
 He listen'd long with anxious heart. 
 Ear bent to hear, and foot to start. 
 And, while his stretch'd attention glows, 
 Eefused his weary frame repose. 
 'Twas sUence all — he laid him down, 
 Where purple heath profusely strowu, 
 And throatwort with its azure beU, 
 And moss and thyme his cushion swell. 
 There, spent with toil, he listless eyed 
 The course of Greta's playfid tide ; 
 Beneath, her banks now eddying dim, 
 Now brightly gleaming to the sun, 
 As, dancing over rock and stone. 
 In yellow light her cmTents shone, 
 Matching in hue the favourite gem 
 Of Albin's mountain-diadem. 
 Then, tired to watch the currents play. 
 He tum'd his weary eyes away. 
 To where the bank opposing show'd 
 Its huge, square clifls through shaggy wood. 
 One, prominent above the rest, 
 Rear'd to the sun its pale grey breast ; 
 Around its broken summit grew 
 The hazel rude, and sable yew ; 
 A thousand varied lichens dyed 
 Its waste and weather-beaten side ; 
 And roimd its rugged basis lay, 
 By time or thunder rent away. 
 Fragments, that, from its frontlet torn. 
 Were mantled now by verdant thorn. 
 Such was the scene's wild majesty, 
 That fiU'd stern Bertram's gazing eye. 
 
 IX. 
 
 In sullen mood he lay reclined, 
 Eevolviug, in his stormy mind. 
 The felon deed, the fruitless guilt, 
 His patron's blood by treason spilt; 
 A crime, it seem'd, so dire and dreiul. 
 That it had power to wake the dead. 
 Then, pondering on his life betray'd 
 By Oswald's art to Redmond's blade,
 
 41 2 ROKEBT. 
 
 In treacherous purpose to withhold, 
 So seem'd it, Mortham's promised gold, 
 A deep and full revenge he vow'd 
 On Redmond, forivard", fierce, and proud ; 
 Revenge on Wilfrid — on his sire 
 Redoubled vengeance, swift and dire ! — 
 If, in such mood, (as legends sav. 
 And well believed that simple day,) 
 The Enemy of Man has power 
 To profit by the evil hour. 
 Here stood a wretch, prepared to change 
 His soul's redemption for revenge ! 
 But though his vows, with such a fire 
 Of earnest and intense desire 
 For vengeance dark and fell, were made, 
 As well might reach hell's lowest shade, 
 No deeper clouds the grove embrown'd, 
 No nether thunders shook the groimd ; — 
 The demon knew his vassal's heart. 
 And spared temptation's needless art. 
 
 X. 
 
 Oft, mingled with the direful theme, 
 Came Mortham's form — Was it a dream ? 
 Or had he seen, in vision true. 
 That very INIortham whom he slew? 
 Or had in living flesh appeared 
 The only man on earth he fear'd? — 
 To try the mystic cause intent. 
 His e3'es, that on the cliff were bent, 
 'Counter'd at once a dazzling glance. 
 Like sunbeam tlash'd from sword or lance. 
 At once he started as for fight. 
 But not a foeman was in sight ; 
 He heard the cushat's murmur hoarse, 
 He heard the river's sounding course ; 
 The solitary woodlands lay. 
 As slumbering in the sununer ray. 
 He gazed, like lion roused, around. 
 Then sunk again upon the ground. 
 'Twas but, he tliought, some fitful beam, 
 Glance sudden from the sparkling stream ; 
 Then plunged him from his gloomy train 
 Of ill-connected thoughts again, 
 Until a voice behind him cried, 
 " Bertram ! Avell met on Greta side." 
 
 XL 
 
 Instant his sword was in his hand. 
 As instant sunk the ready brand ; 
 Yet, dubious still, opposed he stood 
 To him that issued from the wood : 
 " Guy Denzil 1 — is it thou ? " he said, 
 " Do we two meet in ScargUl shade ! —
 
 CANTO III. ROKEBT. 413 
 
 Stand back a space ! — thy purpose show, 
 "WTiether thou comest as friend or foe. 
 Report hath said, that Denzil's name 
 From Rokeby's band was razed with shame." — 
 " A shame I owe that hot O'Neale, 
 Who told his knight, in peevish zeal, 
 Of my marauding on the clowns 
 Of Calverley and Bradford downs. -* 
 I reck not. In a war to strive, 
 Where, save the leaders, none can thrive, 
 Suits ill my mood ; and better game 
 Awaits us both, if thou'rt the same 
 Unscrupulous, bold Risingham, 
 Who watch'd with me in midnight dark, 
 To snatch a deer from Rokeby-park. 
 How think'st thou?" — " Speak thy purpose out ; 
 I love not mystery, or doubt." 
 
 XII. 
 
 " Then list. — Not far there lurk a crew 
 Of trusty comrades, stanch and true, 
 Glean'd from both factions — Roxmdheads, freed 
 From cant of sermon and of creed : 
 And Cavaliers, whose souls, like mine. 
 Spurn at the bonds of discipline. 
 Wiser, we judge, by dale and wold, 
 A warfare of our own to hold. 
 Than breathe our last on battle-down. 
 For cloak or surplice, mace or crown. 
 Our schemes are laid, our purpose set, 
 A chief and leader lack we yet. — 
 Thou art a wanderer, it is said ; 
 For ISIortham's death, thy steps way-laid. 
 Thy head at price— so say our spies, 
 T\1io range the valley in disguise. 
 Join then with us : — though wild debate 
 And wTangling rend our infant state. 
 Each to an equal luth to bow. 
 Will yield to chief renown'd as thou." — 
 
 XIII. 
 ** Even now," thought Bertram, j)a.ssion-stirr'd, 
 " I call'd on heU, and hell has heard ! 
 
 WTiat lack I, vengeance to command, 
 
 But of stanch comrades such a band? 
 
 This Denzil, vow'd to everj' evil. 
 
 Might read a lesson to the devil. 
 
 Well, be it so ! each knave and fool 
 
 Shall serve as my revenge's tool." — 
 
 Aloud, " I take thy protter, Guy, 
 
 But tell me where thy comrades lie ? " — 
 " Not far from hence," Guy Denzil said ; 
 " Descend, and cross the river's bed. 
 
 Where rises yonder cliff so grey." — 
 " Do thou," said Bertram, " lead the way."
 
 414 
 
 Then mutter'd, " It is best make sure ; 
 
 Guy Denzil's faith was never pure." 
 
 He follow'd down the steep descent, 
 
 Then thi'ougli the Greta's streams they went ; 
 
 And, when they reach'd the farther shore. 
 
 They stood the lonely cliff before. 
 
 XIV. 
 With wonder Bertram heard within 
 The flinty rock a murmur'd din ; 
 But when Guy puU'd the wildmg spray, 
 And brambles, from its base away, 
 He saw, appearing to the air, 
 A little entrance, low and square, 
 Like opening cell of hermit lone, 
 Dark, winding tlirough the living stone. 
 Here entcr'd Denzil, 13ertram here ; 
 And loud and louder on their ear. 
 As from the bowels of tlie earth, 
 Eesoundfd shouts of boisterous mirth. 
 Of old, the cavern strait and rude. 
 In slaty rock the peasant hew'd ; 
 And Brignall's woods, and Scargill's, wave. 
 E'en no\v, o'er many a sister cavc,'-'^ 
 Where, far witliin the darksome rift, 
 The wedge and lever ply their thrift. 
 But war had silenced rural trade, 
 And the deserted mine was made 
 The banquet-hall, and fortress too, 
 Of Denzil and his desperate crew. — 
 There Guilt his anxious revel kept ; 
 There, on his sordid pallet, slept 
 Guilt-born Excess, — the goblet drain'd, 
 StiU in his slumbering grasp retain'd ; 
 Regret was there, his eye still cast 
 With vain repining on the past ; 
 Among the fcasters waited near 
 Sorrow, and unrepentant Fear, 
 And Blasphemy, to frenzy driven, 
 With his own crimes reproaching heaven ; 
 While Bertram show'd, amid the crew. 
 The Master-Fiend that Milton di-ew. 
 
 XV. 
 Hark ! the loud revel wakes again, 
 To greet the leader of the train. 
 Behold the group by the pale lamp, 
 That struggles with the earthy damp. 
 By what strange features Vice hath known, 
 To single out and mark her own ! 
 Yet some there are, whose brows retain 
 Less deeply stamp'd her brand and stain. 
 See yon pale stripling ! when a boy, 
 A mother's pride, a father's joy I
 
 CANTO III. ROKEBY. 415 
 
 Now, 'gainst the vault's rude walls reclined, 
 
 An early image fills liis mind : 
 
 The cottage, once his sire's, he sees 
 
 Embower'd upon the banks of Tees ; 
 
 He views sweet Winston's woodland scene, 
 
 And shares the dance on Gainford-green. 
 
 A tear is springing — but the zest 
 
 Of some wild tale, or brutal jest. 
 
 Hath to loud laughter stirr'd the rest. 
 
 On him they call, the aptest mate 
 
 For jovial song and merrj' feat : 
 
 Fast flies his dream — with dauntless air, 
 
 As one victorious o'er Despair, 
 
 He bids the ruddy cup go roimd. 
 
 Till sense and sorrow both are drown'd ; 
 
 And soon, in merry wassail, he, 
 
 The life of all their revehy, 
 
 Peals his loud song ! — The muse has found 
 
 Her blossoms on the wildest ground. 
 
 Mid noxious weeds at random strew'd. 
 
 Themselves aU profitless and rude. — 
 
 With desperate merriment he sung. 
 
 The cavern to the chorus rung ; 
 
 Yet mingled with his reckless glee 
 
 Remorse's bitter agony. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 0, Brignall banks are wild and fair, 
 
 And Greta woods are green. 
 And you may gather garlands there, 
 
 Would grace a simimer queen. 
 And as I rode by Dalton-hall, 
 
 Beneath the tuiTets high, 
 A Maiden on the castle wall 
 
 Was singing merrily, — 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 " 0, Brignall banks are fresh and fair. 
 And Greta woods are green ; 
 I 'd rather rove with Edmimd there. 
 Than reign our English queen." — 
 
 " If, Maiden, thou wouldst wend -n-ith me. 
 
 To leave both tower and town. 
 Thou first must guess what life lead we, 
 
 That dwell by dale and down ? 
 And if thou canst that riddle read. 
 
 As read full well you may, 
 Then to the greenwood shalt thou speed. 
 
 As blithe as Queen of May." — ^ 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Yet sung she, " Brignall banks are fair, 
 And Greta woods are green;
 
 416 ROKEBK 
 
 I'd rather rove with Edmund there, 
 Than reign our English queen. 
 
 J^VII. 
 " I read you, by your bugle horn. 
 And by your palfrey good, 
 I read you for a ranger sworn, 
 To keep the king's greenwood."^ 
 " A Eanger, lady, winds his horn. 
 And 'tis at peep of light; 
 His blast is heard at merry mom, 
 And mine at dead of night." — 
 
 Yet sung she, " Brignall banks are fiiir. 
 
 And Greta woods are gay ; 
 I would I were with Edmund there, 
 
 To reign his Queen of May ! 
 
 " With bumish'd brand and musketoon, 
 So gallantly you come, 
 I read you for a bold Dragoon, 
 That lists the tuck of drum." — 
 " I list no more the tuck of drimi. 
 No more the trumpet hear ; 
 But when the beetle sounds his hiun. 
 My coim-ades take the spear. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 " And, ! though Brignall banks be fair 
 And Greta woods be gay. 
 Yet mickle must the maiden dare. 
 Would reign my Queen of May I 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 " Maiden ! a nameless life I lead, 
 
 A nameless death I'll die ! 
 The fiend, whose lantern lights the mead. 
 
 Were better mate than I ! 
 And when I'm with my comrades met. 
 
 Beneath the gi-eenwood bough, 
 What once we were we all forget, 
 
 Nor think what we are now. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 " Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair. 
 And Greta woods are green, 
 And you may gather garlands there 
 Would grace a summer queen." 
 
 When Edmund ceased his simple song, 
 Was silence on the sullen throng, 
 Till waked some ruder mate their glee 
 With note of coarser minstrelsv.
 
 ) III. KOKEbr. 417 
 
 But, far apart, in dark divan, 
 Denzil and Bertram many a plan, 
 Of import foul and fierce, design'd, 
 While still on Bertram's grasping mind 
 The wealth of murder'd Mortham hung ; 
 Though half he fear'd his daring tongue, 
 '\^'hen it should give his wishes birth. 
 Might raise a spectre from the earth ! 
 
 XIX. 
 
 At length his wondrous tale he told : 
 When, scornful, smiled his comrade bold ; 
 For, train'd in license of a court. 
 Religion's self was Denzil's sport ; 
 Then judge in what contempt he held 
 The visionary tales of eld ! 
 His awe for Bertram scarce repress'd 
 The unbeliever's sneering jest. 
 " 'T were hard," he said, " for sage or seer. 
 To spell the subject of your fear ; 
 Nor do I boast the art renown'd, 
 Vision and omen to expound. 
 Yet, faith if I must needs afford 
 To spectre watching treasured hoard. 
 As ban-dog keeps his master's roof, 
 Bidding the plunderer stand aloof. 
 This doubt remains — thy goblin gaunt 
 Hath chosen ill his ghostly haunt ; 
 For why his guard on Mortham hold, 
 When Kokeby castle hath the gold 
 Thy patron won on Indian soil, 
 By stealth, by piracy, and spoil ? " — ■ 
 
 XX. 
 
 At this he paused — for angry shame 
 Lower'd en the brow of Risingham. 
 He blush'd to think, that he should seem 
 Assertor of an airy dream. 
 And gave his wrath another theme. 
 " Denzil," he says, " though lowly laid, 
 Wrong not the memory of the dead ; 
 For, while he lived, at Mortham's look 
 Thy very soul, Guy Denzil, shook ! 
 And when he tax'd tliy breach of word 
 To yon fair rose of Allenford, 
 I saw thee crouch like chasten'd hound. 
 Whose back the huntsman's lash hath foimd. 
 Nor dare to call his foreign wealth 
 The spoil of piracy or stealth ; 
 He won it bravely with his brand. 
 When Spain waged warfare with our land.*^ 
 Mark, too — I bro^k no idle jeer, 
 Nor couple Bertram's name with fear ; 
 ISIine is but half the demon's lot, 
 For I believe, but tremble not. — 
 2ii
 
 418 
 
 Enough of this. — Say, -why this hoard 
 Thou deem'st at Eokeby castle stored; 
 Or thlnk'st that Mortham would bestow 
 His treasure with 'his faction's foe?" 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Soon quench'd was Denzil's ill-timed mirth 
 
 Rather he would have seen the earth 
 
 Give to ten thousand spectres birth, 
 
 Than venture to awake to flame 
 
 The deadly wrath of Eisingham. 
 
 Submiss he answer'd, — "Mortham's mind. 
 
 Thou knoVst, to joy was ill inclined. 
 
 In youth, 'tis said, a gallant free, 
 
 A lusty reveller was he ; 
 
 But since return'd from over sea, 
 
 A sullen and a silent mood 
 
 Hath numb'd the ciuTcnt of his blood. 
 
 Hence he refused each kindly call 
 
 To Rokeby's hospitable hall ; 
 
 And our stout knight, at dawn of mom 
 
 Who loved to hear the bugle-hom. 
 
 Nor less, when eve his oaks embrown'd, 
 
 To see the ruddy cup go round. 
 
 Took umbrage that a friend so near 
 
 Refused to share his chase and cheer; 
 
 Thus did the kindi-ed barons jar. 
 
 Ere they divided in the war. 
 
 Yet, trust me, friend, Matilda fair 
 
 Of Mortham's wealth is destined heir." — 
 
 XXII. 
 " Destined to her ! to yon slight maid ! 
 The prize my life had wellnigh paid, 
 When 'gainst Laroche, by Cayo's wave, 
 I fought, my patron's wealth to save! — 
 Denzil, I knew him long, yet ne'er 
 Knew hun that joyous cavalier. 
 Whom youthful friends and early fame 
 Call'd soul of gallantry and game. 
 A moody man, he sought our crew. 
 Desperate and dark, whom no one knew ; 
 And rose, as men with us must rise. 
 By scorning life and all its ties. 
 On each adventure rash he roved. 
 As danger for itself he loved ; 
 On his sad brow nor mirth nor wine 
 Could e'er one wrinlded knot imtwine ; 
 111 was the omen if he smiled. 
 For 't was in peril stern and wild ; 
 But when he laugh'd, each luckless mate 
 Might hold oiu- fortune desperate. 
 Foremost he fought in every broU, 
 Then scornful turr.'d him from the spoil ; 
 
 i
 
 419 
 
 Nay, often strove to bar the way 
 Between his comrades and then- prey ; 
 Preaching, even then, to such as we, 
 Hot with our dear-bought victory, 
 Of mercy and humanity. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 " I loved him well — His fearless part, 
 His gallant leading, won my heart. 
 And after each victorious fight, 
 'Twas I that wrangled for his right, 
 Iledeem'd his portion of the prey 
 That greedier mates had torn away ; 
 In field and storm thrice saved his life, 
 And once amid our comrades' strife. — 2' 
 Yes, I have loved thee I Well hath proved 
 My toil, my danger, how I loved ! 
 Yet will I mourn no more thy fate, 
 Ingrate in life, in death ingrate. — 
 Rise if thou canst ! " he look'd around. 
 And sternly stamp'd upon the gi-ound — 
 
 " Rise, with thy bearing proud and high, 
 Even as this mom it met mine eye, 
 And give me, if thou darest, the lie '. " 
 He paused— then, calm and passion-freed. 
 Bade Denzil ynth his tale proceed. 
 
 XXIV. 
 " Bertram, to thee I need not tell, 
 "What thou hast cause to wot so well, 
 How Superstition's nets were twined 
 Around the Lord of Morthara's mind I 
 But since he drove thee from his tower, 
 A maid he fomid in Greta's bower. 
 Whose speech, like David's harp, had sway 
 To charm his e'V'il fiend away. 
 I know not if her features moved 
 Remembrance of the vale he loved ; 
 But he would gaze upon her eye, 
 Till his mood soften'd to a sigh. 
 He, whom no living mortal sought 
 To question of his secret thought. 
 Now every thought and care confess'd 
 To his fair niece's faithful breast ; 
 Nor was there aught of rich and rare, 
 In earth, in ocean, or in air, 
 But it must deck ]Matilda"s hair. 
 Her love still bound him unto life ; 
 But then awoke the civil strife. 
 And menials bore, by his commands, 
 Three coffers, with their iron bands, 
 From Mortham's vault, at midnight deep 
 To her lone bower in Rokeby-Keep, 
 Ponderous with gold and plate of pride 
 His gift, if he in battle died." —
 
 420 ROKEBY. CANTO III, 
 
 XXV. 
 
 •* Then Denzil, as I guess, lays train, 
 
 These iron-banded.chests to gain ; 
 
 Else, wherefore should he hover here. 
 
 Where many a peril waits him neai". 
 
 For all his feats of war and peace. 
 
 For plunder'd boors, and iarts of greese ? 
 
 Since through the hamlets as he fared, 
 
 What hearth has Guy's marauding spared, 
 
 Or where the chase that hath not rung 
 
 With Denzil's bow, at midnight strung ? " — 
 " I hold my wont— my rangers go, 
 
 Even now to track a milk-white doe. 
 
 By Rokeby-hall she takes her lair, 
 
 In Greta wood she harbours fair. 
 
 And when my huntsman marks her way. 
 
 What think'st thou, Bertram, of the prey ? 
 
 Were Rokeby's daughter in our power. 
 
 We rate her ransom at her dower." — 
 
 XXVI. 
 " 'Tis well ! — there 's vengeance in the thought, 
 Matilda is by Wilfiid sought ; 
 And hot-bra'in'd Redmond, too, 'tis said. 
 Pays lover's homage to the maid. 
 Bertram she scom'd — If met by chance. 
 She tum'd from me her shuddering glance. 
 Like a nice dame, that will not brook 
 On what she hates and loathes to look ; 
 She told to Mortham she could ne'er 
 Behold me without secret fear, 
 Forebodmg evil : — She may rue 
 To find her prophecy fall true ! — 
 The war has weeded Rokeby's train. 
 Few followers in his halls remain ; 
 If thy scheme miss, then, brief and bold, 
 We are enow to storm the hold ; 
 Bear off the plunder, and the dame, 
 And leave the castle all in flame." — 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 " Still art thou Valoiur's ventiu-ous son ! 
 
 Yet ponder first the risk to run : 
 
 The menials of the castle, true, 
 
 And stubborn to their charge, though few 
 
 The wall to scale — the moat to cross — 
 
 The wicket-grate — the inner fosse" 
 
 — " Fool ! if we blench for toys like these 
 
 On what fair guerdon can we seize? 
 
 Our hardiest venture, to explore 
 
 Some wretched peasant's fenceless door. 
 
 And the best prize we bear away. 
 
 The earnings of his sordid day." — 
 " A while thy hasty taunt forbear : 
 
 In sight of road more sure and fair,
 
 r.ASTO III. ROKEBY. 421 
 
 Thou woiildst not choose, in blindfold wrath. 
 Or wantonness, a desperate path ? 
 List, then ; — for vantage or assault, 
 From gilded vane to dungeon vault, 
 Each pass of Rokeby-house I know : 
 There is one postern, dark and low, 
 That issues at a secret spot. 
 By most neglected or forgot. 
 Kow, could a spial of our train 
 On fair pretext admittance gain, 
 That sally-port might be unbarr'd : 
 Then, vain were battlement and ward ! "^ 
 
 XXYIII. 
 " Now speak'st thou well : — to me the same 
 If force or art shall urge the game ; 
 Indifferent, if Uke fox I wind, 
 Or spring like tiger on the hind. — 
 But, hark ! our merry men so gay 
 Troll forth another roundelay."- - 
 
 " A weary lot is thine, fair maid, 
 
 A weaiy lot is thine ! 
 To pull the thorn thy brow to braid. 
 
 And press the rue for -wine ! 
 A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien, 
 
 A feather of the blue, 
 A doublet of the Lincoln green, — 
 
 Xo more of me you knew. 
 
 My love ! 
 No more of me you knew. 
 
 " This mom is merry June, I trow. 
 
 The rose is budding fain ; " 
 But she shall bloom in winter snow, 
 
 Ere we two meet again." 
 He tum'd his charger as he spake, 
 
 Upon the river shore. 
 He gave his bridle-reins a shake, 
 
 Said, " Adieu for evermore. 
 
 My love 1 
 And adieu for evermore." — ^ 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 " What youth is this, your band among, 
 The best tor minstrels}' and song ? 
 In his -wild notes seem aptly met 
 A strain of pleasure and regret."' — 
 
 <• MS. — To the Frin/er: — " Tlie abruptness as to the song is unavoidable. 
 Tlie music of the drinking party could only operate as a sudden interruption 
 to Bertram's conversation, however naturally it might he introduced among 
 the feasters, who were at some distance. 
 
 " Fuin, in old English ajifl Scotch, expresses, I think, a propensity to give 
 and receive pleasurable emotions, a sort of fondness which may, without 
 harshness, I think, be applied to a rose in tlie act of bloonung. You re- 
 member '.Jockey fov and Jenny fain.' — W.S."
 
 422 ROKPBr. CANTO m 
 
 " Edmund of Winston is his name; 
 The hamlet sounded with the fame 
 Of early hopes his childhood gave, — 
 Now center'd all in Brignall cave ! 
 I watch him well — his wayward course 
 Shows oft a tincture of remorse. 
 Some early love-shaft grazed his heart, 
 And oft the scar will ache and smart. 
 Yet is he useful ; — of the rest, 
 By fits, the darling and the jest, 
 His harp, his story, and his lay. 
 Oft aid the idle hours away : 
 When unemploy'd, each fiery mate 
 Is ripe for mutinous debate. 
 He timed hia strings e'en now — again 
 He wakes them, with a bUther strain." 
 
 XXX. 
 
 ALLEN-A-DALE. 
 
 Allen-a-Dale has no faggot for burning, 
 Allen-a-Dale has no furrow for turning, 
 Allen-a-Dale has no fleece for the spinning. 
 Yet Allen-a-Dale has red gold for the winning. 
 Come, read me my riddle ! come, hearken my tale ! 
 And tell me the craft of bold Allen-a-Dale. 
 
 The Baron of Kavensworth prances in pride, 
 And he views his domains upon Arkindale side, 
 The mere for his net, and the land for his game, 
 The chase for the wild, and the park for the tame ; 
 Yet the fish of the lake, and the deer of the vale, 
 Are less free to Lord Dacre than Allen-a-Dale I 
 
 Allen-a-Dale was ne'er belted a knight, 
 
 Though his spur be as sharp, and his blade be as bright; 
 
 Allen-a-Dale is no baron or lord. 
 
 Yet twenty tall yoemen will draw at his word ; 
 
 And the best of our nobles his bonnet will vail. 
 
 Who at Rere-cross ^^ on Stanmore meets AUen-a-Dale. 
 
 Allen-a-Dale to his wooing is come ; 
 The mother, she ask'd of his household and home : 
 " Though the castle of Richmond stand fair on the hill. 
 My hall," quoth bold Allen, " shows gallanter still ; 
 'Tis the blue vault of heaven, with its crescent so pale, 
 And with all its bright spangles ! " said Allen-a-Dale. 
 
 The father was steel, and the mother was stone ; 
 They lifted the latch, and they bade him be gone ; 
 But loud, on the moiTow, their wail and their cry : 
 He had laugh'd on the lass with his bonny black eye, 
 And she fled to the forest to hear a love-tale, 
 And the youth it was told by was Allen-a-Dale I
 
 CA^"TO IV. ROKEBT. 423 
 
 XXXI. 
 *♦ Thou see'st that, whether sad or guy, 
 Love mingles ever in hia lay. 
 But when his boyish wayward fit 
 Is o'er, he hath address and -wit ; 
 
 ! 'tis a brain of fire, can ape 
 Each dialect, each various shape." — 
 
 " I^ay, then, to aid thy project, Guy — 
 Soft ! who comes here ? " — " My trusty spy. 
 Speak, Hamlin I hast thou lodged our deer ? " — 
 
 " I have — but two foir stags are near. 
 
 1 watch'd her, as she slowly stray'd 
 From Egliston up Thorsgiil glade ; 
 But Wilfrid Wycliffe sought her side. 
 And then young Redmond, in his pride, 
 Shot do-mi to meet them on their way : 
 Much, as it seem'd, was theirs to say ; 
 There 's time to pitch both toil and net. 
 Before their path be homeward set." 
 
 A hm-ried and a whisperd speech 
 Did Bertram's will to Denzil teach ; 
 Who, turning to the robber band, 
 Bade four, the bravest, take the brand. 
 
 CANTO FOURTH. 
 
 I. 
 
 Whex Denmark's raven soar'd on high. 
 Triumphant through Xorthumbrian sky, 
 Till, hovering near, her fatal croak 
 Bade Reged's Britons dread the yoke, ^ 
 And the broad shadow of her -v^nng 
 Blacken'd each cataract and spring. 
 Where Tees in tumult leaves his source. 
 Thundering o'er Caklron and High-Force ; 
 Beneath the shade the Northmen came, 
 Fix'd on each vale a Runic name,'^ 
 Rear'd high their altar's rugged stone. 
 And gave their Gods the land they won. 
 Then, Balder, one bleak garth was thine. 
 And one sweet brooklet's silver line. 
 And Woden's Croft did title gain 
 From the stern Father of the Slain ; 
 But to the Monarch of the Mace, 
 That held in fight the foremost place. 
 To Odin's son, and Sifia's spouse, 
 Near Stratforth high they paid their vowa, 
 Eer^ember'd Thors victorious fame. 
 And gave the dell the Thunderer's nama.
 
 424 ROKEBT. CANTO IT 
 
 II. 
 
 Yet Scald or Kemper err'd, I weeiij 
 Who gave that soft and quiet scene, 
 With all its varied light and shade, 
 And every little sunny glade. 
 And the blithe brook that strolls along 
 Its pebbled bed with summer song. 
 To the grim God of blood and scar, 
 The grisly King of Xorthern War. 
 0, better were its banks assign'd 
 To spirits of a gentler kind ! 
 For where the thicket-groups recede, 
 And the rath primrose decks the mead. 
 The velvet grass seems carpet meet 
 For the light fairies' lively feet. 
 Yon tufted knoll, with daisies strown. 
 Might make proud Oberon a throne, 
 While, hidden in the thicket nigh, 
 Puck should brood o'er his frolic sly ; 
 And where profuse the wood-vetch clings 
 Round ash and elm, in verdant rings, 
 Its pale and azure-pencill'd flower 
 Should canopy Titania's bower. 
 
 III. 
 Here rise no cliffs the vale to shade ; 
 But, skirting every sunny glade. 
 In fair variety of green 
 The woodland lends its silvan screen. 
 Hoary, yet haughty, frowns the oak, 
 Its boughs by weight of ages broke ; 
 And towers erect, in sable spire. 
 The pine-tree scathed by lightning-fire 
 The drooping ash and birch, between. 
 Hang their fair tresses o'er the green. 
 And all beneath, at random grow 
 Each coppice dwarf of varied show. 
 Or, round the stems profusely twined, 
 Fling summer odours on the wind. 
 Such varied group Urbino's hand 
 Kound Him of Tarsus nobly plann'd, 
 What time he bade proud Athens own 
 On Mars's Mount the God Unknown ! 
 Then grey Philosophy stood nigh, 
 Thougli bent by age, in spirit high : 
 There rose the scar-seam'd veteran's spears, 
 There Grecian Beauty bent to hear. 
 While Childhood at her foot was placed. 
 Or chmg delighted to her waist. 
 
 IV. 
 
 • And rest we here," Matilda said. 
 
 And sat her in the vaiying shade. 
 ' Chance-met, we well may steal an hour, 
 
 To friendship due from fortune's power.
 
 CANTO IV. ROKEBT. 425 
 
 rhou, Wilfrid, ever kind, must lend 
 Thy counsel to thy sister-friend ; 
 And, Redmond, thou, at my behest. 
 No farther urge thy desperate 'quest. 
 For to my care a charge is left. 
 Dangerous to one of aid bereft ; 
 Wellnigh an orphan, and alone, 
 Captive her sire, her house overthrown." 
 Wilfrid, with wonted kindness graced. 
 Beside her on the tm-f she placed ; 
 Then paused, with downcast look and eye. 
 Nor bade young Redmond seat him nigii. 
 Her conscious dlffideuce he saw. 
 Drew backward, as in modest awe, 
 And sat a little space removed, 
 Unniark'd to gaze on her he loved. 
 
 V. 
 
 Wreathed in its dark-brown rings, her hair 
 
 Half hid Matilda's forehead fair. 
 
 Half hid and half reveal'd to view 
 
 Her full dark eye of hazel hue. 
 
 The rose, with faint and feeble streak. 
 
 So slightly tinged the maiden's cheek, 
 
 That you had said her hue was pale ; 
 
 But if she faced the summer gale. 
 
 Or spoke, or sung, or f[uicker moved, 
 
 Or heard the praise of those she loved. 
 
 Or when of interest was express'd 
 
 Aught that waked feeling in her breast, 
 
 The mantling blood in ready play 
 
 Eivall'd the blush of rising day. 
 
 There was a soft and pensive grace, 
 
 A cast of thought upon her face. 
 
 That suited well the forehead high, 
 
 The eyelash dark, and downcast eyp ; 
 
 The mild expression spoke a mind 
 
 In duty firm, composed, resign'd ; — 
 
 'Tis that which Roman art has given, 
 
 To mark their maiden Queen of Heaven. 
 
 In hours of sport, that mood gave way 
 
 To Fancy's light and frolic play ; 
 
 And when the dance, or tale, or song, 
 
 In harmless mirth sped time along, 
 
 FuU oft her doting sire would call 
 
 His Maud the men-iest of them all. 
 
 But days of war and civil crime, 
 
 Allow'd but ill such festal time. 
 
 And her soft pensiveness of brow 
 
 Had deepen'd into sadness now. 
 
 In Marston field her father ta'en, 
 
 Her friends dispersed, brave Mortham slain. 
 
 While every ill her soul foretold. 
 
 From Oswald's thirst of power and gold.
 
 426 
 
 And boding thoughts that she must part 
 With a soft vision of her heart, — 
 All lower'd around the lovely maid. 
 To darken her dejection's shade. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Who has not heard — while Erin yet 
 Strove 'gainst the Saxon's iron bit — 
 Who has not heard how brave O'Neale 
 In English blood imbrued his steel,'^ 
 Against St George's cross blazed high 
 The banners of his Tanistry, 
 To fiery Essex gave the foii, 
 And reign 'd a prince on Ulster's soil? 
 But chief arose his \'ictor pride, 
 When that brave Marshal fought and died,^' 
 And Avon-Dufl" to ocean bore 
 His billows red with Saxon gore. 
 'Twas first in that disastrous fight, 
 Eokeby and Mortham proved their might. 
 There had they fallen amongst the rest, 
 But pity touch'd a chieftain's breast — 
 The Tanist he to great O'Neale ; ^ 
 He check'd his followers' bloody zeal, 
 To quarter took the kinsman bold. 
 And bore them to his mountain-hold, 
 Gave them each silvan joy to know, 
 Slieve-Donard's cliffs and woods could show 
 Shared with them Erin's festal cheer, 
 Show'd them the chase of wolf and deer, 
 And, when a fitting time was come, 
 Safe and unransom'd sent them home, 
 Loaded witli many a gift, to prove 
 A generous foe's respect and love. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Years speed away. On Rokeby's head 
 Some touch of early snow was shed ; 
 Calm he enjoy'd, by Greta's wave. 
 The peace which James the Peaceful gave 
 While Mortham, far beyond the main, 
 Waged his fierce wars on Indian Spain. — 
 It chanced upon a wintrj' night. 
 That wliiten'd Stanmore's stormy heiglit, 
 The chase was o'er, the stag was kill'd. 
 In Rokeby liall the cups were fiU'd, 
 And bj' the huge stone chimney sate 
 The Knight in hospitable state. 
 Moonless the sky, the hour was late. 
 When a loud summons shook the gate. 
 And sore for entrance and for aid 
 A voice of foreign accent pray'd. 
 The porter answer'd to tlie call. 
 And instant rush'd into the hall
 
 OASTO IV. KOKEBY. ' 427 
 
 A Man, whose aspect and attire 
 Startled the circle by the fire. 
 
 VIII. 
 His plaited hair in elf-locks spread 
 Around his bare and matted head ; 
 On leg and thigh, close stretch'd and trim. 
 His vesture show'd the sinewy linib ; 
 In saffron dyed, a linen vest 
 Was frequent folded round his breast; 
 A mantle long and loose he wore, 
 Shaggy with ice, and stain'd with gore. 
 He clasp'd a burden to his heart, 
 And, resting on a knotted dart. 
 The snow from hair and beard he shoo'.:. 
 And round him gazed with wilder'd looli- 
 Then up the hall, with staggering pace, 
 He hasten'd bj^ the blaze to place, 
 Half lifeless from the bitter air, 
 His load, a Boy of Beauty rare. 
 To Rokeby, next, he louted low, 
 ■ Then stood erect his tale to show, 
 With wild majestic port and tone. 
 Like envoy of some barbarous throne.^* 
 *• Sir Richard, Lord of Rokeby, hear ! 
 Tiurlough O'Neale salutes thee dear ; 
 He graces thee, and to thy care 
 Young Redmond gives, his grandson (ait. 
 He bids thee breed him as thy son. 
 For Turlough's days of joy are done ; 
 And other lords have seized his land. 
 And faint and feeble is his hand ; 
 And all the glory of Tyrone 
 Is like a morning vapour flown. 
 To bind the duty on thy soul. 
 He bids thee think on Erin's bowl ! 
 If any wrong the young O'Neale, 
 He bids thee think of Erin's steel. 
 To Mortham first this charge was due. 
 But, in his absence, honom's you. — 
 Now is my master's message by, 
 And FeiTaught will contented die." 
 
 IX. 
 
 His look grew fix'd, his cheek grew pale. 
 He siuik when he had told his tale ; 
 For, hid beneatli his mantle wide, 
 A mortal wound was in his side. 
 Vain was all aid — in terror wild. 
 And sorrow, scream'd the orphan Child. 
 Poor FeiTaught raised his wistful eyes. 
 And faintly strove to soothe his cries. 
 All reckless of his dying pain. 
 He blest, and blest him o't- r again !
 
 428 ROKEBT. 
 
 And kiss'd the little hands out spread, 
 And kiss'd and cross'd the infant head, 
 And, in his native tongue and phrase, 
 Pray'd to each saint to watch his days ; 
 Then all his strength together drew, 
 The charge to Rokeby to renew. 
 When half was falter'd fi-om his hreast, 
 And half by dying signs express'd, 
 " Bless thee, O'Neale ! " he faintly said, 
 And thus the faithful spirit fled. 
 
 X. 
 
 'Twas long ere soothing might prevail 
 Upon the Child to end the tale ; 
 And then he said, that from liis home 
 His grandsire had been forced to roam, 
 Which had not been if Redmond's hand 
 Had but had sti'ength to draw the brand, 
 The brand of Lenaugh More the Red, 
 That hung beside the grey wolf's head. — 
 'T was from his broken phrase descried. 
 His foster father was his guide. 
 Who, in his charge, from Ulster bore 
 Letters, and gifts a goodly store ; 
 But ruffians met them in the wood, — 
 Ferraught in battle boldly stood, 
 Till wounded and o'erpower'd at length, 
 And stripp'd of all, his failing strength 
 Just bore him here — and then the child 
 Kenew'd again his moaning wild. 
 
 XI. 
 
 The tear, down childhood's cheek that flows, 
 Is like the dewdrop on the rose; 
 Wlien next the summer breeze comes bj'. 
 And waves the bush, the flower is drj-. 
 • Won by their care, the oi-phan ChUd 
 
 Soon on his new protector smUed, 
 With dimpled cheek and eye so fair, 
 Through his thick curls of flaxen hair. 
 But blithest laugh'd that cheek and ej-e, 
 When Rokeby's little Maid was nigh ; 
 'T was his, with elder brother's pride, 
 Matilda's tottering steps to guide ; 
 His native lays in Irish tongue. 
 To soothe her infant ear he sung. 
 And primrose twined with daisy fair, 
 To form a chaplet for her hair. 
 By la-mi, by grove, by brooklet's strand. 
 The children still were hand in hand. 
 And good Sir Richard smiling eyed 
 The early knot so kintUy tied. 
 
 XII. 
 
 But summer months bring wilding shoot 
 From bud to blwm. from bloom to fruit;
 
 CANTO IV. ROKEBT. 429 
 
 And years draw on oiir human span, 
 
 From child to boy, from boy to man ; 
 
 And soon in Eokeby's woods is seen 
 
 A gallant boy in hunter's green. 
 
 He loves to wake the felon boar. 
 
 In his dark haimt on Greta's shore, 
 
 And loves, against the deer so dun, 
 
 To di-aw the "shaft, or lift the gun : 
 
 Yet more he loves, in avitumn prime, 
 
 The hazel's spreading boughs to climb, 
 
 And dorni its cluster'd stores to hail. 
 
 Where young Matilda holds her veil. 
 
 And she, whose veil receives the shower, 
 
 Is alter'd too, and knows her power ; 
 
 Assumes a monitress' pride. 
 
 Her Redmond's dangerous sports to chide ; 
 
 Yet listens still to hear him tell 
 
 How the gi-im -R-ild-boar fought and fell^ 
 
 How at his fall the bugle nmg, 
 
 Till rock and greenwood answer flung ; 
 
 Then blesses her, that man can find 
 
 A pastime of such savage kind ! 
 
 XIIT. 
 But Redmond knew to weave his tale 
 So well with praise of wood and dale. 
 And knew so well each point to trace, 
 Gives living interest to the chase. 
 And knew so well o'er all to throw 
 His spirit's wild romantic glow, 
 That, while she blamed, and while she fcar'd. 
 She loved each venturous tale she heard. 
 Oft, too, when drifted snow and rain 
 To bower and hall their steps restrain. 
 Together they explor'd the page 
 Of glo-\ving bard or gifted sage ; 
 Oft, placed the evening tire beside. 
 The minstrel art alternate tried. 
 While gladsome harp and lively lay 
 Bade winter-night flit fiist away : 
 Thus, from their childhood blending still 
 Their sport, their study, and their skill. 
 An imion of the soul they prove. 
 But HHist not think that it was love. 
 But though they dared not, envious Fame 
 Soon dared to give that union name ; 
 And when so often, side by side. 
 From year to year the pair she eyed, 
 She sometimes blamed the good old Knight, 
 As dull of ear and dim of sight, 
 Sometimes his purpose would declare. 
 That young O'Neale should wed his heir. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 The suit of Wilfrid rent disguise 
 And bandage from the lovers' eyes ;
 
 430 
 
 'Twas plain that Oswald, for his son, 
 Had Rokeby's favour wellnigh won. 
 Now must they meet with change of cheei, 
 With mutual looks of shame and fear; 
 Now must jMatilda straj- apart, 
 To school her disobedient heart : 
 And Redmond now alone must rue 
 The love he never can subdue. 
 But factions rose, and Rokeby sware, 
 No rebel's son should wed his heir ; 
 And Redmond, niutured while a child 
 In many a bard's traditions wild, 
 Now sought the lonely wood or stream, 
 To cherish there a happier dream. 
 Of maiden won by sword or lance, 
 As in the regions of romance ; 
 And count the heroes of his line. 
 Great Nial of the Pledges Nine," 
 Shane-DjTnas'" wild, and Geraldine,'* 
 And Connan-more, who vow'd his race 
 For ever to the fight and chase, 
 And cursed him, of his lineage bom, 
 Should sheathe the sword to reap the com. 
 Or leave the mountain and the wold, 
 To shroud himself in castled hold. 
 From such examples hope he drew. 
 And brighten'd as the trumpet blew. 
 
 XV. 
 
 If brides were won by heart and blade, 
 Redmond had both, his cause to aid, 
 And all beside of nurture rare 
 That might beseem a baron's heir. 
 Turlough O'Xeale, in Erin's strife. 
 On Rokeby's Lord bestow'd his life. 
 And well did Rokeby's generous Knight ■ 
 Young Redmond for the deed requite. 
 Nor was his liberal care and cost 
 Upon the gallant stripling lost : 
 Seek the North Riding broad and wide. 
 Like Redmond none could steed bestride ; 
 From Tynemouth search to Cumberland, 
 Like Redinond none could wield a brand ; 
 And tlien, of humour kind and free. 
 And bearing him to each degree 
 With frank and fearless courtesy. 
 There never youth was form'd to steal 
 Upon the heart like brave O'Neale. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Sir Richard loved him as his son ; 
 And whin the days of peace were dona, 
 And to the gales of war he gave 
 The banner of his sires to wave.
 
 431 
 
 Redmond, distingnish'd by his care, 
 He chose that houour'd flag to bear. 
 And named his page — the next degree. 
 In tiiat old time to chivahy.^^ 
 In five pitch'd fields he well'maintain'd 
 The honoxir'd place his worth obtain'd, 
 And high was Eedmond's youthful name 
 Blazed in the roll of martial fame. 
 Had fortune smOed on Marston fight, 
 The eve had seen him dubb'd a knight ; 
 Twice, 'mid the battle's doubtful strife. 
 Of Rokeby's Lord he saved the life. 
 But when he saw him prisoner made, 
 He kiss'd and then resign'd his blade, 
 And yielded him an easy prey 
 To those who led the Knight away ; 
 Resolved Matilda's sire should prove 
 In prison, as in fight, his love. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 When lovers meet in adverse hour, 
 'Tis like a sun -glimpse through a shower, 
 A watery ray, an instant seen 
 The darkly closing clouds betn-een. 
 As Redmond on the turf reclined. 
 The past and present fill'd his mind : 
 " It was not thus," Affection said, 
 " I dream'd of my return, dear maid ! 
 Not thus, when from thy trembling hand, 
 I took the banner and the brand ; 
 When round me, as the bugles blew. 
 Their blades three hxmdred warriors drew, 
 And, while the standard I unroU'd, 
 Clash'd their bright arms, with clamour bold. 
 Where is that banner now ? — its pride 
 Lies whelm'd in Ouse's sullen tide I 
 Where now these warriors ? — in their gore. 
 They cumber Marston's dismal moor I 
 And what avails a useless brand. 
 Held by a captive's shackled hand. 
 That only would his life retain, 
 To aid thy sire to bear his chain ! " 
 Thus Kedimond to himself apart : 
 Nor lighter was his rival's heart ; 
 For Wilfrid, while his generous soiJ ■ 
 Di»2ain'd to profit by control, 
 By many a sign could mark too plain. 
 
 Save with such aid, Ids ^opes were vain 
 
 But now Matilda's accents stole 
 On the dark visions of their soul. 
 And bade their moumful musing fly. 
 Like mist before the zephyr's sigh. 
 
 XVIII. 
 " I need not to my friends recaU, 
 How Mortham shunn'd my father's hall ;
 
 432 EOKEBr. CANTO IV, 
 
 A man of silence and of woe, 
 
 Yet ever anxious to bestow 
 
 On my poor self whate'er could prove 
 
 A kinsman's confidence and love. 
 
 My feeble aid could sometimes chase 
 
 The clouds of sorrow for a space; 
 
 But oftener, fix'd beyond my power, 
 
 I mark'd his deep despondence lower. 
 
 One dismal cause, by all unguess'd. 
 
 His fearful confidence confess'd ; 
 
 And twice it was my hap to see 
 
 Examples of that agony. 
 
 Which for a season can o'erstrain 
 
 And wreck the structure of the brain. 
 
 He had the awful power to know 
 
 The approaching mental overthrow. 
 
 And wlule his mind had courage yet 
 
 To struggle with the dreadful fit, 
 
 The victim writhed against its throes, 
 
 Like wretch beneath a murderer's blows. 
 
 This malady, I well coiUd mark, 
 
 Sprung from some direful cause and dark ; i 
 
 But still he kept its source conceal'd, 
 
 Till arming for the civil field ; 
 
 Then in my charge he bade me hold 
 
 A treasm'e huge of gems and gold. 
 
 With this disjointed dismal scroll. 
 
 That tells the secret of his soul, 
 
 In such wild words as oft betray 
 
 A mind by anguish forced astray." — 
 
 XIX. 
 mortham's history. 
 " Matilda ! thou hast seen me start. 
 As if a dagger thrill'd my heart, 
 When it has happ'd some casual phrase 
 Waked memory of my former days. 
 Believe, that few can backward cast 
 Their thoughts with pleasure on the past; 
 But I ! — my youth was rash and vain, 
 And blood and rage my manhood stain. 
 And my grey hairs must now descend 
 To my cold gi'ave without a Mend ! 
 Even thou, Matilda, wilt disown 
 Thy kinsman, when his guilt is known. 
 And must I lift the bloody veil. 
 That hides my dark and fatal tale ! 
 I must — I will — Pale phantom, cease I 
 Leave me one little hour in peace ! 
 Thus haunted, think'st thou I have skill 
 Tliiue own commission to fulfil ? 
 Or, while thou point'st with gesture fierce,, 
 Thy blighted cheek, thy bloody hearse, 
 How can I paint thee as thou wert, 
 So fair in face, so warm in heart i
 
 CANTO IV. ROKEET. 433 
 
 XX. 
 
 " Yes, she was fair ! — Matilda, thcu 
 Hast a soft sadness on thy brow ; 
 But hers was like the sunny glow. 
 That laughs on earth and all below ! 
 We wedded secret — there was need — 
 DifterLng in country and in creed ; 
 And, when to Mortham's tower she came, 
 We mentioned not her race and name, 
 Until thy sire, who fought afar. 
 Should turn him home from foreign war, 
 On whose kind influence we relied 
 To soothe her father's ire and pride. 
 Few mouths we lived retired, unknown, 
 To all but one dear friend alone, 
 One darling friend^-I spare his shame, 
 I will not write the villain's name ! 
 My trespasses I might forget, 
 And sue in vengeance for the debt 
 Due by a brother worm to me. 
 
 Ungrateful to God's clemency, n 
 
 That spared me penitential time. 
 Nor cut me off amid my crime. — 
 
 XXI. 
 
 " A kindly smile to all slie lent. 
 
 But on her husband's friend 'twas bent 
 
 So kind, that from its harmless glee, 
 
 The wretch misconstrued villany. 
 
 Repulsed in his presumptuous love, 
 
 A vengeful snare the traitor wove. 
 
 Alone we sat — the flask had flow'd, 
 
 My blood with heat imwonted glow'd, 
 
 When tlu-ough the alley 'd walk we spied 
 
 With hurried step my Edith glide. 
 
 Cowering beneath the verdant screen, 
 
 As one unwilling to be seen. 
 
 Words cannot paint the tiendish smile 
 
 That curl'd the traitor's cheek the while ! 
 
 Fiercely I question'd of the cause ; 
 
 He made a cold and artful pause. 
 
 Then pray'd it might not chafe my mood — 
 * There was a gallant in the wood ! ' 
 
 We had been shooting at the deer ; 
 
 My cross-bow (evil chance I) was near : 
 
 That ready weapon of my wrath 
 
 I caught, and, hasting up the path. 
 
 In the yew grove my wife I found, — 
 
 A stranger's arms her neck had bound ! 
 
 I mark'd liis heart — the bow I drew- 
 
 I loosed the shaft — 'twas more than true ! 
 
 I found my Edith's dying channs 
 
 Lock'd in her murder'd brother's arms! — 
 
 He came in secret to enquiro 
 
 Iler state, and reconcile her sire.
 
 434 
 
 XXII. 
 
 "All fled my rage — the villain first, 
 Whose craft my jealpusv had nursed; 
 He sought ia far and foreign clime 
 To 'scape the vengeance of his crime. 
 The manner of the slaughter done 
 Was known to few, my guilt to none; 
 Some tale my faithful steward framed — 
 I know not what — of shaft mis-aim'd ; 
 And even from those the act who knew. 
 He hid the hand from which it flew. 
 Untouch'd by human laws I stood, 
 But God had heard the cry of blood ! 
 There is a blank upon my mind, 
 A fearful vision ill-defined, 
 Of raving till my flesh Avas torn, 
 Of dungeon-bolts and fetters worn — 
 And when I waked to woe more mild. 
 And questional of my infant child — 
 (Have I not written, that she bare 
 A boy, like simimer morning fair ?) — 
 With looks confused, my menials tell 
 That armed men in Mortham dell 
 Beset the nurse's evening way, 
 And bore her, with her charge, away. 
 My faithless friend, and none but he, 
 Could profit by this villany; 
 Him then, I sought, with purpose dread 
 Of treble vengeance on his head ! 
 He 'scaped me — but my bosom's wound 
 Some faint relief from wandering found; 
 And over distant land and sea 
 I bore my load of misery. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 ♦* 'Twas then that fiite my footsteps led 
 Among a daring crew and dread. 
 With whom full oft my hated life 
 I ventured in such desperate strife. 
 That even my fierce associates saw 
 My frantic deeds witli doubt and awe. 
 Much then I learned, and much can show, 
 Of human guilt and human woe. 
 Yet ne'er have, in my wanderings, known 
 A wretch, whose sorrows matched my own I — 
 It chanced, that after battle fray. 
 Upon the bloody field Ave lay ; 
 The yellow moon her lustre shed 
 Upon the wounded and the dead. 
 While, sense in toil and Avassail drown'd, 
 My ruffian comrades slept around, 
 There came a voice — its silver tone 
 Was soft, jMatilda, as thine own — 
 ' Ah, wretch ! ' it said, ' what makest thou liere^ 
 While unavenged my bloody bier ?
 
 435 
 
 While unprotected lives mine heir, 
 Without a father's name and care?' 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 " I heard — obev'd — and homeward drew. 
 Tlie fiercest of our desperate crew 
 I brought, at time of need to aid 
 My purposed vengeance, long delaVd. 
 But, humble be my thanks to Heaven, 
 That better hopes and thoughts has given, 
 And by our Lord's dear prayer has taught, 
 Mercy by mercy must be bought ! — 
 Let me in misery rejoice — 
 I 've seen his face — I 've heard his voice^ 
 I claim'd of hmi my only child — 
 As he disown'd the theft, he smil'd ! 
 That very calm and callous look. 
 That fiendish sneer his visage took, 
 As when he said, in scornful mood, 
 
 * There is a gallant in the wood ! ' — 
 I did not slay him as he stood — 
 All praise be to my IMaker given ! 
 Long sufirance is one path to heaven." 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Thus far the woeful tale was heard. 
 When something in the thicket stirr'd. 
 Up Kedmond sprung ; the villain Guy, 
 (For he it was that lurk'd so nigh,) 
 Drew back — he durst not cross his steel 
 A moment's space with brave O'Neale, 
 For all the treasured gold that rests 
 In Mortham's iron-bauded chests. 
 Redmond resumed his seat ; — he said. 
 Some roe was rustling in the shade. 
 Bertram laugh'd grimly when he saw 
 His timorous comrade backward draw 
 " A trusty mate art thou, to fear 
 A single arm, and aid so near ! 
 Yet have I seen thee mark a deer. 
 Give me thy carabine — 1 '11 show 
 An art that thou wilt gladly know. 
 How thou mayst safely quell a foe." 
 
 XXVL 
 
 On hands and knees fierce Bertram drew 
 The spreading birch and hazels tlurough. 
 Till he had Redmond full in vievr ; 
 The gun he levell'd — JIark like this 
 Was Bertram never knoAvn to miss. 
 When fair opposed to aim there sate 
 An object of his mortal hate. 
 •■ That day young Redmond's death had seen, 
 But twice MatUda came between
 
 436 ROKEbT. 
 
 The carabine and Redmond's breast, 
 Just ere the spring his finger press'd 
 A deadly oath the ruffian swore, 
 But yet his fell desigii forbore : 
 
 •* It ne'er," be luutter'd, " shall be said, 
 That thus I scath'd thee, haughty maid 
 Then moved to seek more open aim, 
 ■WTien to his side Guy Denzil came : 
 
 •' Bertram, forbear ! — we are undone 
 For ever, if thou fire the gun. 
 By all the fiends, an anned force 
 Descends the dell, of foot and horse ! 
 We perish if they hear a shot — 
 Madman ! we have a safer plot — 
 Nay, friend, be ruled, and bear thee back ! 
 Behold, down yonder hollow track. 
 The warlike leader of the band 
 Comes, vrith his broadsword in his hand. 
 Bertram look'd up ; he saw, he knew 
 That DenzO's fears had counsell'd true. 
 Then cursed his fortune and withdi-ew. 
 Threaded the woodlands undescried, 
 And gain'd the cave on Greta side. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 They whom dark Bertram in his wrath, 
 
 Doom'd to captivity or death, 
 
 Their thoughts to one sad subject lent, 
 
 Saw not nor heard the ambushment. 
 
 Heedless and unconcern'd they sate. 
 
 While ou the very verge of fate ; 
 
 Heedless and unconcern'd remain'd. 
 
 When Heaven the murderer's arm restrain'd 
 
 As ships di-ift darkling dovm the tide, 
 
 Nor see the shelves o'er which they glide. 
 
 Uninterrupted thus they heard 
 
 WTiat Mortham's closing tale declared. 
 
 He spoke of wealth as of a load. 
 
 By fortune on a ^vretch bestow'd, 
 
 In bitter mockery of hate. 
 
 His cureless woes to aggravate ; 
 
 But yet he pray'd Matilda's care 
 
 INIight save that treasure for his heir — 
 
 His Edith's son — for still he raved 
 
 As confident his life was saved ; 
 
 In frequent vision, he averr'd. 
 
 He saw his face, his voice he heard ; 
 
 Then argued calm — had murder been, 
 
 The blood, tlie corpses, had been seen ; 
 
 Some had pretended, too, to mark 
 
 On Windermere a stranger bark. 
 
 Whose crew, with jealous care, yet mild, 
 
 (ruarded a female and a child. 
 
 While these faint proofs he told and prc^u'd, 
 
 HoDe seem'd to kindle in his breast ;
 
 CANTO IV. ROKEBY. 437 
 
 Though inconsistent, vague, and vain, 
 It warp'o his judgment and ids brain. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 These solemn words Ms story close : — 
 " Heaven witness for me, that I chose 
 My part in this sad civil fight. 
 Moved by no cause but England's right. 
 My country's groans have bid me draw 
 My sword "for gospel and for law ; — 
 These righted, I fling arms aside, 
 And seek my son through Europe wide. 
 My wealth, on which a kinsman nigh 
 Already casts a grasping eye, 
 With thee may unsuspected lie. 
 'V\Tien of my death Matilda hears, 
 Let her retain her trust three years ; 
 If none, from me, the treasure claim, 
 Perish'd is Slortham's race and name. 
 Then let it leave her generous hand. 
 And flow in boimty o'er the land ; 
 Soften the wounded prisoners lot, 
 Rebuild the peasant's ruin'd cot ; 
 So spoils, acquired by fight afar, 
 Shall mitigate domestic war." 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 The generous youths, who well had known 
 
 Of Mortham's mind the powerful tone. 
 
 To that high mind, by sorrow swerved. 
 
 Gave sympathy his woes desen-ed ; 
 
 But Wilfrid chiief, who saw reveal'd 
 
 Why Mortham wish'd his life conceal'd. 
 
 In secret, doubtless, to pursue 
 
 The schemes his wilder'd fancy drew. 
 
 Thougiitful he heard IMatilda tell 
 
 That she would share her father's cell. 
 
 His partner of captivity. 
 
 Where'er his prison-house should be ; 
 
 Yet grieved to think that Eokeby-liall 
 
 Dismantled, and forsook by all, 
 
 Open to rapine and to stealth. 
 
 Had now no safeguard for the wealth 
 
 Intrusted by her kinsman kind. 
 
 And for such noble use design'd. 
 " Was Barnard Castle then her choice," 
 
 WUfrid enquired with hasty voice, 
 " Since there the victor's laws ordain, 
 
 Her father must a space remain ? " 
 
 A flutter'd hope his accent shook, 
 
 A flutter d joy was in his look. 
 
 Matilda hasten'd to reply. 
 
 For anger flash'd in Redmond's eye; — 
 " Duty," she said, with gentle gi'ace, 
 " Kind Wilii-id, has no choice of place;
 
 438 
 
 Else had I for my sTre assrgn'd 
 Prison less galling to his mind, 
 Than that his wild-wood haunts which sees, 
 And hears the murmur of the Tees, 
 Recalling thus, with every glance, 
 What captive's sorrow can enhance ; 
 But where those woes are highest, there 
 Needs Rokeby most his daughter's care." 
 
 XXX. 
 
 He felt the kindly check she gave. 
 
 And stood abash'd — then answer'd grave : — 
 " I sought thy purpose, noble maid. 
 
 Thy doubts to clear, thy schemes to aid. 
 
 I have benea-h mine own command, 
 
 So wills my sire, a gallant band, 
 
 And well could send some horsemen wight 
 
 To bear the treasure forth by night. 
 
 And so bestow it as you deem 
 
 In these Ul days may safest seem." — 
 " Thanks, gentle Wilfrid, thanks," she said : 
 " 0, be it not one day delay'd I 
 
 And, more thy sister-friend to aid. 
 
 Be thou thyself content to hold. 
 
 In thine own keeping, Mortham's gold, 
 
 Safest with thee." — While thus she spoke, 
 
 Arm'd soldiers on their converse broke, 
 
 The same of whose approach afraid. 
 
 The ruffians left their ambascade. 
 
 Their chief to Wilfrid bended low, 
 
 Then look'd around as for a foe. 
 " WTiat mean'st thou, friend," yoimg Wycliffe said, 
 " Why thus in arms beset the glade?" — 
 " That would I gladly learn from you ; 
 
 For up my squadron as I drew. 
 
 To exercise our martial game 
 
 Upon the moor of Baminghame, 
 
 A stranger told you were waylaid 
 
 Surromided, and to death betray 'd. 
 
 He had a leader's voice, I ween, 
 
 A falcon glance, a warrior's mien. 
 
 He bade me bring you instant aid ; 
 
 I doubted not, and I obey'd." 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Wilfrid changed colour, and, amazed, 
 Tum'd short, and on the speaker gazed t 
 While Redmond every thicket round 
 Track'd earnest as a questing hound. 
 And l>:nzirs carabine he found ; 
 Sure evidence, by which they knew 
 The warning was as kind as true. 
 Wisest it seem'd, with cautious speed 
 To leave the dell. It was agreed,
 
 439 
 
 That Redmond, with Matilda fair, 
 And fitting guard, should home repair ; 
 At nightfeU Wilfrid should attend, 
 With a strong band, his sister-friend, 
 To bear with her from Eokeby's bowers 
 To Barnard Castle's lofty towers. 
 Secret and safe the banded chests, 
 In which the wealth of Mortham rests. 
 This hasty purpose fix'd, they part. 
 Each rath a grieved and anxious heart. 
 
 CANTO FIFTH. 
 
 I. 
 
 The sultry summer day is done. 
 The western hills have hid the sun, 
 But moimtain peak and village spire 
 Retain reflection of his fire. 
 Old Barnard's towers are purple still, 
 To those that gaze from Toller-hill ; 
 Distant and high, the tower of Bowes 
 Like steel upon the anvil glows ; 
 And Stanmore's ridge, behind that lay, 
 Rich ^\-ith the spoils of parting day, 
 In crimson and in gold array'd. 
 Streaks yet a while the closing shade, 
 Then slow resigns to darkening heaven 
 The tints which brighter hours had given. 
 Thus aged men, full loath and slow, 
 The vanities of life forego. 
 And count their youthful follies o'er. 
 Till memory lends her light no more. 
 
 II. 
 
 The eve, that slow on upland fades. 
 Has darker closed on Rokeby's glades. 
 Where, sunk ■\\ithin their banks profound. 
 Her guardian streams to meeting woiuid. 
 The stately oaks, whose sombre frown 
 Of noontitle made a twilight brown, 
 Impervious now to fainter light, 
 Of twilight make an early night. 
 Hoarse into middle air arose 
 The vespers of the roosting crows. 
 And wth congenial mm-murs seem 
 To wake the Genii of the stream ; 
 For louder clamour'd Greta's tide. 
 And Tees in deeper voice replied.
 
 440 ROKEET. CANTO V. 
 
 And fitful waked the evening wind, 
 Fitful in sighs its breath resign'd. 
 Wilfrid, whose fancy-nurtured sou 
 Felt in the scene a soft control, 
 With lighter footstep press'd the ground, 
 And often paused to look around ; 
 And, though his path was to his love. 
 Could not but linger in the grove. 
 To drink the thrilling interest dear, 
 Of awful pleasure check'd by fear. 
 Such inconsistent moods have we. 
 Even when our passions strike the key. 
 
 III. 
 
 Now, through the wood's dark mazes past. 
 The opening lawn he reach'd at last, 
 Where, silver'd by the moonlight ray. 
 The ancient Hall before him lay. 
 Those martial terrors long were fled, 
 That frown'd of old around its head : 
 The battlements, the turrets grey, 
 Seem'd half abandon'd to decay;*" 
 On Barbican and keep of stone 
 Stem time the foeman's work had done. 
 Where banners the invader braved, 
 The harebell now and wallflower waved; 
 In the rude guard-room, where of yore 
 Their weary hoiu-s the warders wore, 
 Now, while the cheerful fagots blaze. 
 On the paved floor the spindle plays ; 
 The flanking guns dismounted lie. 
 The moat is ruinous and diy. 
 The grim portcullis gone — and all 
 The fortress turn'd to peaceful Hall. 
 
 IV. 
 
 But yet precautions, lately ta'en, 
 
 Show'd danger's day ^e^^ved again ; 
 
 The court-yard wail show'd marks of care. 
 
 The fall'n defences to repair, 
 
 Lending such strength as might withstand 
 
 The insult of marauding band. 
 
 The beams once more were taught to bear 
 
 The trembling drawl^ridge into air, 
 
 And not, till question'd o'er and o'er. 
 
 For Wilfrid oped the jealous door. 
 
 And when he entered, bolt and bar 
 
 Resumed their place with sullen jar ; 
 
 Tlien, as he cross'd the vaulted porch. 
 
 The old grey porter raised his torch. 
 
 And view'd him o'er, from foot to head, 
 
 Ere to the hall his steps he led. 
 
 That huge old hall, of knightly state, 
 
 Dismantled seem'd and desolate.
 
 7 ROKEBT. 441 
 
 The moon through transom-shafts of stone, 
 Which cross'd tlie latticed oriels, shone, 
 And by the mournful light she gave, 
 The Gothic vault seem'd funeral cave. 
 Pennon and banner waved no more 
 O'er beams of stag and tusks of boar. 
 Nor glimmering arms were marshalFd seen. 
 To glance those silvan spoils between. 
 Those arms, those ensigns, borne away, 
 Accomplish'd Kokeby's brave array. 
 But all were lost on Marston's day ' 
 Yet here and there the moonbeams fall 
 "Where armour yet adorns the wall, 
 Cumbrous of size, uncouth to sight, 
 And useless in the modem fight 1 
 Like veteran relic of the wars, 
 Kno'svn only by neglected scars. 
 
 Matilda soon to greet him came, 
 And bade them light the evening flame ; 
 Said, all for parting was prepared. 
 And tarried but for Wilfrid's guard. 
 But then, reluctant to unfold 
 His father's avarice of gold, 
 He hinted, that lest jealous eye 
 Should on their precious biu-den pry, 
 He judged it best the castle gate 
 To enter when the night wore late ; 
 And therefore he had left command 
 With those he trusted of his band, 
 That they should be at Kokeby met, 
 What time the midnight-watch was set. 
 Now Redmond came, whose anxious care 
 Till then was busied to prepare 
 All needful, meetly to arrange 
 The mansion for its mournful change. 
 With Wilfrid's care and kindness pleased. 
 His cold unready hand he seized. 
 And press'd it, till his kindlj^ strain 
 The gentle youth return'd again. 
 Seem'd as between them this was said, — 
 "A while let jealousy be dead ; 
 And let our contest be, whose care 
 Shall best assist this helpless fair." 
 
 VI. 
 
 There was no speech the truce to bind. 
 
 It was a compact of the mind, — 
 
 A generous tliought, at once impress'd 
 
 On either rival's generous breast. 
 
 Blatilda well the secret took. 
 
 From sudden change of mien and look ; 
 
 And — for not small had been her fear 
 
 Of jealous ire and danger near —
 
 442 
 
 Felt, even in her dejected state, 
 
 A joy beyond the reach of fate. 
 
 They closed beside the chimney's blaze, 
 
 And" talk'd, and hoped for happier days, 
 
 And lent their spirits' rising glow 
 
 A while to gild impending woe; — 
 
 High pri^'ilege of youthful time. 
 
 Worth all the pleasures of our prime ! 
 
 The bickering fagot sparkled bright, 
 
 And gave the scene of love to sight. 
 
 Bade Wilfrid's cheek more lively glow, 
 
 Play'd on Matilda's neck of snow, 
 
 Her nut-bro^vn curls and forehead high. 
 
 And laugh'd in Redmond's azure eye. 
 
 Two lovers by the maiden sate, 
 
 Without a glance of jealous hate ; 
 
 The maid her lovers sat between. 
 
 With open brow and equal mien : 
 
 It is a sight but rarely spied, — 
 
 Thanks to man's wrath and woman's pride. 
 
 VIT. 
 
 While thus in peaceful guise they sate, 
 A knock alarm'd the outer gate, 
 And ere the tardy porter stirr'd. 
 The tinkling of a harp was heard. 
 A manly voice of mellow swell. 
 Bore burden to the music well : — 
 
 " Summer eve is gone and past, 
 Summer dew is falling fast; 
 I have wander'd all the day. 
 Do not bid me farther stray I 
 Gentle hearts, of gentle kin. 
 Take the wandering harper in I" 
 
 But the stem porter answer gave. 
 
 With " Get thee hence, thou strolling knave J 
 
 The king wants soldiers ; war, I trow, 
 
 Were meeter trade for such as thou." 
 
 At this unkind reproof, again 
 
 Answer'd the ready Minstrel's strain : — 
 
 ^nitj rciSumrt. 
 
 " Bid not me in battle-field, 
 Buckler lift, or broadsword wield I 
 All my strength and all my art 
 Is to touch the gentle heart, 
 With the wizard notes that ring 
 From the peaceful minstrel string." — 
 
 The porter, all unmoved, replied, — 
 " Depart in peace, with Heaven to guide ; 
 If longer by the gate thou dwell. 
 Trust me, thou .shalt not part so welL"
 
 ROKEBT. 443 
 
 viir. 
 
 With somewhat of appealing look, 
 The harper's part young Wilfrid took : 
 
 " These notes so wild and ready thrill, 
 They show no vulgar minstrel's skill ; 
 Hard were his task to seek a home 
 More distant, since the night is come ; 
 And for his faith I dare engage — 
 Your Hai-pool's blood is sour'd by age; 
 .His gate, once readily display'd, 
 To greet the friend, the poor to aid, 
 Now even to me, though kno^vn of old. 
 Did but reluctantly unfold." — 
 
 " O blame not, as poor Harpool's crime. 
 An evil of this evil time. 
 He deems dependent on his care 
 The safety of his patron's heir. 
 Nor judges meet to ope the tower 
 To guest unknown at parting hour. 
 Urging his duty to excess 
 Of rough and stubborn faithfulness. 
 For this poor harper, I would fain 
 He may relax : — Hark to his strain ! " — 
 
 IX. 
 
 ^ans rcsumrt. 
 
 " I have song of war for knight, 
 Lay of love for ladj^ bright, 
 Fairy tale to lull the heir. 
 Goblin grim the maids to scare. 
 Dark the night, and long till day. 
 Do not bid me further stray ! 
 
 " Rokeby's lords of martial fame, 
 I can count them name by name ; 
 Legends of their line there be. 
 Known to few, but known to me ; 
 If you honour Rokeby's kin, 
 TaJie the wandering harper in ! 
 
 " Rokeby's lords had fair regard 
 For the harp, and for the bard ; 
 Baron's race throve never well. 
 Where the curse of minstrel fell. 
 If you love that noble kin, 
 Taike the weary harper in ! " — 
 
 " Hark ! Harpool parleys — there is hope," 
 Said Redmond, " that the gate will ope."- 
 — " For all thy brag and boast, I trow. 
 Nought know'st thou of the Felon Sow," 
 Quoth Harpool, " nor how Greta-side 
 She roam'd, and Rokeby forest wide •
 
 444 
 
 Nor hovr Ealph Rokeby gave the beast 
 To Richmond's' friars to make a feast. 
 Of Gilbert Griffinson the tale 
 Goes, and of gallant Peter Dale, 
 That well could strike with sword amain, 
 And of the valiant son of Spain, 
 Friar Middleton, and blithe Sir Ralph •, 
 There were a jest to make us laugh ! 
 If thou canst tell it, in yon shed 
 Thou'st won thy supper and thy bed." 
 
 X. 
 
 Matilda smiled : " Cold hope," said she, 
 " From Harpool's love of minstrelsy ! 
 But, for this harper, may we dare, 
 Redmond, to mend his couch and fare?" — 
 " O, ask me not ! — At minstrel-string 
 My heart from infancy would spring ; 
 Nor can I hear its simplest strain, 
 But it brings Erin's dream again. 
 When placed by Owen Lysagh's knee, 
 (The Filea of O'Neale was he,*^ 
 A bUnd and bearded man, whose eld 
 Was sacred as a prophet's held,) 
 I've seen a ring of rugged kerne. 
 With aspects shaggy, wild, and stern, 
 Enchanted by the master's lay. 
 Linger aroimd the livelong day. 
 Shift from wild rage to wilder glee. 
 To love to grief to ecstacy, 
 And feel each varied change of soul 
 Obedient to the bard's control. — 
 Ah, Clandeboy ! thy friendly floor 
 Slieve-Donard's oak shall light no more ; ** 
 Nor Owen's harp, beside the blaze. 
 Tell maiden's love or hero's praise ! 
 The mantling brambles hide thy hearth, 
 Centre of hospitable mirth ; 
 All undistinguish'd in the glade, 
 My sires' glad home is prostrate laid. 
 Their vassals wander wide and far. 
 Serve foreign lords in distant war. 
 And now the stranger's sons enjoy 
 The lovely woods of Clandeboy ! " 
 He spoke, and proudly tum'd aside, 
 The starting tear to dry and hide. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Matilda's dark and soften'd eye 
 
 Was glistening ere O'Neale's was drj'. 
 
 Her hand upon his arm she laid, — 
 " It is the will of heaven," she said. 
 "And think'st thou. Redmond, I can part 
 
 Firom this loved home with lightsome heart.
 
 CANTO V. KOKEBV. 445 
 
 Lea\'ing to ^vild neglectwhate'er 
 
 Evea from my infancy was dear ? 
 
 For in this calm domestic bound 
 
 Were all Matilda's pleasures found. 
 
 That hearth, my sire was wont to grace, 
 
 Full soon may be a stranger's place ; 
 
 This hall, in which a child I play'd. 
 
 Like thine, dear Redmond, lowl}- laid, 
 
 The bramble and tlie thorn may braid ; 
 
 Or, pass'd for aye from me and mine. 
 
 It ne'er may shelter Rokeby's line. 
 
 Yet is this consolation given 
 
 My Redmond, — 'tis the will of heaven. 
 
 Her word, her action, and her phrase. 
 
 Were kindly as in early days ; 
 
 For cold reserve had lost its power. 
 
 In sorrows sjnupathelic hour. 
 
 Young Redmond dared not trust his voice ; 
 
 But rather had it been his choice 
 
 To share that melancholy hour. 
 
 Than, arm'd with all a chieftain's power, 
 
 In full possession to enjoy 
 
 Slieve-Donard wide, and Clandeboy. 
 
 XII. 
 
 The blood left "Wilfrid's ashen cheek 
 Matilda sees, and hastes to speak. — 
 " Happy in friendship's ready aid. 
 Let ail my murmurs here be staid ! 
 And Rokeby's maiden will not part 
 From Rokeby's hall with moody heart. 
 This night at least, for Rokeby's fame, 
 The hospitable hearth shall flame. 
 And, ere its native heir retire. 
 Find for the wanderer rest and fire, 
 WhUe this poor harper, by the blaze, 
 Recounts the tale of other days. 
 Bid Harpool ope the door with speed, 
 Admit him, and relieve each need. — 
 Meantime, kind Wycliffe, wilt thou try 
 Thy minstrel skill?— Nay, no reply — 
 And look not sad ! — I guess thy thought, 
 Thy verse wth laurels would be bought ; 
 And poor Matilda, landless now. 
 Has not a garland for thy brow. 
 True, I must leave sweet Rokeby's gladea. 
 Nor wander more in Greta shades ; 
 But sm-e, no rigid jailer, thou 
 Wilt a short prison-walk allow, 
 Where summer tiowers grow wild at wili, 
 On Marwood-chase and Toller Hill;*^ 
 Then holly gi-een and lUy gay 
 ShaU twine in guerdon of thy lay." 
 The mournful youth, a space aside, 
 To tune Matilda's harp applied ;
 
 44(3 KOKEBT. 
 
 And then a low sad descant rung, 
 As prelude to the lay he sung, 
 
 xiir. 
 
 0, Lady, twine no -wreath for me. 
 Or twine it of the cypress-tree ! 
 Too lively glow the lilies light. 
 The vamish'd holly 's all too bright, 
 The ]\Iay-tlower and the eglantine 
 May shade a brow less sad than mine ; 
 But, Lady, weave no wreath for me. 
 Or weave it of the cypress-tree t 
 
 Let dimpled Mirth his temples twine 
 With tendrils of the laughing vine; 
 The manly oak, the pensive yew, 
 To patriot and to sage be due ; 
 The myrtle bough bids lovers live. 
 But that Matilda will not give; 
 Then, Lady, twine no wreath for me. 
 Or twine it of the cypress-tree ! 
 
 Let merry England proudly rear 
 Her blended roses, bought so dear ; 
 Let Albin bind her bonnet blue 
 With heath and harebell dipp'd in dew; 
 On favour'd Erin's crest be seen 
 The flower she loves of emerald green — 
 But, Lady, twine no wreath for me. 
 Or twine it of the cypress-tree. 
 
 Strike the wild harp, while maids prepare 
 The iv}' meet for minstrers hair ; 
 And, while his crown of laurel-leaves, 
 With bloody hand the victor weaves, 
 Let the loud trump his triumph tell ; 
 But when you hear the passing-bell, 
 ^ Then, Lady, t/nnne a wreath for me, 
 
 And twine it of the cypress-tree. 
 
 Yes I twine for me the cypress bough ; 
 But, JNIatilda, twine not now ! 
 Stay till a few brief months are past. 
 And I have look'd and loved my last ! 
 Wlien villagers my shroud bestrew 
 With panzies, rosemary, and rue, — 
 Then, Lady, weave a wreath for me, 
 And weave it of the cypress-tree. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 O'Xeale observed the starting tear, 
 
 And spoke with kind and blithesome chRsr—
 
 CAXTO V. KOKEBT. 447 
 
 " No, noble 'Wilfrid ! ere the day 
 When mourns the land thy silent lay, 
 Shall many a wreath be freely wove 
 By hand of friendship and of love. 
 I would not wish that rigid Fate 
 Had doomed thee to a captive's state, 
 "WTiose hands are bound by honoui-'s law, 
 ^^^lo wears a sword he must not draw : 
 But were it so, in min?trel pride 
 The land together would we ride. 
 On prancing steeds, like harpers old. 
 Bound for the halls of barons bold ; 
 Each lover of the IjTe we M seek. 
 From Michael's Mount to Skiddaw's Peak, 
 Survey Avild Albin's mountain strand, 
 And roam green Erin's lovely land ; 
 AMiile thou the gentler souls should move, 
 With lay of pity and of love. 
 And I, thy mate, in rougher strain. 
 Would sing of war and waiTiors slain : 
 Old England's bards were vanquish'd then. 
 And Scotland's vaunted Hawthomden," 
 And, silenced on lernian shore, 
 M'Curtin's harp should charm no more ! " 
 In lively mood he spoke, to wile 
 From Wilfrid's woe-worn cheek a smile. 
 
 XV. 
 " But," said INIatilda, " ere thy name, 
 Good Redmond, gain its destined fame, 
 Say, wilt thou kindly deign to call 
 Thy brother-minstrel to the hall ? 
 Bid all the household, too, attend, 
 Each in his rank a humble friend ; 
 I know their faithful hearts will grieve, 
 When their poor Mistress takes her leave ; 
 So let the horn and beaker ilow 
 To mitigate their parting woe." 
 The harper came ; — in youth's first prime 
 Himself ; in mode of olden time 
 His garb was fashion'd, to express 
 The ancient English minstrel's dress,** 
 A seemly gown of Kendal green. 
 With gorget closed of silver sheen ; 
 His harp in silken scarf was slung, 
 And by his side an anlace hung. 
 It seem'd some masquer's quaint array, 
 For revel or for holiday. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 He made obeisance with a free 
 Yet studied air of courtesy, 
 
 o IhTiniinond of Hjwrthomden was in the zenith of his rrputation aa a 
 poet durmg the Civil Wars. He died in 1649.
 
 448 ROKEBY. CAI^'TO V 
 
 Each look and accent, framed to please, 
 Seem'd to aftect a playfid ease ; 
 His face was of that doubtful kind, 
 That wins the eye, bilt not the mind ; 
 Yet harsh it seem'd to deem amiss 
 Of brow so young and smooth as this. 
 His was the subtle look and sly, 
 That, sp^-ing all, seems nought to spy ; 
 Round all the group his glances stole, 
 Unmark'd themselves, to mark the whole. 
 Yet sunk beneath Matilda's look. 
 Nor could the eye of Redmond brook. 
 To the suspicious, or the old, 
 Subtle and dangerous and bold 
 Had seem'd this self-invited guest ; 
 But young our lovers, — and the rest. 
 Wrapt in their sorrow and their fear 
 At parting of their Mistress dear. 
 Tear-blinded, to the Castle-hall, 
 Came as to bear her funeral pall. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 All that expression base -was gone, 
 
 When waked the guest his minstrel tone ; 
 
 It fled at inspiration's call, 
 
 As erst the demon fled from Saul." 
 
 More noble glance he cast around. 
 
 More free-drawn breath inspired the sound. 
 
 His pulse beat bolder and more high, 
 
 In all the pride of minstrelsy ! 
 
 Alas ! too soon that pride was o'er, 
 
 Simk with the lay that bade it soar ! 
 
 His soul resumed, with habit's chain, 
 
 Its vices wld, and follies vain, 
 
 And gave the talent, with him bom. 
 
 To be a common curse and scorn. 
 
 Such was the youth whom Rokeby's Maid, 
 
 With condescending kindness, pray'd 
 
 Here to renew the strains she loved, 
 
 At distance heard, and well approved. 
 
 XVHI. 
 
 THE HARP. 
 
 1 was a wild and waTward boy. 
 
 My childhood scom'd each childish toy ; 
 
 « " But the Spirit of the Lord departed from Saul, aud an evil spirit from 
 the Lord troubled him. 
 
 " .ind Saul said unto his ser\'ants, Provide me now a man that can pjav 
 well, and bring him to me. And it came to pass, that when the evil spirit 
 from God was upon Saul, that David took an harp, and played witli his 
 hand : So Saul was refreshed, and was well, and the evil spirit dcpartwl 
 from him."— 1 Samuel, chap xvi. 14 17, 23.
 
 V. KOKEBY. 4-19 
 
 Retired from all, reserved and cor 
 
 To musing prone, 
 I woo'd my solitary joy. 
 
 My Harp alone. 
 
 My youth, with bold Ambition's mood, 
 Despised the humble stream and wood, 
 "NMiere m)' poor father's cottage stood. 
 
 To fiime unknoflTi ; — 
 What should my soaring views make gooil ? 
 
 My Harp alone ! 
 
 Love came with all his frantic fire, 
 And wild romance of vain desire : 
 The baron's daughter heard my hTe, 
 
 And praised the tone ;— 
 What could presumptuous hope inspire ? 
 
 My Haip alone ! 
 
 At manhood's touch the bubble burst. 
 And manhood's pride the vision curst, 
 And all that had my folly nursed 
 
 Love's sway to own ; 
 Yet spared the spell that lull'd me first, 
 
 My Ha.-p alone I 
 
 Woe came with war, and want with woo 
 And it was mine to midergo 
 Each outrage of the rebel foe : — 
 
 Can aught atone 
 My fields laid waste, my cot laid low ? 
 
 My Harp alone I 
 
 Ambition's dream I 've seen depart, 
 Have rued of penury the smart. 
 Have felt of love the venom'd dart, 
 
 When hope was flown : 
 Yet rests one solace to my heart, — 
 
 My Harp alone ! 
 
 Then over mountain, moor, and hill, 
 My faithful Harp, I'll bear thee still ; 
 And when this life of want and ill 
 
 Is wellnigh gone. 
 Thy strings mine elegj' shall thrill, 
 
 My Harp alone ! 
 
 XIX. 
 
 ' A pleasing lay !" IMatilda said; 
 But Harpool shoolc his old grey head, 
 And took his baton and his torch. 
 To seek his guard-room in the porch. 
 Edmund obsen^ed — with sudden change, 
 Juaozig the strings liis fingers range, 
 2 F
 
 450 ROKEBr. CANTO V 
 
 Until they waked a bolder glee 
 Of military melody ; 
 . Then paused amid the martial sound, 
 
 And look'd with well-feign'd fear around ;— 
 " None to this noble house belong," 
 " He said, " that would a Mmstrel wrong. 
 Whose fate has been, through good and ill, 
 To love his Royal Master still ; 
 And, with your honour'd leave, would fain 
 Rejoice you ivith a loyal strain." 
 Then, as assured by sign and look, 
 The warlike tone again he took ; 
 And Harpool stopp'd, and turn'd to hear 
 A ditty of the Cavalier. 
 
 XX. 
 
 THE CAVALIER. 
 
 WTiile the dawn on the mountain was misty and grey, 
 My true love has moimted liis steed, and away 
 Over hill, over valley, o'er dale, and o'er down, — 
 Heaven shield the brave Gallant that fights for the Crown I 
 
 He has doflTd the silk doublet the breast-plate to bear. 
 He has placed the steel-cap o'er his long-flowing hair. 
 From his belt to his stirrup his broadsword hangs down, — 
 Heaven shield the brave Gallant that fights for the Crown J 
 
 For the rights of fair England that broadsword he draws ; 
 
 Her King is his leader, her church is his cause; 
 
 His watchword is honour, his pay is renown, — 
 
 God strike with the Gallant that strikes for the Crown 1 
 
 They may boast of their Fairfax, their Waller, and all 
 The roundlieaded rebels of Westminster Hall ; 
 But tell these bold traitors of London's proud tO'Nvn, 
 That the spears of the North have encircled the Crown. 
 
 There 's Derby and Cavendish, dread of their foes ; 
 There's Erin's high Ormond, and Scotland's Montrose ! 
 Would you match the base Skippon, and Massey, and Brown, 
 With the Barons of England, that fight for the Crown ? 
 
 Now joy to the crest of the brave Cavalier ! 
 
 Be his banner unconquer'd, resistless his spear, 
 
 TUl in peace and in triumph his toils he may drown. 
 
 In a pledge to fan- England, her Chiu-ch, and her Crown. 
 
 XXI. 
 " Alas ! " Matilda said, " that strain. 
 Good Harper, now is heard in vain ! 
 The time has been, at such a soimd, 
 When Rokeby's vassals gather'd round, 
 An hundred manly hearts \>oidd bound
 
 CANTO V. ROKEBT. 451 
 
 But now, the stirring verse vre hear. 
 Like trump in dj-ing soldiers ear I 
 Listless and sad the notes we own, 
 The power to answer them is flown. 
 Tet not without his meet applause 
 Be he that sings the rightful cause, 
 Even when the crisis of its fate 
 To human eye seems desperate. 
 While Rokeby's Heir such power retains, 
 Let this slight guerdon pay thy pains : — 
 And, lend thj-^ harp ; I fain would trj' 
 If my poor skiU can aught supply. 
 Ere yet I leave my fathers' hall. 
 To moiuTi the cause in which we fall." 
 
 XXIL 
 The harper, with a dowTicast look. 
 And trembling hand, her bounty took. — 
 As yet, the conscious pride of art 
 Had steel'd him in his treacherous part ; 
 A powerful spring, of force unguess'd. 
 That hath each gentler mood suppress' d. 
 And reign'd in many a human breast — 
 From his that plans the red campaign. 
 To his that wastes the woodland reign. 
 The failing wing, the blood-shot eye, — 
 The sportsman marks ^rith apathy. 
 Each feeling of his victim's ill 
 Drown 'd in his own successful skill. 
 The veteran, too, who now no more 
 Aspires to head the battle's roar, 
 Loves still the triumph of his art. 
 And traces on the pencill'd chart 
 Some stern invader's destined way. 
 Through blood and ruin, to his prey ; 
 Patriots to death, and towns to tlaiiie. 
 He dooms, to raise another's name. 
 And shares the guilt, though not the fame, 
 WTiat pays him for his span of time 
 Spent in premeditating crime ? 
 "What against pity arms his heart ? — 
 It is the conscious pride of art. 
 
 XXIII. 
 But principles in Edmund's mind 
 "Were baseless, vague, and undefined. 
 His soul, like bark -R-ith rudder lost. 
 On Passion's changeful tide was tost ; 
 Nor Vice nor Virtue had the power 
 Beyond the impression of the hour ; 
 And, ! when Passion rules, how rare 
 The hours that fall to Virtue's share ! 
 Yet now she roused her — for the pride, 
 That lack of sterner guilt supplied,
 
 452 
 
 Could scarce support liim wlien arose 
 The lay that moiurned Matilda's woes. 
 
 ■ ^0110. 
 
 THE FAKE'VVELL. 
 
 The sound of Rokeby's woods i hear, 
 
 They mingle with the song : 
 Dark Greta's voice is in mine ear, 
 
 I must not hear them long. 
 From every loved and native haunt 
 
 The native Heir must sti-ay, 
 And, like a ghost whom simbeams daunt, 
 
 Must part before the day. 
 
 Soon from the halls my fathers reard. 
 
 Their scutcheons may descend, 
 A line so long beloved and fear'd 
 
 May soon obscurely end. 
 No longer here i\Iatilda's tone 
 
 Shall bid those echoes swell ; 
 Yet shall they hear her proudly own 
 
 The cause in which we fell. 
 
 The Lady paused, and then again 
 Resumed the lay in loftier strain. — 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Let our halls and towers decay, 
 
 Be our name and line forgot, 
 Lands and manors pass away, — 
 
 We but share our Monarch's lot. 
 If no more our annals show 
 
 Battles won and Banners taken, 
 Still in death, defeat, and woe. 
 
 Ours be loyalty unshaken ! 
 
 Constant still in danger's hour. 
 
 Princes own'd our father's aid ; 
 Lands and honours, wealth and power, 
 
 Well their loyalty repaid. 
 Perish wealth, and power, and pride ! 
 
 Mortal boons by mortals given ; 
 But let Constancy abide, — 
 
 Constancy 's the gift of Heaven. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 While thus Matilda's lay was heard, 
 A thousand thoughts in Edmund stirr'd. 
 In peasant life he might have known 
 As fair a face, as sweet a tone ; 
 But village notes could ne'er supply 
 That rich and varied melody ; 
 And ne'er in cottage ma'd was seen 
 The easy dignity of mien,
 
 7. EOKEBY. 453 
 
 Claiming respect, yet M-a-\Tng state, 
 
 That marks the daughters of the great. 
 
 Yet not, perchance, had. these alone 
 
 His scheme of purposed guilt o'erthrown ; 
 
 But AvhUe her energy of mind 
 
 Superior rose to griefs combined, 
 
 Lending its kindling to her eye. 
 
 Giving her form new majesty, — 
 
 To Edmund's thought Jlatilda scem'd 
 
 The very object he had dream'd; 
 
 Wlien, long ere guUt his soul had known, 
 
 In Winston bowers he mused alone. 
 
 Taxing his fancy to combine 
 
 The face, the air, the voice divine, 
 
 Of princess fair, by cruel fate 
 
 Reft of her honours, power, and state. 
 
 Till to her rightful realm restored 
 
 By destined hero's conquering sword. 
 
 XXYI. 
 
 ' Such was my vision !" Edmund thought; 
 ' And have I, then, the ruin wrought 
 
 Of such a maid, that fancy ne'er 
 
 In fairest vision form'd her peer ? 
 
 "Was it my hand that could unclose 
 
 The postern to her ruthless foes ? 
 
 Foes, lost to honour, law, and faith — 
 
 Their kindest mercy sudden death ! 
 
 Have I done this ? I ! who have swore, 
 
 That if the globe such angel bore, 
 
 I would have traced its circle broad, 
 
 To kiss the ground on which she trod I — 
 
 And now — 0! would that earth would rive 
 
 And close upon me while alive ! — 
 
 Is there no hope ? — is all then lost ? — 
 
 Bertram's already on his post ! 
 
 Even now, beside the Hall's arch'd door, 
 
 I saw his shadow cross the floor ! 
 
 He was to wait my signal strain — 
 
 A little respite thus we gain : 
 
 By what I heard the menials say, 
 
 Young WyclifFe's troop are on tlieir way — 
 
 Alarm precipitates the crime ! > 
 
 My harp must wear away the time." — 
 
 And then, in accents faint and low, 
 
 He falter'd forth a tale of woe. — 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 " And whither would you lead me, then ?" 
 Quoth the Friar of orders grey ; 
 And the Ruffians twain replied again, 
 " By a dj-ing woman to pray." —
 
 454 ROKEBT. CANTO V 
 
 " [ see," he said, " a lovely sight, 
 A sight bodes little harm, 
 A lady as a lily bright, 
 With an infant" on her arm." — 
 
 " Then do thine office. Friar grey, 
 And see then shrive her free ! 
 Else shall the sprite, that parts to-night, 
 Fling all its guilt on thee. 
 
 " Let mass be said, and trentals read. 
 When thou'rt to convent gone. 
 And bid the bell of St. Benedict 
 Toll out its deepest tone." 
 
 The shrift is done, the Friar is gone, 
 
 Blindfolded as he came — 
 Next morning, all in Littlecot Hall 
 
 Were weeping for their dame. 
 
 Wild DarreU is an alter'd man. 
 
 The village crones can tell ; 
 He looks pale as clay, and strives to pray, 
 
 If he hears the convent bell. 
 
 If prince or peer cross Darrell's way, 
 
 He'll beard him in his pride — 
 If he meet a Friar of orders grey. 
 
 He droops and turns aside. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 *• Harper ! methinks thy magic lays," 
 Matilda said, " can goblins raise I 
 Wellnigh my fancy can discern. 
 Near the dark porch a visage stern ; 
 E'en now, in yonder shadowy nook, 
 I see itl — Redmond, Wilfrid, look ! — 
 A human form distinct and clear — 
 God, for thy mercy ! — It draws near !" 
 She saw too true. Stride after stride. 
 The centre of that chamber wide 
 Fierce Bertram gain'd ; then made a stand. 
 And, proudly waving with his hand, 
 Thundered — " Be still, upon your lives ! — 
 He bleeds who speaks, he dies who strives." 
 Behind their chief, the robber crew 
 Forth from the darken'd portal drew 
 In silence — save that echo dread 
 Return'd their heavy measured tread. 
 The lamp's uncertain lustre gave 
 Their arms to gleam, their plumes to wave ; 
 File after file in order pass, 
 Like forms on Banquo's mystic glass. 
 Then, halting at their leader's sign. 
 At ouce they form'd and curved their liiie.
 
 45i> 
 
 Hemming within its crescent iirear 
 Their victims, like a herd of deer. 
 Another sign, and to the aim 
 Levell'd at once their muskets came; 
 As •nraiting hut their chieftain's word, 
 To make their fatal volley heard. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Back in a heap the menials drew ; 
 Yet, even in mortal terror, true. 
 Their pale and startled group oppose 
 Between Matilda and the foes. 
 
 " 0, haste thee, Wilfrid 1" Redmond cried ; 
 
 " Undo that wicket by thy side 1 
 Bear hence Matilda — gain the wood — 
 The pass may be a while made good — 
 Thy band, ere this, must sm-e be nigh — 
 
 speak not — dally not — but fly !" 
 Whale yet the crowd their motions hide. 
 Through the low wicket door they glide. 
 Through vaulted passages they wind, 
 In Gothic intricacy twined ; 
 
 Wilfrid half led, and half he bore, 
 
 Matilda to the postern door. 
 
 And safe beneath the forest tree, 
 
 The Lady stands at liberty. 
 
 The moonbeams, the fresh gale's caress, 
 
 Renew'd suspended consciousness ; — 
 " Where 's Redmond ?" eagerly she cries : 
 " Thou answer'st not — he dies ! he ilies ! 
 
 And thou hast left him, all bereft 
 
 Of mortal aid — with murderers left ! 
 
 1 know it well — he would not yield 
 His sword to man — his doom is seal'd ! 
 
 For my scom'd life, which thou hast bought 
 At price of his, I thank thee not." 
 
 XXX. 
 
 The unjust reproach, the angry look, 
 The heart of Wilfrid could not brook. 
 
 " Lady," he said, " my baud so near. 
 In safety thou mayst rest thee here. 
 For Redmond's death thou shaft not mourii. 
 If mine can buy his safe retiu-n." 
 He tum'd away — his heart throbb'd high, 
 The tear was bursting from his eye ; 
 The sense of her injustice press'd 
 Upon the INIaid's distracted breast, — 
 
 " Stay, Wilfrid, stay ! all aid is vain !" 
 He heard, but turn'd him not again ; 
 He reaches now the postern-door. 
 Now enters — and is seen no more. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 With all the agony that e'er 
 
 Was gender'd 'twixt suspense and fear.
 
 456 
 
 She watch'd the line of windows tall, 
 Whose Gothic lattice lights the Hall, 
 Distinguish'd by the paly red 
 The lamps in dim reflection shed, 
 AYhile aU beside, in wan moonlight 
 Each grated casement glimmerd white. 
 Xo sight of harm, no somid of ill, 
 It is a deep and midnight still. 
 Who look'd upon the scene, had guess'd 
 All in the Castle were at rest — 
 When sudden on the windows shone 
 A lightning flash, just seen and gone ! 
 A shot is heard — Again the flame 
 Flash'd thick and fast — a volley came ! 
 Then echo'd wildly, fi-om within. 
 Of shout and scream the mingled din. 
 And weapon-clash, and maddening cry. 
 Of those who kill, and those who die ! — 
 As fill'd the Hall with sulphurous smoke. 
 More red, more dark, the death-flash broke 
 And forms were on the lattice cast, 
 That struck, or struggled, as they past. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Wliat soimds upon the midnight wind 
 Approach so rapidly behind ? 
 It is — it is — the tramp of steeds, — 
 Matilda hears the sound — she speeds, — 
 Seizes upon the leader's rein — 
 " 0, haste to aid, ere aid be vain ! 
 Fly to the postern — gain the Hall ! " 
 From saddle spring the troopers all ; 
 Their gallant steeds, at liberty, 
 Run wild along the moonlight lea. 
 But, ere they burst upon the scene, 
 Full stubborn had the conflict been. 
 When Bertram mark'd Matilda's flight. 
 It gave the signal for the fight ; 
 And Rokeby's veterans, seam'd with scars 
 Of Scotland's and of Erin's wars. 
 Their momentary panic o'er, 
 Stood to the arms which then they bore ; 
 (For they were weapon'd, and prepared 
 Their mistress on uer way to guard.) 
 Then cheer'd them to the fight O'Neale, 
 Then peal'd the shot, and clash'd the steel ; 
 The war-smoke soon with sable breath 
 Darken'd the scene of blood and death, 
 While on the few defenders close 
 The Bandits, with redoubled blows. 
 And, twice driven back, yet fierce and fell 
 Renew the charge with frantic yell. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Wilfrid has faU'n — but o'er him stood 
 
 Young Redmond, soil'd with smoke and b]<iod.
 
 457 
 
 Cheering his mates Tvith heart and hand 
 Still to make good their desperate stand. — 
 " Up, comrades, up ! In Eokeby halls 
 Ne'er be it said our courage falls. 
 What ! faint ye for their savage cry, 
 Or do the smoke-wreaths daunt your eye ? 
 These rafters have retum'd a shout 
 As loud at Eokeby's wassail rout, 
 As thick a smoke these hearths have given 
 At Hallow-tide or Christmas-even. 
 Stand to it yet ! renew the fight, 
 For Rokeby's and Matilda's right ! 
 These slaves 1 they dai-e not, hand to hand, 
 Bide buffet fi-om a true man's brand." 
 Impetuous, active, fierce, and yomig, 
 Upon the advancing foes he spnmg. 
 Woe to the wretch at whom is bent 
 His brandish'd falchion's sheer descent ! 
 Backward they scatter'd as he came, 
 Like wolves before the levin flame, 
 Wben, 'mid their howling conclave driven. 
 Hath glanced the thunderbolt of heaven. 
 Bertram rush'd on — But Harpool clasp'd 
 His knees although in death he gasp'd, 
 His falling corpse before him flung. 
 And round the trammell'd ruffian clung. 
 Just then the soldiers fiU'd the dome. 
 And, shouting, charged the felons home 
 So fiercely, that, in panic dread, 
 They broke, they yielded, fell, or fled. 
 Bertram's stem voice they heed no more. 
 Though heard above the battle's roar ; 
 WhUe, trampling do^\^l the dying man. 
 He strove, with voUey'd tlireat and ban, 
 In scorn of odds, in fate's despite, 
 To rally up the desperate fight. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 Soon murkier clouds the Hall enfold. 
 Than e'er from battle-thunders roU'd 
 So dense, the combatimts scarce know 
 To aim or to avoid the blow. 
 Smothering and blindfold grows the fight — 
 But soon shall dawn a dismal light ! 
 IMid cries, and clashing arms, there came 
 The hollow sound of rushing tlame ; 
 New horrors on the timiult dire 
 Arise — the Castle is on fire ! 
 Doubtful, if chance had cast the brand. 
 Or frantic Bertram's desperate hand. 
 Matilda saw — for frequent broke 
 From the dim casements gusts of smoke. 
 Yon tower, which late so clear defined 
 On the fair hemisphere reclined,
 
 458 
 
 That, pencill'd on its azure pure, 
 The eye could count each embrazue, 
 Now, swathed within the sweeping cloud, 
 Seems giant-spectre m his shroud; 
 Till, from each loop-hole flashing light, 
 A spout of tire shines ruddy bright. 
 And, gathering to united glare. 
 Streams high into the midnight air ; 
 A dismal beacon, far and wide 
 That waken'd Greta's slumbering side. 
 Soon all beneath, through gallery long, 
 And pendant arch, the tire fiash"d strong, 
 Snatching whatever could maintain. 
 Raise, or extend, its furious reign ; 
 Startling, with closer cause of dread. 
 The females who the conflict fled. 
 And now rush'd forth upon the plain, 
 Filling the air with clamours vain. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 But ceased not yet, the Hall within. 
 
 The shriek, the shout, the carnage-din. 
 
 Till bursting lattices give proof 
 
 The flames have caught the rafter'd roof. 
 
 What ! wait they tiU its beams amain 
 
 Crash on the slayers and the slain ? 
 
 The alarm is caught — the drawbridge falls, 
 
 The warriors hurry from the walls. 
 
 But, by the conflagration's Ught, 
 
 Upon the lawn renew the fight. 
 
 Each straggling felon down was hew'd. 
 
 Not one could gain the sheltering wood ; 
 
 But forth the affrighted harper sprung. 
 
 And to Matilda's robe he clung. 
 
 Her shriek, entreaty, and command, 
 
 Stopp'd the pursuer's lifted hand. 
 
 Denzil and he alive were ta'en ; 
 
 The rest, save Bertram, all are slain. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 And where is Bertram ? — Soaring high. 
 The general flame ascends the sky ; 
 In gather'd group the soldiers gaze 
 Upon the broad and roaring blaze, 
 When, like infernal demon, sent 
 Red from his penal element. 
 To plague and to pollute the air, — 
 His face aU gore, on fire his hair. 
 Forth from the central mass of smoke 
 The giant form of Bertram broke ! 
 His brandish'd sword on high he rears, 
 Then plunged among opposing spears ; 
 Round his left arm his mantle truss'd, 
 Received and foil'd three lances' thrust ;
 
 CANTO r. ROKEBY. 459 
 
 Nor these his headlong course •withstood. 
 Like reeds he snapp'd the toue:h ash-wood. 
 In vain his foes around him ching; 
 With matchless force aside he flung 
 Their boldest, — as the bull, at bay. 
 Tosses the ban-dogs from his way. 
 Through forty foes his path he made, 
 And safely gain'd the forest glade. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 Scarce was this final conflict o'er, 
 When from the postern Kedmond bore 
 Wilfrid, who, as of life bereft, 
 Had in the fatal Hall been left, 
 Deserted there by all his train ; 
 But Redmond saw, and tum'd again. — 
 Beneath an oak he laid him down. 
 That in the blaze gleam'd ruddy brown. 
 And then his mantle's clasp imdid ; 
 Matilda held his drooping head. 
 Till, given to breathe the fi-eer air, 
 Returning life repaid their care. 
 He gazed on them with heavj' sigh, — 
 * I could have wish'd even thus to die ! " 
 No more he said — for now with speed 
 Each trooper had regain'd his steed ; 
 The ready palfreys stood array'd, 
 For Redmond and for Rokeby's Maid ; 
 Two Wilfiid on his horse sustain. 
 One leads his charger by the rein. 
 But oft Matilda look'd behind, 
 As up the Vale of Tees they wind, 
 Where far the mansion of her sires 
 Beacon'd the dale with midnight fires. 
 In gloomy arch above them spread, 
 The clouded heaven lower'd bloody red ; 
 Beneath, in sombre light, the flood 
 Appear'd to roll in waves of blood. 
 Then, one by one, was heard to fall 
 The tower, the donjon-keep, the hall. 
 Each rushing down with thunder sound, 
 A space the conflagration drown'd ; 
 TUl, gathering strength, again it rose. 
 Announced its triumph in its close, 
 Shook wide its light the landscape o'er, 
 Then sunk— and Rokeby was no marei
 
 460 
 
 CANTO SIXTH. 
 
 I. 
 
 The summer sun, whose early power 
 Was wont to gild Matilda's bower, 
 And rouse her with his matin ray 
 Her duteous orisons to pay, — 
 That morning sun has three times seen 
 The flowers unfold on Eokeby green, 
 But sees no more the slumbers fly 
 From fair Matilda's hazel eye ; 
 That morning sun has three times brofca 
 On Rokcby's glades of elm and oak, 
 But, rising from their sUvan screen, 
 Marks no grey turrets glance between. 
 A shapeless mass lie keep and tower, 
 That, hissing to the morning shower. 
 Can but with smouldering vapour pay 
 The early smile of summer day. 
 The peasant to his labour boimd, 
 PaiLses to ^aew the blacken'd mound. 
 Striving, amid the ruin'd space. 
 Each well-remember'd spot to trace. 
 That length of frail and fire-scorch'd wiill 
 Once screen'd the hospitable hall : 
 When yonder broken arch was whole, 
 'T was there was dealt the weekly dole ; 
 And where yon tottering columns nod. 
 The chapel sent the hymn to God. — 
 So flits the world's uncertain span I 
 Nor zeal for God, nor love for man. 
 Gives mortal monuments a date 
 Beyond the power of Time and Fate. 
 The towers must share the builder's doom; 
 Ruin is theirs, and his a tomb : 
 But better boon benignant Heaven 
 To Faith and Charity has given. 
 And bids the Christian hope sublime 
 Transcend the bounds of Fate and Time. 
 
 11. 
 
 Now the third night of summer came. 
 Since that which witness'd Rokeby's flame. 
 On Brignall cliffs and Scargill brake 
 The owlet's homilies awake. 
 The bittern scream'd from rush and flag. 
 The raven slumber'd on his crag. 
 Forth from his den the otter drew, — 
 Grayling and trout their tyrant knew.
 
 461 
 
 As between reed and sedge he peers, 
 
 With fierce round snout and sharpeu'd ears. 
 
 Or, prowling by the moonbeam cool, 
 
 Watches the stream or swims the pool ; — 
 
 Perch'd on his wonted eyiie high, 
 
 Sleep seal'd the tercelet's wearied eye. 
 
 That all the day had watch'd so well 
 
 The cushat dart across the dell. 
 
 In dubious beam reflected shone 
 
 That lofty clifl" of pale grey stone, 
 
 Beside whose base the secret cave 
 
 To rapine late a refuge gave. 
 
 The crag's wild crest of copse and yew 
 
 On Greta's breast dark shadows tlirew ; 
 
 Shadows that met or shurm'd the siglit, 
 
 With every change of fitful light ; 
 
 As hope and fear alternate chase 
 
 Our course through life's uncertain race. 
 
 III. 
 
 Gliding by crag and copsewood green, 
 A solitary form was seen 
 To trace with stealthy pace the wold. 
 Like fox that seeks the midnight fold. 
 And pauses oft, and cowers dismay'd. 
 At every breath that stirs the shade. 
 He passes now the ivy bush, — 
 The owl has seen him, and is hush ; 
 He passes now the dodder'd oak, — 
 Ye heard the startled raven croak ; 
 Lower and lower he descends, 
 Rustle the leaves, the brushwood bends; 
 The otter hears him tread the shore, 
 And dives, and is beheld no more ; 
 And by the cliff of pale grey stone 
 The midnight wanderer stands alone. 
 Methinks, that by the moon we trace 
 A well-remember'd form and face ! 
 That stripling shape, that cheek so pale. 
 Combine to tell a rueful tale. 
 Of powers misused, of passion's force, 
 Of guilt, of grief, and of remorse ! 
 'T is Edmund's eye, at every sound 
 That flings that guOty glance aroimd ; 
 'Tis Edmund's trembling haste divides 
 The brushwood that the cavern hides ; 
 And, when its narrow porch lies bare, 
 'Tis Edmuiid's form that enters there. 
 
 IV. 
 
 His flint and steel have sparkled briglit, 
 A lamp hath lent the cavern light. 
 Fearful and quick his eye surveys 
 Each angle of the gloomy maze.
 
 4G2 
 
 Since last he left that stem abode, 
 It seem'd as none its floor had trode; 
 Untouch'd appear'd the various spoil, 
 The purchase of his comrades' toil ; 
 Masks and disguises grim'd with mud, 
 Arms broken and defiled with blood, 
 And all the nameless tools that aid 
 Night-felons in their lawless trade. 
 Upon the gloomy walls were hung. 
 Or lay in noolcs obscurely flung. 
 Still on the sordid board appear 
 The relics of the noontide cheer : 
 Flagons and emptied flasks were there, 
 And bench o'erthrown, and shatter'd chair 
 And all aroimd the semblance show'd. 
 As when the final revel glow'd. 
 When the red sun was setting fast. 
 And parting pledge Guy DenzU past. 
 " To Rokeby treasure- vaults ! " they quafTd, 
 And shouted loud and wildly laugh'd, 
 Pour'd maddening from the rocky door. 
 And parted — to return no more ! 
 They found in Rokeby vaults their doom,— 
 A bloody death, a burning tomb I 
 
 V. 
 There his own peasant dress he spies, 
 Doff'd to assume that quaint disguise ; 
 And, shuddering, thought upon his glee, 
 When prank'd in garb of minstrelsy. 
 " 0, be the fatal art accurst," 
 He cried, " that moved my folly first ; 
 Till, bribed by bandits' base applause, 
 I burst through God's and Nature's laws ! 
 Three summer days are scantly past 
 Since I have trod this cavern last, 
 A thoughtless -wretch, and prompt to err — 
 But, 0, as yet no murderer I 
 Even now I list my comrades' cheer, 
 That general laugh is in mine ear. 
 Which raised my pulse and steel'd my heart, 
 As I rehearsed my treacherous part — 
 And would that all since then could seem 
 The phantom of a fever's dream ! 
 But fatal Memory notes too well 
 The horrors of the dying yell 
 From my despairing mates that broke. 
 When flash'd the fire and roll'd the smoke ; 
 When the avengers shouting came, 
 And heram'd us 'twixt the sword and flame I 
 My frantic flight, — the lifted brand, — 
 
 That angel's interposing hand ! 
 
 If, for my life from slaughter freed, 
 I yet could pay some grateful meed ! 
 Perchance this object of my quest 
 Jlay aid " — he turn'd, nor spoke the rest.
 
 CANTO VI. ROKEBY. 4G3 
 
 VI. 
 
 Due northward from the rugged hearth, 
 
 With paces five he metes the earth, 
 
 Then toil'd with mattock to explore 
 
 The entrails of the cavern floor, 
 
 Nor paused till, deep beneath the ground, 
 
 His search a small steel casket found. 
 
 Just as he stoop'd to loose its hasp 
 
 His shoulder felt a giant gi-asp ; 
 
 He started, and look'd up aghast. 
 
 Then shriek'd !— 'T was Bertram held him fast. 
 " Fear not ! " he said ; but who could hear 
 
 That deep stem voice, and cease to fear ? 
 " Fear not ! — By heaven ! he shakes as much 
 
 As partridge in the falcon's clutch : " — 
 
 He raised him, and imloosed his hold, 
 
 "While from the opening casket roU'd 
 
 A chain and reliquaire of gold. 
 
 Bertram beheld it with surprise, 
 
 Gazed on its fashion and device. 
 
 Then, cheering Edmund as he could. 
 
 Somewhat he smooth'd his rugged mood : 
 
 For still the youth's half-lifted eye 
 
 Quiver'd with terror's agony. 
 
 And sidelong glanced, as to explore. 
 
 In meditated flight, the door. 
 " Sit," Bertram said, " from danger free : 
 
 Thou canst not, and thou shalt not, flee. 
 
 Chance brings me hither ! MU and plain 
 
 I 've sought for refuge-place in vain. 
 
 And tell me now, thou aguish boy. 
 
 What makest thou here ? what means this toy? 
 
 Denzil and thou, I mark'd, were ta'en ; 
 
 What lucky chance unbound your chain ? 
 
 I deein'd, long since on Baliol's tower. 
 
 Your heads were warp'd with sun and showei. 
 
 TeU me the whole — and, mark ! nought e'er 
 
 Chafes me like falsehood, or like fear." 
 
 Gathering his courage to his aid. 
 
 But trembling still, the youth obey'd. 
 
 VII. 
 •* Denzil and I two nights pass'd o'er 
 
 In fetters on the dungeon floor. 
 
 A guest the third sad morrow brought — 
 
 Our hold, dark Oswald Wj-clifiie sought, 
 
 And eyed my comrade long askance. 
 
 With fix'd and penetrating glance. 
 ' Guy Denzil art thou call'd? ' — * The same. 
 * At Court who sen"ed wild Buckmghame ; 
 
 Thence banish'd, won a keeper's place, 
 
 So VUliers will'd, in Marwood-chase ; 
 
 That lost — I need not teU thee why — 
 
 Thou madest thy wit thy wants supply,
 
 464 
 
 Then fought for Rokeby : — Have I guess'd 
 My prisoner right?' — 'At thy behest.' — 
 He paused a while, and then went on 
 With low and confidential tone ; — 
 Me, as I judge, not then he saw, 
 Close nestled in my couch of straw. — 
 * List to me, Guy. Thou know'st the great 
 Have frequent need of what they hate ; 
 Hence, in their favour oft we see 
 Unscrupled, useful men like thee. 
 Were I disposed to bid thee live. 
 What pledge of faith hast thou to give ? " 
 
 vni. 
 
 " The ready Fiend, who never yet 
 Hath failed to sharpen Denzil's wit. 
 Prompted his lie — ' His only child 
 Should rest his pledge,' — The Baron smiled. 
 And tum'd to me — ' Thou art his son ? ' 
 I bowed — our fetters were undone. 
 And we were led to hear apart 
 A (Ireadfal lesson of liis art. 
 Wilfrid, he said, his heir and son. 
 Had fair MatUda's favour won ; 
 And long since had their union been. 
 But for her father's bigot spleen. 
 Whose brute and blind-fold party-rage 
 Would, force per force, her hand engage 
 To a base kern of Irish earth. 
 Unknown his lineage and his birth. 
 Save that a dying ruffian bore 
 The infant brat to Rokeby door. 
 Gentle restraint, he said, would lead 
 Old Rokeby to enlarge his creed ; 
 But fair occasion he must find 
 For such restraint, well meant and kind. 
 The Knight being render'd to his charge 
 But as a prisoner at large. 
 
 IX. 
 
 " He school'd us in a well-forged tale, 
 Of scheme the Castle walls to scale. 
 To which was leagued each Cavalier 
 That dwells upon the Tyne and Wear ; 
 That Rokeby, his parole forgot. 
 Had dealt with us to aid the plot. 
 Such was the charge, which UenzU's zeal 
 Of hate to Rokeby and O'Neale 
 Proffer'd, as witness, to make good. 
 Even though the forfeit were their blood. 
 I scrupled, until o'er and o'er 
 His prisoners' safety Wycliffe swore ; 
 And then — alas ! what needs there more? 
 I knew I should not live to say 
 The proffer I refused that day;
 
 465 
 
 Ashamed to live, yet loth to die, 
 I soil'd me vnth their infamy ! " — 
 •* Poor youth ! " said Bertram, " wavering still. 
 Unfit alike for good or ill ! 
 But what fell next ? " — " Soon as at large 
 Was scroU'd and sign'd our fatal charge, 
 There never yet, on tragic stage. 
 Was seen so well a painted rage 
 As Oswald's show'd ! With loud alarm 
 He caU'd his garrison to arm ; 
 From tower to tower, from post to post, 
 He hurried as if all were lost ; 
 Consign'd to dimgeon and to chain 
 The good old Knight and all his train ; 
 Warn'd each suspected Cavalier, 
 Within his limits, to appear 
 To-morrow, at the hour of noon. 
 In the high church of Eglistone." — 
 
 X. 
 
 " Of Eglistone !— Even now I pass'd," 
 Said Bertram, " as the night closed fast ; 
 Torches and cressets gleam'd around, 
 I heard the saw and hammer sound. 
 And I could mark they toil'd to raise 
 A scaffold, hung with sable baize. 
 Which the grim headsman's scene display'd. 
 Block, axe, and sawdust ready laid. 
 Some evil deed ^vill there be done. 
 Unless Matilda wed his son ; — 
 She loves him not — 'tis shrewdly guess'd 
 That Redmond rules the damsel's breast. 
 This is a turn of Oswald's skill ; 
 
 But I may meet, and foil him still ! 
 
 How earnest thou to thy freedom ? " — " There 
 
 Lies mysterv more dark and rare. 
 
 In midst of "Wycliffe's well-feign 'd rage, 
 
 A scroll was oiFer'd by a page, 
 
 WTio told, a muffled horseman late 
 
 Had left it at the Castle-gate. 
 
 He broke the seal — his cheek show'd change. 
 
 Sudden, portentous, wild, and strange ; 
 
 The mimic passion of his eye 
 
 Was tum'd to actual agony ; 
 
 His hand like summer sapling shook, 
 
 Terror and guilt were in his look. 
 
 Denzil he judged, in time of need, 
 
 Fit counsellor for evil deed ; 
 
 And thus apart his counsel broke. 
 
 While with a ghastly smile he spoke : — 
 
 XI. 
 
 "' As in the pageants of the stage, 
 The dead awake in this wild age, 
 2g
 
 466 
 
 Mortham — -whom all men deem'd decreed 
 In his o^Ti deadly snare to bleed, 
 Slain by a bravo, -n-hom, o'er sea, 
 He train'd to aid in' mui-dering me, — 
 Mortham has 'scaped ! — the coward shot 
 The steed, but harm'd the rider not.' " 
 Here, with an execration fell, 
 Bertram leap'd up, and paced the cell : — 
 
 " Thine own grey head, or bosom dark," 
 He mutter'd, " may be surer mark ! " 
 Then sat, and sign'd to Edmund, pale 
 With teiTor, to resume his tale. 
 
 " WycliiFe went on : — ' Mark %vith what flights 
 Of wilder'd reverie he writes : — 
 
 Klfz Eetttr. 
 
 " ' Ruler of Mortham's destiny ! 
 
 Though dead, thy victim lives to thee. 
 Once had he aU that binds to life — 
 A lovely child, a lovelier vnfe ; 
 "Wealth, fiime, and friendship, were his own — 
 Thou gavest the word, and they are flown. 
 Mark how he pays thee : — To thy hand 
 He yields his honours and his land. 
 One boon premised ; — Restore his child ! 
 And, from his native land exiled, 
 Mortham no more returns to claim 
 His lands, his honours, or his name; 
 Refuse him this, and from the slain 
 Thou shalt see Mortham rise again.' — 
 
 XII. 
 
 " This billet while the baron read. 
 His faltering accents show'd his dread ; 
 He press'd his forehead with his palm. 
 Then took a scornful tone and calm : 
 
 * Wild as the winds, as billows -svTld ! 
 What wot I of his spouse or child? 
 Hither he brought a joyous dame. 
 Unknown her Uneage or her name : 
 Her, in some frantic fit, he slew ; 
 The nurse and child in fear withdrew. 
 Heaven be my witness ! wist I where 
 To find this youth, my kinsman's heir, — 
 Unguerdon'd, I would give wth joy 
 The father's arms to fold his boy. 
 And Mortham's lands and towers resign 
 To the just heirs of Mortham's line.' — 
 Thou know'st that scarcely e'en his fear 
 Suppresses Denzil's cynic sneer ; — 
 
 ' Then happy is thy vassal's part,' 
 He said, ' to ease his patron's heart 
 In thine own jailer's watchful care 
 Lies Mortham's just and rightful heir; 
 Thy generous wish is fully won, — 
 Redmond O'Neale is Mortham's son.* —
 
 CANTO Vr. ROKEBT. 467 
 
 XIII. 
 
 " Up starting with a frenzied look, 
 
 His clenched hand the Baron shook: 
 • Is Hell at work ? or dost thou rave, 
 
 Or darest thou palter with me, slave ! 
 
 Perchance thou wot'st not, Barnard's towers 
 
 Have racks, of strange and ghastly powers.' 
 
 DenzO, who well his safety knew, 
 
 Firmly rejoin'd, ' I tell thee true. 
 
 Thy racks could give thee hut to know 
 
 The proofs, which I, untortured, show. — 
 
 It chanced upon a winter night, 
 
 AVhen early snow made Stanmore white, 
 
 That very night, when first of all 
 
 Redmond O'Neale saw Eokeby-hall, 
 
 It was my goodly lot to gain 
 
 A reliquary and a chain. 
 
 Twisted and chased of massive gold. 
 
 — Demand not how the prize I hold ? 
 
 It was not given, nor lent, nor sold. — 
 
 Gilt tablets to the chain were hung, 
 
 With letters in the Irish tongue. 
 
 I hid my spoU, for there was need 
 
 That I should leave the land with speed ; 
 
 Nor then I deem'd it safe to bear 
 
 On mine own person gems so rare. 
 
 Small heed I of the tablets took. 
 
 But since have spell'd them by the book. 
 
 When some sojourn in Erin's land 
 
 Of their wild speech had given command. 
 
 But darkling was the sense ; the phrase 
 
 And language those of other days, 
 
 Involved of purpose, as to foU 
 
 An interloper's prjnng toU. 
 
 The words, but not the sense, I knew, 
 
 Till fortune gave the guiding clew. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 * ' Three days since, was that clew reveal'd, 
 In Thorsgill as I lay conceal'd. 
 And heard at fuU when Rokeby's Maid 
 Her uncle's history display'd ; 
 And now I can interpret well 
 Each syllable the tablets tell. 
 Mark, then : Fair Edith was the joy 
 Of old O'Xeale of Clandeboy ; 
 But from her sire and country fled. 
 In secret Jlortham's Lord to wed. 
 O'Neale, his first resentment o'er, 
 Despatch'd his son to Greta's shore. 
 Enjoining he should make him known 
 (Until his farther will were shown) 
 To Edith, but to her alone. 
 WTiat of their ill-starr'd meeting fell, 
 Jx)rd Wycliffe knows, and none so welL
 
 468 ROKEBT. 
 
 XV. 
 
 " ' O'Neale it was, who, in despair, 
 Eobb'd Mortham of his infant heir. 
 He bred him in their nurture wild, 
 And call'd him murder'd Connel's child. 
 Soon died the curse ; the Clan believed 
 What from their Chieftain they received. 
 His purpose was, that ne'er again 
 The boy should cross the Irish main ; 
 But, like his mountain sires, enjoy 
 The woods and wastes of Clandeboy. 
 Then on the land wild troubles came. 
 And stronger Chieftains urged a claim, 
 And wrested from the old man's hands 
 His native towers, his father's lands. 
 Unable then, amid the strife, 
 To guard j'oung Redmond's rights or life^ 
 Late and reluctant he restores 
 The infant to his native shores, 
 With goodly gifts and letters stored. 
 With many a deep conjuring word. 
 To Mortham and to Rokeby's Lord. 
 Nought knew the clod of Irish earth. 
 Who was the guide, of Redmond's birth ; 
 But deem'd his Chiefs commands were laid 
 On both, by both to be obey'd. 
 How he was wounded by the way, 
 I need not, and I list not say.' — 
 
 XVI. 
 
 •' ' A wondrous tale ! and, grant it true. 
 What,' WyclifFe answer'd, 'might I do? 
 Heaven knows, as willingly as now 
 I raise the bonnet from my brow. 
 Would I my kinsman's manors feir. 
 Restore to Mortham, or his heir; 
 But Mortham is distraught — O'Neale 
 Has drawn for tjTanny his steel, 
 Malignant to our rightful cause. 
 And train'd in Rome's delusive laws. 
 Hark thee apart ! ' — They whisper'd long. 
 Till Denzil's voice grew bold and strong: — 
 ' My proofs ! I never will,' he said, 
 * Show mortal man where they are laid. 
 Nor hope discovery to foreclose. 
 By giving me to feed the crows ; 
 For I have mates at large, who know 
 Where I am wont such toys to stow. 
 Free me from peril and from band. 
 These tablets are at thy command ; 
 Nor were it hard to form some train. 
 To wile old Mortham o'er the main. 
 Then, lunatic's nor papist's hand 
 Should wrest from thine the goodly land. —
 
 469 
 
 — ' I like thy wit,' said WyclifFe, •■well ; 
 But here in hostage shalt thou dwell. 
 Thy son, imless my purpose err, 
 May prove the trustier messenger. 
 A scroll to Mortham shall he bear 
 From me, and fetch these tokens rare. 
 Gold shalt thou have, and that good store. 
 And freedom, his commission o'er ; 
 But if his faith should chance to fail. 
 The gibbet frees thee from the jail.' — 
 
 XVII. 
 
 " Mesh'd in the net himself had tvrined, 
 What subterfuge could DenzU find ? 
 He told me, with reluctant sigh, 
 That hidden here the tokens fie ; 
 Conjured my swift return and aid. 
 By aU he scoff 'd and disobey'd. 
 And look'd as if the noose were tied, 
 And I the priest who left his side. 
 This scroll for Mortham Wycliffe gave, 
 Whom I must seek by Greta's wave ; 
 Or in the hut where chief he hides, 
 WTiere ThorsgiU's forester resides. 
 (Thence chanced it, wandering in the glade. 
 That he descried our ambuscade.) 
 I was dismissed as evening fell. 
 And reached but now this rocky cell." — 
 
 " Give Oswald's letter." — Bertram read, 
 And tore it fiercely, shred by shred : — 
 
 " All lies and villany ! to blind 
 His noble kinsman's generous mind, 
 And train him on from day to day, 
 TLU he can take his life away. — 
 And now, declare thy purpose, youth, 
 Kor dare to answer, save the truth ; 
 If aught I mark of Denzil's art, 
 I '11 tear the secret from thy heart ! " — 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 " It needs not. I renounce," he said, 
 
 " My tutor and his deadly trade. 
 Fik'd was my purpose to declare 
 To Morthamji Redmond is his heir ; 
 To teU him in what risk he stands. 
 And yield these tokens to liis hands. 
 Fix'd was my purpose to atone. 
 Far as I may, the evil done ; 
 And fix'd it'rests — if I siunrive 
 This night, and leave this cave alive." — 
 
 " And Denzil ?" — " Let them ply the rack. 
 Even till his joints and sinews crack ! 
 If Oswald tear him limb from limb. 
 What ruth can Denzil claim fi'om him.
 
 470 KOKEBT. 
 
 Whose thoughtless youth he led astray, 
 And damn'd to this unhalloVd way ? 
 He school'd me, faith and vows were vain ; 
 Now let my master reap his gain." — 
 " True," answer'd Bertram, " 'tis his meed; 
 There 's retribution in the deed. 
 But thou — thou art not for our course. 
 Hast fear, hast pity, hast remorse : 
 And he, with us the gale who braves. 
 Must heave such cargo to the waves. 
 Or lag with overloaded prore, 
 While barks unburden'd reach the shore." 
 
 XIX. 
 He paused, and, stretching him at length, 
 Seem'd to repose his bulky strength. 
 Communing with his secret mind. 
 As half he sat, and half reclined. 
 One ample hand his forehead press'd, 
 And one was dropp'd across his breast. 
 The shaggy eyebrows deeper came 
 Above his eyes of swarthy flame ; 
 His lip of pride a while forbore 
 The haughty curve till then it wore ; 
 The unalter'd fierceness of his look 
 A shade of darken'd sadness took,— 
 For dark and sad a presage press'd 
 Resistlessly on Bertram's breast, — 
 And when he spoke, his wonted tone. 
 So fierce, abrupt, and brief, was gone. 
 His voice was steady, low, and deep. 
 Like distant waves when breezes sleep ; 
 And sorrow mix'd with Edmund's feai', 
 Its low unbroken depth to hear. 
 
 XX. 
 
 " Edmund, in thy sad tale I find 
 The woe that warp'd my patron's mind : 
 'T would wake the foimtains of the eye 
 In other men, but mine are dry. 
 Mortham must never see the fool. 
 That sold himself base WyclifFe's tool ; 
 Yet less from thirst of sordid gain. 
 Than to avenge supposed disdain. 
 Say, Bertram rues his faidt; — a word, 
 Till now, from Bertram never heard : 
 Say, too, that Mortham's Lord he pravs 
 To think but on their former days • 
 On Quarianna's beach and rock. 
 On Cayo's bm*sting battle-shock. 
 On Darien's sands and deadly dew. 
 And on the dart Tlatzeca threw ; — 
 Perchance my patron yet may hear 
 More that may grace his comrade's bier.
 
 ROKEBY, 471 
 
 My sou! bath felt a secret weight, 
 A waming of approaching fate : 
 A priest had said, ' Return, repent !' 
 As well to bid that rock be rent. 
 Firm as that flint I face mine end ; 
 My heart may burst, but cannot bend. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 " The dawning of my youth, with awe 
 And prophecy, the Dalesmen saw ; 
 For over Eedesdale it came. 
 As bodeful as their beacon-flame. 
 Edmund, thy j'ears were scarcely mine, 
 When, challenging the Clans of Tyne 
 To bring their best my brand to prove. 
 O'er Hexham's altar hung my glove ; 
 But TjTiedale, nor in tower nor town, 
 Held champion meet to take it down. 
 My noontide, India may declare ; 
 Like her fierce sun, I fired the air ! 
 Like him, to wood and cave bade fly 
 Her natives, from mine angry eye. 
 Panama's maids shall long look pale 
 "WTien Risingliam mspires the tale ; 
 Chili's dark matrons long shall tame 
 The froward child with Bertram's namo. 
 And now, my race of teiTor run. 
 Mine be the eve of tropic sun ! 
 No pale gradations quench his ray. 
 No twilight dews his wrath allay ; 
 With disk like battle-target red. 
 He rushes to his burning bed. 
 Dyes the wide wave with bloody light, 
 Then sinks at once — and aU is night. — 
 
 XXH. 
 
 " Now to thy mission, Edmund. Fly, 
 Seek INIortham out, and bid him hie 
 To Richmond, where his troops are laid, 
 And lead his force to Redmond's aid. 
 Say, till he reaches Eglistone, 
 A "friend will watch to guard his son. 
 Now, fare-thee-well ; for night draws on. 
 And I would rest me here alone." 
 Despite his ill-dissembled fear. 
 There swam in Edmund's eye a tear ; 
 A tribute to the coiu-age high, 
 "WTiich stoop'd not in extremity, 
 But strove, irregularly great. 
 To trixmiph o'er approaching fate ! 
 Bertram beheld the dewdrop start. 
 It almost touch'd his iron heart : — 
 " I did not think there lived," he said, 
 " One, who would tear for Bertram shed " 
 He loosen'd then his baldric's hold, 
 A buckle broad of massive gold ;—
 
 472 Rf.'KEBT. CANTO VI. 
 
 " Of all the spoil that paid his pains, 
 But this with Risingham remains ; 
 And this, dear Edmund, thou shalt take. 
 And wear it long for Bertram's sake. 
 Once more — to Mortham speed amain ; 
 Farewell I and turn thee not again." 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 The night has yielded to the mom, 
 
 And far the hours of prime are worn. 
 
 Oswald, who, since the da^vn of day. 
 
 Had cursed his messenger's delay, 
 
 Impatient question'd now his train, 
 " Was Denzil's son return'd again ?" 
 
 It chanced there answer'd of the crew, 
 
 A menial, who young Edmund knew : 
 " No son of Denzil this," — he said ; 
 " A peasant boy from Winston glade. 
 
 For song and minstrelsy renown'd. 
 
 And knavish pranks, the hamlets round." ' 
 
 " Not Denzil's son ! — from Winston vale !^ 
 
 Then it was false, that specious tale ; 
 
 ■ Or, worse — he hath despatch'd the youth 
 
 To show to Mortham's lord its truth. 
 
 Fool that I was 1 — but 'tis too late ; — 
 
 This is the very turn of fate ! — 
 
 The tale, or true or false, relies 
 
 On Denzil's evidence ! — He dies ! — 
 
 Ho ! Provost Marshal ! instantly 
 
 Lead Denzil to the gallows-tree ! 
 
 AUow him not a parting word ; 
 
 Short be the shrift, and sure the cord I 
 
 Then let his gory head appal 
 
 Marauders from the Castle-wall. 
 
 Lead forth thy guard, that duty done. 
 
 With best despatch to Eglistone. — 
 
 — Basil, tell Wilfrid he must straight 
 
 Attend me at the Castle-gate." — 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 " Alas !" the old domestic said, 
 
 And shook his venerable head, 
 " Alas, my Lord ! full ill to-day 
 
 May my young master brook the way I 
 
 The leech has spoke with grave alarm. 
 
 Of xmseen hurt, of secret harm. 
 
 Of sorrow lurking at the heart. 
 
 That mars and lets his healing art." — 
 " Tush I tell not me I — Romantic boys 
 
 Pine themselves sick for airy toys, 
 
 I will find cure for Wilfrid soon ; 
 
 Bid him for Eglistone be boune. 
 
 And quick ! — I hear the dull death-drum 
 
 TeU Denzil's hour of fate is come."
 
 «A!JTO VI. ROKEBT. 473 
 
 He paused with scornful smile, and then 
 Kesumed his train of thought agen. 
 •' Now comes my fortune's crisis near ! 
 Entreaty boots not — instant fear, 
 Nought else, can bend Matilda's pride, 
 Or win her to be Wilfrid's bride. 
 But when she sees the scaffold placed, 
 With axe and block and headsman graced. 
 And when she deems, that to deny 
 Dooms Redmond and her sire to die. 
 She must give way. — Then, were the line 
 Of Rokeby once combined with mine, 
 I gain the weather-gage of fate ! 
 Tf Mortham come, he comes too late, 
 While I, allied thus and prepared. 
 Bid him defiance to his beard. — 
 — If she prove stubborn, shall I dare 
 To drop the axe ? — Soft ! pause we there. 
 Mortham still lives — yon youth may tell 
 His tale — and Fairfax loves him well ; — 
 Else, wherefore should I now delay 
 To sweep this Redmond from my way ? — 
 But she to piety perforce 
 Must yield. — Without there I Sound to horse l" 
 
 XXV. 
 
 'Twas bustle in the court below, — 
 ** Mount, and march forward !" — Forth they go ; 
 Steeds neigh and trample all around. 
 Steel rings, spears glimmer, trumpets sound. — 
 Just then was sung his parting hymn ; 
 And Denzil tum'd his eyeballs dim, 
 And, scarcely conscious what he sees. 
 Follows the horsemen down the Tees ; 
 And scarcely conscious what he heai-s. 
 The trumpets tingle in his ears. 
 O'er the long bridge they're sweeping now. 
 The van is hid by greenwood bough ; 
 But ere the rearward had pass'd o'er, 
 Guy Denzil heard and saw no more I 
 One stroke, upon the Castle bell. 
 To Oswald rung his dying knell. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 0, for that pencil, erst profuse 
 
 Of chivaliy's emblazon'd hues, 
 
 That traced of old, in Woodstock bower. 
 
 The pageant of the Leaf and Flower, 
 
 And bodied forth the tourney high. 
 
 Held for the hand of Emily ! 
 
 Then might 1 paint the tumult broad. 
 
 That to the crowded abbey flow'd, 
 
 And pour'd, as with an ocean's sound, 
 
 Into the church's ample boimd ! 
 
 Then might I show each varj'ing mien. 
 
 Exulting, woeful, or serene ;
 
 474 
 
 IndiflFerence, vnth his idiot stare, 
 And SjTiipathy, with auxious air, 
 Paint the dejected Cavalier, 
 Doubtful, disarm'd, and sad of cheery 
 And his proud foe, whose formal eye 
 Claim'd conquest now and mastery ; 
 And the brute crowd, whose envious zeal 
 Huzzas each turn of Fortune's wheel. 
 And loudest shouts when lowest lie 
 Exalted worth and station high. 
 Yet what may such a wish avail ? 
 'Tis mine to tell an onward tale, 
 Hurrying, as best I can, along. 
 The hearers and the hasty song ; — 
 Like traveller when approaching home. 
 Who sees the shades of evening come, 
 And must not now his course delay, 
 Or choose the fair, but •ninding way ; 
 Nay, scarcely may his pace suspend, 
 \Yhere o'er his head the wildings bend. 
 To bless the breeze that cools his brow. 
 Or snatch a blossom from the bough. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 The reverend pile lay wild and waste. 
 
 Profaned, dishonour'd, and defaced. 
 
 Through storied lattices no more 
 
 In soften'd light the sunbeams pour, 
 
 Gilding the Gothic sculpture rich 
 
 Of shrine, and monument, and niche. 
 
 The Ci\'il fury of the time 
 
 Made sport of sacrilegious crime ; 
 
 For dark Fanaticism rent 
 
 Altar, and screen, and ornament, 
 
 And peasant hands the tombs o'erthrew 
 
 Of Bowes, of Rokeby, and Fitz-Hugh. 
 
 And now was seen, imwonted sight. 
 
 In holy walls a scaffold dight ! 
 
 "Where once the priest, of grace divine 
 
 Dealt to his flock the mj-stic sign ; 
 
 There stood the block display'd, and there 
 
 The headsman grim his hatchet bare ; 
 
 And for the word of Hope and Faith, 
 
 Eesoimded loud a doom of death. 
 
 Thrice the fierce tnmipet's breath was heari 
 
 And echo'd thrice the herald's word. 
 
 Dooming, for breach of martial laws. 
 
 And treason to the Commons' cause, 
 
 The Knight of Rokeby and O'Neale 
 
 To stoop their heads to block and steel. 
 
 The trimipets flourish'd high and shrill. 
 
 Then was a silence dead and still ; 
 
 And silent prayers to heaven were cast. 
 
 And stifled sobs were bursting fast,
 
 CAXTO Vr. ROKEBY. 475 
 
 Till fi-om the crowd begun to rise 
 Murmurs of sorrow or surprise, 
 And from the distant aisles there came 
 Deep-mutter'd threats, with Wj-clifle's name. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 But Oswald, guarded by his band, 
 
 Powerful in evil, waved his hand, 
 
 And bade Sedition's voice be dead, 
 
 On peril of the murmurer's head. 
 
 Then first his glance sought Kokeby's Knight ; 
 
 Who gazed on the tremendous sight, 
 
 As calm as if he came a guest 
 
 To kindred Baron's feudal feast, 
 
 As calm as if that trumpet-call 
 
 Were summons to the banner'd hall ; 
 
 Firm in his loyalty he stood. 
 
 And prompt to seal it with his blood. 
 
 With downcast look drew Oswald nigh, — 
 
 He dm-st not cope with Kokeby's eye I — 
 
 And said, with low and faltering breath, 
 " Thou knoVst the terms of life and death " 
 
 The Knight then turn'd, and sternly smiled; 
 " The maiden is mine only child, 
 
 Yet shall my blessing leave her head, 
 
 If with a traitor's son she wed." 
 
 Then Redmond spoke : " The life of one 
 
 Slight thy mahgnity atone, 
 
 On me be flung a double guilt 1 
 
 Spare Kokeby's blood, let mine be spilt .' ^ 
 
 Wyclitfe had Usten'd to his suit, 
 
 But dread prevail'd, and he was mute. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 And now he pours his choice of fear 
 In secret on Matilda's ear : 
 " An union form'd witli me and mine. 
 Ensures the faitti of Rokeby"s line. 
 Consent, and all this dread array, 
 Like morning dream, shall pass away ', 
 Refuse, and, by my duty press'd, 
 I give the word — thou know'st the rest." 
 Matilda, still and motionless. 
 With terror heard the dread address, 
 Pale as the sheeted maid who dies 
 To hopeless love a sacrifice ; 
 Then rimg her hands in agony, 
 And round her cast bewilder'd eye — 
 Now on the scaft'old glanced, and now 
 On Wyclift'e's unrelenting brow. 
 She veil'd her face, and, with a voice 
 Scarce audible, — " I make my choice! 
 Spare but their lives ! — for aught beside, 
 Let Wilfrid's doom mv fate decide.
 
 47C ROKEBY. CAKTO VI. 
 
 He once was generous!" — As she spoke. 
 
 Dark Wycliffe's joy in triumph broke : — 
 " Wilfrid, where loiter'd ye so late ? 
 
 Why upon Basil rest thy weight? — 
 
 Art spell-bound by enchanter's wand ? — 
 
 Kneel, kneel, and take her yielded hand; 
 
 Thank her with raptures, simple boy ! 
 
 Should tears and trembling speak thy joy ? " 
 " hush, my sire ! To prayer and tear 
 
 Of mine thou hast refused thine ear ; 
 
 But now the awful hour draws on, 
 
 When truth must speak in loftier tone." 
 
 XXX. 
 
 He took Matilda's hand : — " Dear maid, 
 Covddst thou so injure me," he said, 
 " Of thy poor friend so basely deem. 
 As blend with him this barbarous scheme? 
 Alas ! mj' efforts made in vain. 
 Might well have saved this added pain. 
 But now, bear witness earth and heaven, 
 That ne'er was hope to mortal given. 
 So twisted with the strings of life, 
 As this — to call Matilda wife I 
 I bid it now for ever part. 
 And with the effort biu-sts my heart." 
 His feeble frame was worn so low, 
 With wounds, with watcliing, and with wca. 
 That nature could no more sustain 
 The agonj' of meutal pain. 
 He kneel'd — his lip her hand had press'd. 
 Just then he felt the stern arrest. 
 Lower and lower sunk his head, — 
 They raised him, — but the life was fled I 
 Then, first alarm'd, his sire and train 
 Tried every aid, but tried in vain. 
 The soul, too soft its ills to bear, 
 Had left our mortal hemisphere. 
 And sought in better world the meed. 
 To blameless life by Heaven decreed. 
 
 XXXI, 
 
 The wretched sire beheld, aghast, 
 
 With Wilfrid all his projects past ; — ■ 
 
 All turn'd and centred on his son. 
 
 On Wilfrid all — and he was gone. 
 " And I am childless now," he said ; 
 " Childless, through that relentless maid ! 
 
 A lifetime's arts, in vain essay'd, 
 
 Are bursting on their artisf s head ! — 
 
 Here lies my Wilfrid dead — and there 
 
 Comes hated Mortham for his heir. 
 
 Eager to knit in happy band 
 
 With Rokeby's heiress Redmond's hand.
 
 CANTO VI. ROKEBT. 477 
 
 And shall their triumph soar o'er all 
 The schemes deep-laid to work their fall ? 
 No ! — deeds, which prudence might not dare. 
 Appal not vengeance and despair. 
 The murd'ress weeps upon his bier — 
 I'll change to real that feigned tear! 
 They all shall share destruction's shock ; — 
 Ho ! lead the captives to the block 1 " 
 But ill his Provost coiild divine 
 His feelings, and forbore the sign. 
 " Slave ! to the block ! — or I, or thev, 
 Shall face the judgment-seat this day ! " 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 The outmost crowd have heard a sound, 
 Like horse's hoof on harden'd ground ; 
 Nearer it came, and yet more near, — 
 The very death's-men paused to hear. 
 'Tis in the churchyard now — the tread 
 Hath waked the dwelling of the dead 1 
 Fresh sod, and old sepulchral stone, 
 Ketum the tramp in varied tone. 
 All eyes upon the gateway hung, 
 When through the Gothic arch there spring 
 A horseman arm'd, at headlong speed — 
 Sable his cloak, his plume, his steed. 
 Fire from the flinty floor was spum'd. 
 The vaults unwonted clang return'd ! — 
 One instant's glance around he tlirew, 
 From saddlebow his pistol drew. 
 Grimly determined was his look ! 
 His charger with the spurs he strook — 
 AU scatter'd backward as he came, 
 For aU knew Bertram Risingham I 
 Three bounds that noble courser gave ; 
 The tirst has reach'd the central nave, 
 The second clear'd the chancel wide. 
 The third — he was at Wycliffe's side. 
 Full levell'd at the Baron's head. 
 Rung the report — the bullet sped — 
 And to his long account, and last. 
 Without a groan dark Oswald past ! 
 All was so quick, that it miglit seem 
 A flash of liglitning, or a dream 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Wliile yet the smoke the deed conceals, 
 Bertram his ready charger wheels ; 
 But flomider'd on the pavement-floor 
 The steed, and do'mi the rider bore. 
 And, bursting in the headlong sway. 
 The faithless saddle-girths gave way. 
 'Twas while he toil'd him to be freed. 
 And with the rein to raise the steed.
 
 478 
 
 That from amazement's iron trance 
 All WyclifFe's soldiers waked at once. 
 Sword, halberd, mualtet-but, their blows 
 Hail'd upon Bertram as he rose ; 
 A score of pikes, with each a wound, 
 Bore down and pinn'd him to the ground ; 
 But still his struggling force he rears, 
 'Gainst hacking brands and stabbing spears ; 
 Thrice from assailants shook him free, 
 Once gain'd his feet, and twice his knee. 
 By tenfold odds oppress'd at length, 
 Despite his sti'uggles and his strength. 
 He took a hundi-ed mortal womids. 
 As mute as fox 'mongst mangling hounds ; 
 And when he died, his parting groan 
 Had more of laughter than of moan I 
 — They gazed, as when a lion dies. 
 And hunters scarcely trust their eyes, 
 But bend their weapons on the slain, 
 Lest the grim king should rouse again ! 
 Then blow and insult some renew'd. 
 And from the trunk, the head had hew'd, 
 But Basil's voice the deed forbade; 
 A mantle o'er the corpse he laid : — 
 " Fell as he was in act and mind. 
 He left no bolder heart behind: 
 Then gave him, for a soldier meet, 
 A soldier's cloak for ^vinding sheet." 
 
 XXXIV. 
 No more of death and dying pang, 
 No more of trump and bugle clang, 
 Though through the sounding woods there come 
 Banner and bugle, trump and drum. 
 Arm'd with such powers as well had freed 
 Young Redmond at his utmost need. 
 And back'd with such a band of horse, 
 As might less ample powers enforce ; 
 Possess'd of every proof and sign 
 That gave an heir to Mortham's line, 
 And yielded to a father's arms 
 An image of his Edith's charms, — 
 Mortham is come, to hear and see 
 Of this strange morn the history, 
 What saw he? — not the church's floor, 
 Cumber'd with dead and stain'd with gore ; 
 What heard he? — not the clamorous crowd. 
 That shout their gratulations loud: 
 Redmond he saw and heard alone, 
 Clasp'd him, and sobb'd— My son ! my son !" — 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 This chanced upon a summer mom. 
 When yellow waved the heavy com :
 
 EOKEBY. 
 
 479 
 
 But when bro-rni August o'er the land 
 
 Call'd forth the reaper's busy band, 
 
 A gladsome sight the silvan road 
 
 From Eglistone to Mortham show'd. 
 
 A while the hardy rustic leaves 
 
 The task to bind and pile the sheaves ; 
 
 And maids their sickles fling aside, 
 
 To gaze on bridegroom and on bride ; 
 
 And childhood's Avondering group draws near. 
 
 And from the gleaner's hands the ear 
 
 Drops, while she folds them for a prayer 
 
 And blessing on the lovely pair. 
 
 'Twas then the Jlaid of Rokeby gave 
 
 Her plighted troth to Redmond brave ; 
 
 And Teesdale can remember yet 
 
 How Fate to Virtue paid her debt, 
 
 And, for their troubles, bade them prove 
 
 A lengthen'd life of peace and love. 
 
 Time and Tide had thus their sway, 
 Yielding, like an April day, 
 Smiling noon for sullen morrow. 
 Years of joy for hours of sorrow !
 
 THE 
 
 LOKD OF THE ISLES: 
 
 IN SIX CANTOS. 
 
 2a
 
 ADVERTISEMENT TO THE FIEST EDITION. 
 
 The scene of this poem lies, at first, in the Castle ofArtomish, 
 on the coast of Argyleshire ; and, afterwards, in the Islands of Sky e 
 and Arran, and upon the coast of Ayrshire. Finally, it is laid 
 near Stirling. The story opens in the spring of the year 1307, when 
 Bruce, tvho had been driven out of Scotland hy the English, and the 
 Barons who adhered to that foreign interest, returned from the 
 Island ofRachrin on the coast of Ireland, again to osseH his claims 
 to the Scottish crown. Many of the personages and incidents intro- 
 duced are of historical celebrity. The autlwrities used are chiefly 
 those of the venerable Lord Hailes, as well entitled to he called the 
 restorer of Scottish history, as Bruce the restorer of Scottish mon- 
 archy ; and of Archdeacon Barbour, a correct edition of whose 
 Metrical History of Robert Bi'uce will soon, I trust, appear under 
 the care of my hamed friend, the Rev. Dr. Jamieson. 
 
 Abpotsford, loth December 1814.
 
 TNTEODUCTION TO EDITION ]833. 
 
 I COULD hardly have chosen a subject more popular in Scotland, 
 than anything connected with the Eruce's history, unless I had 
 attempted that of Wallace. But I am decidedly of opinion, 
 that a popular, or what is called a taking title, though well quali- 
 fied to ensure the publishers against loss, and clear their shelves 
 of the original impression, is rather apt to be hazardous than 
 otherwise to the reputation of the author. He who attempts a 
 subject of distinguished popularity, has not the privilege of 
 awakening the enthusiasm of his audience; on the contrarA-, it is 
 already awakened, and glows, it may be, more ardently than that 
 of the author himself. In this case, the wai-mth of the author is 
 inferior to that of the party whom he addresses, who has, there- 
 fore, little chance of being, in Bayes's phrase, " elevated and sur- 
 prised" by what he has thought of with more enthusiasm than 
 the writer. The sense of this risk, joined to the consciousness of 
 stri^nng against wind and tide, made the task of composing the 
 proposed Poem somewhat heavy and hopeless ; but, like the prize- 
 fighter in " As You Like It," I was to -^Testle for my reputation, 
 and not neglect any advantage. In a most agreeable pleasure- 
 voyage, which I have tried to commemorate in the Introduction 
 to the new edition of the " Pirate," I \'isited, in social and friendly 
 company, the coasts and islands of Scotland, and made myself 
 acquainted with the localities of which I meant to treat. But this 
 voyage, which was in every other effect so delightful, was in its 
 conclusion saddened by one of those strokes of fate which so often 
 mingle themselves with our pleasures. The accomplished and 
 excellent person who had recommended to me the subject for 
 " The Lay of the Last Blinstrel," and to whom I proposed to in- 
 scribe what I already suspected might be the close of my poetical 
 labours, was unexpectedly removed from the world, which she 
 seemed only to have ^asited for piu"poses of kindness and benevo- 
 lence. It is needless to say how the a^ithor's feelings, or the 
 composition of his trifling work, were affected by a circumstance 
 which occasioned so many tears and so much son'ow. True it is, 
 that "The Lord of the Isles" was concluded, un\villingly and La 
 haste, under the painful feeling of one who has a task which must 
 be finished, rather than with the ardour of one who endeavours to 
 perform that task weU. Although the Poem cannot be said to 
 have made a favourable impression on the public, the sale of 
 fifteen thousand cojues enabled the author to retreat from the field 
 with the honours of war. 
 
 In the meantime, what was necessarily to be considered as a 
 failure, was much reconciled to my feelings by the success attend-
 
 484 IKTKODUCTION TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 
 
 ing my attempt in another species of composition. "Waverley" 
 had, mider strict inco2:nito," taken its flight from the press, jiist 
 before I set out upon the voyage akeady mentioned ; it had now- 
 made its way to popularity, and the success of that work, and the 
 volumes which fcUowed, was sufficient to have satisfied a greater 
 appetite for applause, than I have at any time possessed." 
 
 I_may as well add in this place, that, being much urged by 
 my intimate friend, now unhappily no more, William Erskine, 
 (a" Scottish judge, by the title of Lord Kinnedder,) I agreed to 
 write the little romantic tale called the " Bridal of Triermain;" 
 but it was on the condition that he should make no serious effort 
 to disown the composition, if report should lay it at his door. 
 As he was more than suspected of a taste for poetry, and as I 
 took care, in several places, to mix something which might 
 resemble (as far as was in my power) my friend's feeling and 
 manner, the train easily caught, and two large editions were 
 sold. A third being called for. Lord Kinnedder became un-\villing 
 to aid any longer a deception which was going further than he 
 expected or desired, and the real author's name was given. 
 Upon another occasion, I sent up another of these trifles, which, 
 like schoolboys' kites, served to show how the wind of popular 
 taste was setting. The manner was supposed to be that of a 
 rude minstrel or Scald, in opposition to the "Bridal of Trier- 
 main," which was designed to belong rather to the Italian school. 
 
 This new fugitive piece was called " Harold the Dauntless;" 
 and I am still astonished at my having committed the gross error 
 of selecting the very name which Lord Byron had made so famous. 
 It encountered rather an odd fate. My ingenious friend, Mr. James 
 Hogg, had published, about the same time, a work called the 
 " Poetic Mirror," containing imitations of the principal living 
 poets. There was in it a very good imitation of my own style, 
 which bore such a resemblance to " Harold the Dauntless," that 
 there was no discovering the original from the imitation ; and I 
 believe that many who took the trouble of thinking upon the sub- 
 ject, were rather of opinion that my ingenious friend was the true, 
 and not the fictitious Simon Pure. Since this period, which was 
 in the year 1817, the author has not been an intruder on the pub- 
 lic by any poetical work of importance. 
 
 W. S. 
 
 Abbotsf OED, Jpril 1830. 
 
 « The first edition of Waverley appeared in July ISli.
 
 NOTICE TO EDITION 1833. 
 
 The composition of " The Lord of the Isles," as vre now have 
 it in the Author's MS., seems to have been begun at Abbotsford 
 in the autumn of 1814, and it ended at Edinbiu-gh the 16th of 
 December. Some part of Canto I. had probably been committed 
 to writing in a rougher form, earlier in the year. The original 
 quarto appeared on the 2d of January 1815. 
 
 It may be mentioned, that those parts of this Poem wliich were 
 written at Abbotsford, were composed almost all in the presence 
 of Sir Walter Scott's family, and many in that of casual visitors 
 also: the original cottage which he then occupied not affording 
 him any means of retirement. Neither conversation nor music 
 seemed to disturb him.
 
 THE 
 
 LOED OF THE ISLES 
 
 CANTO FIEST. 
 
 AcTusiN departs — but still his mantle's fold 
 Rests on the groves of noble Somerville ; 
 Beneath a shroud of russet dropp'd with gold, 
 Tweed and his tributaries mmgle stUl ; 
 Hoarser the wind, and deeper sounds the rill. 
 Yet lingering notes of silvan music swell. 
 The deep-toned cushat, and the redbreast shrUl ; 
 And yet some tints of svunmer splendour tell 
 When the broad sun sinks down on Ettrick's western fell. 
 
 Autumn departs — from Gala's fields no more 
 Come rural sounds, our kindred banks to cheer ; 
 Blent with the sti'eam, and gale that wafts it o'er. 
 No more the distant reaper's mirth we hear. 
 The last blithe shout hath died upon our ear. 
 And harvest-home hath hush'd the clanging wain, 
 On the waste hill no forms of life appear. 
 Save where, sad laggard of the autumnal train. 
 Some age-struck wanderer gleans few ears of scatter'd g;\iin. 
 
 Deem'st thou these sadden'd scenes have pleasure still, 
 Lovest thou through Autumn's fading realms to stray, 
 To see the heath -flower ^rither'd on the hill. 
 To listen to the wood's expiring lay. 
 To note the red leaf shivering on the spray. 
 To mark the last bright tints the moimtain stain, 
 On the waste fields to trace the gleaner's way. 
 And moralize on mortal joy and pain ? — 
 O ! if such scenes thou loves^ scorn not the minstrel strain. 
 
 No I do not scorn, although its hoarser note 
 Scarce with the cushat's homely song can vie, 
 Though faint its beauties as the tints remote 
 That gleam tlirough mist in autumn's evening sky. 
 And few as leaves tiiat tremble, sear and drj-. 
 When wild November hath his bugle wound ; 
 Nor mock my toil — a lonely gleaner I, 
 Through fields time-wasted, on sad inquest bound. 
 Where happier bards of yore have richer harvest found.
 
 488 THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 
 
 So shalt thou list, and haply not unmoved. 
 To a wild tale of Albyn's warrior day ; 
 In distant lands, by the rQugh West reproved, 
 StiU live some relics of the ancient lay. 
 For, when on Coolin's hills the Ughts decay. 
 With such the Seer of Skye the eve beguUes ; 
 'T is known amid the pathless wastes of Eeay, 
 In Harries known, and in Zona's pUes, 
 Where rest from mortal coil the Mighty of the Isles. 
 
 I. 
 
 " Wake, Maid of Lorn I " the Minstrels sung. — 
 Thy rugged haUs, Artomish ! rung,i 
 And the dark seas, thy towers that lave. 
 Heaved on the beach a softer wave, 
 As 'mid the tuneful choir to keep 
 The diapason of the Deep. 
 Lull'd were the winds on Inninmore, 
 And green Loch-Alline's woodland shore, 
 As if wild woods and waves had pleasure 
 In listing to the lovely measure. 
 And ne'er to symphony more sweet 
 Gave mountain echoes answer meet, 
 Since, met from mainland and from isle, 
 Ross, Arran, Tslay, and Argyle, 
 Each minstrel's tributary lay 
 Paid homage to the festal day. 
 Dull and dishonour'd were the bard, 
 Worthless of guerdon and regard. 
 Deaf to the hope of minstrel fame. 
 Or lady's smiles, his noblest aim. 
 Who on that mom's resistless call 
 Were silent in Artomish hall. 
 
 II. 
 
 " Wake Maid of Lorn 1 " — 'twas thu.<! they sung, 
 
 And yet more proud the descant rung, 
 " Wake, Maid of Lorn ! high right is ours, 
 
 To charm dull sleep from Beauty's bowers ; 
 
 Earth, Ocean, Air, have nought so shy 
 
 But OAvns the power of minstrelsy. 
 
 In Lettermore the timid deer 
 
 Will pause, the harp's wild chime to hear ; 
 
 Rude Heiskar's seat through surges dark. 
 
 Will long pursue the minstrel's bark ; ^ 
 
 To list his notes, the eagle proud 
 
 Will poise him on Ben-Cailliach's cloud ; 
 
 1 See Note 1 of the "Notes to The Lokd of the Isles" in the Appf-n. 
 due. The figures of reference tUroug}iout the poem relate to further r»otc9 
 in the Appendix.
 
 I I. THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 489 
 
 Then let not Maiden's ear disdain 
 The summons of the minstrel train. 
 But, while our harps wild music make, 
 Edith of Lorn, awake, awake 1 
 
 III. 
 
 " wake, while Dawn, with dewy shine, 
 
 Wakes Nature's charms to vie with thine ! 
 
 She bids the mottled thrush rejoice 
 
 To mate thy melody of voice ; 
 
 The dew that on the violet Ues 
 
 Mocks the dark lustre of thine eyes ; 
 
 But, Edith, wake, and all we see 
 
 Of sweet and fair shall yield to thee ! " — 
 " She comes not yet," grey Ferrand cried ; 
 " Brethren, let softer spell be tried, 
 
 Those notes prolong'd, that soothing theme, 
 
 Which best may mix with Beauty's dream. 
 
 And whisper, with their silvery tone, 
 
 The hope she loves, yet fears to own." 
 
 He spoke, and on the harp-strinc^s died 
 
 The strains of flattery and of pride ; 
 
 More soft, more low, more tender fell 
 
 The lay of love he bade them teU. 
 
 IV. 
 
 " Wake, Maid of Lorn ! the moments fly, 
 
 Which yet that maiden-name allow ; 
 Wake, Maiden, wake I the hour is nisj^li. 
 
 When love shall claim a plighted vo\y. 
 By Fear, thy bosom's fluttering giiest. 
 
 By Hope, that soon shall fears remove, 
 We bid thee break the bonds of rest, 
 
 And wake thee at the call of Love ! 
 
 " Wake, Edith, wake ! in yonder bay 
 
 Lies many a galley gaily maun'd, 
 We hear the merry pibroch's play, 
 
 We see the streamers* silken band. 
 What Chieftam's praise these pibroclis sweil, 
 
 What crest is on these banners wove, 
 The harp, the minstrel, dare not tell — 
 
 The riddle must be read by Love." 
 
 V. 
 Retired her maiden train among, 
 Edith of Lorn received the song, 
 But tamed the minstrel's pride had been 
 That had lier cold demeanour seen ; 
 For not upon her cheek awoke 
 The glow of pride when Flattery spoke. 
 Nor could their tenderest numbers bring 
 One sigh responsive to the string. 
 As vainly had her maidens vied 
 In skill to deck the princely bride.
 
 490 THE LORD OP THE ISLE?. CANTO I. 
 
 Her locks, in dark-brown length array 'd, 
 Cathleen of Ulne, 'twas thine to braid ; 
 Young Eva with meet reverence drew 
 On the light foot the silken shoe, 
 WhUe on the ankle's slender round 
 Those strings of pearl fair Bertha wound. 
 That, bleach'd Lochiyan's depths wthin, 
 Seem'd dusky still on Edith's skin. 
 But Einion, of experience old. 
 Had weightiest task — the mantle's fold 
 In many an artful plait she tied, 
 To shew the form it seem'd to hide, 
 Till on the floor descending roll'd 
 Its waves of crimson blent with gold. 
 
 VI. 
 
 O ! lives there now so cold a maid, 
 Who thus in beauty's pomp array'd, 
 In beauty's proudest pitch of power, 
 And conquest won — the bridal hour — 
 With every charm that wins the heart, 
 By Natm-e given, enhanced by Art, 
 Could yet the fair reflection view, 
 In the bright mirror pictured true, 
 And not one dimple on her cheek 
 A tell-tale consciousness bespeak ? — 
 Lives still sucli maid? — Fair damsels, say, 
 For further vouches not my lay, 
 Save that such lived in Britain's isle. 
 When Lom's bright Edith scorn'd to smile. 
 
 YII. 
 
 But Morag, to whose fostering care 
 Proud Lorn had given his daughter fair, 
 Morag, who saw a mother's aid 
 By all a daughter's love repaid, 
 (Strict was that bond — most kind of all — 
 Inviolate in Highland hall) — 
 Grey Morag sate a space apart. 
 In Edith's eyes to read her heart. 
 In vain the attendant's fond appeal 
 To jilorag's skill, to Jlorag's zeal ; 
 She mark'd her child receive their care, 
 Cold as the image sculptured fair, 
 (Form of some sainted patroness,) 
 Which cloister'd maids combine to dress ; 
 She mark'd — and knew her nursling's heart 
 In the vain pomp took little part. 
 Wistful a while she gazed — then press'd 
 The maiden to her anxious breast 
 In finish'd loveliness — and led 
 To where a tmTet's airy head. 
 Slender and steep, and battled round, 
 O'erlook'd dark Mull! thy mighty Somid,3 
 Where thwarting tides, with mingled roar. 
 Part thy swarth hills from Morven's shore.
 
 CANTO I. THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 491 
 
 VIII. 
 " Daughter," she said, " these seas behold, 
 Round tTvice a hundred islands roU'd, 
 From Hirt, that hears their northern roar, 
 To the green Islay's fertile shore ; 
 Or maimand turn, where many a tower 
 Owns thy bold brother's feudal power. 
 Each on its own dark cape reclined. 
 And listening to its own wild wind, 
 From where Mingarry, sternly placed, 
 O'erawes the woodland and the waste, 
 To where Dunstaffhage hears the raging 
 Of Connal with its rocks engaging. 
 Thinkst thou, amid this ample round, 
 A single brow but thine has frown'd, 
 To sadden this auspicious mom. 
 That bids the daughter of high Lorn 
 Impledge her spousal faith to wed 
 The heir of mighty Somerled?* 
 Ronald, from many a hero sprung. 
 The fair, the valiant, and the young, 
 LoKD OF THE IsLES, whose lofty name* 
 A thousand bards have given to fame, 
 The mate of monarchs, and allied 
 On equal terms with England's pride. — 
 From Chieftain's tower to bondsman's cot. 
 Who hears the tale, and triumphs not ? 
 The damsel dons her best attire. 
 The shepherd lights his beltane fire, 
 Joy ! joy ! each warder's horn hath sung, 
 Joy ! joy ! each matin bell hath rung ; 
 The holy priest says grateful mass, 
 Loud shouts each hardy galla-glass, 
 No mountain den holds outcast boor, 
 Of heart so dull, of soul so poor. 
 But he hath flung his task aside. 
 And claim'd this morn for holy-tide ; 
 Yet, empress of this jo}-ful day, 
 Edith is sad while aU are gay." — 
 
 IX. 
 
 Proud Edith's soul came to her eye, 
 Resentment check'd the struggling sigh. 
 Her hurrying hand indignant dried 
 The burning tears of injured pride — 
 " Morag, forbear ! or lend thy praise 
 To swell yon hireling harpers' lays ; 
 Make to yon maids thy boaet of power. 
 That they may waste a wondering hour, 
 Telling of banners proudly borne, 
 Of pealing bell and bugle horn. 
 Or, theme more dear, of robes of price, 
 Crownlets and gauds of rare device. 
 But thou, experienced as thou art, 
 Thinkst thou with these to cheat the heart.
 
 492 THE LORD OP THE ISLES. CANTO I 
 
 , That, bound in strong affection's chain. 
 
 Looks for return and looks in vain ? 
 No! sum thine Edith's wretched lot 
 In these brief words — He loves her not I 
 
 X. 
 
 " Debate it not — too long I strove 
 To call his cold observance love, 
 All blinded by the league that styled 
 Edith of Lorn, — while yet a child, 
 She tripp'd the heath by Morag's side— 
 The brave Lord Ronald's destined bride. 
 Ere yet I saw him, while afar 
 His broadsword blazed in Scotland's war, 
 Train'd to believe our fates the same, 
 My bosom throbb'd when Eonald's name 
 Came gracing Fame's heroic tale, 
 Like perfume on the summer gale. 
 "What pilgrim sought our halls, nor told 
 Of Eonald's deeds in battle bold ; 
 "Who touch'd the harp to heroes* praise. 
 But his achievements swell'd the lays? 
 Even Morag — not a tale of fame 
 "Was hers but closed with Eonald's name. 
 He came ; and all that had been told 
 Of his high worth seem'd poor and cold. 
 Tame, lifeless, void of energy, 
 Unjust to Eonald and to mel 
 
 XI. 
 
 « Since then, what thought had Edith's heart 
 And gave not plighted love its part ? — 
 And what requital ? cold delay — 
 Excuse that shmin'd the spousal day. — 
 It dawns, and Eonald is not here ! — 
 Hunts he Bentalla's nimble deer, 
 Or loiters he in secret dell 
 To bid some lighter love farewell. 
 And swear, that though he may not scorn 
 A daughter of the House of Lorn,^ 
 Yet, when these formal rites are o'er. 
 Again they meet, to part no more ? " 
 
 XIL 
 
 — " Hush, daughter, hush ! thy doubts remove, 
 
 More nobly think of Eonald's love. 
 
 Look, where beneath the castle grey 
 
 His fleet unmoor from Aros bay ! 
 
 See'st not each galley's topmast bend. 
 
 As on the yards the sails ascend ? 
 
 Hiding the dark-blue land, they rise 
 
 Like the white clouds on April skies ; 
 
 The shouting vassals man the oars. 
 
 Behind them sink Mull's mountain shores,
 
 CANTO I. THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 493 
 
 Onward their merry course they keep, 
 Through whistling breeze and ibaming deep. 
 And mark the headmost, seaward cast. 
 Stoop to the freshening gale her mast. 
 As if she veil'd its banner'd pride. 
 To greet afar her Prince's bride ! 
 Thy Ronald comes and while in speed 
 His galley mates the flying steed. 
 He chides her sloth ! — Fair Edith sigh'd, 
 Blush'd, sadly smiled, and thus replied : — 
 
 XIII. 
 
 " Sweet thought, but vain ! — No, Morag ! mark. 
 Type of his course, yon lonely bark, 
 That oft hath shifted helm and sail. 
 To ■win its way against the gale. 
 Since peep of morn, my vacant eyes 
 Have vlew'd by fits the course she tries ; 
 Now, though the darkening scud comes on. 
 And dawn's fair promises be gone. 
 And though the weary crew may see 
 Our sheltering haven on their lee, 
 Still closer to the rising wind 
 They strive her shivering sail to bind. 
 Still nearer to the shelves' dread verge 
 At every tack her course they urge. 
 As if they fear'd Artornish more 
 Then adverse winds and breakers' roar.'' 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Sooth spoke the maid. — Amid the tide 
 
 The skiff she mark'd lay tossing sore, 
 And shifted oft her stooping side. 
 In weary tack from shore to shore. 
 Yet on her destined course no more 
 
 She gain'd, of forward way. 
 Than what a minstrel may compare 
 To the poor meed which peasants snare. 
 
 Who toil the livelong day ; 
 And such the risk her pilot braves. 
 
 That oft, before she wore. 
 Her boltsprit kiss'd the broken waves. 
 Where in white foam the ocean raves 
 
 Upon the shelving shore. 
 Yet, to their destined purpose true. 
 Undaunted toil'd her hardy crew, 
 
 Nor look'd where shelter lay, 
 Nor for Artornish Castle ckew. 
 
 Nor steer'd for Aros bay. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Thus while they strove with wind and seaa. 
 Borne onward by the willing breeze. 
 Lord Ronald's fleet swept by.
 
 494 THE LORD OP THE ISLES. 
 
 Streamer'd with silk, and trick'd with gold, 
 Mann'd with the noble and the bold 
 
 Of island chivalry. 
 Around their prows the ocean roars, 
 And chafes beneath their thousand oars. 
 
 Yet bears them on their way : 
 So chafes the war-horse in his might, 
 That fieldward bears some valiant knight, 
 Champs, till both bit and boss are white. 
 
 But, foaming, must obey. 
 On each gaj' deck they might behold 
 Lances of steel and crests of gold, 
 And hauberlts with their burnish'd fold. 
 
 That shimmer'd fair and free ; 
 And each proud galley, as she pass'd. 
 To the wild cadence of the blast 
 
 Give wilder minstrelsy. 
 Full many a shrill triumphant note 
 Saline and Scallastle bade float 
 
 Their misty shores around ; 
 And Morven's echoes answer'd well, 
 And Duart heard the distant swell 
 
 Come do%vn the darksome Sound. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 So bore they on with mirth and pride, 
 And if that laboming bark tliey spied, 
 
 'Twas with such idle eye 
 As nobles cast on lowly boor. 
 When, toiling in his task obscure. 
 
 They pass him careless by. 
 Let them sweep on with heedless eyes ! 
 But, had they known what mighty prize 
 
 In that frail vessel lay. 
 The famish'd wolf, that prowls the wold. 
 Had scatheless pass'd the unguarded fold. 
 Ere, drifting by these galleys bold. 
 
 Unchallenged were her way I 
 And thou. Lord Ronald, sweep thou on. 
 With mirth, and pride, and minstrel tone ! 
 But hadst thou known who sail'd so nigh. 
 Far other glance were in thine eye ! 
 Far other flush were on thy brow. 
 That, shaded by the bonnet, now 
 Assumes but ill the blithesome cheer 
 Of bridegroom when the bride is near ! 
 
 XVII. 
 Yes, sweep they on ! — We will not leave. 
 For them that triumph, those who grieve. 
 
 With that armada gay 
 Be laughter loud and jocund shout. 
 And bards to cheer the wassail route, 
 
 With tale, romance, and lay;
 
 CANTO I. THE LORD OF THE ISLES, 495 
 
 An4 of vrild mirth each clamorous art, 
 "Which, if it cannot cheer the heart, 
 May stupify and stun its smart, 
 
 ' For one loud busy day. 
 Yes, sweep they on ! — But with that skiif 
 
 Abides the minstrel tale, 
 Where there was dread of surge and cliff, 
 Labour that strain'd each suiew stifii 
 And one sad Maiden's wail. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 All day with fruitless strife they toU'd 
 T\^ith eve the ebbing currents boil'd 
 
 More fierce from strait and lake ; 
 And midway through the channel met 
 Conflicting tides that foam and fret. 
 And high their mingled billows jet, 
 As spears, that, in the battle set. 
 
 Spring upward as they break. 
 Then, too, the lights of eve were past, 
 And louder sung the western blast 
 
 On rocks of Inninmore ; 
 Eent was the sail, and strain'd the mast. 
 And many a leak was gaping fast. 
 And the pale steersman stood aghast, 
 
 And gave the conflict o'er. 
 
 XIX. 
 'Twas then that One, whose lofty look 
 Nor labom" dull'd nor terror shook. 
 
 Thus to the Leader spoke : — 
 " Brother, how hopest thou to abide 
 The fiuy of this wUder'd tide. 
 Or how avoid the rock's rude side. 
 
 Until the day has broke ? 
 Didst thou not mark the vessel reel. 
 With quivering planks, and groaning keel. 
 
 At the last billow's shock ? 
 Yet how of better coimsel tell. 
 Though here thou see'st poor Isabel 
 
 Half dead with want and fear; 
 For look on sea, or look on land. 
 Or yon dark sky — on every hand 
 
 Despair and death are near. 
 For her alone I grieve, — on me 
 Danger sits light, by land and sea, 
 
 I follow where thou wilt ; 
 Either to bide the tempest's lour. 
 Or wend to yon unfriendly tower, 
 Or rush amid their naval power. 
 With war-cry wake their wassail-hour. 
 
 And die with hand on hilt." — 
 
 XX. 
 
 That elder Leader's calm reply 
 In steady voice was given —
 
 496 THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 
 
 " In man's most dark extremity 
 
 Oft succonr dawns from Heaven. 
 Edward, trim thou tlie sliatter'd sail, 
 The helm be mine, and down the gale 
 
 Let our free course be driven ; 
 So shall we 'scape the western bay, 
 The hostile fleet, the unequal fray. 
 So safely hold our vessel's way 
 
 Beneath the Castle wall ; 
 For if a hope of safety rest, 
 'Tis on the sacred name of guest, 
 "Who seeks for shelter, storm-distress'd. 
 
 Within a chieftain's hall. 
 If not — it best beseems our worth, 
 Our name, our right, our lofty birth, 
 
 By noble hands to fall." 
 
 XXI. 
 
 The helm, to his strong arm consign'd, 
 Gave the reef'd sail to meet the wind, 
 
 And on her alter'd way. 
 Fierce bounding, forward spnmg the ship 
 Like greyhound starting from the slip 
 
 To seize his flying prey. 
 Awaked before the rushing prow, 
 The mimic fires of ocean glow. 
 
 Those lightnings of the wave ;^ 
 Wild sparkles crest the broken tides. 
 And, flashing round, the vessel's sides 
 
 With elvish lustre lave, 
 While, far behind, their livid light 
 To the dark billows of the night 
 
 A gloomy splendour gave. 
 It seems as if old Ocean shakes 
 From his dark brow the lucid flakes 
 
 In envious pageantry. 
 To match the meteor-light that streaks 
 
 Grim Hecla's midnight sky. 
 
 XXIL 
 
 Nor lack'd they steadier light to keep 
 Their course upon the darken'd deep ; — 
 Artomish, on her frowning steep 
 
 'Twixt cloud and ocean hung. 
 Glanced with a thousand lights of glee, 
 And landward far, and far to sea, 
 
 Her festal radiance flung. 
 By that blithe beacon-light they steer'd. 
 
 Whose lustre mingled well 
 With the pale beam that now /»ppear'd, 
 As the cold moon her head uprear'd 
 
 Above the eastern fell. 
 
 XXTIL 
 
 Thus guided, on their course they bore. 
 Until they near"d the mainland shore.
 
 ) I. THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 497 
 
 A\Tien frequent on the hollow blast 
 Wild shouts of merruuent were cast. 
 And -nind and wave and sea-birds cry 
 "With wassail sounds in concert vie, 
 lake funeral shrieks with revehy, 
 
 Or like the battle-shout 
 By peasants heard from cliffs on high, 
 When Triumph, Rage, and Agony, 
 
 Madden the fight and rout. 
 Now nearer yet, through mist and storm 
 Dimly arose the Castle's form. 
 
 And deepen'd shadow made, 
 Far lengthen'd on the main below, 
 Where, dancing in reflected glow, 
 
 A hmidred torches play'd. 
 Spangling the wave with lights as vain 
 As pleasures in this vale of pain. 
 
 That dazzle as they fade. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Beneath the Castle's sheltering lee, 
 They staid their course in quiet sea. 
 He'rni in the rock, a passage there 
 Sought the dark fortress by a stair. 
 
 So straight, so high, so steep. 
 With peasant's staff one valiant hand 
 Might well the dizzy pass have mann'd. 
 'Gainst hundreds arra'd with spear and brand. 
 
 And plimged them in the deep. 
 His bugle then the helmsman woimd ; 
 Loud answer'd every echo round, 
 
 From tun-et, rock, jmd bay ; 
 The postern hinges crash and groan, 
 And soon the Warder's cresset shone 
 On those rude steps of slipperj- stone. 
 
 To light the upward way. 
 " Thrice welcome, holy Sire I " he said ; 
 " FuU long the spousal train have staid. 
 
 And, vex'd at thy delay, 
 Fear'd lest, amidst these wiidering seas. 
 The darksome night and freshening breeze 
 
 Had driven thy bark astray." — 
 
 XXV. 
 " Warder," the younger stranger said, 
 " Thine erring guess some mirth had made 
 In mirtliful hour; but nights like these, 
 "When the rough wmds wake western seas. 
 Brook not of glee. AVe crave some aid 
 And needful shelter for this maid 
 
 Until the break of day ; 
 For to ourselves, the deck's rude plank 
 Is easy as the mossy bank 
 
 That's breathed upon by Ma\'. 
 21
 
 498 THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 
 
 And for our storm-toss'd skiff we seek 
 Short shelter in this leeward creek, 
 Prompt when the dawn the east shall streak 
 
 Again to bear away." — 
 Answered the Warder, — " In what name 
 Assert ye hospitable claim ? 
 
 Whence come, or whither bound? 
 Hath Erin seen your parting sails. 
 Or come ye on Norweyan gales ? 
 And seek ye England's fertile vales, 
 
 Or Scotland's mountain ground?" — 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 " Warriors — for other title none 
 For some brief space we list to own. 
 Bound by a vow — warriors are we ; 
 In strife by land, and storm by sea. 
 
 We have been known to fame j 
 And these brief words have import dear, 
 When sounded in a noble ear. 
 To harbour safe, and friendly cheer, 
 
 That gives us rightful claim. 
 Grant us the trivial boon we seek. 
 And we in other realms will speak 
 
 Fair of your courtesy ; 
 Deny — and be your niggard Hold 
 Scom'd by the noble and the bold, 
 Shunn'd by the pilgrim on the wold, 
 
 And wanderer on the lea!" — 
 
 XXVII, 
 " Bold sti-anger, no — 'gainst claim like thine, 
 No bolt revolves by hand of mine. 
 Though urged in tone that more express'd 
 A monarch than a suppliant guest. 
 Be what ye will, Artornish Hall 
 On this glad eve is free to all. 
 Though ye had drawn a hostile sword 
 'Gainst our ally, great England's Lord, 
 Or mail upon your shoulders borne. 
 To battle with the Lord of Lorn, 
 Or, outlaw'd, dwelt by greenwood tree 
 With the fierce Knight of Ellerslie, " 
 Or aided even the murderous strife, 
 When Comj-n fell beneath the knife 
 Of that fell homicide The Bruce, 12 
 This night had been a term of truce. — 
 Ho, vassals ! give these guests yoiu: care. 
 And show the narrow postern stair." 
 
 xxvin. 
 
 To land these two bold brethren leapt, 
 (The weary crew their vessel kept,) 
 And, lighted by the torches' flare, 
 
 « Sir William Wallace.
 
 1. THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 499 
 
 That seaward flung their smoky glare. 
 The younger knight that maiden bare 
 
 Half lifeless up the rock; 
 On his strong shoulder lean'd her head, 
 And down her long dark tresses shed, 
 As the wild vine, in tendrils spread, 
 
 Droops from the mountain oak. 
 Him foUow'd close that elder Lord, 
 And in his hand a sheathed sword. 
 
 Such as few arms could wield ; 
 But when he boun'd him to such task, 
 Well could it cleave the strongest casque, 
 
 And rend the surest shield. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 The raised portcullis' arch they pass. 
 The wicket with its bars of brass, 
 
 The entrance long and low, 
 Flank'd at each turn by loop-holes strait. 
 Where bowmen might in ambush wait, 
 (If force or fi-aud should burst the gate,) 
 
 To gall an entering foe. 
 But every jealous post of ward 
 Was now defenceless and imbarr'd, 
 
 And all the passage free 
 To one low-brow'd and vaulted room, 
 Where squire and yeoman, page and groom, 
 
 Plied their loud revelry. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 And " Rest ye here," the Warder bade, 
 " Till to our Lord your suit is said. — 
 And, comrades, gaze not on the maid, 
 And on these men who ask our aid. 
 
 As if ye ne'er had seen 
 A damsel tu-ed of midnight bark. 
 Or wanderers of a moulding stark, 
 
 And bearing martial mien." 
 But not for Eachin's reproof 
 Would page or vassal stand aloof, 
 
 But crowded on to stare, 
 As men of courtesy imtaught 
 Till fiery Edward roughly caught. 
 
 From one the foremost there, 
 His chequer'd plaid, and in its shroud, 
 To hide her from the vulgar crowd, 
 
 Involved his sister fair. 
 His brother, as the clansman bent 
 His sullen brow in discontent, 
 
 Made brief and stern excuse ; — 
 " Vassal, were thine the cloak of pall 
 That decks thy lord in bridal hall, 
 
 'Twere honoui-'d by her use."
 
 500 THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 
 
 xxxr. 
 
 Proud was his tone, but calm ; his eye 
 
 Had that compelling dignity, 
 
 His mien that bearing haught and higli. 
 
 Which common spirits fear ! 
 Needed nor word nor signal more. 
 Nod, wink, and laughter, all were o'er ; 
 Upon each other back they bore, 
 
 And gazed like startled deer. 
 But now appear'd the Seneschal, 
 Commission'd by his lord to call 
 The strangers to the Baron's hall, 
 
 Where feasted fair and free 
 That Island Prince in nuptial tide. 
 With Edith there his lovely bride. 
 And her bold brother by her side. 
 And many a chief, the flower and pride 
 
 Of Western land and sea. 
 
 Here pause we, gentles, for a space ; 
 And, if our tale hath won your grace, 
 Grant us brief patience, and again 
 We will renew the minstrel strain. 
 
 CANTO SECOND. 
 
 I. 
 
 Fill the bright goblet, spread the festive board'. 
 Summon the gay, the noble, and the fair ! 
 Through the loud hall, in joyous concert pour'd. 
 Let mirth and music sound the dirge of Care 1 
 But ask thou not if Happiness be there, 
 If the loud laugh disguise convulsive throe. 
 Or if the brow the heart's true livery wear ; 
 Lift not the festal mask 1 — enough to know, 
 No scene of mortal life but teems with mortal woe. 
 
 IL 
 
 With beakers' clang, with harpers' lay, 
 With all that olden time deem'd gay, 
 The Island Chieftain feasted high ; 
 But there was in his troubled eye 
 A gloomy fire, and on his brow. 
 Now sudden flush'd, and faded now, 
 Emotions such as draw their birth 
 From deeper source than festal mirth. 
 By fits he paused, and harper's strain 
 And jester's tale went round in vain,
 
 CANTO IT. THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 601 
 
 Or fell but on his idle ear 
 Like distant sounds which dreamers hear. 
 Then would he rouse him, and employ 
 Each art to aid the clamorous joy, 
 
 And call for pledge and lay, 
 And, for brief space, of all the crowd, 
 As he was loudest of the loud. 
 
 Seem gayest of the gay. 
 
 III. 
 
 Yet nought amiss the bridal throng 
 IMark'd in brief mirth, or musing long ; 
 The vacant brow, the imlistening ear. 
 They gave to thoughts of raptures near. 
 And his fierce starts of sudden glee 
 Seem'd bursts of bridegroom's ecstasy. 
 Nor thus alone misjudged the crowd, 
 Since lofty Lorn, suspicious, proud. 
 And jealous of his honour'd line. 
 And that keen knight, De Argentine,^ 
 (From England sent on errand high. 
 The western league more firm to tie,) 
 Both deem'd in Konald's mood to find 
 A lover's transport-troubled mind. 
 But one sad heart, one tearfid eye. 
 Pierced deeper through the mystery, 
 And watch'd, with agony and fear. 
 Her wayward bridegroom's varied cheer. 
 
 IV. 
 
 She watch'd — yet fear'd to meet his glance, 
 And he shunn'd hers ; — tiU when by chance 
 They met, the point of foeman's lance 
 
 Had given a milder pang 1 
 Beneath the intolerable smart 
 He writhed — then sternly mann'd his heart 
 To play his hard but destined part. 
 And from tlie table sprang. 
 " Fill me the mighty cup ! " he said, 
 " Erst own'd by royal Somerled : ' 
 Fill it, till on the studded brim 
 In burning gold the bubbles swim. 
 And every gem of varied shine 
 Glow doubly bright in rosy wine ! 
 To you, brave lord, and brother mine, 
 
 Of Lorn, this pledge I drink — 
 The Union of Our House with thine, 
 By this fair bridal-link I " — 
 
 V. 
 
 " Let it pass round ! " quoth He of Lorn, 
 " And in good time — that winded horn 
 Must of the Abbot tell ; 
 
 The laggard monk is come at last." 
 
 Lord Konald heard tjie bugle-blast,
 
 S02' THE LORD OF THE ISLES. CANTO II. 
 
 And on the floor at random cast, 
 
 The untasted goblet fell. 
 But when the Warder in his ear 
 TeUs other news, his blither cheer 
 
 Returns like sun of May, 
 When through a thunder-cloud it beams !— 
 Lord of two hundred isles, he seema 
 
 As glad of brief delay, 
 As some poor criminal might feel, 
 When, from the gibbet or the wheel. 
 
 Respited for a day. 
 
 VI. 
 
 " Brother of Lorn," with hurried voice 
 He said, " And yon, fair lords, rejoice ! 
 
 Here, to augment our glee. 
 Come wandering knights from travel far, 
 WeU proved, they say, in strife of war, 
 
 And tempest on the sea. — 
 Ho ! give them at your board such place 
 As best their presences may grace. 
 
 And bid them welcome free ! " 
 With solemn step, and silver wand, 
 The Seneschal the presence scann'd 
 Of these strange guests ; and well he knew 
 How to assign their rank its due; 
 
 For though the costly furs 
 That erst had'deck'd their caps were torn, 
 And their gay robes were over-worn. 
 
 And soifd then* gilded spurs. 
 Yet such a high commanding grace 
 Was in their mien and in their face. 
 As suited best the princely dais," 
 
 And royal canopy ; 
 And there lie marshail'd them their place, 
 
 First of that company, 
 
 VII. 
 Then lords and ladies spake aside. 
 And angry looks the error chide, 
 That gave to guests imnamed, unknown, 
 A place so near their prince's throne ; 
 
 But Owen Erraught said— 
 " For forty years a seneschal, 
 To marshall guests in bower and hall 
 
 Has been my honour'd trade. 
 Worship and birth to me are known. 
 By look, by bearing, and by tone, 
 Not by furr'd robe or broider'd zone ; 
 
 i^d 'gainst an oaken bough 
 111 gage my silver wand of state. 
 That these "three strangers oft have sate 
 
 In higher place than now." — 
 
 <" Dais — ihe great hall-table — eleratcd a step or two above the rest of 
 tUe room. •
 
 » II. THE LORD OP THE ISLES. 503 
 
 YIII. 
 " I, too," the aged Ferrand said, 
 " All! qualLfied by minstrel trade 
 Of rank and place to tell ; — 
 Itlark'd ye the younger stranger's eye, 
 My mates, how quick, how keen, how high. 
 
 How fierce its flashes fell, 
 Glancing among the noble rout 
 As if to seek the noblest out. 
 Because the owner might not brook 
 On any save his peers to look ? 
 And yet it moves me more. 
 That steady, calm, majestic brow. 
 With which the elder chief even novi^ 
 
 Scann'd the gay presence o'er. 
 Like being of superior kind. 
 In whose high-toned impartial mind 
 Degrees of mortal rank and state 
 Seem objects of indift'erent weight 
 The lady too — though, closely tied. 
 
 The mantle veU both face and eye. 
 Her motions' grace it could not hiile. 
 Xor could her form's fair symmetrj', 
 
 IX. 
 
 Suspicious doubt and lordly scorn 
 Lour'd on the haughty front of Lorn. 
 From underneath his brows of pride, 
 The stranger guests he sternly eyed. 
 And whisper'd closely what the ear 
 Of Argentine alone might hear ; 
 
 Then question'd, high and brief. 
 If, in their voyage, aught they knew 
 Of the rebellious Scottish crew, 
 "Who to Rath-Erin's shelter drew, 
 
 With Can-ick's outlaw'd Chief? ^o 
 And if, their winters exile o'er, 
 They harbourd still by Ulster's shore. 
 Or laimch'd their galleys on the main. 
 To vex their native land again ? 
 
 X. 
 
 That younger stranger, fierce and high. 
 At once confronts the Chieftain's eye 
 
 With look of equal scorn ; — 
 " Of rebels have we nought to show ; 
 But if of royal Bruce thou'dst know, 
 
 I warn thee he has sworn. 
 Ere thrice three days shall come and go. 
 His banner Scottish wmds shall blow. 
 Despite each mean or mighty foe, 
 From England's every bill and bow, 
 
 To Allaster of Lorn." 
 Kindled the mountain Chieftain's ire. 
 But Eonald quench'd the rising fire ; —
 
 604 THE LORD OP THE ISLES. C 
 
 " Brother, it better suits the tune 
 To chase the niii^ht with Ferrand's rhyme, 
 Then wake, 'midst mirth and wine, the jars 
 That flow from these unhappy wars." — 
 
 " Content," said Lorn ; and spoke apart 
 With Ferrand, master of his art, 
 Then whisper'd Argentine, — 
 
 " The lay I named will carry smart 
 To these bold strangers' haughty heart, 
 
 If right this guess of mine." 
 He ceased, and it was silence all, 
 Until the minstrel waked the hall. 
 
 XI. 
 
 * Whence the brooch of burning gold, 
 That clasps the Chieftain's mantle-fold. 
 Wrought and chased with rare device, 
 Studded fair with gems of price. 
 On the varied tartans beaming, 
 As, through night's pale rainbow gleaming, 
 Fainter now, now seen afar. 
 Fitful shines the northern star ? 
 
 " Gem ! ne'er wrought on Highland mountain. 
 Did the fairy of the fountain, 
 Or the mermaid of the wave. 
 Frame thee in some coral cave? 
 Did, in Iceland's darksome mine, 
 Dwarf's swart hands thy metal twine ? 
 Or mortal-moulded, comest thou here. 
 From England's love, or France's fear ? 
 
 XII. 
 
 §!ans tantinutts. 
 
 " No ! — thy splendours nothing tell 
 Foreign art or faery spell. 
 Moulded tliou for monarch's use. 
 By the overweening Bruce, 
 When the royal robe he tied 
 O'er a heart of wrath and pride ; 
 Thence in triumph wert thou torn. 
 By the victor hand of Lorn I 
 
 " V/ hen the gem was won and lost, 
 'A'^idely was the war cry toss'd ! 
 Rung aloud Bendourish fell, 
 Answer'd Douchart's sounding dell. 
 Fled the deer from wild Teyndrum, 
 WTien the homicide, o'ercome. 
 Hardly 'scaped, Avith scathe and scorn. 
 Left the pledge with conquering Lorn !
 
 II. THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 505 
 
 XIII. 
 
 ^ans ronrlitlfctr. 
 
 " Vain -was then the Douglas brand. 
 Vain the Campbell's vaunted hand. 
 Vain Kirkpatrick's bloody dirk, 
 lyiaking sure of murder's work ; '^ 
 Barendown fled fast away, 
 Fled the Fiery de la Haye,'^ 
 When this brooch, triumphant borne, 
 Beam'd upon the breast of Lorn. 
 
 " Farthest fled its former Lord, 
 Left his men to brand and cord, 
 Bloody brand of Highland steel, 
 English gibbet, axe, and wheel, 
 Let him fly from coast to coast, 
 Dogg'd by Comyn's vengeful ghost, 
 "While his spoils, in triumph worn. 
 Long shall grace victorious Lorn ! " 
 
 XIV. 
 
 As glares the tiger on his foes, 
 
 Hemm'd in by hunters, spears, and bows. 
 
 And, ere he bounds upon the ring. 
 
 Selects the object of his spring, — 
 
 Now on the Bard, now on his Lord, 
 
 So Edward glared and grasp'd his sword — 
 
 But stern his brother spoke, — " Be stUl. 
 
 AVhat ! art thou yet so wild of will. 
 
 After high deeds and sufferings long, 
 
 To chafe thee for a nienial'a song?— 
 
 "Well hast thou framed, Old IMan, thy strains, 
 
 To praise the hand that pays thy pains I 
 
 Yet something might thy song have told 
 
 Of Lorn's tliree vassals, true and bold, 
 
 "Who rent their Lord from Bruce's hold, 
 
 As imderueath his knee he lay. 
 
 And died to save hhn in the fray. 
 
 I've heard the Bruce's cloak and clasp 
 
 "SVas clench'd within their dj-ing grasp, 
 
 Wliat time a hundred foemen more 
 
 Rush'd in, and back the -^-ictor bore. 
 
 Long after Lorn had left the strife. 
 
 Full glad to 'scape with limb and life. — 
 
 Enough of this — And, Jlinsti-el, hold. 
 
 As minstrel-hire, this chain of gold. 
 
 For future lays a fair excuse, 
 
 To speak more nobly of the Bruce." — 
 
 XV. 
 
 " Now, by Columba's shrme, I swear. 
 
 And every saint that's bm'ied there, 
 
 'Tis he himself!" Lorn sternly cries, 
 * And for my kinsman's death he dies."
 
 506 THE LORD OF THE ISLES. ( 
 
 As loudly Ronald calls — " Forbear I 
 Not in my sight while brand I wear, 
 O'emiatch'd by odds, shall warrior fall, 
 Or blood of stranger stain my haU ! 
 This ancient fortress of my race 
 Shall be misfortune's resting-place, 
 Shelter and shield of the distress'd, 
 No slaughter-house for shipwreck'd guest." — 
 " Talk not to me," tierce Lorn replied, 
 " Of odds or match ! — when Comyn died, 
 Three daggers clash 'd within his side 1 
 Talk not to me of sheltering hall — 
 The Church of God saw Com\Ti fall ! 
 On God's own altar stream'd his blood, 
 While o'er my prostrate kinsman stood 
 The ruthless murderer^:— e'en as now — 
 With armed hand and scornful brow ! — 
 Up, all who love me I blow on blow I 
 And lay the outlaw'd felons low!" 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Then up sprang many a mainland Lord, 
 Obedient to their Chieftain's word. 
 Barcaldine's arm is high in air, 
 And Kinloch-Alline's blade is bare. 
 Black Murthok's dirk has left its sheath, 
 And clench'd is Dennid's hand of death. 
 Their mutter'd threats of vengeance swell 
 Into a ^vild and warlike yell; 
 Onward they press with weapons high. 
 The affi'iglited females shriek and fly. 
 And, Scotland, then thy brightest ray 
 Had darkeu'd ere its noon of day, — 
 But every chief of birth and fame, 
 That from the Isles of Ocean came, 
 At Ronald's side that hour withstood 
 Fierce Lorn's relentless thirst for blood. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Brave Torquil from Dunvegan high. 
 
 Lord of tlie misty hills of Skj'e, 
 
 !Mac-Niel, wild Bara's arucient thane, 
 
 Duart, of bold Clan-Gillian's strain, 
 
 Fergus, of Canna's castled bay, 
 
 Mac-Duffith, Lord of Colonsaj", 
 
 Soon as they saw the broadswords glance, 
 
 With ready weapons rose at once. 
 
 More prompt, that many an ancient feud, 
 
 Full oft suppress'd, full oft renew'd, 
 
 Glow'd 'twixt the eliieftains of Argj'le, 
 
 And many a lord of ocean's isle. 
 
 Wild was the scene — each sword was bare, 
 
 Back stream'd each chieftain's shaggy hair, 
 
 In gloomy opposition set. 
 
 Eyes, hands, and brandish'd weapons met ;
 
 CANTO ir. THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 507 
 
 Blue gleaming o'er the social board, 
 Flash'd to the torches many a sword ; 
 And soon those bridal lights may shine 
 On purple blood for rosy wine. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 While thus for blows and death prepared. 
 Each heart was up, eacli weapon bared, 
 Each foot advanced, — a surly pause 
 Still reverenced hospitable laws. 
 All menaced violence, but alike 
 Eeluctant each the first to strike, 
 (For aye accursed in minstrel line 
 Is he who brawls 'mid song and wine,) 
 And, match'd in numbers and in might. 
 Doubtful and desperate seem'd the iiglit. 
 Thus threat and munnm- died away. 
 Till on the crowded hall there lay 
 Such silence, as the deadly still, 
 Ere bursts the thimder on the liill. 
 With blade advanced, each Chieftain bold 
 Show'd like the Sworder's form of old. 
 As wanting still the torch of life, 
 To wake the marble into strife. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 That awful pause the stranger maid, 
 
 And Edith, seized to pray for aid. 
 
 As to De Argentme she chmg, 
 
 Away her veil the stranger flung. 
 
 And, lovely 'mid her wild despair, 
 
 Fast stream'd her eyes, wide llow'd her hair : — 
 " thou, of knighthood once the flower, 
 
 Sure refuge in distressful hour, 
 • Thou, who in Judah w^ell liast fouglit ■» 
 
 For our dear faith, and oft has sought 
 
 Renown in knightly exercise, 
 
 When this poor hand has dealt the prize, 
 
 Say, can thy soul of honour brook 
 
 On the imequal strife to look. 
 
 When, butcher'd thus in peaceful hall. 
 
 Those once thy friends, my brethren, fall I " 
 
 To Argentine she turn'd her word, 
 
 But her eye sought the Island Lord. 
 
 A flush like evening's setting flame 
 
 Glow'd on his cheek ; his hardy frame, 
 
 As with a brief convulsion, shook : 
 
 With hurried voice and eager look, — 
 " Fear not," he said, " mv Isabel ! 
 
 What said I— Edith !—" all is well- 
 Nay, fear not — I vnU. well provide 
 
 The safety of my lovely bride — 
 
 My bride f — but there the accents clung 
 
 In tremor to Ids faltering tongue.
 
 508 THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Now rose De Argentine, to claim 
 The prisoners in his sovereign's name, 
 To England's crown, who, vassals sworn, 
 'Gainst their liege lord had weapon borne — 
 (Such speech, I ween, was but to hide 
 His care their safety to pro%'ide; 
 For luiight more true in thought and deed 
 Than Argentine, ne'er spurr'd a steed) — 
 And Ronald, who his meaning guess'd, 
 Seem'd half to sanction the request. 
 This purpose fiery Torquil broke : — 
 " Somewhat we 've heard of England's yoke," 
 He said, " and, in our island's. Fame 
 Hath whisper'd of a lawful claim. 
 That calls the Bruce fair Scotland's Lord, 
 Though dispossess'd by foreign sword. 
 This craves reflection — but though right 
 And just the charge of England's Knight, 
 Let England's croi\Ti her rebels seize 
 Where she has power ; — in towers like these, 
 'Midst Scottish Cliieftains summon'd here 
 To bridal mirth and bridal cheer. 
 Be sure, with no consent of mine. 
 Shall either Lorn or Argentine 
 With chains or violence, in our sight. 
 Oppress a brave and banish'd Knight." 
 
 XXL 
 
 Then waked the wild debate again. 
 With brawling tlireat and clamour vain. 
 Vassals and menials, thronging in. 
 Lent their brute rage to swell the din ; 
 When, far and vfide, a bugle-clang 
 From the dark ocean upward rang. 
 " The Abbot comes t " they crj' at once, 
 " The holy man, whose favom-'d glance 
 Hath sainted visions known ; 
 Angels have met him on the way. 
 Beside the blessed martyr's bay, 
 And by Columba's stone. 
 His monks have heard their hj-mnings high 
 Soiuid from the simimit of Dun-Y, 
 
 To cheer his penance lone. 
 When at each cross, on girth and wold, 
 (Their number thrice a hundred-fold,) 
 His prayer he made, his beads he told, 
 
 With Aves many a one — 
 He comes om* feuds to reconcile, 
 A sainted man from sainted isle ; 
 We will his holy doom abide. 
 The Abbot shall our strife decide." . 
 
 XXIL 
 
 Scarcely this fair accord was o'er. 
 When through the wide revolving door
 
 I II. THE LORD OF THE ISLES 509 
 
 The black-stol'd brethren wind ; 
 Twelve sandall'd monks, who relics bore. 
 With many a torch-bearer before. 
 
 And many a cross behind. 
 Then sunk each fierce uplifted hand, 
 And dagger bright and flashing brand 
 
 Dropp'd swiftly at the sight ; 
 They vanish'd from the Churchman's eye, 
 As shooting stars, that glance and die, 
 
 Dart from the vault of night. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 The Abbot on the threshold stood. 
 And in his hand the holy rood ; 
 Back on his shoulders flow'd his hood. 
 
 The torch's glaring ray 
 Show'd in its red and flashing light. 
 His wither'd cheek and amice white. 
 His blue e3'e glistening cold and bright. 
 
 His tresses scant and gTey. 
 " Fair Lords," he said, " Our Lady's love. 
 And peace be with you from above. 
 
 And Benedicite ! — 
 — But what means tliis ? — no peace is here 1 — 
 Do dirks imsheathed suit bridal cheer ? 
 
 Or are these naked brands 
 A seemly show for Churchman's sight. 
 When he comes summon'd to unite 
 
 Betrothed hearts and hands ?" 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Then, cloaking hate witli fiery zeal, 
 Proud Lorn first answer'd the appeal ; — 
 
 " Thou comest, O holy Man, 
 True sons of blessed church to greet. 
 But little deeming here to meet 
 
 A wretch, beneath the ban 
 Of Pope and Church, for murder done 
 Even on the sacred altar-stone — 
 Well mayst thou wonder we should know 
 Such miscreant here, nor lay him low. 
 Or dream of greeting, peace, or truce. 
 With excommunicated Bruce ! 
 Yet well I grant, to end debate. 
 Thy sainted voice decide his fate." 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Then Ronald pled the stranger's cause, 
 And knighthood's oath and honoiur's laws ; 
 And Isabel, on bended knee. 
 Brought pray'rs and tears to back the plea: 
 And Edith lent her generous aid. 
 And wept, and Lorn for mercy pray'd. 
 " Hence." he exclaiin'd, " degenerate maid I
 
 510 THE LORD OF THE ISLES. CANTO IL 
 
 Was't not enough, to Ronald's bower 
 I brought thee, like a paramour, i* 
 Or bond-maid at her" master's gate. 
 His careless cold approach to wait ? — 
 But the bold Lord of Cumberland, 
 The gallant Cliflbrd, seeks thy hand ; 
 His it shall be — Nay, no reply I 
 Hence ! till those rebel eyes be dry." — 
 With grief the Abbot heard and saw, 
 Yet nought relax'd his brow of awe. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Then Argentme, in England's name. 
 
 So highly urged his sovereign's claim, 
 
 He waked a spark, that, long suppress'd, 
 
 Had smoulder'd in Lord Eonald's breast ; 
 
 And now, as from the flint the fire, 
 
 riash'd forth at once his generous ire. 
 " Enough of noble blood," he said, 
 " By English Edward had been shed, 
 
 Since matchless Wallace first had been 
 
 In mock'ry crown'd with wreaths of green,*^ 
 
 And done to death by felon hand, 
 
 For guar<ling well his father's land. 
 
 Where's Xigel Bruce? and De la Have, 
 
 And valiant Seton — where are they ? 
 
 Where Somerville, the kind and free ? 
 
 And Eraser, flower of chivalry ? 
 
 Have they not been on gibbet bound, 
 
 Their quarters flung to hawk and hound. 
 
 And hold we here a cold debate, 
 
 To yield more victims to their fate? 
 
 What I can the English Leopard's mood 
 
 Never be gorged with northern blood ? 
 
 Was not the life of Athole shed. 
 
 To soothe the tyrant's sicken'd bed :*' 
 
 And must his word, till dj-ing day. 
 
 Be nought but quarter, hang, and slay ! — 
 
 Thou frownst, De Argentine, — My gage 
 
 Is prompt to prove the strife I wage." — 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 " Nor deem," said stout Dunvegan's knight^ 
 " That thou shalt brave alone the fight ! 
 
 By saints of isle and mainland both, 
 
 By Woden wild, (my grandsire's oath,) 
 
 Let Rome and England do their worst, 
 
 Howe'er attainted or accursed, 
 
 If Bruce shall e'er find friends again. 
 
 Once more to brave a battle-plain. 
 
 If Douglas couch again his lance, 
 
 Or Randolph dare another chance. 
 
 Old Torquil wiU not be to lack 
 
 With twice a thousand at his back.—
 
 CANTO II. THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 511 
 
 Nay, chafe not at mv bearing bold, 
 Good Abbot ! for thou know'st of old, 
 Torquil's nide thought and stubborn will 
 Smack of the wild Norwegian still ; 
 Nor will I barter Freedom's cause 
 For England's wealth, or Rome's applause.' 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 The Abbot seem'd with eye severe 
 
 The hardy Chieftain's speech to hear -. 
 
 Then on King Robert tum'd the Monk, 
 
 But twice his courage came and sunk. 
 
 Confronted with the hero's look ; 
 
 Twice fell his eye, his accents shook ; 
 
 At length, resolved in tone and brow. 
 
 Sternly he question'd him — "And thou, 
 
 Unhappy ! what hast thou to plead, 
 
 "Why I denounce not on thy deed 
 
 That awfiil doom which canons tell 
 
 Shuts paradise, and opens hell ; 
 
 Anathema of power so dread, 
 
 It blends the living vnth the dead. 
 
 Bids each good angel soar away. 
 
 And every ill one claim his prey ; 
 
 Expels thee from the church's care. 
 
 And deafens Heaven against thy prayer ; 
 
 Arms every hand against thy life. 
 
 Bans all who aid thee in the strife. 
 
 Nay, each whose succour, cold and scant, 
 
 With meanest alms relieves thy want ; 
 
 Haunts thee while living, — and, when dead, 
 
 Dwells on thy yet devoted head, 
 
 Rends Honour's scutcheon from thy hearsp. 
 
 Stills o'er thy bier the holy verse, 
 
 And spurns thy corpse from hallow'd ground 
 
 Flung like vile carrion to the hound ; 
 
 Such is the dire and desperate doom 
 
 For sacrilege, decreed by Rome ; 
 
 And such the well-deserved meed 
 
 Of thine imhalloVd, ruthless deed." — 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 " Abbot I " Tlie Bruce replied, " thy charge 
 It boots not to dispute at large. 
 This much, howe'er, I bid thee know. 
 No selfish vengeance dealt the blow. 
 For Comyn died his country's foe. 
 Nor blame I friends whose ill-timed spyeed 
 FulfU'd my soon-repented deed. 
 Nor censure those from whose stem tongue 
 The dire anathema has rung. 
 I only blame mine own wild ire, 
 By Scotland's wrongs incensed to fire. 
 Heaven knows my purpose to atone, 
 Far as I may, the evil done.
 
 512 THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 
 
 And hears a penitent's appeal 
 From papal curse and prelate's zeal. 
 My first and dearest task achieved, 
 Fair Scotland from her thrall relieved, 
 Shall many a priest in cope and stole 
 Say requiem for Red Comyn's soul. 
 While I tlie blessed cross advance. 
 And expiate this unhappy chance 
 In Palestine, -with sword and lance. *^ 
 But, while content the Church should know 
 My conscience owns the debt I owe, 
 Unto De Argentine and Lorn 
 The name of traitor T retum, 
 Bid them defiance stern and high. 
 And give them in their throats the lie ! 
 These brief words spoke, I speak no more. 
 Do what thou wilt ; my shrift is o'er." 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Like man by prodigy amazed. 
 Upon the King the Abbot gazed ; 
 Then o'er his pallid features glance. 
 Convulsions of ecstatic trance. 
 His breathing came more thick and fast, 
 And from his pale blue eyes were cast 
 Strange rays of wild and wandering light ; 
 Uprise his locks of silver white, 
 Flush'd is his brow, through every veui 
 In azure tide the currents strain. 
 And midistinguish'd accents broke 
 The awful silence ere he spoke. 
 
 XXXL 
 
 " De Bruce ! I rose with purpose dread 
 To speak my curse upon thy head, ^^ 
 And give thee as an outcast o'er 
 To him who burns to shed thy gore ; — 
 But, like the Midianite of old. 
 Who stood on Zophim, heaven-controU'd," 
 I feel within mine aged breast 
 A power that will not be repress'd. 
 It prompts my voice, it swells my veins, 
 It bums, it maddens, it constrains I — 
 De Bruce, thy sacrilegious blow 
 Hath at God's altar slain thy foe : 
 O'ermaster'd yet by high behest, 
 I bless thee, and thou shalt be bless'd 1 '' 
 He spoke, and o'er the astonish'd throng 
 "Was silence, awful, deep, and long. 
 
 XXXIL 
 
 Again that light has fired his eye, 
 Again his form swells bold and" high, 
 
 » See tlie Bjok of Numbers, chap, xxiii. and xxiv.
 
 1 III. THE LORD OF THE ISLES. fil3 
 
 The broken voice of ajre is gone, 
 'T is vigorous manhood's lofty tone : — 
 " Thrice vanquish'd on the battle-plain. 
 Thy followers slaughter'd, fled, or ta"en, 
 A ininted wanderex on the wild. 
 On foreign shores a man exiled,'* 
 Disown'd, deserted, and distress'd, 
 I bless thee, and thou shalt be bless'd ! ' 
 
 Bless'd in the hall and in the field, 
 Under the mantle as the shield. 
 Avenger of thy countrj^'s shame. 
 Restorer of her injiu-ed fame, 
 Bless'd in -thy sceptre and thy sword, 
 De Bruce, fair Scotland's rightful Lord, 
 Bless'd in thy deeds and in thy fame, 
 What lengthen'd honours wait thy name ! 
 Tn distant ages, sire to son 
 Shall tell thy tale of freedom won. 
 And teach his infants, in the use 
 Of earliest speech, to falter Bruce. 
 Go, then, triumpliant ! sweep along 
 Thy course, the theme of many a song ! 
 The Power, whose dictates swell my breast, 
 Hath bless'd thee, and thou shalt be bless'd 1 — 
 Enough — my short-lived strength decays. 
 And sinks the momentary blaze. — 
 Heaven hath our destined purpose broke, 
 Not here must nuptial vow be spoke ; 
 Brethren, our errand here is o'er. 
 Our task discharged — Unmoor, unmoor ! "^- 
 His priests received the exhausted IMonk, 
 As breathless in their arms he sunk. 
 Punctual his orders to obey. 
 The train refused all longer stay, 
 Embark'd, raised sail, and bore away. 
 
 CANTO THIED, 
 
 I. 
 
 Hast thou not mark'd, when o'er thy startled head 
 Sudden and deep the thunder-peal has roU'd, 
 How when its echoes fell, a silence dead 
 Sunk on the wood, the meadow, and the wold ? 
 The rye-grass shakes not on the sod-built fold. 
 The rustling aspen's leaves are mute and still, 
 The wall-flower waves not on the ruin'd hold. 
 Till, murmuring distant first, then near and shrill. 
 The savage whirlwind wakes, and sweeps the groaning hill, 
 2k
 
 614 THE LORD OF THE ISLES. C 
 
 II. 
 
 Artomisli ! such a silence sunk 
 Upon thy halls, when that grey Monk 
 
 His prophet-speech had spoke ; 
 And his obedient brethren's sail 
 Was stretcli'd to meet the southern gale 
 
 Before a whisper woke. 
 Then murmuring sounds of doubt and fear, 
 Close pour'd in many an anxious ear, 
 
 The solemn stillness broke ; 
 And still they gazed with eager guess, 
 Where, in an oriel's deep recess, 
 The Island Prince seem'd bent to press 
 What Lorn, by his impatient cheer. 
 And gesture fierce, scarce deign'd to hear. 
 
 III. 
 
 Starting at length, with frowning look, 
 His hand he clench'd, his head he shook, 
 And sternly flung apart; — 
 " And deem'st thou me so mean of mood. 
 As to forget the mortal feud. 
 And clasp the hand with blood imbrued 
 
 From my dear Kinsman's heart? 
 Is this thy rede ? — a due return 
 For ancient league and friendship sworn 1 
 But well our moimtain proverb shows 
 The faith of Islesmen ebbs and flows. ' 
 
 Be it even so — believe, ere long. 
 He that now bears shall wreak the wi-ong. — 
 CaU Edith— call the Maid of Lorn ! 
 My sister, slaves ! — fbr further scorn, 
 Be sure nor she nor I will stay. — 
 Away, De Argentine, away ! — 
 We nor ally nor brother know. 
 In Bruce's friend, or England's foe." 
 
 IV, 
 
 But who the Chieftain's rage can tell, 
 When, sought from lowest dungeon cell 
 To highest tower the castle roimd, 
 No lady Edith was there found ! 
 He shouted — " Falsehood !— treachery I — 
 Revenge and blood ! — a lordly meed 
 To him that will avenge the deed ! 
 A Baron's lands ! " — His frantic mood 
 Was scarcely by the news withstood, 
 That Morag shared his sister's flight. 
 And that, in hurry of the night, 
 'Scaped noteless, and without remark, 
 Two strangers sought the Abbot's bark. — 
 " Man every galley — fly — pursue ! 
 The priest his treachery shall rue ! 
 Ay, and the time shall quickly come. 
 When we shall hear the thanks that Rome
 
 CANTO IIX. 
 
 TUE LORD OF THE ISLES. 515 
 
 Will pay his feigned prophecy !" 
 Such was fierce Lom's indignant cry; 
 And Cormac Doil in haste obey'd, 
 Hoisted his sail, his anchor weigh'd, 
 (For, glad of each pretext for spoil, 
 A pirate sworn was Cormac Doil.) 
 But others, lingering, spoke apart, — 
 •* The JIaid has given her maiden heart 
 
 To Ronald of the Isles, 
 And, feaiful lest her brother's word 
 Bestow her on that English Lord, 
 
 She seeks lona's piles. 
 And ■nasely deems it best to dwell 
 A votaress in the holy cell. 
 Until these feuds so fierce and fell 
 
 The Abbot reconciles." 
 
 V. 
 
 As, impotent of ire, the hall 
 Echo'd to Lorn's impatient call — 
 " My horse, my mantle, and my train ! 
 Let none who honours Lorn remain !" — 
 Courteous, but stem, a bold request 
 To Bruce De Argentine express'd : — 
 " Lord Earl," he said, — " I cannot chuse 
 But yield such title to the Bruce, 
 Though name and earldom both are gone, 
 Since he braced rebel's armour on — 
 But, Earl or Serf — rude phrase was thine 
 Of late, and launch'd at Argentine ; 
 Such as compels me to demand 
 Eedress of honour at thy hand. 
 We need not to each other tell. 
 That both can wield their weapons well ; 
 Then do me but the soldier grace, 
 This glove upon thy helm to place 
 Where we may meet in fight ; 
 And I will say, as still I've said 
 Though by ambition far misled. 
 Thou art a noble knight." — 
 
 VL 
 
 " And I," the princely Bruce replied, 
 •* Might term it stain on knighthood's pride. 
 That the bright sword of Argentine 
 Should in a tyrant's quarrel shine ; 
 
 But, for your brave request. 
 Be stu-e the honour'd pledge you gave 
 In every battle-field shall wave 
 
 Upon my helmet-crest ; 
 Believe, that if my hasty tongue 
 Hath done thine honour causeless ASTong^ 
 
 It shall be well redress'd. 
 Not dearer to my soul was glove, 
 Bestow'd in youth by lady's love.
 
 516 THE LORD OF THE ISLE3. CANTO IIL 
 
 Than this which thou 1 ast given ! 
 Thus, then, my nobje foe I greet •, 
 Health and high fortune till we meet, 
 
 And then — what pleases Heaven." 
 
 YII. 
 
 Thus parted they — for now, with sound 
 Like waves roll'd back from rocky ground. 
 
 The friends of Lorn retire ; 
 Each mainland chieftain, with his train. 
 Draws to his mountain towers again. 
 Pondering how mortal schemes prove vain, 
 
 And mortal hopes expire. 
 But through the castle double guard, 
 By Ronald's charge, kept wakeful ward, 
 Wicket and gate were trebly barr'd. 
 
 By beam and bolt and chain ; 
 Then of the guests, in courteous sort. 
 He pray'd excuse for mirth broke short, 
 And bade them in Artornish fort 
 
 In confidence remain. 
 Now torch and menial tendance led 
 Chieftain and knight to bower and bed, 
 And beads were told, and Aves said, 
 
 And soon they sunk away 
 Into such sleep as wont to shed 
 Oblivion on the weary head. 
 
 After a toilsome day. 
 
 VIIL 
 
 But soon uproused, the Monarch cried 
 To Edward slumbering by his side — 
 
 " Awake, or sleep for aye ! 
 Even now there jarr'd a secret door — 
 A taper-light gleams on the floor — 
 
 Up, Edward ! up, I say ! 
 Some one glides in like midnight ghost — 
 Nay, strike not! 'tis oiu* noble Host." 
 Advancing then his taper's flame, 
 Ronald stept forth, and wth him came 
 Dunvegan's chief— each bent the knee 
 To Bruce in sign of fealty. 
 
 And profFer'd him his sword. 
 And hail'd him, in a monarch's style. 
 As king of mainland and of isle. 
 And Scotland's rightful lord. 
 * And 0," said Ronald, " Own'd of Heaven ! 
 Say, is my erring youth forgiven. 
 By falsehood's arts from duty driven, 
 
 Who rebel falchion drew. 
 Yet ever to thy deeds of fame. 
 Even while I strove against thy claim, 
 Paid homage just and true?" — 
 " Alas ! dear youth, the unhappy time," 
 Answer'd the Bruce, " must bear the crime. 
 Since, guiltier far than you,
 
 ) III. THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 517 
 
 Even I* — he paused; for Falkirk's woes 
 Upon his conscious soul arose. ^^ 
 The Chieftain to his breast he press'd, 
 And in a sigh conceal'd the rest. 
 
 IX. 
 
 They proffer'd aid, by arms and might, 
 To repossess him in his right ; 
 But well their counsels must be weigh'd, 
 Ere banners raised and musters made. 
 For English hire and Lorn's intrigues 
 Bound many chiefs in southern leagues. 
 In answer, Bruce his purpose bold 
 To his new vassals frankly told : — 
 " The winter worn in exile o'er, 
 I long'd for Carrick's kindred shore. 
 I thought upon my native Ayr, 
 And long'd to see the burly fare 
 That Clifford makes, whose lordly call 
 Now echoes through my father's hall. 
 But first my course to AiTan led. 
 Where valiant Lennox gathers head, 
 And on the sea, by tempest toss'd, 
 Our barks dispersed, our piu7)0se cross'd, 
 ISIine own, a hostile sail to shun, 
 Far from her destined course had run, 
 When that wise will, which masters ours, 
 Compell'd us to your friendly towers." 
 
 X. 
 
 Then Torquil spoke:—" The time craves speed 
 
 We must not linger in our deed. 
 
 But instant pray our Sovereign Liege, 
 
 To shun the perils of a siege. 
 
 The vengeful Lorn, with all his powers, 
 
 Lies but too near Artornish towers. 
 
 And England's light-arm'd vessels ride. 
 
 Not distant far, the waves of Clyde, 
 
 Prompt at these tidings to unmoor, 
 
 And sweep each strait, and guard each shore. 
 
 Then, till this fresh alarm pass by. 
 
 Secret and safe my Liege must lie 
 
 In the far bounds of friendly Skye, 
 
 Torquil thy pilot and thj' guide." — 
 " Not so, brave Chieftain," Ronald cried ; 
 " Myself will on my Sovereign wait. 
 
 And raise in arms the men of Sleate, 
 
 W^hilst thou, renown'd where chiefs debate, 
 
 Shalt sway their souls by councd sage. 
 
 And awe them by thy locks of age." 
 
 — " And if my words in weight shall fail. 
 
 This ponderous sword shall turn the scale." 
 
 XL 
 
 — " The scheme,"' said Bruce, " contents me well; 
 Meantune, 'twere best that Isabel.
 
 518 THE LOED OP THE ISLES. C 
 
 For safety, with my bark and crew, 
 Again to friendly Erin drew. 
 There, Edward, too, shall -Nvith her wend. 
 In need to cheer her and defend. 
 And muster up each scatter'd friend." — 
 Here seem'd it as Lord Ronald's ear 
 Would other counsel gladlier hear ; 
 But, all achieved as soon as plann'd, 
 Both barks in secret arm'd and mann'd. 
 
 From out the haven bore ; 
 On difl^rent voyage forth they ply, 
 This for the coast of winged Skye, 
 
 And that for Erin's shore. 
 
 XII. 
 With Bruce and Eonald bides the tale. — 
 To favouring winds they gave the sail, 
 Till Mull's dark headlands scarce they knew. 
 And Ardnamurchan's liiUs were blue. 
 But then the squalls blew close and hard, 
 And, fain to strike the galley's yard. 
 
 And take them to the oar. 
 With these rude seas, in weaiy plight, 
 They strove the livelong day and night, 
 Nor till the dawning had a sight 
 
 Of Skye's romantic shore. 
 Where Coolin stoops him to the west, 
 They saw upon his shiver'd crest 
 
 The sun's arising gleam ; 
 But such the labour and delay. 
 Ere they were moor'd in Sca^^gh bay, 
 (For calmer heaven compell'd to stay,) 
 
 He shot a western beam. 
 Then Ronald said — " If true mine eye, 
 These are the savage wilds that lie 
 North of StrathnardiU and Dimskye ;'^ 
 
 No human foot comes here. 
 And, since these adverse breezes blow, 
 If my good Liege love hunter's bow, 
 What hinders that on land we go. 
 
 And strike a mountain-deer ? 
 Allan, my page, shall with us wend ; 
 A bow full deftly can he bend. 
 And, if we meet a herd may send 
 
 A shaft shall mend our cheer." 
 Then each took bow and bolts in hand, 
 Their row-boat launch'd, and leapt to land, 
 
 And left their slcifF and train. 
 Where a wild stream with headlong shocli. 
 Came brawling down its bed of rock, 
 
 To mingle with the main. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 A while their route they sUent made. 
 
 As men who stalk for mountain- deer.
 
 OAMO Iir. THE tORD OF THE ISLES. 519 
 
 Till the good Bruce to Ronald said, — 
 " Saiiit Slary ! what a scene is here ! 
 - I've traversed many a mountain-strand. 
 
 Abroad, and in my native land. 
 
 And it has been my lot to tread 
 
 Where safety more than pleasure led ; 
 
 Thus, many a waste I've wander'd o'er, 
 
 Clombe many a crag, cross'd many a moor. 
 But, by my halidome, 
 
 A scene soTude, so wild as tliis, 
 
 Yet so sublime in barrenness, 
 
 Ne'er did my wandering footsteps press. 
 Where'er I happ'd to roam." 
 
 XIV. 
 No marvel thus the Monarch spake ; 
 
 For rarely human eye has known 
 A scene so stem as that dread lake. 
 
 With its dark ledge of barren stone. 
 Seems that primeval earthquake's sway 
 Hath rent a strange and shatter'd way 
 
 Through the rude bosom of the hUl, 
 And that each naked precipice, 
 Sable ravine, and dark abyss, 
 
 Tells of the outrage still. 
 The wildest glen, but this, can show 
 Some touch of Nature's genial glow ; 
 On high Benmore green mosses grow, 
 And heath-bells bud in deep Glencroe, 
 
 And copse on Cnichan-Ben ; 
 Bur here, — above, around, belcw. 
 
 On mountaia or in glen. 
 Nor tree, nor shrub, nor plant, nor flower, 
 Nor ought of vegetative power. 
 
 The weary eye may ken. 
 For all is rocks at random thrown, 
 Black waves, bare crags, and hanks of stone, 
 
 As if were here denied • 
 
 The summer sun, the spring's sweet dew, 
 That clothe with many a varied hue 
 
 The bleakest mountain-side. 
 
 XV. 
 
 And wilder, forward as they wound. 
 Were the proud cliffs and lake profound. 
 Huge terraces of granite black 
 Afforded rude and ciuuber'd track ; 
 
 For from the mountain hoar, 
 Hurl'd headlong in some night of fear, 
 When yell'd the wolf and tied the deer. 
 
 Loose crags had toppled o'er ; 
 And some, chance-poised and balanced, lay, 
 So that a stripling ann might sway 
 
 A mass no host could raise.
 
 520 THE LORD OP THE ISLES. C. 
 
 In Nature's rage at random throTvn, 
 Yet trembling like the Druid's stone 
 
 On its precarious base. 
 The evening mists, with ceaseless change, 
 Now clothed the mountains' lofty range, 
 
 Now left their foreheads bare, 
 And round the skirts their mantle furl'd. 
 Or on the sable waters curl'd, 
 Or on the eddying breezes whirl'd. 
 
 Dispersed in middle air. 
 And oft, condensed, at once thy lower. 
 When, brief and fierce, the mountain shower 
 
 Pours like a torrent down, 
 And when return the sun's glad beams, 
 Whiten'd with foam, a thousand streams 
 
 Leap from the mountain's crown. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 " This lake," said Bruce, " whose barriers drear 
 Are precipices sharp and sheer. 
 Yielding no track for goat or deer. 
 
 Save the black shelves we tread. 
 How term you its dark waves ? and how 
 Yon northern mountain's pathless brovr. 
 
 And yonder peak of dread, 
 That to the evening sun uplifts 
 The griesly gulfs and slaty rifts, 
 
 Wliich seam its shiver'd head ? " — 
 
 " Coriskin call the dark lake's name, 
 Coolin the ridge, as bards proclaim, 
 From old Cuchullin, chief of fame. 
 But bards, familiar in our isles 
 Rather with Nature's frowns than smiles. 
 Full oft their careless humours please 
 By sportive names from scenes like these. 
 I would old Torquil were to show 
 His maidens with their breasts of snow. 
 Or that my noble Liege were nigh 
 To hear his Nurse sing lullaby I 
 (The Maids — tall cliffs with breakers white, 
 The Nurse — a torrent's roaring might,) 
 Or that your eye could see the mood 
 Of Corryvrekin's whirlpool rude. 
 When dons the Hag het whiten'd hood — 
 'Tis thus our islesmen's fancy frames. 
 For scenes so stem, fantastic names." 
 
 XVIL 
 
 Answer'd the Bruce — " And musing mind 
 
 Might here a graver moral find. 
 
 Tliese mighty cliflfs, that heave on high 
 
 Their naked brows to middle sky, 
 
 Indifferent to the sun or snow, ' 
 
 Where nought can fade, and nought can blow.
 
 CANTO III. THE LORD OF THE ISLE?. 521 
 
 May they not mark a Monarch's fate, — 
 Raised high 'mid storms of strife and state. 
 Beyond life's lowlier pleasures placed, 
 His soul a rock, his heart a waste ? 
 O'er hope and love and fear aloft 
 High rears his crowned head — But soft ! 
 Look, underneath yon jutting crag 
 Are himters and a slaughter'd stag. 
 Who may they be ? But late you said 
 No steps these desert regions tread ? " — 
 
 XVIII. 
 " So said I — and believed in sooth," 
 
 Ronald replied, " I spoke the truth- 
 Yet now I spy, by yonder stone. 
 
 Five men — they mark us, and come on ; 
 
 And by their badge on bonnet borne, 
 
 I guess them of the land of Lorn, 
 
 Foes to my liege." — " So let it be ; 
 
 I 've faced worse odds than five to three — 
 
 — But the poor page can little aid; 
 
 Then be our battle thus array 'd. 
 
 If our free passage they contest ; 
 
 Cope thou with two, I '11 match the rest." — 
 " Not so, my Liege — for, by my life, 
 
 This sword shall meet the treble strife ; 
 
 My strength, my skill in arms, more small. 
 
 And less the loss should Ronald fall. 
 
 But islesmen soon to soldiers grow — 
 
 Allan has sword as well as bow, 
 
 And were my Monarch's orders given. 
 
 Two shafts should make our number even." — 
 " No ! not to save my life ! " he said ; 
 " Enough of blood rests on my head. 
 
 Too rashly spiird — we soon shall know, 
 
 Whether they come as friend or foe." 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Nigh came the strangers, and more nigh ; — 
 Still less they pleased the Jlonarch's eye. 
 Men were they all of exi\ mien, 
 Down-look'd, unwilling to be seen ; 
 They moved with half-resolved pace, 
 And" bent on earth each gloomy face. 
 The foremost two were fair array'd, 
 With brogue and bonnet, trews and plaid, 
 And bore the arms of mountaineers. 
 Daggers and broadswords, bows and spears. 
 The three, that lagg'd small space behind, 
 Seem'd serfs of more degraded kind ; 
 Goat-skins or deer-hides o'er them cast, 
 Made a rude fence against the blast ; 
 Their arms and feet and heads were bare, 
 Matted their beards, unshorn their hair ;
 
 5^2 THE LORD OF THE ISLES. C. 
 
 For arms, the caitiffs bore in hand 
 A club, aa axe, a rusty brand. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Onward still mute, they kept the track ; — 
 
 " Tell who ye be, or else stand back," 
 Said Bruce ; — " In deserts when they meet. 
 Men pass not as in peaceful street." 
 Still, at his stern command, they stood. 
 And profFer'd greeting brief and rude. 
 But acted courtesy so ill. 
 As seem'd of fear, and not of will : — 
 
 " Wanderers we are, as you may be — 
 Men hither driven by wind and sea. 
 Who, if you list to taste our cheer. 
 Will share ynth you this fallow deer." — 
 
 " If from the sea, where lies your bark? "- - 
 
 " Ten fathom deep in ocean dark ! 
 Wreck'd yesternight : but we are men, 
 "WTio little sense of peril ken. 
 The shades come dovra — the day is shut — 
 WiU you go with us to our hut?" — 
 
 " Our vessel waits us in the bay ; 
 Thanks for your proffer — have good-day." — • 
 
 " Was that your galley, then, which rode 
 Not far from shore when evening glow'd?" — 
 
 " It was." — " Then spare your needless pain. 
 There will she now be sought in vain. 
 We saw her from the mountain head. 
 When, with St. George's blazon red, 
 A southern vessel bore in sight, 
 And yoora raised sail, and took to flight." — 
 
 XXI. 
 
 " Now, by the rood, unwelcome news ! " 
 Thus with Lord Ronald communed Bruce ; 
 
 " Nor rests there light enough to show 
 If this their tale be true or no. 
 The men seem bred of churlish kind. 
 Yet mellow nuts have hardest rind ; 
 We will go with them — food and fire 
 And sheltering roof our wants require. 
 Sure guard 'gainst treachery will we keep. 
 And watch by turns our comrades' sleep. — 
 Good fellows, thanks; your guests we'll be. 
 And well wU paj' the courtesy. 
 Come, lead us where your lodging lies, — 
 — Nay, soft ! we mix not companies. — 
 Show us the path o'er crag and stone, 
 And we wUl foUow you ; — lead on." 
 
 XXII. 
 
 They reach'd the drearj* cabin, made 
 Of sails against a rock displaj-'d. 
 And there, on entering, found
 
 CANTO III. THE LOKD OF THE ISLES. 523 
 
 A slender boy, -whose form and mitii 
 m suited vrith. such savage scene, 
 In cap and cloak of velvet green. 
 
 Low seated ou the ground. 
 His garb was such as minstrels wear, 
 Dark was his hue, and dark his hair, 
 His youthful cheek was marr'd by care, 
 
 His eyes in sorrow drown'd. 
 " Whence this poor boy ? "' — As Ronald spoke, 
 The voice his trance of anguish broke ; 
 As if awaked from ghastly dream, 
 He raised his head with start and scream, 
 
 And wildly gazed around ; 
 Then to the wall his face he turn'd, 
 And his dark neck with blushes bum'd. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 " ^Vhose is the boy ? " again he said. — 
 " By chance of war our captive made ; 
 He may be yours, if you should hold 
 That music "has more charms than gold ; 
 For, though from earliest childhood mute, 
 The lad can deftly touch the lute, 
 And on the rote and viol play. 
 And well can drive the time away 
 For those who love such glee : 
 For me, the favouring breeze, when loud 
 It pipes upon the galley's shroud. 
 Makes blither melodj'." — 
 " Hath he, then, sense of spoken sound?" — 
 " Aye ; so his mother bade us know, 
 A crone in our late sliii)\vreck drown'd, 
 And hence tlie silly stripling's woe. 
 More of the youth I cannot say, 
 Oiu: captive but since yesterday ; 
 When -nTnd and weather wax'd so grim, 
 We little listed think of him. — 
 But why waste time in idle words ? 
 Sit to your cheer — unbelt your swords." 
 Sudden the captive turn'd his liead, 
 And one quick glance to Eonald sped. 
 It was a keen and warning look, 
 And well the Chief the signal took. 
 
 XXIV. 
 " Kind host," he said, " our needs require 
 A separate board and separate fire ; 
 For know, that on a pilgrimage 
 Wend I, my comrade, and this page. 
 And, sworn to vigil and to fast. 
 Long as this hallo w'd task shall last. 
 We never doff the plaid or sword. 
 Or feast us at a stranger's board ; 
 And never share one common sleep. 
 But one must still his vigil keep.
 
 524 THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 
 
 Thus, for our separate use, good friend, 
 "We'll hold this hut.'s remoter end." — 
 " A churlish vow," the elder said, 
 " And hard, methinks, to be obey'd. 
 How say you, if, to wreak the scorn 
 That pays our kindness harsh return, 
 We should refuse to share our meal?" — 
 " Then say we, that our swords are steel ! 
 And our vow binds as not to fast, 
 ^Tiere gold or force may buy repast." — 
 Their host's dark brow grew keen and fell, 
 His teeth are clench'd, bis features swell ; 
 Yet sunk the felon's moody ii'e 
 Before Lord Ronald's glance of fire. 
 Nor could his craven courage brook 
 The monarch's calm and dauntless look. 
 With laugh constrain'd — " Let every man 
 Follow the fashion of his clan ! 
 Each to his separate quarters keep, 
 And feed or fast, or wake or sleep." 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Their fire at separate distance bums, 
 By turns they eat, keep guard by turns. 
 For evil seem'd that old man's eye, 
 Dark and designing, fierce yet shy. 
 Still he avoided forward look, 
 But slow, and circumspectly took 
 A circling, never-ceasing glance, 
 Bv doubt and cunning mark'd at once, 
 Which shot a mischief-boding ray. 
 From under eyebrows shagg'd and grey. 
 The younger, too, who seem'd his son, 
 Had that dark look the timid shun ; 
 The half-clad serfs behind them sate. 
 And scowl'd a glare 'twist fear and hate — 
 Till all, as darkness onward crept, 
 Couch'd down, and seem'd to sleep, or slept. 
 Nor he, that boy, whose powerless tongue 
 Must trust his eyes to wail his wrong, 
 A longer watch of sorrow made. 
 But stretch'd his limbs to slumber laid. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Not in his dangerous host confides 
 The King, but wary watch provides. 
 Ronald keeps ward till midnight past. 
 Then wakes the King, young Allan last ; 
 Thus rank'd, to give the youthful page 
 The rest required by tender age. 
 What is Lord Ronald's wakeful thought. 
 To chase the languor toil had brought? 
 (For deem not that he deign'd to throw 
 Much care upon such coward foe,"l —
 
 OANTO III. THE LORD OP THE ISLE3. 525 
 
 He thinks of lovely Isabel, 
 
 When at her foeman's feet she feD, 
 
 Nor less when, placed in princely selle, 
 
 She glanced on him with favouring eyes. 
 
 At Woodstocke when he won the prize. 
 
 Nor, fair in joy, in sorrow fair, 
 
 In pride of place as 'mid despair, 
 
 Must she alone engross his cai'e. 
 
 His thoughts to his betrothed bride, 
 
 To Edith, turn — how decide, 
 
 When here his love and heart are given. 
 
 And there his faith stands plight to Heaven 
 
 No drowsy ward 't is his to keep, 
 
 For seldom lovers long for sleep. 
 
 Till sung his midnight hj-mn the owl, 
 
 Answer'd the dog-fox with his how). 
 
 Then waked the King — at his request. 
 
 Lord Eonald stretch'd himself to rest. 
 
 XXYII. 
 
 What spell was good King Robert's, say, 
 
 To drive the weary night away? 
 
 His was the patriot's burning thought, 
 
 Of Freedom's battle bravely fought. 
 
 Of Castles storm'd, of cities freed. 
 
 Of deep design and daring deed. 
 
 Of England's roses reft and torn, 
 
 And Scotland's cross in triumph worn, 
 
 Of rout and rally, war and truce, — 
 
 As heroes think, so thought the Bruce. 
 
 No marvel, 'mid such musings high, 
 
 Sleep shunn'd the ]Monarch's thoughtful eye.—. 
 
 Now over Cooliu's eastern head 
 
 The greyish light begins to spread, 
 
 The otter to his cavern drew. 
 
 And clamour'd shrill the wakening mew ; 
 
 Then watch'd the page — to needful re?t 
 
 The King resign'd his anxious breast. 
 
 XXYiri. 
 
 To Allan's eyes was harder task, 
 The wearj' watch their safeties ask. 
 He trimm'd the lire, and gave to shine 
 With bickering light the splinter'd pine ; 
 Then gazed awhile, where silent laid 
 Their hosts were shrouded by the plaid. 
 But little fear waked in his mind. 
 For he was bred of martial kind. 
 And, if to manhood he arrive, 
 May match the boldest knight alive. 
 Then thought he of his mother's tower, 
 His little sisters' greenwood bower, 
 How there the Easter-gambols pass. 
 And of Dan Joseph's lengthen'd mass.
 
 fi26 THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 
 
 But still, before Ms Aveary eye, 
 
 In rays prolong'd, tjie blazes die ; — 
 
 Again he roused him— on the lake 
 
 Look'd forth, where now the twilight flake 
 
 Of pale cold dawn began to wake. 
 
 On Coolin's cliffs the mist lay furl'd. 
 
 The morning breeze the lake had curl'd, 
 
 The short dark waves, heaved to the land, 
 
 With ceaseless plash kiss'd cliff or sand ; — 
 
 It was a slumbrous sound — he turn'd 
 
 To tales at which his youth had bum'd, 
 
 Of pilgrim's path by demon cross'd, 
 
 Of sprightly elf or yelling ghost, 
 
 Of the wild witch's baneful cot, 
 
 And mermaid's alabaster grot. 
 
 Who bathes her limbs in sunless well. 
 
 Deep in Strathaird's enchanted cell. '^ 
 
 Thither in fancy rapt he flies. 
 
 And on his sight tlie vaults arise ; 
 
 That hut's dark ^v'alls he sees no more. 
 
 His foot is on the marble floor. 
 
 And o'er his head the dazzling spars 
 
 Gleam like a firmament of stars ! 
 
 — Hark 1 hears he not the sea-nymph speak 
 
 Her anger in that thrilling shriek ? — 
 
 No I — all too late, with Allan's dream 
 
 Mingled the captive's warning scream. 
 
 As from the ground he strives to start, 
 
 A ruffian's dagger finds his heai't I 
 
 Upwards he casts his dizzy eyes, • • • 
 
 Murmurs his master's name, . . . and dies ! 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Not so awoke the King 1 his hand 
 Snatch'd from the flame a knotted brand. 
 The nearest weapon of his wrath ; 
 With this he cross'd the murderer's path. 
 
 And venged young Allan well ! 
 The spatter'd brain and bubbling blood 
 Hiss'd on the half-extinguish'd wood — 
 
 The miscreant gasp'd and fell ! 
 Nor rose in peace the Island Lord ; 
 One caitiff died upon his sword. 
 And one beneath his grasp lies prone. 
 In mortal grapple overthroivn. 
 But while Lord Eonald's dagger drank 
 The life-blood from his panting flank. 
 The Father-ruflian of the band 
 Behind him rears a coward hand ! 
 
 — for a moment's aid, 
 Till Bruce, who deals no double blow, 
 Dash to the earth another foe. 
 
 Above his comrade laid ! — 
 And it is gain'd — the captive spriuig
 
 I lU. THE LORD OF TQE ISLES. 527 
 
 On the raised arm and closely clung, 
 
 And, ere he shook him loose, 
 The master'd felon press'd the ground. 
 And gasp'd beneath a mortal wound, 
 
 While o'er him stands the Bruce. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 "Miscreant! while lasts thy flitting spaik. 
 
 Give me to know the purpose dark. 
 
 That arm'd thy hand with murderous knife. 
 
 Against offenceless sti'anger's life?" — 
 " No stranger thou ! " with accent fell, 
 
 Murmur'd the MTetch ; " I know thee well ; 
 
 And know thee for the foeman sworn 
 
 Of my high Chief, the mighty Lorn." — 
 " Speak yet again, and speak the truth 
 
 For thy soul's sake ! — from whence this youth 
 
 His countrj'-, birth, and name declare, 
 
 And thus one evil deed repair," — 
 
 — " Vex me no more ! . . . my blood rims cold . . . 
 
 No more I know than I have told. 
 
 We found him in a bark we sought 
 
 With different purpose . . . and I thought " . . . . 
 
 Fate cut him short ; in blood and broil, 
 
 As ho had lived, died Cormac DoU. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Then resting on his bloody blade. 
 The valiant Bruce to Ronald said — 
 " Now shame upon us both ! — that boy 
 
 Lifts his mute face to heaven. 
 And clasps his hands, to testify 
 His gratitude to God on high, 
 
 Fo'- strange deliverance given. 
 His speechless gesture thanks liath paid, 
 "Which our free tongues have left imsaid!" 
 He raised the 3'outh with kindly word. 
 But mark'd him shudder at the sword : 
 He cleansed it from its hue of death. 
 And plunged the weapon in its sheath. 
 " Alas, poor child 1 unfitting part 
 Fate doom'd, when with so soft a heart. 
 
 And form so slight as thine. 
 She made thee first a pirate's slave, 
 Then, in his stead, a patron gave 
 
 Of waj-ward lot like mine — 
 A landless prince, whose wandering life 
 Is but one scene of blood and strife ; 
 Yet scant of friends the Bruce shall be, 
 But he'U find resting-place for thee. — 
 Come, noble Eonald ! o'er the dead 
 Enough thy generous grief is paid. 
 And well has Allan's fate been vrroke ; 
 Come w md we hence — the dav has broke.
 
 528 THE LORD OF THE ISLES. CANTO IIL 
 
 Seek we our bark — I trust the tale 
 Was false, that she had hoisted saiL" 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Yet, ere they left that chamel-cell, 
 The Island Lord bade sad farewell 
 To Allan :— « Who shall tell this tale," 
 He said, " in halls of Donagaile ! 
 Oh, who his widow'd mother tell, 
 That, ere his bloom, her fairest fell ! — 
 Eest thee, poor youth ! and trust my care 
 For mass and knell and funeral prayer ; 
 While o'er those caitiffs where they "lie. 
 The wolf shall snarl, the raven cry!" — 
 And now the eastern mountain's head 
 On the dark lake threw lustre red ; 
 Bright gleams of gold and purple streak 
 Ravine and precipice and peak — 
 (So earthly power at distance shows — 
 Reveals his splendour, hides his woes.) 
 O'er sheets of granite, dark and broad, 
 Rent and unequal, lay the road. 
 In sad discourse the warriors -wind. 
 And the mute captive moves behind- 
 
 CANTO FOUKTH. 
 
 I. 
 
 Stranger ! if e'er thine ardent step hath traced 
 The northern realms of ancient Caledon, 
 Where the proud Queen of Wilderness hath placed. 
 By lake and cataract, her lonely throne ; 
 Sublime but sad delight thy soul hath known. 
 Gazing on pathless glen and mountain high. 
 Listing where from the cliffs the torrents throwTi 
 Slingle their echoes with the eagle's cry. 
 And with the soimding lake, and with the moaning sky. 
 
 Yesl 'twas sublime, but sad. — The loneliness 
 Loaded thy heart, the desert tired thine eye ; 
 And strange and awful fears began to press 
 Thy bosom with a stern solemnity. 
 Then hast thou wish'd some woodman's cottage nigh. 
 Something that show'd of life, though low and mean ; 
 Glad sight, its curling wreath of smoke to spy — 
 Glad sound, its cock's blithe carol would have been. 
 Or children whooping wild beneath the willows green.
 
 rTO IV. THE LORD OP THE ISLES. 529 
 
 Such are the scenes, where savage g^randeur wakes 
 An awful thrill that softens into sighs ; 
 Such feelings rouse them by dim Rannoch's lakes, 
 In dark Glencoe such gloomy raptures rise : 
 Or farther, where, beneath tlie northern akies. 
 Chides wild Loch-Eribol his caverns hoar — 
 But, be the minstrel judge, they yield the prize 
 Of desert dignity to that dread shore, 
 That sees grim Coolin rise, and hears Coriskin roar. 
 
 II. 
 
 Through such wild scenes the champion pass'd, 
 \\Tien bold halloo and bugle-blast 
 Upon the breeze came loud and fast. 
 " There," said the Bruce, " rung Edward's horn 
 What can have caused such brief return ? 
 And see, brave Ronald, — see him dart 
 O'er stock and stone like hunted hart, 
 Precipitate, as is the use, 
 In war or sport, of Edward Bruce. 
 — He marks us, and his eager cry 
 "Will tell his news ere he be nigh." 
 
 III. 
 
 Loud Edward shouts — " "WTiat make ye here. 
 Warring upon the mountain-deer. 
 
 When Scotland wants her King ? 
 A bark from Lennox cross'd our track, 
 With her in speed I hurried back. 
 
 These joyful news to bring — 
 The Stuart stirs in Teviotdale, 
 And Douglas wakes his native vale ; 
 Tliv storm-toss'd fleet hath won its way 
 With little loss to Brodick-Bay, 
 And Lennox, with a gallant band. 
 Waits but thy coming and command 
 To waft them o'er to Oarrick strand. 
 There are blithe news! — but mark the closet 
 Edward, the deadliest of our foes, 
 As with his host he northwai'd pass'd. 
 Hath on the borders breathed his last." 
 
 IV. 
 
 StiU stood the Bruce — his steady cheek 
 Was little wont his joy to speak. 
 
 But then his colour rose : — 
 ** Now, Scotland ! shortly shalt thou see. 
 With God's high will, thy children free. 
 
 And vengeance on thy foes ! 
 Yet to no sense of selfish wrongs. 
 Bear witness with me, Heaven, belongs 
 
 My joy o'er Edward's bier;23 
 I took my laiighthood at his hand, 
 And lordsliip held of him, and land, 
 
 And well mav vouch it here, 
 21.
 
 wo THE LORD OP THE IST.ES. 
 
 That, blot the story from his page. 
 Of Scotland riiiii'd in his rage, 
 You read a monarch brave and sage. 
 
 And to his r oople dear." — 
 " Let London's burghers mourn her Lord, 
 And Croydon monks his praise record," 
 
 The eager Edward said ; 
 " Eternal as his own, my hate 
 Surmounts the bounds of mortal fate, 
 
 And dies not with the dead ! 
 Such hate was his on Solway's strand, 
 When vengeance clench'd his palsied hand, 
 That pointed yet to Scotland's land. 
 
 As his last accents prajr'd 
 Disgrace and curse upon his heir. 
 If he one Scottish head should spare. 
 Till stretch'd upon the bloody lair 
 
 Each rebel corpse was laid ! 
 Such hate was his, when his last breath 
 Renounced the peaceful house of death, 
 And bade his bones to Scotland's coast 
 Be borne by his remorseless host, 
 As if his dead and stony eye 
 Could still enjoy her misery ! 
 Such hate was his — dark, deadly, long ; 
 Mine, — as enduiing, deep, and strong ! " — 
 
 V. 
 
 " Let women, Edward, war with words. 
 With curses monks, but men with swords : 
 Nor doubt of living foes to sate. 
 Deepest revenge and deadliest hate. — 
 Now to the sea ! Behold the beach. 
 And see the galley's pendants stretch 
 Their fluttering length doTiTi favouring gaie i 
 Aboard, aboard ! and hoist the saU. I 
 Hold we our way for An-an first, 
 Where meet in arms our friends dispersed— 
 Lennox the loyal, De la Haye, 
 And Boyd the bold in battle fray. 
 I long the hardy band to head. 
 And see once more my standard spread. — 
 Does noble Ronald share our com-se. 
 Or staj' to raise his island force ? " — 
 
 *' Come weal, come woe, by Bruce's side," 
 Replied the Chief, "will'Ronakl bide. 
 And since two galleys yonder ride. 
 Be mine, so please my liege, dismissed 
 To wake to arms the clans of Uist, 
 And all who hear the Minche's rosir. 
 On the Long Island's lonely shore. 
 The nearer Isles, -nnth slight delaj. 
 Ourselves may summon in our way ; 
 And soon on Arran's shore shall meet. 
 With Torquil's aid, a gallant fleet,
 
 CANTO IV THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 631 
 
 If aught avails their Chieftain's hest 
 Among the islesmen of the west." 
 
 VI. 
 
 Thus was their venturous council said. 
 But, ere their sails the galley spread, 
 Coriskin dark and Coolin high 
 Echoed the dirge's doleful cr}\ 
 Along that sable lake pass'd slow, — 
 Fit scene for such a sight of woe, — 
 The sorrowing islesmen, as they bore 
 The murder'd AUan to the shore. 
 At every pause, witli dismal shout, 
 Their coronach of grief rung out. 
 And ever, when they moved again. 
 The pipes resumed their clamorous strain. 
 And with the pibroch's shrilling wail, 
 Moum'd the young heir of DonagaUe. 
 Eound and aroimd from cliff and cave. 
 His answer stem old Coolin gave, 
 TQl high upon his misty side 
 Languish'd the mournful notes, and died. 
 For never sounds, by mortal made, 
 Attain'd his high and haggard head. 
 That echoes but the tempest's moan. 
 Or the deep thimdei^s rending groan. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Merrih% merrily bounds the bark 
 
 She bounds before the gale, 
 The mountain breeze from Ben-na-darch 
 
 Is joyous in her saQ I 
 "With fluttering soimd like laughter hoarse. 
 
 The cords and canvass strain, 
 The waves, divided by her force. 
 In rippling eddies chased her course, 
 
 As if they laugh'd again. 
 Not down the breeze more blithely flew, 
 Skimming the wave, the light sea-mew, 
 
 Than the gay galley bore 
 Her course upon that favouring wind. 
 And Coolia's crest has sunk behind, 
 
 And Slapin's cavern'd shore. 
 'Twas then that warlike signals wake 
 Dunscaith's dark towers and Eisord's lake. 
 And soon, from Cavilgarrigh's head, 
 Thick wreaths of eddying smoke were spread — 
 A summons these of war and wrath 
 To the brave clans of Sleat and Strath — 
 
 And, ready at the sight. 
 Each warrior to his weapon sprung, 
 And tai'ge upon his shoulder flung, 
 
 Impatient for the light. 
 Mac-Kiunon's chief, in wart'iire grey,
 
 632 THE LORD OP THE ISLES. CANTO IV. 
 
 Had charge to muster their array, 
 And guide their barks to Brodick-Bay. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Signal of Ronald's high command, 
 A beacon gleam'd o'er sea and land, 
 From Canna's tower, that, steep and gi'ey, 
 Like falcon-nest o'erhangs the bay, 
 Seek not the giddy crag to climb, 
 To view the turret scathed by time ; 
 It is a task of doubt and fear 
 To aught but goat or mountain-deer. 
 But rest thee on the silver beach, 
 And let the aged herdsman teach 
 
 His tale of former day ; 
 His cur's wild clamour he shall chide, 
 And for thy seat by ocean's side, 
 
 His varied plaid display ; 
 Then tell, how with their Chieftain came, 
 In ancient times, a foreign dame 
 To yonder turret grey. 
 Stern was her Lord's suspicious mind, 
 Who in so rude a jail confined 
 
 So soft and fair a thraU I 
 And oft, when moon on ocean slept, 
 That lovely lady sate and wept 
 
 Upon the castle-waU, 
 And tum'd her eye to southern climes, 
 And thought perchance of happier times, 
 And touch'd her lute by fits, and sung 
 Wild ditties in her native tongue. 
 And still, when on the cliff and bay 
 Placid and pale the moonbeams play. 
 
 And every breeze is mute. 
 Upon the lone Hebridean's ear 
 Steals a strange pleasure mix'd with fear 
 While from that cliff he seems to hear 
 
 The murmur of a lute. 
 And sounds, as of a captive lone. 
 That mourns her woes in tongue unknown. — 
 Strange is the tale — but all too long 
 Already hath it staid the song — 
 Yet who may pass them by. 
 That crag and tower in ruins grey, 
 Nor to their hapless tenant pay 
 The tribute of a sigh I 
 
 IX. 
 Merrily, merrily bounds the bark 
 
 O'er the broad ocean driven, 
 Her path by Ronin's mountains dark 
 
 The steersman's hand hath given. 
 A nd Ronin's mountains dark have sent 
 
 Their hunters to the shore,-*
 
 CANTO IV. THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 533 
 
 And eacli his ashen bow unbent, 
 
 And gave his pastime o'er, 
 And at the Island Lord's command, 
 For hunting spear took warrior's brand. 
 On Scooreigg next a warning light 
 Summon'd her warriors to the tight ; 
 A numerous race, ere stem MacLeod 
 O'er their bleak shores in vengeance strode, * 
 When all in vain the ocean-cave 
 Its refuge to his victims gave. 
 The Chief, relentless in his wrath. 
 With blazing heath blocades the path ; 
 In dense and stifling volumes roll'd. 
 The vapour fill'd the cavern'd hold ! 
 The waiTior-threat, the infant's plain, 
 The mother's screams, were heard in vain ; 
 The vengeful Chief maintains his fires. 
 Till in the vault a tribe expires ! 
 The bones which strew that cavern's gloom, 
 Too well attest their dismal doom. 
 
 X, 
 
 Merrily, merrily goes the bark 
 
 On a breeze from the northward free; 
 So shoots through the morning sky the lark 
 
 Or the swan through the summer sea. 
 The shores of Mull on the eastward lay, 
 And Ulva dark, and Colonsay, 
 And all the group of islets gay 
 
 That guard famed Staffa round. 
 Then all unknown its columns rose. 
 Where dark and undisturb'd repose 
 
 The cormorant had found. 
 And the shy seal had quiet home. 
 And welter'd in that wondrous dome. 
 Where, as to shame the temples decli'd 
 By skill of earthly architect. 
 Nature herself, it seem'd, would raise 
 A Minster to her Maker's praise I 
 Not for a meaner use ascend 
 Her columns, or her arches bend ; 
 Nor of a theme less solemn tells 
 That mighty surge that ebbs and swells. 
 And still, between each awful pause, 
 From the high vault an answer draws, 
 In varied tone prolong'd and high. 
 That mocks the organ's melody. 
 Nor doth its entrance front in vain 
 To old Zona's holy fane, 
 That Nature's voice might seem to say, 
 " Well hast thou done, frail Child of clay ! 
 Thy humble powers that stately shrine 
 Task'd high and hard — but witness mine T
 
 634 THE LORD OF THE ISLES. ( 
 
 XI. 
 
 Merrily, merrily goes the bark — 
 
 Before the gale she boimds ; 
 So darts the dolphin from the shark, 
 
 Or the deer before the hounds. 
 They left Loch-Tua on their lee. 
 And they waken'd the men of the wild Tiree; 
 
 And the Chief of the sandy Coll ; 
 They paused not at Cohmiba's isle, 
 Though peal'd the beDs from the holy pile 
 
 With long and measured toll ; 
 No time for matin or for mass, 
 And the sounds of tlie holy summons pass 
 
 Away in the billows' roll. 
 Lochbuie's fierce and warlike Lord 
 Their signal saw, and grasp'd his sword. 
 And verdant Islay call'd her host. 
 And the clans of Jura's rugged coast 
 
 Lord Ronald's call obey. 
 And Scarba's isle, whose tortured shore 
 Still rings to Corrievreken's roar, 
 
 And lonely Colonsay ; 
 — Scenes sung by him who sings no more '^ 
 His bright and brief career is o'er. 
 
 And mute his tuneful strains ; 
 Quench'd is his lamp of varied lore, 
 That loved the light of song to pour ; — 
 A distant and a deadly shore 
 
 Has Leyden's cold remains I 
 
 xir. 
 
 Ever the breeze blows merrily. 
 But the galley ploughs no more the sea. 
 Lest, rounding wild Cantyre, they meet 
 The southern foeman's watchful fleet, 
 
 They held imwonted way ; — 
 Up Tarbat's western lake they bore. 
 Then dragg'd their bark the isthmus o'er,^ 
 As far as Kilmaconnel's shore. 
 
 Upon the eastern bay. 
 It was a wondrous sight to see 
 Topmast and pennon glitter free. 
 High raised above the greenwood tree. 
 As on dry land the galley moves, 
 By cliff and copse and aider groves. 
 Deep import ft-om that selcouth sign, 
 Did many a mountain Seer divine ; 
 For ancient legends told the Gael, 
 That when a royal bark should sail 
 
 O'er Kilmaconnel moss. 
 Old Albyn should in tight prevail, 
 And every foe should faint and quail 
 
 Before her silver Cross.
 
 CAKTO IV. THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 535 
 
 XIII. 
 Now launched once more, the inland sea 
 They furrow with fair augury, 
 
 And steer for Arran's isle ; 
 The sun, ere yet he sunk behind 
 Ben-GhoU, " the Mountain of the Wind," 
 Gave his grim peaks a greeting kind, I 
 
 And bade Loch Ranza smile.-s 
 Thither their destined coi\rse they drew : 
 It seem'd the isle her monarch knew. 
 So brilliant was the landward view, 
 
 The ocean so serene ; 
 Each puny wave in diamonds roll'd 
 O'er the calm deep, where hues of gold 
 
 With azure strove and green. 
 The hill, the vale, the tree, the tower, 
 Glow'd with the tints of evening's hour, 
 
 The beech was sU rer sheen, 
 The wind breathed so't as lover's sigh, 
 And, oft renew'd, seem'd oft to die. 
 
 With breathless pause between. 
 O who, ■with speech of war and woes. 
 Would wish to break the soft repose 
 
 Of such enchanting scene I 
 
 XIV. 
 Is it of wai- Lord Eonald speaks ? — 
 The blush that dyes his manly cheeks, 
 The timid look and downcast eye, 
 And faltering voice, the theme deny. 
 And good King Robert's brow express'cL 
 He ponder'd o'er some high request, 
 
 As doubtful to approve ; 
 Yet in his eye and lip the while, 
 Dwelt the half-pitying glance and smile. 
 Which manhood's graver mood beguile, 
 When lovers talk of love. 
 Anxious his suit Lord Ronald pled ; 
 — " And for my bride betrothed," he said, 
 " My Liege has heard the rumour spread 
 Of Edith from Artoniish tied. 
 Too hard her fate — I claim no right 
 To blame her for her hasty fliglit ; 
 Be joy and happiness her lot ! — 
 But she hath lied the bridal-knot. 
 And Lom recall'd his promised plight, 
 In the assembled chieftains' sight. — 
 When, to fultil our fathers' band, 
 I proffer'd all I could — my hand — 
 
 I was repulsed with scorn ; 
 
 Mine honour I should ill assert. 
 
 And worse the feelings of my heart, 
 
 If I should play a suitor's part 
 
 Again, to pleasure Lorn." —
 
 536 THE LOKD OF THE ISLES. C 
 
 XV. 
 
 " Young Lord," the Boyal Bruce replietl, 
 " That question must the Church decide 
 Yet seems it hard, since rumours state 
 Edith talies Clifford for her mate, 
 The very tie, which she hath broke, 
 To thee should still be binding yoke. 
 But, for my sister Isabel — 
 The mood of woman who can tell ? 
 I guess the Champion of the Rock, 
 Victorious in the tourney shock, 
 That knight unknown, to whom the prize 
 She dealt, — had favour in her eyes ; 
 But since our brother Nigel's fate. 
 Our ruin'd house and hapless state. 
 From worldly joy and hope estranged, 
 IVIuch is the hapless mourner changed. 
 Perchance," here smiled the noble King, 
 ' This tale may other musings bring. 
 Soon shall we know — j'on mountains hide 
 The little convent of Saint Bride ; 
 There, sent by Edward, she must stay, 
 Till fate shall give more prosperous day ; 
 And thither will I bear thy suit. 
 Nor will thine advocate be mute." 
 
 XVI. 
 As thus they talk'd in earnest mood. 
 That speechless boy beside them stood. 
 He stoop'd his head against the mast, 
 And bitter sobs came thick and fast, 
 A grief that would not be repress'd, 
 But seem'd to burst his youthful breast. 
 His hands, against his forehead held, 
 As if by force his tears repell'd, 
 But through his fingers, long and slight, 
 Fast trill'd the drops of crystal bright. 
 Edward, who walk'd the deck apart, 
 First spied this conflict of the heart. 
 Thoughtless as brave, with bluntness kind 
 He sought to cheer the sorrower's mind ; 
 By force the slender hand he drew 
 From those poor eyes that stream'd with dew. 
 As in his hold the stripling strove, — 
 ('Twas a rough grasp, though meant in love,) 
 Away his tears the warrior swept. 
 And bade shame on him that he went. 
 " I would to heaven, thy helpless tongue 
 Could tell me who hath wrought thee wrong 
 For, were he of our crew the best, 
 The insult went not unredress'd. 
 Come, cheer thee ! — thou art now of age 
 To be a warrior's gallant page ; 
 Thou shalt be mine ! — a palfrey fair 
 O'er hill and holt my boy shall bear.
 
 [T. THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 537 
 
 To hold my bow in hunting grove. 
 Or speed on errand to my love ; 
 For well I wot thou wilt not tell 
 The temple where my wishes dwell." 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Bruce interposed,— " Gay Edward, no, 
 
 This is no youth to hold thy bow, 
 
 To fill thy goblet, or to bear 
 
 Thy message light to lighter fair. 
 
 Thou art a patron all too wild 
 
 And thoughtless, for this orphan chUd. 
 
 See'st thou not how apart he steals. 
 
 Keeps lonely couch, and lonely meals? 
 
 Fitter by far in yon calm ceU 
 
 To tend our sister Isabel, 
 
 With father Augustine to share 
 
 The peaceful change of convent prayer. 
 
 Than wander wild adventures through, 
 
 With such a reckless guide as you." — 
 ' Thanks, brother ! " Edward answer'd gay 
 ' For the high laud thy words convey ! 
 
 But we may learn some future day, 
 
 If thou or I can this poor boy 
 
 Protect the best, or best employ. 
 
 Meanwhile, our vessel nears the strand : 
 
 Launch we the boat, and seek the land." 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 To land King Eobert lightly sprung, 
 
 And thrice aloud his bugle rung 
 
 With note prolong'd and varied strain. 
 
 Till bold Ben-Glioil replied again. 
 
 Good Douglas then, and De la Have, 
 
 Had in a glen a hart at bay, 
 
 And Lennox cheer'd the laggard hounds. 
 
 When waked that horn the greenwood bounds. 
 " It is the foe I" cried Boyd, who came 
 
 In breathless haste with eye of ilame, — 
 " It is the foe ! — Each valiant lord 
 
 Fling by his bow, and grasp his sword ! " — 
 " Not so," replied the good Lord James, 
 " That blast no English bugle claims. 
 
 Oft have I heard it fire the fight. 
 
 Cheer the pursuit, or stop the flight. 
 
 Dead were my heart, and deaf mine ear 
 
 If Bruce should call, nor Douglas hear ! 
 
 Each to Loch Kanza's margin spring ; 
 
 That blast was winded by the King I "^ 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Fast to their mates the tidings spread, 
 And fost to shore the warriors sped. 
 Bursting from glen and greenwood tree, 
 High waked their loyal jubilee!
 
 538 THE LORD OF THE ISLES. CA 
 
 Aroimcl the royal Bruce they crowd, 
 And clasp'd his hands, and wept aloud. 
 Veterans of early fields were there, 
 Whose helmets press'd their hoary hair, 
 Whose swords and axes bore a stain 
 From life-blood of the red-hair'd Dane ; 
 And boys, whose hands scarce brook'd to wield 
 The hea^•y sword or bossy shield. 
 Men too were there, that bore the scars 
 Impress'd in Albj-n's wofid wars, 
 At Falkirk's fierce and fatal fight, 
 Teyndrum's dread rout, and Methven's flight ; 
 The might of Douglas there was seen. 
 There Lennox with his graceful mien ; 
 Kirkpatrick, Closeburn's dreaded Knight; 
 The Lindsay, fiery, fierce, and light ; 
 The Heir of murder'd De la Haye, 
 And Boyd the grave, and Sefon gay. 
 Around their King regain'd they press'd. 
 Wept, shouted, claspM him to their breast, 
 And young and old, and serf and lord, 
 And he who ne'er unuheathed a sword. 
 And he in many a peril tried. 
 Alike resolved the binint to bide. 
 And live or die by Bruce's side ! 
 
 XX. 
 
 Oh, War ! thou hast thy fierce delight. 
 Thy gleams of joy, intensely bright ! 
 Such gleams, as from thy polish'd shield 
 Fly dazzling o'er the battle-field I 
 Such transports wake, severe and high, 
 Amid the pealing conquest cry ; 
 Scarce less, when, after battle lost. 
 Muster the remnants of a host. 
 And as each comrade's name thej' tell, 
 "Who in the well-fought conflict fell. 
 Knitting stern brow o'er flashing eye. 
 Vow to avenge them or to die 1 — 
 Warriors ! — and where are warriors found. 
 If not on martial Britain's ground? 
 And who, when waked with note of fire. 
 Love more than they the British lyre ? — 
 Know ye not, — hearts to honour dear ! 
 That joy, deep-thrilling, stem, severe, 
 At which the heartstrings vibrate high, 
 And wake the fountains of tlie eye ? 
 And blame ye, then, the Bruce, if trace 
 Of tear is on his manly face, 
 When, scanty relics of the train 
 That hail'd at Scone his early reign. 
 This pati-iot band around him hung. 
 And to his knees and bosom clung? — 
 Blame ye the Bruce ? — His brother blamed. 
 But shared the weakness, while ashamed,
 
 i IV. THK LORD OF THE ISLES. 539 
 
 With haughty laugh his head he tum'd. 
 And dash'd away the tear he scoru'd.'" 
 
 XXI. 
 
 'Tis morning, and the Convent hell 
 
 Long time had ceased its matin knell, 
 Within thy walls, Saint Bride ! 
 
 An aged Sister sought the cell 
 
 Assign'd to Lady Isabel, 
 And hurriedly she cried, 
 " Haste, gentle Lady, haste ! — there waits 
 
 A noble stranger at the gates ; ^ 
 
 Saint Bride's poor vot'ress ne'er has seen 
 
 A Knight of such a princely mien ; 
 
 His errand, as he bade me tell. 
 
 Is with the Lady Isabel." 
 
 The princess rose, — for on her knee 
 
 Low bent she told her rosary, — 
 " Let him by thee his pui-pose teach : 
 
 I may not give a stranger speech." — 
 " Saint Bride forefend, thou royal Blaid!" 
 
 The portress cross'd herself, and said ; — 
 " Not to be Prioress might I 
 
 Debate his will, his suit deny."— 
 " Has earthly sho^v, then, simple fool. 
 
 Power o'er a sister of thy rule? 
 
 And art thou, like the worldly train, 
 
 Subdued by splendours light and vain?"— 
 
 XXIL 
 
 " No, Lady ! in old eyes like mine. 
 
 Gauds have no glitter, gems no shine ; 
 
 Nor grace his rank attendants vain. 
 
 One youthful page is all his train. 
 
 It is the form, the eye, the word. 
 
 The bearing of that stranger Lord; 
 
 His statiu-e, manly, bold, and tall, 
 
 Built like a castle's battled wall. 
 
 Yet moulded in such just degrees, 
 
 His giant-strength seems lightsome ease. 
 
 Close as the tendrils of the vine. 
 
 His locks upon his forehead twine. 
 
 Jet-black, save where some touch of grey 
 
 Has ta'en the youthful hue away. 
 
 Weather and war their rougher trace 
 
 Have left on that majestic face ; — 
 
 But 't is his dignity of eye ! 
 
 There, if a suppliant, would I fly. 
 
 Secure, 'mid danger, wrongs, and grief. 
 
 Of sympathy, redress, relief — 
 
 That glance, if guilty, would 1 dread 
 
 More than the doom that spoke me dead ! "— 
 " Enough, enough," the Princess cried, 
 "'Tis Scotland's hope, her joy, her pride!
 
 540 THE LORD OP THE ISLES. 
 
 To meaner front was ne'er assigu'd 
 Such mastery o'er the common mind — 
 Bestow'd thy high designs to aid, 
 How long, Heaven ! how long delay'd !- 
 Haste, Mona, haste, to introduce 
 My flarling brother, royal Bruce ! " 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 They met like friends who part in pain. 
 And meet in doubtful hope again. 
 But wlien subdued that fitful swell, 
 The Bruce survey'd the humble cell ; — 
 " And this is thine, poor Isabel ! — 
 That pallet-couch, and naked wall. 
 For room of state, and bed of pall ; 
 For costlj' robes and jewels rare, ^ 
 
 A string of beads and zone of hair ; 
 And for the trumpet's sprightly call 
 To sport or banquet, grove or hall. 
 The bell's grim voice dix-ides thy care, 
 'Twixt hours of penitence and prayer ! — 
 O ill for tliee, my royal claim 
 From the First David's sainted name ! 
 O woe for thee, that while he sought 
 His right, thy brother feebly fought!" — 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 " Now lay these vain regrets aside. 
 And be the unshaken Bruce ! " she cried. 
 
 " For more I glory to have shared 
 The woes thy venturous spirit dared, 
 When raising first thy valiant band 
 In rescue of thy native laud. 
 Than had fair Fortune set me down 
 The partner of an empire's crown. 
 And grieve not that on Pleasure's stream 
 No more I drive in giddy dream, 
 For Heaven the erring pilot knew, 
 And from the gulf the vessel di-ew, 
 Tried me with judgments stern and great,- 
 My house's ruin, thj- defeat. 
 Poor Nigel's death— till, tamed, I own. 
 My hopes are tix'd on Heaven alone 
 Nor e'er shall earthly prospects win 
 My heart to this vain world of sin." — 
 
 XXV. 
 
 "Nay, Isabel, for such stern choice. 
 First wilt thou wait thy brother's vpice; 
 Then ponder if in convent scene 
 No softer thoughts might intervene — 
 Say they were of that unknown Knight, 
 Victor in "Woodstock's tourney-fight — 
 Nay, if his name such blush you owe. 
 Victorious o'er a faher foe I "
 
 D IT. THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 541 
 
 Truly Ms penetrating eye 
 Hath caught that bhxsh's passing dye, — 
 Like the last beam of evening thrown 
 On a white cloud, — just seen and gone. 
 Soon with calm cheek and steady eye, 
 The Princess made composed reply : — 
 " I guess my brother's meaning well ; 
 For not so silent is the cell, 
 But we have heard the islemen all 
 Arm in thy cause at Ronald's call, 
 And mine eye proves that Knight unknown 
 And the brave Island Lord are one. — 
 Had then his suit been earlier made 
 In his o-mi name, with thee to aid, 
 (But that his plighted feith forebade,) 
 
 I know not But thy page so near ?— 
 
 This is no tale for menial's ear." 
 
 XXVL 
 
 Still stood that page, as far apart 
 
 As the small cell would space afford ; 
 With dizzy eye and bursting heart, 
 
 He leant his weight on Bruce's sword. 
 The monarch's mantle too he bore, 
 And drew the fold his visage o'er. 
 " Fear not for him — in murderous strife," 
 Said Bruce, " his warning saved my life ; 
 Full seldom parts he from my side. 
 And in his silence I confide, 
 Since he can tell no tale again. 
 He is a boy of gentle strain. 
 And I have purposed he shall dwell 
 In Augustine the chaplain's cell, 
 And wait on thee, my Isabel. — 
 Mind not his tears ; I've seen them flow. 
 As in the thaw di.ssolves the snow. 
 'Tis a kind youth, but fanciful. 
 Unfit against the tide to pull. 
 And those that with the Bruce would sail. 
 Must learn to strive with stream and gale. — 
 But fonvard, gentle Isabel — 
 My answer for Lord Ronald tell." — 
 
 XXVII. 
 *' This answer be to Ronald given — 
 The heart he asks is fix'd on heaven. 
 My love was like a summer flower. 
 That wither'd in the wintry hour, 
 Born but of vanity and pride. 
 And with these sunny visions died. 
 If further press his suit — then say. 
 He should his plighted troth obey. 
 Troth plighted both with ring and word. 
 And sworn oi crucilix and sword. —
 
 .'542 -THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 
 
 Oh, shame thee, Eobert ! I have seen 
 
 Thou hast a woman's guardian been ! 
 
 Even in extremity's dread hour, 
 
 AVhen pressed on "thee the Southern power, 
 
 And safety, to all human sight, 
 
 "Was only" found in rapid flight. 
 
 Thou heardst a vrretched female plain 
 
 In agony of travail-pain. 
 
 And thou didst bid thy little band 
 
 Upon the instant turn and stand. 
 
 And dare the worst the foe might do, 
 
 Eather than, like a knight untrue. 
 
 Leave to pursuers merciless 
 
 A woman in her last distress.''^ 
 
 And wilt thou now deny thine aid 
 
 To an oppress'd and injured maid. 
 
 Even plead for Ronald's perfidy. 
 
 And press his fickle faith on me ?^ 
 
 So witness Heaven, as true I vow. 
 
 Had I those earthly feelings now, 
 
 "WTiich could my former bosom move 
 
 Ere taught to set its hopes above, 
 
 I'd spurn each proffer he could bring. 
 
 Till at my feet he laid the ring, 
 
 The ring and spousal contract both, 
 
 And fair acquittal of his oath, 
 
 B}"- her who brooks his perjured scorn. 
 
 The ill-requited Llaid of Lorn I" 
 
 XXVIIL 
 
 With sudden impulse forward sprung 
 The page, and on her neck he hung ; 
 Then, recollected instantly, 
 His head he stoop'd, and bent his knee, 
 Kiss'd twice the hand of Isabel, 
 Arose, and sudden left the cell. — 
 The Princess, loosen'd from his hold, 
 Blush'd angry at his bearing bold ; 
 
 But good King Eobert cried^ 
 " Chafe not — by signs he speaks his mind; 
 He heard the' pi an my care design'd, 
 
 Nor could his transports hide. — 
 But, sister, now bethink thee well: 
 No easy choice the convent cell ; 
 Trust, I shall play no tjTant part, 
 Either to force thy hand or heart. 
 Or suffer that Lord Eonald scorn, 
 Or wrong for thee, the JIaid of Lorn. 
 But think, — not long the time has been. 
 That thou wert wont to sigh unseen. 
 And wouldst the ditties best approve. 
 That told some lay of hapless love. 
 Now are thy wishes in thy power. 
 And thou art bent on cloister bower I
 
 IV. THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 543 
 
 I if OUT Edward knew the change, 
 How would his busy satire range, 
 With many a sarcasm varied stUl 
 On woman's wish, and woman's will ! "— 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 " Brother, I well believe," she said, 
 
 " Even so would Edward's part be play'd. 
 
 Kindly in heart, in word severe, 
 
 A foe "to thought, and grief, and fear. 
 
 He holds his humour uncontroU'd ; 
 
 But thou art of another mould. 
 
 Say then to Ronald, as I say, 
 
 Unless before my feet he lay 
 
 The ring which bound the faith he swore, 
 
 By Edith freely yielded o'er. 
 
 He moves his suit to me no more. 
 
 Nor do I promise, even if now 
 
 He stood absolved of spousal vow. 
 
 That I would change my purpose made. 
 
 To shelter me in holy shade. — 
 
 Brother, for little space, farewell ! 
 
 To other duties warns the bell." — 
 
 XXX. 
 
 " Lost to the world," King Robert said. 
 
 When he had left the royal maid, 
 " Lost to the world by lot severe, 
 
 O what a gem lies buried here, 
 
 Nipp'd by misfortune's cruel frost. 
 
 The buds of fair affection lost ! — 
 
 But what have I with love to do ? 
 
 Far sterner cares my lot pursue. 
 
 ■ — Pent in this isle we may not lie, 
 
 Nor would it long our wants supply. 
 
 Right opposite, the mainland towers 
 
 Of my own Tumberrj- court our powers — 
 
 — Might not my father's beadsman hoar, 
 
 Cuthbert, who "dwells upon the shore. 
 
 Kindle a signal-flame, to show 
 
 The time propitious for the blow ? 
 
 It shall be so— some friend shall bear 
 
 Our mandate with despatch and care ; 
 
 — Edward shall find the messenger. 
 
 That fortress ours, the island fleut 
 
 Maj' on the coast of Carrick meet. — 
 
 O Scotland I shall it e'er be mine 
 
 To wreak thy -ssTongs in battle-line, 
 
 To raise my victor-head, and see 
 
 Thy hills, thy dales, thy people free, — 
 
 That glance of bliss is all I crave. 
 
 Betwixt my labours and my grave 1 " 
 
 Then down the hiU he slowly went. 
 
 Oft pausmg on the steep descent, 
 
 And reach'd the spot where his bold traiu 
 
 Held rustic camp upon the plain.
 
 544 
 
 CANTO FIFTH. 
 
 I. 
 
 On fair Loch-Eanza stream'd the early day, 
 Tliin •Nvreaths of cottage-smoke are upward curl'd 
 From the lone hamlet, which her inland bay 
 And circling mountains sever from the world. 
 And there the fisherman his sail unfurl'd, 
 The goat-herd drove his kids to steep Ben-Ghoil, 
 Before the hut the dame her spindle twirl'd, 
 Couiting the simbeam as she plied her toil, — 
 For, wake where'er he may, Man wakes to care and toiL 
 
 But other duties call'd each convent maid, 
 Eoused by the summons of the moss-grown bell ; 
 Sung were the matins, and the mass was said. 
 And every sister sought her separate cell. 
 Such was the rule, her rosarj- to tell. 
 And Isabel has knelt in lonely praj'er ; 
 The sunbeam, through the narrow lattice, fell 
 Upon the snowy neck and long dark hair, 
 As stoop'd her gentle head in meek devotion there. 
 
 II. 
 
 She raised her eyes, that duty done. 
 When glanced upon the pavement-stone, 
 Gemm'd and enchased, a golden ring, 
 Bound to a scroll with silken string. 
 With few brief words inscribed to tell, 
 
 « This for the Lady Isabel." 
 Within, the -writing farther bore, — 
 
 " 'Twas with this ring his plight he swore. 
 With this his promise I restore ; 
 To her who can the heart command. 
 Well may I yield the plighted handL 
 And ! for better fortune bom. 
 Grudge not a passing sigh to mourn 
 Her who was Edith once of Lorn ! " 
 One single flash of glad surprise 
 Just glanced from Isabel's dark eyes. 
 But vanish'd in the blush of shame. 
 That, as its penance, mstant came. 
 
 " thought unworthy of my race I 
 Selfish, ungenerous, mean, and base, 
 A moment's throb of joy to own, 
 That rose upon her hopes o'erthro-mi !— 
 Thou pledge o-f vows too well believed. 
 Of man ingrate, »nd maid deceived, 
 Think not thy lustre here shall gain 
 Another heart to hope in vain I
 
 ) V. THE LOKD OP THE ISLES. 545 
 
 For thou shalt rest, thou tempting gaud, 
 "Where ■worldly thoughts are overawed, 
 And -worldly splendours sink debased." 
 Then by the cross the ring she placed. 
 
 III. 
 
 Next rose the thought, — its owner far, 
 How came it here through bolt and bar ? — 
 But the dim lattice is ajar. — 
 She looks abroad, — the morning dew 
 A light sliort step had bmsh'd anew, 
 
 Ajid there were foot-piints seen 
 On the carved buttress rising still, 
 Till on the mossy window-sill 
 
 Their track effaced the green. 
 The ivy tivigs were torn and fray'd. 
 As if some climber's steps to aid. — 
 But who the hard}' messenger, 
 Whose venturous path these signs infer ? — 
 Strange doubts are mine ! — Mona, draw nigh ; 
 — Nought 'scapes old Mona's curious eye — 
 What strangers, gentle mother, say. 
 Have sought these holy walls to-day?" — 
 None, Lady — none of note or name ; 
 Only your brother's foot-page came, 
 At peep of dawn — I pray'd him pass 
 To chapel where they said the mass ; 
 But like an arrow he shot by. 
 And tears seem'd bursting from his eye." 
 
 IV. 
 
 The truth at once on Isabel, 
 
 As daited by a sunbeam, fell : — 
 " 'Tis Edith's self! — her speechless woe. 
 
 Her form, her looks, the secret show I 
 
 — Instant, good Mona, to the bay 
 
 And to my royal brother say, 
 
 I do conjure him seek my cell, 
 
 With that mute page he loves so well." — 
 " A^Tiat ! know'st thou not his warlike host 
 
 At break of day has left oiu- coast ? 
 
 My old eyes saw them from the tower. 
 
 At eve they couch'd in greenwood bower. 
 
 At dawn a bugle signal, made 
 
 By their bold Lord, their ranks array'd ; 
 
 Up sprung the spears through bush "and tree, 
 
 No time for benedicite ! 
 
 Like deer, that, rousing from their lair. 
 
 Just shake the dewtbops from their hair. 
 
 And toss their armed crest aloft, 
 
 Such matins theirs ! " — " Good mother, soft — 
 
 Where does my brother bend his way?" — 
 " As I have neard, for Brodick-Bay 
 
 Across the isle — of barks a score 
 
 Lie there, 'tis said, to waft them o'er. 
 
 On sudden news, to Carrick-shore." — 
 2.11
 
 546 THE LORD OP THE ISLE.S, 
 
 " If such their purpose, deep the need," 
 Said anxious Isabel,- " of speed ! 
 Call Father Augustine, good dame." — 
 The nun obey'd, the Father came. 
 
 ** Kind Father, hie without delay, 
 Across the hills to Brodick-Bay. 
 This message to the Bruce be given : 
 I pray him, by his hopes of Heaven, 
 That, till he speak with me, he stay I 
 Or, if his haste brook no delay, 
 That he deliver, on my suit. 
 Into thy charge that stripling mute. 
 Thus prays his sister Isabel, 
 For causes more than she may tell — 
 Away, good father ! and take heed. 
 That life and death are on thy speed." 
 His cowl the good old priest did on, 
 Took his piked staff and sandall'd shoon, 
 And, like a palmer bent by eld. 
 O'er moss and moor his journey held. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Heavy and dull the foot of age, 
 And rugged was the pilgrimage ; 
 But none were there beside, whose care 
 Might such important message bear. 
 Through birchen copse he wander'd slow, 
 Stunted and sapless, thin and low; 
 By many a mountain stream he pass'd, 
 From the tall cliffs in tumult cast, 
 Dashing to foam their waters dun, 
 And sparkling in the summer sun. 
 Bound his grey head the wild curlew 
 In many a fearless circle flew. 
 O'er chasms he pass'd, where fractures wide 
 Craved wary eye and ample stride j^'* 
 He cross'd his "brow beside the stone 
 "Where Druids erst heard victims groan, 
 And at the cairns upon the wild, 
 O'er many a heathen hero piled, 
 He breathed a timid prayer for those 
 Who died ere Shiloh's sun arose. 
 Beside Macfarlane's Cross he staid, 
 , There told his hours within the shade, 
 
 And at the stream his thirst aUay'd. 
 Thence onward journeying slowly still, 
 As evening closed he reach'd the hill, 
 AVhere, rising through the woodland green, 
 Old Brodick's gothic towers were seen, 
 .From Hastings, late their English lord. 
 Douglas had won them by the sword. ^ 
 The sun that sunk behind the isle, 
 Now tinged them with a parting smUe.
 
 ) V. THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 547 
 
 VII. 
 
 But though the beams of light decay 
 'T was bustle all in Brodick Bay. 
 The Bruce's followers crowd the shore, 
 And boats and barges some unmoor, 
 Some raise the sail, some seize the oar ; 
 Their eyes oft turn'd where glimmer'd far 
 What might have seem'd an early star 
 On heaven's blue arch, save that its light 
 Was all too flickering, fierce, and bright. 
 Far distant in the south, the ray 
 Shone pale amid retiring day. 
 But as, on Carrick shore. 
 Dim seen in outline faintly blue. 
 The shades of evening closer drew, 
 It kindled more and more. 
 The monk's slow steps now press the sands. 
 And now amid a scene he stands. 
 
 Full strange to churchman's eye ; 
 Warriors, who, arming for the fight. 
 Rivet and clasp their harness light. 
 And twinkling spears, and axes bright, 
 And helmets flashing high. 
 Oft, too, with unaccustom'd ears, 
 A language much unmeet he hears, ^ 
 
 While, hastening all on board. 
 As stormy as the swelling surge 
 That mix'd its roar, the leaders urge 
 Their followers to the ocean verge. 
 With many a haughty word. 
 
 vin. 
 
 Through that wild throng the Father pass'd, 
 
 And reach'd the Royal Bruce at last. 
 
 He leant against a stranded boat. 
 
 That the approaching tide must float. 
 
 And counted every rippling wave. 
 
 As higher yet her sides they lave. 
 
 And oft the distant fire he eyed, 
 
 And closer yet his hauberk tied. 
 
 And loosen'd in his sheath his brand. 
 
 Edward and Lennox were at hand, 
 
 Douglas and Ronald had the care 
 
 The soldiers to the barlis to share. — 
 
 The Monk approach'd, and homage paid ; 
 " And art thou come," King Robert said, 
 " So far, to bless us ere we part ? " — 
 
 — " My Liege, and with a loyal heart ! — 
 
 But other charge I have to teU," — 
 
 And spoke the best of Isabel. 
 
 — " Now by Saint Giles," the monarch cried, 
 " This moves me much! — this morning tide, 
 
 I sent the stripling to Saint Bride, 
 
 With my commandment there to bide." —
 
 548 THE LORD OP THE ISLES. 
 
 — " Thitner he came, the portress show'd. 
 But there, my Liege; made brief abode." — 
 
 IX. 
 
 " Twas I," said Edward, " found employ 
 Of nobler import for the boy. 
 Deep pondering in my anxious mind, 
 A fitting messenger to find, 
 To bear thy written mandate o'er 
 To Cuthbert on the Carrick shore, 
 I chanced, at early dawn, to pass 
 The chapel gate to snatch a mass. 
 I found the stripling on a tomb 
 Low-seated, weeping for the doom 
 That gave his youth to convent gloom. 
 I told my purpose, and his eyes 
 Flash'd joyful at the glad surprise. 
 He bounded to the skiif, the saU 
 Was spread before a prosperous gale. 
 And well my charge he hath obey VI ; 
 For, see ! the ruddy signal made. 
 That Clifford, with his merry-men all. 
 Guards carelessly cm- father's hall." — 
 
 X. 
 
 " wild of thought, and hard of heart !" 
 Answer'd the Monarch, " on a part 
 Of such deep danger to employ 
 A mute, an orphan, and a boy ! 
 Unfit for flight, unfit for strife. 
 Without a tongue to plead for life ! 
 NoAv, were my right restored by Heaven, 
 Edward, my crown I would have given, 
 Ere, thrust on such adventure wild, 
 I perill'd thus the helpless child." — 
 — Offended half, and half submiss, — 
 
 " Brother and Liege of blame like this," 
 Edward replied, " I little dream'd. 
 A stranger messenger, I deem'd. 
 Might safest seek the beadsman's cell. 
 Where all thy squires are known so well. 
 Noteless his presence, sharp his sense, 
 His imperfection his defence. 
 If seen, none can his errand guess ; 
 If ta'en, his words no tale express — 
 Methinks, too, yonder beacon's shine 
 Might expiate greater fault than mine." — 
 
 •* Eash," said King Kobert, " was the deed — 
 But it is done. — Embark with speed ! — 
 Good Father, say to Isabel 
 How this unhappy chance befell ; 
 If well we thrive on yonder shore, 
 Soon shall my care her page restore. 
 Our greeting to om- sister bear, 
 And thuik of us in mass and prayer."—
 
 ) V. THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 549 
 
 XI. 
 
 " Aye !" said the Priest, — " •wLUe this poor hand 
 Can chalice raise or cross command, 
 ^VTiUe my old voice has accents' use, 
 Can Augustine forget the Bruce ?" 
 Then to his side Lord Ronald press'd, 
 And whisper'd— " Bear thou this request. 
 That when by Brace's side I fight, 
 For Scotland's crown and freedom's right. 
 The princess grace her knight to bear 
 Some token of her favouring care ; 
 It shall be shown where England's best 
 May shrink to see it on my crest. 
 And for the boy — since weightier care 
 For Royal Bruce the times prepare. 
 The helpless youth is Ronald's charge, 
 His couch my plaid, his fence my targe." 
 He ceased ; for many an eager hand 
 Had urged the barges from the strand. 
 Their number was a score and ten, 
 They bore thrice threescore chosen men. 
 With such small force did Bruce at last 
 The die for death or empire cast ! 
 
 XII. 
 
 Now on the darkening main afloat. 
 
 Ready and mann'd, rocks every boat ; 
 
 Beneath their oars the ocean's might 
 
 Was dash'd to sparks of glimmering light. 
 
 Faint and more faint, as off they bore. 
 
 Their armoui- glanced against the shore, 
 
 And, mingled with the dashing tide, 
 
 Their mm-muring voices distant died. — 
 " God speed them !" said the Priest, as dark 
 
 On distant billows glides each bark ; 
 ** Heaven ! when swords for freedom shine. 
 
 And monarch's right, the cause is thine ! 
 
 Edge doubly every patriot blow ! 
 
 Beat down the banners of the foe ! 
 
 And be it to the nations known. 
 
 That Victory is from God alone ! " 
 
 As up the hill his path he drew. 
 
 He turn'd, his blessings to renew. 
 
 Oft turn'd, till on the darken'd coast 
 
 All traces of their course were lost ; 
 
 Then slowly bent to Brodick tower, 
 
 To shelter for the evening hour. 
 
 XIII. 
 In night the fairy prospects sink. 
 Where Cumray's isles with verdant link 
 Close the fair entrance of the Clyde ; 
 The woods of Bute, no more descried, 
 Are gone ; and on the placid sea 
 The rowers pi}' their tasK with glee,
 
 550 THE LOUD OF THE ISLES. 
 
 While hands that knightly lances bore 
 Impatient aid the labouring oar. 
 The half-faced moon shone dim and pale, 
 And glanced against the whiten'd sail ; 
 But on that ruddy beacon-light 
 Each steersman kept the helm aright, 
 And oft, for such the Bang's command. 
 That all at once might reach the strand. 
 From boat to boat loud shout and hail 
 Warn'd them to crowd or slacken sail. 
 South and by west the armada bore, 
 And near at length the Carrick shore. 
 As less and less the distance grows, 
 High and more high the beacon rose ; 
 The light, that seem'd a twinkling star. 
 Now blazed portentous, fierce, and far. 
 Dark-red the heaven above it glow'd. 
 Dark-red the sea beneath it flow'd, 
 Eed rose the rocks on ocean's brim. 
 In blood-red light her islets s^vim ; 
 Wild scream the dazzled sea-fowl gave, 
 Dropp'd from their crags on plashing wave. 
 The deer to distant covert drew. 
 The black-cock deem'd it day, and crew. 
 Like some tall castle given to flame. 
 O'er half the land the lustre came. 
 
 " Now, good my Liege, and brother sage, 
 "WTiat think ye of mine elfin page ? " — 
 
 " Row on ! " the noble King replied ; 
 
 " We'll learn the truth, whate'er betide ; 
 Yet sure the beadsman and the child 
 Could ne'er have waked that beacon wild." 
 
 XIV. 
 
 With that the boats approach'd the laud, 
 But Edward's gi-ounded on the sand ; 
 The eager Knight leap'd in the sea 
 Waist-deep and first on shore was he, 
 Though every barge's hardy band 
 Contended which should gain the land. 
 When that strange light, which, seen afar, 
 Seem'd steady as the polar star, 
 Now, like a prophet's fiery chair, 
 Seem'd travelling the realms of air. 
 Wide o'er the sky the splendour glows. 
 As that portentous meteor rose ; 
 Helm, axe, and falchion glitter'd bright. 
 And in the red and duskj- light 
 His comrade's face each Avarrior saw, 
 Nor marveird it was pale with awe. 
 Then high in air the beams were lost, 
 And darkness sunk upon the coast. — 
 Ronald to Heaven a prayer address'd. 
 And Douglas cross'd his dauntless breast;
 
 I V. THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 551 
 
 " Saint James protect us ! " Lennox cried ; 
 
 But reckless Edward spoke aside — 
 " Deem'st thou, Kirkpatrick, in that flame 
 
 Red Comyn's angry spirit came. 
 
 Or ■would thy dauntless heart endure 
 
 Once more to make assurance sure ;■* " — 
 " Hush ! " said the Bruce, " we soon shall kno\y. 
 
 If this be sorcerer's empty show, 
 
 Or stratagem of southern foe. 
 
 The moon shines out — upon the sand 
 
 Let every leader rank his band." 
 
 XV. 
 
 Faintly the moon's pale beams supply 
 That ruddj' light's unnatural dye ; 
 The dubious cold reflection lay 
 On the wet sands and quiet bay. 
 Beneath the rocks King Robert drew 
 His scatter'd flies to oi-der due, 
 Till shield compact and serried spear 
 In the cool light shone blue and clear. 
 Then down a path that sought the tide. 
 That speechless page -was seen to glide ; 
 He knelt him lowly on the sand. 
 And gave a scroll to Robert's hand. 
 " A torch," the IMouarch cried — " "What, ho I 
 Now shall we Cuthbert's tidings know." 
 But evil news the letters bear, — 
 The Cliflbrd's force was strong and ware, 
 Augmented, too, that veiy morn, 
 By mountameers who came with Lorn. 
 Long harrow'd by oppressor's hand, 
 Courage and faith had fled the land, 
 And over CaiTJck, dark and deep. 
 Had sunk dejection's iron sleep. — 
 Cuthbert had seen that beacon flame, 
 Un-nntting from what source it came. 
 Doubtful of perilous event, 
 Edward's mute messenger he sent. 
 If Bruce deceived should venture o'er, 
 To warn him from tlie fatal shore. 
 
 XVL 
 
 As round the torch the leaders crowd, 
 Bruce read these chilling news aloud. 
 " What council, nobles, have we now ? — 
 To ambush us in greenwood bough. 
 And take the chance which fate may send 
 To bring our enterprise to end ? 
 Or shall we turn us to the main 
 As exiles, and embark again ?" — 
 Answer'd fierce Edward — " Hap what may. 
 In Carrick, Carrick's Lord must stay. 
 I would not minstrels told the tale, 
 Wildfire or meteor made us quail." —
 
 552 THE LORD OF THE ISLES. C. 
 
 Answer'd the Douglas — " If my Liege 
 May win yon -walls by storm or siege, 
 Then were each brave and patriot heart 
 Kindled of new for loyal part."— • 
 Answer'd Lord Ronald — " Xot for shame 
 Would I that aged Torquil came, 
 And foimd, for all our empty boast, 
 Without a blow we fled the coast. 
 I wlU not credit that this land, 
 Sc famed for warlike heart and hand. 
 The nurse of Wallace and of Bruce, 
 Will long with tyrants hold a truce." — 
 " Prove we our fate — the brunt we'll bide !" 
 So Boyd and Haye and Lennox cried ; 
 So said, so vow'd, the leaders all ; 
 So Bruce resolved : — " And in my hall 
 Since the Bold Southern make then- home. 
 The hour of payment soon shall come. 
 When with a rough and rugged host 
 Clifford may reckon to his cost. 
 Meantime, through well-known bosk and dell, 
 I '11 lead where we may shelter well." 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Now ask you whence that wondrous light. 
 
 Whose fairy glow beguil'd their sight? — 
 
 It ne'er was known ^^ — yet grey-hair'd eld 
 
 A superstitious credence held, 
 
 That never did a mortal hand 
 
 Wake its broad glare on Carrick strand ; 
 
 Nay, and that on the self-same night 
 
 When Bruce cross'd o'er, still gleams the light. 
 
 Yearly it gleams o'er mount and moor, 
 
 And glittering wave and crimson'd shore — 
 
 But whether beam celestial, lent 
 
 By Heaven to aid the King's descent, 
 
 Or fire hell-kindled from beneath, 
 
 To lure him to defeat and death. 
 
 Or were it but some meteor strange. 
 
 Of such as oft through midnight range. 
 
 Startling the traveOer late and lone, 
 
 I know not — and it ne'er was known. 
 
 XYin. 
 
 Now up the rocky pass they drew. 
 And Ronald, to his promise true, 
 StUl made his arm the stripling's stay, 
 To aid him on the rugged way. 
 
 " Now cheer thee, simple Amadine I 
 Why throbs that silly heart of thine ?"^ 
 — That name the pirates to their slave 
 (In Gaelic 'tis the Changeling) gave — 
 
 " Dost thou not rest thee on my ami ? 
 Do not my plaid-folds hold thee warm ?
 
 CAXTO V. THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 553 
 
 Hath not the wild bull's treble hide 
 This targe for thee and me supplied ? 
 Is not Clan-CoUa's sword of steel ? 
 And, trembler, canst thou terror feel ? 
 Cheer thee, and still that throbbing heart ; 
 From Ronald's guard thou shalt not part." 
 — ! many a shaft, at random sent. 
 Finds mark the archer little meant ! 
 And many a word, at random spoken. 
 May soothe or wound a heart that's broken I 
 Half soothed, half grieved, half terrified, 
 Close di-ew the page to Ronald's side ; 
 A wild delirious thrill of joy 
 Was in that hour of agony. 
 As up the steepy pass he strove. 
 Fear, toil, and sorrow, lost in love ! 
 
 XIX. 
 
 The barrier of that iron shore, 
 The rock's steep ledge, is now climb 'd o'er ; 
 And from the castle's distant wall. 
 From tower to tower the warders call : 
 The sound swings over land and sea, 
 And marks a watchful enemy. — 
 They gain'd the Chase, a wide domain 
 Left for the castle's silvan reign, 
 (Seek not the scene — the axe, the plough. 
 The boor's duU fence, have marr'd it now,) 
 But then, soft swept in velvet green 
 The plain with many a glade between, 
 Whose tangled alleys fiir invade 
 The depth of the brown forest shade. 
 Here the tall fern obscured the Iwvra, 
 Fair shelter for the sportive fawn ; 
 There, tufted close with copsewood green. 
 Was many a swelling hillock seen ; 
 And all around was verdure meet 
 For pressure of the fairies' feet. 
 The glossy holly loved the park. 
 The yew-tree lent its sliadow dark. 
 And. many an old oak, worn and bare. 
 With all its shiver'd boughs, was there. 
 Lovely between, the moonbeams fell 
 On la^Ti and hillock, glade and deU. 
 The gallant Monai'ch sigh'd to see 
 These glades so loved in childhood free, 
 Bethinking that, as outlaw now, 
 He ranged beneath the forest bough. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Fast o'er the moonlight Chase they sped. 
 WeU knew the band that measvu-ed trea«i, 
 When, in retreat or in advance, 
 The serried warriors move at once ;
 
 554 THE LORD OF THE ISLES. CANTO V. 
 
 And evil were the luck, if dawn 
 
 Descried them on the •open lawn. 
 
 Copses they traverse, brooks they cross, 
 
 Strain up the bank and o'er the moss. 
 
 From the exhausted page's brow 
 
 Cold drops of toil are streaming now ; 
 
 With effort faint and lengthen'd pause. 
 
 His weary step the stripling draws. 
 " Nay, droop not yet ! " the warrior said ; 
 " Come, let me give thee ease and aid ! 
 
 Strong are mine arms, and little care 
 
 A weight so slight as thine to bear. — 
 
 WTiat ! wilt thou not ? — capricious boy ! 
 
 Then thine own limbs and sti-ength employ. 
 
 Pass but this night, and pass thy care, 
 
 1 '11 place thee with a lady fair, 
 
 ^V^lere thou slialt tune thy lute to tell 
 
 How Ronald loves fair Isabel !" 
 
 Wou. out, dishearten'd, and dismay'd, 
 
 Here Amadine let go the plaid ; 
 
 His trembling limbs their aid refuse. 
 
 He sunk among the midnight dews ! 
 
 XXI. 
 
 What may be done? — the night is gone — 
 The Bruce's band moves swiftly on — 
 Eternal shame, if at the brunt 
 Lord Ronald grace not battle's front ! — 
 " See yonder oak, within whose trunk 
 Decay a darken'd cell hath sunk ; 
 Enter, and rest thee there a space. 
 Wrap in my plaid thy limbs, thy face. 
 I will not be, believe me, far; 
 But must not quit the ranks of war. 
 Well wiU I mark the Iwsky bourne. 
 And soon, to guard thee hence, return. — 
 Nay weep not so, thou simple boy ! 
 But sleep in peace, and wake in joy." 
 In silvan lodging close bestow'd, 
 He placed the page, and onward strode 
 With strength put forth, o'er moss and brook. 
 And soon the marching band o'ertook. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Thus strangely left, long sobb'd and wept 
 The page, till, wearied out, he slept — 
 A rough voice waked his dream — " Nay, here. 
 Here by this thicket, pass'd the deer — 
 Beneath that oak old Ryno staid — 
 What have we here' — a Scottish plaid, 
 And in its folds a stripling laid ? — 
 Come forth ! thy name and business tell I 
 What, silence ! — then I guess thee well, 
 The spy that sought old Cuthbert's cell.
 
 I V. THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 555 
 
 Wafted from An-an yester mom — 
 Come, comrades, we will straight return. 
 Our Lord may choose the rack sliould teach 
 To this yoimg lurclier use of speech. 
 Thy bow-string, till I bind him fast." — 
 " Nay, but he weeps and stands agha.st ; 
 Unbound Ave '11 lead him, fear it not ; 
 'Tis a fair stripling, though a Scot." 
 The hunters to the ca.stle sped. 
 And there the hapless captive led. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Stout Clifford in the castle-court 
 Prepared him for the morning sport; 
 And now with Lorn held deep discourse, 
 Now gave command for hound and horse. 
 War-steeds and palfreys paw'd the ground. 
 And many a deer-dog howl'd around. 
 To Amadiue, Lorn's well-known word 
 Reph-ing to that Southern Lord, 
 Mix'd with this clanging din, might seem 
 The phantasm of a fever'd dream. 
 The tone upon his ringing ears 
 Came like the sounds which fancy hears, 
 When in rude waves or roaring winds 
 Some words of woe the muser finds, 
 Until more loudly and more near. 
 Their speech arrests the image's ear. 
 
 XXIV, 
 
 " And was she thus," said Clifford, "lost? 
 The priest should rue it to his cost ! 
 AVliat says the monk?"—" The holy Sire 
 Owns, 'hat in masquer's quaint attire 
 She sought his skiti", disguised, unltnown 
 To all except to him alone. 
 But, saj's the priest, a bark from Lorn 
 Laid them aboard that very morn, 
 And pirates seized her for their prey. 
 He proffer"d ransom-gold to pay, 
 And they agreed — but e'er told o'er. 
 The winds blow loud, the billows roar ; 
 They sever'd, and they met no more. 
 He deems — such tempest vex'd the coast — 
 Ship, crew, and fugitive, were lost. 
 So let it be, with the disgrace 
 And scandal of her lofty Vace ! 
 Thrice better she had ne'er been born, 
 Than brought her infamy on Lorn 1 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Lord Clifford now the captive spied ; — 
 " AVhom, Herbert, hast thou there?" he cried. 
 ''■ A spy we seized within the Chase, 
 
 A hollow oak his lui-king place."--
 
 556 THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 
 
 " What tidings can the youth afford?" — 
 
 ' He plays the mute." — " Then noose a cord — 
 Unless brave Lorn reverse the doom 
 For his plaid's sake." — " Clan-Colla's loom," 
 Said Lorn, whose careless glances trace 
 Rather the vesture than the face, 
 
 " Clan-Colla's dames such tartans twine ; 
 Wearer nor plaid claims care of mine. 
 Give him, if my advice you crave. 
 His own scathed oak ; and let him wave 
 In air, unless, by terror wrung, 
 A frank confession find his tongue. — 
 Nor shall he die without his rite ; 
 — Thou, Angus Roy, attend the sight, 
 And give Clan-Colla's dirge thy breath, 
 As they convey him to his death." — 
 
 " O brother I cruel to the last ! " 
 Througli the poor captive's bosom pass'd 
 The thought, but, to his purpose true. 
 He said not, though he sigh'd, " Adieu I " 
 
 XXVL 
 
 And will he keep his purpose still, 
 
 In sight of that last closing ill. 
 
 When one poor breath, one single word. 
 
 May freedom, safety, life, afford? 
 
 Can he resist the instinctive call, 
 
 For life that bids us barter all ? — 
 
 Love, strong as death, his heart hath steel'd, 
 
 His nerves hath strung — he will not yield ! 
 
 Since that poor breath, that little word. 
 
 May yield Lord Ronald to the sword. — 
 
 Clan-Colla's dirge is pealing wide, 
 
 The griealy headsman 's by his side ; 
 
 Along the greenwood Chase they bend. 
 
 And now their march has ghastly end ! 
 
 That old and shatter'd oak beneath, 
 
 They destine for the place of death. 
 
 — What thoughts are his, while all in vain 
 
 His eye for aid explores the plain ? 
 
 What thoughts, while, with a dizzy ear. 
 
 He hears the death-prayer mutter'd near ? 
 
 And must he die such death accurst. 
 
 Or will that bosom-secret burst ? 
 
 Cold on his brow breaks terror's dew. 
 
 His trembling lips are livid blue ; 
 
 The agony of parting life 
 
 Has nought to match that moment's strife ! 
 
 xxvn. 
 
 But other witnesses are nigh. 
 Who mock at fear, and death defy! 
 Soon as the dire lament was play'd, 
 It waked the lurking ambuscade.
 
 V. THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 55^ 
 
 The Island Lord look'd forth, and spied 
 The cause, and loud in fm-y cried, — 
 " By Heaven, they lead the page to die, 
 And mock me in his agony ! 
 They shall abye it !" — On his arm 
 Bruce laid strong grasp — " They shall not harm 
 A ringlet of the stripling's hair; 
 But, till I give the word, forbear. 
 — Douglas, lead fifty of our force 
 Up yonder hollow water-course, 
 And couch thee midway on the wold, 
 Between the flyers and their hold : 
 A spear above the copse display'd, 
 Be signal of the ambush made. 
 — Edward, with forty spearmen, straight 
 Through yonder copse approach the gate. 
 And, when thou hear'st the battle-din, 
 Rush forward, and the passage win, 
 Secure the drawbridge — storm the port. 
 And man and guard the castle-court. — 
 The rest move slowly forth with me, 
 In shelter of the forest-tree, 
 Till Douglas at his post I see." 
 
 XXYIII. 
 
 Like war-horse eager to rush on, 
 Compell'd to wait the signal blown. 
 Hid, and scarce hid, by greenwood bough, 
 Trembling with rage, stands Eonald now. 
 And in his grasp his sword gleams blue. 
 Soon to be dyed with deadlier hue. — 
 Meanwhile the Bruce, with steady eye. 
 Sees the dark death-train moving by, 
 And, heedful, measures oft the space 
 The Douglas and his baud must trace. 
 Ere they can reach their destined gi-ouud. 
 Now sinks the dirge's waOing soimd, 
 Now cluster round the direful tree 
 That slow and solemn company, 
 "While hymn mistuned and mutter'd prayer 
 The victim for his fi^te prepare. — 
 What glances o'er the greenwood shade ? 
 The spear that marks the ambuscade ! — 
 " Now, noble Chief! I leave thee loose ; — 
 Upon them, Ronald ! " said the Bruce. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 " The Bruce ! the Bruce ! " to well-loiown cry 
 
 His native rocks and woods reply. 
 " The Bruce ! the Bruce ! " in that dread word 
 
 The knell of hundred deaths was heard. 
 
 The astonish'd Southern gazed at first. 
 
 Where the wild tempest was to burst. 
 
 That waked in that presaging name. 
 
 Before, behind, around it came I
 
 658' THE LORD OF THE ISLES 
 
 Half-arm'd, surprised, on every side 
 Hemm'd in, hew'd tiown, they bled and died. 
 Deep in the ring the Bruce engaged, 
 And fierce Clan-CoUa's broadsword raged I 
 Fidl soon the few who fought were sped, 
 Nor better was their lot who fled, 
 And met, 'mid terror's wild career. 
 The Douglas's redoubted spear ! 
 Two himdred yeomen on that morn 
 The castle left and none return. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Not on their flight press'd Ronald's brand, 
 A gentler duty claim'd his band. 
 He rais'd the page, where on the plain 
 His fear had sunk him with the slain : 
 And twice, that morn, surprise well near 
 Betray'd the secret kept by fear : 
 Once, when, with life returning, came 
 To the boy's lip Lord Ronald's name, 
 And hardly recollection di-own'd 
 The accents in a mm-muring sound ; 
 And once, when scarce he coidd resist 
 The Chieftain's care to lose the vest. 
 Drawn tightly o'er his laboiiring breast. 
 But then the Bruce's bugle blew, 
 For martial work was yet to do. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 A harder task fierce Edward waits. 
 Ere signal given, the castle gates 
 
 His fury had assail'd ; 
 Such was his wonted recldess mood. 
 Yet desperate valour oft made good, 
 Even by its daring, venture rude. 
 
 Where prudence might have fail'd. 
 Upon the bridge his strength he threw, 
 And struck the iron chain in two, 
 
 By which its planks arose ; 
 The warder next his axe's edge 
 Struck down upon the threshold ledge, 
 'Twixt door and post a ghastly wedge ! 
 
 The gate they may not close. 
 Well fouglit the Southern in the fray, 
 Clifford and Lorn fought well that day. 
 But stubborn Edward forced his way 
 
 Against a hundred foes. 
 Loud came the cry, " The Bruce! the Bruce!' 
 No hope or in defence or truce, — 
 
 Fresh combatants pour in ; 
 Mad with success, and drunk with gore, 
 They drive the struggling foe before. 
 
 And ward on ward they win. 
 Unsparing was the vengeful sword, 
 And limbs were lopp'd and life-blood pourd.
 
 CANTO V. THE LORD OF TUE ISLES. 559 
 
 The cry of death and conflict roar'd, 
 
 And fearful was the din ! 
 The startling horses plunged and flung, 
 Clamour'd the dogs till turrets rung, 
 
 Nor sunk the fearful cry, 
 Till not a foenian was there found 
 Alive, save those who on the ground 
 
 Groan'd in their agony ! 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 The valiant Clifford is no more ; 
 
 On Ronald's broad^iword stream'd his gore 
 
 But better hap had he of Lorn, 
 
 Who, by the foemen backward borne. 
 
 Yet gain'd with slender train the port. 
 
 Where lay his bark beneath the fort. 
 
 And cut the cable loose. 
 Short were his shrift in that debate. 
 That hour of fury and of fate, 
 
 If Lorn encounter'd Bruce ! 
 Then long and loud the victor shout 
 From turret and from tower rung out, 
 
 The rugged vaults replied ; 
 And from the donjon tower on high, 
 The men of Carrick may descry 
 Saint Antlrew's cross, in blazonry 
 
 Of silver, waving wide I 
 
 xxxin. 
 
 The Bruce hath won his father's hall ! ^ 
 
 — " Welcome bravf> friends and comrades all. 
 
 Welcome to mirth and joy ! 
 The first, the last, is welcome here, 
 From lord and chieftain, prince and peer. 
 
 To this poor speechless boy. 
 Great God 1 once more my sire's abode 
 Is mine — behold the floor I trod 
 
 In tottering infancj' ! 
 And there the vaulted arch, whose sound 
 Echoed my joyous shout and bound 
 In boyhood, and that rung aromid 
 
 To youth's unthinking glee I 
 first, to thee, all-gracious Heaven, 
 Then to my friends, my thanks be given ! "— 
 He paused a space, his brow he cross'd — 
 Then on the board his sword he toss'd. 
 Yet steaming hot ; with iSouthem gore 
 From hilt to point 'twas crimson'd o'er. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 " Bring here," he said, " the mazers four," 
 My noble fathers loved of yore. 
 
 « These mazers were large drinking-cups or goblets.
 
 560 THE LOKP OF THE ISLES. 
 
 Thrice let them cii-cle round the board, 
 
 The pledge, fair Scotland's rights restored ! 
 
 And he whose lip shall touch the wine, 
 
 "Without a vow as true as mine, 
 
 To hold both lands and life at nought, 
 
 Until her freedom shall be bought, — 
 
 Be brand of a disloyal Scot, 
 
 And lasting infamy his lot ! 
 
 Sit, gentle friends ! — our hour of glee 
 
 Is brief we'll spend it joyously ! 
 
 Blithest of all the sun's bright beams, 
 
 When betwixt storm and storm he gleams. 
 
 Well is our country's work begun. 
 
 But more, far more, must j'et be done. 
 
 Speed messengers the country through ; 
 
 Ajouse old friends and gather new ; 
 
 Warn Lanark's knights to gird their mail, 
 
 Rouse the brave sons of Teviotdale, 
 
 Let Ettrick's archers sharp their darts. 
 
 The fairest forms, the truest hearts ! 
 
 Call all, call all ! from Eeedswair-Path, 
 
 To the wild confines of Cape- wrath ; 
 
 Wide let the news through Scotland ring, — 
 
 The Northern Eagle claps his wing I " 
 
 CANTO SIXTH. 
 
 I. 
 
 WHO, that shared them, ever shall forget 
 The emotions of the spirit-rousing time. 
 When breathless in the mart the couriers met 
 Early and late, at evening and at prime ; 
 When the loud cannon and the merry chime 
 Hail'd news on news, as field on field was won, 
 "WTien Hope, long doubtful, soar'd at length sublime, 
 And our glad eyes, awake as day begun, 
 Watch'd Joy's broad banner rise, to meet the rising sun ! 
 
 these were hours, when thrilling joy repaid 
 A long, long course of darkness, doubts, and fears ! 
 The heart-sick faintness of the hope delay'd,— 
 The waste, the woe, the bloodshed, and the tears 
 That track'd with terror twenty rolling years,— 
 All was forgot in that blithe jubilee ! 
 Her do-ivncast eye even pale Affliction rears, 
 To sigh a thankful praver, amid the glee 
 That hail'd the Despot's fall, and pe?.ce and liberty!
 
 UANTO Vr. THE LORD OP THE ISLES. 561 
 
 Such news o'er Scotland's hills triumphant rode, 
 When 'gainst the invaders turn'd the battle's scale, 
 When Bruce's banner had victorious flow'd 
 O'er Loudoun's mountain, and in Ury's vale;^ 
 "When English blood oft deluged Douglas-dale, ^ 
 And fiery Edward routed stout St John, ^ 
 When Randolph's war-cry swell'd the southern gale,*" 
 And many a fortress, town, and tower, was won. 
 And Fame still sounded forth fresh deeds of glory done. 
 
 II. 
 
 Blithe tidings flew from baron's tower. 
 To peasant's cot, to forest-bower, 
 And waked the solitarj' cell. 
 Where lone Saint Bride's recluses dwell. 
 Princess no more, fair Isabel, 
 
 A vot'ress of the order now, 
 Say, did the rule that bade thee wear 
 Dim veUSnd woollen scapulaire. 
 And reft thy locks of dark-brown hair, 
 
 That stem and rigid vow, 
 Did it condemn the transport high. 
 Which glisten'd in thy watery eye, 
 When minstrel or when palmer told 
 Each fresh exploit of Bruce the bold ? — 
 And whose the lovely form, that shares 
 Thy anxious hopes, thy fears, thy prayers? 
 No sister she of convent shade; 
 So say these locks in lengthen'd braid, 
 So say the blushes and the sighs. 
 The tremors that unbidden rise, 
 AVhen, mingled with the Bruce's fame, 
 The brave Lord Rouald's praises came. 
 
 IIL 
 
 Believe, his father's castle won, 
 And his bold enterprise begun, 
 That Bruce's earliest cares restore 
 The speechless page to Arran's shore : 
 Nor think that long the quaint disguise 
 Concealed her from a sister's eyes ; 
 And sister-like in love they dwell 
 In that lone convent's silent cell. 
 There Bruce's slow ascent allows 
 Fair Isabel the veil and vows ; 
 And there, her sex's dress regain'd. 
 The lovely Maid of Lorn remain'd, 
 Urmamed, unknown, while Scotland far 
 Resoimded with the din of war ; 
 And many a month, and many a day, 
 In calm seclusion wore away. 
 
 IV. 
 
 These days, these months, to years had worn. 
 When tidings of high weight were borne 
 To that lone island's shore ; 
 2s
 
 662 THE LOKI) OF THE ISLES. 
 
 Of all the Scottish conquests made 
 By the Fu-st Edward's ruthless blade, 
 
 His son retain'd no more, 
 ■Northward of Tweed, but Stirling's towers, 
 Beleaguer'd by King Robert's powers ; 
 
 And they took tenn of tnice,*"^ 
 If England's King should not relieve 
 The siege ere John the Baptist's eve, 
 
 To j-ield them to the Bruce. 
 England was roused — on every side 
 Courier and post and herald hied, 
 
 To summon prince and peer, 
 At Berwick-bounds to meet their Liege, 
 Prepared to raise fair Stirling's siege, 
 
 With buckler, brand, and spear. 
 The term was nigh — they muster'd fast, 
 By beacon and by bugle-blast 
 
 Forth marshall'd for the field ; 
 There rode each knight of noble nam^ 
 There England's hardy archers came, 
 The land thej* trode seem'd all on flame, • 
 
 With banner, blade, and shield ! 
 And not famed England's powers alone, 
 Eenown'd in arms, the summons own ; 
 
 For Neustria's knights obey'd, 
 Gascogne hath lent her horsemen good, 
 And Cambria, but of late subdued. 
 Sent forth her mountain-multitude,*' 
 And Connoght pour'd from waste and wood 
 Her hundred tribes, whose sceptre rude 
 
 Dark Eth O'Connor sway'd.*' 
 
 V. 
 Right to devoted Caledon 
 The storm of war rolls slowly on, 
 
 With menace deep and dread; 
 So the dark clouds, with gathering power. 
 Suspend awhile the threaten'd sliower, 
 Till every peak and summit lower 
 
 Round the pale pilgrim's head. 
 Xot with such pilgrim's startled eye 
 King Robert mark'd the tempest nigh ! 
 
 Resolved the brunt to bide. 
 His royal summons wain'd the land, 
 That all who own'd their King's command 
 Should instant take the spear and brand. 
 
 To combat at his side. 
 O who may tell the sons of fame. 
 That at King Robert's bidding came, 
 
 To battle for the right ! 
 From Cheviot to the shores of Ross, 
 From Solway-Sands to Marshal's-Moss, 
 
 All boun'd them for the figlit. 
 Such news the royal courier tells. 
 Who came to rouse dark Arran's dells ;
 
 I VI. THE LORD OF THE ISLES, 563 
 
 But farther tidings must the ear 
 
 Of Isabel in secret bear. 
 
 These in her cloister -walk, next mora, 
 
 Thus shared she with the Maid of Lorn :- 
 
 VT. 
 
 " My Edith, can I tell how dear 
 Our intercourse of hearts sincere 
 
 Hath been to Isabel ? — 
 Judge then the sorrow of my heart. 
 When I must say the words, We part ! 
 
 The cheerless convent-cell 
 Was not, sweet maiden, made for thee ; 
 Go thou where thy vocation free 
 
 On happier fortunes fell. 
 Nor, Edith, judge thyself betray'd, 
 Though Kobert knows that Lorn's high Maifl 
 And his poor silent page were one. 
 Versed in the fickle heart of man. 
 Earnest and anxious hath he look'd 
 How Ronald's heart the message brook'd 
 That gave him, with her last farewell. 
 The charge of Sister Isabel, 
 To think upon thy better right. 
 And keep the faith his promise pliglit. 
 Forgive him for thy sister's sake, 
 At lirst if vain repinings wake — 
 
 Long since that mood is gone : 
 Isow dwells he on thy juster claims, 
 And oft his breach of Aiith he blames: — 
 
 Forgive him fof thine own ! "' — 
 
 VII. 
 " Xo ! never to Lord Ronald's bower 
 
 Will I again as paramour" 
 
 " Xay, hush thee, too impatient maid, 
 
 Until my final tale be said ! — 
 
 The good King Robert would engage 
 
 Edith once more his elfin page. 
 
 By her own heart, and her o^\•n eye, 
 
 Her lover's penitence to trj- — 
 
 Safe in his royal charge, and free. 
 
 Should such thy final purpose be, 
 
 Agam unknown to seek the cell. 
 
 And live and die with Isabel." 
 
 Thus spoke the maid — King Robert's eys. 
 
 Might have some glance of policy ; 
 
 Dunstafihage had the Monarch ta'en. 
 
 And Lorn had own'd King Robert's reign 
 
 Her brother had to England fled, 
 
 And there in banishment was dead ; 
 
 Ample, throngh exile, death, and fiight. 
 
 O'er tower and land was Edith's right ; 
 
 This ample right o'er tower and laud 
 
 Were safe in Ronald's faithful hand.
 
 564 THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 
 
 - VIII. 
 
 Embarrass'd eye and blushing cheek 
 Pleasure and shame, and fear bespeak ! 
 Yet much the reasoning Edith made : — 
 " Her sister's faith she must upbraid, 
 Who gave such secret, dark and dear. 
 In council to another's ear. 
 Why should she leave the peaceful cell ? — 
 How should she part with Isabel? — 
 How wear that strange attire agen ? — 
 How risk herself 'midst martial men ? — 
 And how be guarded on the way ? — 
 At least she might entreat delay." 
 Kind Isabel, with secret smile. 
 Saw and forgave the maiden's wile, 
 Eeluctant to be thought to move 
 At the first call of truant love. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Oh, blame her not ! — when zephyrs wake, 
 The aspen's trembling leaves must shake ; 
 When beams the sun through April shower. 
 It needs must bloom, the violet flower ; 
 And Love, howe'er the maiden strive. 
 Must with reviving hope revive ! 
 A thousand soft excuses came. 
 To plead his cause 'gainst virgin shame. 
 Pledged by their sires in earhest youth. 
 He had her plighted faith and truth- 
 Then, 'twas her Liege's strict command, 
 And she, beneath his royal hand, 
 A ward in person and in land : — 
 And, last, she was resolved to stay 
 Only brief space — one little day — 
 Close hidden in her safe disguise 
 From all, but most from Konald's eyeo — 
 But once to see him more ! — nor blame 
 Her wish — to hear him name her name ! 
 Then, to bear back to solitude 
 The thought he had his falsehood rued !— 
 But Isabel, who long had seen 
 Her pallid cheek and pensive mien. 
 And well herself the cause might know, 
 Though innocent of Edith's woe, 
 Joy'd, generous, that revolving time 
 Gave means to expiate the crime. 
 High glow'd her bosom as she said — 
 " Well shall her sufferings be repaid ! " — 
 Now came the parting hour — a band 
 From Arran's mountains left the land ; 
 Their chief, Fitz-Louis had the care 
 The speechless Amadine to bear 
 To Bruce, with honour, as behoved 
 To page the monarch dearly loved.
 
 Vr. THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 565 
 
 X, 
 
 The King had deem'd the maiden bright 
 
 Should reach him long before the fight, 
 
 But storms and fate her course delay. 
 
 It was on eve of battle-day, 
 
 When o'er the Gillie's-hill she rode. 
 
 The landscape like a furnace glow'd. 
 
 And far as e'er the eye was borne, 
 
 The lances waved like autumn-corn. 
 
 In battles four, beneath their eye. 
 
 The forces of King Robert lie. 
 
 And one below the hill was laid. 
 
 Reserved for rescue and for aid ; 
 
 And three, advanced, form'd vaward-line, 
 
 'Twixt Bannock's brook and Ninian's shrine. 
 
 Detach'd was each, yet each so nigh 
 
 As well might mutual aid supply. — 
 
 Beyond, the Southern host appears, 
 
 A boundless wilderness of spears. 
 
 Whose verge or rear the anxious eye 
 
 Strove far, but strove in vain, to spy. 
 
 Thick flashing in the evening beam, 
 
 Glaives, lances, bills, and banners gleam ; 
 
 And where the heaven join'd with the hill, 
 
 Was distant armour flashing stiU, 
 
 So wide, so far, the boundless host 
 
 Seem'd in the blue horizon lost. 
 
 XI. 
 Down from the hill the maiden pass'd. 
 At the wild show of war aghast ; 
 And traversed first the rearward host, 
 Reserved for aid where needed most. 
 The men of Carrick and of A}t, 
 Lennox and Lanark, too, were there. 
 
 And all the western land ; 
 With these the valiant of the Isles 
 Beneath their Chieftains rank'd their files. 
 
 In many a plaided band. 
 There, in the centre, proudly raised. 
 The Bruce's royal standard blazed. 
 And there Lord Ronald's banner bore 
 A galley driven bj' sail and oar. 
 A wild, yet pleasing contrast, made 
 Warriors in mail and plate array'd, 
 With the plumed bonnet and the plaid 
 
 By these Hebrideans worn ; 
 But 1 imseen for three long years, 
 Dear was the garb of mountaineers 
 
 To the fair IMaid of Lorn ! 
 For one she look'd — but he was far 
 Busied amid the ranks of war — 
 Yet with affection's troubled eye 
 She mark'd his banner boldly fly.
 
 6t56 THE LORD OF THE ISLES. CA 
 
 Gave on tlie countless foe a glance, 
 And thought on battle's desperate chance. 
 
 XII. 
 To centre of the vaward-line 
 Fitz-Louis guided Amadine. 
 Ann'd all on foot, that host appears 
 A seiTied mass of glimmering spears. 
 There stood the Marchers' warlike band, 
 The warriors there of Lodon's land ; 
 Ettrick and Liddell bent the yew, 
 A band of arcliers fierce, though few ; 
 The men of Nith and Annan's vale. 
 And the bold Spears of Teviotdale ; — 
 The dauntless Douglas these obey. 
 And the young Stuart's gentle sway. 
 North-eastward by Saint Ninian's slirine, 
 Beneath fierce Randolph's charge, combine 
 The warriors whom the hardy North 
 From Tay to Sutherland sent forth. 
 The rest of Scotland's war-array 
 With Edward Bruce to westward lay, 
 Where Bannock, with his broken bank 
 And deep ravine, protects their flank. 
 Beliind them, screen'd by sheltering wood. 
 The gallant Keith, Lord" Marshal, stood : 
 His men-at-arms bare mace and lance. 
 And plumes that wave, and helms that glance. 
 Thus fair divided by the King, 
 Centre, and right, and left-ward wing, 
 Composed his front ; nor distant far 
 Was strong reserve to aid the war. 
 And 'twas to front of this array. 
 Her guide and Edith made their way. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Here must they pause ; for, in advance 
 
 As far as one might pitch a lance. 
 
 The Monarch rode along the van," 
 
 The foe's approaching force to scan, 
 
 Plis line to marshal and to range. 
 
 And ranks to square, and fronts to change. 
 
 Alone he rode — from head to heel 
 
 Sheathed in his ready arms of steel ; 
 
 Nor mounted yet on war-horse wight. 
 
 But, till more "near the shock of fight. 
 
 Reining a palfrey low and light. 
 
 A diadem of gold was set 
 
 Above his bright steel basinet. 
 
 And clasp'd within its glittering twine 
 
 Was seen the glove of Argentine; 
 
 Truncheon or leading staff he lacks. 
 
 Bearing, instead, a battle-axe. 
 
 He ranged his soldiers for the fight. 
 
 Accoutred thus, in 0">en sight
 
 ) VI. THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 567 
 
 Of either host. — Three bowshots far, 
 Paused the deep front of England's war 
 And rested on their arms awhile, 
 To close and rank their warlike file, ' 
 And hold high council, if tliat night 
 Should view the strife, or dawning light. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 gay, yet fearful to behold, 
 Flashing with steel and rough with gold, 
 
 And bristled o'er with bills and spears, 
 
 "With plumes and pennons waving fair, 
 
 Was that bright battle-front ! for there 
 Kode England's King and Peers : 
 
 And who, that saw that IMonarch ride, 
 
 His kingdom battled by his side, 
 
 Could then his direful doom foretell ! — 
 
 Fair was his seat in knightly selle, 
 
 And in his sprightly eye was set 
 
 Some spark of the Plantagenet. 
 
 Though light and wandering was his glance, 
 
 It flash'd at sight of shield and lance : — 
 " Know'st thou," he said, " De Argentine, 
 
 Yon knight who marshals thus their line ?" — 
 " The tokens on his helmet tell 
 
 The Bruce, my Liege : I know him well." — 
 " And shall the audacious traitor brave 
 
 The presence where our banners wave ?" — 
 " So please my Liege," said Argentine, 
 " Were he but horsed on steed like mine. 
 
 To give him fair and knightly chance, 
 
 1 would adventure forth my lance." — 
 " In battle day," the King replied, 
 
 " Nice tom'uey rules are set aside. 
 — Still must the rebel dare our wrath ? 
 Set on him — Sweep him from our path I" 
 And, at King Edward's signal, soon 
 Dash'd from the ranks Sir Henry Boune. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Of Hereford's high blood he came, 
 A race renown 'd for knightly fame. 
 He burn'd before his Monarch's eye 
 To do some deed of chivalr}^ 
 ' He spurr'd his steed, he couch'd his lance, 
 And darted on the Bruce at once. 
 — As motionless as rocks, that bide 
 The -m-ath of the advancing tide. 
 The Bruce stood fast. — Each breast beat higli. 
 And dazzled was each gazing eye — 
 The heart had hardly time to think, 
 "fhe eyelid scarce had time to wink. 
 While on the King, like flash of flame, 
 Spurr'd to full speed the war-horse came t
 
 J68 THE LORD OP THE ISLES. 
 
 The partridge may the falcon mock. 
 If that slight palfrey stand the shock — 
 But, swerving from the Knight's career, 
 Just as the}' met, Bruce shunn'd the spear. 
 Onward the baffled warrior bore 
 His course — but soon his course was o'er ! — 
 High in his stirrups stood the King, 
 And gave his battle-axe the swing. 
 Eight on De Boune, the whiles he pass'd. 
 Fell that stem dint — the first — the last I — 
 Such strength upon the blow was put, 
 The helmet crash'd like hazel-nut ; 
 The axe-shaft, with its brazen clasp, 
 Was shiver'd to the gauntlet grasp. 
 Springs from the blow the startled horse. 
 Drops to the plain the lifeless corse ; 
 — First of that fatal field, how soon. 
 How sudden fell the fierce De Boune ! 
 
 XVI. 
 
 One pitying glance the Monarch sped. 
 Where on the field his foe lay dead ; 
 Then gently tum'd his palfrey's head, 
 And, pacing back his sober way, 
 Slowly he gain'd his own array. 
 There round their King the leaders crowd. 
 And blame his recklessness aloud. 
 That risk'd 'gainst each adventurous spear 
 A life so valued and so dear. — 
 His broken weapon's shaft survey'd 
 The King, and careless answer made, — 
 " My loss may pay my folly's tax ; 
 I've broke my trusty battle-axe." 
 'Twas then Fitz-Louis bending low. 
 Did Isabel's commission show ; 
 Edith, disguised at distance stands. 
 And hides her blushes with her hands. 
 The Monarch's brow has changed its hue, 
 Away the gory axe he threw. 
 While to the seeming page he drew. 
 
 Clearing war's terrors from his eye. 
 Her hand with gentle ease he took, 
 With such a kind protecting look, 
 
 As to a weak and timid boy 
 Might speak that elder brother's care 
 And elder brother's love was there. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 •* Fear not," he said, "young Amadine !" 
 Then whisper'd — " Still that name be thine. 
 Fate plays her wonted fantasy, 
 Kind Amadine, with thee and me, 
 And sends thee here in doubtful hour. 
 But soon we are beyond her power;
 
 i vr. THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 569 
 
 For on this chosen battle-plain, 
 Victor or vanquish'd, I remain. 
 Do thou to yonder hill repair ; 
 The follo-\vers of our host are there, 
 And all who may not weapons bear. — 
 Fitz-Louis, have him in thy care. — 
 Joj'ful we meet, if all go well ; 
 If not, in Arran's holy cell 
 Thou must take part with Isabel ; 
 For brave Lord Ronald, too, hath sworn. 
 Not to regain the Maid of Lorn, 
 (The bless on earth he covets most,) 
 Would he forsake his battle-post, 
 Or shun the fortune that may fall 
 To Bruce, to Scotland, and to all. — 
 But, hark ! some news these trumpets tell ; 
 Forgive my haste — farewell ! — farewell !"— 
 And in a lower voice he said, 
 " Be of good cheer — farewell, sweet maid ! " — 
 
 XVIII. 
 " WTiat train of dust, with trumpet-soimd 
 
 And glimmering spears, is wheeling round 
 
 Our leftward flank?" — the Monarch cried, 
 
 To Moray's Earl, who rode beside. 
 " Lo I round thy station pass the foes ! 
 
 Randolph, thy wreath hath lost a rose." 
 
 The Earl his Visor closed, and said — 
 " My wreath shall bloom, or life shall fade. — 
 
 Follow, my household ! " — And they go 
 
 Like lightning on the advancing foe. 
 " My Liege," said noble Douglas then, 
 " Earl Randolph has but one to ten : 
 
 Let me go forth his baud to aid ! " — 
 
 — " Stir not. The en-or he hath made. 
 
 Let him amend it as he may ; 
 
 I will not weaken mine array." 
 
 Then loudly rose the conflict-crA', 
 
 .\nd Douglas's brave heart swell'd high, — 
 " My liege," he said, " with patient ear 
 
 I must not Moray's death-knell hear ! " — 
 " Then go — but speed thee back again." — 
 
 Forth sprung the Douglas with his train : 
 
 But, when they won a rising hill. 
 
 He bade his followers hold them still. — 
 *' See, see ! the routed Southern fly ! 
 
 The Earl hath won the victory. 
 
 Lo I where yon steeds run masterless, 
 
 His banner towers above the press. 
 
 Rein up ; our presence would impair 
 
 The fame we come too late to share." 
 
 Back to the host the Douglas rode. 
 
 And soon glad tidings are abroad, 
 
 That, Dayncourt by stout Randolph slain. 
 
 His followers fled with loosen'd rein. —
 
 570 TUE LORD OF THE ISLES. CAXTO 
 
 That skirmish ciosed the busy day. 
 And couch'd in battle's prompt array. 
 Each anny on their weapons lay. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 It was a night of lovely June, 
 
 High rode in cloudless blue the moon, 
 
 Demayet smiled beneath her ray ; 
 Old Stirling's towers arose in light. 
 And, twined in links of silver bright, 
 
 Her winding river lay. 
 Ah ! gentle planet ! other sight 
 Shall greet thee next returning night, 
 Of broken arms and banners tore. 
 And marshes dark with human gore. 
 And piles of slaughter'd men and horse, 
 And Forth that lloats the frequent corse, 
 And many a wounded wretch to plain 
 Beneath thy silver light in vain ! 
 But now, from England's host, the cry 
 Thou hear'st of wassail revelry. 
 While from the Scottish legions pass 
 The murmur'd prayer, the early mass ! — 
 Here, numbers had presumption given ; 
 There, bands o'er-match'd sought aid from Heaven. 
 
 XX. 
 
 On Gillie's-hill, whose height commands 
 The battle-field, fair Edith stands. 
 With serf and page unfit for war. 
 To eye the conflict from afar. 
 1 with what doubtful agony 
 She sees the dawning tint the sky ! — 
 Now on the Ochils gleams the sun. 
 And glistens now Demayet dun ; 
 Is it the lark that carols shrill, 
 
 Is it the bittern's early hum ? 
 No ! — distant, but increasing still, 
 The trumpet's sound swells up the hill. 
 
 With the deep murmur of the drum. 
 Responsive from the Scottish host. 
 Pipe-clang and bugle sovmd were toss'd,** 
 His breast and brow each soldier cross'd. 
 
 And started from the ground ; 
 Arm'd and array'd for instant fight, 
 Rose archer, spearman, squire, and knight, 
 And in the pomp of battle bright 
 
 The dread battalia fro\vii'd. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Now onward, and in open view. 
 
 The countless ranks of England drew. 
 
 Dark rolling like the ocean-tide, 
 
 When the rough west hath chafed his pride, 
 
 And his deep roar sends challenge wide
 
 CANTO VI. THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 571 
 
 To all that bars his vrny ! 
 In front the gall.int archers trode, 
 The men-at-anns behind them rode, 
 And midmost of the phalanx broad 
 
 The Monarch held his sway. 
 Beside him many a war-horse fumes, 
 Around him waves a sea of plimies, 
 Where many a knight in battle known. 
 And some who spurs had first braced on. 
 And deem'd that light should see them won. 
 
 King Edward's bests obey. 
 i)e Argentine attends his side, 
 With stout De '\^alencc, Pembroke's pride, 
 Selected champions from the train, i 
 
 To wait upon his bridle-rein. 
 Upon the Scottish foe he gazed — 
 — At once, before his sight amazed. 
 
 Sunk banner, spear, and shield ; 
 Each weapon-point is downward sent. 
 Each warrior to the ground is bent. 
 " The rebels, Argentine, repent ! 
 
 For pardon they have kneel'd." — 
 " Aye ! — but they bend to other powers, 
 And other pardon sue than ours ! 
 See where yon bare-foot Abbot stands. 
 And blesses them with lifted hands!*" 
 Upon the spot where they have kneeFd, 
 These men will die, or -win the field." — 
 — " Then prove we if they die or win ! 
 Bid Gloster's Earl the fight begin." 
 
 XXII. 
 Earl Gilbert waved his truncheon high. 
 
 Just as the Northern ranks arose. 
 Signal for England's archery 
 
 To halt and bend their bows. 
 Then stepp'd each yeoman forth a pace, 
 Glanced at the intervening space. 
 
 And raised his left hand high ; 
 To the right ear the cords they bring — 
 — At once ten thousand bow-strings ring. 
 
 Ten thousand arrows fly I 
 Nor paused on the devoted Scot 
 The ceaseless fmy of their shot; 
 
 As fiercely and as fast, 
 Forth whistling came the grey goose win§ 
 As the wild hailstones pelt and ring 
 
 Adowii December's blast. 
 Nor mountain targe of tough bull-hide. 
 Nor lowland mail, that storm may bide* 
 Woe, woe to Scotland's banner "d pridtj. 
 
 If the fell shower may last ! 
 Upon the right, behind the wood. 
 Each by his steed dismounted, stood 
 
 The Scottish chiva'Ty ; —
 
 572 THE LORD OF THE ISLES. CAN' 
 
 With foot in stirrup, hand on mane, 
 Fierce Edward Bruce can scarce restrain 
 His own keen heart, his eager train, 
 Until the archers gain'd the plain ; 
 
 Then, " Mount, ye gallants free!" 
 He cried ; and, vaulting from the ground, 
 His saddle every horseman found. 
 On high their glittering crests tliey toss. 
 As springs the wild-fire from the moss ; 
 The shield hangs down on every breast, 
 Each ready lance is in the rest, 
 
 And loud shouts Edward Bruce — 
 " Forth, Marshal I on the peasant foe ! 
 We 'U tame the teiTors of their bow. 
 
 And cut the bow-string loose!"" 
 
 XXIII. 
 Then spurs were dash'd in chargers' flanks. 
 They rush'd among the archer ranks, 
 No spears were there the shock to let. 
 No stakes to turn the charge were set. 
 And how sliall yeoman's armoui' slight, 
 Stand the long lance and mace of might? 
 Or what maj^ their short swords avail, 
 'Gainst bai'bed horse and shirt of mail ? 
 Amid their ranks the chargers sprung. 
 High o'er their heads the weapons swung, 
 And shriek and groan and vengeful shout 
 Give note of triumph and of rout ! 
 Awhile, with stubborn hardihood. 
 Their English hearts the strife made good. 
 Borne down at length on every side, 
 CompeU'd to flight, they scatter wide. — 
 Let stags of Sherwood leap for glee, 
 A.nd bound the deer of DaUom-Lee ! 
 The broken bows of Bannock's shore 
 Shall in the greenwood ring no more ! 
 Bound Wakefield's merry May-pole now, 
 The maids may twine the sunmier bough, 
 May northward look with longing glance, 
 For those that wont to lead the dance. 
 For the blithe archers look in vain ! 
 Broken, dispersed, in flight o'erta'en, 
 Pierced through, trode down, by thousands slain. 
 They cumber Bannock's bloody plain. 
 
 XXIV. 
 The King with scorn beheld their flight. 
 • Are these," he said, " our yeomen wight ? 
 Each braggart churl could boast before. 
 Twelve Scottish lives his baldric bore!'^ 
 Fitter to plunder chase or park. 
 Than make a manly foe their mark. — 
 Forward, each gentleman and knight I
 
 CANTO VI. THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 673 
 
 Let gentle blood show generous might, 
 And chivalry redeem the fight I " 
 To rightward of the -wild affray, 
 The field show'd fair and level way ; 
 
 But, in mid-space, the Brace's care 
 Had bored the ground with many a pit, 
 With turf and brushwood hidden yet, 
 
 That form'd a ghastly snare. 
 Rushing, ten thousand horsemen came, 
 With spears in rest, and hearts on flame, 
 
 That panted for the shock ! 
 With blazing crests and banners spread, 
 And trumpet-clang and clamour dread, 
 The wide plain thunder to their tread. 
 
 As far as Stirling rock. 
 Down ! down ! in headlong overthrow, 
 Horseman and horse, the foremost go,** 
 
 Wild floundering on the field ! 
 The first are in destraction's gorge, 
 Their followers wildly o'er them urge ; — 
 
 The knighth" helm and shield. 
 The mail, the acton, and the spear. 
 Strong hand, high heart, are useless here ! 
 Loud, from the mass confused, the cry 
 Of dying wan'iors swells on high, 
 And steeds that shriek in agony ! '<• 
 They came like mountain-torrent red. 
 That thunders o'er its rocky bed ; 
 They broke like that same torrent's wave 
 When swallow'd bj- a darksome cave. 
 Billows on billows burst and boil. 
 Maintaining still the stern turmoil, 
 And to their wild and tortured groan 
 Each adds new terrors of his own ! 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Too strong in courage and in might 
 Was England yet, to yield the figlit. 
 
 Her noblest all are here ; 
 Names that to fear were never known, 
 Bold Norfolk's Earl De Brotherton, 
 
 And Oxford's famed De Vere. 
 There Gloster plied the bloody sword, 
 And Berkley, Grey, and Hereford, 
 
 Bottetourt and Sanzavere, 
 Ross, Montague, and Mauley, came, 
 And Courtenay's pride, and Percy's fame — 
 Names known too well in Scotland's war, 
 At Falkirk, Methven, and Dunbar, 
 Blazed broader yet in after years, 
 At Cressy red and fell Poitiers. 
 Pembroke with these, and Argentine, 
 Brought up the rearward battle-line. 
 With caution o'er the ground they tread. 
 Slippery with blood and piled vdih dead^
 
 574 TnE LORD OF THE ISLES. CANTO VI. 
 
 Till hand to hand in battle set, 
 The bills with spears and axes met. 
 And, closing dark on every side, 
 Eaged the full contest far and wide. 
 Then was the strength of Douglas ti-ied, 
 Then proved was Randolph's generous prid^ 
 And well did Stewart's actions grace 
 The sire of Scotland's royal race 1 
 
 Firmly they kept their ground ; 
 As firmly England onward press'd, 
 And down went many a noble crest, 
 And rent was many a valiant breast, 
 
 And Slaughter revell'd round, 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Unflinching foot 'gainst foot was set, 
 Uuceasmg blow by blow was met ; 
 
 The groans of those who fell 
 Were drowTi'd amid the shriller clang 
 That from the blades and harness rang, 
 
 And in tlie battle-yell. 
 Yet fast tJiey fell, unheard, forgot, 
 Both Southern fierce and hardy Scot ; 
 And ! amid that waste of life, 
 "What various moti\-es fired the strife ! 
 The aspiring Noble bled for fame, 
 The Patriot for his countrj^'s claim ; 
 This Knight his youthful "strength to prova^ 
 And that to win his lady's love ; 
 Some fought from ruflian thirst of blood, 
 From habit some, or hardihood. 
 But niffian stem, and soldier good, 
 
 The noble and the slave. 
 From various cause the same wild road. 
 On the same bloody morning, trode. 
 
 To that dark inn, the grave ! 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Tlie tug of strife to flag begins, _ 
 Though neither loses yet, nor wins. 
 High rides the sun, thick rolls the dust, 
 And feebler speeds the blow and thrust. 
 Douglas leans on his war-sword now. 
 And Randolph -w-ipes his bloody brow ; 
 Nor less had toil'd each Southern knight. 
 From morn till mid-day in the fight. 
 Strong Egremont for air must gasp, 
 Beauchamp undoes his visor-clasp. 
 And Montague must quit his spear. 
 And sinks thy falchion, bold De Vera ! 
 The blows ofBerkley fall less fast, 
 And gallant Pembroke's bugle-blast 
 
 Hath lost its lively tone ; 
 Sinks, Argentine, thy battle-word.
 
 Vr. THE LORD OP THE ISLES. ■ 575 
 
 And Percy's shout was fainter heara 
 " My merry-men, fight on ! " 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Bruce, with the pilot's wary eye, 
 The slackening ot the storm could spy : — 
 " One effort more, and Scotland 's free ! 
 Lord of the Isles, my trust in thee 
 
 Is firm as Ailsa Rock; 
 Rush on with Highland sword and targe, 
 I, with my Carrick spearmen, charge •,*! 
 
 Now, forward to the shock ! " 
 At once the spears were forward thrown. 
 Against the sun the broadswords shone ; 
 The pibroch lent its maddening tone. 
 And loud King Robert's voice was known — . 
 " Carrick, press on — they fail, they fail ! 
 Press on, brave sons of InnisgaO, 
 
 The foe is fainting fast ! 
 Each strike for parent, child, and wife, 
 For Scotland, liberty, and life, — 
 The battle cannot last 1 " 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 The fresh and desperate onset bore 
 The foes three furlongs back and moi'e, 
 Leaving their noblest in their gore. 
 
 Alone, De Argentine 
 Yet bears on high his red-cross shield, 
 Gathers the relics of the field, 
 Renews the ranks where they have reel'il. 
 
 And still makes good the line. 
 Brief strife, but fierce, — his efforts raise 
 A bright but momentary blaze. 
 Fair Edith heard the Southern shout. 
 Beheld them turning from tlie rout. 
 Heard the wild call their trumpets sent, 
 In notes 'tn'ixt triumph and lament. 
 That rallying force combined anew, 
 Appea/d in her distracted view, 
 
 To hem the Islesmen round : 
 ' God the combat they renew, 
 
 And is no rescue found ! 
 And ye that look thus tamely on, 
 And see your native land o'erthrown, 
 ! are your hearts of tlesh or stone V " 
 
 XXX. 
 
 The multitude that watch'd afar. 
 Rejected from the ranks of war, 
 Had not unmoved beheld the fight. 
 When strove the Bruce for Scotland's right; 
 Each heart had cauglit the patriot spark. 
 Old man and stripling, priest and clerk.
 
 676 THE liORD OF THE ISLES. CANTO VI. 
 
 Bondsman and serf; even female hand 
 St.retcli'd to the hatchet or the brand ; 
 
 But, when mute Amadine they heard 
 
 Give to then- zeal his signal-word, 
 A frenzy fired the throng ; — 
 " Portents and miracles impeach 
 
 Our sloth— the dumb our duties teach — 
 
 And he that gives tlie mute his speech, 
 Can bid the weak be strong. 
 To us, as to our lords, are given 
 A native earth, a promised heaven ; 
 To us, as to our lords, belongs 
 The vengeance for our nation's wrongs ; 
 The choice, 'twixt death or freedom, wanin 
 Our breasts as theirs — To arms ! to arms ! " 
 To arms they flew, — axe, club, or spear, — 
 And mimic ensigns high they rear,*^ 
 And, like a banner'd liost afar. 
 Bear down on England's wearied war. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Already scatter'd o'er the plain. 
 Reproof, command, and counsel vain, 
 The rearward squadi-ons fled amain, 
 
 Or made but doubtful stay ; — 
 But when they mark'd the seeming show 
 Of fresh and fierce and marshall'd foe. 
 
 The boldest broke array. — 
 
 give their hapless prince his due ! 
 In vain the royal Edward threw 
 
 His person 'mid the spears, 
 Cried, " Fight ! " to terror and despair, 
 Menaced, and wept, and tore his hair, 
 
 And cursed their caitiff fears ; 
 TiU Pembroke turn'd his bridle rein. 
 And forced him from the fatal plain. 
 With them rode Argentine, until 
 They gain'd the summit of the hill. 
 But quitted there the train : — 
 ** In yonder field a gage I left, — 
 
 1 must not live of fame bereft ; 
 
 I needs must turn again. 
 Speed hence, mj' Liege, for on your trace 
 The fiery Douglas takes the chase, 
 
 I know his banner well. 
 God send my Sovereign joy and bliss, 
 And many a happier field than this ! 
 
 Once more, my Liege, farewell ! " 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Again he faced the battle-field, — 
 
 WOdly they fly, are slain, or yield. 
 " Now then," he said, and couch'd his speer, 
 " My course is nm, the goal is near ; 
 
 One effort more, one brave career, 
 Must close this race of mine."
 
 VI. THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 677 
 
 Then in his stirrups rising high, 
 He shouted loud his battle-cry — 
 
 " Saint James for Argentine I " * 
 
 And, of the bold pursuers, four 
 The gallant knight from saddle bore ; 
 But not unharm'd — a lance's point 
 Has found his breastplate's loosen'd joint, 
 
 An axe has razed his crest ; 
 Yet still on Colonsay's fierce lord. 
 Who press'd the chase with gory sword. 
 
 He rode with spear in rest, 
 And through his bloody tartans bored, 
 
 And through his gallant breast. 
 Kail'd to the earth, the mountaineer 
 Yet writhed him up against the spear, 
 
 And swung his broadsword round ! 
 • — Stirrup, steel-boot, and cuish gave way, 
 Beneath that blow's tremendous sway, 
 
 The blood gush'd from the wound; 
 Ai:d the grim Lord of Colonsay 
 
 Hath turn'd him on the ground. 
 And laugh'd in death-pang, that his blau<» 
 The mortal thrust so well repaid. 
 
 xxxni. 
 
 Now toil'd the Bruce, the battle done, 
 To use his conquest boldly won ; 
 And gave command for horse and spear 
 To press the Southron's scatter'd rear, 
 Nor let his broken force combine, 
 — When the war-cry of Argentine 
 
 Fell faintly on his ear ; — 
 ' Save, save his life," he cried, " save 
 The kind, the noble, and the brave ! " 
 The squadrons round free passage gave — 
 
 The wounded knight drew near ; 
 He raised his red-cross shield no more, 
 Helm, cuish, and breastplate stream'd with gure, 
 Yet, as he saw the King advance. 
 He strove even then to couch his lance — 
 
 The effort was in vain I 
 The spur-stroke fuil'd to rouse the horse ; 
 Wounded and weaiy, in mid course 
 
 He stumbled on the plain. 
 Then foremost was the generous Bruce 
 To raise his head, his helm to loose; — 
 
 " Lord Earl, the day is thine 1 
 My sovereign's charge, and adverse fate, 
 Have made our meeting all too late : 
 
 Yet this may Argentine, 
 As boon from ancient comrade, crave — 
 A Chi-istian's mass, a soldier's grave." 
 2o
 
 578 THE LOKD OF THE ISLES. CANTO VI. 
 
 . XXXIV. 
 
 Bruce press'd his dying hand — its grasp 
 Kindly replied ; hut, in his clasp, 
 
 It stiffen'd and grew cold — 
 " And, farewell ! " the victor cried, 
 " Of chivalry the flower and pride, 
 
 The arm in hattle hold, 
 The courteous mien, the noble race. 
 The stainless faith, the manh' face ! — 
 Bid Ninian's convent light their shrine. 
 For late-wake of De Argentine. 
 O'er better knight on death-bier laid. 
 Torch never gleam'd, nor mass was said !" 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Nor for De Argentine alone, 
 
 Through Ninian's chtirch these torches shone. 
 
 And rose the death-prayer's awful tone. 
 
 That yellow lustre glimmer'd pale. 
 
 On broken plate and bloodied mail. 
 
 Rent crest and shatter'd coronet. 
 
 Of Baron, Earl, and Bannaret ; 
 
 And the best names that England knew, 
 
 Claim'd in the death-prayer dismal due. 
 
 Yet mourn not, Land of Fame ! 
 Though ne'er the Leopards on thy shield 
 Retreated from so sad a field. 
 
 Since Norman William came. 
 Oft may thine annals justly boast 
 Of battle's stern by Scotland lost ; 
 
 Grudge not her victory, 
 When for her freebom rights she strove — • 
 Rights dear to all who freedom love, 
 
 To none so dear as thee I 
 
 XXXVL 
 
 Turn we to Bruce, whose curious ear 
 
 Must from Fitz-Louis tidings hear ; 
 
 With him, a hundred voices teU 
 
 Of prodigy and miracle, 
 
 " For the mute page had spoke." — 
 " Page !" said Fitz-Louis, — rather say, 
 
 An angel sent from realms of day. 
 To burst the English yoke. 
 
 I saw his plume and bonnet drop. 
 
 When hurrj'ing from the mountain top ; 
 
 A lovely brow, dark locks that wave. 
 
 To his bright eyes new lustre gave, 
 
 A step as light upon the green. 
 
 As if Ilia pinions waved unseen 1" — 
 " Spoke he with none ?" — " With none — one word - 
 
 Burst when he saw the Island Lord, 
 
 Returning from the battle-field." — 
 " What answer made the Chief?" — " He knefl'd.
 
 VI. THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 579 
 
 Durst not look up, but mutter'd lo-ir, 
 Some mingled sounds that none might know. 
 And greeted him 't^nxt joy and fear. 
 As being of superior sphere." 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 Even upon Bannock's bloody plain, 
 Heap'd then -with thousands of the slain, 
 'Mid victor monarch's musings high. 
 Mirth laugh'd in good King Robert's eye :— 
 ' And bore he such angelic air, 
 Such noble front, such waving hair ? 
 Hath Ronald kneel'd to him ?" he said ; 
 Then must we call the chiu'ch to aid — 
 Cur vrill be to the Abbot known. 
 Ere these strange news are wider blown, 
 To Cambuskenneth straight ye pass, 
 And deck the church for solemn mass, 
 To pay for high deliverance given, 
 A nation's thanks to gracious Heaven. 
 Let him array, besides, such state, 
 As should on princes' nuptials wait. 
 Ourself the cause, through fortune's spite, 
 That once broke short that spousal rite, 
 Ourself will grace, with earlv mom. 
 The Bridal of the Maid of Lora."<» 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 Gro forth, my Song, upon thy venturous wa^ ; 
 Go boldly forth ; nor j-et thy master blame," 
 Who chose no patron for his humble lay. 
 And graced thy niunbers with no friendly name, 
 TVTiose partial zeal might smooth thy path to fame. 
 There was — and 1 how many sorrows crowd 
 Into these two brief words ! — there was a claim 
 By generous friendship given — had fate allow'd 
 It well had bid thee rank flie proudest of the proud I 
 
 o " To Mr. James BaUantyne. — Dear Sir, — You have now the whole affair, 
 excepting two or three conduding stanzas. As your taste for bride's-cake 
 may induce yon to desire to know more of tlie wedding, I will save you 
 some criticism by Baying, I have settled to stop short as above. — AVitiiess 
 my hand, " W. S."
 
 680 
 
 THE LORD or THE ISLES. 
 
 CANTO VI. 
 
 All angel now — yet IRtle less than all, 
 While still a pilgrim in our world below ! 
 'WTiat 'vails it us that patience to recall, 
 Which hid its own to soothe all other woes ; 
 What Vails to tell, how Virtue's purest glow 
 Shone yet more lovely in a form so fair ! 
 And, least of all, what 'vails the world should know, 
 That one poor garland, twined to deck thy hair, 
 I3 liung upon thy hearse, to droop and wither there I
 
 SONGS, 
 
 LYKICAL PIECES, 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 
 
 AND BALLADS.
 
 LYEICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 JUVENILE LINES. 
 
 FROM VIRGIL, 
 1782.— ^TAT. 11 
 
 " Scott's Autobiography tells us that his translations in verse 
 from Horace and Virgil were often approved by Dr. Adam, 
 [Rector of the High School, Edinburgh.] One of these little 
 pieces, written in a weak boyish scrawl, within pencilled marks 
 still visible, had been carefully preserved by his mother; it 
 was found folded up in a cover, inscribed by the old lady — 
 'My Walter's First Lines, 1782.' "— Lockhart, Life of Scott, 
 vol. i. p. 129. 
 
 In awful ruins jEtna thunders nigh. 
 And sends in pitchy whirlwinds to the sk}' 
 Black clouds of smoke, which, still as they aspire. 
 From their dark sides there bursts the glowmg fire ; 
 At other times huge balls of fire are toss'd. 
 That lick the stars, and in the smoke are lost : 
 Sometimes the mount, with vast convidsions torn, 
 Emits huge rocks, which instantly are borne 
 With loud explosions to the starry skies. 
 The stones made liquid as the huge mass flies, 
 Then back again with greater weight recoils. 
 While .(Etna thimderiug from the bottom boils. 
 
 HELLVELLYN. 
 
 1805. 
 
 In the spring of 1805, a young gentleman of talents, and of 
 a most amiable disposition, perished by losing his way on the 
 mountain Hellvellyn. His remains were not discovered till three 
 months afterwards, when they were found guarded by a faithful 
 terrier-bitch, his constant attendant during frequent solitary ram- 
 bles through the ■\yilds of Cumberland and Westmoreland. 
 
 I climb'd the dark brow of the mighty Hellvellya, 
 
 Lakes and momitains beneath me gleam'd misty and wide ; 
 
 All was still, save by fits, when the eagle was yelling, 
 And starting around me the echoes replied. 
 
 On the right, Strideu-edge round tlie Ked-tarn was bending, 
 
 And Catchedicam its left verge was defending, 
 
 One huge nameless rock in the front was ascending, 
 When I mark'd the sad spot where the wanderer had died.
 
 584 LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 Dark-green was that spot 'raid the brown mountain heather. 
 
 Where the Pilgrim of Mature lay stretch'd in decay, 
 Like the corpse of an outcast abantlon'd to weather, 
 
 Till the mountain-winds wasted the tenantless clay. 
 Nor yet quite deserted, though lonely extended, 
 For, faithful in death, his mute ftivourite attended, 
 The much-loved remains of her master defended. 
 And chased the hill-fox and the raven away. 
 
 How long didst thou think that his silence was slumber? 
 
 Wlien the wind waved his garment, how oft didst thou start? 
 How many long days and long weeks didst thou number, 
 
 Ere he faded before thee, the friend of thy heart ? 
 And oh ! was it meet, that — no requiem read o'er him — 
 No mother to weep, and no fiiend to deplore him. 
 And thou, little guardian, alone stretch'd before him — 
 
 Unhonoiir'd the Pilgrim from life should depart ? 
 
 WTien a Prince to the fate of the Peasant has yielded, 
 The tapestry waves dark round the dim-lighted hall ; 
 
 With scutcheons of sUver the cofEn is shielded, 
 And pages stand mute by the canopied pall : 
 
 Through the courts, at deep midnight, the torches are gleamujg ; 
 
 In the proudly arch'd chapel the banners are beaming, 
 
 Far adown the long aisle sacred music is streaming. 
 Lamenting a Chief of the people should fall. 
 
 But meeter for thee, gentle lover of nature, 
 To lay down thy head like the meek mountain-lamb. 
 
 When, wilder'd, he drops fi'om some cliff huge in staturj, 
 And draws his last sob by the side of his dam. 
 
 And more stately thy couch by this desert lake lying. 
 
 Thy obsequies sung by the grey plover flying. 
 
 With one faithful friend but to witness thy dymg. 
 In the anus of HellvelljTi and Catchedicam, 
 
 THE DYING BARD, 
 
 1806. 
 
 The Welsh tradition bears, that a Bard, on his deathbed, de- 
 manded his harp, and played the air to which these verses ara 
 adapted ; requesting that it might be performed at his funeral. 
 
 I. 
 DiNAS Emlinn, lament; for the moment is nigh, 
 When mute in the woodlands thine echoes shall die : 
 No more by sweet Teivi Cadwallon shall rave. 
 And mix his wild notes with the wild dashing wave. 
 
 IL 
 
 In spring and in autumn, thy glories of shade 
 Unhonour'd shall flourish, unhonour'd shall fade ; 
 For soon shall be lifeless the eye and the tongue. 
 That view'd them with rapture, with rapture that sunfir.
 
 THE NORMAN HORSE-SHOE. 585 
 
 in. 
 
 Thy sons, Dinas Emlinn, may inarch in their pride, 
 And chase the proud Saxon from Prestatyn's side ; 
 But where is the harp shall give life to their name ? 
 And where is the bard shall give heroes their fame ? 
 
 IV. 
 And oh, Dinas Emlinn 1 thy daughters so fair, 
 Who heave the white bosom, and wave the dark hair ; 
 What tunefid enthusiasts shall worship their eye. 
 When half of their charms with Cadwallon shall die ? 
 
 V. 
 
 Then adieu, silver Teivi ! I quit thy loved scene. 
 To join the dim choir of the bards who have been; 
 With Lewarch, and Meilor, and JNIerlin the Old, 
 And sage Taliessin, high harping to hold. 
 
 VI. 
 And adieu, Diuas Emlinn I still green be thy shades, 
 TJnconquer'd thy warriors, and matchless tliy maids! 
 And thou, whose faint warblings my weakness can tell, 
 Farewell, my loved Harp I my last treasuie, farewell I 
 
 THE NOKMAN HORSE-SHOE. 
 
 1806. 
 
 The Welsh, inhabiting a mountainous country, and possessing 
 only an inferior breed of horses, were usually unable to encounter 
 the shock of the Anglo-Norman cavalry. Occasionally, however, 
 they were successful in repelling the invaders ; and the following 
 verses are supposed to celebrate a defeat of Ci-ake, Earl of Stri- 
 gvul and Pembroke, and of Neville, Baron of Chepstow, Lords- 
 Slarchers of Monmouthshire. Kymny is a stream -which divides 
 the counties of Monmouth and Glamorgan : Caerphili, the scene 
 of the supposed battle, is a vale upon its banks, dlgniiied by tha 
 ruins of a verj' ancient castle. 
 
 I. 
 
 Red glows the forge in Striguil's bounds, 
 And hammers dm, and anvil sounds. 
 And armourers, with iron toil, 
 Barb many a steed for battle's broil. 
 Foul fall the hand which bends the steel 
 Around the courser's thundering heel. 
 That e'er shall dint a sable wound 
 On fair Glamorgan's velvet ground I 
 
 II. 
 
 From Chepstow's towers, ere dawn of morn. 
 Was heard afar the bugle-horn ; 
 And forth, in banded pomp and pride. 
 Stout Clare and tiery Neville ride.
 
 586 LYRTCAI; AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 They swore, their banners broad should gleam. 
 In crimson light, on Evmny's stream ; 
 Thej' vow'd, Caerphili'^s sod should feel 
 The Norman charger's spuming heeL 
 
 III. 
 
 And sooth they swore : the sun arose, 
 And Ej-mny's wave with crimson glows ; 
 For Clare's red banner, floating wide, 
 EoU'd down the stream to Severn's tide ! 
 And sooth they vow'd : the trampled green 
 Show'd where hot Ne\Tlle's charge had been ; 
 In every sable hoof-tramp stood 
 A Norman horseman's curdling blood I 
 
 IV. 
 
 Old Chepstow's brides may curse the toil, 
 That arm'd stout Clare for Cambrian broil ; 
 Their oi-])hans long the art may rue, 
 For Neville's war-horse forged the shoe. 
 No more the stamp of armed steed 
 ShaU dint Glamorgan's velvet mead ; 
 Nor trace be there, in early spring, 
 Save of the Fairies' emerald ring. 
 
 THE MAID OF TOEO. 
 
 1806. 
 
 O, LOW shone the sun on the fair lake of Toro, 
 
 And weak were the whispers that waved the dark wood. 
 All as a fair maiden, bewUder'd in sorrow. 
 
 Sorely sigh'd to the breezes, and wept to the flood. 
 " saints I from the mansions of bliss lowly bending — 
 
 Sweet Virgin ! who hearest the suppliant's crj', 
 Now grant my petition, in anguish ascending, 
 
 My Henry restore, or let Eleanor die I" 
 
 All distant and faint were the sounds of the battle ; 
 
 With the breezes they rise, •with the breezes they fail. 
 Till the shout, and the groan, and the conflict's dread rattle. 
 
 And the chase's wild clamour, came loading the gale. 
 Breathless she gazed on the woodlands so dreary ; 
 
 Slowly approaching, a warrior was seen ; 
 Life's ebbing tide mark'd his footsteps so weary, 
 
 Cleft was his helmet, and woe was his mien. 
 
 * save thee, fair maid, for our armies are flying I 
 
 O save thee, fair maid, for thy guardian is low ! 
 Deadly cold on yon heath thy brave Henry is lying, 
 
 And fast through the woodland approaches the foe." 
 Scarce could he ialter the tiduigs of sorrow. 
 
 And scarce could she hear them, benumb'd with despair: 
 And when the sim sank on the sweet lake of Toi'o, 
 
 For ever he set to the Brave and the Fair.
 
 HUNTING SOXG. 587 
 
 HUNTING SONG. 
 
 18G8. 
 
 Waken, lords and ladies gay ! 
 On the mountain daivns the day ; 
 All the jolly chase is here, 
 With hawk, and horse, and hunting spear ! 
 Hounds are in their couples yelling, 
 Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling; 
 Merrily, merrily, mingle they — - 
 ** Waken, lords and ladies gay ! " 
 
 Waken, lords and ladies gay ! 
 The mist has left the mountain grey, 
 Springlets in the dawn are steaming, 
 Diamonds on the brake are gleaming ; 
 And foresters have busy been. 
 To track the buck in thicket green ; 
 Now we come to chant our lay — 
 " Waken, lords and ladies gay ! " 
 
 Waken, lords and ladies gay ! 
 To the green-wood haste away ; 
 We can show you where he lies. 
 Fleet of foot, and tall of size ; 
 We can show the marks he made. 
 When 'gainst the oak his antlers fray'd ; 
 Tou shall see him brought to bay — 
 " Waken, lords and ladies gay 1 " 
 
 Louder, louder chant the lay, 
 
 Waken, lords and ladies gay ! 
 
 Tell them, youth, and mirth, and glee, 
 
 Kun a course as well as we ; 
 
 Time, stem huntsman ! who can baulk. 
 
 Stanch as hound, and fleet as hawk ? 
 
 Think of this, and rise ■vvith day, 
 
 Gentle lords and ladies gay ! 
 
 PROLOGUE 
 
 TO MISS BAILLIE's PLAT OF THE FAJOLY LEGEJrni 
 
 1809. 
 'TIS sweet to hear expiring Summer's sigh. 
 Through forests tinged with russet, wail and diej 
 Tis sweet and sad the latest notes to hear 
 Of distant music, dying on the ear ; 
 But far more sadly sweet, on foreign strand. 
 We list the legends of our native land, 
 Link'd as they come with everj' tender tie, 
 Memorials dear of youth and infancy.
 
 688 LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 Chief, thy wild tales, -romantic Caledon, 
 Wake keen remembrance in each hardy son. 
 Whether on India's burning coasts he toO, 
 Or till Arcadia's winter-fetter'd soil, 
 He hears, with throbbing heart and moisten'd eyes. 
 And, as he hears, what dear illusions rise I 
 It opens on his soul his native deli. 
 The woods wild waving, and the water's swell ; 
 Tradition's theme, the tower that threats the plain, 
 The mossy cairn that hides the hero slain ; 
 The cot, beneath whose simple porch were told. 
 By grey-hair'd patriarch, the tales of old ; 
 The infant group, that hush'd tlieir sports the wliila, 
 And the dear maid who listen'd with a smile : 
 The wanderer, while the vision warms his brain, 
 Is denizen of Scotland once again. 
 
 Are such keen feelings to the crowd confined. 
 And sleep they in the Poet's gifted mind ? 
 Oh no ! For she, wthin whose mighty page 
 Each tyrant Passion shc^vs his woe and rage. 
 Has felt the wizard influence they inspire. 
 And to your own traditions tuned her Utb. 
 Yourselves shall judge. ^Vhoe'er has raised the sail 
 By Mull's dark coast, has heard this evening's tale : 
 The plaided boatman, resting on his oar. 
 Points to the fatal rock amid the roar 
 Of whitening waves, and tells whate'er to-night 
 Our humble stage shall offer to your sight ; 
 Proudly preferr'd that first our efforts give 
 Scenes glowing from her pen to breathe and live ; 
 More proudly yet, shoiUd Caledon approve 
 The filial token of a Daughter's love. 
 
 LULLABY OF AN IXFANT CHIEF. 
 1815. 
 
 I. 
 
 0, HUSH thee, my babie ! — thy sire was a knight, 
 Thy mother a lady, both lovely and bright ; 
 The woods and the glens, from the towers which we see. 
 They all are belonging, dear babie, to thee. 
 
 ho ro, i ri ri, cadul gu lo, 
 
 ho ro, i ri ri, &c. 
 
 IL 
 
 0, fear not the bugle, though loudly it blows, 
 It calls but the warders that guard thy repose ; 
 Then: bows would be bended, their blades would be red, 
 Ere the step of a foe man draws near to thy bed. 
 ho ro, i ri ri, &;c.
 
 JOCK OF HAZELDEAN. 589 
 
 III. 
 
 O, hush thee, my babie ! — the time soon -Nvill come, 
 VYhen thy sleep shall be broken by trumpet and drum ; 
 Then hush thee, my darling, take rest while you may, 
 For strife comes with manhood, and waking with day. 
 ho ro, i ri ri, &c. 
 
 JOCK OF HAZELDEAN. 
 
 181G. 
 
 The first stanza of this Ballad is ancient. The others were writ 
 ten for ilr. Campbell's Albyn's Antholoyy. 
 
 I. 
 
 " Wliy weep ye by the tide, ladie ? 
 
 Why weep ye by the tide? 
 Ill wed ye to my youngest son. 
 
 And ye sal! be his bride : 
 And ye sail be his bride, ladie, 
 
 Sae comely to be seen" — 
 But aye she loot the tears down fa' 
 
 For Jock of Hazeldean. 
 
 II. 
 
 " Now let this wilfu' grief be done, 
 
 And dry that cheek so pale ; 
 Young Frank is chief of Errington, 
 
 And lord of Langley-dale ; 
 His step is first in peaceful ha', 
 
 His sword in battle keen " — 
 But aye she loot the tears down fa' 
 
 For Jock of Hazeldean, 
 
 III. 
 
 " A chain of gold ye sail not lack, 
 
 Nor braid to bind your hair ; 
 Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawlv, 
 
 Nor palfrey fresh and fair ; 
 And you, the foremost o' them a'. 
 
 Shall ride oiu" forest queeu" — 
 But aye she loot the tears down fa' 
 
 For Jock of Hazeldean. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Tlie kirk was deck'd at morning- tide. 
 
 The tapers glimmer'd fair; 
 The priest and bridegroom wait the bride, 
 
 And dame and knight are there. 
 They sought her baith by bower and ha' ; 
 
 The ladie was not seen ! 
 She's o'er the Border, and awa' 
 
 Wi' Jock of Hazeldean.
 
 590 LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 PIBROCH OF DONALD DHU. 
 
 1816. 
 
 This is a very ancient pibroch belonging to Clan MacDonalcl, 
 and supposed to refer to the expedition of Donald Balloch, who, 
 in 1431, launched from the Isles with a considerable force, invaded 
 Lochaber, and at Inverlochy defeated and put to flight the Earla 
 of Mar and Caithness, though at the head of an army superior to 
 his own. 
 
 Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, 
 
 Pibroch of Donuil, 
 Wake thy wild voice anew, 
 
 Summon Clan-Conuil. 
 
 Come away, come away, 
 
 Hark to the summons I 
 
 Come in your war array. 
 
 Gentles and commons. 
 
 Come from deep glen, and 
 
 From mountain so rocky. 
 The war-pipe and pennon 
 
 Are at Inverlocky. 
 Come every liill-plaid, and 
 
 True heart that wears one, 
 Come every steel-blade, and 
 
 Strong hand that bears one. 
 
 Leave untended the herd, 
 
 The flock without shelter ; 
 Leave the corpse uninterr'd. 
 
 The bride at the altar ; 
 Leave the deer, leave the steer, 
 
 Leave nets and barges : 
 Come with your fighting gear. 
 
 Broadswords and targes. 
 
 Come as the winds come, when 
 
 Forests are rended ; 
 Come as the waves come, when 
 
 Navies are stranded : 
 Faster come, faster come. 
 
 Faster and faster, 
 Chief, vassal, page and groom. 
 
 Tenant and master. 
 
 Fast they come, fast they come ; 
 
 See how they gather ! 
 Wide waves the eagle plume. 
 
 Blended with heather. 
 Cast your plaids, draw your bladea. 
 
 Forward each man set I 
 Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, 
 
 Knell for the onset 1
 
 MACGEEGOK'S GATHERING. 591 
 
 MACGREGOR'S GATHERING. 
 
 1816. 
 
 These verses are adapted to a very wild, yet lively gathering- 
 tune, used by the MacGregors. The severe treatment of this 
 Clan, their outlawry, and the proscription of their very name, are 
 alluded to in the ballad. 
 
 The moon's on the lake, and the mist's on the brae. 
 And the clan has a name that is nameless by day ; 
 
 Then gather, gather, gather, Grigalach! 
 
 Gather, gather, gather, &c. 
 
 Our signal for fight, that from monarchs we drew, 
 Must be heard but by night in our vengeful haloo 1 
 
 Then haloo, Grigalach I haloo, Grigalach ! 
 
 Haloc> haloo, haloo, Grigalach, &c. 
 
 Glen Orchy's proud mountains, Coalchuirn and her towers, 
 Glenstrae and Glenlj'on no longer are ours ; 
 
 We're landless, landless, landless, Grigalach! 
 
 Landless, landless, landless, &c. 
 
 But doom'd and devoted by vassal and lord, 
 MacGregor has still both liis heart and his sword ! 
 
 Then courage, courage, courage, Grigalach ! 
 
 Courage, courage, corn-age, &c. 
 
 If they rob us of name, and pursue us with beagles. 
 
 Give their roofs to the flame, and their tiesh to the eagles t 
 
 Then vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, Grigalach ! 
 
 Vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, &c 
 
 While there's leaves in the forest, and foam on the river, 
 MacGregor, despite them, shall flourish for ever ! 
 
 Come then, Grigalach, come then, Grigalach, 
 Come then, come then, come then, &c. 
 
 Through the depths of Loch Katrine the steed shall career. 
 O'er the peak of Ben-Lomond the galley shall steer. 
 And the roclis of Craig-Eoyston like icicles melt. 
 Ere our wrongs be forgot, or our vengeance imfelt I 
 
 Then gather, gather, gather, Grigalach I 
 
 Gather, gather, gather, &c.
 
 592 LYRICAL AND JIISCELLANEOUS PIECE3. 
 
 MR. KEMBLE'S FAREWELL ADDRESS," 
 
 ON TAKING LEAVE OF THE EDINBURGH STAGE, 
 1817. 
 
 As the worn war-horse, at the trumpet's sound, 
 Erects his mane, and neighs, and paws the ground — 
 Disdains the ease his generous lord assigns, 
 And longs to rush on the emhattled lines. 
 So I, your plaudits ringing on mine ear. 
 Can scarce sustain to think our parting near ; 
 To think my scenic hour for ever past. 
 And that these valued plaudits are my last. 
 Why should we part, while still some powers remain. 
 That in your service strive not yet in vain ? 
 Cannot high zeal the strength of youth supply, 
 And sense of duty fire the fading eye ; 
 And all the wrongs of age remain subdued 
 Beneath the burning glow of gratitude? 
 Ah no ! — the taper, wearing to its close, 
 Oft for a space in fitful lustre glows ; 
 But all too soon the transient gleam is past — 
 It cannot be renew'd, and will not last ; 
 Even duty, zeal, and gratitude, can wage 
 But short-lived conflict -with the frosts of age. 
 Yes ! it were poor, remembering what I was. 
 To live a pensioner on your applause, 
 To drain the dregs of j'our endurance dry. 
 And take, as alms, the praise I once could buy ; 
 Till every sneering youtli around inquires, 
 " Is this the man v.'ho once could please our sires?" 
 And scorn assumes compassion's doubtful mien. 
 To warn me off from the encumber'd scene. 
 
 o These lines first appeared, April 5, 1817, iu a weekly sheet, called the 
 "Sale Room," conducted and published by Messrs. Ballantyue and Co. at 
 Edinburgh. In a note prefixed, Mr. James B illantyne says—" The charac- 
 ter fixed upon, with happv propriety, for Kemble's closing scene, was Mac- 
 beth, in which he took his final leave of Scotland on the evening of Saturday, 
 the 29th March 1817. He had laboured under a severe cold for a ftw days 
 before, but on this memorable niglit the pliysical annoyance yielded to the 
 energy of his mind. — ' He was,' he said in the green-room, immediately 
 before the curtain rose, ' determined to leave behind him the most perfect 
 specimen of bis art which he had ever shown,' and his success was complete. 
 At the moment of the tyrant's death, the curtain fell by the universal 
 acclamation of the audience. The applauses were vehement and prolonged; 
 they ceased — were resumed — rose again — were reiterated — and again were 
 hushed. In a few minutes the curtain ascended, and Mr. Kemble came 
 forward in the dress of Macbeth, (the audience by a consentaneous move- 
 ment rising to receive liim,) to deliver his farewell." " Mr. 
 
 Kemble dehvered these Unes with exquisite beauty, and with an effect that 
 was evidenced by the tears and sobs of many of the audience. His own 
 emotions were very conspicuous. When his farewell was closed, he lingered 
 long on the stage, as if unable to retire. The house again stood up, and 
 cheered Mm with the waving of hats, and long shouts of applause. At 
 length, he finally retired, and, in so far as regards Scotland, the curtain 
 dropped upon his professional life for ever."
 
 BONALD CAIRd's COME AGAIM'. 693 
 
 This must not be ; — and higher duties crave 
 
 Some space between the theatre and the grave, 
 
 That, like the Roman in the Capitol, 
 
 I may adjust my mantle ere I fall : 
 
 My life's brief act in public service flown, 
 
 The last, the closing scene, must be my own. 
 
 Here, then, adieu I while yet some well-graced parts 
 ^lay fix an ancient favourite in your hearts, 
 Not quite to be forgotten, even Avhen 
 You look on better actors, younger men : 
 And if your bosoms own this kindly debt 
 Of old remembrance, how shall mine forget — 
 O, how forget ! — how oft I hither came 
 In anxious hope, how oft retum'd with fame ! 
 How oft around your circle this weak hand 
 Has waved immortal Shakspeare's magic wand, 
 TiU the full burst of inspiration came, 
 And I have felt, and you have fann'd the flame I 
 By mem'ry treasured, while her reign endures. 
 Those hours must live — and all their charms are yours. 
 
 favour'd Land ! renown'd for arts and arms. 
 For manly talent, and for female charms. 
 Could this full bosom prompt the sinking line, 
 "UTiat fervid benedictions now were thine ! 
 But my last part is play'd, my knell is rung, 
 When e'en your praise falls faltering from my tongue ; 
 And all that j'ou can hear, or I can tell, 
 Is — Friends and Patrons, hail! and fare tou well! 
 
 DONALD CAIED'S COIIE AGAIN." 
 1818. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Donald Caird 's come again ! 
 Donald Caird's come again! 
 Tell the news in brugh and glen, 
 Donald Caird's come again! 
 
 Donald Caird can lilt and sing, 
 Blithely dance the Hieland fling, 
 Drink till the gudeman be blind, 
 Fleech till the gudewife be kind ; 
 Hoop a leglin, clout a pan, 
 Or crack a pow wi' ony man ; 
 Tell the news ui brugli and glen, 
 Donald Caird's come again. 
 
 Donald Caird's come again! 
 Donald Caird's come again! 
 Tell the news in hrugh and glen, 
 Donald Caird's come again! 
 
 a Caird signifies Tinker. 
 
 2r
 
 694 LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOXTS PIECES. 
 
 Donald Caird t;an mre a maukin. 
 Kens the wiles o' dun-deer staulun*. 
 Leisters kipper, makes a shift 
 To shoot a muir-fowl in the drift ; 
 Water-bailiffs, rangers, keepers. 
 He can wauk when they are sleepers; 
 Not for bountith or reward 
 Dare ye mell wi' Donald Caird. 
 
 Donald Caird' s come again! 
 Donald Caird'' s come again! 
 Gar the bagpipes hum amain, 
 Donald Caird' s come again I 
 
 Donald Caird can drink a gill 
 Fast as hostler- wife can fill ; 
 Ilka ane that sells gude liquor 
 Kens how Donald bends a bicker; 
 When he's fou he's stout and saucy. 
 Keeps the cantle o' the causey ; 
 Hieland chief and lawland laird 
 Maun gie room to Donald Caird ! 
 
 Donald Caird's come again! 
 Donald Caird 's come again ! 
 Tell the news in brugh and glen, 
 Donald Caird's come again! 
 
 Steek the aumrie, lock the kist. 
 Else some gear may weel be miss't ; 
 Donald Caird finds orra things 
 Where Allan Gregor fand the tings; 
 Dunts of kebbuck, taits o' woo, 
 Whiles a hen, and whiles a sow, 
 Webs or duds frae hedge or yard— 
 'Ware the wuddie, Donald Caird ! 
 
 Donald Caird's com^ again! 
 Donald Caird's corns again! 
 Dinna let the Shirra ken 
 Donald Caird's come again. 
 
 On Donald Caird the doom was stem— 
 Craig to tether, legs to airn ; 
 But Donald Caird, wi' mickle study. 
 Caught the gift to cheat the wuddie ; 
 Rings of aim, and bolts' of steel, 
 fell like ice frae hand and heel ! 
 Watch the sheep in fauld and glcn^ 
 Donald Caird's come again I 
 
 Donald Caird's come again! 
 Donald Caird's corns again! 
 Dinna let the Justice ken 
 Donald Caird's come again.
 
 CAULE, NOW THE KING's COME. 595 
 
 CARLE, NOW THE KING'S COME." 
 
 BEUfG HEW WORDS TO AN AULD SPEOG. 
 1822. 
 
 The news has flown frae mouth to mouth. 
 The North for ance has bang'd the South ; 
 The deil a Scotsman's die o' drouth, 
 
 Carle, now the King's come I 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Carle, now the King's come I 
 Carle, now the King's come ! 
 Thou shalt dance, and I wiU sing, 
 Carle, now the King's come 1 
 
 Auld England held him lang and fast; 
 
 And Ireland had a joyfu' cast; 
 
 But Scotland's turn is come at last — 
 
 Carle, now the King's come I 
 
 Auld Reekie, in her Rokelay grey, 
 Thouglit never to have seen the day ; 
 He's been a weary time away — 
 
 But, Carle, now the King's come I 
 
 She's skirling frae the Castle-hill ; 
 The Carline's voice is grown sae shrill, 
 Ye'll hear her at the Canon-mill — 
 
 Carle, now the King's come I 
 
 * Up, bairns 1" she cries, "baith grit and sma', 
 And busk j'e for the weapon-shaw 1 
 Stand by me, and we'll bang them a' — 
 Carle, now the King's come 1 
 
 " Come from Newbattle's ancient spires, 
 Bauld Lothian, with your knights and squires, 
 And match the mettle of your sires — 
 
 Carle, now the King's come I 
 
 " You're welcome hame, my Montagu I 
 Bring in your hand the young Buccleuch ; 
 I 'm missing some that 1 may rue — 
 
 Carle, now the King's come t* 
 
 » This imitation of an old Jacobite ditty was written on the appearance, 
 in the Frith of Forth, of tbe fleet which conveyed his Majesty King George 
 the Fourth to Scotland, m August 1823 ; and was publislied as a broadside. 
 
 * Lord Moutagu, uncle and guardian to the young Duke of Biiccleuch, 
 placed his Grace's residence of Dalkeith at his JIajtsty's disposid during Lis 
 Tisil to Scotland.
 
 596 I^vniCAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 " Come, Haddington, the kind and gay, 
 You Ve graced my causeway mony a day ; 
 I '11 weep the cause if you should stay — 
 Carle, now the King's come!" 
 
 " Come, premier Duke,'' and carry doun 
 Frae yonder craig" his ancient croun; 
 It 's had a lang sleep and a soun' — 
 
 But, Carle, now the King's come! 
 
 " Come, Athole, from the hill and wood. 
 Bring down your clansmen like a clud ; 
 Come, Morton, show the Douglas' blood, — '• 
 Carle, now the King's come ! 
 
 " Co/ne, Tweeddale, true as sword to sheath ; 
 Come, Hopetoun, fear'd on fields of deatli ; 
 Come, Clerk,e and give your bugle breath ; 
 Carle, now the King's come ! 
 
 " Come, "Wemji-ss, who modest merit aids ; 
 Come, Rosebery, from Dalmeny shades ; 
 Breadalbane bring your belted plaids ; 
 Carle, now the King's come ! 
 
 " Come, stately Niddrie, auld and true, 
 Girt with the sword that Minden knew ; 
 We have o'er few such lairds as you — 
 Carle, now the King's come ! 
 
 " King Arthur's grown a common crier, 
 He's heard in Fife and far. Cantire, — 
 ' Fie, lads, behold my crest of fire ! '-^ 
 
 Carle, now the King's come ! 
 
 « Charles, the tenth Earl of Haddington, died in 1828. 
 
 * The Duke of Ilamilton, as Earl of Ang;us, carried the ancient royal 
 crown of Scotland on horseback, in King George's procession, from Ilulyrood 
 to the Castle. « The Castle. 
 
 <* JIS.— "Come, Athole, from your hiUs and woods. 
 Bring down your Hiehmdmen in cluds, 
 Witli bannet, brogue, and tartan duds." 
 
 « Sir George Clerk, Bart., Baron of Pennycuik, is bound by his tenure, 
 when the King comes to Edinburgh, to receive him at the Harestoue (in 
 which the standard of James IV. was erected when his array encamped on 
 the Boroughmuir, before his fatal expedition to England), now built into 
 the park-wall at the end of TipperUn Lone, near the Boroughmuir-liead; 
 and, standing tlicreon, to give three blasts on a horn. 
 
 /MS. — "Brave Arthur's Seat's a story higherj 
 
 Saint Abbe is shouting to Kintire, — 
 
 ' You Lion, light up a crest of fire.' " 
 As seen from the west, the ridge of Arthur's Seat bears a marked resemblance 
 to a liou couchuat.
 
 CARLE, NOW THE KING's COME, 697 
 
 " Saint Abb roars out, ' I see him pass, 
 Between Tautallou and the Bass I ' 
 Calton, get your keeking-glass — 
 
 Carle, now the King's come 1 " 
 
 The Carline stopp'd ; and, sure I am, 
 For very glee had ta'en a dwam, 
 But Oman " help'd her to a dram — 
 
 Cogie, now the King's come 1 
 
 Cogie, now the King's come 1 
 Cogie, now the ELing's come ! 
 I 'se be fou' and ye's be toom,* 
 Cogie, now the King's come I 
 
 CARLE, NOW THE KING 'S COME. 
 
 PAKT SECOND. 
 
 A HA■^\^CK gill of moimtain dew 
 Heised up Auld Reekie's heart I trow ; 
 It minded her of Waterloo — 
 
 Carle, now tlie King's come ! 
 
 Again I heard her summons swell, 
 For, sic a dirdum and a yell, 
 It drown'd Saint Giles's jowing bell — 
 Carle, now the King's come ! 
 
 " My trusty Provost, tried and tight. 
 Stand forward for the Good Town's right, 
 There's waur than you been made a kniglit — ' 
 Carle, now the King's come ! 
 
 " My reverend Clergy, look ye say 
 The best of thanksgivings ye ha'e, 
 And warstle for a sunny day — 
 
 Carle, now the King's come I 
 
 " ISIy Doctors, look that you agree, 
 Cure a' the town without a fee ; 
 My Lawyers, dinna pike a plea — 
 
 Carle, now the King's come ! 
 
 " Come forth, each sturdy Burgher's bairn. 
 That dints on wood, or clanks on aim, 
 That tires the o'en, or winds the pirn — 
 Carle, now the King's come! 
 
 » Mr. Oman, landlord of the "Waterloo Hotel. 6 J^mpty. 
 
 e The Lord Provost had the agreeable surprise to hear his he.ilth pro- 
 posed, at the cine banquet given to George IV. iu the ParliaiiieLt-liouse, as 
 " Sir W'ilUam Arbutluiot, BiL't,"
 
 698 LYRICAL ANI> MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 
 
 " Come forward wrth the Blanket Blue;* 
 Your sires were loyal men and true, 
 As Scotland's foemen oft might rue — 
 
 Carle, now the King's come! 
 
 *' Scots downa loup, and rin, and rave — 
 We're steady folks, and something grave; 
 We 11 keep the causeway firm and brave — 
 Carle, now the King's come 1 
 
 " Sir Thomas,* thunder from your rock," 
 Till Pentland dinnles wi' the shock. 
 And lace wi' fire my snood o' smoke — 
 Carle, now the King 's come ! 
 
 " Melville, bring out your bands of blue, 
 A' Louden lads, baith stout and true, 
 With Elcho, Hope, and Cockburn, too — ^ 
 Carle, now the King's come ! 
 
 " And you, who on yon bluidy braes 
 Compell'd the vanquish'd Despot's praise. 
 Hank out — rank out — my gallant Greys — « 
 Carle, now the King 's come t 
 
 " Cock o' the North, my Himtly bra', 
 Where are you with the Forty-twa P-' 
 Ah ! wae's my heart that ye 're awa' — 
 Carle, now the King 's come ! 
 
 " Tlie Blue Blanket is the standard of the Incorporated Trades of Edin 
 burgh, and is kept by their Convener, " at whose appearance therewith," ob- 
 sen-es Maitland, " 'tis said, that not only the artificers of Edinbui-gh are 
 obhged to repidr to it, bttt all the artificers or craftsmen within Scotland are 
 bound to follow it, and fi^ht under the Convener of Edinburgh as aforesaid." 
 According to an old tradition, this standard was used in the Holy Wars by 
 a body of crusading citizens of Edinburgh, and was the first that was planted 
 on the walls of Jeiusalem, when that city was stormed by the Cliristian array 
 under the famous Godfrey. But the real history of it seems to be this : — 
 James III., a prince who had virtues which the rude age in which he lived 
 could not appreciate, having been detained for nine months, in the Castle of 
 Edinburgh oy his factious nobles, was reUeved by the citizens of Edinburgh, 
 who assaulted the castle and took it by surjjrise; on which occasion James 
 presented the citizen with tlus banner, "with a power to display the same 
 in defence of th^ir king, country, a;id their own rights." — Note to thit 
 stanza in the " Account of the King's Visit," ^c. 8vo. 1822. 
 
 6 Sir Thomas Bradford, then Commander of the Forces in Scotland. 
 
 e Edinburgh Castle. 
 
 <« Lord Melville was Colonel of the Mid-Lothian Yeomanry Cavalry : Sir 
 John Hope of Pinkie, Bart., Major ; and Robert Cockburn, Esq., and Lord 
 Elcho, were Captains in the same corps, to which Sir Walter Scott had for- 
 merly belongecf. 
 
 « The Scots Greys, headed by their gallant Colonel, General Sir James 
 Stewart of Coltness, Bart., were on duty at Edinburgh during the King's 
 visit. Bonaparte's exclamation at Waterloo is well known: "Ces beaux 
 chevaux gris, comme ils tr.avaiUeutl" 
 
 / Marquis of Huntly, who since became the last Duke of Gordon, was 
 Colonel of the 42d Regiment, and died in 1836.
 
 CARLE, NOW THE KING's COMB. 599 
 
 •♦ But yonder come my canty Celts, 
 With durk and pistols at their belts : 
 Thank God, we 've still some plaids and kilts — 
 Carle, now the King's come ! 
 
 ** Lord, how the pibrochs groan and yell 1 
 ISIacdonnell's" ta'en the field himsell ; 
 Macleod comes branking o'er the fell — 
 Carle, now the King's cornel 
 
 " Bend np your bow, each archer spark. 
 For you're to guard hun, light i\nd dark; 
 Faith, lads, for ance ye 've hit the mark — 
 Carle, now the King's cornel 
 
 " Young Errol,'' take the sword of state. 
 The sceptre, Panie-Morarchate;" 
 Knight Mareschal,'' see ye clear the gate — 
 Carle, now the King 's come I 
 
 " Kind cummer, Leith, ye've been mis-set, 
 But dinna be upon the fret — 
 Ye 'se hae the hansel of him yet. 
 
 Carle, now the King's come! 
 
 " My daughters come with een sae blue. 
 Your garlands weave, j-our blossoms strew; 
 He near saw fairer flowers than you — 
 Carle, now the King's cornel 
 
 " What shall we do for the propine ? 
 
 We used to oiler something tine, 
 But ne'er a groat's in pouch of mine — 
 
 Carle, now the King's cornel 
 
 " Deil care — for that I'se never start. 
 We'll welcome him with Highland heart; 
 Whate'er we have he 's get a part — 
 
 Carle, now the King's come ! 
 
 o Colonel Ronaldson MacdonneU of Glengarry — whodied in January 1828. 
 
 6 The Earl of Errol is hereditary Lord High-Constable of Scotland. 
 
 c In more correct Gaelic orthography, Banamhorar-Chat, or the Great 
 L:uly, (Uterally FeinaU Lord of the Chatle), the Celtic title of the Countess 
 of Sutherland. " Evin unto this day, the countrey of Sutherland is yet called 
 Cattey, the inhabitants Cattei,di, aiid the Earl of Sutherland Morweu- Cat- 
 tey, in old Scottish or Irish ; which language the inhabitauts of this countrey 
 doe still use." — Gordo>''s Genealogical History of the Earls of Sutherland, 
 p. 18. It was determined by his Miijesty, that the right of Ciurrying the 
 sceptre lay with this noble family ; and Lord Francis I.eveson Gower, (now 
 Egerton,) second sou of the Countess (aftei-wards Duchess) of Sutherland, 
 was permitted to act as deputy for his mother in that honourable office. 
 After obtaining his Majesty's permission to depart for Dunrobin Castle, his 
 place was supplied by the Honourable John M. Stuart, second sou of the 
 Earl of Moray. 
 
 "* The Author's friend and relation, the late Sir Alexander Keith, of Diin- 
 nottar and Ravelstoue.
 
 (>00 LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECE3. 
 
 " I '11 show him mason-work this day — 
 Nane of your bricks of Babel clay, 
 But towers shall stand till Time 's away — 
 Carle, now the King's cornel 
 
 " 1 11 show him wit, I '11 show him lair, 
 And gallant lads and lasses fair, 
 And what wad kind heart wish for mair ?— 
 Carle, now the King's come I 
 
 " Step out, Sir John," of projects rife, 
 Come win the thanks of an auld wife, 
 And bring him health and length of life — 
 Carle, now the King's come!" 
 
 LINES, 
 
 ADDRESSED TO MONSIEUR ALEXANDRE,* THE CELEI RATED 
 VENTRILOQUIST. 
 
 1824, 
 
 Of yore, in old England, it was not thought good 
 To carry two visages under one hood ; 
 What should folk say to you f who have faces such plenty. 
 That from under one hood, you last night show'd us twenty t 
 Stand forth, arch deceiver, and tell us in truth, 
 Are you handsome or ugly, in age or in youth? 
 Man, woman, or child — a dog or a mouse ? 
 Or are you, at once, each live thing in the house? 
 Each live thing, did I ask ? — each dead implement, too, 
 A work-shop in your person, — saw, chisel, and screw ! 
 Above all, are you one individual ? I know 
 You must be at least Alexandre and Co. 
 But T think you're a troop — an assemblage — a mob, 
 And that I, as the Sheriff, should take up the job ; 
 And instead of rehearsing your wonders in verse, 
 Must read you the Riot- Act, and bid you disperse. 
 AsBOTsroRD, 23(i April. 
 
 " MS. — " Rise up, Sir John, of projects rife, 
 
 And wuss him healtli and lenjiUi of life, 
 And win the thanks of an auld wife." 
 The Right Honourable Sir John Sindair, Bart., author of "The Code of 
 Ilealtli and Longevity," &c. &c. — the WLll-known patron and projector of 
 national and patriotic plans and improvements innumerable, died 21st De- 
 cember 1835, in Lis eighty-second year. 
 
 * " Wlien Monsieur Alexandre, the celebrated ventriloquist was in Scot- 
 land, in 1824, he paid a visit to Abbotsford, wliere he entertained his dislin- 
 puislied host, and the other visitors, with his unrivalled imitations. Next 
 morning, when he was about to depart, Sir Walter felt a good deal embarrassed 
 as to the sort of acknowledgment he should offer; but at length, resolving 
 that it would probably be most agreeable to the young foreigner to be paid 
 in professional coin, if in any, he stepped aside for a fe'v minutes, and, on 
 returning, presented him with this epigram. The reader need hardly be 
 reminded that Sir Walter Seott held the oflice of Sherilf of the county of Sel- 
 kirk." — Scotch tiewspaper,, 1830,
 
 BALLADS, 
 
 TRANSLATED OR IMITATED, 
 
 FEOM THE GEEMAN, 
 
 THE WILD HUNTSMAN. 
 
 This is a translation, or ratlier an imitation of the Wilde Jagre 
 of the German poet Burger. The tradition upon which it is 
 founded hears, that formerly a Wildgrave, or a keeper of a royal 
 forest, named Falkenburg, was so much addicted to the pleasures of 
 the chase, and otherwise so extremely profligate and cruel, that he 
 not only followed this unhallowed amusement on the Sabbath, and 
 other days consecrated to religious duty, but accompanied it with 
 the most unheard-of oppression upon the poor peasants who were 
 under his vassalage. When this second Nimrod died, the people 
 adopted a superstition, founded probably on the many various 
 uncouth sounds heard in the deptli of a German forest, during the 
 silence of the night. They conceived they still heard the cry of 
 the Wildgrave's hounds ; and the well-known cheer of the de- 
 ceased hunter, the sounds of his horses' feet, and the rustling of 
 the branches before the game, the pack, and the sportsmen, are 
 also distinctly discriminated ; but the phantoms are rarely, if ever, 
 visible. Once, as a benighted Chasseur heard this infernal chase 
 pass by him, at the sound of the halloo, with which the Spectre 
 Huntsman cheered his hounds, he could not refrain from crj-ing 
 — " Gluck zu Falkenhurfj I " [Good sport to ye, Falkenburg !] 
 " Dost thou wish me good sport ? " answered a hoarse voice ; — 
 " thou shalt share the game ; " and there was thrown at him what 
 seemed to be a huge piece of foul carrion. The daring Chasseur 
 lost two of his best horses soon after, and never perfectly re- 
 covered the 1 ersonal efiects of this ghostly greeting. This tale, 
 though told with some variations, is universally believed all over 
 Germany. 
 
 The French had a similar tradition concerning an aerial hunter, 
 •who infested the forest of Fountainbleau. He was sometimes 
 visible when he appeared as a huntsman, surrounded with dogs, 
 a tall grisly figure. Some account of him may be foimd in " Sully's 
 Memohs," who says he was called Le Grand Veneur. At one 
 time he chose to hunt so near the palace, that the attendants, 
 and, if I mistake not, Sully himself, came out into the court, 
 supposing it was the sound of the king returning from the chase. 
 This phantom is elsewhere called Saint Hubert. 
 
 The superstition seems to have been very general, as appears 
 from the following fine poetical description of this phantom chase, 
 as it was heard in Che 'wilds of Boss-shire.
 
 602 BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 
 
 "Ere since of old, the haughty thanes of Eoss, — 
 So to the simple swain tradition tclls,^ 
 Were wont with clans, and ready vassals throng'd, 
 To wake the bounding stag, or guilty wolf, 
 There oft is heard, at midnight, or at noon, 
 Beginning faint, but rismg still more loud. 
 And nearer, voice of hunters, and of hounds, 
 And honis, hoarse winded, blowing far and keen :— 
 Forthwith the hubbub multiplies ; the gale 
 Labours with wilder shrieks, and rifer din 
 Of hot pursuit ; the broken cry of deer 
 Mangled by throttling dogs ; the shouts of men, 
 And hoofs, thick beating on the hoUow hill. 
 Sudden the grazing heifer in the vale 
 Starts at the noise, and both the herdsman's ears 
 Tingle with inward dread. Aghast, he eyes 
 The mountain's height, and all the ridges round, 
 Yet not one trace of living wight discerns, 
 Nor knows, o'erawed, and trembling as he stands. 
 To what, or whom, he owes liis idle fear, 
 To ghost, to witch, to fairy, or to fiend ; 
 But wonders, and no end of wondering finds." 
 
 Albania — Reprinted in Scottish 
 Descriptive Poems, pp. 167, 168. 
 
 A posthumous miracle of Father Lesley, a Scottish capuchin, 
 related to his being buried on a hill haunted by these tinearthiy 
 cries of hounds and huntsmen. After his sainted relics had been 
 deposited there, the noise Avas never heard more. The reader 
 ■will tind this, and other miracles, recorded in the life of Father 
 Bonaventura, which is written in the choicest Italian. 
 
 The Wild Huntsman. 
 1796. 
 
 The Wildgrave winds his bugle-horn, 
 To horse, to horse ! — halloo, halloo I 
 
 His fiery courser sniifTs the morn, 
 
 And thronging sei'fs their lord pursue. 
 
 The eager pack, from couples fi-eed, 
 
 Dash through the bush, the brier, the brake ; 
 While answering hound, and horn, and steed. 
 
 The mountain echoes startling wake. 
 
 The beams of God's own hallow'd day 
 Had painted yonder spire with gold. 
 
 And, calling sinful man to pray, 
 
 Loud, long, and deep the beU had toll'd. 
 
 But still the Wildgrave onward rides ; 
 
 Halloo, halloo ! and, hark again 1 
 When, spurring from opposing sides, 
 
 Two Stranger Horsemen join the train.
 
 THE WILD nUNTSMATT. 603 
 
 Who was each Stranger, left and right. 
 
 Well may I guess, but dare not tell : 
 The right-hand steed was silver white. 
 
 The left, the swarthy hue of hell. 
 
 The right-hand Horseman, young and fair, 
 
 His smile was like the morn of May ; 
 The left, from eye of tawny glare. 
 
 Shot midnight lightning's lurid ray. 
 
 He waved his huntsman's cap on high, 
 Cried — " Welcome, welcome, noble lord. 
 
 What sport can earth, or sea, or sky. 
 To match the princely chase, afford ? " — 
 
 " Cease thy loud bugle's changing knell," 
 Cried the fair youth, -vvith silver voice ; 
 
 " And for devotion's choral swell, 
 
 Exchange the rude unhallow'd noise. 
 
 " To-day, the ill-omen'd chase forbear, 
 Yon bell yet smnmons to the fane ; 
 To-day the Warning Spirit hear, 
 To-morrow thou mayst mourn in vain." 
 
 " Away, and sweep the glades along ! " 
 
 The Sable Hunter hoarse replies ; 
 " To muttering monks leave matin-song, 
 
 And bells, and book;?, and mysteries." 
 
 The Wildgrave spurr'd his ardent steed. 
 And, launching forward witli a bound, 
 " Who, for thy drowsy priestlike rede. 
 
 Would leave the jovial horn and hound ? 
 
 " Hence, if our manly sport offend I 
 
 With pious fools go chant and pray : — 
 Well thou hast spoke, my dark-brow'd friend ; 
 Halloo, halloo 1 and, hark away I" 
 
 The Wildgrave spurr'd his courser light. 
 O'er moss and moor, o'er holt and hUl ; 
 
 And on the left and on the right. 
 Each Stranger Horseman follow'd still 
 
 Up springs, from yonder tangled thom, 
 
 A stag more white than mountain snow ; 
 And louder rung the Wildgrave's horn, 
 " Hark forward, foi-ward ! holla, ho ! " 
 
 A heedless wretch has cross'd the way ; 
 
 He gasps the thundering hoofs below ; — 
 But, live who can, or die who may. 
 
 Still, "Forwarci, forward I" on they go.
 
 604 BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN, 
 
 See, where yon simple fences meet, 
 A field with Autumn's blessings crown'J ; 
 
 See, prostrate at the Wildgrave's feet, 
 A husbandman with toil embrown'd : — 
 
 " mercy, mercy, noble lord ! 
 
 Spare the poor's pittance," was his cry, 
 " Earn'd by the sweat these brows have pour'd. 
 
 In scorching hour of fierce July." — 
 
 Earnest the right-hand Stranger pleads, 
 The left still cheering to the prey ; 
 
 The impetuous Earl no warning heeds, 
 But furiot-s holds the onward way. 
 
 " Away, thou hoimd ! so basely bom. 
 
 Or dread the scourge's echoing blow ! " — 
 Then loudly rung his bugle-hom, 
 " Hark forward, forward ! holla, hoi" 
 
 So said, 80 done: — A single bound 
 Clears the poor labourer's humble pale ; 
 
 Wild follows man, and horse, and hovmd, 
 Like dark December's stormy gale. 
 
 And man and horse, and hound and horn. 
 Destructive sweep the field along ; 
 
 While, joying o'er the wasted corn. 
 
 Fell Famine marks the maddening throng. 
 
 Again uproused, the timorous prey 
 
 Scorn's moss and moor, and holt and hill ; 
 
 Hard run, he feels his strength decay. 
 And trusts for life his simple skill. 
 
 Too dangerous solitude appear'd ; 
 
 He seeks the shelter of the crowd ; 
 Amid the flock's domestic herd 
 
 His harmless head he hopes to shroud. 
 
 O'er moss and moor, and holt and hill, 
 His track the steady blood-hc unds trace ; 
 
 O'er moss and moor, unwearied still, 
 The fui-ious Earl pm-sues the chase. 
 
 FuU lowly did the herdsman fall ; — 
 " O spare, thou noble Baron, spare 
 These herds, a widow's little aU — 
 
 These flocks, an orphan's fleecy care ! " — 
 
 Earnest the right-hand Stranger pleads, 
 The left still cheering to tlie prey ; 
 
 Tlie Earl uor prayer nor pitj^ heeds. 
 But furious keeps the onwar I way.
 
 THE WILD HUNTS:«AN'. 605 
 
 "Unnianner'd dog! To stop my sport 
 Vain were thy cant and beggar whine, 
 Though human spirits, of thy sort, 
 Were tenants of these carrion kiiie ! " — 
 
 Again he ■winds his bugle-hom, 
 " Hark forward, forward ! holla, ho ! " — 
 And through the herd, in ruthless scorn, 
 He cheers his furious hounds to go. 
 
 In heaps the throttled victims fall ; 
 
 Dowaa sinks their mangled herdsman near; 
 The murderous cries the stag appal, — 
 
 Again he starts, new-nerved by fear. 
 
 With blood besraear'd, and white with foam, 
 
 AYhile big the tears of anguish pour. 
 He seeks, amid the forest's gloom. 
 
 The humble hermit's hallow'd bower. 
 
 But man and horse, and horn and hounil. 
 Fast rattling on his traces go ; 
 ^ The sacred chapel rung around 
 
 With " Hark away I and, holla, ho ! " 
 
 All mild, amid the rout profane. 
 
 The holy henuit pour'd his prayer : — 
 " Forbear with blood God's house to stain ; 
 Revere his altar, and forbear I 
 
 " The meanest brute has rights to plead. 
 Which, wrong'd by cruelty, or j)ride. 
 Draw vengeance on "the ruthless head ; — 
 Be warn'd at length, and turn aside." 
 
 Still the Fair Horseman anxious pleads ; 
 
 The Black, wild whooping, points the prey :— 
 Alas ! the Earl no warning heeds, 
 
 But frantic keeps the forward way. 
 
 ♦' Holy or not, or right or wrong, 
 Thy altar, and its rites, I spurn ; 
 Not sainted mart}Ts' sacred song, 
 Not God himself, shall make me turn ! " 
 
 He spurs his horse, he winds his horn, 
 " Hark forward, forward ! holla, ho ! " — 
 But off, on wliirlwind's pinions borne. 
 The stag, the hut, the hermit, go. 
 
 And horse and man, and horn and hound. 
 
 And clamour of the chase, was gone; 
 For hoofs, and howls, and bugle-sound, 
 
 A deadly sUence reigu'd alone.
 
 606 BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 
 
 Wild gazed the affrighted Earl around : ^ 
 He strove in vain to wake his horn, 
 
 In vain to call ; for not a sound 
 Could from his anxious lips be borne. 
 
 He listens for his trusty hounds ; 
 
 No distant baying reach'd his ears : 
 His courser, rooted to the ground, 
 
 The quickening spur unmindful bears 
 
 Still dark and darker frown the shades, 
 Dark as the darkness of the grave ; 
 
 And not a sound the still invades, 
 Save what a distant torrent gave. 
 
 High o'er the sinner's humbled head 
 At length the solemn silence broke; 
 
 And, from a cloud of swarthy red, 
 The Sivdui voice of thunder spoke : — 
 
 " Oppressor of creation fair ! 
 
 Apostate Spirits' harden'd tool ! 
 
 Scorner of God 1 scourge of the poor J 
 
 The measure of thy cup is full. 
 
 " Be chased for ever through the wood ; 
 For ever roam the affrighted wild ; 
 And let thy fate instruct the proud, 
 God's meanest creature is his child." 
 
 T was hush'd : — One flash, of sombre glare, 
 With yellow tinged tlie forests brown ; 
 
 Uprose the Wildgrave's bristhng hair, 
 And honor chill'd each nerve and bone. 
 
 Cold pour'd the sweat in freezing rill ; 
 
 A rising wind began to sing ; 
 And louder, louder, louder still. 
 
 Brought storm and tempest on its wing. 
 
 Earth heard the call ;— her entrails rend ; 
 
 From ya-\vning rifts, with many a yell, 
 Mix'd with sulphureous flames, ascend 
 
 The misbegotten dogs of hell. 
 
 What ghastly Huntsman next arose, 
 Well mayl guess but dare not tell; 
 
 His eye like midnight lightning glows. 
 His steed the swarthy hue of hell. 
 
 The Wildgrave flies o'er bush and thorn. 
 With many a shriek of helpless -woe ; 
 
 Behind him "hound, and horse, and liorn. 
 And " Hark away ! and holla, ho 1"
 
 TnE FIRE-KINO. 607 
 
 With wild despair's reverted eye, 
 
 Close, close behind, he marks the throng, 
 
 With bloody fangs and eager cry ; 
 In frantic fear he scours along. — 
 
 Still, still shall last the dreadful chase, 
 
 TiU time itself shall have an end ; 
 By da}', they scour earth's cavem'd space. 
 
 At midnight's witchLng hour, ascend. 
 
 This is the horn, and hound, and horse. 
 
 That oft the lated peasant hears ; 
 Appall'd, he signs the frequent cross. 
 
 When the wild din invades his ears. 
 
 The walieful priest oft drops a tear 
 
 For human pride, for human woe, 
 When, at his midnight mass, he hears 
 
 The infernal cry of " Holla, ho ! " 
 
 THE FIRE-KING. 
 
 "The blessings of the evil Genii, which are curses, were upon him." 
 
 Eastern Tale. 
 1801. 
 
 This Ballad was written at the reqiiest ofMn Lewis, to he inserted 
 in his " Tales of Wonder." It is the thicd in a series of four 
 ballads, on the subject of Ehmentanj Spirits. The story is, tunc- 
 ever, partly historical; for it is recorded, that, during the 
 struggles of the Latin kingdom of Jerusalem, a Knight-Templar, 
 called Saint-Alban, deserted to the Saracens, and defeated the 
 Christia7is in many combats, till he was finally routed and slain, 
 in a confiict with King Baldwin, under the walls of Jerusalem. 
 
 Bold knights and fair dames, to my harp give an ear, 
 Of love, and of war, and of wonder 'to hear; 
 And you haply may sigh, in the midst of your glee, 
 At the tale of Count Albert, and fair Rosalie. 
 
 O see you that castle, so strong and so high? 
 And see you that lady, the tear in her eye ? 
 And see you that palmer, from Palestine's land, 
 The shell on his hat, and the staff in his hand? — 
 
 " Now palmer, grey palmer, tell unto me, 
 What news bring you home from the Holy Coimtrie ? 
 And how goes the warfare by Galilee's strand? 
 And how fare our nobles, the flower of the land ? " — 
 
 " O well goes the warfare by Galilee's wave. 
 For Gilead, and Nablous, and Ramali we have ; 
 And well fare our nobles by Mount Lebanon, 
 For the Heathen have lost, and the Christians have won '
 
 608 BALLADS PKOM THE GERMAN. 
 
 A fair chain of gold 'mid her ringlets there hung ; 
 O'er the palmer's grey locks the fair chain has she flung ; 
 " palmer, grey palmer, this chain be thy fee, 
 For the news thou hast brought from the Holy Countrie. 
 
 " And, palmer, good palmer, by Galilee's wave, 
 O saw ye Count Albert, the gentle and brave f 
 When the Crescent went back, and the Red-cross rush'd on, 
 saw ye him foremost on Mount Lebanon ? " — 
 
 •' lady, fair lady, the tree green it grows ; 
 lady, fair lady, the stream pure it flows ; 
 Your castle stands strong, and your hopes soar on high ; 
 But, lady, fair lady, all blossoms to die. 
 
 *' The green boughs they wither, the thunderbolt falls. 
 It leaves of your castle but levin-scorch'd walls ; 
 The pure stream runs muddy ; the gay hope is gone ; 
 Count Albert is prisoner on Mount Lebanon." 
 
 O she 's ta'en a horse, should be fleet at her speed ; 
 And she 's ta'en a sword, should be sharp at her need ; 
 And she has ta'en shipping for Palestine's land, 
 To ransom Count Albert from Soldanrie's hani 
 
 Small thought had Count Albert on fair Rosalie, 
 Small thought on liis I'iiith, or his knighthood, had he; 
 A heathenish damsel his light heart had won — 
 The Soldan's fair daughter of Mount Lebanon. 
 
 " Christian, brave Christian, my love wouldst thou be, 
 Tln-ee things must thou do ere I hearken to thee : 
 Our laws and our worship on thee shalt thou take ; 
 And this thou shalt first do for Zulema'e sake. 
 
 " And, next, in the cavern, where burns evermore 
 The mystical flame which the Curdmans adore, 
 Alone, and in silence, three nights shalt thou wake ; 
 And this thou shalt next do iov Zulema's sake, 
 
 " And, last, thou shalt aid us with counsel and hand, 
 To drive the Frank robber from Palestine's land ; 
 For my lord and my love then Count Albert I '11 take, 
 When all this is accomplish'd for Zulema's sake." 
 
 He has thrown by his helmet, and cross-handled sword. 
 Renouncing his knighthood, denying his Lord ; 
 He has ta'en the green caftan, and turban put on. 
 For the love of the maiden of fair Lebanon. 
 
 And in the dread cavern, deep, deep under groimd. 
 Which lifty steel gates and steel portals surround. 
 He has watch'd imtil daybreak, but sight saw he none, 
 Save the flame bm-ning bright on its altar of stoue.
 
 THE FIRE-EIXG. 609 
 
 Amazed was the Princess, the Soldan amazed, 
 Sore mumiur'd the priests as on Albert they gazed ; 
 They search'd all his garments, and, imder his weeds. 
 They found, and took from him, his rosary beads. 
 
 Again in the cavern, deep deep under ground. 
 
 He watch'd the lone night, while the winds whistled round ; 
 
 Far off was their murmur, it came not more nigh, 
 
 The flame bum'd unmoved, and nought else did he spy. 
 
 Loud murmur'd the priests, and amazed was the King, 
 While many dark spells of their witchcraft they sing; 
 They search'd Albert's body, and, lo ! on his breast 
 Was the sign of the Cross, by his father impress'd. 
 
 The priests they erase it with care and with pain. 
 And the recreant return'd to the cavem ngain ; 
 But, as he descended, a whisper there fell : 
 It was his good angel, who bade him farewell ! 
 
 High bristled his hair, his heart flutter'd and beat, 
 And he tum'd him five stops, half resolved to retreat; 
 But his heart it was harden'd, his purpose was gone, 
 When he thought of the Maiden of fair Lebanon. 
 
 Scarce pass'd he the archway, the threshold scarce trode. 
 When the winds from the four points of heaven were abroad; 
 Tliey made each steel portal to rattle and ring, 
 And, borne on the blast, came the dread Fire-King. 
 
 Full sore rock'd the cavem whene'er he drew nigh, 
 The fire on the altar blazed bickering and high ; 
 In volcanic explosions the mountains proclaim 
 The dreadful approach of the ]\Ionarch of Flame. 
 
 Unmeasured in height, undistinguish'd in form. 
 His breath it was lightning, his voice it was storm ; 
 I ween the stout heart of Count Albert was tame. 
 When he saw in his terrors the Monarch of Flame. 
 
 In his hand a broad falchion blue-glimmer'd through smoke. 
 And Mount Lebanon shook as the monarch he spoke : 
 *' With this brand shalt thou conqiier, thus long, and no more. 
 Till thou bend to the Cross, and the Virgin adore." 
 
 The cloud-shrouded Arm gives the weapon ; and see ! 
 The recreant receives the charm'd gift on his knee : 
 The thmiders growl distant, and faint gleam the fires. 
 As, borne on the whirlwind, the phantom retires. 
 
 Count Albert has arm'd him the Paynim among. 
 Though his heart it was false, yet his arm it was strong : 
 And the Ked-cross wax'd faint, and the Cresceut cameou. 
 From the day he commanded on iMount Lebauor.. 
 2q
 
 6]0 BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 
 
 From Lebanon's forests to Galilee's wave, 
 
 Tlie sands of Samaar drank the blood of the brave; 
 
 Till the Knights of the Temple, and Knights of Saint JoIiQ 
 
 With Salem's King Baldwin, against him came on. 
 
 The war-cymbals clatter'd, the trumpets replied, 
 The lances were couch'd, and they closed on each side ; 
 And horsemen and horses Count Albert o'erthrew, 
 Till he pierced the thick tumult King Baldwin imto. 
 
 Against the charm'd blade which Count Albert did wield, 
 The fence had been vain of the King's Red-cross sliield ; 
 But a page thrust him forward the monarch before, 
 And cleft the proud turban the renegade wore. 
 
 So fell was the dint, that Count Albert stoop'd low 
 Before the cross'd shield, to his steel saddlebow ; 
 And scarce had he bent to the Red-cross his head, — 
 ** Bonne Grace, Notre Dame ! " he unwittingly said. 
 
 Sore sigh'd the charm'd sword, for its virtue was o'er, 
 It sprung from his grasp, and was never seen more ; 
 But true men have said, that the lightning's red wing 
 Did waft bade the brand to the dread Fire-King. 
 
 He clench'd his set teeth, and his gauntleted hand ; 
 He stretch'd, with one buffet, that Page on the strand; 
 As back from the stripling the broken casque roll'd. 
 You might see the blue eyes, and the ringlets of gold. 
 
 Short time had Count Albert in horror to stare 
 On those death-s^vimming eyeballs, and blood-clotted hair; 
 For down came the Templars, like Cedron in flood, 
 And dyed their long lances in Saracen blood. 
 
 The Saracens, Curdmans, and Ishmaelites yield 
 To the scallop, the saltier, and crossleted shield ; 
 And the eagles were gorged with the intidel dead, 
 From Bethsaida's fountains to Naphthali's head. 
 
 The battle is over on Bethsaida's plain. — 
 Oh, who is yon Paynun lies stretch'd 'mid the slain? 
 And who is yon Page lying cold at his knee? — 
 Oh, who but Count Albert and fair Rosalie 1 
 
 The Lady was buried in Salem's bless'd bound ; 
 The Count he was left to the vulture and hound. 
 Her soul to high mercy Our Lady did bring ; 
 His went on the blast to the di'ead Fire-King. 
 
 Yet many a minstrel, in harping, can tell. 
 How the Red-cross it conquer'd, the Crescent it fell : 
 And lords and gay ladies have sigh'd, 'mid their giee, 
 ^t the tale of Count Albert and fair Rosalie.
 
 FREDERICK AND ALICE. 611 
 
 FREDEKJCK AND ALICE. 
 
 1801. 
 
 This Tale is imitated, rather than translated, from a fragment 
 introduced in Goethe's " Claudina von Villa Bella," where it is 
 sung by a member of a gang of banditti, to engage the attention 
 of the family, while his companions break into the castle. It 
 owes any little merit it may possess to my friend JIr. Lewis, to 
 wJwm it was sent in an extremely rude state ; and who, after some 
 material improvements, published it in his " Tales of Wonder." 
 
 Frederick leaves the land of France, 
 Homeward hastes his steps to measure, 
 
 Careless casts the parting glance 
 On the scene of former pleasure. 
 
 Joying in his prancing steed, 
 
 Keen to prove his untried blade, 
 Hope's gay dreams the soldier lead 
 
 Over mountain, moor, and glade. 
 
 Helpless, ruin'd, left forlorn, 
 
 Lovely Alice wept alone ; 
 Mourn'd o'er love's fond contract torn, 
 
 Hope, and peace, and honoui- flown. 
 
 Mark her breast's convulsive throbs I 
 
 See, the tear of anguish flows ! — 
 Mingling soon with bursting sobs. 
 
 Loud the laugh of frenzy rose. 
 
 Wild she cursed, and wild she pray'd ; 
 
 Seven long days and nights are o'er ; 
 Death in pity brought his aid. 
 
 As the village bell struck four. 
 
 Far from her, and far from France, 
 
 Faithless Frederick onward rides ; 
 Marking, blithe, the morning's glance 
 
 Mantling o'er the mountain's sides. 
 
 Heard ye not the boding sound. 
 
 As the tongue of yonder tower. 
 Slowly, to the hills around, 
 
 Told the fom-th, the fated hour? 
 
 Starts the steed, and snuffs the air, 
 
 Yet no cause of dread appears ; 
 Bristles high the rider's hair, 
 
 Struck with strange mysterious feursi, 
 
 Desperate, as his terrors rise. 
 
 In the steed the spur he liides ; 
 From himself in vain he flies ; 
 
 -Vnxious, restless, on he ridca.
 
 CI 2 BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 
 
 Seven long days, and seven long nights. 
 Wild he wander'd, woe the while ! 
 
 Ceaseless care, and causeless fright, 
 Urge his footsteps many a mile. 
 
 Dark the seventh sad night descend^ ; 
 
 Kivers swell, and rain-streams pour : 
 While the deafening thunder lends 
 
 All the terrors of its roar. 
 
 Wearj', wet, and spent with toil, 
 Where his head shall Frederick hide ? 
 
 WTiere, hut in yon ruin'd aisle. 
 By the lightning's flash descried. 
 
 To the portal, dank and low. 
 Fast Ijis steed the wanderer bound : 
 
 Down S'ruin'd staircase slow, 
 Next his darkling way he wound. 
 
 Long drear vaults before him lie ! 
 
 Glimmering lights are seen to glide I— 
 " Blessed Mary, hear my cry I 
 
 Deign a sinner's steps to guide 1" 
 
 Often lost their quivering beam, 
 Still the lights move slow before. 
 
 Till they rest their ghastly gleam 
 Eight against an iron door. 
 
 Thundering voices from within, 
 Mix'd with peals of laughter, rose; 
 
 As they fell, a solemn strain 
 Lent its ■wild and wondrous close I 
 
 Midst the din, he seem'd to hear 
 Voice of friends, by death removed ; 
 
 Well he knew that solemn air, 
 'Twas the lay that Alice loved. — 
 
 Hark ! for now a solemn knell 
 Four times on the still night broke ; 
 
 Four times, at its deaden'd swell, 
 Echoes from the ruins spoke. 
 
 As the lengthen'd clangours die, 
 Slowly opes the iron door ! 
 
 Straight a banquet met his eye. 
 But a funeral's form it wore I 
 
 Coffins for the seats extend ; 
 
 All with black the board was spread ; 
 Girt by parent, brother, friend, 
 
 I-iong since number'd with the dead I
 
 THE BATTLE OP SEMPACH. 613 
 
 Alice, in her grave-clothes bound. 
 
 Ghastly smiling, points a seat ; 
 All arose, with thundering sound — 
 
 All the expected stranger greet. 
 
 High their meagre arms they wave, 
 Wild their notes of welcome swell ; — • 
 " Welcome, traitor, to the grave ! 
 Perjured, bid the light farewell !" 
 
 THE BATTLE OF SEMPACH. 
 
 1818. 
 These verses are a literal translation of an ancient Swiss 
 Ballad upon the battle of Sempach, fought 9th July 138(3, being 
 the victory by which the Swiss Cantons established their inde- 
 pendence ; the author, Albert Tchudi, denominated the Souter, 
 from his profession of a shoemaker. He was a citizen of Lucerne, 
 esteemed highly among his countrymen, both for his powers as 
 a Meister-Singer, or minstrel, and his courage as a soldier; so 
 that he might share the praise conferred by CoUins on .(Eschylus, 
 thaU- 
 
 " JCot alone lie nursed the poet's flame, 
 
 But reach'd from Virtue's hand the patriot steel." 
 
 The circtmistance of their being -\vritten by a poet returning 
 from the weU-fought field he describes, and in which his country's 
 fortune was secured, may confer on Tchudi's verses an interest 
 which they are not entitled to claim from their poetical merit. 
 But ballad poetrj', the more literally it is translated, the more it 
 loses its simplicity, without acquiring either grace or strength ; 
 and, therefore, some of the faults of the verses must be imputed to 
 the translator's feeling it a duty to keep as closely as possible to 
 his original. The various puns, rude attempts at pleasantry, and 
 disproportioned episodes, must be set down to Tchudi's account, 
 or to the taste of his age. 
 
 The military antiquary will derive some amusement from the 
 minute particulars which the martial poet has recorded. The 
 mode in which the Austrian men-at-arms received the charge of 
 the Swiss, was by forming a phalanx, which they defended with 
 their long lances. The gallant Winkelreid, who sacrhiced his own 
 life by rushing among the spears, clasping in his arms as many 
 as he could grasp, and thus opening a gap in those iron battalions, 
 is celebrated in Swiss histoi-y. When fairly mingled together, 
 the tmwieldy length of their weapons, and ciunbrous weight of 
 their defensive armour, rendered tlie Austrian men-at-arms a very 
 unequal match for the light-armed moimtaineers. The victories 
 obtained by the Swiss over the German cliivab}-, hitherto deemed 
 as formidable on foot as on horseback, led to important changes 
 m the art of war. The poet describes the Austrian knights and 
 sqtiires as cuttmg the peaks from their boots ere they could act 
 upon foot, in allusion to «m inconvenient piece of foppery, often 
 mentioned in the middle ages. Leopold IIL, Archduke of Aus- 
 tria, called " The handsome man-at-anus," was slaiu in the Battle 
 of Sempach, with the flower of lus chivalry.
 
 CI 4 BALLADS FROM THE GERMAK. 
 
 The Battle of Sempach. 
 
 Twas when among our linden-trees 
 
 The bees had housed in swarms, 
 (And grey-hair'd peasants say that theso 
 
 Betoken foreign arms.) 
 
 Then look'd we down to Wiliso-sr, 
 
 The land was all in flame ; 
 We knew the Archduke Leopold 
 
 With all his army came. 
 
 The Austrian nobles made their vow. 
 So hot their heart and bold — 
 *• On Switzer carles we'll trample now, 
 And slay both young and old." 
 
 With clarion loud, and banner proud. 
 
 From Zurich on the lake. 
 In martial pomp and fair array, 
 
 Their onward march they make. 
 
 ** Now list, ye lowland nobles all — 
 Ye seek the mountain strand, 
 Nor wot ye what shall be your lot 
 In such a dangerous land. 
 
 " I rede ye, shrive ye of your sins, 
 Before j-e farther go ; 
 A skirmish in Helvetian hills 
 May send your souls to woe." — 
 
 " But where now shall we find a priest 
 
 Our shrift that he may hear ? " — 
 " The Switzer priest" has ta'en the fielil. 
 
 He deals a penance drear. 
 
 " Eight heavily upon your head 
 He '11 lay his hand of steel ; 
 And with his trusty partisan 
 Your absolution deal." — 
 
 Twas on a Jlonday morning then, 
 
 The corn was steep'd in dew. 
 And merrj' maids had sickles ta'en. 
 
 When the host to Sempach drew. 
 
 The stalwart men of fair Lucerne 
 
 Together have they joined ; 
 The pith and core of manhooa stem. 
 
 Was none cast looks behind, 
 
 a All tlie Swiss clergy who were able to bear arms fought in tlds patriotic 
 war.
 
 THE BATTLE OF SEMPACn. 615 
 
 It was the Lord of Hare-castle, 
 And to the Duke he said, 
 " Yon little band of brethren true 
 Will meet us undismayed." — 
 
 " O Hare-castle, ° thou heart of hare !" 
 
 Fierce Oxenstem replied. — 
 •* Shalt see then how the game will fare," 
 
 The taunted knight replied. 
 
 There was lacing then of helmets bright, 
 
 And closing ranks amain ; 
 The peaks they hew'd from their boot-points 
 
 Might wellnigh load a wain. * 
 
 And thus they to each other said, 
 
 " Yon handful down to hew 
 Will be no boastful tale to tell. 
 
 The peasants are so few." — 
 
 The gallant Swiss Confederates there 
 
 They pray'd to God aloud, 
 And he display'd his rainbow fair 
 
 Against a swarthy cloud. 
 
 Then heart and pulse throbb'd more and moro 
 
 With courage firm and high, 
 And do-»-n the good Confederates bore 
 
 On the Austrian chivaliy. 
 
 The Austrian Lion " 'gan to growl, 
 
 And toss his mane and tail ; 
 And ball, and shaft, and crossbow bolt, 
 
 Went whistling forth like hail. 
 
 Lance, pike, and halbert, mingled there, 
 
 The game was nothing sweet ; 
 The boughs of many a stately tree 
 
 Lay shiver'd at their leet. 
 
 The Austrian men-at-arms stood fast, 
 
 So close their spears they laid ; 
 It chafed the gallant Winkelreid, 
 
 Who to lus comrades said — 
 
 " I have a virtuous wife at homo, 
 A wife and Infant son ; 
 
 <• In tlie original, Ilaasenstein, or Hare-stone. 
 
 *■ Tliis seems to alluile to tlie preposterous fashion, during tlie middle a<;es, 
 of wearing boots with the points or peal<s turned upwards, and so long, that 
 in some cases they were fastened to the knees of the wearer with small 
 cliains. When tl)ey aliglited to light upon foot, it would seem that tlie Aus- 
 trian gentlemen found it necessary to cut off these peaks, that they might 
 move with the necessary activity. 
 
 « A pvui on the Arciiduke's name, Leopold.
 
 616 BALLADS FROM THE GERMAX 
 
 I leave them toTny country's care, — 
 This field shall soon be won. 
 
 " These nobles lay their spears right thick. 
 And keep full firm array, 
 Yet shall my charge their order break. 
 And make my brethren way." 
 
 He rush'd against the Austrian band. 
 
 In desperate career, 
 And Avith his body, breast, and hand, 
 
 Bore down each hostile spear. 
 
 Four lances splinter'd on his crest. 
 
 Six shiver'd in his side ; 
 Still on the serried files he press'd — ■ 
 
 He broke their ranks, and died. 
 
 This patriot's self devoted deed 
 
 First tamed the Lion's mood, 
 And the four forest cautons freed 
 
 From thraldom by his blood. 
 
 Right where his charge had made a lane, 
 
 His valiant comrades bm'st, 
 With sword, and axe, and partisan, 
 
 And hack, and stab, and thrust. 
 
 The daunted Lion 'gan to whine. 
 
 And granted ground amain, 
 The Mountain Bull" he bent his brows, 
 
 And gored his sides again. 
 
 Then lost was banner, spear, and shield. 
 
 At Sempach in the flight, 
 The cloister vaults at Konig's-field 
 
 Hold many an Austrian knight. 
 
 It was the Archduke Leopold, 
 
 So lordly would he ride, 
 But he came against the Switzer churls. 
 
 And they slew him in his pride. 
 
 The heifer said unto the bull — 
 " And shall I not complain ? 
 There came a foreign nobleman 
 To milk me on the plain. 
 
 " One thrust of thine outrageous horn 
 
 Has gall'd the knight so sore, 
 
 That to the churchyard he is borne 
 
 To range our glens no more." 
 
 " L puu on the Ueus, or wild-bull, whicli gives name to the Canton of 
 Uri.
 
 THE BATTLE OP SEMPACH. 617 
 
 An Austrian noble left the stour, 
 
 And fast the flight 'gan take ; 
 And he arrived in luckless hour 
 
 At Sempach on the lake. 
 
 He and his squire a fisher call'd, 
 (His name was Hans Von Rot,) 
 " For love, or meed, or charity, 
 Eeceive us in thy boat ! " 
 
 Their anxious call the fisher heard. 
 
 And, glad the meed to ■\\'in. 
 His shallop to the shore he steer'd. 
 
 And took the flyers in. 
 
 And while against the tide and wind 
 
 Hans stoutly row'd his way, 
 The noble to liis follower sign'd 
 
 He should the boatman slay. 
 
 The fisher's back was to them tum'd. 
 
 The squire his dagger drew, 
 Hans saw his shadow in the lake, 
 
 The boat he overthrew. 
 
 He 'whelm'd the boat, and as they strove. 
 He stunn'd them with his oar — 
 " Now, drink ye deep, my gentle sirs. 
 You'll ne'er stab boatman more. 
 
 " Two gilded fishes in the lake 
 This morning have I caught. 
 Their silver scales may much avail 
 Their caiTion flesh is naught." 
 
 It was a messenger of woe 
 Has sought the Austrian land : 
 " Ah ! gracious lady, evil news I 
 My lord lies on the strand. 
 
 " At Sempach, on the battle-field, 
 
 His bloody corpse lies there." — 
 "Ah, gracious God!" the lad}' cried, 
 " What tidings of despair ! " 
 
 Xow would you know the minstrel wiglit 
 
 ^^^lo sings of strife so stem, 
 Albert the Souter is he hight, 
 
 A burgher of Lucerne. 
 
 A merry man was he, I wot. 
 
 The night he made the lay. 
 Returning trom the bloody s]iot 
 
 Where God had judged the day.
 
 018 35ALLADS FROM THE GEKMAIf. 
 
 THE NOBLE MORINGEE. 
 1819. 
 
 The original of these verses occurs in a collection of German 
 popular songs, entitled, SammJung Beutschen VolksUeder, Berlin, 
 Ij^UT, published by Messrs Busching and Von Der Hagen, both, 
 and more especially the last, distinguished for their acquainta ■\ce 
 with tlie ancient popular poetiy and legendarj' historj^ of Germany. 
 
 In the German Editor's notice of the ballad, it is "stated to have 
 been extracted from a manuscript Chronicle of Nicolaus Thomann, 
 chaplain to Saint Leonard in Weisenliorn, which boars the date 
 lo33 ; and tlie song is stated by the author to have been generally 
 sung in tlie neiglibourhood at that early period. Thomann, as 
 quoted by the German Editor, seems faithfully to have believed 
 the event he nanates. He quotes tombstones and obituaries to 
 prove the existence of the personages of the ballad, and discovers 
 tiiat there actually died, on the 11th May 1349, a Lady Von 
 Keuffen, Countess of IMarstetten, who was, by birth, of the house 
 of Jloringer. This lady lie supposes to have been Moringer's 
 daughter, mentioned in tlie ballad. He quotes the same authority 
 for tlie death of Bercldiold Von Neuffen, in the same j-ear. Tlie 
 editors, on the whole, seem to embrace the opinion of Professor 
 Smith of Ulm, who, from the language of the baUad, ascribes ita 
 date to the loth century. 
 
 The legend itself turns on an incident not peculiar to Germany, 
 and which, perhaps, was not unlikely to happen m more instances 
 than one, when Crusaders abode long in the Holy Land, and their 
 disconsolate dames received no tidings of their fate. A story, very 
 similar in circumstances, but witiiout the miraculous machinery 
 of Saint Thomas, is told of one of the ancient Lords of Haigh-hall 
 in Lancashire, the patrimonial inheritance of the late Countess of 
 Balcarras; and the particulars are represented on stained glass 
 upon a window in that ancient manor-house." 
 
 The Noble Moringer. 
 
 I. 
 
 0, AVTLL you hear a knightly tale of old Bohemian day? 
 
 It was the noble Moringer in wedlock bed he lay; 
 
 He liaised and kiss"d his dearest dame, that was as sweet as IMay, 
 
 And said, " Now, lady of my heart, attend the words I say. 
 
 IL 
 
 " 'Tis I have vow'd a pilgrimage unto a distant shrine, 
 
 And I must seek Saint Thomas-land, and leave the land that's 
 
 mine ; 
 Here shalt tliou dwell the while in state, so thou wilt pledge thy 
 
 fay, 
 That thou for my return wilt wait seven twelvemonths and a day." 
 
 n See iiitrouuctioa to Du Betrothed, Waverley Novels, vol. xxxrit.
 
 THE NOBLE MORINGER. 61 9 
 
 III. 
 
 Then out and spoke that Lady bright, sore troubled in her cheer, 
 " Xow tell me true, thou noble knight, what order takest thou here; 
 And who shall lead thy vassal band, and hold thy lordly sway, 
 And be thy lady's guardian true when thou art far away ? " 
 
 IV. 
 
 Out spoke the noble Jloringer, " Of that have thou no care. 
 There's many a valiant gentleman of me holds living fair; 
 The trustiest shall nxle my land, my vassals and my state, 
 And be a guardian tried and true to thee, my lovely mate. 
 
 V. 
 
 'As Christian man, I needs must keep the vow which I have 
 
 plight, 
 Wlien I am far in foreign land, remember thy true knight ; 
 And cease, my dearest dame, to grieve, for vain were sorrow now. 
 But grant thy Moringer his leave, since God hath heard his vow." 
 
 VI. 
 
 It was the noble IMoringer from bed he made him bonne. 
 And met him there his Chamberlain, with ewer and witli go-\vn: 
 He fiung the mantle on his back, 'twas furrd with miniver, 
 He dipp'd his hand in water cold, and bathed his forehead fair. 
 
 VII. 
 
 " Now hear," he said, " Sir Chamberlain, true vassal art thou mine. 
 And such the trust that I repose in that proved worth of thine, 
 For seven years shall then rule my towers, and lead my vassal 
 
 train. 
 And pledge thee for my Lady's faith till I return again." 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The Chamberlain was blunt and true, and sturdily said he, 
 
 * Abide, my lord, and rule yortr own, and take this rede from me ; 
 
 That woman's faith's a brittle trust — Seven twelvemonths, didst 
 
 thou say ? 
 I '11 pledge me for no lady's truth beyond the seventh fair day." 
 
 IX. 
 
 The noole Baron tnrn'd him round, his heart was full of care. 
 His gallant Esquire stood him nigh, he was Marstetten's heir, 
 To wliom he spoke right anxiously, " Thou trusty squire to me, 
 Wilt thou receive this weighty trust when I am o'er the sea ? 
 
 X. 
 
 "To watch and ward my castle strong, and to protect my land. 
 And to the hunting or the host to lead my vassal band ; 
 And pledge thee for my Lady's faith tUl seven long years are gone, 
 And guard her as Our Lady dear was guarded by Saint John?" 
 
 XL 
 
 Marstetten's heir was kind and true, but fiery, hot, and young. 
 And readily he answer made with too presiunptuous tongue :
 
 620 BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 
 
 " My noble lord, cast care away, and on your journey wend, 
 And trust tliis charge to me until j'our pUgrimage have end. 
 
 XII. 
 
 " Rely upon my plighted faith, which shall be truly tried, 
 
 To guard your lands, and ward your towers, and with your vassals 
 
 ride; 
 And for your lovely Lady's faith, so virtuous and so dear, 
 I '11 gage my head it knows no change, be absent thirty year." 
 
 XIII, 
 
 The noble Moringer took cheer when thus he heard him speak, 
 And doubt forsook his troubled brow, and sorrow left his cheek ; 
 A long adieu he bids to aU — hoists topsails, and away. 
 And wanders in Saint Thomas-land seven twelve-months and a 
 day. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 It was the noble Moringer within an orchard slept, 
 When on the Baron's slumbering sense a boding vision crept; 
 And whisper'd in his ear a voice, " 'T is time, Sir Knight, to wake. 
 Thy lady and thy heritage another master take ; 
 
 XV. 
 
 "Thy tower another banner knows, thy steeds another rein, 
 And stoop tliera to another's will thy gallant vassal train ; 
 And she, the Lady of thy love, so faithful once and fair, 
 This night within thy father's hall she weds Marstetten's heir." 
 
 XVI. 
 
 It is the noble Moringer starts up and tears his beard, 
 
 "0 would that I had ne'er been bom! — what tidings have I 
 
 heard ! — 
 To lose my lordship and my lands the less would be my care, 
 But, God ! that e'er a squire untrue should wed my lady fair. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 " good Saint Thomas, hear," he pray'd ; " my patron Saint art 
 
 thou, 
 A traitor robs me of my land, even while I pay my vow I 
 Jly wife he brings to infamy, that was so pure of name, 
 And J am far in foreign land, and must endure the shame." 
 
 xvin. 
 
 It was the good Saint Thomas, then, who heard his pilgrim's 
 
 prayer. 
 And sent a sleep so deep and dead that it o'erpower'd his care ; 
 He waked in fair Bohemian land, outstretch'd beside a riU, 
 High on the right a castle stood, low on the left a mill. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 The Jloringer he started up as one from spell unbound, 
 And dizzy with surprise and joy gazed wildly all aroimd;
 
 THE NOBLE MORINGER. 621 
 
 " I know mj' fathers' ancient towers — the mill, the stream 1 
 
 know ; — 
 Now blessed be my patron Saint, who cheer'd his pilgrim's woe I " 
 
 XX. 
 
 He leant upon his pilgrim staii", and to the mill he drew. 
 So alter'd was his goodly form that none their master knew ; 
 The Baron to the miller said, " Good friend, for charity. 
 Tell a poor palmer in your land what tidings may there be ?" 
 
 XXI. 
 
 The miller answered him again, " He knew of little news, 
 Save that the Lady of the land did a new bridegroom choose ; 
 Her husband died in distant land, such is the constant word. 
 His death sits heavy on our souls, he was a worthy Lord. 
 
 XXIL 
 
 " Of him I held the little mill which wins me living tree, 
 God rest the Baron in his grave, he still was kind to me ! 
 And -when Saint Martin's tide comes round, and millers take their 
 
 toll, 
 The priest that prays for Moringer shall have both cope and stole." 
 
 XXHL 
 
 It was the noble Moringer to climb the hill began, 
 
 And stood before the bolted gate a woe and weary man ; 
 
 " ^Jow help me, everj'' saint in heaven that can compassion take, 
 
 To gain the entrance of my hall this woful match to breali." 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 His verj' knock it sounded sad, his call was sad and slow. 
 For heart and head, and voice and hand, were heavy all with woe ; 
 And to the warder thus he spoke : " Friend, to thy Lady say, 
 A pilgrim from Saint Thomas-land craves harbour for a day. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 " I 've wander'd many a weary step, my strength is wellnigh done, 
 And if she tui'n me from her gate I'll see no morrow's sim ; 
 I iiray, for sweet Thomas' sake, a pilgrim's bed and dole. 
 And for the sake of Moriuger's, her once-loved husband's soul." 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 It was the stalwart warder then he came his dame before, — 
 "A pilgi-im, worn and travel-toil'd, stands at the castle-door; 
 And prays, for sweet Saint Thomas' sake, for harliour anil for dole, 
 Aud tor the sake of Moringer, thy noble husband's soul." 
 
 XXVIL 
 
 The Lady's gentle heart was moved ; — " Do up the gate," she said, 
 " And bid the wanderer welcome be to banquet and to bed ; 
 And since he names my husband's name, so that he lists to stay. 
 These towers shall be his harbourage a twelvemonth and a dav."
 
 622 BALLADS PROM THE GERMAN, 
 
 IXVIII. 
 
 It was the stalwart warder then undid the portal broad. 
 
 It was the noble Moringer that o'er the threshold strode ; 
 
 "And have thou thanks, kmd heaven," he said, "though from a 
 
 man of sin, 
 That the true lord stands here once more his castle-gate within." 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Then up the haUs paced Moringer, his step was sad and slow ; 
 It sat full heavy on his heart, none seem'd their Lord to know ; 
 He sat him on a lowly bench, oppress'd with woe and wrong, 
 Short space he sat, but ne'er to him seem'd little space so long. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Now spent was day, and feasting o'er, and come was evening hour. 
 The time was nigh when new-made brides retire to nuptial bower; 
 " Our castle's wont," a brides-man said, " hath been both firm and 
 
 long. 
 No guest to harbour in our haUs till he shall chant a song." 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Then spoke the youthful bridegroom there, as he sat by the brido, 
 "My merry minstrel folk," quoth he, "lay shalm and harp aside; 
 Our pilgrim guest must sing a lay, the castle's rule to hold. 
 And well his guerdon will I pay with garment and with gold." 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 " Chill flows the lay of frozen age," — 't was thus the pilgrim sung, — 
 " Nor golden meed nor garment gay, unlocks his heavy tongue ; 
 Once did I sit, thou bridegroom gay, at board as rich as thine, 
 And by my side as fair a bride, with all her charms was mine. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 " But time traced furrows on my face, and I grew silver-hair'd, 
 For locks of brown, and cheeks of youth, she left this brow and 
 
 beard ; 
 Once rich, but now a palmer poor, I tread life's latest stage, 
 And mingle with your bridal mirth the lay of frozen age. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 It was the noble Lady there this woful lay that hears. 
 
 And for the aged pilgrun's grief her eye was dimm'd with tears ; 
 
 She bade her gallant cupbearer a golden beaker take. 
 
 And bear it to the palmer poor, to quaif it for her salie. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 It was the noble IMoringer that dropp'd amid the wine 
 A bridal ring of burning gold so costly and so fine: 
 Now listen, gentles, to my song, it tells you but the sooth, 
 'T was with that verj' ring of gold he pledged his bridal truth, 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Then to the cupbearer he said, " Do me one kindly deed. 
 
 And sliould my better days return, lull rich shall be thy meed;
 
 THE NOBLE MORINGEB. 623 
 
 Bear back the golden cup again to yonder bride so gav, 
 And crave her of her courtesy to pledge the palmer grey." 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 The cupbearer was courtly bred, nor was the boon denied, 
 
 The golden cup he took again, and bore it to the bride ; 
 
 " Lady," he said, " your reverend guest sends this, and bids me 
 
 pray. 
 That, in thy noble courtesy, thou pledge the palmer grey." 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 The ring hath caught the Lady's eye, she views it close and near, 
 Then might you hear her shriek aloud " The Moringer is here ! " 
 Then might you see her start from seat, while tears in torrents fell, 
 But whether 'twas for joy or woe, the ladies best can tell. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 But loud she utter'd thanks to Heaven, and every saintly power. 
 That had returu'd the Moringer before the midnight hour ; 
 And loud she utter'd vow on vow, that never was there bride. 
 That had like her preserved her troth, or been so sorely tried. 
 
 XL. 
 
 " Yes, here I claim the praise," she said, " to constant matrons due, 
 Who keeps the troth that they have plight, so stedfastly and true; 
 For count the term howe'er you will, so that you count aright. 
 Seven twelvemonths and a day are out when beUs toll twelve to- 
 night.' 
 
 XLL 
 
 It was Marstetten then rose up, his falchion there he drew, 
 lie kueel'd before the Moringer, and down his weapon tlirew ; 
 " My oath iuid knightly laith are broke," tliese were the words he 
 
 said, 
 " Then take, my liege, thy vassal's sword, and take thy vassals 
 
 head." 
 
 XLII. 
 
 The noble Moringer he smiled, and then aloud did say, 
 
 " He gathers wisdom that hath roam'd seven twelvemonths and a 
 
 day; 
 My daughter now hath fifteen years, fame speaks her sweet and 
 
 fair, 
 I give her for the bride you lose, and name her for my heir. 
 
 XLIIL 
 
 " The yoimg bridegroom hath youthful bride, the old bridegroom 
 
 the old, 
 Whose taith was kept till term and tide so punctually were told ; 
 But blessings on the warder kind that oped my castle gate. 
 For had 1 come at morrovi' tide, I came a day too late."
 
 MmSTKELSY OF THE SCOTTISH BOEDER. 
 
 IMITATIONS OF THE ANCIENT BALLAD. 
 
 THOMAS THE RHYMER. 
 
 IN THREE PAKTS. 
 
 Few personages are so renowned in tradition as Thomas of 
 Ercildouue, known by the appellation of The Rhymer. Uniting, 
 or supposing to unite, in his person, the powers of poetical compo- 
 sition, and of vaticination, his memory, even after the lapse of tive 
 hundred years, is regarded with veneration by his coimtrjinen. 
 To give anything like a certain history of this remarkable man 
 would be indeed difficult ; but the curious may derive some satis- 
 faction from the particulars here brought together. 
 
 It is agreed on all hands, that the residence, and probably the 
 birthplace of this ancient bard, was Ercildoune, a village situated 
 upon the Leader, two miles above its junction with the Tweed 
 The ruins of an ancient tower are still pointed out as the Rhymer's 
 Castle. The uniform tradition bears, that his surname was Ler- 
 mont, or Leai-mont ; and that the appellation of The Rhymer was 
 conferred on him in consequence of his poetical compositions. 
 There remains, nevertheless, some doubt upon the subject. 
 
 We are better able to ascertain the period at which Thomas of 
 Ercildoune lived, being the latter end of the thirteenth centurj'. 
 
 That Thomas of Ercildoune was a remarkable and important 
 person in his own time, cannot be doubted, since, very shortly 
 after his death, we find him celebrated as a prophet and as a poet. 
 Whether he himself made any pretensions to the first of these cha- 
 racters, or whether it was gi-atuitously conferred upon him by the 
 credulity of posterity, it seems difficult to decide. Whatever 
 doubts the learned might have, as to the source of the Rhymer's 
 prophetic skill, the vulgar had no hesitation to ascribe the whole 
 to th:; intercourse between the bard and the Queen of Faery. The 
 popular tale bears, that Thomas was carried off, at an early age, 
 to the Fairy Land, where he acquired all the knowledge, which 
 made him afterwards so famous. After seven years' residence, he 
 was permitted to return to the earth, to enlighten and astonish his 
 coimtrymen by his prophetic powers ; still, however, remaining 
 bound to retium to his royal mistress, when she should intimate 
 her pleasure. Accordingly, while Thomas was making merry 
 with his friends in the Tower of Ercildoune, a person came running 
 in, and told, with marlts of fear and astonishment, that a hart and 
 hind had left the neighbouring forest, and were, composedly and 
 slowly, parading the street of the village. The prophet instantly 
 arose, left his habitation, and followed the wonderful animals to
 
 THOMAS THE RHYMER. 625 
 
 the forest, -whence he was never seen to return. According to 
 the popular belief, he still " drees his weird " in Fairj' Land, and 
 is one day expected to revisit earth. In the meanwhile, his 
 memory is held in the most profound respect. The Eildon Tree, 
 from beneath the shade of which he delivered his prophecies, r.ow 
 no longer exists ; but the spot is marked by a large stone, called 
 Eildon Tree Stone. A neighbouring rivulet takes the name of 
 the Bogle Biu-n (Goblin Brook) from the Rhymer's supernatural 
 visitants. 
 
 Thomas the Rhtjier, 
 
 paet first. 
 
 Ancient. 
 
 True Tho^ias lay on Himtlie bank;" 
 
 A ferlie he spied wi' his ee ; 
 And there he saw a ladye bright, 
 
 Come riding down by the Eildon Tree. 
 
 Her shirt was o' the grass-green silk, 
 
 Her mantle o' the velvet fyne ; 
 At ilka tett of her horse's mane, 
 
 Himg fifty siller bells and nine. 
 
 True Thomas he pull'd aflp his cap. 
 And louted low down to his knee, 
 " All hail, thou mighty Queen of Heaven ! 
 For thy peer on earth I never did see." — 
 
 " no, no, Thomas," she said, 
 " That name does not belang to me ; 
 T am but the Queen of fair Elfland, 
 That am hither come to visit thee. 
 
 " Harp and carp, Thomas," she said ; 
 " Harp and carp along wi' me ; 
 And if ye dare to kiss my lips, 
 Sure of your bodie I wll be." — 
 
 " Betide me weal, betide me woe, 
 
 That weird shall never daunton me." — 
 Syne he has kiss'd her rosy lips. 
 All underneath the Eildon Ti-ee. 
 
 " Now, ye maun go wi' me," she said ; 
 " True Thomas, ye maim go wi' me ; 
 And ye maun serve me seven years, 
 
 Thro' weal or woe as may chance to be." 
 
 o Hniitly Bank, and the adjoining ravine, called, from immemorial tradi. 
 tioii. The Ithtjmer's Gkn, were uitmiately included in the domain of .\btjls. 
 ford. 
 
 2b
 
 626 SCOTTISH BALLAD3. 
 
 She mounted on her milk-white steed ; 
 
 She's ta'en true Thomas up behind* 
 And aye, whene'er her bridle rung, 
 
 The steed flew swifter than the wind 
 
 they rade on, and farther on ; 
 
 The steed gaed swifter than the wind ; 
 Until they reach'd a desert wide. 
 
 And living land was left behind. 
 
 " Light down, light down, now, true Thomaa^ 
 And lean your head upon my knee ; 
 Abide and rest a little space. 
 And I will shew you ferlies three. 
 
 " see ye not yon narrow road. 
 
 So thick beset with thorns and briers ? 
 That is the path of righteousness, 
 Though after it but few enquires, 
 
 " And see ye not that braid braid road. 
 That lies across that lily leven ? 
 That is the path of wickedness. 
 Though some call it the road to heaven. 
 
 " And see not ye that bonny road. 
 That wiuds about the fernie brae ? 
 That is the road to fair Elfland, 
 
 Where thou and I this night maun gae. 
 
 " But, Thomas, ye maun hold your tongue, 
 Whatever ye may hear or see ; 
 For, if ye speak word in Elflyn land, 
 
 Ye'll ne'er get back to your ain countrie." 
 
 O they rade on, and farther on. 
 
 And they waded through rivers aboon the knee, 
 And they saw neither sun nor moon. 
 
 But they heard the roaring of the sea. 
 
 It was mirk mirk night, and there was nae stern light. 
 And they waded through red blude to the Imee; 
 
 For a' the blude that's shed on earth 
 Rins tlirough the springs o' that countrie. 
 
 Syne they came on to a garden green, 
 
 And she pu'd an apple frae a tree — " 
 
 " Take this for thy wages, true Thomas ; 
 
 It wUl give thee the tongue that can never lie." — . 
 
 « The traditionary commentary upon this ballad informs ns that the apple 
 WHS the produce of tlie fatal Tree of Knowledste, and that the garden was 
 the terrestrial Paradise. The repugnance of Thomas to be debarred the uao 
 of falsehood, when he might find it convenient, has a comic effect
 
 THOMAS THE RHTMEB. 627 
 
 " My tongue is mine ain," true Thomas said ; 
 " A gudely gift ye wad gie to me ! 
 I neither dought to buy nor sell, 
 At fair or trj-st where I may be. 
 
 " I dought neither speak to prince or peer. 
 
 Nor ask of grace from fair ladye." — 
 •* Now hold thy peace ! " the lady said, 
 " For as I say, so must it be." — 
 
 He has gotten a coat of the even cloth. 
 
 And a pair of shoes of velvet green ; 
 And till seven years were gane and past, 
 
 True Thomas on earth was never seen. 
 
 TH03IAS THE RhTMER. 
 PART SECOXD. 
 
 Altered from Ancient Prophecies. 
 
 When seven years were come and gane, 
 The sun blink'd fair on pool and stream ; 
 
 And Thomas lay on Huntlie bank, 
 Like one awalcen'd from a dream. 
 
 He heard the trampling of a steed. 
 
 He saw the flash of armour flee. 
 And he beheld a gallant knight 
 
 Come riding dowTi by the Eildon Tree. 
 
 He was a stalwart knight, and strong ; 
 
 Of giant make he 'peared to be : 
 He stirr'd his horse, as he were wode, 
 
 Wi' gilded spurs, faushion free. 
 
 Says — " Well met, well met, true Thomas ! 
 
 Some uncouth ferlies show to me.'" — 
 Says — " Christ thee save, Corspatrick brave ! 
 
 Thrice welcume, good Dunbar, to me 1 
 
 " Light down, light down, Corspatrick brave ' 
 And I will show thee curses tliree. 
 Shall gar fair Scotland greet and grane. 
 And change the green to the black livery. 
 
 " A storm shall roar this very hour, 
 From Ross' hills, to Solway sea." — 
 
 •* Te lied, ye lied, ye warlock hoar 1 
 
 YoT the sun sliines sweet on fauld and lee."- 
 
 He put his hand on the Earlie's head ; 
 He show'd him a rock beside the ses.
 
 628 SCOTTISH BALLADS. 
 
 Where a king lay stiff beneath his steed," 
 And steel-dlght nobles wiped their ee. 
 
 " The neist curse lights on Branxton hills : 
 By Flodden's high and heathery side 
 Shall wave a banner red as blude, 
 And chieftains throng wi' meikle pride. 
 
 " A Scottish King shall come full keen. 
 
 The ruddy lion beareth he ; 
 A feather'd arrow sharp, I ween, 
 
 Shall make him wink and warre to sea. 
 
 " "When he is bloody, and all to bledde. 
 Thus to his men he stiU shall say — 
 
 ' For God's sake, turn ye back again. 
 
 And give yon southern folk a fray ! 
 TThy should I lose, the right is mine ? 
 My doom is not to die this day.' * 
 
 " Yet turn ye to the eastern hand. 
 And woe and wonder ye sail see ; 
 How forty thousand spearmen stand, 
 Where yon rank river meets the sea. 
 
 " There shall the lion lose the gylte. 
 
 And the libbards bear it clean away ; 
 At Pinkyn Cleucli there shall be spilt 
 Much gentil bluid that day." — 
 
 *' Enough, enough, of curse and ban ; 
 Some blessings show thou now to me. 
 Or, bjy' the faith o' my bodie," Corspatrick said, 
 " Ye shall rue the day ye e'er saw me I " — 
 
 " The first of blessings I shall thee show, 
 Is by a burn, that's call'd of bread ; " 
 '\Miere Saxon men shall tine the bow, 
 And find their arrows lack the head. 
 
 " Beside that brigg, out ower that bum. 
 
 Where the water bickereth bright and sheen. 
 Shall many a fallen courser spurn, 
 And knights shall die in battle keen. 
 
 a King Alexander, killed by a fall from liia horse, near Kingliorn. 
 '' The uncertainty which long prevailed in Scotland, concerning the fate 
 James IV., is well known. 
 
 ' One of Thomas's rhymes, preserved by tradition, runs thus — 
 " The bum of breid, 
 Shall run fow reid." 
 B annock-burn is the brook here meant. The Scots ,<;ive the name of bannock 
 to a thick round cake of unleavened bread.
 
 THOMAS THE BHYMEB. 629 
 
 " Beside a headless cross of stone, 
 
 The libbards there shall lose the gree ; 
 The raven shall come, the erne shall go, 
 
 And drink the Saxon bluid say free. 
 The cross of stone they shall not know. 
 
 So thick the corses there shall be." — 
 
 " But tell me now," said brave Dunbar, 
 " True Thomas, tell now unto me, 
 TVTiat man shall rule the isle Britain, 
 Even from the north to the southern sea ? " — 
 
 "A French Queen shall bear the son, 
 Shall rule all Britain to the sea ; 
 He of the Bruce's blood shall come. 
 As near as in the ninth degree. 
 
 '" The waters worship shall his race ; 
 
 Likewise the waves of the farthest sea ; 
 For they shall ride over ocean wde, 
 
 With hempen bridles, and horse of tree." 
 
 Thomas the Ehymek. 
 
 pakt third. 
 
 Modem. 
 When seven years more were come and gone. 
 
 Was war through Scotland spread. 
 And Euberslaw show'd high Dunyon" 
 
 His beacon blazing red. 
 
 Then all by bonny Coldingknow,* 
 
 Pitch'd palliouns took their room. 
 And crested helms, and spears a-rowe. 
 
 Glanced gaily through the broom. 
 
 The Leader, rolling to the Tweed, 
 
 Resounds the ensenzie ;" 
 They roused the deer from Caddenhead, 
 
 To distant Torwoodlee.<* 
 
 • Ruberslaw and DunyoB, are two hills near Jedburgh. 
 
 * An ancient tower near Ercildoiine, belonging to a family tf the name 
 of Home. One of Thomas's prophecies is Siiid to have run thus — 
 
 "Vengeance! vengeance: when and where? 
 Ou the house of Coldingknow, now and ever mair ! " 
 The spot is rendered clnssical by its having given name to the beautiful 
 melody called the Broom o' the Cowdcnkiiotvs, 
 
 Eruenzie— Wax-cry, or gathering word. 
 
 <* Torwoodlee and Caddenhead are places in Selkirkshire ; both the pro- 
 perty of Mr. Pringle of Torwoodlee.
 
 630 500TTISH BALI/ADS. 
 
 The feast was spread in Ercildoune, 
 In Learmont's high and ancient hall : 
 
 And there were knights of great renown. 
 And ladies, laced in pall. 
 
 Nor lacked they, while they sat at dine. 
 
 The music nor the tale. 
 Nor goblets of the blood-red wine 
 
 Nor mantling quaighs" of ale. 
 
 Tnie Thomas rose, with harp in hand, 
 
 When as the feast was done : 
 (In minstrel strife, in Fairy Land, 
 
 The elfin harp he won.) 
 
 Hush'd were the throng, both limb and ton;rcL':^ 
 
 And harpers for envy pale ; 
 And armed lords lean'd on their swords, 
 
 And hearken'd to the tale. 
 
 In numbers high, the witching tala 
 
 Tlie prophet pour'd along ; 
 No after bard might e'er avail 
 
 Those numbers to prolong. 
 
 Yet fragments of the lofty strain 
 
 Float down the tide of years, 
 As, buoyant on the stormy main, 
 
 A parted wreck appears. 
 
 He sung King Arthur's Table Round : 
 
 The Warrior of the Lake ; 
 How coiu-teous Gawaine met the woimd, 
 
 And bled for ladies' sake. 
 
 But chief, in gentle Tristrera's praise, 
 
 The notes melodious swell ; 
 Was none excelled in Arthur's days. 
 
 The linight of LioneUe. 
 
 For Marke, his cowardly xmcle's rights 
 
 A venom'd wound he bore ; 
 When fierce Morholde he slew in fight, 
 
 Upon the Irish shore. 
 
 No art the poison might withstand ; 
 
 No medicine could be found. 
 Till lovely Isolde's lily hand 
 
 Had probed tlie rankling wound. 
 
 With gentle hand and soothing tongue 
 
 She bore the leech's part ; 
 And, while she o'er his sick-bed hung, 
 
 He paid her with his heart. 
 
 o Qiiaight — Wooden cups, comnosed of staves hooped together.
 
 THOMAS THE RHTMEa. 631 
 
 fatal was the gift, I -ween ! 
 
 For, doom"d in evil tide. 
 The maid must be rude Cornwall's queen. 
 
 His covrardlv uncle's bride. 
 
 Their loves, their woes, the gifted bard 
 
 In fairy tissue wove ; 
 "Where lords, and knights, and ladies bright, 
 
 In gay confusion strove. 
 
 Tlie Garde Joyeuse, amid the tale, 
 
 High rear'd its glittering head ; 
 And Avalon's enchanted vale 
 
 In all its wonders spread. 
 
 Brang^-ain was there, and Segramore, 
 
 And fiend-bom Merlin's gramarye ; 
 Of that famed wizard's mighty lore, 
 
 who could sing but he ? 
 
 Through many a maze the winning song 
 
 In changefiil passion led. 
 Till bent at length the listening throng 
 
 O'er Tristrem's dying bed. 
 
 His ancient wounds their scars expand. 
 
 With agony his heart is wrmig : 
 where is Isolde's lilye hand. 
 
 And where her soothing tongue ? 
 
 She comes I she comes 1 — like flash of flame 
 
 Can lover's footsteps fly : 
 She comes 1 she comes ! — she only caiue 
 
 To see her Tristrem die. 
 
 She saw him die ; her latest sigh 
 
 Join'd in a kiss his parting breath ; 
 The gentlest pair, that Britain bare, 
 
 United are in death. 
 
 There paus'd the harp : its lingering sound 
 
 Died slowly on the ear; 
 The silent guests still bent around 
 
 For still they seem'd to hear. 
 
 Then woe broke forth in murmurs weak : 
 
 Nor ladies heaved alone the sigh ; 
 But, half ashamed, the rugged cheek 
 
 Did many a gauntlet dry. 
 
 On Leader's stream, and Learmont's tov er, 
 
 The mists of evening close ; 
 Id camp, in castle, or in bower, 
 
 F.ach warrior sought repose.
 
 632 SCOTTISH BALLADS. 
 
 Lord Douglas, in his lofty tent, 
 Dream'd o'er the woful tale ; 
 
 When footsteps light, across the bent. 
 The ■warrior's ears assaiL 
 
 He starts, he wakes — " What, Richard, ho I 
 
 Arise, my page, arise 1 
 What venturous \vight, at dead of night. 
 
 Dare step where Douglas lies I " — 
 
 Then forth they rush'd : by Leader's tide, 
 A selcouth" sight they see — 
 
 A hart and hind pace side by side, 
 As white as snow on Fairnalie.* 
 
 Beneath the moon, with gesture proud. 
 They stately move and slow ; 
 
 Nor scare they at the gathering crowd, 
 Who marvel as they go. 
 
 To Learmont's tower a message sped. 
 
 As fast as page might run ; 
 And Thomas started from his bed. 
 
 And soon his clothes did on. 
 
 First he woxe pale, and then woxe red ; 
 Never a word he spake but three : — 
 " My sand is run ; my thread is spun ; 
 This sign regardeth me." 
 
 The elfin harp his neck around, 
 In minstrel guise, he hung ; 
 
 And on the wind, in doleful sound. 
 Its dying accents rung. 
 
 Then forth he went ; yet tum'd him oft 
 
 To view his ancient hall : 
 On the grey tower, in lustre soft. 
 
 The autumn moonbeams fall ; 
 
 And Leader's waves, like silver sheen. 
 Danced shimmering in the ray ; 
 
 In deepening mass, at distance seen. 
 Broad Soltra's mountaias lay. 
 
 " Farewell, my fathers' ancient tower ! 
 A long farewell," said he : 
 The scene of pleasure, pomp, or power. 
 Thou never more shalt be. 
 
 <» Selcouth — ^Wondrous. 
 • Ac ancient seat upon the Tweed, in Selkirkshire
 
 GLEJfFIXLAS. 633 
 
 "To Learmont's name no foot of earth 
 Shall here again belong, 
 And, on thy hospitable hearth, 
 The hare shall leave her young. 
 
 " Adieu 1 adieu!" again he cried, 
 
 All as he tum'd him roun' — 
 •* Farewell to Leader's silver tide I 
 
 Farewell to Ercildoune!" 
 
 The hart and hind approach'd the place, 
 
 As lingering yet he stood ; 
 And there, before Lord Douglas' face, 
 
 With them he cross'd the flood. 
 
 Lord Douglas leap'd on his berry-brown steed. 
 
 And spurr'd him the Leader o'er ; 
 But, though he rode with lightning speed. 
 
 He never saw them more. 
 
 Some said to hiU, and some to glen. 
 
 Their wondrous course had been ; 
 But ne'er in haunts of living men 
 
 Again was Thomas seen. 
 
 GLENFINLAS; 
 
 OK, 
 
 LORD RONALD'S CORONACH." 
 
 The simple tradition upon which the following stanzas are 
 founded, runs thus : — While two Highland hunters were passing 
 the night in a solitary hothy, (a hut built for the purpose of hunt- 
 ing,) and making merry over their venison and whisky, one of 
 them expressed a wish that they had pretty lasses to complete 
 their party. The words were scarcely uttered, when two beauti- 
 ful young women, habited in green, entered the hut, dancing 
 and singing. One of the himters was seduced by the siren who 
 attached herself particularly to him, to leave the hut : the other 
 remained, and, suspicious of the fair seducers, continued to play 
 upon a trump, or Jew's harp, some strain consecrated to the 
 Virgin Mary. Day at length came, and the temptress vanished. 
 Searching in the forest, he found the bones of his unfortunate 
 friend, who had been torn to pieces and devoured by the fiend 
 into whose toils he had follen. The place was from thence called 
 the Glen of the Green Women. 
 
 Glentinlas is a tract of forest-ground, lying in the Highlands of 
 Perthshire, not far from Callender in Jtenteith. It was formerly 
 a royal forest, and now belongs to the Earl of Moray. This 
 
 o Coronach is the lamentation for a deceased warrior, sung by the aged 
 
 of the dull.
 
 634 SCOTTISH BALLABS. 
 
 country, as well as the adjacent district of Balquhidder, was, in 
 times of yore, chiefly inhabited by the Macgregors. To the west 
 of the Forest of Glenfinlas lies Loch Katrine, and its romantic 
 avenue, called the Trosachs. Benledi, Benmore, and Benvoir- 
 lich, are mountains in the same district, and at no great distance 
 from Glenfinlas. The river Teith passes Callender and the Castle 
 of Doune, and joins the Forth near Stirling. The pass of Lenny 
 is immediately above Callender, and is the principal access to the 
 Highlands, from that town. Glenartney is a forest near Benvoir- 
 lich. The whole forms a sublime tract of Alpine scenery. 
 
 Glenfinlas; 
 
 OH, 
 
 Lord Ronald's CoRONAcn. 
 
 * For them the viewless forms of air obey, 
 
 Tlieir bidding heed, and at their beck repair; 
 
 They know what spirit brews the stormful day, 
 
 And lieartless oft, like moody madness stare, 
 
 INS. 
 
 To see the phantom-train their secret work prepare. 
 
 C01.L 
 
 " HONE a rie' ! hone a rie' ! <• 
 The pride of Albin's line is o'er, 
 And fall'n Glenartney's stateliest tree; 
 We ne'er shall see Lord Ronald more I " — 
 
 O, sprung from great IMacgillianore, 
 
 The chief that never fear'd a foe. 
 How matchless was thy broad claj^more, 
 
 How deadly thine unerring bow I 
 
 Well can the Saxon widows tell,* 
 How, on the Teith's resounding shore. 
 
 The boldest Lowland warriors fell. 
 As down from Lenny's pass you bore. 
 
 But o'er his hills, in festal day. 
 How blazed Lord Ronald's beltane-tree," 
 
 While j'outbs and maids the light strathspey 
 So nimbly danced with Highland glee ! 
 
 Cheer'd by the strength of Ronald's shell, 
 E'en age forgot his tresses hoar ; 
 
 " hone a rie' signifies — " Alas for the prince or chief." 
 
 * The term Sassenach, or Saxon, is appUed by the Highlanders to their 
 Low-Country neighbours. 
 
 ' The fires lighted by the Highlanders, on the first of May, in compli- 
 ance with a custom derived from the Pagan times, are termed The Beltane- 
 tree. It is a festival celebrated with various superstitioia rites, both in tho 
 north of Scotland and in Walea.
 
 GLENFIXLAS. bij 
 
 r 
 
 But now the loud lament we swell, 
 O ne'er to see Lord Konald move 1 
 
 From distant isles a cbieftain came, 
 
 The joys of Ronald's halls to find, 
 And cliase with him the dark-brown game, 
 
 That bounds o'er Albin's hills of wind. 
 
 Twas Moy; whom in Columba's isle 
 
 The seer's prophetic spirit found,^ 
 As with a minstrel's fire the while. 
 
 He waked his harp's harmonious sound. 
 
 Full many a spell to him was known. 
 Which wandering spirits shrink to hear ; 
 
 And manj' a lay of potent tone, 
 Was never meant for mortal ear. 
 
 For there, 'tis said, in mystic mood. 
 High converse with the dead they hold. 
 
 And oft espy the fated shroud 
 That shall the future corpse enfold. 
 
 so it fell, that on a day, 
 To rouse the red deer from their den, 
 
 The chiefs have ta'en their distant way, 
 And scoured the deep Glenfinlas' glen. 
 
 No vassals wait their sports to aid. 
 
 To watch their safety, deck their board ; 
 
 Their simple dress, the Highland plaid. 
 Their trusty guard, the Highland sword. 
 
 Three siunmer days, through brake and dcll, 
 Their whistling shafts successful flew ; 
 
 And still, when dewy evening fell. 
 The quariy to their hut they drew. 
 
 In grey Glenfinlas' deepest nook 
 
 The solitary cabin stood, 
 Fast by Moneira's sullen brook, 
 
 Which munnurs through that lonely wood. 
 
 Soft fell the night, the sky was calm. 
 When tliree successive days had flown ; 
 
 And summer mist in dewy balm 
 
 Steep 'd heathy bank, and mossy stone. 
 
 The moon, half hid in silverj' flakes, 
 
 Afar her dubious radiance shed, 
 Quivering on Katrine's distant lakes, 
 
 And resting on Benledi's head. 
 
 I See Note 1 of the "Kotes to Glentinlas" in the Appendix. Tl;e 
 fig;ure9 of reference lUrougliout tbe poem relate to further Notes iu the 
 Appendix.
 
 636 SCOTTISH BALLADS. 
 
 « 
 
 Now in their hut, in social guis^ 
 Their silvan fare the chiefs enjoy ; 
 
 And pleasui-e laughs Ln Ronald's eyes, 
 As many a pledge he quaffs to Moy. 
 
 " What lack we here to crown our bliss. 
 While thus the pulse of joy beats high? 
 AVhat, but fair woman's jnelding kiss. 
 Her panting breath and melting eye ? 
 
 *' To chase the deer of yonder shades. 
 This morning left their father's pile 
 The fairest of our mountain maids. 
 The daughters of the proud Glengj'le, 
 
 " Long have I sought sweet Mary's heart, 
 And dropp'd the tear, and heaved the sigh : 
 But vain the lover's mlj' art. 
 Beneath a sister's watchful eye. 
 
 " But thou may'st teach that guardian fair, 
 While far with Mary I am flown, 
 Of other hearts to cease her care. 
 And find it hard to guard her own. 
 
 " Touch but thy harp, thou soon shalt see 
 The lovely" Flora of Glengyle, 
 UnmLadful of her charge and me. 
 Hang on thy notes, 'twist tear and smile. 
 
 " Or, if she choose a melting tale. 
 
 All underneath the greenwood bough. 
 Will good St Oran's rule prevaO,^ 
 Stem huntsman of the rigid brow? " — 
 
 " Since Enrick's fight, since Moma's death. 
 No more on me shall rapture rise. 
 Responsive to the panting breath. 
 Or yielding kiss, or melting eyes. 
 
 " E'en then, when o'er the heath of woe, 
 Where sunk my hopes of love and fame, 
 I bade my harp's wild wailing's flow, 
 On me'the Seer's sad spirit came. 
 
 " The last dread curse of angry heaven, 
 "With ghastly sights and sounds of woej 
 To dash each glimpse of joy was given — 
 The gift, the future ill to know. 
 
 " The bark thou saw'st yon summer mom^ 
 So gaily part from Oban's bay, 
 My eye beheld her dash'd and torn, 
 "far on the rocky Colonsay.
 
 GLEN'FINLAS. f)37 
 
 •* Thy Fergus two — thy sister's son, 
 
 Thou saw'st, with pride, the gallant's power, 
 As marcliing 'gainst the Lord of Downe, 
 He left the skirts of huge Bemnore. 
 
 " Thou only saw'st their tartans " wave, 
 As down Benvoirlich's side they wound, 
 Heardst but the pibroch,'' answering brave 
 To many a target clanking round. 
 
 " I heard the groans, I mark'd the tears, 
 I saw the wound his bosom bore, 
 When on the serried Saxon spears, 
 He pour'd his clan's resistless roar. 
 
 " And thou, who bidst me think of bliss, 
 And bidst my heart awake to glee. 
 And court, like thee, the wanton kiss — 
 That heart, Ronald, bleeds for thee ! 
 
 " I see the death-damps chill thy brow ; 
 I hear thy Warnhig Spirit cry ; 
 The corpse-lights dance— they're gone, and now . . . 
 No more is given to gifted eye 1 " 
 
 " Alone enjoy thy dreary dreams, 
 Sad prophet of the evil hour ! 
 Say, should we scorn joy's transient beams, 
 Because to-morrow's storm may lour ? 
 
 * Or false, or sooth, thy words of woe, 
 
 Clangillian's Chieftain ne'er shall fear ; 
 His blood shall bound at rapture's glow. 
 Though doom'd to stain the Saxon spear, 
 
 " E'en now, to meet me in yon dell, 
 Mj' Mary's buskins brush the dew." 
 He spoke, nor bade the Chief farewell, 
 But called hia dogs and gay withdrew. 
 
 Within an hour retmm'd each hound ; 
 
 In rush'd the rousers of the deer ; 
 They howl'd in melancholy sound, 
 
 Then closely couch'd beside the Seer. 
 
 No Ronald j-et ; though midnight came. 
 And sad were Moy's prophetic diearas. 
 
 As, bending o'er the' dying flame. 
 
 He fed the watch-fire's quivering gleams. 
 
 a Tartdiu— The full HigUand dress, made of the chequered stuii so 
 tenripfl. 
 
 ' tibrock -A piece of martial music, adapted to the Highland bugpipe.
 
 638 SCOTTISH BALLADS. 
 
 Sudden the hounds erect their ears. 
 And sudden cease their moaning ho'iA 1 ; 
 
 Close press'd to Moy, they mark their ieai-a 
 By shivering limbs and stifled growl. 
 
 Untouch'd, the harp began to ring, 
 As softly, slowly, oped the door ; 
 
 And shook responsive every string, 
 As light a footstep press'd the floor. 
 
 And by the watch-fire's glimmering light, 
 
 Close by the minstrel's side was seen 
 An huntress maid, in beauty bright. 
 
 All dropping wet her robes of green- 
 All dropping wet her garments seem ; 
 
 Chill'd was her cheek, her bosom bare. 
 As, bending o'er the dying gleam. 
 
 She rung the moisture from her hair. 
 
 With maiden blush, she softly said — 
 " gentle huntsman, hast thou seen. 
 In deep Glenfinlas' moonlight glade, 
 A lovely maid in vest of green : 
 
 " With her a Chief in Highland pride ; 
 His shoulders bear the hunter's bow, 
 The mountain dirk adorns his side, 
 Far on the wind his tartans flow ? "— 
 
 " And who art thou ? and who are they ? " 
 All ghastly gazing, Moy replied : 
 
 " And why, beneath the moon's pale ray. 
 Dare ye thus roam Glenfinlas' side"? " 
 
 " Where wild Loch Katrine pours her tide, 
 Blue, dark, and deep, round many an iile. 
 Our father's towers o'erhang her side. 
 The castle of the bold Glengyle. 
 
 " To chase the dun Glenfinlas deer, 
 
 Our woodland coiu-se this morn we bore. 
 And haply met, while wandering here. 
 The son of great Magillianore. 
 
 " aid me, then, to seek the pair. 
 
 Whom, loitering in the woods, I lost ; 
 Alone I dare not venture there. 
 Where walks, they say, the shrieking ghost* 
 
 *• Yes, many a shrieking ghost walks there ; 
 Then, first, my own sad vow to keep, 
 Here will I pour my midnight prayer, 
 
 Which stiU must rise when mortals sleep." —
 
 G1ENFINLA8. 630 
 
 * first, for pity's gentle sake, 
 
 Guide a loae wanderer on her way I 
 For I must cross the hunted brake. 
 And reach my father's towers ere day."— 
 
 " First, three times tell each Ave-bead, 
 And thrice a pater-noster say ; 
 Then kiss, with me the holy rede ; 
 So shall we safely wend our way." — 
 
 " shame to knighthood, strange and foul! 
 Go, doff the bonnet from thy brow, 
 And shroud thee in the monldsh cowl. 
 Which best befits thy sullen vow. 
 
 •• Xot so, by high Dunlathmon's fire. 
 Thy heart was froze to love and jor. 
 When gaily rung thy raptur'd IjTe 
 To wanton Moma's melting eye." 
 
 Wild stared the minstrel's eyes of flames 
 
 And high his sable locks arose. 
 And quick his colour went and came. 
 
 As fear and rage alternate rose. 
 
 " And thou! when by the blazing oak 
 I lay, to her and love resign'd. 
 Say, rode ye on the eddying smoke. 
 Or sail'd ye on the midnight wind ? 
 
 " Not thine a race of mortal blood. 
 Nor old Glengyle's pretended line ; 
 Thy dame, the Lady of the Flood — 
 Thy sire, the Monarch of the mine." 
 
 He mutter'd thrice St Oran's rhyme. 
 And thrice St FUlan's powerful prayer; 
 
 Then turn'd him to the eastern clime. 
 And sternly shook his coal-black hair. 
 
 And, bending o'er his harp, he flung 
 
 His Avildest ■\vitch-notes on the wind : 
 And loud, and high, and strange, they rung^ 
 
 As many a magic change they find. 
 
 Tall wax'd the Spirit's altering form. 
 
 Till to the roof her stature grew ; 
 Then, mingling with the rising storm. 
 
 With one wild yell away she flew. 
 
 Rain beats, hail rattles, whirlwinds tear: 
 
 The slender hut in fragments flew ; 
 But not a lock of Floy's loose hah 
 
 Was waved by wind, or wet by dew.
 
 640 SCOTTISH BALLADS. 
 
 "Wild mingling with the howling gale, 
 Loud bursts of ghastly laughter rise ; 
 
 High o'er the minstrel's head they sail. 
 And die amid the northern skies. 
 
 The voice of thunder shook the wood, 
 As ceased the more than mortal yell ; 
 
 And, spattering foul, a shower of blood 
 Upon the hissing firebrands fell. 
 
 Kext dropp'd from high a mangled arm ; 
 
 The fingers strain'd an half-drawn blade i 
 And last, the life-blood streaming warm, 
 
 Tom from the trunk, a gasping head. 
 
 Oft o'er that head, in battling field, 
 
 Stream'd the proud crest of high Benmore ; 
 
 That arm the broad claymore could wield. 
 Which dyed the Teith with Saxon gore. 
 
 Woe to IMoneira's sullen riUs ! 
 
 Woe to Glenfinlas' dreary glen ! 
 There never son of Albin's hills 
 
 Shall draw the hunter's shaft again ! 
 
 E'en the tired pilgrim's burning feet 
 At noon shall shun that sheltering den. 
 
 Lest, journeying in their rage, he meet 
 The wayward Ladies of the Glen. 
 
 And we — behind the Chieftain's shield, 
 ISTo more shall we in safety dwell ; 
 
 None leads the people to the field — 
 And we the loud lament must swell. 
 
 O hone a rie' ! hone a rie' ! 
 
 The pride of Albin's line is o'er ! 
 And fall'n Glenartney's stateliest tree ; 
 
 We ne'er shall see Lord Ronald more! 
 
 THE EVE OF ST JOHN. 
 
 S^rAYLHo'jiE, or Smailholm Tower, the scene of the following 
 ballad, is situated on the northern boundary of Roxburghshire.'^ 
 among a cluster of wild rocks, called Sandilinow Crags, the pro- 
 perty of Hugh Scott, Esq. of Harden, [now Lord Polwarth.] 
 
 The Baron of Smaylho'me rose with day. 
 
 He spurr'd his courser on, 
 Without stop or stay, doivn the rocky way, 
 
 That leads to Brotherstone.
 
 TUE EYE OF ST JOU.S. 641 
 
 He -went not Tvitli the bold Buccleucli, 
 
 His banner broad to rear ; 
 He went not 'gainst the English yew 
 
 To lift the Scottish spear. 
 
 Tet his plate-jack" was braced, and his helmet was laced. 
 
 And his vaunt-brace of proof he wore ; 
 At his saddle-gerthe was a good steel sperthe, 
 
 Full ten pound weight and more. 
 
 The Baron retum'd in three days' space, 
 
 And his looks were sad and sour ; 
 And weary was his courser's pace, 
 
 As he reach 'd his rocky tower. 
 
 He came not from where Ancram Moor^ 
 
 Ran red with English blood ; 
 Where the Douglas true, and the bold Buccleuch 
 
 'Gainst keen Lord Evers stood. 
 
 Tet was his helmet hack'd and hew'd, 
 
 His acton pierced and tore. 
 His axe and his dagger with blood imbrued, — 
 
 But it was not English gore. 
 
 He lighted at the Chapellage, 
 
 He held him close and still ; 
 And he whistled thrice for bis little foot page, 
 
 EQs name was English WUl. 
 
 " Come thou hither, my little foot-page. 
 Come hither to my knee ; 
 Though thou art young, and tender of age, 
 I thank thou art In-ue to me. 
 
 " Come, tell me all that thou hast seen. 
 And look thou tell me true ! 
 Since I from Smaylho'me tower have been, 
 What did thy lady do ? "— 
 
 " My lady, each night, sought the lonely light. 
 That bums on the wild Watcliibld ; 
 For, from height to height, the beacons bright 
 Of the English foemen told. 
 
 " The bittern clamour'd from the moss, 
 The wind blew loud and shrUl ; 
 Yet the craggy pathway she did cross 
 To the eky Beacon HilL 
 
 » The plate-jaek is coat-armour; the vaunt-hrace, or wam-brace, ainiour 
 for the body ; the sperthe, a battle-axe. 
 
 1 See Note 1 of the " Notes to The Eve op St John " in the Appendix. 
 Tlie figures of reference throughout the poem relate to further Notes iu the 
 Appendix. 
 
 2s
 
 642 SCOTTISH PALIiADS. 
 
 " I watch'd her steps, and silent came 
 Where she sat her on a stone ; — 
 No ■watchman stood by the dreary flame, 
 It burned all alone. 
 
 " The second night I kept her in sight, 
 Till to the fire she came, 
 And, by Mary's might ! an Armed Knight 
 Stood by the lonely flame. 
 
 " And many a -word that warlike lord 
 Did speak to my lady there ; 
 But the rain fell fast, and loud blew the blast, 
 And I heard not what they were. 
 
 " The third night there the sky was fair. 
 And the mountain-blast was still. 
 As again I watch'd the secret pair, 
 On the lonesome Beacon Hill, 
 
 " And I heard her name the midnight hour. 
 And name this holy eve ; 
 And say, ' Come this night to thy lady's bower ; 
 Ask no bold Baron's leave. 
 
 " ' He lifts his spear with the bold Buccleuch ; 
 His lady is all alone ; 
 The door she'll undo, to her knight so true. 
 On the eve of good St John.' — 
 
 " ' I cannot come ; I must not come ; 
 I dare not come to thee ; 
 On the eve of St John I must wander alone ; 
 In thy bower I may not be.' — 
 
 •' ' Now, out on thee, faint-hearted knight ! 
 Thou shouldst not say me nay ; 
 For the eve is sweet, and when lovers meet. 
 Is worth the whole summer's day. 
 
 " * And 111 chain the blood-hound, and the warder sflail not 
 sound, 
 And rushes shall be strew'd on the stair ; 
 So, by the black rood-stone," and by holy St John, 
 I conjure thee, my love, to be there I' — 
 
 " • Though the blood-hound be mute, and the rush beneath my 
 foot. 
 And the warder his bugle should not blow, 
 Yet there sleepeth a priest in the chamber to the east, 
 And my footstep he would know.' — 
 
 « The black-rood of Melrose was a crucifix of black marble, and of sape- 
 riot euuctity.
 
 THE EVE OF ST JOHN. 643 
 
 " ' fear not the priest who sleepeth to the east ! 
 For to Dryburgh the way he has ta'en ; 
 And there to say mass, till three days do pass, 
 For the soul of a knight that is slaj-ne.' — 
 
 • He tum'd him around, and grimly he frown 'd ; 
 Then he laugh'd right scornfully — 
 He who says the mass-rite for the soul of that knight, 
 May as weU say mass for me : 
 
 -' 'At the lone midnight hour, when bad spirits have power, 
 In thy chamber will I be.' — 
 With that he was gone, and my lady left alone, 
 And no more did I see." 
 
 Then changed, I trow, was that bold Baron's brow, 
 From the dark to the blood-red high : 
 " Now, tell me the mien of the knight thou hast seen, 
 For, by Mary, he shall die I " 
 
 " His arms shone full bright, in the beacon's red light ; 
 His plume it was scarlet and blue ; 
 On his shield was a hound, in a silver leash bound, 
 And his crest was a branch of the yew." — 
 
 " Thou liest, thou liest, thou little foot-page, 
 Loud dost thou lie to me 1 
 For that knight is cold, and low laid in the mould. 
 All under the Eildon Tree." — " 
 
 •' Yet hear but my word, mj' noble lord ! 
 For I heard her name his name ; 
 And that lady bright, she called the knight 
 Sir Richard of Coldinghame." — 
 
 The bold Baron's brow then changed, I trow. 
 From high blood-red to pale — 
 " The grave is deep and dark, and the corpse ia stiff and 
 stark ; 
 So I may not trust thy tale. 
 
 " "Where fair Tweed flows roimd holy Melrose, 
 And Eildon slopes to the plain, 
 Full three nights ago, by some secret foe. 
 That gay gallant was slain. 
 
 " The varying light deceived thy sight. 
 And the wild winds drown'd the name ; 
 For the Dryburgh bells ring, and tlie white monks do sing, 
 For Sir Richard of Coldinghame I" 
 
 o Eildon Is a high hill, terminating in three conioal summits, immediately 
 above tlie town of Melrose, where are the admired ruins of a magniticent 
 monastery. Eildon Tree is said to be the spot wliere Thomas the Rhjmer 
 . uttered his prophecies.
 
 6-14 SCOTTISH BALLADS. 
 
 He pass'd the court-gate, and he oped the tower gate, 
 
 Aud he mounted the narrow stair, 
 To the bartizan-seat, where, with maids that on her wait. 
 
 He found his lady fair. 
 
 That lady sat in mournful mood ; 
 
 Look'd over hill and vale ; 
 Over Tweed's fair flood, and Mertoun's wood, 
 
 And all down Teviotdale. 
 
 " Now hail, now hail, thou lady bright ! " — 
 " Now hail, thou Baron true I 
 What news, what news, from Ancram fight ? 
 What news from the bold Buccleuch ?" — 
 
 " The Ancram Moor is red with gore. 
 For many a southron fell ; 
 And Buccleuch has charged us, evermore. 
 To watch our beacons well." — 
 
 The lady blush'd red, but nothing she said ; 
 
 Nor added the Baron a word : 
 Then she stepp'd down the stair to her chamber fair. 
 
 And so did her moody lord. 
 
 In sleep the lady moum'd, and the Baron toss'd and 
 tum'd, 
 And oft to himself he said, - 
 " The worms around him creep, and his bloody grave 13 
 deep .... 
 It cannot give up the dead !" — 
 
 It was near the ringing of matin-beU, 
 
 The night was welhiigh done. 
 When a heavy sleep on that Baron fell. 
 
 On the eve of good St John. 
 
 The lady look'd through the chamber fair. 
 
 By the light of a dying flame ; 
 And she was aware of a knight stood there — 
 
 Sir Kichard of Coldinghame I 
 
 " Alas ! away, away !" she cried, 
 
 " For the holy Virgin's sake ! " — 
 " Lady, I know who sleeps by thy side ; 
 
 But, lady, he will not awake. 
 
 * By Eildon Tree, for long nights three. 
 In bloody grave have I lain ; 
 The mass and the death-prayer are said for me, 
 But, lady, they are said in vain. 
 
 « By the Baron's brand, near Tweed's fair strand, 
 *Mosi foully slain, I fell ;
 
 CADTOW CASTLE. 645 
 
 And my restless sprite on the beacon's height, 
 For a space is doom'd to dwell. 
 
 " At our trysting place," for a certain space, 
 I must wander to and fro ; 
 But I had not had power to come to thy bower, 
 Had'st thou not conjured me so." — 
 
 Lo-\'e master'd fear — her brow she cross'd ; 
 
 " How, Eichard, hast thou sped ? 
 And art thou saved, or art thou lost ? " 
 
 The vision shook his head I 
 
 " WTio spilleth life, shall forfeit life ; 
 So bid thy lord believe : 
 Tliat lawless love is guilt above. 
 This awful sign receive." 
 
 He laid his left palm on an oaken beam ; 
 
 His right upon her hand ; 
 The lady shrunk, and fainting sunk, 
 
 For it scorch'd like a fiery brand. 
 
 The sable score, of fingers four, 
 
 Keniains on that board impress'd ; 
 And for evermore that lady wore 
 
 A covering on her wrist. 
 
 There is a nun in Dryburgh bower, 
 
 Ne'er looks upon the sun ; 
 There is a monk in Melrose tower, 
 
 He speaketh word to none. 
 
 That nun, who ne'er beholds the day,' 
 
 That monk, who speaks to none — 
 That nun was Smaylho'me's Lady gay, 
 
 That monk the bold Baron. 
 
 CADYOW CASTLE. 
 
 The ruins of Cadyow or Cadzow Castle, the ancient baronial 
 residence of the fiimOy of Hamilton, are situated upon the pre- 
 cipitous banks of the river Evan, about two miles above its junction 
 with the Clyde. It was dismantled, in the conclusion of the Civil 
 Wars, during the reign of the unfortunate ISIary, to whose cause 
 the house of Hamilton devoted themselves with a generous zeal, 
 which occasioned their temporary obscurity, and very nearly their 
 total ruin. 
 
 In detailing the death of the Eegent Murray, which is made 
 tlie subject of the following ballad, it would be injustice to mv 
 
 « Tri/stiiig-j/lacc — Place of reudezvous.
 
 646 SCOTTISH BALLADS. 
 
 reader to use other words than those of Dr Robertson, whose 
 account of that memorable event forms a beautiful piece of his- 
 torical painting : — 
 
 " HamUtL a of Bothwellhaugh was the person who committed 
 this barbarous action. He had been condemned to death soon 
 after the battle of Langside, as we have already related, and owed 
 his life to the Regent's clemency. But part of his estate had been 
 bestowed upon one of the Regent's favourites, who seized his house, 
 and turned out his wife, naked, in a cold night, into the open 
 fields, where, before next morning, she became fiu-iously mad. 
 This injury made a deeper impression on him than the benefit he 
 had received, and from that moment he vowed to be revenged of 
 the Regent. Party rage strengthened and inflamed his private 
 resentment. His kinsmen, the Hamiltons, applauded the enter- 
 prise. The maxims of that age justified the most desperate course 
 he could take to obtain vengeance. He followed the Regent for 
 some time, and watched for an opportunity to strike the blow. 
 He resolved at last to wait till his enemy should arrive at Lin- 
 lithgow, through which he was to pass in his way from Stirling 
 to Edinburgh. He took his stand in a wooden gallery, Avhich had 
 a window towards the street ; spread a feather-bed on the floor to 
 hinder the noise of his feet fi-om being heard ; hung up a black 
 cloth behind liira, that his shadow might not be observed from 
 without; and after all tliis preparation, calmly expected the 
 Regent's approach, who had lodged, during the night, in a house 
 not far distant. Some indistinct information of the danger which 
 threatened hiui had been conveyed to the Regent, and he paid so 
 much regard to it, that he resolved to return by the same gate 
 through which he had entered, and to fetch a compass round the 
 town. But, as the crowd about the gate was great, and ne him- 
 self unacquainted with fear, he proceeded directly along the street; 
 and the throng of people obliging him to move very slowly, gave 
 the assassin time to take so true an aim, that he shot him, with a 
 single bullet, through the lower part of his belly, and killed the 
 horse of a gentleman who rode on liis other side. His followers 
 instantly endeavoured to break into the house whence the blow 
 had come; but they found tlie door strongly barricadoed, and, 
 before it could be forced open, Hamilton had moimted a fleet horse, 
 which stood ready for him at a back passage, and was got far 
 beyond their reach. The Regent died the same night of his 
 wound." — Histori/ of Scotland, book v. 
 
 Cadyow Castle. 
 
 addressed to 
 
 THE RTGHT HON. LADY ANXE HAMILTON. 
 
 When princely Hamilton's abode 
 
 Ennobled Cadyow's Gothic towers. 
 The song went round, the goblet flow'd, 
 
 And revel sped the laughing hours. 
 
 Then, thrilling to the harp's gay sound, 
 So sweetly rung each vaulted wall.
 
 CADYOW CASTLE. 617 
 
 And echoed light the dancer's bound, 
 As mirth and music cheer'd the hall. 
 
 But Cadyow's towers, in ruins laid. 
 
 And vaults, by ivy mantled o'er, 
 Thrill to the music of the shade. 
 
 Or echo Evan's hoarser roar. 
 
 Yet still, of Cadyow's faded fame, 
 
 You bid me tell a minstrel tale, 
 And tune my harp, of Border frame, 
 
 On the wild banks of Evandale. 
 
 For thou, from scenes of courtly pride, 
 From pleasure's lighter scenes, canst turn. 
 
 To draw oblivion's pall aside, 
 And mark the long forgotten urn. 
 
 Then, noble maid ! at thy command. 
 
 Again the crumbled halls shall rise ; 
 Lo I as on Evan's banks we stand. 
 
 The past returns — the present flies. 
 
 ^Vhere, with the rock's wood-cover'd side, 
 
 Were blended late the ruins green, 
 Rise turrets in fantastic pride. 
 
 And feudal banners flaunt between : 
 
 Where the rude torrent's brawling course 
 Was shagg'd with thorn and tangling sloe, 
 
 The ashler buttress braves its force, 
 And ramparts frown in battled row. 
 
 'T is night — the shade of keep and spire 
 
 Obscurely dance on Evan's stream ; 
 And on the wave the warder's tire 
 
 Is chequering the moonlight beam. 
 
 Fades slow their light; the east is gray; 
 
 The weary warder leaves his tower ; 
 Steeds snort ; uncoupled stag-hounds bay, 
 
 And merry himters quit the bower. 
 
 The drawbridge falls — they hurry out — 
 Clatters each plank and swinging chain, 
 
 As, dashing o'er, the jovial rout 
 
 Urge the shy steed, and slack the rein. 
 
 First of his troop, the Chief rode on ; <» 
 His shouting merr}'-men throng behind ; 
 
 « The head of the family of Hamilton, at this period, was James, Earl 
 of Arran, Duke of Chatelherault, in France, and first peer of the Scottisn 
 realm. In 1569, he was appointed bv Queen Mary her lieuteuant-geueral in 
 Scotland, under the singular title of "her adopted father.
 
 648 SCOTTISH BALLADS. 
 
 The steed of princely Hamilton 
 Was fleeter than the mountain wind. 
 
 From the thick copse the roebucks bound. 
 The startled red-deer scuds the plain, 
 
 For the hoarse bugle's wan'ior-sound 
 Has roused their mountain haunts again. 
 
 Through the huge oaks of Evandale, 
 
 Whose limbs a thousand j^ears have ■worn, 
 
 What sullen roar comes dovra the gale, 
 And drowns the hunter's pealing horn ? 
 
 Mightiest of all the beasts of chase, 
 
 That roam in woody Caledon, 
 Crashing the forest in his race. 
 
 The Mountain Bull comes thundering on. 
 
 Fierce, on the hunter's quiver'd band. 
 
 He rolls his eyes of swarthy glow. 
 Spurns, with black hoof and horn, the sand, 
 
 And tosses high his mane of snow. 
 
 Aim'd well, the Chieftain's lance has flown ; 
 
 Struggling in blood the savage lies ; 
 His roar is sunk in hollow gi"oan — 
 
 Sound, merry huntsmen I sound the prt/se J" 
 
 'T is noon — against the knotted oak 
 
 The hunters rest the idle spear; 
 Curls through the trees the slender smoke, 
 
 "Where yeomen dight the woodland cheer. 
 
 Proudly the Chieftain mark'd his clan, 
 On greenwood lap all careless thrown. 
 
 Yet miss'd his eye the boldest man 
 That bore the name of Hamilton, 
 
 " Why fills not Bothwellhaugh his place, 
 StUl wont oiu- weal and woe to share ? 
 Why comes he not our sport to grace ? 
 Why shares he not our hunter's fare?" — 
 
 Stem Claud replied,^ with darkening face, 
 (Grey Paisley's haughty lord was he,) 
 " At merry feast, or buxom chase. 
 No more the warrior wilt thou see. 
 
 " Few suns have set since Woodhouselee' 
 Saw Bothwellhaugh's bright goblets foam, 
 
 <• Tlie note Mown at the death of the game. 
 
 I See Note 1 of the " Notes to Cadtow Castle " in the Appendix. The 
 finiircs of reference througliout the poem relat* to fuiaher Notes in tiie 
 Appendix.
 
 CABTOW CASTLE. 649 
 
 When to his hearths, in social glee, 
 
 The war-worn soldier turn'd him home. 
 
 " There, wan from her maternal throes, 
 His Margaret, beautiful and mild. 
 Sate in her bower, a pallid rose, 
 And peaceful niirsed her new-bom child. 
 
 " change accursed ! past are those days : 
 False Murray's ruthless spoilers came. 
 And, for the hearth's domestic blaze. 
 Ascends destruction's volumed flame. 
 
 " What sheeted phantom wanders wild, 
 
 Where mountain Eske through woodland floKS? 
 Her arms enfold a shadow}^ child — 
 Oh I is it she, the pallid rose ? 
 
 " The wilder'd traveller sees her glide. 
 
 And hears her feeble voice with awe — 
 * Revenge,' she cries, ' on Murray's pride ! 
 And woe for injm-ed Bothwellhaugh ! '" 
 
 He ceased — and cries of rage and grief ' 
 
 Burst mingling from the kindred hand. 
 
 And half arose the kindling Chief, 
 And half unsheathed his Arran brand. 
 
 But who, o'er bush, o'er stream and rock. 
 
 Rides headlong, with resistless speed. 
 Whose bloody poniard's frantic stroke 
 
 Drives to the leap his jaded steed ;* 
 
 Whose cheek is pale, whose eyeballs glare. 
 
 As one some vision'd sight that saw, 
 Whose hands are bloodj-, loose his hair? — 
 
 'T 13 he I 'tis he! 'tis Bothwellhaugh I 
 
 From gory selle," and reeling steed. 
 
 Sprung the fierce horseman with a bound, 
 
 And, reeking from the recent deed, 
 He dashed his carbine on the ground. 
 
 Sternly he spoke — " ' Tis sweet to hear 
 
 In good greenwood the bugle blown, 
 But sweeter to Revenge's ear 
 
 To drink a tyrant's dying groan. 
 
 " Your slaughter'd quarry proudly trode, 
 At damming morn, o'er dale and down. 
 But prouder base-born Jlurray rode 
 Through old LinUthgow's cro\vded to^m. 
 
 S???«— Saddle. A word used by Spenser and other ancient authors.
 
 650 SCOTTISH BALLADS. 
 
 " From the wild Border's humbled side, 
 In haughty triumph marched he, 
 WhUe Knox relaxed his bigot pride, 
 And smiled, the traitorous pomp to see. 
 
 " But can stem Power, with all his vaunt, 
 Or Pomp, with all her courtly glare. 
 The settled heart of Vengeance daimt. 
 Or change the purpose of Despair? 
 
 " With hackbut bent,* my secret stand. 
 Dark as the purposed deed, I chose, 
 And mark'd, where, mingling in his band, 
 Troop'd Scottish pikes and English bows. 
 
 " Dark Morton, « girt with many a spear, 
 Murder's foul minion, led the van ; 
 And clash'd their broadswords in the rear 
 The wild Macfarlane's plaided clan.* 
 
 " Glencaim and stout Parkhead^ -were nigh. 
 Obsequious at their Regent's rein. 
 And haggard Lindsay's iron eye. 
 That saw fair Mary weep in vain. " 
 
 " 'Mid pennon'd spears, a steely grove. 
 Proud Murray's plumage floated high ; 
 Scarce could his trampling charger move, 
 So close the minions crowded nigh. •* 
 
 " From the raised vizor's shade, his eye, 
 Dark-roUing, glanced the ranks along. 
 And his steel truncheon, waved on high, 
 Seem'd mai-shalling the iron thi'ong. 
 
 " But yet his sadden'd brow confess'd 
 A passing shade of doubt and awe ; 
 Some fiend was whispering in his breast, 
 ' Beware of injured Bothwellhaugh !' 
 
 " The death-shot parts — the charger springs — 
 Wild rises tumult's startling roar ! 
 And Murray's plumy helmet rings — 
 — Rings on the ground, to rise no more. 
 
 *' What joy the raptiu-ed youth can feel. 
 To hear her love the loved one tell — 
 Or he, who broaches on his steel 
 The wolf by whom his infant fell I 
 
 " But dearer to my injured eye 
 
 To see in dust proud Murray roll; 
 
 " Of this noted person, it is enough to say, that he was active in the mar< 
 del of David Rizzio, and at least privy to that of Darnley.
 
 THE GRAY BROTHER 651 
 
 And mine -was ten times trebled joy, 
 To hear him groan Ms felon souL 
 
 " My iSIargaret's spectre glided near— 
 With pride her bleeding victim saw- - 
 And shriek'd in his death-deafen'd ear, 
 * Eemember injured Bothwellhaugh ! ' 
 
 " Then speed thee, noble Chatlerault ! 
 
 Spread to the wind thy banner'd tree I" 
 Each warrior bend his Clydesdale bow ! — 
 Murray is fall'n, and Scotland free I " 
 
 Vaults every warrior to his steed ; 
 Loud bugles join their wild acclaim — 
 " Murray is fall'n, and Scotland freed ! 
 
 Couch, Arran ! couch thy spear of flame ! " 
 
 But, see ! the minstrel vision fails — 
 
 The glimmering spears are seen no more ; 
 
 The shouts of war die on the gales, 
 Or sink in Evan's lonely roar. 
 
 For the loud bugle, pealing high, 
 
 The blackbiril whistles down the vale, 
 And sunk in ivied nuns lie 
 
 The banner'd towers of Evandale. 
 
 For Chieft, intent on bloody deed. 
 And Vengeance shouting o'er the slain, 
 
 Lo ! high-bom Beauty rules the steed. 
 Or graceful guides the silken rein. 
 
 And long may Peace and Pleasure own 
 
 The maids who list the minstrel's tale ; 
 Nor e'er a ruder guest be known 
 
 On the fair banks of Evandale ! 
 
 THE GRAY BROTHER. 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 The tradition upon which this tale is founded regards a 
 house upon the barony of Gilmerton, near Lasswade, in Mid- 
 Lothian. The building, now called Gilmerton Grange, was ori- 
 ginally named Bumdale, from the following tragic adventure. 
 The barony of Gilmerton belonged, of yore, to a gentleman named 
 Heron, who had one beautifid daughter. This young lady was 
 seduced by the Abbot of Kewbattle, a richly endowed Abbey upon 
 the banks of the South Esk, now a seat of the Marquis of Lothian. 
 
 « An oak, half-sawn, with the motto through, is an ancient cognizance of 
 the family of Hamilton.
 
 652 SCOTTISH BALLADS. 
 
 Heron came to the knowledge of this circumstance, and learned 
 also, that the lovers carried on their guilty intercourse by the con- 
 nivance of the ladj-^s nurse, who lived at this house of Gilmerton 
 Grange, or Bumdale. He formed a resolution of bloody venge- 
 ance, undeterred by the supposed sanctity of the clerical character, 
 or by the stronger claims of natural atfection. Choosing, there- 
 fore, a dark and windy night, when the objects of his vengeance 
 were engaged in a stolen inter^•iew, he set fire to a stack of dried 
 thorns, and other combustibles, which he had caused to be piled 
 against the house, and reduced to a pile of glowing ashes the 
 dwelling, with all its inmates. 
 
 The scene with which the ballad opens, was suggested by the 
 following curious passage, extracted from the Life of Alexander 
 Peden, one of the wandering and persecuted teachers of the sect 
 of Cameronians, during the reign of Charles 11. and his successor, 
 James. This person was supposed by his followers, and, perhaps, 
 really believed himself, to be possessed of supernatural gifts ; for 
 the wild scenes which they frequented, and the constant dangers 
 which were incurred through their proscription, deepened upon 
 their minds the gloom of superstition, so general in that age : — 
 
 " About the same time he [Peden] came to Andrew Normand's 
 house, in the parish of AUoway, in the shire of Ajt, being to 
 preach at night in his bam. After he came in, he halted a little, 
 leaning upon a chair-back, with his face covered ; when he lifted 
 up his head, he said, ' They are in this house that I have not 
 one word of salvation imto.' He halted a little again, saying 
 ' This Is strange, that the devil will not go out, that we may be- 
 gin our work I ' Then there was a woman went out, ill-looked 
 upon almost all her life, and to her dying hour, for a witch, with 
 many presumptions of the same. It escaped me in the former 
 passages, what John IMuirhead (whom I liave often mentioned) told 
 me, that when he came from Ireland to Galloway, he was at fa- 
 mily worship, and giving some notes upon the Scripture read, 
 when a very ill-looking man came, and sat down within the door, 
 at the back of the haUan, [partition of the cottage :] immediately 
 he halted and said, 'There is some unhappy bodj^ just now come 
 into this house. I charge him to go out, and not to stop my 
 mouth ! ' This person went out, and he insisted [went on,] yet 
 he saw him neither come in nor go out." — The Life and Pro- 
 phecies of Mr, Alexander Peden, late Minister of the Gospel at 
 New Glenltcce, in Galloway, part ii. § 26. 
 
 The Gray Brother. 
 
 The Pope he was saj-ing the high, high mass, 
 
 All on Saint Peter's daj', 
 With the power to him given, by the saints in heaven. 
 
 To wasli men's sins away. 
 
 The Pope he was saying the blessed mass. 
 
 And the people kneel'd around. 
 And fi-om each man's soul liis sins did pass, 
 
 As he kiss'd the holy ground.
 
 THE GRAY BROTHEK. 6^3 
 
 And all, among the crowded throng, 
 
 AYas still both limb and tongue. 
 While, through vaulted roof and aislea aloof, 
 
 The holy accents rung. 
 
 At the holiest -word he quiver'd for fear, 
 
 And falter'd in the sound — 
 And, when he would the chalice rear, 
 
 He dropp'd it to the ground. 
 
 " The breath of one of evil deed 
 Pollutes our sacred day ; 
 He has no portion in our creed, 
 No part in what I say. 
 
 " A being, whom no blessed word 
 To ghostlj' peace can bring ; 
 A wretch, at whose approach abhorr'd. 
 Recoils each holy thing. 
 
 " Up, up, unhappy ! haste, arise ! 
 My adjuration fear ! 
 I charge thee not to stop my voice. 
 Nor longer tarry here ! "— 
 
 Amid them all a pilgrim kneel'd. 
 
 In gown of sackcloth gray ; 
 Far journeying from his native field. 
 
 He first saw Rome that day. 
 
 For forty days and nights so drear, 
 
 I ween he had not spoke. 
 And, save with bread and water clear. 
 
 His fast he ne'er had broke. 
 
 Amid the penitential flock 
 
 Seem'd none more bent to pray; 
 But, when the Holy Father spolie. 
 
 He rose and went his way. 
 
 Again unto his native land 
 
 His weary course he di-ew, 
 To Lothian's fair and fertile strand. 
 
 And Fentland's mountains blue. 
 
 His unblest feet his native seat, 
 
 'Mid Eske's fair woods, regain ; 
 Thro' woods more fair no stream more sweet 
 
 Rolls to tne eastern main. 
 
 And lords to meet the pilgrim came, 
 
 And vassals bent the knee ; 
 For all 'mid Scotland's chiefs of fa'ne. 
 
 Was none more famed than he.
 
 654 SCOTTISH BALLADS. 
 
 And boldly for his country, still. 
 
 In battle he had stood, 
 Ay, even when on the banks of Till 
 
 Her noblest pour'd their blood. 
 
 Sweet are the paths, passing sweet I 
 
 By Eske's fair streams that run, 
 O'er airy steep, through copsewood deep, 
 
 Impervious to the sun. 
 
 There the rapt poet's step may rove, 
 
 And yield the muse the day ; 
 There Beauty, led by timid Love, 
 
 May shun the tell-tale ray ; 
 
 From that fair dome, where suit is paid 
 
 By blast of bugle free, ^ 
 To Auchendinny's hazel glade, ^ 
 
 And haunted Woodhouselee. * 
 
 Who knows not Melville's beechy grove,* 
 
 And Roslin's rocky glen, * 
 Dalkeith, which all the virtues love, * 
 
 And classic Hawthomden?^ 
 
 Yet never a path, from day to day, 
 
 The pilgrim's footsteps range, 
 Save but the solitary way 
 
 To Burndale's ruin'd grange. 
 
 A woful place was that, I ween. 
 
 As sorrow could desire ; 
 For nodding to the fall was each crumbling wall. 
 
 And the roof was scath'd with fire. 
 
 It fell upon a summer's eve. 
 
 While, on Carnethy's head, 
 The last faint gleams of the sim's low beams 
 
 Had streak'd the gray with red ; 
 
 And the convent bell did vespers tell, 
 
 Newbattle's oaks among. 
 And mingled with the solemn knell 
 
 Our Ladye's evening song : 
 
 The heavy knell, the choir's faint swell. 
 
 Came slowly down the wind. 
 And on the pilgrim's ear they fell, 
 
 As his wonted path he did find. 
 
 Deep sunk in thought, I ween, he was, 
 Nor ever raised his eye, 
 
 1 See Ts'ote 1 of the "Notes to the Gkat Beothee" in tlie Appendix. 
 The figures of reference throughout the poem relate to further Notes in tlw 
 Appendix.
 
 THE GRAY BROTHER. G55 
 
 Until he came to that dreary place. 
 Which did all in ruins lie. 
 
 He gazed on the walls, so scathed with fire. 
 
 With many a bitter groan — 
 And there was aware of a Gray Friar, 
 
 Resting him on a stone. 
 
 " Now, Christ thee save I " said the Gray Brother ; 
 " Some pilgrim thou seemest to be." 
 But in sore amaze did Lord Albert gaze, 
 Nor answer again made he. 
 
 " come ye from east, or come ye from west. 
 Or bring reliques from over the sea ? 
 Or come ye from the shrine of St James the divine, 
 Or St John of Beverley?"— 
 
 " I come not from the shrine of St James the divine, 
 Nor bring reliques from over the sea ; 
 I bring but a curse from our father, the Pope, 
 "Which for ever will cling to me." — 
 
 •' Now, woful pilgrim, say not so ! 
 But kneel thee down to me, 
 And shrive thee so clean of thy deadly sin, 
 Tliat absolved thou mayst be." — 
 
 " And who art thou, thou Gray Brother, 
 That I should shrive to thee. 
 When He, to whom are given the keys of earth and 
 heaven, 
 Has no power to pardon me?" — 
 
 *• I am sent from a distant clime. 
 Five thousand miles away, 
 And all to absolve a fcid, foul crime, 
 Done here 'twixt night and day." 
 
 The pilgrim kneel'd him on the sand. 
 
 And thus began his saye — 
 When on his neck an ice-cold hand 
 
 Did that Gray Brother lave.
 
 656 SCOTTISH BALLADS. 
 
 WAR-SONG 
 
 OF THE 
 
 ROYAL EDINBURGH LIGHT DRAGOONS 
 
 " Nennlus. Is not peace the end of arms ? 
 
 " Caratach. Not wlieie the cause implies a general conquest. 
 Had we a difference with some pel ty isle. 
 Or with our neighbours, Britons, for our landmarks, 
 The taking in of some rebellious lord, 
 Or making head against a slight commotion. 
 After a day of blood, peace might be argued : 
 But where we grapple for the land we live ou. 
 The liberty we hold more dear than life, 
 The gods we worship, and, next these, our lionourc. 
 And, with tliose, swords that know no end of battle — 
 Those men, beside themselves, allow uo neighbour. 
 Those minds, that, where the day is, claim inheritance, 
 And, wliere the sun makes ripe the fruit, theii- harvest, 
 And, where they march, but measui-e out more ground 
 
 To add to Rome 
 
 It must not be — No ! as they are our foes. 
 
 Let's use the peace of lionour — that's fair dealing ; 
 
 But in oiu' hands our swords. The hardy Roman, 
 
 That thinks to graft himself into my stock. 
 
 Must first begin his kindred under ground. 
 
 And be allied in ashes." Bonduca. 
 
 The follo'vrfng War-Song was written during the apprehension 
 of an invasion. The corps of volunteers to which it was addressed, 
 was raised in 1797, consisting of Gentlemen, mounted and armed 
 at their own expense. It still subsists, as the Right Troop of the 
 Roj'al Mid-Lothian Light Cavalry, commanded by the Honour- 
 able Lieutenant-Colonel Dundas. The noble and constitutional 
 measure of arming freemen in defence of their own rights, was no- 
 where more successful than in Edinburgh, which furnished a force 
 of 3000 armed and disciplined volunteers, including a regunent of 
 cavalry, from the city and county, and two corps of artillery, each 
 capable of sei-ving twelve guns. To such a force, above all others, 
 might, in similar cuxumstances, be applied the exhortation of our 
 ancient Galgacus — "Froinde ituri in aciem, et nwjores vesiros ef 
 posteros cogitate." 1812. 
 
 Wae-Son'g. 
 
 To horse I to horse ! the standard flies, 
 
 The bugles soimd the call ; 
 The Gallic navy stems the seas. 
 The voice of battle's on the breeze, 
 
 Arouse ye, one and all 1
 
 WAR-SONG. 657 
 
 From high Dunedin's towers we come, 
 
 A band of brothers true ; 
 Our casques the leopard's spoils suiTOund, 
 With Scotland's hardy thistle crown'd; 
 
 We boast the red and blue." 
 
 Though tamely couch'd to Gallia's frown 
 
 Dull HoUaad's tai'dy train ; 
 Their ravish'd toys though Romans mom'n ; 
 Though gaUant Switzera vainly spm'U, 
 
 And, foaming, gnaw the chain ; 
 
 Oh! had they mark'd the avenging call* 
 
 Then- brethren's mm'der gave, 
 Dismiion ne'er then- ranks had mown, 
 Nor patriot valour, desperate grown, 
 
 Sought freedom in the grave ! 
 
 Shall we, too, bend the stubborn head, 
 
 In Freedom's temple born, 
 Dress our pale cheek in timid smile, 
 To hail a master in our isle, 
 
 Or brook a victor's scorn ? 
 
 No ! though destruction o'er the land 
 
 Come pouring as a flood, 
 The sun, that sees our falling da}'. 
 Shall mark our sabres' deadly sway, 
 
 And set that night in blood. 
 
 For gold let Gallia's legions fight. 
 
 Or plunder's bloody gain ; 
 Unbribed, unbought, our swords we draw. 
 To guard our king, to fence our law, 
 
 Nor shall their edge be vain. 
 
 If ever breath of British gale 
 
 ShnU fan the tri-color, 
 Or footsteji of invader rude, 
 With rapine foul, and red with blood, 
 
 Pollute our happy shore, — 
 
 Then farewell home ! and fiu-ewell friends I 
 Adieu, each tender tie ! 
 
 « The royal colours. 
 
 * The allusion is to the massacre of the Swiss Guards, on the fatal 10th 
 August 1792. It is painful, but not useless, to remark, that the passive tem- 
 per'with which the Swiss regarded the death of their bravest countrymen, 
 mercilessly slau^'htered in discharM of their duty, encouraged and authorised 
 the progressive uijustice, by whieh the Alps, once the seat of the most vir- 
 tuous and free people upon the Continent, have at length been converted 
 into the citadel of a foreign and mihtary despot. A slate degraded is half 
 enslaved. — 1812. 
 
 'IT
 
 658 
 
 SCOTTISH BAI1AD3. 
 
 Resolved, we mingle in the tide, 
 Where charging squadrons furious ride. 
 To conquer or to die. 
 
 To horse I to horse ! the sabres gleam ; 
 
 High sounds our bugle-call ; 
 Combined by honoiur's sacred tie, 
 Our word is Laws and Liberty ! 
 
 Maich forward one and all I
 
 APPENDIX, 
 
 CONSISTING OF 
 
 NOTES TO THE POETEY. 
 
 NOTES TO 
 
 THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL 
 
 MARMIOX. 
 
 THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 
 
 THE VISION OF DON RODElilCK. 
 
 EOKEBY. 
 
 THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 
 
 GLENFINLAS— EVE OF ST. JOHN— CADYOW 
 CASTLE-GRAY BROTHER.
 
 NOTES 
 
 TO 
 
 THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTEEL 
 
 KoTE 1, page 36. 
 
 The feast toas over in Branksome tower. 
 
 Ix the reia:n of James I., Sir William Scott of Buccleuch, chief of the clan 
 beavmg; that name, exchanged, with Sir Thomas luglis of Manor, the estate 
 of Murdiestone, in Lanarksliire, for one-half of the barony of Branksome, or 
 Brankholm, lying upon the Teviot, about three miles above Hawick. He 
 was probably induced to this transaction from the vicinity of Branksome to 
 the extensive domain which he possessed in Ettrick Forest and in Teviot- 
 dale. In the former district he held by occupancy the estate of Buccleuch, 
 and much of the forest land on the river Ettrick. In Teviotdale, he enjoyed 
 tlie barony of Eckford, by a grant from Robert II. to his ancestor. Waiter 
 Scott of Kirkurd, for the apprehending of Gilbert Ridderford, coutirmed by 
 Eobert III. 3d May 1424. Tradition imputes the exchange betnixt Scott 
 and Inglis to a conversation, in which the latter — a man, it would appear, 
 of a mild and forbearing nature— complained much of the injuries to which 
 he was exposed from the English Borderers, who frequently plundered his 
 lands of Branksome. Sir WilUam Scott instantly offered him the estate of 
 Murdiestone, in exchange for that which was suljject to such egregious in- 
 convenience. When the bargain was completed, he dryly remarked tliat the 
 cattle in Cumberland were as good as those of Teviotdale ; and proceeded U: 
 commence a sy:tem of reprisals upon the English, wliich was regularly pur- 
 sued by his successors. In the next reign, James II. granted to Sir Waltei 
 Scott of Branksome, and to Sir David, liis son, the remaining half of the 
 harony of Branksome, to be held in blanche for the payment of a red rose. 
 Tlie cause assigned for the grant is, their brave and "faithful exertions in 
 favour of the King against the house of Douglas, with whom James had been 
 recently tugging for the throne of Scotland. This charter is dated the 2d 
 February 1443 ; and, in the same month, part of the barony of Langholm, 
 and many lauds in Lanarksliire, were conferred upon Sir Walter and his son 
 by the same monarch. 
 
 KoTE 2, page 36. 
 
 Nine-and-twenti/ kmtjhts of fame 
 
 Hung their shields in Branksome-hall. 
 
 The ancient barons of Buccleuch, both from feudal splendour and from 
 their frontier situation, retained in their houseliold at Branksome, a num- 
 ber of gentlemen of their own name, who held lands from their chief, for the 
 mditary service of watchmg and warding his castle. 
 
 Note 3, page 37. 
 
 " trith Jedwood-axe at saddle-boic" 
 
 " Of a truth," says Froissart, " the Scottish cannot boast great skill with 
 the bow, but rather bear axes, with which, in time of need they give heavy 
 strokes." The Jedwood-axe was a sort of partisan, used by horsemen, as 
 appears from the arms of Jcdburgli, which bear a cavaher mounted, and 
 *rmed with this weapon. It is also called a Jedwood or Jeddart staff.
 
 CG2 NOTES TO THE 
 
 Note 4, page 37. 
 
 Tliey watch, against Southern force and gvUe, 
 Lest Scroop, or Howard, or Percy's powers. 
 Threaten Branisome's lordly towers. 
 
 From Warkworth, or Naworth, or merry Carlisle. 
 
 Branksome Castle was continually exposed to the attacks of the English, 
 both from its situation and tlie restless military disposition of its iiihabitama, 
 who were seldom on good terms with their neighbours. 
 
 Note 5, page 37. 
 
 Bards long shall tell. 
 How Lord Waller fell. 
 
 Sir Walter Scott of Buccleuch succeeded to his grandfather, Su- David, in 
 J 492. He was a brave and powerful baron, and Warden of the West Marches 
 of Scotland. His death was the consequence of a feud betwixt the Scotts 
 and Kerrs. 
 
 Note 6, page 38. 
 
 JThile Cessford owns the rule of Carr, 
 While Ettrick boasts the line of Scott. 
 
 Among other expedients resorted to for stanching the feud betwixt the 
 Scotts and the Kerrs, was a bond executed in 1529, between the heads of 
 each clan, binding themselves to perform reciprocally the four principal pil- 
 grimages of Scotland, for the benefit of the souls of those of the opposite 
 name who had fallen in the quarrel. But either this indenture never took 
 effect, or else the feud was renewed shortly afterwards. The family of Ker, 
 Kerr, or Carr, was vei"y powerfiil on the Border. 
 
 Note 7, page 38. 
 
 He learn'd the art that none may name. 
 In Padua, far beyond the sea. 
 
 Padua was long supposed, by the Scottish peasants, to be the principal 
 school of necromancy. 
 
 Note 8, page 39. 
 
 His form no darhening shadow traced 
 Upon, the sunny wall I 
 
 rhe shadow of a necromancer was independent of the sun. Glycas in- 
 forms us that Simon Magus caused his shadow to go before him, making 
 people believe it was an attendant spii'it. 
 
 Note 9, page 41. 
 
 By wily turns, by desperate bounds. 
 Had baffled Percy's best blood-hounds. 
 
 The kings and heroes of Scotland, as well as the Border-riders, were 
 sometimes obliged to study how to evade the pursuit of blood-hounds. 
 Barbour informs us, that Robert Bruce was repeatedly tracked by sleuth- 
 dogs. On one occasion, he escaped by wading a bow-shot down a brook, and 
 ascending into a tree by a branch which overhung the water; thus, leaving 
 no trace on land of his footsteps, he bafBed the scent. A sure way of stop- 
 ping the dog was to spill blood upon the track, which destroyed the discri- 
 minating fineness of Ins scent. A captive was sometimes sacrificed on such 
 occasions. Henry the Minstrel tells a romantic story of Wallace, founded 
 on this circumstance: — The hero's little band had been joined by an Iiish- 
 man, named Fawdoun, or Fadzean, a dark, savage, and suspicious character. 
 After a sharp skirmish at Black-Erne Side, Wallace was forced to retreat 
 with only sixteen followers, the English pursuing with a Border blood- 
 hound. In the retreat, Fawdoun, tired, or affecting to be so, would go no 
 fiuther, aud Wallace having in vain 8"g'tedwithliim, in hasty anger struck
 
 LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 663 
 
 off his head, and continaed the retreat. 'When the English came up, ihi'.ir 
 hound stayed upon the dead body : — 
 
 " The sleuth stopped at Fawdon, still she stood, 
 Kor further would fra time she fund the blood." 
 
 Note 10, page 44. 
 
 And sought the convent's lonely wall. 
 
 The ancient and beautiful monastery of Melrose was founded by King 
 David I. its ruins afford the finest specimen of Gothic architecture and 
 Gothic sculpture which Scotland can boast. The stone of which it is built, 
 though it has resisted the weather for so many ages, retains perfect sharp- 
 ness, so that even the most minute ornaments eeem as entire as when newly 
 wrought. 
 
 KoTE 11, page 44. 
 
 Then view St David's ruin'dpile. 
 
 David I. of Scotland purchased the reputation of sanctity, by founding, 
 and liberally endDwing, not only the monastery of Melrose, but those of 
 Kelso, Jedburgh, and many others ; which led to the well-known observation 
 of his successor, that he was a sore saint for the crown. 
 
 Note 12, page 47. 
 
 gallant Chief of Otterburne I 
 
 The desperate battle of Otterburne was fought 15th August 13SS, between 
 Henry Percy, called Hotspur, and James, Earl of Douglas. Both these re- 
 nowned champions, rivals in military fame, were at the head of a chosen 
 body of troops. The issue of the conflict is well known: Percy was made 
 prisoner, and the Scots won the day, dearly purchased by the death of their 
 gallant general, the Earl of Douglas, who was slain in the action. He was 
 buried at Melrose beneath the high altar. 
 
 Note 13, page 47. 
 
 Lark Knight of Liddesdale. 
 
 ■William Douglas, the Knight of Liddesdale, flourished during the reign 
 of David II., and was so distinguished by his valour that he was called the 
 Flower of Chivalry. But he tarnished Ms renown by the murder of Sir 
 Alexander Ramsay of Dalhousie, origimdly his friend and brother in arms. 
 The King had conferred upon Ramsay the sheriffdom of Teviotdale, to which 
 Douglas pretended some claim. In revenge of this preference, the Knight 
 of Liddesdale came down upon Ramsay, while ha was administering justice 
 at Hawick, seized and carried him off to his remote and inaccessible castle 
 of Hermitage, where he threw his unlortunate prisoner, horse and man, into 
 a dungeon, leanng him to perisli of hunger. So weak was the royal autho- 
 rity, that David, although hi;.;lily incensed at this atrocious murder, found 
 himself obUged to appoint the Knight ol Liddesdale successor to his victim, 
 as Sheriff of TenotdiUe. But he was soon after slain, while hunting in 
 Ettrick Forest, by his own godson and chieftain, Willi:mi, Earl of Douglas, 
 in revenge, according to some authors, of Ram3;i5's murder; although a 
 popular tradition, preserved in a b;illad quoted by Godscroft, some parts of 
 which are still preserved, ascribes the resentment of the Earl to jealousy. 
 
 Note 14, page 47. 
 
 — ^— The wondrous Michael Scott. 
 
 Sir Michael Scott of Balwearie flourished duiing the 13th century, and 
 was one of the ambassadors sent to bring the Maid of Norway to Scotland 
 upon the death of Alexander III. By a poetical anachronism, he is here 
 placed in a later era. He was a man of much learning, chiefly acquired in 
 foreign countries. He wrote a commentary upon Aristotle, printed at Venice 
 in 1496; and several treatises upon natural philosophy, from which he 
 appears to have been addicted to the abstruse studies of judicial asti'ology,
 
 664 NOTES TO THE 
 
 alchymy, physiognomy, and cliiromancy. Hence he passed among his M>n- 
 temporaries for a skilful magician. Dempster iufoims us, that he remembers 
 to have heard in his youth, that the magic books of Michael Scott were still 
 in existence, but could not be opened without danger, on account of the 
 maUgnant fiends who were thereby invoked. Tradition varies concerning 
 the place of his burial ; some contending for Home Coltrame, in Cumberland; 
 otliers for Melrose Abbey. But all agree, that his books of magic were in- 
 terred in his grave, or preserved in the convent where he died. 
 
 Note 15, page 47. 
 
 The words that cleft Eildon Mils in three. 
 
 Michael Scott was, once upon a time, much embarrassed by a spirit, for 
 Trhom he was under the necessity of finding constant employment. He 
 fonimauded him to build a cauld, or dam-head, across the Tweed at Kelso; 
 it was accomplished in one night, and still does honour to the infernal archi- 
 tect. Michael next ordered, that Eildon hiU, which was tlieu a uniform 
 cone, should be divided into three. Another night was sufficient to part its 
 summit into the tliree picturesque peaks which it now bears. At length tlie 
 mchanter conquered this indefatigable demon, by employing him in the 
 hopeless and endless task of making ropes out of sea-sand. 
 
 Note 16, page 52. 
 
 The Baron's Dtcarfhis courser held. 
 
 The idea of Lord Cranstoun's Goblin Page is taken from a being called 
 Gilpin Horner, who appeared, and made some stay, at a farm-house among 
 the Border mountains. 
 
 Note 17, page 56. 
 Jll was delusion, nought was truth. 
 
 Glamour, in the legends of Scottish superstition, means the magic power 
 of imposing on the eyesight of the spectators, so that the appearance of an 
 object sliall be totally dift'erent from the reahty. To such a charm the bal- 
 lad of Johnny Fa' imputes the fascination of the lovely Countess, who eloped 
 with that gipsy leader : — 
 
 " Sae soon as they saw her weel-far'd face, 
 They cast the glamour o'er her." 
 
 Note 18, page 57. 
 
 The running stream dissohed the spell. 
 
 It is a firm article of popular faith, that no enchantmeut can subsist in a 
 living streaai. Nay, if you can interpose a brook betwixt you and witches, 
 spectres, or even fiends, you are in perfect safety. Burus's inimitable Tarn 
 o'Shanter turns entirely upon such a circumstance. 
 
 Note 19, page 58. 
 
 ne never counted him a man, 
 Would strike below the knee. 
 
 To wound an antagonist in the tliigh, or leg, was reckoned contrary to 
 the law of arms. In a tilt betwixt Gawain Michael, an English squire, and 
 Joacliim Cathore, a Frenchman, " they met at the speare poyntes rudely ; 
 the French squyer justed right pleasantly; the Englishman ran too lowe, 
 for he strak the Frenchman depe into the tliigh. Wherewith the Erie of 
 Buckingham was right sore displeased, and so were all the other lords, and 
 eayde how it was shamefully done." — Froissart, vol. i. chap. 366. 
 
 Note 20, page 61. 
 On Tenchryst glows a hale of fire. 
 Sale, beacon-fago'. The Border beacons, from their number and position,
 
 LAY OF THE LAST MINSTELI/. G65 
 
 formed a sort of telegrapliic communication mth Edinburgh. — Tlie act of 
 Parliament 1455, e. 4S, directs, that one bale or fat;ot shall be warning of the 
 approach of the English in anj^ manner; two bales, that they are coming 
 indeed; four bales, blazing beside each other, that the enemy are in great 
 force. 
 
 Note 21, page 62. 
 
 On many a cairn's grey pyramid, 
 TThere urns of mighty chiefs lie hid. 
 
 The cairns, or piles of loose stones, which crown the summit of most of 
 onr Scottish hills, and are found in other remarkable situations, seem usu- 
 ally, though not universally, to have been sepulchral monuments. Six flat 
 stones are commonly found in the centre, forming a ca\-ity of greater or 
 smaller dimensions, in which an nrn is often placed. The author is pos- 
 sessed of one, discovered beneath an immense cairn at Roughlee, in Liddes- 
 dale. It is of the most barbarous construction ; the middle of the substance 
 alone having been subjected to the fire, over which, wlien hardened, the 
 artist had laid an inner and outer coat of unbaked clay, etched with some 
 very rude ornaments , his skill apparently being inadequate to baking the 
 vase, when completely finished. The contents were bones and ashes, and a 
 quantity of heads made of coal. This seems to have been a barbarous imi- 
 tation of the Roman fashion of sepulture. 
 
 Note 22, page 63. 
 Fell by the side of great Dundee. 
 The Viscount of Pundee, slain in the battle of Killicrankie. 
 
 Note 23, page 63. 
 
 For pathless marsh and mountain cell, 
 The peasant left his loicly shed. 
 
 The morasses were the usual refuge of the Border herdsmen, on the ap- 
 proach of an English army. — (Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, vol. i. p. 
 393. Caves, hewed in the most dangerous and inaccessible places, also 
 afforded an occasional retreat. Such caverns may be seen in the precipi- 
 tous banks of the Teviot at Sunlaws, upon the Ale "at Ancram, upon the Jed 
 at Hundalee, and in many other places upon the Border. The banks of the 
 Ebke, at Gorton and Hawthornden, are hollowed into similar recesses. 
 
 Note 24, page 64. 
 
 iratt Tinlinn. 
 
 This person was, in my younger days, the theme of many a fireside tale. 
 He was a retainer of the Buccleuch family, and held for his Border service 
 a small tower on the frontiers of liddcsdale. Watt was, by profession, a 
 svtor, but, by inclination and practice, an archer and warrior. Upon one 
 occasion, the captain of Bewcastle, military governor of tliat wild district of 
 Cumberland, is said to have made an incursion info Scotland, in wliich he 
 was defeated and forced to fly. Watt Tinlinn pursued hiui closely throno-h 
 a dangerous morass; the caiitain, however, gained the firm ground; and 
 seeing Tinlinn dismounted, and floundering in tlie bog, used these words of 
 insult: — "Sutor Watt, ye cannot sew your hoots; the heels rifp, and the 
 seams rive."* — "If 1 canrot sew," retorted Tinlinn, dischar»ins a shaft, 
 w hich naOed the captain's thigh to liis saddle, — " If I cannot sew, I can 
 yerk."i 
 
 Note 25, page 64. 
 
 His trijr, stout, ruddy, and darfr-irotc'd, 
 Of silver brooch and bracelet proud. 
 
 As the Borderers were indifferent about the furniture of their habitationi, 
 
 • Sisp, creak. — Rive, tear, 
 t 2VrA-, to twitch, as shoemakers do, in securing the stitches of their work.
 
 666 NOTES TO THE 
 
 so much exposetl to he burned and plundered they were proportionaltv 
 anxious to display splendour in decorating and ornamenting tiieir females. 
 —See Lesley de Moribus Limitaneorum, 
 
 Note 26, page 64. 
 
 Belted Will Howard. 
 
 Lord Wilham Howard, third son of Thomas, Duke of Norfolk, sacceedea 
 to Kaworth Castle, and a large domain annexed to it, in right of his wife 
 Elizabeth, sister of George Lord Dacre, who died without heirs-male, in the 
 11th of Queen Elizabeth. By a poetical anachronism, he is introduced into 
 the romance a few years earlier thim he actually flourished. He was war- 
 den of the Western Marches ; and, fi'om the rigour with which he repressed 
 the Border excesses, the name of Belted Will Howard is still famous iu our 
 traditions. 
 
 Note 27, page 64. 
 
 Lord Dacre. 
 
 The well-known name of Dacre is derived from the exploits of one of 
 their ancestors at the siege of Acre, or Ptolemais, under Kichard Coeur de 
 Lion. 
 
 Note 28, page 65. 
 
 The German haclcbut-men. 
 
 In the wars with Scotland, Henry VIII. and his successors employed nu- 
 merous bands of mercenary troops. At the battle of Pinky there were iu 
 the English anny six hundred hackbutters on foot, and two hundred on 
 horseback, composed chiefly of foreigners. 
 
 Note 29, page 68. 
 
 Their gathering word was Bellenden. 
 
 Bellenden is situated near the head of Borthwick water, and being in the 
 eentre of the possessions of the Scotts, was frequently used as their place of 
 rendezvous and gathering word. 
 
 Note 30, page 71. 
 
 That he may suffer march-treason pain. 
 
 Several species of offences, peculiar to the Border, constituted what was 
 called march-treason. Among others, was the crime of riding, or causing to 
 ride, against the opposite country during the time of truce. 
 
 Note 31, page 72. 
 
 Knighthood he took of Douglas' sword. 
 
 The dignity of knighthood, according to the original institution, had this 
 peculiarity, that it did not flow from the monarch, but could be conferred by 
 one who himself possessed it, upon any squire who, after due probation, was 
 found to merit the honour of chivah-y. Latterly, this power was confined to 
 generals, who were wont to create kiights bannerets after or before an en- 
 gagement. 
 
 Note 32, page 72. 
 
 When English blood swell'd Alteram' s ford. 
 
 The battle of Ancram Moor, or Penielheuch, was fought a.d. 1545. The 
 EngUsh, commanded by Sir Ralph Evers and Sir Brian Liitoun, were totally 
 routed, and both their leaders slain in the action. The Scottish am.;,- was 
 commanded by Archibald Douglas, Earl of Angus, assisted by the Laird of 
 Buccleuch and iVorman Leslie.
 
 LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 6G7 
 
 Note 33, page 73. 
 
 For toho, in field or foray slack, 
 Sate the Blanche lion e'er fall hacTc? 
 
 This WIS the cognizance of the noble house of Howard in all its hraTiches. 
 The crest, or bearing, of a warrior, was often used as a nomme de guerre. 
 
 Note 34, page 77. 
 
 Tlie Bloody Heart blazed in the van, 
 Announcing Douglas, dreaded name. 
 
 The chief of this potent race of heroes, about the date of the poem, was 
 Archibald Douglas, seventh Earl of Angus, a man of great courage and ac- 
 tivity. The Bloody Heart was the well-known cognizance of the House of 
 Douglas, assumed from the time of good Lord James, to whose care Robert 
 Bruce committed his he.irt, to be carried to the Holy Laud. 
 
 Note 33, page 77. 
 
 The Seven Spears of Wedderhurne. 
 
 Sir David Home of WedJerburn, slain in the fatal battle of Hodden, left 
 Beven sons, wlio were called the Seven Spears of Wedderburne. 
 
 Note 36, page 77. 
 
 —— Clarence's Blantagenet. 
 
 At the battle of Beaugfi, in France, Thomas, Duke of Clarence, brother to 
 Henry V., was unhorsed by Sir John Swinton of Swinton, who distinguished 
 him by a coronet set with precious stones, whicli he wore around his hel- 
 met. The family of Swinton is one of the most ancient in Scotland, and 
 produced many celebrated warriors. 
 
 Note 37, page 77. 
 And shouting still, " A Home ! a Home I " 
 
 The Earls of Home, as descendants of the Dunbars, ancient Earls of 
 March, carried a lion rampant, argent; but, as a difference, changed the 
 colour of the shield from gules to vert, in allusion to Greenlaw, their ancient 
 possession. The slogan, or war-cry, of tliis powerful faniUy, was, " A Home ! 
 a Home ! " 
 
 The Hepburns, a powerful family in East Lothian were usually in close 
 alliance with the Homes. The chief of this clan was Hepburn, Lord of 
 Hailes; a family which terminated in the too famous Earl of BothweU. 
 
 Note 38, page 79. 
 
 'Twixt truce and war, such sudden change 
 ll'as not infrequent, nor held strange. 
 In the old Border-day. 
 
 Notwithstanding the constant wars upon the Borders, and the occasional 
 cruelties which marked the mutual inroads, the inhabitants on cither side 
 do not appear to have regarded each other with that violent and personal 
 animosity which might have been expected. (In the contrary, like the out- 
 posts of hostile armies, they often carried on something resembling friendly 
 intercourse, even in the middle of hostilities ; and it is evident, from various 
 ordinances against trade and intermarriages, between English and Scottish 
 Borderers, that tlie governments of both countries, were jealous of their 
 cherishing too intimate a connexion. 
 
 Note 39, page 86 
 
 Chi'er the dark blood-hound on his way, 
 And with the bugle rouse the fray! 
 
 The pursuit of Border marauders was followed by the injm-ed party and
 
 668 KOTES TO THE 
 
 his fi-iencls witli blood-hounds and hiigle-horu, and was called the hot-troi. 
 He was entitled, if las dog could trace the scent, to follow the invaders into 
 '►lie opposite kingdom ; a privilege which often occasioned bloodshed. The 
 breed of the blood-hnund was Ivcpt up by the Bucceuch family on their 
 Bolder estates till within the 18th century. 
 
 Note 40, page 89. 
 
 She wrought not by forbidden spell. 
 
 Poptilar belief, though contrary to the doctrines of the Church, made a 
 favourable distinction betwixt magicians, and necromancers or wizards ; — 
 the former were supposed to command the evil spirits, and the latter to serve, 
 or at least to be in league and compact with, those enemies of mankind. 
 The arts of subjecting the demons were manifold; sometimes the fiends 
 were actually swindled by the magicians. 
 
 Note 41, page 89. 
 
 A merlin sat upon her irrist. 
 
 A merlin, or sparrow-hawk, was actually carried by ladies of rank, as a 
 falcon was, in time of peace, the constant attendant of a knight or baron. 
 Godscroft relates, that when Mary of Lorraine was regent, she pressed the 
 Earl of Angus to admit a royal garrison into his castle of Tantallon. To 
 this he returned no direct answer; but, as if apostrophizing a goss-hawk, 
 which sat on his wrist, and wliich he was feeding during the Queen's speech, 
 he exclaimed, "The devil's in this greedy glede, she will never be full." — 
 Hume's History of the Ilonse of Doiiglas, 1743, vol. ii. p. 131. Barchiy com- 
 plains of the common and indecent practice of bringing hawks and houuds 
 into churches. 
 
 Note 42, page 89. 
 
 Jnd firincily peucoclc's gilded train. 
 And o'er the hoar-head, garnished brare. 
 
 Tlie peacock, it is well known, was considered, during the times of chi- 
 Talry, not merely an exquisite delicacy, but a dish of peciUiar solemnity. 
 After being roasted, it was again decorated witli its plumage, and a sponge, 
 dipped in lighted spuits of wine^ was placed in its bill. "When it was intro- 
 duced on days of grand festival, it was the signal for the adventurous knights 
 to take upon them vows to do some deed of chivalry, " before the peacock 
 and the ladies." 
 
 The boar's head was also a usual dish of feudal splendour. In Scotland 
 it was sometimes surrounded with little banners, displaying the colours 
 find achievements of the baron at whose board it was served. — Tinkerion's 
 History, vol. i. p. 433. 
 
 Note 43, page 90. 
 
 Smote tcith his gauntlet, stout Hunthill. 
 
 The Rutherfords of Hunthill were an ancient race of Border Lairds, 
 whose names occur in history, sometimes as defending the frontier against 
 the English, sometimes as disturbing the peace of their own country. 
 Dickon Uraw-the-sword was son to the ancient warrior, called in tradition 
 the Cock of Hunthill, remarkable for leading into buttle nine sons, gallant 
 warriors, all sons of the aged champion. 
 
 Note 44, page 90. 
 
 bit his glove. 
 
 To bite tEe thumb, or the glove, seems not to have been considered, upon 
 the Border, as a gesture of contempt, though so used by Shakspeare, but as 
 a pledge of mortal revenge. It is yet remembered, that a young gentleman 
 of Teviotdale, on the morning after a hai-d drinking-bout, obseiTcd that lie 
 had bitten his glove. He instantly demanded of his companion, with whom 
 he had quarrelled ? And, learning that he liad had words with one of the 
 party, insisted on instant satisfaction, asserting that, though he remembered
 
 LAY OP THE LAST MINSTREL. 6C9 
 
 nothing of the dispute, yet he was sure he never would liave bit his glove 
 unless he h:id received some impardouable insult. He fell in the liael 
 wiiicii ttiis lought uear Selkirk, in 1721. 
 
 Note 45, page 91. 
 ■ old Jibert Grame, 
 
 The Minstrel of that ancient name. 
 
 " Juhn Grahame, eecond son of Malice, Earl of Monteith, commonly sir- 
 named John with the Bright Sword, upon some displeasure risen against hiiu 
 at court, retired with many of his clan and kindred into the English Bor- 
 ders, in the reii:n of Kino; Heury the Fourtli, where they stated themselves ; 
 and many of then- posterity have continued there ever since. Mr Sandford, 
 speaking of them, says, (which indeed was applicable to most of the Bor- 
 derers on both sides,) ' They were all stark moss-troopers, and arrant 
 thieves : Both to England and Scotland outlawed ; yet sometimes connived 
 at, because they gave intelhgence forth of Scotland, and would laise 400 
 horse at any time upon a raid of the English into Scotland. A saying ia 
 recorded of a mother to her son, (which is now become proverbial), Hide, 
 Roicley, hough 's i' the pot : that is, the last piece of beef was in the pot, and 
 therefore it was high time for him to go and fetch more." — Introduction to 
 the Hiatory of Cumberland. 
 
 Note 46, page 92. 
 Who has not heard of Surrey's fame ? 
 
 I'he gallant and unfortunate Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey, was unques- 
 tionably the most accomplished cavalier of his time ; and his sonnets display 
 beauties which would do honour to a more polished age. He was belieaded 
 on Towerhill in 1546; a victim to the mean jealousy of Ueniy Vlll., who 
 could not becir so brilliant a character near liis throne. 
 
 The song of the supposed bard is founded on an incident said to have 
 happened 1o the Earl in bis travels. Cornelius Agrippa, the celebrated al- 
 chemist, showed him, in a looking-glass, the lovely Geraldine to whose 
 service he had devoted his pen and his sword. The vision represented her 
 as indisposed, and reclining upon a couch, reading her lover's verses by the 
 light of a waxen taper. 
 
 Note 47, page 94. 
 
 Of that f^ea-Snake, tremendous curl'd, 
 JPhose monstrous circle girds the toorld. 
 
 The iormungandr, or Snake of tlie Ocean, whose folds surround the earth, 
 is one of the wddest fictions of the Edda. It was very nearly cau!;ht by the 
 god Thor, who went to fish for it with a hook baited with a bull's liead. lu 
 the battle betwixt the evil demons and the divinities of Odin, which is to 
 precede the liagnarockr, or Twihght of the Gods, this Snake is to act jl con- 
 spicuous part. 
 
 Note 48, page 94. 
 
 Of those dread Maids, whose hideous yell. 
 
 These were the Vnlojriur, or Selectors of (he Slain, despatched by Odin 
 from Valhalla, to choose those who were to dir, and to distribute the con- 
 test. They are well known to the English reader, as Gray's I'atal Sisters. 
 
 Note 49, page 95. 
 
 Of Chiefs, who, guided through the gloom 
 By the fate dcath-lif/hts of the tomb, 
 Bunsack'd the graves of warriors old. 
 Their falchions wrench' d from corpses' hold. 
 
 The northern warriors were usually entombed with their arms, and their 
 other treasures. Thus, Aiigautyr, before commencing the duel in which ho 
 was slain, stipulated, tiiut if he tell, his sword Xyrliug should be buriud with
 
 b7U 
 
 NOTES TO THE LAY OP THE LAST MINSTREL. 
 
 him. His daughter, Hervor, aftei-wards took it from his tomb. The dir». 
 logue which passed betwivt her aud Angautyr's spirit oa this occasion has 
 been often translated. The whole history may be found in the Hervarar- 
 Saga. Indeed, the ghosts of the northern warriors were not wont tamely 
 to suffer their tombs to be plundered; and hence the mortal heroes had an 
 additional temptation to attempt such adventures; for they held nothing 
 more worthy of their valour than to encounter supernatural beings. — 
 Barikolinus De causis contemptce a Danis mortis, lib. i. cap. 2, 9, 10, 13. 
 
 Note 50, page 97. 
 St Bride of Douglas. 
 
 This was a favourite saint of the house of Douglas, aud of the Earl of 
 Angus in particular, as we learn from the following passage : — " The Queeu- 
 Regent had proposed to raise a rival noble to the ducal dignity ; and dis- 
 coursing ot her purpose with Angus, he answered, ' Why not, madam ? we 
 are happy that have such a princess, that can know and will acknowledge 
 men's services, and is wilUng to recompense it; but, by the might of God,' 
 (this was his oath when he was serious aud in anger; at other times, it was 
 by St Bryde of Douglas,) if he be a Duke, I will be a Drake! ' — So she de- 
 sisted from prosecuting of that purpose." — Godscroft, vol. ii. p. 131.
 
 NOTES 
 
 TO 
 
 MARMION. 
 
 Note 1, page 112. 
 
 Ai wlien the Champion of the lals 
 Enters Morgana's fated house^ 
 Or in the Chapel Ferilous^ 
 Despising spell-s and demon'' s for ee. 
 Holds converse with the unhuried corse, 
 
 Tns romance of the Morte d' Arthur contains a sort of ahridgment of the 
 most celebrated adventures of the Round Table ; and, being written in com- 
 paratively modern language, gives the general reader an excellent idea of 
 what romances of chivaky actually were. It has also the merit of bein:^ 
 written in pure old English; and many of the wild adventures which it 
 contains are told with a simplicity bordering upon the sublime. Several of 
 these are referred to iu the text ; and I would have illustrated them by more 
 full extracts, but as this curious work is about to be republished, I confine 
 myself to the tale of the Chapel Perilous, and of the quest of Sir Launcelot 
 after the Sangreal. 
 
 •• Right 80 Sir Launcelot departed, and when he came to the Chapell Perilous, he alighted 
 downe, and tied his horse to a little gate. And as booh as he was within the churchyard, he 
 saw, on the front of the chapeU, many faire rich bhields turned upside downe ; and many of 
 the shielda Sir Launcelot had scene knights have before ; with that he saw stand by liim thirtie 
 great knights, more, by a yard, than any man that ever he had scene, and all those grinned 
 and gnashed at Sir Launcelot; and when he saw their countenance, hee dread them sore, 
 and so put hii shield afore him, and tooke his sword in his band, ready to doe battaile ; aud 
 they were all arm-^d in black harueis, rea-lj, with their shields andswords drawn. Aud when 
 Sir Launcelot would have gone through them, they scattered on every side of hira, aTid gave 
 him the way; and therewith he waxed all bold, aud entered into the chapell, and then hee 
 saw no light but a dimme lampe burning, and then was he ware of a corps covered with a 
 cloath of silke t then Sir Launcelot stooped downe, and cut a piece of that cloth away, and 
 then it fared under him as the earth had quaked a little, whereof he was afeard, and thea 
 hee saw a &ire swoM lye by the dead knight, and that he gat in his hand, and hied him out 
 of the chappelL As soon as be was in the chappell-ycrd, all the knights spoke to him with a 
 grimly voice, and said, * Knight, Sir Launcelot, lay that sword from thee, or else thou shalt 
 die.'—* Whether 1 live or die,* said Sir Launcelot, ' with no great words get yee it aKaiue. tliero- 
 for fight for it an yee list' Therewith he passed through them; and, beyond the chappell- 
 yerd, there met him a faire damosell, and said, ' Sir Launcelot, leave that sword beliind thee, 
 or thou wilt die fur it.'—* I will not leave it,' said Sir Launcelot, ' for no threats.'—' No "i* said 
 ehe ; ' and ye did leave that sword. Queen Guenever should ye never see.*—' Then were I a fool 
 and I would leave this sword,' said Sir Launcelot.—* Now, gentle knight,' said the damosell, 
 ' I require thee to kiss me once.'— ' Nay,' said Sir Launcelot, 'that God forbid 1*—' Well, sir,' 
 paid she, * and thou haddest kissed me thy life dayes had been donei but now. alas ! ' said 
 she. ' I have lost all my labour; for I ordeined this chappell for thy sake, and for SirGawainc: 
 and once I had Sir Gawaine within itt and at that time he fought with that knight which 
 there lieth dead in yonder chappell. Sir Gilbert the bastard, and at that time hee smote oti 
 Sir Gilbert the bastard's left hand. And so. Sir Launcelot, now I tell thee, that I have loved 
 thee this leaveo yeare; but there may no woman have thy love but Queene Guenevert but 
 sithen I may not rejoyice thee to have thy body alive, I had kept no more joy in this world 
 but to have had thy dead body ; and I would have balmed it and served, and so have kept it 
 in my life dales, and daily I should have clipped thee, and kissed thee, in the despite of Queen 
 Guenever.*—* Yee say well,' said Sir Launcelot ; 'Jesus preserve me from your lubtill crftft' 
 Aud therewith he took his horbe, and departed from her.** 
 
 Note 2, page 112. 
 
 A sinful many and nnconfess*dy 
 He took the S-ingreaVs holy quests 
 And, slumbering, saw the rision hxgh^ 
 He might not view with waking eye* 
 
 One day when Arthur was holding a high feast with his Kniglits of the 
 Round Table, the Sangreal, or vessel out of which the last passover was
 
 672 
 
 NOTES TO MARMIOlt. 
 
 eaten, (a precious relic, which had long remained concealed from hnmau 
 eyes, because of the sins of the land,) suddenly appeared to him and all 
 his chivalry. The consequence of this vision was, that all the knights took 
 on them a solemn vow to seek the Sangreal. But, alas ! it could only be 
 revealed to a kuight at once accomplished in earthly chivalry, and pure and 
 guiltless of evil conversation. Ail Sir Launcelot's noble accomplishments 
 were therefore rendered vain by his guilty intrigue with Queen Guenever, 
 or Ganore; and in his holy quest he encountered only such disgraceful 
 disasters as that which follows : — 
 
 " But Sir Launcelot rode overthwart and endlong in a wild forest, and held no path but as 
 wild adventure led him ; and at the last, he came unto a stone crosse, which departed two 
 wayes, in wast laud ; and, bj the crosse, was a stone that was of marble ; but it was so dark, 
 that Sir Launcelot might not well know \Yhat it was. Then Sir Launcelot looked by him, and 
 saw an old chappell, and there he wend to have found people. And so Sir Launcelot tied hie 
 horse to a tree, and there he put o& his shield, and hung it upon a tree, and then hee went 
 unio the chappell doore, and found it wasted and broken. And within he found a faire 
 altar, full richly arrayed with cloth of silk, and there stood a faire candlestick, which beare 
 six great candles, and the candlesticko was of silver. And when Sir Launcelot saw this light, 
 hee had a great will for to enter into the chappell, but he could find no place where hee 
 might enter. Then was he passing heavie and dismaied. Then he returned, and came agaiue 
 to his horse, and tooko ott" his saddle and his bridle, and let him pasture, and unlaced his 
 helme, and ungirded his sword, and laid bim downe to sleepe upou his shield, betore the 
 crosse, 
 
 *' And so he fell on sleepe ; and, halfe waking and halfe sleeping, he Eaw come by him two 
 palfreys, both faire and white, the which beare a litter, therein lying a sicko knight. And 
 when he was nigh the crosse. be there abode still. All this Sir Launcelot saw and beheld, far 
 hee slept not verily, and hee heard him say, * O sweete Lord, when shall this sorrow leave me,, 
 and when shall the holy vessel come by me, where through I shall be blessed, for I have en- 
 dured thus long for little trespasse I ' And thus a great while complained the knight, and 
 alwaies Sir Launcelot heard it. With that Sir Launcelot saw the candlcsticke, with the fire 
 tapera, come before the crosse ; but he could see nobody that brought it. Also there came a 
 table of silver, and the holy vessell of the 8ancgreall, the which Sir Launcelot had seen before 
 that time in King Petchour'a house. And therewiihall the sicke knight set him upright, and 
 held up both his hands, and said, ' Faire sweete Lord, which is here within the holy vessell, 
 take heede to mee. that I may bee hole of this great malady 1' And therewith upon his 
 hands, and upon his knees, he went so nigh, that lie touched the holy vessclL and kissed it : 
 And anon he was hole, and then he said, * Lord God, I thank thee, for I am healed of thia 
 malady.' Soo when the holy vessell had been there a great while, it went into the chappelle 
 againe, with the candlesticke and the light, so that Sir Launcelot wist not where it became, 
 for he was overtaken with sinne, that hee had no power to arise against the holy vessell, 
 where fore afterward many men said of him shame. But ho tooke repentance afterward. 
 Then the sicke knight dressed him upright, and kissed the crosse. Then anon his squire 
 brought him his armes, and asked liis lord how he diiL ' Certainly/ said bee, ' I thanke God 
 right heartily for through the holy vesseU I am healed : But I have right great mervaile of 
 this sleeping knight, which hath had neither grace nor power to awake during the time that 
 this holy vessell hath beene here present.'—' I dare it right well say.' said the squire, ' that 
 this same knight is defouled with some manner of deadly sinne, whereof he has never con- 
 fessed.'—' By my faith,' said the knight, ' whatsoever he be, he is unhappie ; for, as I deeme, 
 he is of the fellowship of the Round Table, the which is entered into tiie quest of the Sanc- 
 greall.'— * Sir,* said the squire, ' here I have brought you all yoxir armes. save your helme and 
 your sword; and, therefore, by mine assent, now may ye take this knight's helme and his 
 aword ;' and so he did. And when he was cleane armed, he took Sir Launcelot's horse, for 
 he was better than his owne, and so they departed from the crosse. 
 
 " Then anon Sir Launcelot awaked, and set himselfe upright, and he thought him what 
 hee had there seene. and whether it were dreames or not ; right so he heard a voice that said, 
 * Sir Launcelot, more hardy than is the stone, and more bitter than is the wood, and more 
 naked and hare than is the liefo of the fig-tree, therefore go thou from hence, and withdraw 
 thee from this holy place ;' and when Sir Launcelot heard this, he was passing heavy, and wist 
 not what to doe. And so he departed sore weeping, and cursed the time that he was borne ; 
 for then he deemed never to have had more worsliip ; for tbo words went uuto Ms heart, (ill 
 that he knew wherefore that hee was so called." 
 
 Note 3, page 112. 
 
 eUj in immortal stro 
 d the Table Round a 
 
 Dryden's melancholy account of his projected Epic Poem, blasted by 
 
 the stilish and sordid parsimony of his patrons, is contained in an " Essay 
 on Satu-e," addressed to the Earl of Dorset, and prefixed to the Translation 
 of Juvenal. After mentioning a plan of supplying machinery from the 
 guardian an^^els of kingdoms, mentioned in the Book of Daniel, he adds — 
 
 " Thus, my lord, I have, as briefly as I could, given your lordship, and by you the world, 
 % rude draught of what I have been long labouring in my imagination, and what I had in- 
 tended to have put in practice; (though far unable for tlie attempt of such a poem) ; and to 
 have left the stage, to which my genius never much inclined me, for a work which would 
 have taken up my life in the performance of it. This, too, I had intended chiefly for the 
 honour of my native country, to which a poet is paiticularly obligt-'d. Of two subjects, both 
 relating to it, I was doubtful whether I should choose that of Ring Arthur conquering the 
 Saxons, which, being farther distant in time, gives the greater scope to my invention ; or that 
 of Edward the Black Prince, in subduing Spain, and restoring it to the lawful prince, though 
 a, great tyrant, Don Pedro the Cruel; which, for the compass oi time, including only the 
 ©apedition ot one year, for the gre;aness of the action, and its auswerablo event, for the 
 
 And DrydeUj in immortal strain. 
 Had raised the Table Round again.
 
 NOTES TO MARMIOM. 673 
 
 m^vnanimit J of th« English hero, opposed to the ingratitude of the person whom he restored, 
 and for the many beautiful episodes which 1 had interwoven witli liie principal design, to- 
 gether with the char;tcters of the chiefest Eitgli.sh persons, (wherein, after Virgil and .Spenser, 
 
 lid have taken occasion to repre>ent my living friends and patrons of the noblest families^ 
 and also shadott-ed the events of future ages in the succession of our imperial line),— with 
 these helps, and those of the machines which I have mentioned, I might perhaps have done, 
 as well as some of my predecessors, or at least chalked out a way for otheiN to amend my 
 errors in a like design ; but being encouraged only with fair words by King Ciiarle^s II., my 
 little salary ill paid, and no prospect of a future subsistence, I was then discouraged in the 
 beginning of my attempt ; and now age has overtaken me, and want, a more insulferable evil, 
 through the chai^ge of the times, has wholly disabled me." 
 
 KoTE 4, page 11.3. 
 
 Their theme the merry minstrels made. 
 Of Ascapart, and Bevis bold. 
 
 The " History of Bevis of Hampton " is abridged by my f lieud Mr. George 
 E lis, with that liveUness which extracts aiausement eveji out of tlie most 
 rude and unpromising of our old tales of chivalry Ascapart. a most im- 
 portant personage in the romance, is thus described in an extract: — 
 
 " This ffeaunt was mighty and strong. 
 And full thirty foot was long. 
 He was bristled like a sow : 
 A foot he had between each brow ; 
 His lips were great, and hung aside ; 
 His eyen were hollow, his moutti was wide : 
 Lothlv he was to look on than. 
 And liker a devil tlian a man. 
 His staff was a young oak. 
 Hard and heavy was his stroke." 
 
 Speciinetis of Metrical Romances, vol. iL p. 136. 
 
 I am happy to say, that the memory of Sir Bevis is still fragrant in his 
 town of Southampton ; the gate of which is sentinelled by the etiigiee of 
 that doughty knight-errant and his gigantic associate. 
 
 Note 5, page 114. 
 
 Dny set on Norham's castled steep, 
 
 And Tweed's fair river, broad and deep, /r. 
 
 The ruinous castle of Norham (anciently called Ubl)auford) is situated 
 on the southern bank of the Tweed, about six miles above Berwick, and 
 where that river is still the boundary between England and Scotland. The 
 eitent of its ruins, as well as its historical importance, shows it to have 
 been a place of magnificence, as well as strength. Edward 1. resided there 
 when he was created umpire of the dispute concei'ning the Scottish succes- 
 sion. It was repeatedly taken and retaken during the wars between En.'- 
 land and Scotland; and, indeed, scarce any happened, iu which it had not 
 a principal share. Norham Castle is situated on a steep bauk, which over- 
 hangs the river. The repeated sieges which the castle had sustained, ren- 
 dered frequent repairs necessary. In 11G4, it was almost reliuilt by Hugh 
 Pudsey, Bishop of Durham, who added a huge keep, or donjon ; notwith- 
 standing which, King Henry II., in 1174-, took the castle from the bishop, 
 and coiumitled the keeping of it to William de Nenlle. After this period it 
 seems to liave been chiefly garrisoned by the King, and considered as a 
 royal fortress. The Greys of Chillingham Castle were frequently the cas- 
 tellans, or captains of the garrison : Yet, as the castle was situated in the 
 patrimony of St Cuthbert, the properly was in tiie see of Durham till the 
 Beformation. After that period it passed through various hands. At the 
 union of the crowns, it was in the possession of Sir Robert Carey (.afterwards 
 Earl of Monmouth) for his own life, and that of two of his sons. After 
 King James's. accession, Carey sold >'nrham Castle to George Home, Earl of 
 Dunbar, for £6U(X». See his cuiious Memoiis, pubUshed by Mr Constable 
 of Edinburgh. 
 
 According to Mr Pinkerton, there is in the British Museum, Cal. B. 6. 
 216, a curious memoir of the Dacres on the state of Norham Castle in 15CC, 
 not long after the battle of Elndden. The inner ward, or keep, is repre- 
 sented as impregnable : — " The provisions are three great vats of salt eels 
 forty-four kiue, three hogsheads of salted salmon, f()rty quaiters of gram, 
 IjesiJes many cows and four hundred sheep, lying under the castle-w.iU 
 2 D
 
 674 NOTES TO MAKMION. 
 
 nightly; but a numher of the arrows wanted feathers, and a good Fletcher 
 [;. e. maker of arrows] was required." — History of Scotland, vol. ii. p. 201, 
 note. 
 
 The ruins of the castle are at present considerable, as well as picturesque. 
 'Vhey consist of a large shattered tower, witli many vaults, and fragments 
 ^ other edifices, enclosed within an outward w;di of great circuit. 
 
 Note 6, page Hi. 
 
 The battled towers, the donjon keep. 
 
 It is perhaps unnecessary to remind my readers, that the donjon, in its 
 proper signification, means the strongest part of a feudal castle ; a high 
 square tower, with walls of tremendous thickness, situated in the centre of 
 tlie other buildings, from which, however, it was usually detached. Here, 
 in case of the outward defences being gained, the garrison retreated to make 
 their last stand. The donjon contained the great hall, and principal rounis 
 of state for solemn occasions, and also the prison of the fortress ; Irom wliicli 
 last circumstance we derive the modern and restricted use of the word dun- 
 geon. Ducange {voce Dunjo) conjectures plausibly, that the name is de- 
 rived from these keeps being usually built upon a hill, which in Celtic is 
 called Dun. Borlase supposes the word came from the darkness of the 
 apartments in these towers, which were thence figuratively called Duu- 
 geous; thus deriving the ancient word from the modern application of it. 
 
 Note 7, page 115. 
 
 WeU was he urm'dfrom, head to heel. 
 In mail and flute of Milan steel. 
 
 The artists of Milan were famous in the middle ages for their skill in 
 armoury, as appears from the following passage, in which Froissai't gives an 
 account of the preparations made by Henry, Earl of Hereford, afterwards 
 Henry IV., and Thomas, Uuke of Norfolk, Earl Marischal, for their pro- 
 posed combat in the hsts at Coventry i— "These two lords made ample pro- 
 vision of all things necessary for the combat; and the Earl of Derby sent 
 off messengers to Lombardy, to have armour from Sir Galeas, Duke of Milan. 
 The Duke complied with joy, and gave the knight, called Sir Erancis, who 
 had brought the message, the clioice of all his armoui'for the Earl of Derby. 
 ■\Vhen he had selected what he wished for in plated and mail armour, the 
 Lord of Milan, out of his abundant love for the Earl, ordered four of the 
 best armourers in .Milim to accompany the knight tu England, thit the Earl 
 of Derby might be more completely ai-med." — Jounes' Froissart, vol. iv. 
 p. 597. 
 
 Note 8, page 116. 
 
 aSBflo cjcctts at me. to nmt) fs Bigfit. 
 
 The crest and motto of Marmion are borrowed from the follo^^ing story : — 
 Sir David de Lindsay, first Earl of Crauford, w as, among other gentlemen of 
 quality, attended, during a visit to London in 1390, by Sir William Dalzell, 
 who was, according to my authority. Bower, not only e.xcell ng in wisdom, 
 l)ut also of a lively wit. Chancing to be at the court, he there saw Sir Piers 
 Courtenay, an En'gUsh knight, famous for skill in tilting, and for the beauty 
 of his person, parading the palace, arrayed in a new mantle, bearing fur 
 device an embroidered falcon, with tins rhyme, — 
 
 " I bear a falcon, fairest of flight. 
 Whoso pinches ut her, his death is dipht 1 
 In graith." 2 
 
 The Scottish knight, being a wa?, appeared next day in a dress exactly 
 similar to that of Courtenay, but bearing a magpie instead of the falcon, 
 with a motto ingeniously contrived to rhyme to the vaunting iusciiption of 
 Sir Piers : — 
 
 " I hear a pie picking at a piece. 
 Whoso picks at her. I shall pick at his nese. 3 
 In faith." 
 
 1 Prepared. > Armoar. 3 Nose.
 
 NOTES TO MARMION. 675 
 
 Tl:i3 affront could only be expiated by a just with sharp lances. In the 
 course, Dalzell left his helmet unlaced, so that it gave way at the touch of 
 his antagonist's lance, and he thus avoiJed the shock of the encounter. 
 This happened twice : in the third encounter, the handsome Cnurtenay lost 
 two of his front teeth. As the Englishman complained bitterly of D dzell's 
 fraud in not fastening his helmet, the Scottishm;ui agreed to i-uu six courses 
 more, each champion staking in the hand of the king two hundred pounds, 
 to be forfeited if, on entering the Usts, any unequal advantage should be 
 detected. This being agreed to, the wily Scot demanded tliat Sir Piers, in 
 addition to the loss of his teeth, should consent to the extinction of one of 
 his eyes, he liimself having lost an eye in the tight of Otterimrn. As Cour- 
 tenay demurred to this equalization of optical powers, Dalzell demanded 
 the forfeit, which, after niucU altercation, the kiirg appointed to be paid to 
 him, saying, he surpassed the English both in wit and valour. This must 
 appear to the re ider a singular specimen of the humour of that time- I 
 Buspect the Jockey Club would have given a different decision from Henry 
 ,1V. 
 
 Note 9, page 117. 
 
 They haiVd Lord Marmion : 
 They hail'd him Lord of Fontenaye, 
 Of LiUtertcard, and Scrivelbaye, 
 
 Of Tamworlh tower and town. 
 
 Lord Marmion, the principal character of the present romance, is en- 
 tirely a fictitious personage. In earlier times, indeed, the family of Marmion, 
 Lords of Fontenay in Normandy, «;!3 hii; i y distinguished. Robert de Mar- 
 mion, Lord of FonteiKiy, a distinguished follower • I the Conqueror, obtained 
 a grant of 'he castle and town of Tamwor li, and also of the manor of Scri- 
 Telby, in Linc.lushire. One, or both, of these noble possessions, was held 
 by the honiiurable service of being the Royal Chanip'on, as the ancestors of 
 Marmion ha i formerly been to the Dukes of Normandy. But aftei- the castle 
 and demesne of Taraworth had passed through four successive barons fi om 
 Robert, the family became extinct in the person of Philip de Marmion, who 
 died in 20th Edward I. without issue male. He was succeeded in liis castle 
 of Tamworth bv Alexander de FreviUe, who married Mazera, his grand- 
 daughter. Baldwin de Frevilie, Ale.vander s descei.daut, in the reign of 
 Richard I., by the supposed tenure of his castle of Tamwoith, claimed the 
 office of Rflyal Champion, and to do the service appenamiug; namely, on 
 the day of coronation, to ride, completely armed, upon a barbed horse, into 
 Westminster Hall, and there to chill, nge the combat against any who 
 would gainsay the king's title. But tliis othce was adjudged to Sir John 
 Dymoke, to whom the manor of Scrivelby had descended by another of the 
 co-heiresses of Robert de Marmion; and it remains in that family, whose 
 representative is Hereditary Champion of England at the present d'y. The 
 family and possessions of Frevilie have merged in the Earls of Ferrars. I 
 have not, therefore, created a new famOy, but only revived the titles of an 
 old one in an imaginary personage. 
 
 It was one of the Marmion family, who, in the reign of Edward II., per- 
 formed that cliivalrous feat before the very castle of Nurham, whieli Bishop 
 Percy has woven into his beautiful ballad, "The Hermit of Wurkworth." 
 The story is thus told by Leland: — 
 
 " The Scott€3 cam yo to the marches of England, and destroyed the castles o"' Week and 
 Ilerl>otel, and overran much of N'orthumherlaiid marches, 
 
 '* At this tyme, Thomas Gray and his friendes defended Norham from the Scotles. 
 
 " It were a wonderful processe to declare, what mischefes cam by hungre and asseges by 
 the space of xi yeres in Northumberland ; for the Scottes became so proude, after they had 
 got Berwick, that they nothing esteemed the Englishmeu. 
 
 " About this tyme there was a greate feste made yii Lincotnshjr, to which came many 
 gentlemen and ladies ; and amonge them one lady brought a heaulme for a man ot were, 
 with a very richc creste of gold, to William Marmion, knight, with a letter of commandement 
 of her lady, that he should go into the daungerest place in Eugtind. and ther to let the 
 heaulme be seene and known as famous. 8o he went to Noriiam ; whither, within 4 days of 
 cumming. cam Philip Moubray, guardian of lierwicke, having yu Im baude 40 men of 
 armes, tiie very flour of men of the s-cottish marches. 
 
 " Thomas Gray, capitajne of Norham, seynge this, brought his garison afore the barrierj 
 of the castel, behind whom cam William, richly arrayed, as al ghtteriug in gold, ai.d weai^ 
 ing the heaiilme, his lad>''s present. 
 
 " Then said Thomas Jray to Marmion, ' Sir Knight, be ye cum hither to feme your helmet;
 
 676 ' NOTES TO MARMION. 
 
 mount up on yonr hone, and i-rde lyke a valiant man to vowr foes even here at hand, and I 
 forsake God if 1 rescue not thy body deade or alyvc, or I myself wyl dye for it. 
 
 " Whereupon he toke his cursere, and rode among the throng of ennemyes ; the which 
 layed sore stripes on him, and pulled him at the last out of his sadel to the grounde. 
 
 *' Then Thomas Gray, with al the hole garrison, lette prick yn among the Scottes, and so 
 wondid them and their horses, that they were overthrowan ; and Marraion. sore heten. was 
 horsid agayn. and. with Gray, persewed the Scottes yn chase. There were taken 50 hoi-se of 
 price ; and the women of Norbam brought them to the foote men to follow the chase." 
 
 Note 10, paje 118. 
 
 Sir Hugh the Heron hn'ii, 
 
 Baron of Twisell, and of Ford, 
 
 And Captain of the Hold. 
 
 Were accuracy of any consequence in a fictitious narrative, this cas- 
 '.ellau's name ouglit to have been William; for William Heron of Ford was 
 husband to the famous Lady Ford, wliose siren charms are said to have cost 
 oui- James IV. so dear. Moreover, the said William Heron was, at the time 
 supposed, a prisoner in Scotland, being surrendered by Henry VIII. on ac- 
 count of his share iu the slaughter of Sir Kobert Ker of Cessford. His wife, 
 represented iu the text as residing at the Court of Scotland, was, in fact, 
 hving in her own castle at Ford. — See Sir Richard Heron's curious Gene- 
 alogy of the Heron Family. 
 
 Note 11, page 120. 
 
 James back'd the cause of that mock prince, 
 V'arbeck, that Flemish counterfeit, 
 Vho on the gibbet paid the cheat. 
 Then did I march with Surrey's power, 
 Jl'hat time ice rased old Jytoun Tower. 
 
 The story of Perliin Warbeck, or Richard, Duke of York, is well kno^vn. 
 .'n 1496, he was received honourably iu Scotland; and James IV., after con- 
 ferring upon him in marriage his own relation, the Lady Catherine Gordon, 
 made war on England in behalf of his pretensions. To retaliate an invasion 
 of England, Surrey advanced into Berwickshu-e at the head of considerable 
 forces, but retreated, after taking the inconsiderable fortress of Ayton. 
 
 Note 13, page 120. 
 
 here he some hive prick' d as far, 
 
 On Scottish ground, as to Dunbar ; 
 Have drunk'the monks of St Bolhan's ale. 
 And driven the beeves of Launerdale ; 
 Harried the wives of Greenlaw's goods. 
 And given them light to set their hoods. 
 
 The gan-isons of the English castles of Wark, Norham, and Berwick, 
 were, as may be easily supposed, very troublesome neighbours to Scotland. 
 Sir Richard'Maitland of Ledington wrote a poem, called "The Blind Baron's 
 Comfort," when his barony of Blythe, iu Lauderdale, was harried by Row- 
 land Foster, the EngUsh captain o"f Wark, with his company, to the number 
 of 300 men. They spoiled the poetical knight of 5000 sheej), 200 nolt, 30 
 horses and marcs; the whole furniture of his house of Blythe, worth 100 
 pounds Scots (£8 : 6 : 8), and everything else that was portable. 
 
 Note 13, page 121. 
 
 The priest of Shoreswood — he could rein 
 
 The wildest war-horse in your train. 
 This churchman seems to have been akin to Welsh, the vicar of St 
 Thomas of Exeter, a leader among the Cornish insurgents in 1549. " This 
 man," says Hulinshed, " had many good tl;in'.:s in him. He was of no great 
 stature, but well set, and mightilie compact : He was a very good wrestler; 
 shot well, both in the long iiow and also in the cross-bow; he handled hie 
 hand-gun anu peece very well ; iie was a very good woodman, and a hardie, 
 and such a one as would not give his head fc'r "the polhng, or his beard foi-
 
 NOTES TO MAUMION. 677 
 
 tlie wasliiti?" Tliis model of clerical talents liad the misfortune to be 
 lianged upon the steeple of his own church. 
 
 Note 14, page 122. 
 
 that Grot where Olives nod, 
 
 irhere, darUng of each heart and eye, 
 From all the south of Sicihj, 
 Saint Rosalie retired to God. 
 
 " Sante Ro.<:a1ia was of Palermo, and bom of a very noble family, and when very young, 
 abhorred so much the vanities of this world, and avoided the converse of mankind, resolving 
 -o dedicate herself wholly to God Ahnighty, that she, by divine inspiration, forsook her 
 father's house, and never wa*i more heard of till her body was found in that cleft of a rock, 
 on that almost inaccessible mountain, where now the chapel is built ; and they affirm she was 
 carried up there by the hands of angels ; for that place was not formerly so accessible (as now 
 It is) in the days of the Saint ; and even now it is a very bad, and steepy, and breakneck 
 way. In this frightful place, this holy woman lived a great many years, feeding only on 
 what she found growu;g on that barren mountain, and creeping into a narrow and dreadful 
 cleft in a rock, which was always dropping wet, and was her place of retirement as well as 
 prayer; having worn out even the rock with her knees in a certain place, which is now 
 open'jl on purpose to show it to those who come here." — I'oyage to Sicily and MaJta, by Mr 
 iohn Dryden, (sou to the poet), p. 107. 
 
 Note 15, page 123. 
 Friar John ■ 
 
 Himself still sleeps before his heads 
 Have mark'd ten aves and two creeds. 
 
 Friar John understood the soporific virtue of )iis beads ana ore^'iary, as 
 ' well as his namesake in Rabelais. " But Gargantua could not sleep by any 
 means, on which side soever he turned himself. Wliereupcu the monk said 
 to him, 'I never sleep soundly but when I am at sermon or prayers: Let 
 us therefore begin, you and 1, the seven penitential psalms, to try whether 
 you shall not quickly fall asleep.' The conceit pleased Gargantua very well ; 
 and beginning the first of these psalms, as soon as they came to L'eati quorum, 
 they fell asleep, both the one and the other." 
 
 Note 16, page 123. 
 The summon'd Palmer came in place 
 A Palmer, opposed to a Pilgrim, was one who made it liis sole business 
 to visit different holy shrines; travelling incessantly, and subsisting by 
 charity: whereas the Pilgrim retired to his usual home and occupations, 
 when he had paid his devotions at the particular spot which was the object 
 of his pilgrimase. The Palmers seem to have been the (^uestionarii of the 
 ancient Scottisli canons 1242 and 12 J6. 
 
 Note 17, page 124. 
 
 To fair St Jndretcs hound. 
 Within the ocean-care to pray. 
 Where good Saint Rule his holii lay, 
 From midnight to the Jnvn oj day. 
 
 Sung to the billoirs' sound. 
 
 St Kegulus (Scottici, St Rule), a monk of Patrie, in .^chaia, warned by 
 a vision, is said, a. d. 370, to have sailed westward, until he landed at St 
 Andrews, in Scotland, where he founded a chapel and tower. The latter 
 ia still standhig; and, though we may doubt tlie precise date of its foun- 
 dation, is certainly one of the most ancie..t edifices in Scotland. A cave, 
 nearly fronting the rtiinous castle of the Archbishops of St Andrews, bears 
 the name of this religious person. It is difficult of access ; and the rock 
 in which it is hewed is washed by the German Ocean. It is nearly round, 
 about ten feet in diameter, and the same in height. On one side is a sort 
 of stone altar; on the other, an aperture into an inner den, where the 
 miserable ascetic, who inhabited this dwelling, probably slept. At full tide, 
 egress and regress are hardly practicable. As Reguliis first colonized tlie 
 metropolitan see of Scotland, and converted the inhabitants in the vicinity, 
 he has some reason to complain, that the ancient name of Killrule {CelU
 
 6"8 NOTES TO MARMION. 
 
 Rer/nU) should have been superseded, even in favour of the tutelar saint of 
 Scotland. The reason of the cliauge was, that St Rule is said to have 
 brought to Scotland the relics of Saint Andrew. 
 
 Note 18, page 124. 
 
 Saint FUlan's llessed well, 
 
 Whose S]ning can frenzied dreams dispel, 
 And the crazed brain restore. 
 
 St Fillan was a Scottish saint of some reputation. Although Popery is, 
 >vith us, matter of abomination, yet the common people still retain some (if 
 the superstitions connected with it. There are in Perthshire several wells 
 and springs dedicated to St Fillan, which are still places of pilgi-image and 
 olferiiigs, even among the Protestants. They are held powerful in cases of 
 c;artness ; and, in some of very late occurrence, lunatics have been left all 
 night bound to the holy stone, in conJidence that the saint would cure and 
 unloose them before morning. 
 
 Note 19, page 126. 
 
 The scene' are desert now, and hare. 
 Where flourish' d once a forest fair. 
 
 Ettrick Forest, now a range of mountainous sheep-walks, was anciently 
 reserved for the pleasure of the royal chase. Since it was disparked, the 
 wood has been, by degrees, almost totally destroyed, although, wherever 
 protected from the sheep, copses soon arise without any planting. When 
 the King hunted there, he often summoned the array of the country to meet 
 and assist his sport. Thus, in 1528, James V. " made proclamation to all 
 lords, barons, gentlemen, landward-nien, and freeholders, that they should 
 compear at Edinburgh, with a month's victuals, to pass with the King 
 where he pleased, to danton the thieves of Tivioldale, Annandale, Liddis- 
 dale, and other parts of that country; and also warned all gentlemen that 
 had good dogs to bring them, that he might hunt in the said country as he 
 pleased: The whilktlie Eaj-1 of Argyle, the Earl of Huntley, the Earl 
 of Athole, and so all the rest of the gentlemen of the Highland, did, and 
 brought their hounds with them in like manner, to hunt with the King as 
 he pleased. 
 
 " The second day of June the Kin? pa«t out of Edinburgh to the hunting:, with many 
 of the nobles and gentlemen of Scotland with him, to the number of twelve thousand 
 men ; and then past to Meggitland, and hounded and hawke<l all the country und bounds ; 
 that is to say, Craramat, Pappertlaw, St "Mary-laws, Carlavrick, Chapei, Ewindoores, and 
 Longhope. I heard say, he slew, in these bounds, eighteen score of harts." I 
 
 These huntings had, of course, a military character, and attendance upon 
 them was a part of the duty of a vassal. The act for abolishing ward or 
 military tenures in Scotland, enumerates the services of himting, hosting, 
 watching, and warding, as those which were in future to be illegal. 
 
 Taylor, the water-poet, has given an account of the mode in which these 
 huntings were conducted in the Highlands of Scotland, in the seventeenth 
 century, having been present at Braemar upon such an occasion ; — 
 
 " There did I find the truly noble and rit^ht honourable lords, John Erskine, Earl of Mar; 
 James Stewart, Earl of ilurray ; Georj^e Gordon, Earl of Etigye, son and heir to the Marquis 
 of Iluntley; James Erskine, Earl of Buchan; and John, Lord Erskine, son and heir to tho 
 Earl of Mar, and their Countesses, with my much honoured, and my last assured and ap- 
 proved friend. Sir William Muri-ay, knight of Abercarney, and hundreds of others, knights, 
 esquires, and tlieir followers : all and every man, in general, in one habit, ps if Lycurgus had 
 been there, and made laws of equality ; for once in the year, which is the whole month of 
 August, and sometimes part of September, many of the nobility and gentry of the kingdom 
 (for their pleasure) do come into these Highland countries to hunt ; where they do conform 
 themselves to the habit of the Highlandmen, who, for the most part, speak nothing but 
 Irish : and, in former time, were tliose people which were called the R-d-shankt. Their habit 
 is— shoes, with but one sole a-piece ; stockings (which they call short-hose), made of a warm 
 stutTof diverse colours, which they call tartan ; as for breeches, many of them, nor their 
 forefathers, never wore any, but a jerkin of the same stuff that their hose is of; their gartera 
 being bands or wreaths of hay or straw ; with a plaid about their shoulders : which is a man- 
 tle of diverse colours, much liner and lighter stuff than their hose; with blue flat caps on 
 their heads; a handkerchief, knit with two knots, about their necks: and thus are th<>^ 
 attired. Now their weapons are — long bowes and forked arrows, swords and targets, harqu9 
 
 1 Pitscottie^s History of Scotland, lolio edition, p. 145.
 
 NOTES TO MARMION. 679 
 
 btisses, muskf'ts, durks, and Lochaber axes. With these arms I found many of them armed 
 for the hunting. As for their attire, any man, of what depree soever, that comes amonyst 
 them, must not disdain to wear it ; lor, if they do, then they will disdain to hunt, or wiUin.e- 
 ly to bring in their dogs ; but if men be kind unto them, and be in their habit, then are they 
 conquered with kindness, and the sport will be plentifuL This was the reason that 1 found 
 80 many noblemen and gentlemen in those shapes. But to proceed to the hunting :— 
 
 " My good Lord of Marr having put me into that shape, I rode with him from his house, 
 where I saw the ruins of an old castle, called the Ca-stie of Kindroghit. It wa.-^ built byKnjjc 
 Malcolm Canmore (for a hunting-house), who reigned in Scotland, when Edwaidthe Con- 
 fessor, Harold, and Xorman William, reigned in England. I speak of it, because it was the 
 last house I saw in those parts ; for I was the space of twelve days after, before I saw either 
 house, corn-field, or habitation for any creature, but deer, wild horse*, wolves, and such 
 like creatures,— which made me doubt that I should never have seen a house again. 
 
 " Thus, the first day, we travelled eight miles, where there were small cottages, built on 
 purpose to lod^e in. which they call Lonquhard^i. I thank my good Lord Erskine, he com- 
 manded that I shv^uld always be lodged in his lodging : tho kitchen being always on the side 
 of a bank; many kettles and pots boiling, and many spits turning and winding, with great 
 variety of cheer. — as venison baked ; sodden, rost. and stewei beef; mutton, goats, kid, bares, 
 fresh salmon, pigeons, hens, capons, chickens, partridges, muir-coots. heath-cocks, caperkel- 
 lies, and termagants ; good ale, sacke, white and claret, tent (or allegant), with most potent 
 aquavitse. 
 
 ** All these, and more than these, we had continually in superfluotis abundance, caught by 
 foiconers, fowlers, fishers, and brought by my lord's tenants and purveyors to victual our 
 camp, which consisleth of fourteen or fifteen hundred men and horses. The manner of the 
 bunting is this : Five or six hundi-ed men do rise early in the morning, and they do disperse 
 themselves divers ways, and seven, eight, or ten miles compass, they do bring, or chase in, 
 the deer in many herds (two, three, or four hundred in a herd) to such or such a place, as the 
 noblemen shall appoint them ; then, when day is come, the lords and gentlemen of their 
 companies do ride or go to the said places, sometimes wading up to the middles, through 
 bums and rivers ; and then, they being come to the place, do lie down on the ground, till 
 those foresaid scouts, which are called the Tinkhell, do bring down the deer ; but. as the pro- 
 verb sa>-3 of the bad cook, so these tinkhell men do lick their own fingers; fur. besides their 
 bows and arrows, which they carry with them, we can hear, now and then, a harquebuss or 
 a musket go off, which they do seldom discharge in vain. Then, after we had staid there 
 three hours, or thereabouts, we might perceive the deer appear on the hills round about us 
 (their heads making a show Hke a wood), which, being followed close by the tinkhell. are 
 chased down into the valley where we lay; then all the valley, on each side, being way-laid 
 with a hundred couple of strong Irish greyhounds, they are all let loose as occasion seiTci, 
 upon the herd of deer, that with dogs, guns, arrows, diuks. and daggers, in the space of two 
 hours, fourscore fat deer were slain ; which after are disposed of, sume one way. and some 
 another, twenty and thirty miles, &nd, more than enough left for us, to make merry withail, 
 M our rendezvous." 
 
 ^'0TE 20, page 129. 
 
 By lone Saint Mary's silent lake. 
 
 This beautiful slieet of water forms the reservoir from which the Yarrow 
 tal^es its source. It is connected with a smaller lake, called the Loi-li of 
 the Lowes, and surrounded by mountains. In the winter, it is still fre- 
 quented by flights of wild swans ; hence my friend Mr Wordsworth's lines — 
 •* The swan on sweet St. Mary's lake 
 Floats double, swan and shadow," 
 
 Near the lower extremity of the lake are the ruins of Dryhope Tower, 
 the birth-place of Mary Scott, daughter of Philip Scott of Dryliope, and 
 famous by the traditional name of the Flower of Yarrow, She was married 
 to Walter Scott of Harden, no less renowned for his depredations, than hia 
 bride for her beauty. Her romantic appelbition was, in hitter days, with 
 equal justice, conterred on Miss Mary Lilias Scott, the last of the elder 
 branch of the Hardcu family. The author well remeraliers the talent and 
 Bpirit of the latter Flower of Yarrow, though age had tlten injured the 
 charms whii:h procured her the name. The words usu:illy sunij to the air 
 of "Tweedside," beginning, "What beauties does Flora disclose," were com- 
 posed in her honour. 
 
 Note 21, page 129. 
 
 in feudal strife, afoe^ 
 
 Hath laid Our Ladfs chapd low. 
 
 The chapel of St Mary of the Lowes {de lacuhus) was situated on tho 
 eastern side of the lake, to which it gives name. It was injured by the clan 
 of Scott; in a feud with the Craustouns, but continued to be a place of 
 worship during the seventeenth century. The vestiges of the building can 
 DOW scarcely be traced; but the burial-ground is still used as a cemetery. 
 A funeral, in a spot so very retired, has an uncommonly striking effect. 
 The vestiges of the chaplain's house are yet visible. Bein^r iu a high situa- 
 tion, it commanded a f\ill view of the lake, with tlie opposite mountain of 
 Pourhope, belonging, with the lake itself, to Lord Napier. On the left hand 
 is the lower of Dryhop-, mentioned in a preceding note.
 
 680 NOTES TO MARMIOW. 
 
 Note 22, pasre t30. 
 
 ■the Wizard's grate ; 
 
 That Wizard Priest's, whose bones are Ihrvst 
 From company of holy dust. 
 
 At one corner of the burial-ground of the demolished chapel, hut without 
 its precincts, is a small mound, called Binram's Corse, where tradition 
 deposits the remains of a necromantic priest, the former tenant of the 
 chaplainry. 
 
 Note 23, page 130. 
 
 Some ruder and more savar/e scene, 
 
 Like that v.!hich frovjns round dark Loeh-skene. 
 
 Loch-slcene is a mountain lake, of considerable size, at the head of the 
 Moffat-water. The character of the scenery is uncommonly savage; and 
 the earn, or Scottish eagle, has, for many ages, built its nest yearly upon an 
 islet in the lake. Loch-skene discharges itself into a brook, which, after a 
 short and precipitate course, falls from a cataract of immense height, and 
 gloomy grandeur, called, trom its appearance, the "Grey Mare's Tail." The 
 " Giant's Grave," afterwards mentioned, is a sort, of trench, which bears that 
 name, a little way from the foot of the cataract. It has the appearance of a 
 battery, designed to command the pass. 
 
 XoTE 2-i, page 131. 
 
 St Cuthbert's Holy Isle. 
 
 Liodisfarne, an isle on the coast of Northumberland, was called Holy 
 Island, from the sanctity of its ancient monastery, and from its having beeu 
 the Episcopal scat of the See of Durham during the early ages of liritish 
 Ciiristianity. A succession of holy men held that office: but their merits 
 were swallowed up in the superior fame of St Cuthbert, who was sixth 
 Bishop of Durham, and who bestowed the name of his " jiatrimony" upou 
 the extensive property of the See. The ruins of the monastery upon Holy 
 Island betoken great antiquity. The arches arc, in general, strictly Sa.xon; 
 and the pillars which supjjort them, short, strong, and massy. In some 
 places, however, there are ))ointed windows, which indicate that the build- 
 ing bus been repaired at a period long subsequent to the original foundation. 
 The exterior ornaments of the building, being of a hght sandy stone, have 
 l)een wasted, as described in the text. Lindisfarne is not properly an island, 
 but rather, as the \ enerable Bede has termed it, a semi-isle ; for, although 
 surrounded by the sea at full tide, the ebb leaves the sands dry between it 
 and the opposite coast of Northumberland, from which it is about three 
 miles distant. 
 
 Note 25, page 1S6. 
 
 in their convent-cell 
 
 A Saxon princess once did dwell, 
 The lovely Edelfled. 
 
 She was the daughter of King Oswy, who, in gratitude to Heaven for the 
 great victory which he won in 6o.5, against PenJa, the Pagan Kingof Mercia, 
 dedicated Edellltda, then but a year old, to the service of God, in the mo- 
 nastery of Whitby, of which St Hilda was then abbess. She afterwards 
 firtorned the place of her education with great magnificence. 
 
 Note 26, page 136. 
 
 of thousand snakes, each one 
 
 Was changed into a coil of stone, 
 
 Wlien holy Hilda pray'd ; 
 They told, how sen fowls' pinions fail. 
 As over Whitby's towers they sail. 
 
 These two miracles are much insisted upon by all ancient writers who 
 have occasion to mention either Whitby or St Hilda. The relics of llie 
 snakes which infested '.he precincts >f the convent, and were, at the abbess's
 
 ?fOTES TO MARMIOX. 681 
 
 prayer, not only beheaded, but petrified, are still found about the rocks, and 
 Rre termed by Protestant fossilists, Jmmonit<e. 
 
 The other miracle is thus mentioned by Camden : " It is also ascribed 
 to the power of her sanctity, that these wild geese, which, in the winter, fly 
 in great flocks to the lakes and rivers unfrozen in the southern parts, to tlie 
 great amazement of every one, fall down suddenly upon the ground, when 
 they are in their flight over certain neighbouring ftelds hereabouts : a rela- 
 tiou I should not have made, if 1 had not received it from several credible 
 men. But those who are less inclined to heed superstition, attribute it to 
 some occult quality in the ground, and to somewhat of antipathy between it 
 and the geese, such as they say is betwLvt wolves and scyllaroots : For that 
 such hidden tendencies and aversions, as we call sympathies and antipa- 
 thies, are implanted in many things by provident ^Nature for the preserva- 
 tion of them, is a thing so evident that everybody grants it." ilr Charlton, 
 in his history of ^Tiitby, points out the true origin of the fable, from the 
 number of sea-gulls that, when flying from a storm, often alight near A\liitby ; 
 and from the woodcocks, and other birds of passage, who do the same upon 
 their arrival on shore, after a long flight. 
 
 Note 27, page 136. 
 
 His tody's restinr/'place of old. 
 
 Mow oft their patron changed, Ihey tohl. 
 
 St Cuthbert was. in the choice of his septilchre, one of the most mutable 
 and unreasonable saints in the Calendar. He died a. d. 688, in aherniita,;e 
 upon the Fame Islands, having resigned the bishopric of Lindisfarne, or 
 Holy Island, about two years before.l His body was brought to Lindisfarne, 
 where it reraanied until a descent of the Danes, about 793, when the monas- 
 tery was nearly destroyed. The monks fled to Scotland with what they 
 deemed then- chief treasure, the relicts of St Cuthbert. Tlie Saint was, how- 
 ever, a most capricious fellow-traveller ; wliich was the mure intolerable, as, 
 like Sinbad's Old Man of the Sea, he iotu'neyed upon the shoulders of Ids 
 companions. They paraded him through Scotland for several years, and 
 came as far west as AVhithern, in Galloway, whence they attempted to sail 
 for Ireland, 'nit were driven back by tempests. He at lenglh made a halt 
 ut Norhara; from thence he went to Melrose, where he remained stationary 
 for a short time, and then caused himself to be lauuclied upon the Tweed 
 in a stone eortin, which landed him at Tilmouth, in Northumberland. 
 
 The resting-phice of the remains of this Saint is not now matter of un- 
 certainty. So recently as 17th May 1837, 1139 years after his death, their 
 discovery and disinterment were effected. Under a blue stone, in the mid- 
 dle of the shrins of St Cuthbert, at the eastern extremity of the choir of 
 Durham Cathedral, there was then found a walled grave, containing the 
 coffins of the Saint. The first, or outer one, was ascertained to be that of 
 1541, the second of 1041 ; tlie third, or inner one, answering in every parti- 
 cular to the description of that of 698, was found to contain, not indeed as 
 had been averred then, and even until 1.539, the incorruptible body, but the 
 entire skeleton of the Saint; the bottom of the grave being perfectly dry, 
 free from ofl'ensive smell, and without the slightest symptom that a human 
 body had ever undergone decomposition within its walls. The skeleton was 
 found swathed in five silk robes of emblematical embroidery, the orna- 
 mental parts laid with gold leaf, and these again covered with a robe of 
 hnen. Beside the skeleton were also deposited several gold and silver in- 
 iignia, and other rehcs of the Saint. 
 
 Note 28, page 137. 
 
 Eveyi Scotland's dauntless king, and heir, ^-c. 
 Before his standard ftfd. 
 
 Every one has heard, that when David I., with his son Henry, invaded 
 Northumbeiland in 1136, the English host marched against them under the 
 
 1 He resumed the bishopric of Lindisfarne, which, owinp to bad health, he ag-ain re« 
 Bn<(aijbed within less than three months before his death ~Auine'd St CvthbtrU
 
 682 NOTES TO MARMION, 
 
 holy banner of St Cutlibert ; to tlie efficacy of whicli was imputed the great 
 nctory which they ubtained in tlie bloody battle of Northallerton, or Cuton- 
 moor. The conquerors were at least as much indebted to the jealousy and 
 intractabihty of the different tribes who composed David's army ; among 
 whom, as mentioned in the text, were tlie Galwegians, the Britons of Stralh- 
 Clyde, the men of Teviotdale and Lothian, with many Norman and German 
 warriors, who asserted the cause of the Empress Maud. See Chalmers' 
 CaUdunia, vol. i. p. 622 ; a most laborious, cunous, and interesting pubhca- 
 tion, from which considerable defects of style and manner ought not to turn 
 aside the Scottish antiquary. 
 
 Note 29, page 137. 
 
 'Twos he, to vindicate his reign, 
 Edged Alfred's falchion on the Dane, 
 And turu'd the Cotiqueror back again. 
 
 Cuthbert, we have seen, had no great reason to spare the Danes, when 
 opportunity offered. Accordingly, 1 find, in Simeon of Diirhnm, that the 
 Saint appeared in a vision to Alfred, when lurking in the marshes of Glas- 
 tonbury, and promised him assistance and victory over his heathen enemies; 
 a consolation, wliich, as was reasonable, Alfred, after the victory of Ashen- 
 down, rewarded by a royal offeiing at the slirine of the Saint. As to Wilham 
 the Conqueror, the terror spread before his army, when he marched t'> 
 punish the revolt of the Northumljrians, in 1096, had forced the monks to 
 fly once more to Holy Island with the body of the Saint. It was, however, 
 replaced before Wdliam left the north; :ind, to balance accounts, the Con- 
 queror having intimated an indiscreet curiosity to view the Saint's body, lie 
 was, while in the act of commanding the shrine to be opened, seized with 
 heat and sickness, accompanied witti such a panic terror, tiiat, notwith 
 standing there was a sumptuous dinner prepared lor him, he fled without 
 eating a morsel (which the monkish historian seems to have thought no 
 small part both of the miracle and the penance), and never drew his bridle tU' 
 he got to the nver Tees. 
 
 Note 30, page 137. 
 
 Saint Xuthhert sits, and toils to frame 
 The sea-born beads that bear his name. 
 
 Although we do not learn that Cuthbert was, during his life, such an 
 artificer as Dunstan, his brother in sanctity, yet, since his death, he lias 
 acquired the reputation of forging those EiUrochi wliich are tuund among 
 the rocks of Holy Island, and pass there by the name of St Cuthbert'a 
 Beads. Whde at this task, he is supposed to sit during the night upon a 
 certain rock, and use another as his anvil. This story was perl aps credited 
 in fonner daysj at least the Saint's legend contains some not more probable. 
 
 Note 31, page 137. 
 
 Old Cohctilf. 
 
 Ceolwulf, or Colwulf, King of Northumberland, flourished in the eighth 
 centuiy. He was a niau of some learning ; for the venerable Bede dedicates 
 to him his "Ecclesiastical History." He abdicated the throne about 738, 
 and retired to Holy Island, where he died in the odour of sanctity. Saint 
 as Col«Tilf was, however, I fear the foundation of the penance-vault does 
 not correspond with his character; for it is recorded among his memorabilia, 
 that, finding the air of the island raw and cold, he indulged the monks, 
 whose rule had hitherto confined them to milk or water, with the comfort- 
 able privilege of usin^t wine or ale. If any rigid antiquary insists on this 
 objection, he is welcome to suppose the penance-vault was intended, by the 
 founder, for the more genial purposes of a cellar. 
 
 Note 32, page 139. 
 Tynem^uth's haughty Prioress. 
 That there was an ancient priory at Tyncmouth is certain. Its ruins are
 
 NOTES TO MAR5II0X. 683 
 
 situated on a high rocky point; and, doubtless, many a ''ow was made to 
 the shrine by the distressed mariners who drove towards tlie iron-bound 
 coast of Northumberland in stormy weather. It was anciently a nunnery; 
 for Virca, abbess of Tj-nemouth, presented St Cuthbert (yet alive) with a 
 rare winding-sheet, in emulation of a holy lady called Tuda, who had sent 
 him a coffin : But, as in the case of AVliitby, and of Holy Island, the intro- 
 duction of nuns at Tynemouth in the reign of Henry VIII. is an anachron- 
 ism. The nunnery at Holy Island is altogether fictitious. Indeed, St 
 Cuthbert was unlikely to permit such an establishment; for, notwithstand- 
 ing his accepting the mortuary gifts above mentioned, and his carrying on 
 a visiting acquaintance with the Abbess of Coldiugham, he certainly hated 
 the whofe female sex; and, in revenge of a slippery trick played to him by 
 iwi Irish princess, he, after death, inflicted severe penances on such as pre- 
 sumed to approach within a certain distance of his shrine. 
 
 Note 33, page 141. 
 On those the wall ions to enclose. 
 Alive, within the tomb. 
 
 Tt is well known that the religious, who broke their tows of chastity, 
 were subjected to the same penalty as the Roman vestals in a similar case. 
 A small niche, sufficient to enclose their bodies, was made in the massive 
 wall of the convent; a slender pittance of food and water was deposited in 
 it; and the awful words, Vade in Pace, were the signal for immuring the 
 criminal. It is not likely that, in latter times, this punishment was often 
 resorted to; but, among the ruins of the Abbey of Coldinghiim, were some 
 years ago discovered the remains of a female skeleton, which, from the 
 shape of the niche, and position of the figure, seemed to be that of an im- 
 mured nun. 
 
 [The Edinburgh Reviewer, on stanza xxxii. post, suggests that the proper 
 reading of the sentence is vade in pacem — not part in peace, but go into 
 peace, or into eternal rest, a pretty intelUgible mittimus to another world. 
 
 Note 34, page 150. 
 The milage inn. 
 Tlie accommodations nf a Scottish liostelrie, or inn, in the 16th century, 
 may be collected from Dunbar's admirable tale of "The I'riMS of Berwick." 
 Simon Lawder, "the gay ostlier," seems to have lived very comfortably; 
 and his wife decorated her person with a scarlet kirtle, and a belt of silk 
 and silver, and rings upon her fingers, and feasted lier paramour with 
 rabbits, capons, partridges, and Bourdeaux wine. At least, if the Scottish inns 
 were not good, it was not for want of encouragement from the legislature. 
 who, so early as the reign of James I., not only enacted, that in all boroughs 
 and fairs there be hostellaries, hanng stables and chambers, and provision 
 for man and horse, but by another statute, ordained that no man, travelling 
 on horse or foot, should presume to lodge anywhere except in these hostel- 
 laries; and that no person, save innkeepers, should receive such travellers, 
 under tlie penalty of forty shillings, for exercising such hospitality. 1 But, iu 
 spite of these prorident enactments, the Scottish hostels are but indifferent, 
 and strangers continue to find reception in the houses of individuals. 
 
 Note .35, page 154. 
 
 Tlie death of a dear friend. 
 
 Among other omens to which faithful credit is given among the Scottish 
 
 peasantry, is what is called the "dead-bell," explained, by my friend James 
 
 Hogg, to be that tinkling in the ears which the country people regard as 
 
 the secret intelligence of some friend's decease. 
 
 Note 36, page 156. 
 The Goblin-Ball. 
 A vaulted hall under the ancient castle of Giiford or Tester, (for it bears 
 
 1 James I., Parliament i. cap. 2i ; Parliament iii. cup. 56.
 
 ()S4 NOTES TO MARMION. 
 
 either name indifferently), the conBtruction of which has from a very remote 
 period been ascribed to mngic. Tlie Statistical Account of the parish of 
 Gan'ald and Baro gives the following account of the present state of this 
 castle and apartment : — " Upon a peninsula, formed by the water of Hopes 
 on the east, and a large rivulet on the west, stands the ancient castle of 
 Yester. Sir David Dalryniple, in his Annals, relates, that ' Hugh Giffoid de 
 Yester died in 1267; that in his castle there was a capacious cavern, formed 
 by magical art, and called in the country Bo-Hall, i. e. Hobgoblin Hall.' A 
 stair of twenty-four steps led down to this apartment, which is a large and 
 spacious hall, with an arched roof; and though it hath stood for so many 
 centuries, and been exposed to the external air for a period of fifty or sixty 
 years, it is still as firm and entire as if it had only stood a few years. From 
 the floor of this hall, another stair of thirty-six steps leads down to a pit 
 which hath a communication with Hopes-water. A great part of the walls 
 of this large and ancient castle are still standing. There is a tradition, that 
 the castle of Y'ester was the last fortification, in this country, that surren- 
 dered to General Gray, sent into Scotland by Protector Somerset." — Statisti- 
 cal Account, vol. xiii. — I have only to add, that, in 1737, the Goblin Hall was 
 tenanted by the Marquis of Tweeddale's falconer, as I learn from a poem by 
 Boyse, entitled " Retirement," written upon visiting Yester. It is now ren- 
 dered inaccessible by the fall of the stair. 
 
 Note 37, page 156. 
 
 There foated Haco's banner trim 
 Above JS'orvjei/aii warriors grim. 
 
 In 1263, Haco, King of Non>'ay, came into the Frith of Clyde with a 
 powerful armament, and made a descent at Largs, in Ayrshiie. Here he 
 was encountered and defeated, on the 2d October, by Alexander III. Haco 
 retreated to Orkney, where he died soon after this disgrace to Ids ai-ms. 
 There are still existing, near the place of battle, many barrows, some of wliicli, 
 having been opened, were found, as usual, to contain bones and urns. 
 
 Note 38, page 157. 
 
 Upon his breast a pentacU. 
 
 "A pentarleis a piece of fine linen, folded with five comers, according to 
 the five senses, and suitably inscribed with characters. This the magician 
 extends towards tlie spirits which he invokes, when they are stubborn and 
 reheUious, and refuse to be conformable unto the ceremonies and riles of 
 magic." — See the Discourses concerning Devils and Spirits annexed to 
 Reginald Scott's Discovery of Witchcraft, edition 1665, p. 66. 
 
 Note 39, page 157. 
 
 Js horn upon that blessed night, 
 
 Wlien yawning (/raves and dying groan 
 
 Froclaim'd Hell's empire overthrown. , 
 
 It is a popular article of faith, that those who are bom on Cliristmas, or 
 Good Friday, have the power of seeing spirits, and even of commanding 
 them. The Spaniards imputed the haggard and downcast looks of their 
 Philip II. to the disagreeable visions to which this privilege subjected him 
 
 Note 40, page 159. 
 
 Tet sfill the hiighth/ spear and shield 
 The Elfin Warrior doth wield, 
 Upon the brown hill's breast. 
 
 The following extract from the Essay upon the Fairy Superstitions, in 
 tlie " Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border," vol. ii., will show whence many of 
 the particulars of the combat between Alexander III. and the Goblin Knight 
 are derived: — 
 
 Genase of Tilbury (Otia Imperial, ap. Script, rer. Brunsvlc, vol. i. p. 797) 
 relates the following popular story concerning a fairy knight: — "Osbert, a 
 bold and powerful baron, visited a noble family in the vicinity of Wandle-
 
 XOTES TO MARMION. 685 
 
 bnry, in the bishopric of Ely. Among other stories rela.ed in the socia. 
 circle of his friends, who, according to custom, amused ewch other by re- 
 peating ancient tales and traditions, lie was informed, that if any knight, 
 ■unattended, entered an adjacent plain by moonlight, and challenged an 
 adversary to appear, he would be immediately encountered by a spirit in 
 the form of a kuiglit. Osbert resolved to make the experiment, and set 
 out, attended by a sinde squire, whom he ordered to remain without the 
 limits of the plain, which was surrounded by an ancient intrenchraent. On 
 repeating the challenge, he was instantly assailed by an adversary, whom 
 he quickly unhorsed, and seized the reins of his steed. During tliis opera- 
 tion, his ghostly opponent sprang up, and darting his spear, like a javehn, 
 at Osbert, wounded him in the thigh. Osbert returned in triumph with 
 the horse, which he committed to the care of his servants. Tlie horse was 
 of a sable colour, as well as his whole accoutrements, and apparently of 
 great beauty and vigour. He remained with his keeper till cock-crowing, 
 when, with eyes tlashins fire, he reared, spurned the ground, and vanished. 
 On disarming himself, Osbert perceived that lie was wounded, and that one 
 of his steel boots was full of blood. Gervase adds, that, " as long as he 
 lived, the scar of his wound opened afresh on the anniversary of the eve on 
 which he encountered the spirit." Less fortunate was the gallant Bohemian 
 knight, who, travelling by night with a single companion, " came in siglit 
 of a fairy host, arrayed under displayed banners. Despising the remon- 
 strances of his friend, the knight pricked forward to break a lauce with a 
 champion, who advanced from the ranks apparently in defiance. His com- 
 panion beheld the Bohemian overthrown, horse and man, by his aerial adver- 
 sary ; and returning to the spot next morning, he found the mangled corpses 
 of the knight and steed." — Uierarchii of Blessed Anyds, p. 554. 
 
 Besides these instances of Elfiu chivalry above quoted, many others might 
 be alleged in stipport of employing fairy machinery in this manner. Tlie 
 forest of Glenmore, in the North Highlands, is believed to be haunted by a 
 spirit called Lham-dearg, in the array of an ancient warrior, having a bloody 
 hand, from which he takes his name. He insists upou tliose with wliom 
 he meets doing battle with him; and the clergyman, who makes up an 
 account of tl'e district, extant in tlie Macfarlaue MS. in the Advocates' 
 Library, gravely assures us, that, in his time, L/ia/n-Jeary fought with three 
 brothers whom he met in his walk, none of whom long survived the ghostly 
 conflict. Barclay, in his " Euphormion," gives a singular account of aii 
 officer who had ventured, with his senant, rather to intrude upon a liaunted 
 house in a town in Flanders, than to put up with worse quai'ters elsewhere. 
 After taking the usual precautious of providing fires, lights, and arms, they 
 watched till midnight, when behold! the severed arm of a man di'opped 
 from the ceiling; this was followed by the legs, the other arm, the trunk, 
 and the head of the body, all separately. The members rolled together, 
 united themselves in the presence of the astonished soldiers, and formed a 
 gigantic warrior, who defied them both to combat. Their blows, although 
 they penetrated the body and amputated the limbs of their strange antago- 
 nist, had, as the reader may easily bchcvc, little effect on an enemy who 
 possessed such powers of sclf-unioii ; nor did his efforts make more effectual 
 impression upon them. How the combat terminated I do not exactly re- 
 member, and have not the book by me ; but I think the spirit made to the 
 inl:ruders on liis mansion the usual proposal, that they should renounce their 
 redemption ; whicli being declined, he was obliged to retract. 
 
 The northern champions of old were accustomed peculiarly to search for 
 and delight in, encounters with such military spectres. See' a whole chap- 
 ter on the subject, in Baktuoli^ius, De Cuiisis contnnpta Mortis a Danis, 
 p. 253. 
 
 Note 41, page 164. 
 
 Close to the hut. no more his oicn. 
 Close to the aid he sought m rain, 
 The morn may find the sliffen'd strain. 
 
 I cannot help here mentioning, that, on the night in which these lines 
 were ^vTitten, suggested, as they were, l>y a sudden fall of snow, beginning 
 alter sunset, an unfortunate man perished exactly in the manner here de-
 
 686 NOTES TO mahmion. 
 
 scribed, and his body was next mornino; found close to his own house. The 
 accident happened within live nules of the farm of Ashestiel. 
 
 Note 42, page 164. 
 
 Forbes. 
 
 Sir William Forbes of Pitsligo, Baronet ; unequalled, perhaps, in the de- 
 cree of individual affection entertained for him by his friends, as well as in 
 the general respect and esteem of Scotland at large. His " Lifeof Beattie," 
 whom he befriended and patronised in life, as well as celebrated after his 
 decease, was not lon» published, before the benevolent and affectionate bio- 
 grapher was called to follow the subject of his narrative. This melancholy 
 event very shortly succeeded tlie marriage of the friend to whom this Intro- 
 duction is addressed, with one of Sir Wilham's daughters. 
 
 Note 43, page 167. 
 
 Friar Rush. 
 
 Alias, " Will o' the Wisp." This personage is a strolling demon, or esprit 
 foUet, who, once upon a time, got admittance into a monastery as a scullion, 
 and played the monks many pranks. He was also a sort of Robin Good- 
 fellow, and Jack o' Lanthern. It is in allusion to this mischievous demon 
 that Milton's clown speaks, — 
 
 " She wa.s pinched, and pulled, she said, 
 And he by Friar^s lanthern led." 
 
 " The History of Friar Rush " is of e.^ctreme rarity, and, for some time, 
 even the existence of such a book was doubted, although it is expressly 
 alluded to by Reginald Scott, in his "Discovery of Witchcraft." 1 have 
 perused a copy in the valuable Ubrary of my friend Mr Heber ; and I ob- 
 sene, from Mr Beloe's " Anecdotes of Literature," that there is one ui the 
 excellent collection of the Marquis of Stafford. 
 
 Note 44, page 170. 
 
 Cricktoun Castle. 
 
 A large ruinous castle on the banks of the Tyne, about ten miles from 
 Edinburgh. As indicated in the text, it was built at ditfereut times, and 
 with a very differing regard to splendour and accommodation The oldest 
 part of the building is a narrow keep, or tower, such as formed the mansion 
 of a lesser Scottish baron ; but so many additions have been made to it, that 
 there is now a large court-yard, surrounded by buildings of different ages. 
 The eastern front of the court is raised above a portico, and decorated with 
 entablatures, bearing anchors. All the stones of this front are cut into 
 diamond facets, the angular projections of nhich have an uncommonly rich 
 appearance. The inside of this part of the building appears to have con- 
 tained a gallery of great length, and uncommon elegance. Access was given 
 to it by a magnificent staii'case, now quite destroyed. The soffits are orna- 
 mented with twining cordage and rosettes, and the whole seems to have 
 been far more splendid than was usual in Scottish castles. The castle be- 
 longed originally to the Chancellor, Sir William Crichton, and probably owed 
 to Mm its tu'st enlargement, as well as its being takcu by the Earl of Douglas, 
 who imputed to Crichton's counsels the death of his predecessor, Earl 
 William, beheaded in Edinburgh Castle, with his brother, in 1440. It is 
 said to liave lieen totally demoUshed on that occasion ; but the present state 
 of the rum shows the contrary. In 14S3, it was garrisoned by Lord Crichton, 
 then its proprietor, against King James III., whose displeasure he had iu- 
 cuiTed by seducing his sister Margaret, in revenge, it is said, for the monarcli 
 having dishonoured his bed. From the Crichton family the castle passed 
 to that of the Ilepburns, Earls of Bothwell; and when the forfeitures of 
 Stewart, the last Earl of Bothwell, were divided, the barony and castle of 
 Crichton fell to the share of the Earl of Buccleuch. They were afterwards 
 the iroperty of the Pringles of Clifton, and are now that of Sir John Callan- 
 der, Baronet. It were to l)e wished the proprietiT would take a little pains 
 to preserve these splendid remains of antiquity, which are at present used 
 as a fold for sheep, and wintering cattle; although, perhaps, there are very
 
 50TES TO MARMION. 687 
 
 few ruins in Scotland which display so well the st>le and beauty of ancient 
 CHStle-arcliUecture. The castle of Crichton has a dun^con-vault, culled the 
 J/fW5y More. The epithet, which is not uncommonly applied to the prisons 
 of other old castles in Scotland, is of Saracenic origin. It occurs twice in the 
 *' Epistofa It'hierarice" of Tolhus: — " Career suhierrmievs^ site, ut Mnnri 
 appellant Mazmorra," p. 147 ; and ngain — " Coguntnr omnes Coptivi sub noc- 
 tem in. ergasttda subterraneu, ^U(e TurciS Ahjezerani vacant Mazmokras," 
 p. 243. The same word apphes to the dungeons of the ancient Moorish 
 castles in Spain, and sen'es to show from what nation the Gothic style of 
 castle-building was ori^nally derived. 
 
 Note 45, page 171, 
 
 Earl Adam Hepburn, 
 
 He was the second Earl of Bothwell, and fell in the 5eld of Flodden, 
 where, according to an ancient Enghsh poet, he distinguished himsi^lf by a 
 *»inous attempt to retrieve the day : — 
 
 " Then on the Scottish part, ri^ht proud, 
 Tlie Earl of Bothwell then out brast. 
 And stepping forth, with stomach good. 
 
 Into the enemies' throng he thrast ; 
 And Bothweli : Jiothvell .' cried bold. 
 
 To cause his souldiers to ensue. 
 But there he cauglit a wellcome cold. 
 
 The Englishmen straight down him threw. 
 Thu3 Hahum thruugh !iis hardy heart 
 His fatal fine in con^ct found," A-e 
 
 Flodden Field, a Poem ; edited by 
 H. Weber, Edin. 1808. 
 
 Adam was grandfather to James, Earl of Bothwell, too well known in the 
 history of Queen Marj-. 
 
 Note 46, pa:_'e 172. 
 
 For that a messenger from heaven^ 
 In vain to James had counsel given, 
 Against the English tear* 
 
 This story is told by Pitscottie with characteristic simplicity: — 
 
 " The King, seeini: that France could get no support of him for that time, made a pro* 
 cUmation, fail hastily, through all the realm of Scotland, both east and west, south and 
 north, as well in the isles as lu the firm land, to all manner of men between sixty and six- 
 teen years, that they should be ready, within twenty days, to pass with him, with forty 
 days' victual, and to meet at the Hurrow-muir of Edinburgh, and there to pass forward 
 where he pleased. His proclamations were hastily obeved, contrary to the Cnuncil of 
 Scotland's will ; but every man loved his Prince so well, that they would on no ways dis- 
 obey him ; but every man caused make bis proclamation so hastily, conform to the cliargo 
 of the King's proclamation. 
 
 " The King came to Lithgow, where he happened to be for the time at the Council, very" 
 sad and dolorous, mak^ing his devotion tu Qt d, to send hini ^ood chance and fortune in bis 
 Tojage. In this meantime there came a man. clad in a blue gown, in at the kirk door, and 
 belted about him in a roll of linen cloth ; a pair of brotikins 1 on his feet, to the great of his 
 lejrs ; with all other hose and clothes conform thereto : but he had nothinK on his head, but 
 sjde'J red yellow hair behind, aitd on bis hatfcls,3 which wan down to bis shoulders ; but his 
 forehead was bald and bare. He seemed to be a man of two-aiidfit\y years, with a great pike 
 etaffin his hand, and came first forward among the lords, crying and speiring4 for the King, 
 saying, he desired to speak with him. While, at the last, he came where the King was sitting 
 in the desk at his prayers ; but when he saw the King, he made him little reverence or salu- 
 tation, but leaned down groffling on the desk before him, and said to him in this manner, as 
 after follows :— ' Sir King, my mother hath sent me to you, desiring you not to pass, at this 
 lime, where thou art purposed ; for if thou does, thou wilt not fare well ii thy journey, nor 
 noae that passeth with thee. Further, she bade thee mell 5 with no woman, nor use their . 
 counsel, nor let them touch thy body, nor thou theirs; for if thou do it, thou wilt be con- 
 founded and brought to shame. 
 
 " By this man had spoken thir words unto the King's grace, the evening-song was near done, 
 and the Kiu^ paused on thir words, stuilyingto give him an answer; but, in the mean- 
 lime, before the King's eyes, and in the presence of all the lords that worealwut him foi the 
 time, this man vanishci away, and could no ways be seen or comprehended, hut vanisied 
 away as he had been a blink of the sun, or a whip of the whirlwind, and could no more ba 
 seen. I heard say. Sir David Lindesay Lyonherauld. and John Inglis the marshal, who were, 
 at that time, young men. and special servants to the King's grace, were standing presently 
 beside the King, who thought to have laid hainls on this man. that they might have spi
 
 688 NOTES TO MAKMION. 
 
 KoTE 47, page 172. 
 
 The wxld-huck hells. 
 
 I am glad of an opporhinity to describe tlie cry of tlie deer by another 
 word thaii braying, altlioiigh the latter lias been s:iiictilied by the use of the 
 Scottish metrical translation of the Psalms. Bell seems to be an abbrevia- 
 tion of bellow. This sylvan sound conveyed great delight to our ancestors, 
 chiefly, 1 suppose, from association. A gentle knight in the reign of Heniy 
 VIII., Sir Thomas Wortley, built Wantley Lodge, in Wancliffe Forest, for tlie 
 pleasure (as an ancient inscription testifies) of " listening to the hart's hell." 
 
 Note 48, page 172. 
 
 June saw hisfatker^s overthroto. 
 
 The rebellion against James III. was signnlized by the cruel circumstance 
 of his son's presence in the hostile army. "When the king saw his own ban- 
 ner displayed against him, and his son in the faction of bis enemies, he lost 
 the little courage he had ever possessed, fled out of the field, fell from liis 
 horse as it started at aMoman and water-pitcber, and was slain, it is not 
 well understood by whom. James IV., after the battle, passed to Stirling, 
 and hearing the monks of the chapel-royal deploring the death of his father, 
 their founder, he was seized with deep remorse, which manifested itself in 
 severe penances. See a following Note on Stanza Lx. of Canto v. The battle 
 of Sauchie-buTD, in which JamesIIl. fell, was fought 18th June 1488. 
 
 Note 49, page 177. 
 
 The Borough-moor. 
 
 The Borough, or Common Moor of Edinburgh, was of very great extent, 
 reaching from 'the southern walls of the city to the bottom of Braid Hills. 
 It was anciently a forest ; and, in that state, was so great a nuisance, tliat 
 the inhabitants of Edinburgh had permission gi-anted to them of building 
 wooden galleries, projecting over the street, in order to encoura'.'e them to 
 consume the timber, which they seem to have done very effei;tually. Wlien 
 James IV. mustered the array of the kingdom there, iii 1513, the Horough- 
 moor was, according to Haw"thornden, " a field spacious, and delightful Ijy 
 the shade of manv stately and aged oaks." Upon that, and similar occa- 
 sions, the royal staudard" is traditionally said to have been displayed from 
 the Hare-Sta'ue, a high stone, now built "into the wall, on the left hand of 
 the high-way leading towards Braid, not far from the head of Brantsfield 
 Links. The" Hare-Stane probably derives its name from the British word 
 Har, signifying an army. 
 
 Note 50, page 178. 
 
 in proud Scotland's roval shield, 
 
 The ruddy lion ramp'd in gold. 
 The well-known arms of Scotland. If you will believe Boethius and 
 Buchanan, the double treasure round the shield, mentioned, counter feur. 
 de-Uised or lingned and armed azure, was first assumed by Echaius, King of 
 Scotland, contemporary of Charlemagne, and founder of the celebrated 
 League with France ; but later antiquaries make poor Eochy, or Achy, httle 
 better than a sort of King of Brentford, whom old Grig Cwbo has also swelled 
 into Gregorius Magnus) associated with himself in the important duty of 
 governing some part of the north-eastern coast of Scotland. 
 
 Note 51, page 181. 
 
 Caledonians Qiteen is changed. 
 
 The Old Town of Edinburgh was secured on the north sme by a lake, 
 now drained, and on the south bv a wall, which there was some attempt to 
 make defensible even so late as 1745. The gates, and the greater part of the 
 wail, have been pulled down, in the course of the late extensive and beauti- 
 ful enlargement of the citv. My ingenious and valued friend, Mr Thomas 
 Campbell, proposed to celebrate Edinburgii under the epithet here borrowed.
 
 NOTi,S TO MAKMION. 689 
 
 But the " Queen of the North " has uot heen so fortunate as to receive from 
 so eumieut a peu the proposed distinction. 
 
 Note 52, page 185. 
 The cloth-yard arroics 
 Tiiis is no poetical exaggeration- In some of the counties of England, 
 distinguished for arcliery, shafts of this extraordinary length were actually 
 used. Thus, at the battle of Blackheath, between the troops of Henry VII., 
 and the Cornish insurgeuts, in 1496, the bridge of Dartforil was defended by 
 a picked band of archers from the rebel army, " whose arrows," says Hol- 
 linshed, "were in length a full cloth yard." The Scottish, according to 
 Ascfaam, had a proverb, that every English archer carried under his oeU 
 twenty-four Scots, in allusion to his bundle of unerring shafts. 
 
 Note 53, page 185. 
 Se saw the hardy burghers there 
 March arm'd, on foot, with faces bare. 
 
 The Scottish burgesses were, like yeomen, appointed to be armed with 
 bows and sheaves, sword, buckler, knife, spear, ur a good axe instead of a 
 bow, if worth £100 ; their armour to be of white or bright harness. Tliey 
 wore tckite hats, i. e. bright steel caps, without crest or visor. By an act of 
 James IV., their xreapon-schuwiniis are appointed to be held four times a- 
 year, under the aldermen or baihtfs. 
 
 Note 51-, page 18-5. 
 
 On foot the ijeoman too 
 
 Each at his buck (a slender store) 
 
 Sis forty days' provision bore, .... 
 
 His arms were halbert, axe, or spear. 
 Bows and quivers were in vain recommended to the peasantry of Scotland, 
 by repeated statutes ; spears and axes seem universally to have been used 
 instead of them. Tlieir defensive armour was the plate-jack, hauberk, or 
 bngantine ; and their niissde weapons crossbows and cuiverins. All wore 
 swords of excellent temper, according to Patten; and a voluminous hand- 
 kerchief round their neck, "not for cold, but for cutting." Tlie mace also 
 was much used in the Scottish ai-my : The old poem on the battle of Flod- 
 den mentions a band — 
 
 *• M'ho manfully did meet their foes, 
 With leaden mauJs, and lances Ions;:." 
 
 Wlieu the feudal array of the kingdom was called forth, each man was 
 obliged to appear with forty days' provision. "When this was expended, 
 which took place before the battle of I'lodden, the army melted away of 
 course. Almost all the Scottish forces, except a few knights, men-at-arms, 
 and the Border-prickers, who formed excellent light-ca\akv, acted upon 
 toot. 
 
 Note 55, page 18". 
 A banquet rich, and costly wines, 
 To Mamiion and his train. 
 
 In all transactions of great or petty importance, and among whomsoever 
 taking phice, it would seem tliat a present of wine was a uniform and indis- 
 pensable preliminary. It was not to Sir John Falstalf alone that such au 
 introductory preface was necessary, however well judged and acceptable ou 
 the part of Mr Brook ; for Sir llalph Sadler, wlule on an embassy to Scot- 
 land in 1539-iO, mentions, with complacency, "the same night came Rothe- 
 say (the herild so called) to me asain, and brought me wiixe from the King, 
 both white and red." — Clifford's Edition, p. 39. 
 
 Note 56, page 189. 
 his iron belt. 
 
 That bovnd his breast in penance pain, 
 In memory of his father slain. 
 Few readers need to be reminded of this belt, to the weight of whicb 
 
 Six.
 
 690 NOTES TO MARMION. 
 
 James adced certain ounces every year that he lived. Pitscotfie founds hla 
 belief, that James wjs not slain in the battle of Flodden, because the English 
 never had this token of the iron lielt to show to any Scottishman. The per- 
 jon and character of James are delineated according to our best historians. 
 His romantic disposition, which led him higrhly to relish gaiety approach- 
 ing to license, was, at the same time, tinged with enthusiastic devotion 
 These propensities sometimes formed a strange contrast. He was wont, 
 during his tits of devotion, to assume the dress, and conform to the rules, 
 of the order of Franciscans ; and when he had thus done penance for some 
 time in Stirling, to plunge again into the tide of pleasure. Probably, too, 
 with no unusual inconsistency, he sometimes laughed at the superstitious 
 observances to wliich he at other times subjected himself. 
 
 Note 57, page 189. 
 
 Sir Eugh the Heron's vnfe. 
 
 It has been already noticed, [see note to stanza xiii. of canto i.] that King 
 James's acquaintancewith Lady Heron of Ford did not commence until he 
 niarclied into England. Our historians impute to the King's infatuated 
 passiou the delays which led to the fatal defeat of Flodden. The author of 
 " The Genealogy of the Heron Family" endeavours, with laudable anxiety, 
 to clear the Lady Ford from this scandal : that she came and went, how- 
 ever, between the armies of James and Surrey, is certain. See Pinkerton's 
 History, and the authorities he refers to, vol. ii. p. 99. 
 
 Note 58, page 190. 
 
 the fair Queen of France 
 
 Sent him a torquois ring and glove, 
 And charged him, as her knight and lore, 
 
 For her to break a lance; 
 And strike three strokes with Scottish brand. 
 
 " Also the Queen of France wrote a love-letter to the King of Scotland, 
 calling him her love, showing htm that she had suffered much rebuke in 
 France for the defending of his honour. She believed surely that he would 
 recompense her again with some of his kingiy support in her necessity; 
 that is to say, that he would raise her an army, and come tliree foot of 
 ground on English ground, for her sake. To that effect she sent him a ring 
 off her finger, with fourteen thousand French crowns to pay his expenses." 
 PiTSCOTTiE, p. 110. — A torquois ring; probably this fatal gift is, with 
 James's sword and dagger, preserved in the College of Heralds, London. 
 
 Note 59, page 192. 
 
 Archibald Bell-the-Cat. 
 
 Archibald Douglas, Earl of Angus, a man remarkable for strength of body 
 and mind, acquired the popular name of Bell-the-Cat, upon the following 
 remarkable occasion : — James the Third, of whom Pitscottie complains, that 
 he dehghted more in music and " policies of building," than in hunting, 
 hawking, and other noble exercises, was so ill advised as to make favourites 
 of his architects and musicians, whom the same historian irreverently terms 
 masons and fiddlers. His nobility, who did not sympathise in the King's 
 respect for the tine arts, were extremely incensed at the honours conferred 
 on those persons, particularly on Cochrane, a mason, who had been created 
 Earl of Mar; and, seizing the opportunity, when, in 1482, the King had 
 convoked the whole array of the country to march against the English, they 
 held a midnight councd in the church of Lauder, for tha purpose of forcibly 
 removing these miuions from the King's person. 'Rlieu all had agreed on 
 the propriety of this measure, Lord Gray told the assembly the apologue of 
 the Mice, who had foi-med a resolution, that it would be highly advantageous 
 to their community to tie a bell round the cat's neck, that they might hear 
 her approach at a distance; but which public measure unfortunately mis- 
 carried, from no mouse being willing to undertake tlie task of fastening tlie 
 bell. " I understand the moral," said Angus, "and, that what we propooe 
 may not lack execution, 1 will bell tite cat."
 
 KOTES TO MARMIOX. 691 
 
 \ 
 
 NOTK 60, page 192. 
 
 Agaimt the war had Angus stood, 
 And chafed his royal lord. 
 
 Angus was an old man when the war against England was resolved upon. 
 He eaiTiestly spoke against that measure from its commencemem; and, on 
 the eve of the battle of Flodden, remonstrated so freely upon the impolicy 
 of fighting, that the King said to him, with scorn and indignation, " K lie 
 was afraid he might go home." The Earl burst into tears at this insup- 
 portable insult, and retired accordingly, leaving his sons George, Master of 
 Angus, aud Sir William of Glenbe-'vie, to command his followers. They 
 were both slain in the battle, with two hundred gentlemen of the name of 
 Douglas. The aged Earl, broken-hearted at the calamities of his house and 
 his country, retired Lato a reUgious house, where he died about a year after 
 the field of Flodden. 
 
 Note 61, page 193. 
 Tantallon Hold. 
 
 The ruins of Tantallon Castle occupy a high rock projecting into the 
 German Ocean, about two miles east of North Berwick. The buildmg formed 
 a principal castle of the Douglas family, and when the Earl of Angus was 
 banished, in 1527, it continued to hold out against James V. The King 
 went in person against it, and for its reduction, borrowed from the Castle of 
 Dunbar, then belonging to the Duke of Albany, two great cannons, " Thrawn- 
 mouth'd Meg and her Marrow;" also, "two great botcards, aud two moyan, 
 two double falcons, aud four quarter falcons." Yet, notwithstanding all 
 tills apparatus, James was forced to raise the siege, and only afterwards 
 obtained possession of Tantallon by treaty with the governor, Simon Panango. 
 AVlien the Earl of Angus returned from banishment, upon the death of James, 
 he again obtained possession of Tantallon, and it actually afforded refuge to 
 an English ambassador, under circumstances similar to those described in 
 the text. This was no other than the celebrated Sir Rjilph Sadler, wlio 
 resided there for some time under Angus's protection, after the failure of 
 his uegotiation for matching the infant Mary with Edward VI. 
 
 Note 62, page 193. 
 Tktir motto on his blade. 
 
 A very ancient sword, in possession of Lord Douglas, bears, among a 
 
 a gre;it deal of flourishing, two bauds pointing to a heart, which is placed 
 betwixt them, and the date 1329, bemz the year in which Bruce charged the 
 Good Lord Douglas to carry his heart to the Holy Laud. 
 
 Note 63, page 196. 
 Martin Sicurt. 
 
 A German general, who commanded the auxiliaries sent by the Duchess 
 of Burgundy with Lambert Simnel. He was defeated aud killed at Stoke- 
 field. The name of this German general is presen ed by that of the field of 
 battle, which is called, after him, S«art-moor. There were songs about liim 
 long current in England. — See Dissertation prehxed to iiitsun's Ancient 
 Songs, 1792, p. Ixi. 
 
 Note 64, page 19S. 
 The Cross. 
 
 The Cross of Edinburgh was an ancient and curious structure. The 
 lower part was an octagonal tower, sLvteen feet in diameter, and about fifteen 
 feet high At each angle there was a pillar, and between them an arch, of 
 the Grecian shape. Above these was a projecting battlement, with a turret 
 at each corner, and medalhons, of rude but curious workmanship, between 
 them. Above this rose the proper Cross, a column of one stone, upwards of 
 twenty feet high, surmounted wiih a uiucorn. This pillar is preserved in 
 the grounds of the property of Drum, near Edinburgh
 
 fi92 NOTES TO MARMIOii. 
 
 Note 65, page 199. 
 
 This awful summons came. 
 
 This supernatural citation is mentioned by all our Scottish historians, 
 it was, prolj;ibly, like the apparition at Linhthgow, an attempt, by those 
 averse to the war, to impose upon the superstitious temper of James IV. 
 
 Note 66, page 202. 
 
 one of his own ancestri/, 
 
 Drove the Monks forth of Coventry. 
 
 This relates to the catastrophe of a real Robert de Marmion, in the reign 
 of King Stephen, whom William of Newbury describes with some attributes 
 of my fictitipus hero : " Homo bellicosus, ferocia, et astucia fere nullo sno 
 tempore impar." This Baron, having e.xpelled the monks from the church 
 of Coventry, was not long of experiencing tlie divine judgment, as tlie same 
 monks, no doubt, termed his disaster. Having waged a feudal war witli the 
 Earl of Chester, Marmion's horse fell, as he cliRrged in the van of his troop 
 against a body of tlie Earl's followers : the rider's thigh being broken by the 
 fall, his head was cut off by a common foot-soldier, ere he could receive any 
 succour. The whole story is told by William of Newbury. 
 
 Note 67, page 203. 
 the savage Vane 
 
 At lot more deep the mead did drain. 
 
 The lol of the heathen Danes (a word still applied to Christmas in Scot- 
 land) was solemnized with great festivity. The humour of the Danes at 
 table displayed itself in pelting each other with bones; and Torfaeus tells a 
 long and curious story, in the History of Hrolfe Kraka, of one Ilottus, an 
 inmate of the Court of Denmark, who was so generally assailed with these 
 missiles, that he constructed, out of the bones with which he was over- 
 whelmed, a very respectable entrenchment, against those who continued the 
 raillery. 
 
 Note 68, page 205. 
 
 On Christmas Eve. 
 
 in Roman Catholic countries, mass is never said at night, except ou 
 Christmas eve. 
 
 Note 69, page 200. 
 
 Who lists mtvj in their mumming see 
 Traces of ancient mystery. 
 
 It seems certain, that the Mummers of England, who (in Northumberland 
 at least) used to go about in disguise to the neighbouring houses, bearing the 
 then useless ploughshare ; and the Guisards ot^Scotland, not yet in total dis- 
 use, present, iu some indistinct degree, a shadow of the old mysteries, which 
 were the origin of the English drama. In Scotland, (me ipso teste,) we were 
 wont, during my boyhood, to take the characters of the apostles, at least of 
 Peter, Paul, and Judas Iscariot; the first h^d the keys, the second carried 
 a sword, and the last the bag, in which the dole of our neighbours' plum- 
 cake was deposited. One played a champion, and recited some traditional 
 rhymes; another was 
 
 * Alexander, Kirnr of Macedon, 
 
 Who conquer'd all the world but beo'.land alone. 
 
 These, and many such verses, were repeated, but by rote andunconnectedly. 
 There was also, occasionally, I believe, a Saint George. In all, there was a 
 confused resemblance of the ancient mysteries, in which the characters or 
 Scripture, the Nine Worthies, and other popular personages, were usually 
 eiliioited.
 
 NOTES TO MARMION. 693 
 
 Note 70, page 208. 
 The Highlander ■ 
 
 Will, on a Friday morn, look pale, 
 If ask' d to tell a fairy taU. 
 
 The Daolne shi', or Men of Peace, of the Scottish Highlauders, rafher re- 
 fiemble the Scandinavian D lergar than the Enghsh Fairies. Notwithstand- 
 ing their name, they are, if not absolutely malevolent, at least peevish, dis- 
 contented, and apt to do mischief on slight provocation. The belief of their 
 existence is deeply impressed on the Highlanders, who tliink they are par- 
 ticularly offended" at mortals who talk of them, who wear their favourite 
 colour, green, or in any respect interfere with their affairs. This is espe- 
 cially to be avoided on Friday, when, whether as dedicated to Venus, with 
 whom, in Germany, this subterraneous people are held nearly connected, or 
 for a more solemn reason, they are more active, and possessed of greater 
 power. Some curious piirticulars concerning the popular superstitious of 
 tlie Highlanders may be foutd in Dr Graham's Picturesque Sketches of 
 Perthshire. 
 
 Note 71, page 208. 
 
 The towers of Franchemont. 
 
 The journal of the friend to whom the Fourth Canto of the Poem is in- 
 scribed, luraished me with the following account of a striking superstition : 
 
 " Passed the pretty little village of Franchemont. (near Spaw), with the romantic ruins of 
 the old castle of the Counts of that name. The road leads through many deUghtfiil rales on 
 a iising ground ; at the extremity of one of them stands the ancient caj^tle. new the subject of 
 mauy superstitious legends. It Is firmly believed by the neighbouring peasantry, that the 
 last Baron of Franchemont deposited, in one of the vaults of the castle, a ponderous chest, 
 containing an immense treasure in gold and silver, which, by some magic spell, was intrusted 
 to the care of the Devil, who is constantly found sitting on the chest in the shape of a hunts- 
 man. Any one adventurous enough to touch the chest is instantly seized with the palsy. 
 Upon one occasion, a priest of noted piety was brought to the vault ; he used aii the arts of 
 exorcism to persuade his infernal majesty to vacate his seat, but in vain ; the huntsman 
 remained immoveable. At last, moved by the earnestness of the priest, he told him that he 
 would agree to resign the chest, if the exerciser would sign his name with blood. But the 
 priest understood his meaning, and refused, as by that act he would have delivered over his 
 soul to the DeviL Tet if anybody can discover the mystic words used by the person wiio 
 deposited the treasure, and pronounce them, the fiend must instantly decamp. I had many 
 stories of a simila; nature from a peasant, who bad himself seen the Devil in the shape of a 
 great cat." 
 
 Note 72, page 216. 
 
 the huge and sleeping brand 
 
 Which wont of yore, in battle fray, 
 Bisfoeman's limbs to shred atcay. 
 As wood-knife lops the sapling spray. 
 
 The Earl of Angus had strength and personal activity corresponding to 
 his courage. Spens of Kilspindie, a favourite of James IV., having spoken 
 of him lightly, the Earl met him while hawking, and, compelling him to 
 single combat, at one blow cut asunder his tliiiih-boiie, and killed him on 
 the spot. But ere he could obtain James's pardon for tliis slaughter, Angus 
 was obliged to yield his castle of Hermitage, in exchange for that of Both- 
 well, which was some diminution to the family greatness. Tlie sword ^xith 
 which he struck so remarkable a blow, was presented by his descendant 
 James, Earl of Morton, afterwards Regent of Scotland, to Lord Lindesay of 
 the Byres, when he defied Bothwell to single combat on Carberry HilU See 
 Introduction to the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border. 
 
 Note 73, page 218. 
 
 And hopest thou hence unscathed to go ? — 
 A'o, by St Bride of Bothwell, no! — 
 Up drawbridge, grooms I — what, Warder, ho ! 
 Let the portcullis fall. 
 
 This ebullition of violence in the potent Earl of Angus is not without ita 
 example in the real history of the house of Douglas, whose chieftains pos- 
 sessed the ferocity, with the heroic virtues of a savage state. The most 
 curious instance occurred in the case of Maclellan, Tutor of Bombay, who
 
 G94 NOTES TO MARMION. 
 
 havino; refused to acknowledge the pre-eminence claimed by Donglas over 
 the gentlemen and Barons of Galloway, was seized and imprisoned by the 
 Earl, in his castle of the Tlirieve, on the borders of Kirkcudbrightshire. Sir 
 Patrick Gray, commander of King James the Second's guard, was uncle to 
 the Tutor of Bombay, and obtained from the King " a sweet letter of suppli- 
 cation," praying the Earl to deliver his prisoner into Gray's hand. MTien Sir 
 Patrick arrived at the castle, he was received with all the honour due to a 
 favourite servant of the King's houseliold; but while he was at dinner, the 
 Earl, who suspected his errand, caused his prisoner to be l«-d forth and be- 
 headed. After dinner, Sir Patrick presented the King's letter to the Earl, 
 who received it with great affectation of reverence ; and took him by the 
 hand, and led him forth to the green, where the gentleman was lying dead, 
 and showed him the manner, and said, ' Sir Patrick, you are come a little 
 too late; yonder is your sister's son lying, but he wants the head : take his 
 body, and do with it what you will.' — Sir Patrick answered again, with a 
 sore heart, and said, ' My lord, if ye have taken from him his head, dispone 
 upon the body as ye please ;' and with tliat called for his horse, and leaped 
 thereon ; and when he was on horseback, he said to the Earl in this manner, 
 ' My lord, if I live, you shall be rewarded for your labours that you have 
 used at this time, according to your demerits.' 
 
 "At this saying the Earl was highly offended, and cried for horse. Sir 
 Patrick, seeing the Earl's fury, spurred his horse, but lie was chased near 
 Edinburgh ere they left him ; and had it not been his led horse was so tried 
 and good, he had been taken." — Fitscottie's Ristory, p. 39. 
 
 Note 74, page 219. 
 A letter forged ! — Saint Jude to speed I 
 Did ever kniyht so foul a deed I 
 
 Lest the reader should partake of the Earl's astonishment, and consider 
 the crime as inconsistent with the manners of the pei'iod, I have to remind 
 him of the numerous forgeries (partly executed by a female assistant) devised 
 by Robert of Artois, to forward his suit against the Countess Matilda ; which, 
 being detected, occasioned his flight into England, and proved the remote 
 cause of Edward the Third's memorable wars in France. John Harding, 
 also, was expressly hired by Edw ard VI. to forge such documents as might 
 appear to estabUsli the claim of fealty asserted over Scotland by the English 
 mouarchs. 
 
 Note 75, page 221. 
 Twisel Bridge. 
 
 On the evening previous to the memorable battle of Flodden, Surrey's 
 head-quarters were at Barmoor Wood, and King James held an inaccessible 
 position on the ridge of Floddenhill, one of the last and lowest eminences 
 detached from the ridge of Cheviot. The Till, a deep and slow river, winded 
 between the armies. On the morning of the 9th September 1513, Surrey 
 marched in a north-westerly direction, and crossed the Till, with his van 
 and artillery, at Twisel Bridge, nigh where that river joins the Tweed, his 
 rear-guard column passing about a mile higher, by a ford. This movement 
 had the double effect of placing his army between King James and his sup- 
 plies from Scotland, and of striking the Scottish monarch with surprise, aa 
 he seems to have relied on the depth of the river in his front. But as the 
 passage, both over the bridge and through the ford, was difficult and slow, 
 it seems possible that the Enghsh might have been attacked to great advan- 
 tage while struggling with these natural obstacles. I know not if we are to 
 impute James's forbearance to want of militai-y skill, or to the romantic de- 
 claration which Pitscottie puts in his mouth, " that he was determined to 
 have his euemies belore him on a plain field," and therefore would suffer no 
 interruption to be given, even by artillery, to their passing the river. 
 
 Note 76, page 223. 
 Hence might they see the full array 
 Of either host, for deadly fray. 
 The reader cannot here e.xpect a full account of the battle of Floddenj
 
 ^OT£S TO MARMIOJT, 695 
 
 out, 80 far as is necessary to understand tlie romance, I l)pg to remind him, 
 thdt, when tlie English army, by tlieir skilful countermarch, were fairly 
 placed between King James and his own country, the t?cottish monarch re- 
 solved to fight ; and, setting fire to his teuts, descended from the ridge of 
 Flodden to secure the neighbouring eminence of Brankstone, on which that 
 village is built. Thus the two ai-mies met, almost without seeing each other, 
 wheiL, according to the old poem of " Flodden Field," 
 
 • The English line stretch'd east and west 
 And southward were their faces sa . i 
 Tlie SeottUh northward proudJy prest, 
 And manfully their foes they met," 
 
 The English army advanced in four divisions. On the right, which first 
 engiged, were the Slus of Earl Surrey, namely, Thomas Howard, the Ad- 
 miral (,f England, and Sir Edmund, the Knight-Marshal of the army. Their 
 (lirisions were separated from each other; but, at the request of Sir Edmund, 
 his brother's battalion was drawn very near to his own. The centre was 
 commanded by Surrey in person; the left wing by Sir Edward Stanley, with 
 the men of Lancashire, and of the palatinate of Chester. Ixird Uacre, with 
 a large body of horse, formed a reserve. When the saioke, which the wind 
 had driven between the armies, was somewhat dispersed, they perceived 
 the Scots, who had moved down the hill in a similar order of battle, and in 
 deep silence. The Earls of Huntly and of Home commanded their left 
 wing, and charged Sir Edmund Howard with such success as entirely to 
 defeat his part of the English right wing. Sir Edmund's banner was beaten 
 down, and he liimself escaped witli difficulty to his brother's division. The 
 Admiral, however, stood lirm; and Dacre advancing to his support with 
 the reserve of cavalry, probahly between the iuteiTal of the divisions com- 
 manded by the brothers Howard, appears to have kept the victors in effec- 
 tual check. Home's men, chiefly Borderers, bes;an to )iillage the baggage ot 
 both armies; and then: leader is branded by the Scottish historians with 
 neghgence or treachery. On the other hand, Huntly, on whom they bestow 
 many encomiums, is said by the English historians to have left the held after 
 the ftrst charge. Meanwlule the Admiral, whose flank these chiefs ought 
 to have attacked, availed himself of their inactinty, and pushed forward 
 against another large division of the Scottish army in his Iront, headed by 
 the Earls of Crawford and Montrose, both of whom were slain, and tlienr 
 forces routed. On the left, the success of tlie English was yet more deci- 
 sive; for the Scottish right wing, consisting of undisciplined Highlanders, 
 commanded by Lennox and Argyle, was unable to sustain the cliarge of Sir 
 Edward Stanley, and especially the sever* execution of the Lancashire 
 archers. The King and Surrey, who commanded the respective centres of 
 their armies, were meanwhile engaged in close and dubious conflict. James, 
 surrounded by the flower of his kingdom, and impatient of the galUng dis- 
 charge of arrows, supported also by his reserve under Bothwell, charged 
 with such fury, that the standard of Surrey was in danger. At that critical 
 moment, Stanley, who had routed the left wing of the Scottish, pursued his 
 career of victory, and arrived on the right flank, and in the rear of James's 
 division, which, throwing itself into a circle, disputed the battle till night 
 came on. Surrey then drew back his forces ; lor the Scottish centre not 
 having been broken, and their left wing being victorious, he yet doubted 
 the event of the field. The Scottish army, however, fclt-thetf loss, and 
 aliandoned the field of battle in disorder, before dawn. 'Ihey lost, perhaps, 
 from eight to ten thousand men ; but that included the very prime of their 
 nobihty, gentry, and even clergy. Scarce a family of eminence but has an 
 ancestor killed at I'loddeu ; and there is no province in Scotland, even at 
 this day, where the battle is mentioned without a sensation of terror and 
 sorrow. The English lost also a great numlier of men, perhaps within one- 
 third of the vanqmshed, but they were of inferior uote. 
 
 Note 77, page 224. 
 
 Brian Tunstall, stainless kniijkt. 
 
 Sir Brian Tunstall, called, in the romantic language of the time, Tunstall 
 ihe Undeliled, was one of the few EugUshmeu of rank slain at I'iodden,
 
 696 NOTES TO MARMION. 
 
 He figures in the ancient English poem, to which I may safely refer my 
 readers: as an edition, witli full explanatory notes, has been published by 
 my friend Mr Henry Weber. Tunstall, perhaps, derived his epithet of 
 nndefiled from his white armour and banner, the latter bearing a white 
 cock, about to crow, as well as from his unstained loyally and knightly 
 *'aith. His place of residence was Thurland Castle. 
 
 Note 78, page 231. 
 
 Hectless of life, he desperate fonght. 
 
 And fell on Flodden plain : 
 Jnd well in death his trusty brand, 
 Firjn cleiich'd within his manly hand, 
 
 Sesertti'd the Monarch slain. 
 
 There can be no doubt that King James fell in the battle of Flodden. He 
 was killed, says the curious French Gazette, withui a lance's length of the 
 Earl of Surrey ; and the same account adds, that none of his division were 
 made prisoners, though many were killed; a circumstance that testifies the 
 desperation of their resistance. The Scottish historians record many of the 
 idle reports which passed -among the vulgar of their day. Home was ac- 
 cused, by the popular voice, not only of failing to support the King, bui 
 even of having carried him out of the field, and murdered him. And this 
 tale was revived in ray remembrance, by an unauthenticated story of a skele- 
 ton, wrapped in a bull's hide, and surrounded with an iron chain, said to 
 have been found in the well of Home-Castle ; for which, on inquiry, I could 
 never find any better authority than the sexton of the parish having said, 
 that, if the well were cleaned' ont, he wonld not be surprised at such a disc - 
 very. Home was tlie chamberlani of the King, and his prime favourite; he 
 had much to lose (in fact did lose all) in consequence of James's death, and 
 nothmg earthly to gain by that event: but the retreat, or inactivity of the 
 left wing which he commanded, after defeatuig Sir Edmund Howard, and 
 even the circumstance of his returning unhurt, and loaded witli spoil, from 
 80 fatal a conflict, rendered the propagation of any calumny against him 
 easy and acceptable. Other reports gave a still more romantic turn to the 
 King's fate, and averred that James, weary of greatness after the carnage 
 among his nobles, had gone on a pilgrimage, to merit absolution for the 
 death of his fatlier, and the breacli ot his oath of amity to Henry. In par- 
 ticular, it was objected to the English that they could never show the token 
 of the iron belt; which, however, he was likely enough to have laid aside 
 on the day of battle, as encumbering his personal. exertions. They produce 
 a better evidenci-,,the monarch's sword and dagger, which are still preserved 
 in the Herald's College in London. Stowe has recorded a degrading story of 
 the disgrace with wliich the remains of the unfoitunate monarch were 
 treated in his time. An unhewn column marks the spot where James fell, 
 still called the King's Stone. 
 
 Note 79, page 231. 
 
 The fair cathedral storm'd and took. 
 
 This storm of Lichfield cathedral, which had been garrisoned on the part 
 of the King, took place in the Great Civil War. Lord Brook, who, with Sir 
 John Gill, commanded the assailants, was shot with a musket-ball through 
 the vizor of his helmet. The royalists remarked, that he was killed by a shot 
 fired from St Chad's cathedral, and upon St Chad's Day, and received his 
 death-wound in the very eye with which, he had said, he hoped to see the 
 rain of all the cathedrals in England. The magnificent church in question 
 suH'ered crueUy upon this, and other occasions ; the principal spire being 
 ruined by the tire of the besiegers.
 
 NOTES 
 
 TO 
 
 THE LADY OF THE LAKE, 
 
 Note 1, page 245. 
 
 the heights of Uam-Vnr, 
 
 And roused the cavern, where, 'tis told, 
 A giant made his den of old. 
 
 Ua-var, as the name is pronounced, or more properly Uaighmor, is a 
 momitain to the north-east of the -siUagre of Callander in Jlenteith, deriv- 
 ing its name, which signifies the great den, or cavern, from a sort of retreat 
 among the rocks on tlie south side, said, by tradition, to have been the 
 abode of a giact. In latter times, it was the refuge of robbers and banditti, 
 who have been only extirjjated within these forty or fifty years. Strictly 
 speaking, this stronghold is not a cave, as the name would unply, but a sort 
 of small mclosure, or recess, surrounded with large rocks, and open above 
 head. 
 
 Note 2, page 245. 
 
 Two doqsof hluck Saint Hubert's breed, 
 Vumatch'dfor courage, breath, and speed, 
 
 " The boundb which we caU Saint Hubert's hounds, are commonly alt olacfee, yet neuerthe- 
 less, the race is so mingled at these days, that we find them of all colom-s. these are tlie 
 hounds which the abbots of St Hubert haue always liept sonic of tiieir race or kind, in honour 
 or remembrance of tlie saint, which was a hunter with S. Eustace. Whereupon we may con- 
 ceiue that (by the grace of God) all good huntsmen shall follow them into paradise." — Tht 
 uabte Art of t'enerie or Hunting, translated and collected for the Use of all Xobletnen arid Ointtemeti 
 lioud. 161L 4to, p. 15. 
 
 Note 3, page 246. 
 
 For the death-woniidand death-halloo. 
 Muster'd his breath, his whimjard drew. 
 
 When the stag turned to bay, the ancient hunter had the perilous task 
 of going in upon, and kilUng or disabhng the desperate aiiimaL At certain 
 times of the year this was held particidarly dangerous, a wound received 
 fi-ora a stag's horn being then deemed poisonous, and more dangerous than 
 one from the tuslis of a bo.ar, as the old rhyme testifies — 
 
 " If thou be hurt with hart, it brin;?3 thee to thy bier. 
 But barber's hand will boar's hurt heal, therefore thou 
 need'st not fear. 
 
 At all times, however, the task was dangerous, and to be adventiu-ed upon 
 ■n'isely and warily, either by getting beliind the stag while he was gazing 
 on the hoitnds, or by watching an opportunity to g;dlop roundly ui upon 
 turn, and kill lum wth the sword. 
 
 Note 4, page 24S. 
 
 Jnd now to issue from the glen. 
 No pathway meets the wanderer's ken. 
 Unless he climb, with footing nice, 
 J far-projecting precipice. 
 
 Until the present road was made through the romantic pass wtJo.^ I
 
 698 NOTES TO the" LADY OF THE LAKE. 
 
 have presumptuously attempted to aescribe in the preceding stanzas, there 
 was no mode of issuing out of tlie defile called the Trosachs, excepting by 
 a sort of ladder, composed of the branches and roots of trees. 
 
 NcTE 5, page 249. 
 
 To meet with Highland phinderer: here, 
 irere zcorse than loss of steed or deer. 
 
 The clans vrho inhabited the romantic regions m the neighK'jwhood of 
 Loch Katrine, were, even until a late period, much addicted to predatory 
 excursions upon their Lowland neighbours. 
 
 Note 6, page 252. 
 
 ^ grey-hnir'd sire, whose eye Intent, 
 fJ'as on the vision' d future bent. 
 
 If force of evidence could authorise us to believe facts inconsistent with 
 the general laws of nature, enough might be produced iu favour of the exis- 
 tence of the Second-sight. It is called in Gaehc Tuishitaraugh, from Taish. 
 an unreal or shadowy appeai'ance ; and those possessed of the faculty are 
 called Tnishatrin, which may be aptly translated visionaries. Martin, a 
 steady believer in the second-sight, gives the following account of it: — 
 
 " The second-sight is a singular faculty of seeing an otherwise invisilile object without any 
 previous means used by the person that used it for tliat end : the vision makes such a lively 
 impression upon the seers, that they neither see nor think of anything else, except the vision, 
 as long as it continues ; and then they appear pensive or Jovial, according to the object chat 
 was represented to them. 
 
 " At the sight of a vision, the eyelids of the person are erected, and the eyes continue 
 staring until the object vanish. This is obvious toothers who are by when the persons happen 
 to see a vision, and occurred more than once to my own observation, and to others that were 
 \rith me." 
 
 " If a woman is seen standing at a man's left hand, it is a presage that she will be his wife, 
 whether they be married to others, or unmarried at the time of the apparition. 
 
 '* To see a spark of fire fall upon one's arm or breast is a foreruiwier of a dead child to be 
 seen in the arms of those persons; of which there are several fresh instances." 
 
 " To see a seat empty at tlie time of one's sitting in it, is a presage of that person's deatb 
 soon after." — Martin a 'DeKriptityii bf the fVestern Inlands, 1716, 8vo, p. 300, et teg. 
 
 To these particulars innumerable examples might bo added, all attested 
 by grave and credible authors. But, in despite of evidence which neither 
 Bacon, Boyle, nor Johnson, were able to resist, the 2'aisch, with all its 
 visionary properties, seems to be now universally abandoned to the use of 
 poetrj'. 'The exquisitely beautiful poem of Locliiel will at once occur to 
 the recollection of every reader. 
 
 Note 7, page 253. 
 
 Sere, for retreat in dangerous hour. 
 Some chief had framed a rustic hovoer. 
 
 The Celtic chieftains, whose hves were continually exposed to peril, h.id 
 usually, in the most retired spot of their domains, some place of retreat 
 for the hour of necessity, which, as circumstances would admit, was a tower, 
 a cavern, or a rustic hut, in a strong and secluded situation. One of these 
 last gave refuge to the unfortunate Charles Edward, in his perilous wander- 
 ings after the battle of CuUoden. 
 
 Note 8, page 255. 
 
 i)/i/ sire's tall form might grace the fart 
 Of Ferrugus or Ascabart. 
 
 These two sons of Anak flomished in romantic fable. The first Is 
 well kno\vn to the admirers of Ariosto, by the name of Ferrau. He was an 
 antagonist of Orlando, and was .it length slain by him in smgle combat. 
 
 Ascapart, or Ascabart, makes a very material figure in the History of 
 Be%is of Hampton, by whom he was conquered. His effigies may be seen 
 guarding one side of a gate at Southampton, whUe the other is occupied by 
 Sir Bevis himselt
 
 NOTES TO THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 699 
 
 Note 9, page 255. 
 
 Though all nnask'd his birth and name. 
 
 The Highlanders, who carried hospitality lo a punctilious excess, are 
 said to have considered it as churlish to ask a stranger his name or lineage, 
 before he had taken refreshment. Feuds were so frequent among them, 
 that a contrary rule would in many cases have produced the discovery of 
 gome circumstance, which might have excluded the guest of the benefit of 
 the assistance he stood in need of. 
 
 Note 10, page 259. 
 
 Morn's genial influence roused a minstrel grey. 
 
 To a late period Highland cliieftains retained in their service the bard, 
 rts a family officer. 
 
 Note 11, page 261. 
 
 the Grame. 
 
 The ancient and powerful family of Graham (which, for metrical 
 reasons, is here spelt after the Scottish pronunciation) held extensive pos- 
 sessions in the counties of Dumbarton and Stirling. Few families can boast 
 of more historical rcno'wn, ha^^ng claim to three of the most remarkable 
 characters in the Scottish annals Sir John the Gra>me, the faithful and 
 undamited partaker of the labours and patriotic warfare of Wallace, fell in 
 the uafortmiate field of Falkirk, in 1298. The celebrated Marquis of Mon- 
 trose, in whom De Retz saw realised his abstract idea of the heroes oi 
 antiquity, was the second of these worthies. And, not^vithstanding the 
 severity of his temper, and the rigour wth which he executed the oppres- 
 sive mandates of the princes whom he ser\-ed, I do not hesitate to name as 
 a third, John Gra;me of Claverhouse, Viscount of Dundee, whose heroic 
 death in the arms of victorj' may be aUowed to cancel the memory of his 
 cruelty to the nonconformists, dming the reigns of Charles II. and James IL 
 
 Note 12, page 261. 
 
 This harp, which erst Saint Modan sway'd. 
 
 I am not prepared to show that Samt Jlodan was a performer on the 
 harp. It was, however, no unsaintly accomplishment ; for Saint Dunstan 
 certainly did play upon that instrument, which retaining, as was natiu-al, 
 a portion of the sanctity attached to its master's character, anuomiced 
 future events by its spontaneous somid. 
 
 Note 13, page 2 1. 
 
 Ere Douglasses, to ruin driven, 
 Were exiled from their native heaven. 
 The doAvnfall of the Douglasses of the house of Angus during the reign 
 of James V. is the event alluded to in the text 
 
 Note 14, page 263. 
 In Holy-Rood a Knight he sleto. 
 This was by no means an uncommon occurrence in the Court of Scot- 
 land; nay, the presence of the sovereign himself scarcely restrained the 
 ferocious and inveterate feuds which were the perpetual source of blood- 
 shed among the Scottish nobility. The nmrder of Sir WUliam Stuart of 
 Ochiltree, called The Bloody, by the celebrated Francis, Earl of BothweU. 
 may be named among many. See Johnstoni Ilistoria lierum Britanni- 
 carum, ab anno 1572 ad annum 1628. Amstelodami, 1655, foL p. 135. 
 
 Note 15, page 2G3. 
 
 3^1! Donqlas, like a stricken deer, 
 I>isow)i'il by every noble peer. 
 
 The exiled state of this powerful race is net exaggerated m this and
 
 700 NOTES TO THE LABT OF THE LAKE. 
 
 snbsoquent passages. The hatred of James against the race of Douglas 
 was so inveterate, that numerous as their allies were, and disregai'ded as 
 the regal authority had usually been in similar cases, their nearest fi-iends, 
 even in the most remote parts of Scotland, durst not entertain them, unless 
 under the strictest and closest disguise. 
 
 Note 16, page 264. 
 ^faronnmi's cell. 
 
 The parisn of Kilmaronock, at the eastern extremity of Loch Lomond, 
 derives its name from a cell or chapel, dedicated to Saint Maronock, or Jlar- 
 nock, or Maronnan, about whose sanctity very Uttle is now remembered. 
 There is a fomitain devoted to him in the same parish; but its virtues, like 
 the merits of its patron, have fallen into obli\ion. 
 
 KoTE 17, page 264. 
 TiracWtnn's thundering wnve. 
 
 This is a beautiful cascade made by a movmtain stream called the 
 Keltic, at the Bridge of Bracklinii, about a mile from the village of Cal- 
 lander in ilenteith. 
 
 KoTE 18, page 265. 
 
 For Tine-man forged by fairy lore. 
 
 Arcliibald, the third Earl of Douglas, was so unfortunate in all his en- 
 terprises, that he acquired the epithet of Tine-man, because he lined, or 
 lost, his followers in every battle which he fought. 
 
 Note 19, page 26.5. 
 
 Did, self-vnscahbarded , foreshow 
 The footstep of a secret foe. 
 
 The ancient warriors, whose hope and confidence rested chiefly in their 
 blades, were accustomed to deduce omens from them, especially from such 
 as were supposed to have been fabricated by enchanted skill, of which we 
 have various instances in the romances and legends of the time. 
 
 Note 20, page 266. 
 
 Tliose thrilUnQ sotiiids that call the might 
 Of old Clan- Alpine to the fight. 
 
 The connoisseurs in pipe-music affect to discover, in a weU-composea 
 pibroch, the imitative sounds of march, coniiict, flight, pursuit, and all the 
 " current of a heady fight" 
 
 Note 21, page 267. 
 
 Eoderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho ! iero ! 
 
 Besides his ordinary name and surname, which were chiefly used in the 
 intercourse with the Lc-Tclands, ever>' Highland chief had an epithet ex- 
 pressive of his patriarchal dignity as head of the clan, and which was com- 
 mon to all his predecessors and successors, as Pharaoh to the kings of 
 Egypt, or Arsaces to those of Parthia. This name was usually a patro- 
 nymic, expressive of his descent from the founder of the family. Thus the 
 Duke of Argyle is called MacCaUum More, or the son of Colin the Great. 
 
 Note 22, page 276. 
 
 And while the Fiery Cross glanced, like a meteor, round. 
 
 When a chieftain designed to summon his clan, npon any sudden or im- 
 portant emergency, he slew a goat, and making a cross of any light wood, 
 seared its extremities in tfcs fire, and extinguished them in the blood of the
 
 NOTES TO THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 701 
 
 aniraaL This was called tne Fiery Cross, also Creati 'Tarigh, or the Cross 
 of Shame, because disobedience to what the sj-mbol implied, inferred in- 
 famy. It was delivered to a s^vift and trusty messenger, who ran fuU 
 8peed with it to the next hamlet, where he presented it to the princi- 
 pal person, with a single word, implj-ingthe place of rendezrons. He who 
 received the symbol was bound to send it forward, -nith equal dispatch, to 
 the next village; and thus it passed ■nith incredible celerity through all 
 the district whicli owed allegiance to the chieC and also among his allies 
 and neighbours, if the danger was common to them. At siglit of the Fiery 
 Cross, every man. ii-om sixteen years old to sixty, capable of bearing arms, 
 was obliged instantly to repair, in his best arms and accoutrements, to the 
 place of rendezvous. He who failed to appear, suftered the extremities of 
 fire and sword, which were emblematically denounced to the disobedient 
 by the bloody and biu^it marks upon tliis warlike signal. During the civil 
 war of 1745-6, the Fiery Cross often made its circuit; and upon one occa- 
 sion it passed through the whole district of Breadalbane, a tract of thirty- 
 two miles, in three hours. 
 
 Note 23, page 27S. 
 
 That monk, of savage form and face. 
 
 The state of religion in the niidiUe ages afforded considerable facilities 
 for those whose mode of Ufe excluded them from rcjjular worship, to secure, 
 nevertheless, the ghostly assistance of confessors, perfectly willing to adapt 
 the nature of their doctrine to the necessities and peculiar circumstances of 
 their llock. Robin Hood, it is well kno'mi, had his celebrated domestic 
 chaplain. Friar Tuck. 
 
 Note 24, page 278. 
 Of Brian's birth strange tales were told. 
 
 The legend which follows is not of the author's invention. It is pos- 
 sible he may differ from modem critics, in supposing that the records of 
 human superstition, if peculiar to, and ch.iracteristic of; the countrj- in 
 which the scene is l.iid, are a legitimate subject of poetry. He gives, how- 
 ever, a ready assent to the narrower proposition wliich condemns all at- 
 tempts of an iiTcguiar and disordered fancy to excite terror, by accuinlat- 
 iug a train of fantiistic and incoherent horrors, whether borrowed from all 
 countries, and patched upon a narrative tielonging to one wliicli knew them 
 not. or derived from the author's own imagination. In the present case, 
 therefore, I appeal to the record which I have transcribed, ■\\-ith the varia- 
 tion of a verj- few words, from the geographical collections made by the 
 Laird of Slacfarlane. I know not whether it be necessary to rem.ark, that 
 the miscellaneous concourse of youths and maidens on the night and on the 
 spot where the miracle is said to have taken place, might, even in a credu- 
 lous age, have somewhat duninished the wonder which accompanied the 
 conception of Gilli-Doir-JIagrevoUicli. 
 
 " There is bol two mylcs from InvcrloRhie. the church of Rilmalee. in Lochyeld. In 
 ancient t.vmes there vas ane church builded upun ane hill, which u.-u, above thii chui*ch. 
 which doetb now stand in this toune: ana ancient men doeth say, that there was a battcll 
 foughten on anc litte bill not the tenth part of a myle from this church, be certainc meii 
 which they did not know what they were. And long tyme thereafter, certaine herds of tha& 
 toune. and of the next toune. called Cnniitt. both wenches and youthes. did on a tyme 
 conveen with others on that hill ; and the day being somewhat cold." did gati.er the bones of 
 the dead men that were slaync long tyme before in that pl.icc, and did m:,ke a fire to warm 
 them. At last they did all remove from the fire, except one maid or wench, which was verio 
 cold, and she did remaine theie for a space. She being quyetlie her alone, without anie 
 other compaiiie, took up her cloaths above her knees, or thereby, to warm her ; a wind did 
 come and caste the ashes upon lier, and she was conceived of anc uian-chyld. Severall tvnies 
 thereafter she was verie sick, and at last she was knowne to be with chyld. And theil her 
 parents did ask at her the matter beiroff. which the wench could not weel answ cr wliicb way 
 losatistie them. At last site resolved them with ane answer As fortune fell upon her con- 
 cerning this marvellous miracle, the chyld being borne, his name was called Giii-dcir Jf-i^An.- 
 weBich. that is to say. the BUek Child. Sin to the Boitf*. So called, his grandfather sent him to 
 Khool, and so he was a good scbollar. and godlie. He did build this church which doeth 
 now stand in Lochj'eld, called Kiltn\i\e."—Macfarlaiu, ut mpra, iL 18S. 
 
 Note 25, page 278. 
 
 Tet ne'er again to braid her hair 
 The virgin snood did Alice 'cear. 
 
 The snooil, or riband, with which a Scottish lass braided her boh-. lieJ
 
 702 NOTES TO THE LADT OF THE LAKE. 
 
 ail emblematical signification, and applied to her maiden character. It was 
 exchanged lor the curch, tmj, or coif, when she passed, by marriage, mto 
 the matron state. But if the damsel was so unfortmiate as to lose preten- 
 sions to the name of maiden, without gaining a right to that of mation, slie 
 ■was neither permitted to use the snood, nor advanced to the gi'aver dignity 
 of the curch. In old Scottish songs there occiur many sly allusions to such 
 misfortune ; as in the old words to the popular tune of " Ower the mui» 
 amang the heather." 
 
 • Down aman^ the broom, the broom, 
 Down aman^ the broom, m.v dearie, 
 The lassie lost her silken snuod 
 That gard her greet till she was vrearie." 
 
 Note 26, page 279. 
 
 The fatal Ben-Shie's boding scream, 
 
 Jlost great families in the Highlands were supposed to have a tutelar, 
 or rather a domestic spirit, attached to them, who tooli an interest in their 
 prosperity, and intimated, by its wailings, any approachuig disaster. A 
 superstition of the same kind is, I believe, xmiversally received by the in- 
 ferior ranks of the native Irish. 
 
 Note 27, page 280. 
 
 Sounds, too, had come in midnight blast. 
 Of charging steeds careering fast 
 Jiong Benharrow' s shingly side. 
 Where mortal horseman ne'er might ride. 
 
 A presage of the kind alluded to in the text, is still believed to announce 
 death to the ancient Higliland family of JI'Lean of Lochbuy. The spirit of 
 an ancestor slain in battle is heard to gaUop along a stony bank, and then 
 to ride thrice aroimd the family residence, rmging his fairy bridle, and thu« 
 intimating the approaching calamity. 
 
 Note 28, page 282. 
 
 the dun dier's hide 
 
 On fleeter fuot was never tied. 
 
 The present brogue of the Highlanders is made of half-dried leather, 
 with holes to admit" and let out the water; for walking the moors drj'-shod 
 Is a matter altogether out of the question. The ancient buskin was still 
 ruder, being made of undressed deer's hide, with the hair outwards; a cir- 
 cumstance which procured the Highlanders the weU-knowTi epithet otRed- 
 shanks. 
 
 Note 29, page 283. 
 
 The dismal coronach. 
 
 The Coronach of the Highlanders, like the Ulalntiis of the Romans, 
 and the Ululoo of the Irish, was a wild expression of lamentation, poured 
 forth by the mourners over the body of a depaited friend. WTien the 
 words of it were luticulate, they expressed the praises of the deceased, and 
 tlie loss the clan would sustain by his death. 
 
 Note 30, page 2S8. ■ 
 
 Not faster o'er thy heathery braes, 
 Balquidder, speeds the midnight blaze. 
 
 It may be necessary to infonn the southern reader, that the heath on 
 the Scottish moorlands is often set fire to, that the sheep may have the ad- 
 vantage of the young herbage produced, in room of tlie tough old heather 
 plants. Tliis custom (execrated by sportsmen) produces occasionally tlie 
 most beautiful nocturnal appearances, similar almost to the discharge of a 
 volcano. Ttiis simile is not new to poetry. The charge of a warrior, itt 
 tlie fine baUal of Hiu:dyknute,is said ti be "like fii-e to heaihei" set"
 
 NOTES TO THE LADT OF THE LAKE. 703 
 
 Note 31, page 289. 
 By many a hard in Celtic tongue. 
 Has Coir-nan-Uris/cin been sung. 
 
 rhis is a very steep and most romantic hollow in the aiountain of Ben- 
 renue, overhanging- the south-eastern extremity of Loch Katrine. It is 
 surrounded ■\\ith stupendous rocks, and overshadowed ^\•itll birch-trees, 
 mingled ^^•ith oaks, the spontaneous productiou of the mountain, even 
 where its clilfs appear denuded of soil. 
 
 KOTE 32, page 293. 
 
 The Taghuirm called; by tckick, afar. 
 Our sires foresaw the events of tear. 
 
 The Highlanders, like all rude people, had various superstitious modes 
 of inquiring into futurity. One of the most noted was the Taghuirm, men- 
 tioned in the test A person was wrapped up in the skin of a newly-slain 
 bullock, and deposited beside a waterfall, or at the bottom of a precipice, or 
 in some other strange, wild, and unusual situation, where the scenery 
 around him suggested uothuig but objects of horror. In this situation, he 
 revolved iu his mind the question proposed; and whatever was impressed 
 npon him by his exalted unagination, passed for the inspiration of the dis- 
 embodied spirits, who haunt the desolate recesses. 
 
 Note 33, page 294. 
 
 that huge cliff, ichose ample verge 
 
 Tradition calls the Hero's Targe. 
 
 There is a rock so named in the Forest of Glenfinlas, by which a tmnul- 
 tnary cataract takes its course. This wild place is said in former times to 
 have afforded refuge to an outlaw, who was supplied with pro^^sions by a 
 woman, who lowered them down from the brink of the precipice above. 
 His water he prociu-ed lor himself, by letting do«Ti a flagon tied to a siring, 
 into the black pool beneath the falL 
 
 Note 34, page 295. 
 Which spills the foremost foemati's life. 
 That party conquers in the strife. 
 
 Though this be in the text described as a response of the Taghairm, or 
 Oracle of the Hide, it was of itself an augiu-y frequently attended to. The 
 fate of the battle was often anticipated in the imagination of the com- 
 batants, by obsen-ing which party tirst shed blood. It is s;ud that the 
 Highlanders mi<ier Montrose were so deeply imbued i\ith this notion, that, 
 on the morning of the battle of Tippcnnoor, they murdered a defenceless 
 herdsman, whom tliey found in tlie lields, merely to secure an advantage 
 of so much consequence to tlieir party 
 
 Note 35, page 298. 
 
 TThy sounds yon stroke on beech and oak, 
 
 Our moonlight circle's screen .' 
 Or icho comes here tc chase the deer, 
 
 Eetored of our Elfin Queen. '' 
 
 Fairies, if not positively malevolent, are capricious, and easily offended 
 Like other proprietors of forests, they we peculiarly jealous of their rights 
 of vert and renison. This jealousy was a'so an attribute of the northern 
 Duergar, or dwarfs; to many of whose distmctions the fairies seem to have 
 succeeded, if, indeed, they are not the same class of beings. 
 
 Note 36, page 298. 
 
 Kho may dare on tcold to wear 
 
 The fairies' fatal green .-' 
 
 As the Daoine Shi' or Men of Peace, wore green habits, they were sup-
 
 704 NOTES TO THE LADY OP THE LAKE. 
 
 posed to take offence when any mortals ventured to assume their favourite 
 colour. Indeed, from some reason which has been, perhaps, originally a 
 general superstition, green is held in Scotland to be unlucky to particular 
 tribes and coimties. The Caithness men, who hold this belief, allege as a 
 reason, that their bands wore that coloiu: when they were cut off at the 
 battle of Flodden ; and for the same reason they avoid crossing the Ord on 
 a Mond.ay, being the day of the week on which their ill-omened array set 
 forth. Green is also disliked by those of the name of OgUvy; but more 
 especially is it held fatal to the whole clan of Grahame. It is remembered 
 of an aged gentleman of that name, that when his horse fell in a fox-chase, 
 he accoimted for it at once by observing, that the wliipcord attached to his 
 lash was of this unlucky colour. 
 
 Note 37, page 299. 
 For thou wert christen' d man. 
 
 The elves were supposed greatly to en\-y the pri\Tlege8 acquired by 
 Clmstian initiation, and they gave to those mortals who had fallen into 
 their power a certain precedence, founded upon this advantageous distinc- 
 tion. Tamlane, in the old ballad, describes his o»vn rank in the fairy pro- 
 cession: — 
 
 " For I ride on a milk-white steed. 
 And a.ve nearest tlie town ; 
 Because I was a chriaten'd knight. 
 They gave me that renown.** 
 
 Note 38, page 308. 
 Jl'ho ever red' J, where, how, or when, 
 The proiolitig fox was impp'd or slain? 
 
 St John actually used this illustration when engaged in confiiting the 
 plea of law proposed for the unfortunate Earl of Strafford: "It was true, 
 we gave la>vs to hares and deer, because they are beasts of chase ; but it 
 was never accounted either cruelty or foul play to knock foxes or wolves 
 on the head as they can be found, because they are beasts of prey. In a 
 word, the law and humanity were alike ; the one being more fallacious, and 
 the other more barbarous, than in any age had been vented in such an au- 
 thority." — Clarendon's History of the Rebellion. Oxford, 1702, foL -vol p. 
 183. 
 
 Note 39, page 308. 
 
 . his Highland cheer, 
 
 The harden'd flesh of mountain-deer. 
 
 The Scottish Highlanders in former times, had a concise mode of cook- 
 ing their venison, or rather of dispensing 'with cooking it, wliich appears 
 greatly to have surprised the French whom chance made acquamted with 
 it. The Vidame of Charters, when a hostage in England, diu-ing the reign 
 of Edward VI., was permitted to travel mto Scotland, and penetrated as 
 far as to the remote Highlands (au fin fond des Sauvuf/es). After a great 
 himting party, at which a most wonderful quantity of game was destroyed, 
 he saw these Scottish Saimges devour a part of their venison raw, -without 
 any farther preparation than compressmg it between two batons of wood, 
 so as to force out the blood, and render it extremely hard. This they rec- 
 koned a great delicacy; and when the Vidame partook of it, his compliauca 
 with their taste rendered him exti-emely popular. 
 
 Note 40, page 311. 
 Not then claini'd sovereignty his due 
 Jlliile Albany, with feeble ha?'d. 
 Held bonow'd trunchcoji of command. 
 
 There is scarcely a more disorderly period in Scottish history than that 
 which succeeded the battle of Flodden, and occupied the minority of James 
 V. Feuds of ancient standing broke out like old woimds, and every 
 quan-el among the mdependent nobility, which occurred daily, and almost 
 hourly, gave rise to fresh bloodshed
 
 KOIES TO THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 705 
 
 Note 41. page 314. 
 
 -/ only meant 
 
 To show the reed on ivhich you leant, 
 Deeming this path you might pursue 
 Without a pass from Roderick Dhu. 
 
 This incident, like some otiier passages in the poem, illustrative of the 
 character of the ancient Gael, is not imaginary, but borrowed from fact. 
 The Highlanders, with the inconsistency of most nations in the same state, 
 were alternately capable of great exertions of generosity, and of cruel re- 
 venge and peiUdy. 
 
 Note 42, page 315. 
 
 Oyi Bochastle the mouldering lines, 
 irhere Rome, the Empress of the world. 
 Of yore her eagle-icings unfurl'd. 
 
 The torrent which discharges Itself from Loch Vennaehar, the lowest 
 and castmost of the tliree lakes which fomi the scenery adjoining to the 
 Trosachs, sweeps tlu-ough a flat and extensive moor, caUed Bochastle. 
 Upon a small eminence, called the Dun of Bochastle, and indeed on the 
 plain itself, are some intrenchments, which have been thought Roman. 
 There is, adjacent to Callander, a sweet viUa, the residence of Captain 
 Fairfoul, entitled the Komau Camp. 
 
 Note 43, page 315. 
 
 See, here, all vantageless I stand, 
 Arm'd, like thyself, loiih single brand. 
 
 The duellists of former times did not always stand upon those punctilios 
 respecting equality of arms, which are now judged essential to fixir combat. 
 It is true, that in former combats in the lists, the parties were, by ttie 
 judges of the field, put as nearly as possible in the same circumstancas 
 But in private duel it was often othenvise. 
 
 Note 44, page 316. 
 
 Ill fared it then mth Roderick Dhu, 
 That on the field his targe he threw. 
 
 A round target of light wood, covered with strong leather, and studded 
 with brass or iron, was a necessarj- part of a Higlilander's equipment In 
 charging regular troops, tliey received the thrust of the bayonet in this 
 buckler, twisted it aside, and used the broad-sword against the enciuubercd 
 soldier. In the civil war of 1745, most of the front rank of the clans were 
 thus armed: and Captain Grose informs us, that, in 174", the privates of 
 the 42d regiment, then in Flanders, were, for the most p;irt, permitted to 
 carry targets. — Military Antiquities, vol i. p. 164. 
 
 Note 45, page 320. 
 The burghers hold their sports to-day. 
 Every burgh of Scotland, of the least note, but more especially the con- 
 siderable to-ivns, had their solemn play, or festival, Tvhen feats of archery 
 were exhibited, and prizes distributed to those who excelled in wrestluig, 
 hurling the bar, and the other g^,^nnastic exercises of the period. Stirliji.?; 
 a usual place of royal residence, was not likely to be deticicnt m pomp 
 upon such occasions, especially since James V. was very partial to them 
 His ready participation in these popular anmsements was one cause of his 
 acquiring the title of King of the Commons, or Rex Pleheiorum, as Lesley 
 taa latinized it. The usual prize to the best shooter was a silver arro>v 
 8ach a one is preserved at Selkirk and at Peebles. 
 
 Note 46, page 32L 
 Robin Eoi^d, 
 The exhibition of this renowned outlaw and his band was a favourite 
 2t
 
 706 NOTES TO THE LADY OP THE LAKE. 
 
 frolic at such festivals as we are describing. This sporliti!^, in wnich kin;;* 
 did not disdain to be actors, was prohibited in Scotland upon the Reforma- 
 tion, by a statute of the fith Parliament of Queen Mary, c. 01, a.d. 1555, 
 which ordered, under hea\'y penalties, that " na manner of person be chosen 
 Kobert Hude, nor Little John, Abbot of Unreason, Queen of May, nor 
 otherwse." But in 1561, the "rascal multitude," says John Knox, "were 
 stin-ed up to make a Robin Hude, whilk enormity was of many years left 
 and danmed by statute and act of ParUament ; yet would they not be for- 
 bidden." Accordingly, they raised a very serious tumult, and at length 
 made prisoners the magistrates who endeavoured to suppress it, and would 
 not release them tiU they extorted a formal promise that no one shoiUd be 
 punished for his share of the disturbance. It would seem, from the com- 
 plaints of the General Assembly of the Kirk, that these profane festivities 
 were continued dovni to 1592. 
 
 Note 47, page 321. 
 
 Prize of the wrestling match, the King 
 To Douglas gate a golden ring. 
 
 The usual prize of a wrestling was a ram and a ring, but the animal 
 would have embarrassed my storj-. Thus, in the Cokes Tale of Gamelyn. 
 ascribed to Chaucer: 
 
 "There happed to Be there heside 
 Tryed a wrestling : 
 And therefore there was _y-setten 
 A ram aud als a ring." 
 
 Note 48, page 328. 
 
 The.'se drew not for their fields the sword. 
 
 Like tenants of a feudal lord. 
 
 Nor otcned the patriarchal claim 
 
 Of Chieftain in their leader's name; 
 
 Adventurers they 
 
 The Scottish armies consisted cliiefly of the nobility and barons, wltn 
 their vassals, who held lands under them, for military serN-ice by themselves 
 and their tenants. The patriarchal influence exercised by the heads of 
 clans in the Highlands and Borders was of a different nature, and sometimes 
 at variance with feudal principles. It flowed from the Palria Potestas, ex- 
 ercised by the chieftain as representing the original father of the whole 
 name, and was often obeyed in contradiction to the feudal superior. 
 
 Note 49, page 329. 
 
 Thou now hast glee-mrtideii and harp! 
 Get thee an ape, and trudge the land, 
 The leader of a juggler band. 
 
 The jongleurs, or jugglers, used to call in the aid of various assistants, 
 to render these perfomiances as captivating as possible. The glee-maiden 
 was a necessary attendant Her duty was tumbling and dancing; and 
 therefore the Ajiglo-Saxon version of Saint Mark's Gospel states Herodiaa 
 to have vaulted or timibled before King Herod. 
 
 Note 50, page 334. 
 
 That stirring air that peals on high. 
 
 O'er DermiiVs race owr victory. — 
 
 Strike it! 
 There aj-e several instances, at least in tradition, of persons so much 
 attached to particular times, as to require to hear them on then: death-bed. 
 Such an anecdote is mentioned by the late Mr Riddel of Glenriddel, in his 
 collection of Border tunes, respecting an air called the " Dandling of the 
 Bairns," for which a certain GaUovidian lahd is said to have e\'inced-this 
 strong mark of partiahty. It is popularly told of a famous freebooter, that
 
 NOTES TO THE LADY OF THE LAKE. 707 
 
 he composed the tune known by the name of Macpherson's Rai.t, while 
 undci' si,iitence of death, and played it at the g-allows-tree. Some spirited 
 words liavo been adapted to it by Buit.s. A similar stoiy is recounted of a 
 Welsh bard, who composed and played on his death-bed the air culled 
 DafydUy Garrcgg fVen. 
 
 Note 51, page 334. 
 
 Battle of BeaV an Duine. 
 
 A skinnish actually took place at a pass thus called In the Trosachs, 
 and closed wth the remarkable incident mentioned in the text, it was 
 greatly posterior in date to the reign of James V. 
 
 Note 52, page 341. 
 
 And Snowdoun's Knight is Scotlatid's King. 
 
 This discovery will probably roramd tlie reader of the beautiful Arabian 
 tale of n Bondocani. Yet the incident is not borrowed ti'om that elegant 
 siory, but from Scottish tradition. James V., of whom we are treatuig, 
 was a monarch whose good and benevolent intentions often rendered his 
 romantic freaks venial, if not respectable, since, from his anxious attention 
 to the interests of the lower and most oppressed class of his subjects, he 
 was, as we have seen, popularly termed the King of the Commons. For the 
 pm-pose of seeing that justice was regiilarly administered, ajid frequently 
 iVom the less justifiable motive of gallantry, he used to traverse the \icinage 
 of his several palaces in various disguises The two excellent comic songs, 
 entitled, " the Gaberlun/ie man," and " We'U gae nae mair a roving," are 
 said to have been founded upon the success of his amorous adventm-es when 
 travelling in the disguise of a beggar. The latter is perhaps the best comic 
 ballad in any language. 
 
 Note 53, page 343. 
 ■ Stirling's tower 
 
 Of yore the fatne of Snowdoun claims. 
 
 William of Worcester, who wrote about the middle of the fifteenth 
 ctntury, calls Stuling Castle Snowdoun. Sh- David Lindsay bestows the 
 E£.uie epithet upon it in his complaint of the Papingo: — 
 
 " Adieu, fair Snawdoun, with thy towers hiirh. 
 Thy chaple-roviil, park, and table round : 
 May, June, and July, would I dwell in thee. 
 Were I a man, to hear the birdis sound, 
 Wbilk do;h agoiue thy rcval rock rebo>)»ii "
 
 NOTES 
 
 TO 
 
 THE VISION OF DON EODERICK. 
 
 Note 1. page 350. 
 
 ^nd CattraeWi p!f~ns mtk voice of triumph rung. 
 
 And mystic 3IerUn harp'd, and grey-hair'd Llywarch sung ! 
 
 This locaBty may startle those readers who do not recollect that much 
 of the ancient poetrj- preserved in "Wales refers less to the historj' of the 
 Principality to which that name is now limited, than to events which hap- 
 pened in the north-west of England, and south-west of Scotland, where 
 the Britons for a long time made a stand against the Saxons. The battle 
 of Cattraeth, lamented by the celebrated Aneurin, is supposed, by the 
 learned Dr Lcyden, to have been fought on the skirts of Ettrick Forest. 
 It is known to the English reader by the paraphrase of Gray, beginning, 
 
 ** Had I but the torrent's mitrht, 
 With headlong rage and TvUd affright " Ac 
 
 Note 2, page 350. 
 
 Sfinchmore's haunted spring. 
 
 A belief in the existence and nocturnal revels of the fairies still lingers 
 among the \"ulgar in Selkirkshire. A copious fountain upon the ridge of 
 Minchmore, caUed the Cheesewell, is supposed to be sacred to these fanciful 
 spirits, and it was customary to propitiate them by thiowing in something 
 upon passing it. A pin was the usual oblation ; and the ceremony is still 
 sometimes practised, though rather in Jest than earnest 
 
 Note 3, page 351. 
 
 the rude villager, his labour done. 
 
 In verse spontaneous chants somefavour'd name. 
 
 The flexibility of the Italian and Spanish languages, and perhaps the 
 liveliness of their genius, renders these countries distinguished for the talent 
 of impro\-\isation, which is found even among the lowest of the people. It 
 is mentioned by Baretti and other travellers. 
 
 Note 4, page 351. 
 
 kindling at the deeds of Grceme. 
 
 I have used the freedom, here and elsewhere, to alter the orthography 
 of the name of my gallant countryman, in order to apprize the Southern 
 reader of its legitimate sound ; — Grahame being, on the other side of the 
 Tweed, usually pronounced as a dissyllable. 
 
 Note 5, page 352. 
 
 What! will Bon Roderick here till morning stay. 
 To wear in shrift and prayer the night away > 
 And are his hours in such dull penance past 
 For fair Ptorinda's plunder' d charms to pay .' 
 
 Almost all the Spanish historians, as well as the voice of tradition, as-
 
 NOTES TO THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 709 
 
 cribe the invasion of the Moors to the forcible violation committed by 
 Roderick upon Florinda, called by the Moors, Caba or Cava. She was the 
 daughter of Coimt Julian, one of the Gothic monarch's principal lieutenants, 
 v.ho, -(vheii the crime was perpetrated, was engaged in the defence of Ceuta 
 against the Jioors. In his indignation at the ingi-atitude of his sovereign, 
 and the ilishonour of his daughter, Count Julian forgot the duties of a 
 Christian and a patriot, and, fonning an alliance ivith JIusa, then the 
 Caliph's lieutenant in Aiirica. he countenanced the invasion of Spain by a 
 body of Saracens and Afi-icans, commanded by the celebrated Tarik ; the 
 issue of which was the defeat and death of Roderick, and the occupation of 
 almost the whole peninsula by the Moors. 
 
 Note 6, page 355. 
 Tlte Teclir war-cry and the LeUe's yell. 
 
 The Tecbir (derived from the words AlJa achar, God is most mighty) 
 was the original w.ar-crj- of the Saracens. It is celebrated by Hughes in 
 the Siege of Damascus : — 
 
 " We hcErd the Tecbir ; so these Arabs coJI 
 Their shout of onset, wlien with loufi appeal. 
 They challenge Heaven, as if demanding conquest. 
 
 The Lelie, weU known to the Cliristians during the cnisades, is the 
 shout of Alia ilia Alia, the Mahommedan confession of faitli. It is twice 
 used in poetry by my friend Mr W. Stewart Rose, in the romance of Par- 
 tenopex, and in the Crusade of St Lswis 
 
 KoTE 7, page 356. 
 
 By Heaven, the Moors prevail ! the Christians yield! — 
 Their coward leader gives for flight the sign ! 
 
 The sceptred craven mounts to quit the f eld — 
 Is not yon steed Orelia ? — les, 'tis mine I 
 
 Count Julian, the father of the injured Floilnda. irith the connivance 
 and assistance of Oppas, Archbishop of Toledo, invired, in 713, the Sara- 
 cens into Spain. A considerable army arrived xmder the command of 
 Tarik, or 7';u^f, who bequeathed the well-known name of Gibraltar (Gihel 
 nl Tarik, or the mountain of Tarik,) to the place of his landing. He was 
 joined by Count Julian, ravaged Andalusia, and took Seville. In 714, they 
 returned with a still greater force, and Roderick niarclied into Andalusia 
 at the head of a great army, to give them battle. The field was chosen 
 near Xeres. 
 
 Note 8, page 358. 
 
 When for the Vnjhl bolero ready stand. 
 The mozo blithe, Kith guy tnnchucJui met. 
 
 Tlie bolero is a very light and active dance, m-ich practised by the 
 Spiuiiards, in which castenets are always used. Moto and muchacha are 
 equivalent to our phrase of lad and lass. 
 
 Note 9, page 360. 
 
 irhile trumpets rang, and heralds cried " Castile! " 
 
 The heralds, at the coronation of a Spanish monarch, proclaim his name 
 three times, and repeat three times the word " Caslilhi, Costilla. Castilla ! " 
 which, witli all other ceremonies, was carefully copied in the mock inau- 
 guration of Joseph Bonapiirte 
 
 Note 10, page 361. 
 
 Eigh Hazed the tear, and long, and far, and tride. 
 
 Those who were disposed to believe that mere virtue ani energy are 
 able of themselves to work forth the salvation of an oppressed people," sur- 
 prised in a moment of confidence, deprived of their officers, armies, and 
 fortresseo, who had every means of resistance to seek in the verj- moment
 
 710 NOTES TO THE VISION OF DON IluDEKIOK. 
 
 when tliej- were to be made use of, and whom the numerous treasons 
 among the higher orders deprived of confidence in then- uatui-al leaders, — 
 those who entertained tliis enthusiastic but delusive opinion may be par- 
 doned for expressing their disappointment at the protracted ■wai-fare in the 
 Penir.sida. Thei-e are, however, another class of persons, who, having 
 themselves the liighest dread of veneration, or something allied to liolli, 
 for the power of the modem Attila, will nevertheless give the heroical 
 Spaniards little or no credit for the long, stubborn, and unsubdued resist- 
 ance of three years to a power before whom tlicir former well-prciiareil, 
 well-aiTned, and numerous adversaries fell in the coiu-se of as many mouths. 
 While these gentlemen plead for deference to Bonaparte, and crave 
 
 " Respect tor his irreat place, and bid tlie devil 
 He duly houour'd lor his buruin^r tlirone," 
 
 !t may not be altogether unreasonable to claim some modification of cen- 
 sure upon those who have been long and to a great extent successfully re- 
 sisting this great enemy of mankhid. That tlie energy of Spain has not 
 unilbrmly been directed by conduct equal to its %igour, has been too 
 obvious; that her amiies, under their complicated disadvantages, ha\-e 
 sliared the fate of such as were defeated after taking the field with every 
 possible advantage of anns and discipline, is surely not to be wondered at. 
 liut that a nation, under t)ie cu-cumstanees of repeated discomfiture, inter- 
 nal treason, and the mismanagement incident to a temporary and hastily 
 adopted government, should ha-*e wasted, by its stuljbom, uniform, and 
 prolonged resistance, mjTiads after myriads of those soldiers who had over- 
 i-un the world— that some of its provuices sliould, Ulvc Galicia, after being 
 abandoned by their allies, and ovemm by then- enemies, have recovered 
 their freedom by their omj unassisted exertions ; that others, like Cata- 
 lonia, midismayed by tlie treason which betrayed some fortresses, and the 
 force wliich subdued others, should not only have continued their resistance, 
 but have attained over their victorious enemy a superiority, which is even 
 now enabling tliem to besiege and retake the places of strength which had 
 been wrested from them, is a tale hitherto untold in the revolutionmy war. 
 To saj' tliat such a people cannot be subdued, woiUd be presimiption si- 
 milar to that of those who protested that Spain coiUd not defend herseU' for 
 a year, or Portugal for a month ; but that a resistance which has been con- 
 tinued for so long a space, when the usurper, except during the short-lived 
 Austrian campaign, had no other enemies on the Contment, should be now 
 less successful, when repeated defeats have broken the reputation of the 
 French annies, and when they are likely (it would seem almost in despe- 
 ration) to seek occupation elsewhere, is a prophecy as Improbable as un- 
 gracious. 
 
 Note 11, page 362. 
 Thei/ won not Zaragoza, but her children's hlooay tomb. 
 
 The interesting accoimt of Mr Vaughan has made most readers ac- 
 quainted -with the first siege of Zaragoza.1 The last and fatal siege of that 
 gallant and devoted citj" is detailed Mith great eloquence and precision in 
 the " Edinburgh Amiual Register" for 1800— a work in which the afi'airs 
 of Spain have been treated of with attention con-esponding to tlieir deep 
 interest, and to the peculiar sources of Information open to the historian. 
 The following are a few brief extracts from tlus splentlid historical narra- 
 tive: — 
 
 " A bi-cach was soon made in the mud waUs, and then, as in the former siegCj the war waa 
 carried on in llie streets and houses; but tlie I'rench liad been tauglit by experience, that in 
 this species of warfare the Zaragozans deriveil a superionty from tlie feeling and princi}>le 
 which inspired them, and tlje cause for which they fought. The only means of couquenng 
 Zaragoza was to destroy it house by house, and street by street ; and upon this system of de* 
 Btruction they proceeded. Tliree companiesof miners, and eight companies of sappers, carried 
 on this subterraneous war ; the .Spaniards, it is said, attempted to oppose tliem by counter- 
 mines ; these were operations to w hich they were wholly unused, and, according to the French 
 statement, their miners were every day discovered and suflocated. Meantime, the bombard- 
 ment was incessa.ntly kept up. ' within tlie last 48 houi-s,' said Palafox in a letter to his friend 
 General Doyle, 'eXlO shells have been thrown in. Two-thirds of the town are in ruins, but 
 we shall perish under the ruins of the remaining third rather than surrender.' In tUo
 
 NOTES TO THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 711 
 
 course of the siope, .above 17,300 bombs were thrown at the town : the stock of powder with 
 which Zaragoza liad bt^en stored was exhausted : tliey had none at last but what they manu- 
 factured day by day ; and no otlier cannon-balls than those which were shot into the town, 
 and which they collected and fil-ed back upon the enemy." 
 
 In the midst of these hon'ors and privations, the pestilence broke out 
 in Zaxagoza. To vaiious causes, enumerated by the annalist, he adds, 
 "scantiness of food, crowded quarters, unusual exertion of body, anxiety 
 of mind, and the impossibility of recruiting their exhausted strength by 
 needlul rest, m a city wliich was ahnost uicessantly bombarded, and where 
 every hour their sleep was broken by the tremendous explosion of mines. 
 There was now no respite, either by d.ay or night, for this devoted city; 
 even the natural order of light and darkness was destroyed in Zaragoza ; 
 by day it was involved in a red sulplim'eous atmosphere of smoke, which 
 hid the face of heaven; by night the lire of cannons and mortars, and the 
 (lames of burning houses, kept it in a state of teiTitic illumination. 
 
 *' When once the pestilence had begun, it was impos-sible to check its progress, or confine it 
 to one quarter of the city. Hospitals were immediately established, — there were above 
 thirty of them ; a.s soon as one was destroyed by the bombardment., the patients were removed 
 t.) another, and thus the infection was carried to every part of ZaraKOza. 1^'amine aggravated 
 the evil ; the city had probably not been sufficiently provided at the commencement of th.e 
 siege, and of the provisions which it contained, much was destroyed in the daily ruin which 
 the mines and bombs effected. Had the Zaragozans and their g;u'rison proceeded according 
 to military rules, they would have surrendered before the end of.Tanuary; their batteries 
 had then been demolished, there were open breaches m many parts of their weak walls, and 
 the enemy were already within the city. On the 30th, above siiiy houses were blown up, and 
 the French obtained possession of the mona,steries of the Augustines and Las Monicas, which 
 adjoined each other, two of the last defensible places left. The enemy forced their way into 
 the church ; every column, every chapel, every altar, became a point of defence, which was 
 repeatedly attacked, taken, and retaken ; the pavement was covered with blood, tlie aisles and 
 body of the church strewed with the dead, who wei-e trampled under foot by the combatants. 
 In the midst of this conflict, the roof, shattered by repeated bombs, fell in ; the few who were 
 not crusixed, after a short pause, which this tremendous shock, and their own unexpected 
 escape, occasioned, renewed the fight with rekindled fury : fresh parties of the enemy poured 
 in; monks, and citizens, and soldiers, came to the defence, and the contest was continued 
 upon the ruins, and the bodies of the dead and the dying." 
 
 Yet, seventeen days ailer sustaining these extremities, did the heroic 
 inhabitants of Zaragoza continue tlielr defence ; nor ilid they then sur- 
 render until their despair had extracted from the French generals a capi- 
 tulation, more honourable than has been granted to fortresses of the tirst 
 order. 
 
 Who shall vcntm-e to refuse the Zaragozans the enlogium conferred 
 upon them by the eloquence of Wordsworth! — " Jlost gloriously have the 
 citizens of Zaragoza proved that the true army of Spain, in a contest of 
 tiiis nature, is the whole people. The same city has also exemplified a 
 melancholy, yea, a dismal truth, — yet consolatory and fuU of joy, — that 
 when a people are called suddenly to fight for their liberty, and are sorely 
 pressed upon, their best field of battle is the lloors upon >vhich their chil- 
 dren have played ; the chambers where the family of each man has slept, 
 (his ow^l or his neighboiu-s") ; upon or under the roofs by which they have 
 beeu sheltered; in the gardens of their recreation; in the sueet, or in the 
 luiirket-place ; before the altws of their temples, and among their congre- 
 gated dweUings, blazmg or uprooted. 
 
 '* The government of Spaiti must never for.iiet Z.-iragi'^.n for a moment. Nothing is wanting 
 to produce the same effects everywhere, but a 1 ...Idu i i. I. ;;> !i ,i^ Oint city was blessed with. 
 In the latter contest this has been proved; ; !. at that time, bodies of 
 
 men from almost all parts of Spain. The nru i - »liould be the manual 
 
 of every Spaniard. He may add to it tlie ancp n. >i. n ■ .%.. r ,i, ,. and Saguntum ; letliim 
 sleep upon the book as a pillow, and if he be aJe.o^ii .i.hniti,; c, ...e religion of his country, 
 let him wear it in his bosom for his cruciHx to re:,t upon."— Jtuidsuurth on Vu Comvtitioit cf 
 
 Note 12, page 364. 
 
 The Vault of Destiny. 
 
 Before finally dismissing the enchanted cavern of Don Roderick, it 
 may be noticed, that the legend occiu-s in one of Caldcron's plays, entitled, 
 Ln Viri}iH del Sa(/rario. The scene opens \rith the noise of the" cliase, iuvl 
 Recismido, a predecessor of KoJerick upon the Gothic tlu-one, enters pur- 
 suing a stag. The animal assumes the form of a man, and defies the king 
 to enter the cave, which fonns the bottom of tlie scene, and engage with 
 him in single comliat. The king accepts the challenge, and they engage 
 eecordingly, but withoui ttd\antage on either side, which induces the Geiiio
 
 712 NOTES TO THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 
 
 to inform Recisimdo, that he is not the monarch for whom the adventure 
 of the enchanted cavern is reserved, and he proceeds to predict the dowTi- 
 fall of the Gotliic monarchy, and of the Christian religion, which shall 
 attend the discovery of its mysteries. Eecisundo, appalled by these pro- 
 phecies, orders the cavern to be secured by a gate and bolts of iron. In 
 the second part of the same play,, we are informed that Don Roderick had 
 removed the baiTier, and transgressed the prohibition of his ancestor, 
 and had been apprised by the prodigies which he discovered of the an- 
 proaching ruin of his kingdom. 
 
 Note 13, page 365. 
 
 While dcivnward on the land his legions press. 
 Before them it was rich with tine and flock. 
 And smiled like Eden in her summer dress ; — 
 Behind their tcasteful march, a reeking tcilderness. 
 
 I have ventiu-ed to apply to the movements of the French army that 
 sublime passage in the prophesies of Joel, which seems applicable to them 
 in more respects than that I have adopted in the text. One would think 
 their ravages, their military appointments, the terror which they spread 
 among invaded nations, their military discipline, their aits of political in- 
 trigue and deceit, were distinctly pointed out in the following verses of 
 Scripture: — 
 
 "2. A day of darknesse and of gloominesse, a day of clouds and of thick darknesse, as the 
 morning spread upon the mountains : a great people and a strong, there hath not been 
 ever the like, neither shall be any more after it, even to the yeares of many generations. 
 3. A fire devoureth before them, and behind them a flame burneth : the land is as the garden 
 of Eden before them, and behinde them a desolate wilderness, yea, and nothing shall escape 
 them. 4. The appearance of them is as the appearance of horses and as horsemen, so shall 
 they rune. o. Like the noise of chariots on the tops of mountains, shall they leap, like the 
 nOLse of a flame of fire that devoiu-eth the stubble, as a strong people set in battel array. 
 
 6. Before their face shall the people be much pained ; all faces shall gather blacknesse. 
 
 7. They shall run like mighty men, they shall climb the wall like men of warre, and they 
 shall march every one in his wayes, and they shall not break their ranks. 8. Neither shall 
 one thrust another, they shall walk every one in his path : and when they fall upon the sword, 
 they shall not be wounded. 9. They shall run to and fro in the citie ; they shall run upon the 
 Vail, they shall climbeup upon the houses: they shall enter in at the windows like a thief, 
 10. The earth shall quake before them, the heavens shall tremble, the eunue and the moou 
 shall be dark, and the starres shall withdraw their shining." 
 
 In verse 20th also, which announces the retreat of the northern army, 
 described in such dreadful colours, into a "land barren and desolate," and 
 the dishonour with which God afflicted them for having " magnified them- 
 selves to do great things," there are particidars not inapplicable to the re- 
 treat of JIassena; — Divine Pro^^dence ha\'ing, in all ages, attached dis 
 grace as the natural punishment of cruelty and presumption. 
 
 Note 14, page 366. 
 
 TJie rudest sentinel, in Britain born, 
 
 With horror paused to view the havoc done. 
 Gave his poor crust to feed some wretch forlorn. 
 
 Even the unexampled gallantry of the British army in the campaign of 
 1810-11, although they never fought but to conquer, wUl do them less 
 honour in history than their huraanit}-, attentive to soften to the utmost of 
 their power the horrors which war, in its tnildest aspect, must always in- 
 flict upon the defenceless inhabitants of the country in which it is waged, 
 and which, on this occasion, were tenfold augmented by the barbarous 
 cruelties of the French. Soup-kitchens were estabhshed by subscription 
 among the officers, wherever the troops were quartered for "any length of 
 time. The commissaries contributed the heads, feet, <fec. of the cattlo 
 slaughtered for the soldiery; rice, vegetables, and bread, where it could be 
 had, were purchased by the officers. Fifty or sixty starving peasants were 
 daily fed at one of these regimental establishments, and carried home the 
 vehcs to their famished households. The emaciated WTetches, who could 
 not crawl from weakness, were speedily employed in pnniing their -Nines. 
 While pursuing MasRcna. the soldiers CNinced the same spuit of humanif^ 
 Is it possible to know such facts without feeling a sort of confidence, tha'
 
 NOTES TO THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 713 
 
 those Trho so Tvell desen-e victory are most likely to attain it?— It is not 
 the least of Lord 'Wellington's military merits, that the slightest disposition 
 towards marauding meets immediate punishment. Independently of all 
 moral obligation, the army Tvliich is most orderly in a friendly country, has 
 always proved most formidable to an armed enemy. 
 
 Note 15, page 366. 
 
 Vaingloriotts-fiigitive ! 
 
 The French conducted this memorable retreat with much of the/««f(7r- 
 ronade proper to their country, by which they attempt to impose upon 
 others, and perhaps on themselves, a belief that they are triumphing in the 
 verj' moment of their discomtitiu-e. On the 30th March 1811, tlieir rear- 
 guard was overtaken near Pega by the British cavalry. Being weU posted, 
 and concei\ing themselves safe from infantry, (who were indeed many 
 miles in the rear,) and from artillery, they indulged themselves in parading 
 their bands of music, and actually performed "God save the King." Their 
 minstrelsy was, however, deranged by the undesired accompaniment of tlie 
 British horse-artUlerjr, on whose part in the concert they had not calcu- 
 lated. The surprise wa.s sudden, and the rout complete : for the artillery 
 and cavalry did execution upon them for about four miles, pm-suing at the 
 gaUop as often as they got beyond the range of tlie guns, 
 
 Note 16, page 367. 
 
 Vainly thy squadrons hide Jssnava's plain, 
 And front the flying thunders as they roar, 
 irith frantic charge and tenfold odds, in rain! 
 
 In the severe action of Fuentes d'Honoro, upon 5th May 1811, the 
 grand mass of the French cavahy attacked the right of the British position, 
 covered by two gims of tlie horse-artillen-, and two squadrons of cav.alry. 
 After suffering considerably from the tire of the gims, which annoyed them 
 \n every attempt at formation, the enemy turned tlieir ■wi-atli entirely to- 
 wards them, distributed brandy among their troopers, and advanced to 
 carry the field-pieces with the desperation of dnuiken furj-. They were in 
 no wise checked by the hea^■J• loss which they sustained in tliis diiring at- 
 tempt, but closed, and fairly mingled with the British cavaln', to whom 
 they bore the proportion of ten to one. Captain Ramsay, (let me be per- 
 mitted to name a gallant countryman,) who commanded the two guns, 
 dismissed them at the gallop, and putting himself at the liead of the 
 mounted artillePinnen, ordered them to faU upon the French, sabre-in- 
 hand. Tliis verj- imexpected conversion of artillerj-men into dragoons, 
 contributed greatly to the defeat of the enemy, already disconcerted by the 
 reception they had met from the two Britisli squadrons ; and the appe.ir- 
 ance of some small reinforcements, notwitlistanding the immense dispro- 
 portion of force, put them to absolute rout. A colonel or major of their 
 cavalrj-, and many prisoners, (almost all intoxicated.) remained in our 
 possession. Those who consider for a moment the dillerence of the ser- 
 vices, and how much an artillerjTnan is necessarily and naturally led to 
 identify his own safety and utiMty mth abiding by the tremendous imple- 
 ment of war, to the exercise of wliich he is chiefly, if not exclusively, 
 trained, will know how to estimate the presence of muid which commanded 
 so bold a manceuvre, and the steadiness and coulideuee ^\■ith which it was 
 executed. 
 
 Note 17, page 367. 
 ^nd ichaf avails thee that, for Cameron slain, 
 inid from his plaided ranks the yell was given. 
 
 The gallant Colonel Cameron was wounded mortally during the des- 
 perate contest in the streets of the \illage called Fnentes d' Honoro. Ho 
 fell at the head of his native Highlanders, tlie 71st and 79th, wlio raised a 
 dreadful sliriek of giief ;md rage. They chiirgcd, with irresistible fury, the 
 finest body of French grenadiers ever seen, bemg a part of Bonaparte's se- 
 lected guard The officer who led the French, a man remarkable for
 
 714 NOTES TO THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. 
 
 stature and syininetn-, was killed on the spot. The Frenchman who 
 stepped Dut of his rank to take aim at Colonel Cameron was also bayoneted, 
 pierced with a thousand wounds, and almost torn to pieces by the furious 
 Highlanders, who, under the command of Colonel Cadogan, bore the enemy 
 out of the contested ground at the point of the bayonet. Slassena pays my 
 countrjTnen a singular compliment in his account of the attack and defence 
 of this village, in which he says the British lost many officers, and Scotch. 
 
 KoTE 18, page 367. 
 
 O who shall grudge him Alhuera's bays. 
 Who brought a race regenerate to the field. 
 
 Roused them to emulate their father's praise, 
 Temper'd their headlong rage, their courage steeVd, 
 
 And raised fair Lusitania's fallen shield. 
 
 Nothing during the war of Portugal seems, to a distinct observer, more 
 deserving of praise, than the self-devotion of Field-Marshal Beresford, wiio 
 was contented to undertake all the hazard of obloquy which might have 
 been founded upon any miscarriage in the highly important experiment ot 
 training the Portuguese troops to an improved state of disciplme. In ex- 
 posing his military reputation to the censure of imprudence from the most 
 moderate, and all manner of unutterable calumnies from the ignorant and 
 malignant, he placed at stake tlie dearest pledge which a mihtary man 
 had to offer, and nothing but the deepest conviction of the high and essen- 
 tial unportance attached to success can be supposed an adequate motive. 
 How great the chance of miscarriage was supposed, may be estimated from 
 the general oi)inion of officers of unquestioned talents and experience, pos- 
 sessed of everj' opportunity of information ; how completely the experi- 
 ment has succeeded, aud how much the spirit and patriotism of our ancient 
 allies had been undeiTated, is e\'ident, not only from those victories in 
 which they have borne a distinguished share, but from the hberal and 
 highly honourable manner in which these opinions have been retracted. 
 The success of this plan, with all its important consequences, we owe to 
 the indefatigable exertions of Field-Marshal Beresford. 
 
 Note 19, page 368. 
 
 • a race retiown'd of old. 
 
 Whose ^car-cry oft has waked the battle-swell. 
 
 ■ the conquering shout of Grceme. 
 
 This stanza alludes to the various achievements of the warlike family of 
 Gricme, or Grahame. They are said, by tradition, to have descended from 
 the Scottish cliief, mider whose command his countrJ^nen stormed the wall 
 built by the Emperor Severus between the Friths of Forth and Clj'de, the 
 fragments of wliich are still popularly caUed Gramme's Dyke. Sir John the 
 Grnsme, "the hardy, T\-ight, and wise," is well known as the friend of Sir 
 William Wallace. Aldenie, Kilsythe, and Tibbermuir, were scenes of the 
 victories of the heroic Marquis of Jlontrose. The pass of IviUycrankie is 
 famous for the action between King William's forces and the Highlanders 
 in 1689, 
 
 *' MTierc ^'lad Dundee in faint huzzas expired.** 
 
 It is seldom that one line can number so many heroes, and yet more rare 
 when it can appeal to the glory of a li\-ing descendant in support of its 
 ancient renown. 
 
 The allusions to the private history and character of General Grahame 
 may be illustrated by referring to the eloquent and aft'ccting speech of At' 
 Sheridim, upon the vote of thanks to the Victory of Barosa.
 
 NOTES 
 
 TO 
 
 E K E E Y. 
 
 Note 1, page 377. 
 
 On Barnard's towers, and Tees'; stream, /t. 
 
 'Bahnabd Castle," saith Old Lcland. "standeth stately upon Toes.*' 
 It is founded upon a verj- liigli bank, and its niins impend over the river, 
 including -nitliin the area a cii'cuit of six acres and upwards. This once 
 niagniticent fortress derives its name from its foiuidcr, Barnard Baliol, the 
 ancestor of the short and unfortunate djTiasty of that name, 'nhich suc- 
 ceeded to the Scottish tlirone under the patronage of Edward I. and Edwai-d 
 III. Baliol's Tower, afterwaids mentioned in tlie poem, is a round tower 
 of great size, situated at tlie western extremity of the bnilding. It bears 
 marks of great antiquity, and was remarkable for the curious consbiiction 
 of its vaulted roof, wiiich has been lately greatly injured by the opei'atioas 
 of some persons, to whom the tower has been leased for the purpose of 
 making patent shot ! The prospect from the top of Baliol's tower com 
 mands a rich and magnificent ^'iew of the wooded valley of the Tee*. 
 
 Note 2, page 379. 
 
 The morion's plumes his visage hide. 
 And the bvff-roat, in ample fold. 
 Mantles his form's gigantic mould. 
 
 The use of complete suits of armour was fallen into disuse during the 
 Ci\Tl War, though they were still worn by leaders of rank and importance. 
 "In tlie reign of King James I.," says our militarj- antiquary, "no great 
 alterations were made in the article of defensive armour, except that the 
 butf-coat, or jerkin, which was originally worn under the cuirass, now be- 
 came frequently a substitute for it, it haraig been found that a good buff 
 leather woidd of itself resist the stroke of a sword; this, however, only 
 occasionally took place among the light-armed cavalry and infantiy, com- 
 plete suits of annoiu- being still used among the heavy horse. Bull-coats 
 continued to be worn by the city trained-bands tUl within the meniorj- ot 
 persons now living, so that defensive annom' may, m some measiu-e, he 
 said to have temihiated in the same materials witli >vhich it begim, that is, 
 the skins of animals or leather." — Grose's Military Antiquities. Loud 
 1801, 4to, vol. iL p. 323. 
 
 Of the buff-coats, which were worn over the corslets, several are yet 
 presen-ed ; and O.iptain Grose lias given an engTa\'ing of one which was used 
 in the time of Charles L by Sir Francis Rhodes, Bart, of Balbrough-Hall, 
 Derbyshire 
 
 Note 3, page 380. 
 On his dark face a scorching clime. 
 And toil, had done the ivori of time. 
 
 Death had he seen b>/ sudden blow. 
 By wasting plague, bg tortures slow. 
 
 In this character I have attempted to sketch one of those West ludi.i
 
 716 NOTES TO ROKEBT. 
 
 adventurers, who, during the course of the seventeenth century, ■were 
 popularly known by the name of Bucaniers. Tlie successes of the EngUsh 
 in the predatory inciu-sions upon Spanish America, during the reigii of 
 EUzabeth, had never been forgotten; and, from that period do^vnward, the 
 exploits of Drake and Raleigh were imitated, upon a smaller scale indeed, 
 but with equally desperate valour, by small bands of pirates, gathered from 
 all nations, but chiefly French and English. Tlie engrossing policy of the 
 Spaniards tended greatly to increase the nmiiber of these freebooters, froic 
 whom their commerce and colonies suffered, in the issue, dreadful calamity 
 
 Note 4, page 381. 
 on Marston heath. 
 
 Met, front to front, the ranks of death. 
 
 The well-known and desperate battle of Long-5Iarston Moor, which 
 terminated so mifortmiately for the cause of Charles, commenced under 
 verj' different auspices. Prince Rupert had marched with an army of 
 20,000 men for the reUef of York, then besieged by Sir Thomas Fairlax, at 
 the head of the Parhamentarj' army, and the Earl of Leven, -with the 
 Scottish auxiliary forces. In tliis he so completely succeeded, that he com- 
 pelled the besiegers to retreat to Blarston Moor, a large open plain, about 
 eight miles distant from the city. Thither they were followed by the Prince, 
 wlio had now united to his army the garrison of York, probably not less 
 than ten thousand men strong, under the gallant Marquis, (then Earl) of 
 Newcastle. 'Whitelocke has recorded, with much unpartiaUty, the follow- 
 ing particulars of this eventful day: — " The right whig of the Parliament 
 was commanded by Sir Thomas Faiifas, and consisted of all his horse, and 
 three regiments of the Scots horse ; the left -whig was commanded by the 
 Eaii of Manchester and C!olonel CromwelL One body of their foot was 
 commanded by Lord Fairlax, and consisted of liis foot, and two brigades 
 of the Scots foot for reser\'e ; and the main body of the rest of the foot waa 
 commanded by General Leveu. 
 
 " The riptht wing of the Prince's army was commanded by the Earl of Newcastle : the left 
 wing by the Prince himself; and the main body by General Goring, Sir Charles Lucas, and 
 Major-General Porter. Thus were both sides drawn up into battalia. 
 
 " July 3d, 1*>44. In this posture both armies faced each other, and about seven o'clock in 
 the morning the fight began between them. The Prince, with his left wing, fell on the Par- 
 liament's right wing, routed them, and pursued them a great way ; the like did General 
 Goring. Lucas, and Porter, upon the Parliament's main body. The three generals, giving all 
 for lost, hasted out of the field, and many of their soldiers fled, and threw down their arms ; 
 the King's forces too eagerly foUcving them, the victory, now almost achieved by them, was 
 again snatched out of their hands. For Colonel Cromwell, with the bravo regiment of his 
 countrymen, and Sir Thomas Fairfax having rallied some of his horse, fell upon the Prince's 
 right wing, where the Earl of Newcastle was, and routed them : and the rest of their com- 
 panions rallying, they fell altogether upon the divided bodies of Rupert and Goring, and 
 totally dispersed them, and obtained a complete victory, after three hours' fight. 
 
 " From this battle and the pursuit, some reckon were buried 7000 Englishmen ; all a^ee 
 that above 3000 of the Prince's men were slaiii in the battle, besides those in the chase, and 
 3000 prisoners taken, many of their chief officers, twent3--five pieces of ordnance, fony-seven 
 colours, 10,000 arms, two waggons of carabins and pistols, 130 barrels of powder, and ail their 
 bag and baggage,"— ^/iiU/ocA«'« Memoira, foL p. 89. Loud. 1682. 
 
 Note 5, page 386. 
 
 MoncJcton and Mitton told the news, 
 How troops of Roundheads choked the Oiise, 
 And man;) a bonny Scot, aghast. 
 Spurring his palfrey northitard, past, 
 Cursing the day when zeal or meed 
 First lured their Lesley o'er the Tweed. 
 
 Monckton and Mitton are ^Tllages near^he river Ouse, and not very 
 dihtant from the field of battle. The particulars of the action were 
 violently disputed at the time. 
 
 Note 6, page 386. 
 
 With h is harVd horse, fresh tidings say, 
 Stout Cromwell has redeemed the day. 
 
 Cromwell, with his regiment of cuirassiers, had a principal share in
 
 NOTES TO KOICEB-J, 717 
 
 tamtiig the fate of the day at Marston Moor; which was equally matter 
 of triumph to the Independents, and of grief and heart-buruiiig to the 
 Presbj-terians and to the Scottish. 
 
 Note 7, page 386. 
 
 Do not my native dales prolong 
 Of Tercy Rede the trdgic song. 
 Train' d forward to his blood;/ fall, 
 By Girsonfield, that treacherous Hall? 
 
 In a poem, entitled "The Lay of the Reedwater Minstrel," Newcastle, 
 1809, this tale, with many others peculiar to the valley of the Reed, is 
 commemorated: — "The particidars of the traditional storj- of Parcy Reed 
 of Troughend, and the Halls of Girsontield, the author had from a descend- 
 ant of the family of Reed. From his account, it appears that Percival 
 Reed, Esquire, a keeper of Reedsdale, was betrayed by the Halls (hence 
 denominated the false-hearted Ha's) to a band of moss-troopers of the 
 name of Crosier, who slew him at Batinghope, near the source of the 
 Reed. 
 
 " The Halls were, after the murder of Parcy Reed, held in such uni- 
 versal abhorrence and contempt by the inhabitants of Reedsdale, for their 
 cowardly and treacherous behaviour, that they were obliged to leave the 
 country." In another passage, we are informed that the ghost of the in- 
 jured Borderer is supposed to haunt the banks of a brook called the Pringle. 
 These Reeds of Troughend were a verj' ancient family, as may be con- 
 jectured from their deriving their surname from the river on which they 
 had their mansion. An epitaph on one of their tomtis affirms, that the 
 famUy held their lan<ls of Troughend, which are situated on the Reed, 
 nearly opposite to Otterbum, for the incredible space of nine hundred 
 years. 
 
 Note 8, page 386. 
 
 And near the spot that gave me name, 
 The moated mouttcl of Kisingham, 
 Where Reed upon her margin sees 
 Sweet Woodburne's cottages and trees, 
 Some ancient sadptor's art has shown, 
 An outlaw's image on the stone. 
 
 Risingham, upon the river Reed, near the beautiful hamlet of TVood- 
 biu-ii, is an ancient Roman station, formerly called llaliitancum. Camden 
 says, that in his time the popular account bore, that it had been the abode 
 of a deity, or giant, called Magon; and appeals, in support of this tradition, 
 as well as to the etymology of Risingham, or Reisenham, which signifies, 
 in Gennan, the habitation of the giants, to two Roman altars taken out of 
 the river, inscribed, Deo Mogosti Cadenorum. About half a mile dis- 
 tant from Risingham, upon an eminence covered with scattered birch-trees 
 and fragments of rock, there is cut upon a large rock, in alto relievo, a 
 remarkable figure called Robin of Risingham, or Robin of Reedsdale. 
 It presents a hunter, ■with his bow raised in one hand, and in the other 
 what seems to be a hare. There is a quiver at the back of the figure, and 
 he is dressed in a long coat, or kirtle, coming do^^^l to the knees, and meet- 
 ing close, with a girdie bound round him. Dr Horselcy, who saw aU 
 monuments of antiquity ■(vith Roman eyes, inclines to think this tigure a 
 Roman archer: and certainly the bow is ratlier of tlie ancient size than of 
 that which was so formidable in the hand of the English archers of the 
 middle ages. But the rudeness of the whole figure prevents our founding 
 strongly upon mere inaccuracy of proportion. The popular tradition is. 
 that it represents a giant, whose brotlier resided at Woodbum, and he him- 
 self at Risingham. It adds, that they subsisted by hunting, and that one 
 of them, finding the game become too scarce to support them, poisoned his 
 companion, in whose memory the monument was engi-aved. V^Tiat strange 
 and tragic circumstance may be concealed under this legend, or whether U 
 is utterly apocrj-phal, It Is now impossible to discover.
 
 718 NOTES TO ROKEBT, 
 
 Note 9, page 387. 
 
 Lo thou revere 
 
 The statutes of the Bucarder. 
 
 The " statutes of the Bncaniers" were, in reality, more equitable than 
 could have been expected from the state of societj- under which they had 
 been formed. They chiefly related, as may readily be conjectured, to the 
 distribution and the inheritance of their plunder. 
 
 When the expedition was completed, the timd of prize-money acquired 
 was throwu together, each party tfddng Ids oath that he had retained or 
 concealed no part of the common stock. If any one transgressed in this 
 important particular, the punishment was, his "being set ashore on some 
 desert key or island, to shift for himself as he could The owners of the 
 vessel had then their share assigned for the expenses of the outfit These 
 were generally old pirates, settled at Tobago, Jamaica, St Domingo, or 
 some other French or English settlement The surgeon's and carpenter's 
 salaries, with the price of provisions and ammunition, were also defrayed. 
 Then followed the compensation due to the maimed and wounded, rated 
 according to the damage they had sustained; as six hundred pieces of 
 eight, or six slaves, for the loss of an arm or leg, and so in proportion. 
 
 "After this act of justice and humanity, the remainder of the booty was divided itito as 
 many shares as there were Bucanienj. The commander could only lay claim to a single share, 
 a.^ the rest ; but they complimented him with two or three, in proportion as he had acquitted 
 himself to their satisfaction. When the vessel was not the propeity of the whol"; company, 
 lite person who had fitted it out, and furnished it with necessary arms and ammunition, was 
 entitle*) to a third of all the prizes. Favour had never any influence in the division of the 
 booty, for every share was determined by lot. Instances of such rigid justice as this are not 
 easily met with, and they extended even to the dead. Their share was given to the man who 
 was known to be their companion when alive, and therefore their heir. If the person who 
 bad been killed had no intimate, his part was sent to his relations, when they were known. If 
 there were no friends nor relations, it was distributed in.ctiarity to the poor and to churches, 
 which were to pray for the person in whose name these benefactions were given, the fruits of 
 inhuman, but necessary piratical plunders." — Raynai*e Bisiory of Jiwopcan SetUimctu* tn Vit 
 £ast and Wut IndUt, b]f Jtutaanond, Lond. 1776, 8vo, iiu p. 41, 
 
 Note 10. page 393. 
 
 The course of Tees. 
 
 The view from Barnard Castle commands the rich and magnificent val- 
 ley of Tees. Immediately adjacent to the river, the banks are very thickly 
 wooded; at a hitle distance they are more open and cultivated; but, be- 
 ing interspersed with hedge-rows, and with isolated trees of great size and 
 age, they still retam the richness of woodland scenery. The river itself 
 flows in a deep trench of solid rock, chiefly limestone and marble. The 
 finest view of its romantic course is from a handsome modem-built bridge 
 over the Tees, by the late ilr Morritt of Eokeby. 
 
 Note 11, page 394. 
 
 Egliston's grey ruins. 
 
 The ruins of this abbey, or priory, (for Tanner calls it the former, and 
 Leland the latter), are beantifrUly situated upon the angle, formed by a 
 little deU called Thorsgill, at its junction with the Tees. 
 
 NoTEil2, page 395. 
 
 the mojind. 
 
 liaised by that Legion long renoton'd, 
 Whose TOtiee shrine asserts their claim, 
 Of pious, faithful, conquering fame. 
 
 Close behind the George Inn at Greta Bridge, there is a well-preserved 
 Roman encampment, surrounded with a triple ditch, lying between the 
 river Greta and a brook called the Tutta. The four entrances are easily to 
 be discerned. 
 
 Note 13, page 395. 
 
 Rolcehy's turrets high. 
 
 This ancient manor long gave name to a famUy by whom it is said to
 
 3fOTES TO ROKEBY. 719 
 
 have been possessed from the Conqnest downward, and who are at different 
 times (Jistingtjished iu historj'. It was the Baroii of Kokeby who finaUy 
 defeated the insurrection of the Earl of Northumberiand, tempore Hen. iP'. 
 The Rokeby, or Rokesby family, continued to be distin^ii^-hed until the 
 great Ci\'il War, when, having embraced the cause of Cliarles I., they suf- 
 fered severely by fines and confiscations. The estate then passed from its 
 ancient possessors to the family of the Robinsons, from whom it was pur- 
 chased by the father of my valued friend, the present proprietor 
 
 Note 14, page 395. 
 
 A stem and lone, yet lovely road, 
 As e'er the foot of Minstrel trade. 
 
 What follows is an attempt to describe the romantic glen, or rather 
 ra\-ine, through which the Greta finds a passage between Rokeby and 
 ilortham ; the former situated upon the left bank of Greta, the latter on 
 the right bank, about half a mile nearer to its junction ^^"ith the Tees. 
 
 Note 15, page 398. 
 
 What gales are sold on Lapland's shore, 
 now whistle rash bids tempests roar. 
 Of witch, of mermaid, and of sprite. 
 Of Erich's cap and Elmo's light. 
 
 " Also I shall shew very briefly what force conjurers and vritches have 
 in constraining the elements enchanted by them or others, that they may 
 exceed or fall short of their natural order : premising this, that the ex- 
 tream land of Xorth Finland and Lapland was so taught ^vitchcraft for- 
 merly in heathenish times, as If they had learned this cursed art from Zo- 
 roastres the Persian ; though other inhabitants by the sea-coasts are re- 
 ported to be bewitched with tlie san^e madness; for they exercise this 
 devilish art, of all the arts of the world, to admh-atioa ; and in tliis, or other 
 such like mischief they couunonly agree. The Finlanders were wont for- 
 merly, amongst their other errors of gentUisrae, to sell ■ninds to merchants 
 that were stopt on their coast by contrary weather; and when they had 
 their price, they knit three magical knots, not hke to the laws of Cassius, 
 bound up ivith a thong, and they gave them imto the merchants ; observ- 
 ing that rule, that when they unloosed the first they should have a good 
 gale of wind; when the second, a stronger wind ; but when they xmtied 
 the third, they should have such cruel tempests, that they should not be 
 able to look out of the forecastle to avoid the rocks, nor move a foot to pull 
 down the sails, nor stand at the helm to govern the ships ; and they made 
 an unhappy trial of the truth of it who denied that there was any such 
 power in these knots. 
 
 " Ericus, King of Sweden, in his time was held second to none in the 
 magical art ; and he was so familiar with the evil spirits, which he exceed- 
 ingly adored, that which way soever he turned his cap, the wind would 
 presently blow that way." — Olatis Magnus's History of the Goths, Swede* 
 and Fandals. London, foUo, 1C58, pp. 45 and 47. 
 
 Note 16, page 398. 
 
 The Demon Frigate. 
 
 This is an allusion to a wto-known nautical superstition concerning a 
 fantastic vessel, csiUed by sailors the Flj'ing Dutchinan, and supposed to 
 be seen about the latitude of the Cape of Good Hope. She is distinguished 
 from earthly vessels by bearing a press of sail when all others are imable, 
 from stress of weather, to show an inch of canvass. The cause of her wan- 
 dering is not altogether certain ; but the general accoimt is, that she was 
 originally a vessel loaded -vvith great wealth, on board of which some horrid 
 act of murder and piracy had been committed ; that the plague broke out 
 among tlie wicked crew who had perpetrated the crime, and that they 
 Kuled in vain from port to port, offering, as the price of shelter, the whole 
 of Uieir ill-gotten wealth ; thai thei" were excluded from every harbour
 
 720 NOTES TO ROKEBV. 
 
 for fear of the contagion which was devouring them; and that, as a punish- 
 ment of their crimes, tlie apparition of the sliip still continues to haunt 
 those seas in which the catastrophe tools place, and ia considered by the 
 mariners as the worst of all possible omens. 
 
 Note 17, page 398. 
 By some desert isle or key. 
 
 What contributed much to the security of the Bucaniers about the 
 Windward Islands, was the great number of little islets, called in that 
 country keys. These are small sandy patches, appearing just above the 
 surface of the ocean, covered only with a few bushes and weeds, but some- 
 times affording springs of water, and, in general, much frequented by 
 turtle. Sueli little uninhabited spots afforded the pirates good harbours, 
 either for refitting or for the purpose of ambush ; they were occasionally the 
 hiding-place of their treasiu-e, and often aiforded a shelter to themselves. 
 As many of the atrocities wliich they practised on their prisoners were 
 committed in such spots, there are some of these keys which even now 
 have an indifferent reputation among seamen, and where they are with 
 ditficulty prevailed on to remain ashore at night, on account of "the vision- 
 arj' terrors incident to places which have been thus contaminated. 
 
 Note 18, page 400. 
 Before the gate of Mortham stood. 
 
 The castle of Mortham, wliich Leland terms " Mr Rokesby's Place, in 
 ripa citer, scant a quarter of a mile from Greta Bridge, and not a quarter 
 of a mile beneath into Tees," is a pictiu-esque tower, surrounded by build- 
 ings of different ages, now converted into a farm-house and offices. 
 
 Its situation is eminently beautiful, occupying a high bank, at the bot- 
 tom of which the Greta winds out of the dark, narrow, and romantic dell, 
 which the text has attempted to describe, and flows onward through a more 
 open valley to meet the Tees about a quarter of a mile from the castle. 
 Mortham is surrounded by old trees, happily and widely grouped with Mr 
 Morritt's new plantations. 
 
 Note 19, page 401. 
 
 There dig, and tomb your precious heap ; 
 And bid the dead your treasure keep. 
 
 If time did not permit the Bucaniers to la-\nsh away their plunder in 
 their usual debaucheries, they were wont to hide it, with many supersti- 
 tions solemnities, in the desert islands and keys which they frequented, 
 and where much treasure, whose lawless owners perished without reclaim- 
 ing it, is still supposed to be concealed. The most cruel of mankind are 
 often the most superstitious ; and these pirates are said to have recourse to 
 a horrid ritual, in order to secure an unearthly guardian to their treasures. 
 They killed a Negro or Spaniard, and buried him with the treasure, be- 
 lieving that his spirit would haimt the spot, and terrify away aU intruders. 
 I cannot produce any other authority on which this custom is ascribed to 
 them than that of maritime tradition, whiich is, however, amply sufficient 
 for the purposes of poetry. 
 
 Note 20, page 402. 
 Thepower 
 
 That vnstihdued and lurking lies 
 To take the felon by surprise, 
 And force him, as by magic spell. 
 In his despite his guilt to tell. 
 
 All who are conversant with the administration of criminal justice, must 
 remember many occasions in which malefactors appear to have conducted 
 themselves with a species of infatuation, either by making unnecessary
 
 NOTES TO KOKEBY. 721 
 
 confidences respecting their guilt, or by sudden and involuntaiy allusions 
 to circumstances by wliicli it could not fail to be exposed. A remarkable 
 instance occiured in the celebrated case of Eugene Aram. A skeleton being 
 found near Knaresborough, was supposed, by the persons who gathered 
 aroimd the spot, to be the remains of one Clai-ke, who had disappeared 
 some years before, under circumstances leading to a suspicion of Ids having 
 been murderetl. One Houseman, who had mingled in the crowd, suddenly 
 said, while looking at the skeleton, and hearing the opinion which was 
 buzzed around, " That is no more Dan Clarke's bone than it is mine! " — a 
 sentiment expressed so positively, and wth such peculiarity of maimer, a< 
 to lead all who heard him to iiiifer that he must necessarily know where 
 the real body had been interred. Accordingly, being apprehended, he con- 
 fessed ha\ing assisted Eugene Aram to murder Clarke, and to hide his 
 body in Saint Robert's Cave, It happened to the author himself, while 
 conversing ■with a person accused of an atrocious crime, for the purpose of 
 rendering liim professional assistance upon liis trial, to hear the prisoner 
 after the most solemn and reiterated protestations that he was guiltless, 
 suddenly, and, as it were, involimtarily, in the course of his communica- 
 tions, make such an admission as was altogether incompatible with inno- 
 cence. 
 
 Note 21, page 407. 
 
 Nobles and hiights, so proud of late. 
 Must fine for freedom and estate. 
 
 Right heavy shall his ransom be. 
 Unless that maid compound xuith thee .' 
 
 After the battle of Marston Moor, the Earl of Newcastle retired beyond 
 sea in disgust, and many of his followers laid down their arms and made 
 the best composition they could ■nith the Committees of Parliament. Fines 
 were imposed upon them in proportion to their estates and degrees of de- 
 linquency, and these fines were often bestowed upon such persons as had 
 deser\ed well of the commons. In some circumstances it happened that 
 the oppressed cavaliers were fain to fonu family alliances with some 
 powen'ul person among the triumphant party. 
 
 Note 22, page 408. 
 
 In Redesdale his youth had heard 
 £iith art her tiily dalesmen dared, 
 lyjien Eookcn-edge, and Ucdsuair high. 
 To bugle rung and bloodhound's cry. 
 
 " W\\a.t manner of cattle-stealers they are that inliabit those valleys in 
 the marches of both kingdoms, John Lesley, a Scotehe man hunself, and 
 Bishop of Ross, will inform you. They sally out of their own borders in 
 the night, in troops, tlu'ough unfiefiuented by-ways and many intricate 
 windings. All the day-time they refresh themselves and their horses in 
 Imking holes they had pitched upon before, tUl they arrive in the dai-k in 
 those places they have a desitm upon, -^s soon as they have seized upon 
 the booty, they, in like manrier, return home in the night, through bUnd 
 ways, ami fetching many a compass. The more skilful any captain is to 
 pass through those wild deserts, crooked tumhigs, and deep precipices, in 
 the thickest mists, his reputation is the greater, and he is looked upon as 
 a man of an excellent head." — Cnmdni's Britantiia. 
 
 The inhabitants of the valleys of Tyne and Reed were, in ancient times, 
 so inordinately addicted to tliese depredations, that in 1564, the incorpo- 
 rated Merchaiit-adventurers of Newcastle made a law that none boni in 
 these districts should be admitted apprentice. The inhabitants are stated 
 to be so generally adtUcted to raiiine, that no faith shoidd bo reposed in 
 those proceeding from " such lewde and wicked progenitors." This regu- 
 lation continued to stand unrepealed imtil 1771. A beggar, in an old play, 
 describes himself as " bom in Redesdale. in Northimibcrland, and come of a 
 vright-iidiDg surname, called the Robsoiis, good honest men and true, lav- 
 
 2 z
 
 722 ^0TE3 TO BOKEBT. 
 
 mq a little shifting for their living, God help them!"— a. description 
 which would have applied to most Borderers on both sides. 
 
 Note 23, page 409. 
 
 Biding hisfage, lestfoemen spy 
 The sparkle of his swarthy eye. 
 
 After one of the recent battles, in which the Irish rebels were defeated, 
 one of their most active leaders was found in a bog, in wliich he was im- 
 mersed up to the shoulders, while his head was concealed by an impending 
 ledge of turf. Being detected and seized, not\vithstanding his precaution, 
 he became solicitous to linow how his retreat had been discovered. " I 
 caught," answered the Sutherland Highlander, by whom he was taken, 
 "the sparkle of your eye." Those who are accustomed to mark hares up- 
 on tlieir form usually discover them by the same circumstance. 
 
 Note 24, page 413. 
 
 Of my marauding on the clou-ns 
 Of Calverley and Bradford downs. • 
 
 The troops of the King, when they first took the field, were as well dis- 
 ciplined as could be expected irom ch-curastauces. But as tlie circum- 
 st-ances of Charles became less favourable, and his funds for regularly 
 paying his forces decreased, habits of military license prevailed among 
 them in greater excess. Lacy the player, who served his master during 
 the Civil War, brought out, after tlie Restoration, a piece called The Old 
 Ti"oop, in wliich be seems to have commemorated some real incidents 
 which occurred in his militaiy career. The names of the officers of the 
 Troop sufficiently express their habits. We have Flea-tiint Plunder- 
 Master-General, Captain Ferretfann, and Quarter-Master Burn-drop. The 
 officers of the Troop are in league with these worthies, and connive at 
 their plundering the country for a suitable share in the booty. All this 
 was undoubtedly draivn from the hfe, which Lacy had an opportunity to 
 study. The moral of the whole is comprehended in a rebuke given to 
 the lieutenant, whose disorders in the country are said to prejudice the 
 King's cause more than liis courage in the field could recompense. The 
 piece is by no means void of farcical humour. 
 
 Note 25, page 414. 
 
 Brignall's woods, and ScargilVs, wave. 
 
 E'en now, o'er many a sister cave. 
 
 The banks of the Greta, below Rutherford Bridge, abound in seams of 
 greyish slate, which are wrought in some places to a veiy great depth under 
 groimd, thus forming artificial caverns, which, when the seam has been ex- 
 hausted, are gradually hidden by the undenvood which grows in profusion 
 upon the romantic banks of the river. In times of public confusion, they 
 might be well adapted to the purposes of banditti 
 
 Note 26, page 417. 
 
 When Spain waged warfare with onr land. 
 
 There was a sliort war with Spain in 1625-6, which will be found to 
 agree pretty weL with the chronology of the poem. But probably Bertram 
 held an opuiion very common among the maritime heroes of the ago, that 
 " there was no peace beyond the Line." The Spanish fiucir da-cost as were 
 constantly employed ui aggressions upon the trade and settlements of the 
 English and French ; and, by their ovra severities, gave room lor the system 
 of bucaniering, at lii'st adopted in self-defence and retaUation, and after 
 wards persevered in from habit and tliirsi of clunder.
 
 NOTES TO ROKEBY. 723 
 
 Note 27, page 419. 
 our comrades' strife. 
 
 The laws of the Bucaniers, and their successors the Pirates, however 
 severe and equitable, were, like other laws, often set aside by the stronger 
 party. Their quan'els about the division of the spoil till their history, and 
 they as frequently arose out of mere frolic, or the tjTannical humour of 
 their chiefs. An anecdote of Teach, (called Blackbeard), shows that their 
 habitual mdiiference for hiunan life extended to their companions, as well 
 as their eneuiies and captives: — 
 
 • " One ni^ht, drinking in hi3 cabin with Hands, the pilot, and another man. Black- 
 beard, without any provocation, privately draws out a small pair of pistols, and cocks 
 thom under the table, which, beiu": perceived by the man, he withdrew upon deck, leaving 
 Hands, the pilot, and the captain tO'-rether. When the pistols were ready, he Mew 
 out the candles, and crossini? his hands, dischargred them at his company. Hands, the 
 master, was shot through the knee, and lamed for life; the other pistol did no execu- 
 tion." — Johnson's Histoiy qf Pirates. Loud. 1734, 8vo, vol. i. p 38. 
 
 Note 28, page 421. 
 
 Sotiff Adieu for evermore. 
 
 The last verse of this song is taken from the fragment of an old .Scot- 
 tish ballad, of which I only recollected two verses when the first edition of 
 Rokeby was published. Mr Thomas Sheridan kindly pointed out to me 
 an entire copy of this beautiful song, wluch seems to express the fortunes 
 of some follower of the Stuart family : — 
 
 " It was a- for our rightful king 
 
 With, Adien for evermore, 
 
 That we left fair Scotland's strand, 
 
 My dear 1 
 
 Jt was a' for our ri-htful king 
 
 Adieu for evermore 1 
 
 That we e'er saw Irish laud, 
 
 
 My dear, 
 
 *• The soldier frae the war returns. 
 
 That we e'er saw Irish land. 
 
 And the mprchant frae the main. 
 
 Piut 1 hae parted wi' my love, 
 * Now all is done that man can do. And ne'er to meet asrain, 
 
 And all is done in vain ! My dear, 
 
 My love 1 my native land, adieu I And ne'er to meet again. 
 
 For 1 must cro^s the main. 
 
 My dear, " ^*hen day is gone and night is come, 
 
 Tor 1 must cross the main. And a' are boun' to sleep, 
 
 T think on them that'.s far awa 
 He turn'd him round and right about. The lee-laag night, and weep, 
 
 All on the Irish shore. My dear. 
 
 He gave his bridJe-reins a shake. The lee-lang night, and weep," 
 
 Note 29, page 422. 
 
 Rere-cross on Stanmore. 
 
 This Is a fragment of an old cross called Rere-cross or Fee-cross, with 
 Its pediment, sm-rounded by an intrenchment, upon the verj' summit of 
 the waste ridge of Stanmore, near a small house of entertainment called 
 the Spittal. The situation of the cross, and the pains taken to defend it; 
 se^'m to indicate that it was intended for a land-mark of importance. 
 
 Note SO, page 423. 
 
 WJien Denmark's raven soar'd on high, 
 Triumphant through Northumbrian sky, 
 Till, hovering near, her fntnl croak 
 Bade Iteged's Britons dread the rjoie. 
 
 About the year of God 866, the Danes, imder their celebrated leaders 
 Inguar, (more properly Agnar) and llubba, sons, it is said, of the still 
 more celebrated Kegnar Lodbrog, invaded Northumberland, bringing with 
 them the magical standard, so often mentioned in poetry, called llKAFKfi, 
 or Rumfan, from its beiu'ing the figure of a raven. The Danes renewed 
 and extended their inciu-sions, and began to colonize, establishuig a kind 
 of capital at York, from which they spread their conquests and incursions 
 in every direction. Stanmore, which divides the momitains of \VestnKirt3- 
 land and Cinnberland, was probably the boundary- of the Danish kiugdom 
 in that dircctioPu
 
 724 NOTES TO KOKEBT. 
 
 Note 31, page 423. 
 
 Beneath the shade the Northmen came, 
 Fix'd on each vale a Runic name. 
 
 The heathen Danes have left seyeral traces of their religion in the upper 
 part of Teesdale. Balder-gai-tli, which derives its name from the imfortu- 
 nate son of Odin, is a tract of waste land on the very ridge of Stanmore ; 
 and a brook which falls into the Tees near Bamai-d Castle, is named after 
 tlie same deity. A field upon the banks of the Tees is also termed Wo- 
 den-Croft, from the supreme deity of the Edda. 
 
 Note 32, page 426. 
 
 Ifho has not heard how brave O'Neale 
 111 English blood imbrued his steel ? 
 
 The O'Neale here meant, for more than one succeeded to the chieftain- 
 ghip during the reign of Elizabeth, was Hugh, the grandson of Con O'Neale, 
 called Con Bacco, or the Lame. His father, Matthew O'Kelly, was illegiti- 
 mate, and, being the son of a blacksmith's wife, was usually called Matthew 
 the Blacksmith. Ilis father, nevertheless, destined his succession to him ; 
 and he was created, by Elizabeth, Baron of Dungannon. Upon the death 
 of Con Bacco, this Matthew was slain by his brother. Hugh narrowly 
 escaped the same fate, and was protected by the English. Shane O'Neale, 
 his uncle, called Shane Dymas, was succeeded by Ttu-lough Lynogh 
 O'Neale; after whose death Hugh, ha%-ing assumed the chieftainship, be- 
 came nearly as formidable to the English as any by whom it had been pos- 
 sessed. He rebelled repeatedly, and as often made submissions, of which 
 it was usuaUy a condition that he should not any longer assume the title 
 of O'Neale ; in lieu of which he was created Earl of TjTone. But this cou- 
 dition he never observed longer than imtil the pressure of superior force 
 was withdrawn. His baffling the gallant Earl of Esses in the field, and 
 overreaoliing liim in a treaty, was the induction to that nobleman's tragedy. 
 Lord Mountjoy succeeded in finally subjugating O'Neale; but it was not 
 till the succession of James, to whom he made personal submission, and 
 was received with civility at court 
 
 Note 33, page 426. 
 
 But chief arose his victor pride, 
 
 When that brave Marshal fought and died. 
 
 The chief victory which Tyrone obtained over the English was in a 
 battle fought neai- lilackwater, while he besieged a fort garrisoned by the 
 EngUsh, which commanded the passes into his coimtry. 
 
 Tyrone is said to have entertained a personal animosity against the 
 knight-marshal, Sir Henry Bagnal, whom he accused of detaining the let- 
 ters which he sent to Queen Elizabeth, explanatory of his conduct, and 
 otfering tenns of submission. The river, called by the English Blackwater, 
 is tenned in Irish, Avon-Duff, which has the same signification. Both 
 names are mentioned by Spenser in his "Maniage of the Thames and the 
 Medway." But I understand that his verses relate not to the Blackwater 
 of Ulster, but to a river of the same name in the south of Ireland : — 
 
 Note 34, page 426. 
 The Tanist he to great O'Neale. 
 
 " Ei'dnx. 'Wiat is that which you call Tanist and Tanistry ? These bo 
 names and terras never heard of nor known to us. 
 
 " Iren. It is a custom amongst all the Irish, that presently after the 
 death of one of their chiefe lords or captaines, they doe presently assemble 
 themselves to a place generally appomted and knowue unto them, to choose
 
 XOTES TO ROKEBY. 726 
 
 another in his stead, ■where they do nominate and elect, for the most 
 part not the eldest sonne. nor any of the children of the lord deceased, bnt 
 the next to him in blood, that is, the eldest and worthiest, as commonly 
 the nest brother unto him, if he have any, or the next cousin, or so forth, 
 as any is elder in that kindred or sept ; and then next to them doe they 
 choose the next of the blood to be Tanist, who shall next succeed him in 
 the said captainry, if he live thereunto." — Spenser's View of the State of 
 Ireland, apud U'orks, Lond. 1805, 8vo, voL viii. p. 306. 
 
 The Tfmist, therefore, of O'Meale, was the . heir-apparent of his power. 
 This kind of succession appears also to have lefrulated, in very remote 
 times, the succession to the crown of Scotland It would have been im- 
 prudent, if not impossible, to have asserted a miuDr's right of succession in 
 those stormy days, when the principles of policy were summed up ui my 
 friend Hr Wordsworth's lines: — 
 
 ** the pood old rule 
 
 SuflBceth them ; the simple plan, 
 That they should take wlio have the power. 
 
 And they shotild keep who can." 
 
 Note 35, page 427. 
 
 With mid majestic port and tone, 
 Like envoy of some barbarous throve. 
 
 The Irish chiefs, in their intercourse with the English, and with each 
 Other, were wont to assume the language and style of independent royalty. 
 
 Note 36, page 430. 
 
 Great Nial of the Pledges Nine. 
 
 Neal Naighvallach, or Of the Nine Hostages, is said to have been Mon- 
 arch of all Ireland, during the end of the fourth or beginning of the fifth 
 century. He exercised a predatory waiiare on the coast of England and of 
 Bretagne, or Armorica ; and from the latter coimtry brought otf the cele- 
 brated Saint Patrick, a youth of sixteen, among other captives, whom he 
 transported to Ireland. Neal derived his epithet from nine nations, or 
 tribes, whom he held under his subjection, and from whom he took hostages. 
 
 Note 37, page 430. 
 Shane-Di/mas Wild. 
 
 This Shane-Dymas, or John the Wanton, held the title and power of 
 O'Neale in the earlier part of Elizabeth's reign, against whom he rebelled 
 repeatedly. 
 
 " This chieftain is handed down to us as the most proud and protligato 
 man on eai A. He was immoderately addicted to women and -nine. He 
 is said to have had 200 tuns of wine at once in his cellar at Dandram, but 
 usquebaugh was his favourite liquor. He spared neither age nor condition 
 of the fair sex. Altho' so illiterate that he could not ■mite, he wa.s not 
 destitute of address, his understanding was strong, and his courage daring. 
 He had 600 men for his guard ; 40iJ0 foot. 1000 horse for the field. He 
 claimed superiority over all the lords of Ulster, and called himself king 
 thereof" — Camden's Britannia, by Gough. Lond. 1S06, fol. vol iv. p. 442. 
 
 When reduced to extremity by the Enghsli, and forsaken by his allies, 
 this Shane-Djinas fied to Clandeboy, then occupied by a colony of Scottish 
 Highlanders of the family of JlacDonelL He was at first courteously re- 
 ceived; but by degrees they began to quarrel about the slaughter of some 
 of their friends whom Shane -D\Tiias had put to death, and advancing 
 from words to deeds, fell upon liim with their broadswords, and cut him 
 to pieces. After his death a law waa made that none should presume to 
 take the name and title of O'Neale. 
 
 Note 38, page 430. 
 Geraldine. 
 
 The G'Neales were closely allied with this powerful and warlike family;
 
 726 KOTEH TO ROKEBY. 
 
 for Henry Owen O'Neale married the daughter of Thomas, Earl of Kildare, 
 and their son Con-More married his cousm-german, a daughter of Gerald, 
 Earl of Kildare. This Con-More cursed any of his posterity who shoul(l 
 learn the English language, sow corn, or build houses, so as to iii'S'ite the 
 English to settle in their coimtry. Others ascribe tliis anathema to his son 
 Con-Bacco. — See IValker's Irish Bards, p. 140. 
 
 Note 39, pace 431. 
 his page — the next degree. 
 
 In that old time, to chivalry. 
 
 Originally the order of chivalry embraced three ranks : — 1. The Page ; 
 2. The Squire ; 3. the Knit;ht ; — a gradation which seems to have been 
 imitated in the mystery of free-masomy. But, before the reign of Charles 
 I., the custom of serving as a squire had fallen into disuse, though the order 
 of the page was still, to a certain degree, in observance. This state of ser- 
 vitude was so far from inferring anj'thing degi'ading, that it was consi- 
 dered as the regular school for acquiring every quality necess.ary for fiitui-e 
 distinction. 
 
 Note 40, page 440. 
 
 Seem'd half abandon' d to decay. 
 
 The ancient castle of Rokeby stood exactly upon the site of the present 
 mansion, by which a part of its walls is enclosed. It is surrounded by a 
 profusion of fine wood, and the park in which it stands is adorned by the 
 junction of the Greta and of the Tees. The title of Baron Rokeby of 
 Armagh was, in 1777, conferred on the Right Reverend Richard Robinson, 
 Inmate of Ireland, descended of the Robinsons, formerly of Rokeby, in 
 Yorkshire. 
 
 Note 41, page 444. 
 
 The Filea of O'Neale was he. 
 The Filea, or OUamh Re Dan, was the proper bard, or, as the name li- 
 terally implies, poet. Each chieftain of disthiction had one or more in his 
 service, whose office was usually hereditary. There were itinerant bards 
 of less elevated rank, but all were held in the highest veneration. 
 
 Note 42, page 444. 
 
 Ah. Olandehoy ! thy friendly floor, 
 Sheve-Donard's oak shall light no more. 
 
 Olandeboy is a district of Ulster, formerly possessed by the sept of the 
 O'Nealcs, and Slicve-Donard, a romantic mountain in the same province. 
 The clan was ruined after Tyrone's great rebellion, and their places of 
 abode laid desolate. The ancient Irish, wild and imcultivated m other re- 
 spects, did not yield even to their descendants in practising the most n-ea 
 and extended hospitaUty. 
 
 Note 43, page 445. 
 Marwood-chase and Tollar Hill. 
 
 Marwood-chase is the old pai-k extending along the Durham side of 
 the Tees, attached to Barnard Castle. ToUer Hill is an eminence on the 
 Yorkshire side of the river, conmianding a superb view of the ruins. 
 
 Note 44, page 447. 
 
 Tlte ancient English minstrel's dress. 
 
 Among the entertainments presented to Elizabeth at Kenilworth 
 Castle, was the introduction of a person designed to represent a travelling 
 muistrel, who entertained her with a solemn story out of the Acts of King 
 Arthur. Of this person's dress and appearance Mr Laneham has given us 
 a verj- accurate account, transferred by Bishop Percy to tlie prehminary 
 Dissertation ra Minstrels, prefixed to his Eeliqves of Ancient Poetry, voL 1
 
 NOTES 
 
 TO 
 
 THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 
 
 Note 1, page 488. 
 Thy nigi/ed halls, Artornish ! rung. 
 
 The ruins of the Castle of Artornish are situated upon a promontory, on 
 the Mon'en, or mainland side of the Sound of Mull— a name given to the 
 deep ai-m of the sea -which divides that island from the continent. The 
 situation is wild and romantic in the highest degree, having on the one 
 hand a high and precipitous chain of rocks overhanging the sea, and on 
 the other the narrow entrance to the beautiful salt-water lake, called Loch 
 Alhne, which is in many places finely fringed with copsewood. The ruins 
 of Artornish are not now very considerable, and consist chiefly of the re- 
 mains of an old keep, or tower, ^vith fragments of outward defences. But, 
 in former days, it was a place of great consequence, being one of the prin- 
 cipal strongholds, which the Lords of the Isles, diulng the period of their 
 stormy independence, possessed upon the mainland of Argj'leshu-e. 
 
 It is almost opposite to the Bay of Aros, in the Island of Mull, where 
 there was another castle, the occasional residence of the Lords of the Isles. 
 
 Note 2, page 488. 
 
 Slide Heiskar's seal, through surges dark. 
 Will long pursue the minstrel's bar!;. 
 
 The seal displays a taste for music, which could scarcely be expected 
 from his habits and local predilections. They will long follow a boat in which 
 any musical instrument is played, and even a tune simply whistled has 
 attractions for them. The Dean of the Isles says of Heiskar, a small unin- 
 habited rock, about twelve (Scottish) miles from the Isle of Uist, that au 
 inliuite slaughter of seals takes place there. 
 
 Note S, page 490. 
 
 a turret's airy head. 
 
 Slender and steep, and battled round, 
 O'erlook'd, dark Hull! thy mighty Sound. 
 
 The Sound of JIull, which di^^des that islnnd from the continent of 
 Scotland, is one of the most striking scenes which the Hclirides attbrd to 
 the ti-aveller. Sailing from Oljan to Aros, or Tobermory, through a njirrow 
 chaunel, yet deep enough to bear vessels of the largest bm'den, he has on 
 his left the bold and mo\mtainous shores of Mull ; on the right, those of 
 that district of Argjieshire, caUed Monen, or Jlon-eni, successively in- 
 dented by deep salt-water lochs, running up many miles inland. To the 
 south-eastwai-d arise a prodigious range of mountains, among which Crua- 
 clian-Ben is pre-eminent. And to the north-east is the no less huge and 
 picturesque range of the Adnamurchan hills. JIany niimus castles, situ- 
 ated generally upon cliffs, overhanging the ocean, add interest to tlie scene. 
 
 Note 4, page 491. 
 
 The heir of mighty Somerled. 
 
 Somerled was thane of Argyle and Lord of the Isles, about the middle 
 of the twelfth century. He seems to have exorcised his authority In both
 
 728 NOTES TO THE LORD OP THE ISLES. 
 
 capacities, independent of tlie crown of Scotland, against -n-hich he often 
 stood in hostility. He made various incursions upon the western lowlands 
 during the reign of Malcolm IV., and seems to have made peace with him 
 upon the terms of an independent prince, about the year 1157, In 1 164, he 
 resumed the war against Malcolm, and invaded Scotland with a large, but 
 probably a tumultuary army, collected in the isles in the mainland of Ar- 
 gyleshire, and in the neighbouring provinces of Ireland. He was defeated 
 and slain in an engagement with a very mferior force, near Kenlrew. 
 
 Note 5, page 491. 
 
 Lord of the Isles. 
 
 The representative of this independent principality, for such it seems to 
 have been, though acknowledging occasionally the pre-ennnence of the 
 Scottish cro^^^l, was, at the period of the poem, Angus, called Angus Og ; 
 but the name has been, eiiphoniie f/ratia, exchanged for that of Ronald, 
 which fi'equently occurs in the genealogy. Angus was a protector of Robert 
 Bruce, whom he received in his Castle of Dunnaverty, during the time of 
 his greatest distress. 
 
 Note 6, page 493. 
 
 The House of Lorn. 
 
 The House of Lorn, was, like the Lord of the Isles, descended from a 
 son of Somerled, slain at Renfrew, in 1164. This son obtained the succes- 
 sion of his mainland territories, comprehending the gi-eater part of the 
 three districts of Lorn, in Argyleshire, and of course might rather be con- 
 sidered as petty princes than feudal barons. They assumed the patronymic 
 appellation of Mac-Dougal, by which they are distinguished in the history 
 of the middle ages. 
 
 Note 7, page 496. 
 
 Jwaked before the rushing prow. 
 The mimic fires of o: eaii ffluw, 
 Those liglitnings of the wave. 
 
 The phenomenon caUed by sailors Sea-tire, is one of the most beautiful 
 and interesting which is witnessed in the Hebrides. At times the ocean 
 appears entirely illuminated around the vessel, and a long train of lambent 
 coruscations are perpetually bursting upon the sides of the vessel, or pur- 
 suing her wake through the darkness. 
 
 Note 8, page 501. 
 
 That keen knight, J)e Argentine. 
 
 Sir Egidius, or Giles De Argentine, was one of the most accomplished 
 knights of the period. He had ser\'ed in the wars of Henry of Luxemburg 
 ■\vith such high reputation, that he was, in popular estimation, the third 
 worthy of the age. Those to whom fame assigned precedence over him 
 were, Henry of Luxemburg hunself, and Robert Bruce. Argentine had 
 warred in Palestine, encountered thrice with the Saracens, and had slain 
 two antagonists in each engagement: — an easy matter, he said, for one 
 Christian knight to slay two Pagan dogs. 
 
 Note 9, page 501. 
 
 " Fill me the mighty cup .'" he said, 
 " Erst own'd by royal Somerled." 
 
 A Hebridean drinking cup, of the most ancient and curious workman- 
 ship, has been long preserved in the castle of Dunvegan, in Skye, the ro- 
 mantic seat of JIac-Leod of JIacleod, the chief of that ancient and power- 
 ful clan. The horn of Rone More, preserved in the same family, and re- 
 corded by Dr Johnson, is not to be compared with this piece of antiquity, 
 which is one of the greatest cuiiosities in Scotland.
 
 NOTES TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 729 
 
 Note 10. page 50.3. 
 
 the rebellions Scottiah crew, 
 
 irho to Rath-Erin's shelter dretc, 
 IVith Carrick's outlaw'd Chief? 
 
 Jt must be remembered by all who have read the Scottish history, that 
 after he had slain Comyn at Dumfries, and asserted his riglit to the Scot- 
 tish crown, Robert Bruce was reduced to the greatest extremity by the 
 English and their adherents. He was cro\v^]ed at Scone by the general 
 consent of the Scottish barons, but his authority endured but a short tmie. 
 According to the phrase said to have been used by his iNTle, he was lor 
 that year " a summer king, but not a winter one." 
 
 IfoTE 11, page 504. 
 
 The Brooch of Lorn. 
 
 It has been generall.y mentioned in the preceding notes, that Robert 
 Eruce, after his defeat at Methven, being hard pressed by the English, 
 endeavoured, with the dispirited remnant of Ids followers, to escape from 
 Breadalbane and the mountains of Perthshire into the Arg\-leshire High- 
 lands. But he was encountered and repulsed, after a verj- severe engage- 
 ment, by the Lord of Lohl Bruce's personal strength and courage were 
 never displayed to greater advantage than in this conthcL There is a tra- 
 dition in the family of the Mac-Dougals of Lorn, that their chieftain 
 engaged in personal battle with Bruce lumself, whUe the latter was 
 employed in protecting the retreat of his men; that Mac-Dougal was 
 struck dOYra by the Idug, whose strength of body was equal to liis vigour 
 of mind, and woidd have been slain on the spot had not two of Lom's vas- 
 sals, a father and son. whom tradition terms Mac-Keoch, rescued him, by 
 seizing the mantle of the monarch, and dragging him trom above his ad- 
 versary. Bruce rid hunself of tliese foes by two blows of his redoubted 
 battle-axe, but was so closely pressed by the other followers of Lorn, that 
 he was forced to abandon the m.antle, and brooch which fastened it, 
 clasped m the djnng grasp of the llac-Keochs. A studded brooch, said to 
 have been that which Ivlng Robert lost upon this occasion, was long pre- 
 served in the family of Mac-Dougal, and was lost in a fire which consumed 
 their temporary residence. 
 
 KoTE 12, pages 498, 505. 
 
 When Comyn fell betieath the knife. 
 
 Of that fell homicide The Bnice.—p. 498. 
 
 Fain Kirkpatrick's bloody dirk, 
 Making sure of murder's work. — p. 505. 
 
 Every reader must recollect that the proximate cause of Bruce's assert- 
 ing his right to the croivn of Scotland, was the death of John, c.nlled the 
 Red Comyn. The causes of this act of violence, equally extraonUn.Tjy from 
 the high rank both of the perpetrator and suficrer. and from the place 
 where the slaughter was committed, are variously related by the Scottish 
 and English historians, and cannot now be ascertained. The fact that they 
 met at the high altar of the Jlinorites, or Greyfriar's Cliurch in Dumlries, 
 that their dift'erence broke out into high and insulting language, and that 
 Bruce drew his dagger and stabbed Com\Ti, is certain. Rushing to the 
 door of the church, Bruce met two powerful barons, Kirkpatrick of Close- 
 bum, and James de Lindsay, who eagerly asked lumwhat tidings? "Bad 
 tidings," answered Bruce; "I doubt I have slain Comyn." ^Doubtest 
 thou?" said Kirkpatrick; "I make sicker," (('. f. siu-e.) With these 
 words, he and Lindsay rushed into the church, and despatched the woimded 
 Comyn. The Kirkpatricks of Closcbum assumed, in memon- of tliis deed, 
 a hand holding a dagger, -nith the memorable words, " 1 make sicker."
 
 730 NOTES TO THE I.OKD OF TUE ISLES. 
 
 Note i3, page 505. 
 
 Barendown fied fast away, 
 I'led the fiery De La Ha ye. 
 
 These knights are enumerated by Barbour among the small number of 
 Bruce 's adherents, who remained- in aims with him after the battle o( 
 ilethven. 
 
 Note 11, page 510. 
 
 TVasH not enough, to lionald's boiver 
 I brought thee, like a paramour. 
 
 It was anciently customary in the Highlands to bring the bride to the 
 house of the husband. Nay, in some cases the complaisance was stretched 
 80 far, that she remained there upon trial for a twelvemonth; and the 
 bridegroom, even after this period of cohabitation, retained an option of 
 refusing to fulhl his engagement. It is said that a desperate feud ensued 
 between the clans of Mac-Donald of Sleate and Mac-Leod, owing to the 
 former chief ha^^ng availed himself of this license to send back to Dimve- 
 gan a sister, or daughter of the latter. Mac-Leod, resenting the indignity, 
 observed, that since there was no wedding bonfire, there should be one to 
 solemnize the divorce. Accordingly, he burned and laid waste the terri- 
 tories of Mac-Uonald, who retaliated, and a deadly feud, ■«-ith all its ac- 
 companiments, took place in form. 
 
 Note 15, page 510. 
 
 Shice Matchless Wallace first had been 
 In mock'ry crown'd tvith v:reaths of yrcen. 
 
 There is something singularly doubtfid about the mode in which Wal- 
 lace was taken. That he was betrayed to the English is indubitable; said 
 popular fame charges Sir John Menteith with the indelible infamy. "Ac- 
 cursed," says Arnold Blair, "be the day of natirity of John de ivienteith, 
 and may his name bo struck out of the book of life. " But John de Menteitb 
 was all along a zealous favourer of the English interest, and was governor 
 of Dumbarton Castle by commission from Edward the First ; and therefore, 
 as the accurate Lord Hailes has observed, could not be the friend and con- 
 fidant of Wallace, as tradition states him to be. The truth seems to l)e, 
 that Menteith, thoroughly engaged in the English uiterest, pursued Wal- 
 lace closely, and made him prisoner through the treachery of an attendant, 
 whom Peter Langtoft calls Jack Short 
 
 The infamy ot seizing Wallace must, therefore, rest between a degene- 
 rate Scottish nobleman, the vassal of England, and a domestic, the obscure 
 agent of his treacherj-; between Sir John Menteith, sou of AV'alter, Earl of 
 Menteith, and the traitor Jack Short. 
 
 Note 16, page 510. 
 
 Was not the life of Athole shed. 
 
 To soothe the tyrant's sicken'd bed ? 
 
 John de Strathhogie, Earl of Athole, had attempted to escape out of the 
 kingdom, but a storm cast him upon the coast, when he was taken, sent to 
 London, and executed, with circumstances of great barbaiity, being first 
 half strangled, then let down from the gaUows whUe yet alive, barbarously 
 dismembered, and his body burnt. Matthew of Westminster tells us that 
 King Edward, then extremely Hi, received great ease from the news that 
 his relative was apprehended — " 5«o andito, Rex Angline, etsi gravissinw 
 niorho tunc Inuf^ueret, levius tamen tiilil dolorem." To this singular expres- 
 sion the test alludes. 
 
 Note 17, page 512. 
 
 frhUe I the blessed cross advance, 
 And exjriate this unhappy chance 
 In Palestine, with, sword and lance. 
 
 Bruce uniformly professed, ana probably felt, compunction for having
 
 KOTES TO TUE LuHi) OF THE ISI.ES. 731 
 
 violated the sanctiiarj' of the ohnrcn by the slan^rhter of Comyn ; and 
 finally, in his last hours, in testimony of his faith, penitence, and zeal, he 
 requested James, Lord Douglas, to earn' his heart to Jerusalem, to be tliere 
 deposited in the Holy Sepulchro 
 
 Note 18, page 512. 
 
 De Brnce! I rose irith purpose dread 
 To sjieak my curse upon thy hend. 
 
 Po soon as the notice of Comyn's slaughter reached Rome, Broce and 
 his adherents were excommunicated. It was published first by the Arch- 
 bishop of York, and renewed at dift'erent times, particularly by Lambyrton, 
 Bishop of St Andrews, in 13i iS ; but it does not appe:ir to have answered 
 the purjiose which the English monarch expectcrL Indeed, for reasons 
 which it maj' be diflicult to trace, the thunders of Rome descended upon 
 the Scottish moimtains with less effect than in more fertile countries. Pro- 
 bably the comparative poverty of the benefices occasioned that fewer foreign 
 clergy settled in Scotland ; and the interests of the native churchmen were 
 linked ■with that of their countrj-. Many of the Scottish prelates, Lambyr- 
 ton the primate particularly, declared for Bnice. while he was yet under 
 the ban of the church, although he afterwards again changed sides. 
 
 Note 19, page 513. 
 
 A hmtted va7tderrr on the vrild. 
 On foreign shores a man exited. 
 
 . This is not metaphorical The echoes of Scotland did actually 
 
 With the bloodhounds that bayed for her fugitive kinp." 
 
 A very curious and romantic tale is told by Barbour upon this subject, 
 which may be abridged as follows : — 
 
 When Bruce had again got footing in Scotland in the spring of 1306, 
 he continued to be in a very weak and precarious condition, gaining, in 
 deed, occasional advantages, but obliged to fly before his enemies when- 
 ever tlicy assembled in force. Upon one occasion, while he was l^nng with 
 a small party ir. the ^vilds of Cmnnock, in Ayrshire, Aj-mer de Valence, 
 E;u"l of Pembroke, with his inveterate foe John of Lorn, came against him 
 suddenly with eight hundred Highlanders, besides a large body of men-at- 
 arms. They brought with them a slough- dog, or bloodhound, which, some 
 say, had been once a favomite with the Bruce himself, and therefore was 
 least likely to lose the trace. 
 
 Bruce, whose force was under four hundred men, continued to make head 
 against the cavalrj', tiU the men of Loni had nearly cut oft' his retreat. 
 Percei\'ing the danger of his situation, he acted as the celebrated and ill- 
 refjuited Jlina is said to have done in similar circumstances. He di\'ided 
 his force into three parts, appointed a place of rendezvous, and conmianded 
 them to retreat by dilferent routes. But when John of Lorn arrived at the 
 spot where they di\-ided, he caused the hoimd to be put upon the trace, 
 which immediately directed him to the pursuit of that party which Bruce 
 headed. This, therefore. Lorn pursued with his whole force, pajing no 
 attention to the others. The king again subdivided his small body into 
 three ptuts, and -vdih the same result, for the pursuers attached themselves 
 exclusively to that which he led in person. He then caused his followers 
 to disperse, and retained only his foster-brother in liis company. The 
 slougli-dog followed the trace, and. neglecting the others, attached himself 
 and his attendants to the luirsuit of the king. Lorn became convinced that 
 his enemy was nearly in his power, and detached five of his most active 
 attendants to follow Inni, and interrupt his flight. They did so with all the 
 agility of mountaineers. " Wliat aid wilt thou make?" said Bruce to his 
 single attendant, when he saw the five men gain ground on him. " The 
 best I can," replied his foster-brother. " Then," said Bruce, " here I make 
 my stand" The five pursuers came up fast. The king took three to him- 
 self, leaving the other two to his foster-brother. He slew the first who en- 
 countered him ; but observing his Ibster-brother hard pressed, he spnmg to
 
 732 NOTES TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 
 
 his assistance, and despatched one of his assaUants. Lcavfc^ him to deffl 
 
 ■with the survivor, he returned upon the other two, both of whom he slew 
 hefore his foster-brother had despatched his single antagonist 'UTien this 
 hard encounter was over, wth a comtesy which in the whole work marks 
 Brace's character, he thanked his foster-brother for his aid. " It Ukes yoa 
 to say so," answered his follower; "but youyourselfslewfourof the five." — 
 "True," said the king, "but only Because I had better opportunity than 
 you. They were not apprehensive of me when they saw me encounter 
 three, so I had a moments time to spring to thy aid, and to return equally 
 unexpectedly upon my owii opponents." 
 
 In the meauwliile Lom's party approached rapidly, and the king and 
 his foster-brother betook themselves to a neighbouring wood. Here they 
 sat down, for Bruce was exhausted by fatigue, imtil the cry of the slough- 
 hoimd came so near that his foster-brother entreated Bruce to pro\-ide for 
 his safety by retreating further. "I have heard," answered the king, 
 " that whosoever will wade a bowshot length down a running stream, 
 shall make the slough-hound lose scent. Let us try the experiment, for 
 were yon devilish hound silenced, I should care little for the rest." 
 
 Lorn in the meanwhile advanced, and found the bodies of his slain 
 vassals, over whom he made his moan, and threatened the most deadly 
 vengeance. Then he followed the hound to the side of the brook, down 
 which the king had waded a great way. Hero the hound was at fault, and 
 John of Lorn, after long attempting iu vain to recover Bruce's trace, reUn- 
 quished the pursuit. 
 
 "Others," says Barbour, "affirm, that upon this occasion the king's 
 life was saved by an excellent archer who accompanied him, and who 
 perceiving they woidd be finally taken by means of the bloodhound, hid 
 himself iu a thicket, and shot him with an arrow. In wluch way," adds 
 the metrical biographer, " this escape happened, I am uncertain, but at 
 that brook the king escaped fiom his pursuers." 
 
 Note 20, page 517. 
 
 "J!as ! dear youth, the unhappy time" 
 ^nsicer'd the Bruce, " must bear the crime. 
 
 Since, guiltier far than you. 
 Even 1" — he paused ; for Falkirk's icoes 
 Upon his conscious soul arose. 
 
 I have followed the vulgar and inaccurate tradition, that Bruce fought 
 against Wallace, and the array of Scotland, at the fatal battle of Falkirk. 
 The storj-, which seems to have no better authority than that of Blind 
 Harrj', bears, that haNing made much slaughter during the engagement, he 
 sat down to dine with the conquerors without washing the filtiy ■witness 
 from his hands : — 
 
 " Fastinp he was, and had been in preat need,1 
 Blooded were all his weapons and his weed ; 
 Southerou lords scom'd him in terms rude, 
 And said, Behold yon Scot eats his own blood. 
 
 ** Then rued he sore, for reason bad be known. 
 That blood and land alike should be his own ; 
 With them he lon^ was, ere he fcot away, 
 But contrair Scots he fou^^ht not from that day.** 
 
 The accotmt given by most of our historians, ot the conversation between 
 Bruce and Wallace over the Carron river, is equally apocryphal There is 
 full e\idence that Bruce was not at that time on the Enghsh side, nor 
 present at the battle of Falkirk; nay, that he acted as a guardian of Scot- 
 land, along with John Comyn, in the name of BaUol, and in oppos'tion t-' 
 the English. 
 
 Note 21, page 518. 
 
 These are the savage wilds that lie 
 North of Strathnardill and Dunskye. 
 
 The extraordinary piece of scenery which I have here attempted to de- 
 scribe, is, I think, unparalleled in any part of Scof'and, at least in any
 
 NOTES TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 733 
 
 which I have happened to visit It lies just upon the frontier of the Laird 
 of MacLeod's countrj-, which is thereabouts di\'ideJ from the estate of Mr 
 Maccalister of Strath- Aird, called Strathnardill by the Dean of the Isles. 
 
 Note 22, page 526. 
 
 And mermaid's alabaster grot. 
 Who bathes.her limbs in sunless well 
 Deep in Strathaird's enchanted cell. 
 
 Imagination can hardly conceive anything more beautiful than the ex- 
 traordinarj- grotto discovered not many years since upon the estate of 
 Alexander Mac-Allister, Esq. of Strathaird. It has since been much and 
 deseri-edly celebrated, and a full accoimt of its beauties has been pubUshed 
 by Dr Mac-Leay of Oban. The general impression may perhaps be 
 gathered from the following extract from a journal, which, written imder 
 the feelings of the moment, is likely to be more accurate than any attempt 
 to recollect the impressions then received; — "The first entrance to this 
 celebrated cave is rude and unpromismg; but the Ught of the torches, ■srith 
 which we were provided, was soon retiected from the roof, floor, and 
 walls, which seem as if they were sheeted -n-ith marble, partly smooth, 
 partly rough with frost-work and rustic ornaments, and partly seeming 
 to be wrought into statuary. The floor forms a steep and difficult ascent, 
 and might be fancifully compared to a sheet of water, which, while it 
 rushed whitening and foaming down a dechvity, had been suddenly ar- 
 rested and consolidated by the spell of an enchanter. Upon attaining 
 the summit of this ascent, the cave opens into a splendid gallery, adorned 
 with the most dazzling crystallisations, and finally descends with rapidity 
 to the brink of a pool, of the most limpid water, about four or five yards 
 broad. There opens beyond this pool a portal arch, formed by two columns 
 of white spar, mth beautiful chasing upon the sides, which promises a 
 continuation of the cave. One of our sailors swam across, for there is no 
 other mode of passing, and informed us (as indeed we partly saw by the 
 light he earned) that the enchantment of Maccilister's cave terminates 
 with tliis portal, a little beyond which there was only a rude cavern, 
 speedily choked with stones and earth. But the pool, on the brink of 
 ■which we stood, surrounded bj- the most fanciful mouldings, in a substance 
 resembling white marble, and distinguished by the depth and purity of its 
 ■waters, might have been the bathing grotto of a naiad. The groups of 
 combined figures projecting, or embossed, by which the pool is surrounded, 
 are exquisitely elegant and fancifuL A statuary might catch beautiful 
 hints from the singular and romantic disposition of those stalactites. There 
 is scarce a form, or group, on which active fancy may not trace figures or 
 grotesque ornaments, which have been gradually moulded in this cavern 
 by the dropping of the calcareous water hai-deniug into petrifactions. 
 Many of those fine groups have been injured by the senseless rage of ap- 
 propriation of recent tom-ists ; and the grotto has lost, (I am informed.) 
 through the smoke of torches, somethmg of that vi\id silver tint which 
 was originall)- one of its chief distinctions. But enough of be.iuty re- 
 mains to compensate for all that may be lost" — Mr Mac-Allister of Strath- 
 aird has, vrith great propriety, built up the exterior entrance to this cave, 
 in order that strangers may enter properly attended by a guide, to pre- 
 vent any repetition of the wanton and sehlsh mjuiy which tliis singula? 
 Bcene has already sustamed. 
 
 Note 23, page 5C9 
 
 Fet to no sense of selfish loronns. 
 Bear u-itness with me. Heaven, belongs 
 My joy o'er Edward's bier. 
 
 The generosity which does justice to the character of an enemy, often 
 marks Bruce's sentiments, as recorded by the faithful Barbom-. He seldom 
 mentions a fallen enemy ^\ithout praising such good quahties as he might 
 possess. I shall only take one instance. Shortly after Bruce landed" iu 
 Carrick, in 130G, Sir Ingram Bell, the English governor of Ayr, engaged
 
 734 NOTES TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 
 
 a wealthy yeoman, -who had hitherto been a follower of Brace, to under- 
 take the task of assassinating him. The king learned this treachery, as he 
 is said to have done otlier secrets of the enemy, by means of a female 
 with whom he had an intrigue. Shortly after he was possessed of tliis 
 information, Bruce, resorting to a small thicket at a distance from his 
 men, with otily a single page to attend hun, met the traitor, accompanied 
 by two of his sons. They approaclied him wth their wonted familiaiity, 
 but Bruce, taking his page's bow and arrow, commanded them to keep at 
 a distance. As they still pressed forward ■ivith professions of zeal for his 
 person and sen'ice, he, after a second warning, shot the fatlier with the 
 arrow ; and being assaulted successively by the two sons, despatclied first 
 one, who was anncd with an axe; tlieu as the other chai'ged him >vith a 
 spear, avoided the thnist, struck the head from the spear, and cleft the 
 skull of the assassin with a blow of his two-handed sword. 
 
 Note 24, page 532. 
 
 And Ronin's mountains dark have sent 
 Their hunters to the shore. 
 
 Ronin (popularly called Rum, a name which a poet may be pai'doned 
 for avoiding if possible) is a very rough and momitainous island, adjacent 
 to those of Eigg and Cannay. There is almost no arable ground upon it, 
 so that, except in the plenty of the deer, which of course are now nearly 
 extirpated, it still deserves the description bestowed by the Archdcan of 
 the Isles :—" Eoiiin, sixteen myle north-wast from tlie ile of Coll, lyes ane 
 lie caUit Ronan lie, of sixteen myle long, and six in bredthe in the nar- 
 rowest, ane forest of heigh moimtauis, and abundance of little deir in it, 
 quhilk deir will never be slane downwith, but the piincipal saittis man be 
 Ui the height of the hill, because the deur will be caUit upwart ay be the 
 taincheU, or without tynchel they will pass upwart perforce. In this Ue 
 will be gotten about Britane als many wild nests upon the plane mure as 
 men pleasis to gadder, and yet by rcssou the fowls hes few to stai't them 
 except deir. This ile lyes from the west to the eist in lentil, and pertains 
 to M'Kenabrey of CoUa, Many solan geese are in this ile." — Monro's Do 
 scription of the Western Isles, p. 18. 
 
 Note 25, page 533. 
 
 On Scooreigg next a warning light 
 Summon'd her warriors to the fight ; 
 A numerous race, ere stern Macleod 
 O'er their bleak shores in vengeance strode. 
 
 These, and the following lines of the stanza, refer to a dreadful tale of 
 feudal vengeance, of which unfortunately there are relics that still aticst 
 the trath. Scoor-Eigg is a high pe.ak in the centre of the small Isle of 
 Eigg, or Egg, one of the caverns in which was the scene of a horrid feudal 
 vengeance. This noted cave has a very naiTow opeumg, through which 
 one can hardly creep on his knees and hands. It rises steep and lofty 
 within, and nms into the bowels of the rock to the depth of 255 measured 
 feet ; the height at the entrance may be about three foct, but rises withia 
 to eighteen or twenty, and the breadth may vary ui the same propor- 
 tion. The rude and stony bottom of this cave is strewed with tlie bonea of 
 men, women, and children, the sad reUcs of the ancient inhabitants of the 
 island, 200 in nmiibcr, who were slaui on the fuUomng occasion: — The 
 Mac- Donalds of the Isle of Egg, a people dependent on Clan-Kanald, had 
 done some injury to the laird of Mac-Leod. The tradition of the isle says, 
 that it was by a personal attack on the chieftaui, in which his back was 
 broken. But that of the other isles bears, more probably, that the injury 
 was offered to two or three of the Wac-Leods, who, landing upon Eigg, and 
 using some freedom with the young women, were seized by the islanders, 
 bound hand and foot, and turned adrift in a boat, which the winds 
 and waves sately conducted to Skye. To avenge the offence given, 
 Mac-Leod sailed with eueh a body of men, as rendered resistance hope- 
 less. The natives fearinjf his ventresnce, concealed themselves in Uii.i
 
 NOTES TO THE LOR© OF TUE ISLES. 735 
 
 cavern, and. after a strict search, the Mac-Leods ■went on board their 
 galleys, after doing' what mischief they could, concluding the inhabit- 
 »nts had left the isle, and betaken themselves to the Long Island, or 
 some of Clan-Ranald's other possessions. But next moniing they espied 
 from the vessels a man upon the island, and immediately landing again, 
 they traced his retreat by the marks of his footsteps, a Uglit snow being 
 unhappily on the ground. Mac-Leod then surrounded the cavern, summoned 
 the subterranean garrison, and demanded that the individuals who had 
 offended him should be delivered up to him. This was peremptorily rt- 
 fused. The chieftain then caused his people to divert the course of a rill 
 of water, which, falling over the entrance of the cave, would have prevented 
 his purposed vengeance. He then kindled at the entrance of the cavern 
 a huge fire, composed of tmf and fern, and maintained it with unrelent- 
 ing assiduity, until all %vithin were destroyed by suffocation. The date 
 pf this dreadful deed must have been recent, if one may judge from 
 the ft'esh appearance of those reUcs. I brought oft", in spite of the prejudice 
 of our sailors, a skull from among the nmnerous specimens of mortality 
 which the cavern aflbrded. Before re-embarking we visited another cave, 
 opening to the sea, but of a character entirely dift'erent, being a large open 
 ^ ault, as high as that of a cathedral, and running back a great way into 
 the rock at the same height. The lieight and width of the opening gives 
 ample light to the whole. Here, after 17-15, when the Catholic priests were 
 scarcely tolerated, the priest of Eigg used to perform the Roman Catholic 
 service, most of the islanders being of that persuasion. A huge ledge of 
 rocks, rising about half-way up one side of the vault, served for altar and 
 pulpit; and the appearance of a priest and Highland congregation in such 
 an extraordinary place of worsliip, might have engaged the pencil of 
 Salvator." 
 
 Note 26, page 534-. 
 
 Scenes sung hy him ivho sint/s no more. 
 
 The ballad entitled " Macphail of Colonsay, and the Jlermaid of Corrie- 
 vrekin" [see Border Minstrelsy, vol. iv. p. ^85], was composed by John 
 Leyden, from a tradition which he foimd while making a tour through the 
 Heljrides about 1801, soon before his fatal departure for India, where, after 
 ha\ing noade farther progress in Oriental hterature than any man of letters 
 who had embraced those studies, he died a martvT to his zeal for know- 
 ledge, in the island of Java, immediately after the landing of our forces, 
 near Batavia, in August 1811. 
 
 Note 27, page 534. 
 
 Vp Tarbat's western Inke they hore^ 
 And dragged their bark the isthmus o'er. 
 
 The peninsula of Cantyre is joined to South Rnapdale by a ver>- narrow 
 isthmus, formed by the western and eastern Loch of Tiirhat. These two 
 saltwater lakes, or bays, encroach so far upon the land, and the extremities 
 come so near to each other, that there is not above a mile of laud to di%ide 
 them. 
 
 Note 28, page 535. 
 
 The sun, ere yet he sunk behind 
 Ben-Ghoil, " the Mountain of the JFind," 
 Gave his firitn peaks a yreeting kind. 
 And hade Loch lianzrt smile. 
 
 Loch Ranza is a beautiful bay, on the northern extremity of Arran. open- 
 ing towards East Tarbat Loch. It is well described by Pennant :— '• The a^v 
 pro.ich was magnilicent; a fine bay in front, about a mile deep, ha\-ing a 
 ruined castle near the lower end, on a low far projecting neck of land, tiuit 
 forms another harbour, with a narrow passage : but %vithin has three 
 fathom of water, even at the lowest ebb. Beyond is a little plain watered 
 by a stream, and inhabited by the people of a "small ^^llai?e. The whole is 
 environed with a theatre of mountains! and in the backcround the serr.ated 
 crags of Grianan-Athol soar uljuve."—/tH,-iuiit'j Tuur to the ll'estern /.s/ra,
 
 736 
 
 NOTES TO THE LORD OP THE ISLES 
 
 pp. 191-2. Ben-6haoil, "the mountain of the winds," is generally known 
 by its English, and less poetical, name of Goatfield. 
 
 KoTE 29, page 537. 
 
 Each to Loch U^inza's margin sprin(j; 
 That blast v;as winded by the King ! 
 
 The passage in Barbour, describing the landing of Bruce, and his being 
 recognised by Douglas, and those of his followers who had preceded him, by 
 the sound of his horn, is in the original singularly simple and atfecting.— 
 The king an-ived in Arran with thirty-three small row-boats. He interro- 
 gated a female if there had arrived any warlike men of late in that country. 
 "Surely, sir," she replied, "I can teU you of many who lately came hither, 
 discomfited the English governor, and blockaded his castle of Brodick. 
 They maintain themselves in a wood at no great distance." The king, 
 truly conceiving that this must be Douglas and his followers, who had 
 lately set forth to tiy their fortmie in AiTan, desired the woman to conduct 
 him "to the wood. She obeyed : — 
 
 * The king: then blew his horn on high ; 
 And crert liis men that were him by, 
 Hold them still, and aU privy ; 
 And syne a^ain his home blew he. 
 James of Dowglas heard him blow. 
 And at the last alone pan know, 
 And said, * Soothly yon is the king : 
 I know long while since his blowing.* 
 The third time therewithall he blew, 
 And then Sir Robert Boid it knew : 
 And said, ' Yon is the king, but dread. 
 
 Go we forth till him, better speed. 
 Then went they till the king in liye. 
 And him inclined courteously. 
 And blithly welcomed them the king. 
 And was joyful of their meeting. 
 And kissed them ; and speared 1 syne 
 How they had fared in hunting ? 
 And they him told all. but lesing : 2 
 Syne laud they God of their meeting. 
 Syne with the king till his harbourj'e 
 M'ent both joyfu' and jolly." 
 Barbour's Bruce, Book v. pp. 115, 116 
 
 KoTE 30, page 539. 
 
 His brother blamed. 
 
 But shared the iveahiess, while ashamed. 
 With haughty laugh his head he tnm'd, 
 And dash'd away the tear he scorn'd. 
 
 The kind, and yet fiery character of Edward Bruce, is •well painted by 
 Barbour, in the account of his behaviour after the battle of Bannockburn. 
 Sir Walter Ross, one of the veiy few Scottish nobles who fell in that 
 battle, was so dearly beloved by Edward, that he wished the victorv 
 had been lost, so Ross had lived. 
 
 Note 31, page 542. 
 
 Thou heardst a wre*ched female plain 
 hi agony of trarail-pain, 
 And thou didst bid thy little hand 
 Upon the instant turn and stand. 
 And dare the worst the foe might do. 
 Rather than, like a knight untrue, 
 Leave to pursuers merciless 
 A uoman in her last distress. 
 
 This incident, which illustrates so happily the chivalrous generosity of 
 Bruce's character, is one of the many simple and natural traits recorded by 
 Barbour. It occurred during the expedition which Bruce made to Ireland, 
 to support the pretensions of his brother Edward to the throne of tha* 
 kingdom. 
 
 Note 32, page 546. 
 
 O'er chasms he pass' d, where fractures wide 
 Craved wary eye and ample stride. 
 The interior of the Island of Arran abounds -with beautifiil Highland 
 
 1 Without iving.
 
 NOTES TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 737 
 
 pr-enerv. The hills, bein^ very rocky and precipitous, afford some cata- 
 rifts of groat height, though of inconsiderable breadth. There is one p&n 
 over the river Machrai, renowned for the dilemma of a poor woman, who, 
 being tempted by the narrowness of the ravine to step across, succeeded in 
 making the first movement, but took fright when it became necessary to 
 move the other foot, and remained in a posture equally ludicrous and dan- 
 gerous, until some chance passenger assisted her to extricate herself. It 
 is said she remaiued there some hours, 
 
 Note 33, page 54«. 
 
 Old Brodick's gothic towers were setn ; 
 From Hastings, late their English lord, 
 Douglas had tcon them by the SKord, 
 
 Brodick or Brathwick Castle, in the Isle of Arran, is an ancient fortre??, 
 neai- an open roadstead called Brodick-Bay, and not far distant from a to- 
 lerable harbour, closed in by the Island of Lamlash. This important place 
 had been assailed a short time before Bruce's arrival in the island. James, 
 Lord Douglas, who accompanied Bruce to his retreat in Rachrine, seems. 
 In the spring of 1306, to have tired of his abode there, and set out accord- 
 ingly, in the phrase of the times, to see what adventure God would send 
 him. Sir Robert Boyd accompanied him ; and his knowledge of the loca- 
 lities of Arran appears to have directed his course thither. They landed 
 in the island privately, and appear to have laid an ambush for Sir John 
 Hastings, the English governor of Brod^\ick, and siuT^rised a considerable 
 supply of arms and provisions, and nearly took the castle itself. Indeed, 
 that they actually did so, has been generally averred by historians, al- 
 though it does not appear from the narrative of Barbour. . . . The castle 
 is now much modeniized, but has a digni&ed appearance, being surrounded 
 by flourishing plantations. 
 
 Note 34, page 547. 
 
 Oft, too, with unacciistom'd ears, 
 A language much unmeet he hears. 
 
 Barbour, with great simplicity, gives an anecdote, from which it wonid 
 geem that the me of profane swearing, aftenvards too general among the 
 Scottish nation, was, at this time, confined to militarj- men. As Douglas 
 after Bruce's retiun to Scotland, was roving about the moimtainous coun- 
 try of Tweeddale, near the water of Line, he chanced to hear some persons 
 in a farm-house say " the devik" Concluding from this hardy expression, 
 that the house contained warlike guests, he immediately assailed it, and 
 had the good fortinie to make prisoners Thomas Randolph, afterwards 
 the famous Earl of Slurray, and Alexander Stuart, Lord Bonkle. Both 
 were then in the English interest, and had come into that coimtry with tho 
 purpose of driving out Douglas. They afterwards ranked among Bruce's 
 most zealous adlierents. 
 
 Note 35, page 552. 
 
 Now asi you uhejice that ivondrous light. 
 Whose fairy glow beguiled tlieir sight t — 
 It ne'er teas knoicn. 
 
 The following are the words of an ingenious correspondent, to whom 1 
 am obliged for much information respecting Timibeny and its neighbour- 
 hood : — " The only tradition now remembered of the landing of Robert 
 the Bruce in Carrick, relates to the fire seen by him from the Isle of ArraiL 
 It is stUl generally reported, and religiously believed by many, that this 
 fire was really the work of supeniatiu'al power, unassisted by the hand of 
 any mortal being; and it is said, that, for several centuries, the flame rose 
 yearly on the same hour of the same night of the year, on which the 
 king first saw it from the turrets of Brodick Castle; and some go so far 
 as to say, that if the exact time were known, it would be still seen. 
 That this superstitious notion is verj- ancient, is evident from the place 
 Sa
 
 738 NOTE^ TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 
 
 where the fire is said to have appeared, beln^ called the Bogles' Brae, bo- 
 yond the remembrance of man. In support of this ciu-ious belief, it is 
 said that the practice of burning heath for the improvement of land wajs 
 then unkno^vn ; that a spimliie (Jaclc o'lanthoni) could not have been seen 
 across the breadth of the Fortli of Clyde between Ayrshire and Arran; 
 and that the courier of Bruce was his Idnsman, and never suspected of 
 treachery."— Letter from Mr Joseph Train, of Newton-Stewart 
 
 Note 86, page 559. 
 
 The TIruce hath won his father^s hall! 
 
 I have followed the flattering and pleasing tradition, that the Brace, 
 after his descent upon the coast of Ayi'shire, actually gained possession of 
 his matenial castle. But the tradition is not accurate. The fact is, that 
 he was only strong enough to alarm and drive in the outposts of the Eng- 
 lish garrison, then commanded, not by Clillbrd, as assumed in the text, 
 but by Percy. Keither was Clifford slain upon this occasion, though he 
 had several skiniiishes vnih Bruce. He fell afterwards in the battle of 
 Bannockbum. Bruce, after alanning the castle of Tumberry, and sur- 
 prising some part of the garrison, who were quartered ^^^thout the walla 
 of the fortress, retreated into the mountainous part of Carrick, and there 
 made himself so strong, that the English were obliged to evacuate Tum- 
 berry, and at length the Castle of Ayr. Many of his benefactions and 
 royal gifts attest his attachment to the hereditary followers of his house, 
 in this part of the country. 
 
 Note 37, page 561. 
 
 When Bnice's banner had victorionsfloio'd 
 O'er Loudoun's mountain, and in Vrij's vale. 
 
 The first important advantage gained by Bruce, after landing at Tiim- 
 beny, was over Ajiner de ValKince, Earl of Pembroke, the same by whom 
 he had been defeated near Methven. They met, as has been said, by ap- 
 pointment, at Loudonhill, in the west of Scotland. Pembroke sustained a 
 defeat ; and from that time Bruce was at the head of a considerable flying 
 army. Yet he was subsequently obliged to retreat mto Aberdeenshire, and 
 was there assailed by Comyn, Earl of Buchan, desirous to avenge the death 
 of his relative, the Red ComjTi, and supported by a body of EngUsh troops 
 imder PhiUp de Moubray. Bruce was ill at the time of a scrofidous dis- 
 order, but took horse to meet his enemies, although obliged to be supported 
 on either side. He was victorious, and it is said that the agitation of his 
 spirits restored his health. 
 
 Note 38, page 56L 
 
 When English blood oft deluged Douglas-dale. 
 
 Tlie ''grood Lord James of Douglas," divring these commotions often 
 tooR from the English his own castle of Douglas, but being imable to gai-- 
 rison it, contented himself with destroying the fortifications, and retiring 
 into the mountains. As a reward to his patriotism, it is said to have been 
 prophesied, that how often soever Douglas Castle should be destroyed. It 
 should always again rise more magnificent from its ruins. Upon one ol 
 these occasions he used fearful cruelty, causing all the store of provisions, 
 which the English had laid up in his castle, to be heaped together, bursting 
 the wine and beer casks among the wheat and floiu-, slaughtering the 
 cattle upon the same spot, and upon the top of the whole cutting the 
 tliroats of the English prisoners. This pleasantry of the "good Lord 
 James " is commemorated under the name of the Douglas' Larder. 
 
 Note 39, page 661. 
 
 And fiery Edward routed stout St John. 
 
 "John de St John, with 15,000 horsemen, had advanced to oppose the 
 inroad of the Scots. By a forced march he endeavoured \a surprise them. 
 
 I
 
 NOTES TO THE LORD OP THE ISLES. 739 
 
 but intelligence of his motions was timeously received. The courage of 
 Edward Bnice, approaching to temerity, frequently enabled him to achieve 
 what men of more judicious valour would never have attempted. He or- 
 dered the mfantry, and the meaner sort of his army, to intrench themselves 
 in strong narrow ground. He himself, with fifty horsemen well harnessed, 
 Issued forth under cover of a thick mist, suqirised the English on their 
 march, attacked and dispersed them." — halr!jmj[ite's /innals of Scotland, 
 quarto, Edinburgh, 1770, p. 25. 
 
 Note 40, page 561. 
 TJlien Randolph's Ko.r-cry swell'd the southern gale. 
 
 Thomas Randolph, Bruce's sister's son, a renowned Scottish chief, was 
 In the early part of his life not more remarkalile for consistency than Bruce 
 himself. He espoused his uncle's party when Bruce first assumed the 
 crown, and was made prisoner at the fatal battle of i\Iethven, in which his 
 relative's hopes appeared to be mined. Randolph accordingly not only sub- 
 mitted to the English, but took an ; ctive part against Bruce ; appe-n'cd in 
 arms against him ; and, in the skiiTiiish where he was so closely pursued 
 by the blood-hound, it is said his nephew took his standard with his own 
 hand. But Randolph was aftenvards made prisoner by Douglas in Tweed- 
 dale, and brought before King Robert Some harsh language was exchanged 
 between the uncle and nephew, and the latter was committed for a time 
 to close custody. Afterwards, however, they were reconciled, and Ran- 
 dolph was created Earl of iloray about 1312. After this period he eminently 
 distinguished himself, first by the surprise of Edinburgh Castle, and after- 
 wards by many similar enterprises, conducted with equal courage and 
 Btfiiity. 
 
 Note 41, page 562. 
 
 Stirling's fotcers, 
 
 Beleatiur'd hy King Sobert's potvers ; 
 And they took term of truce. 
 
 WTion a long train of success, actively improved by Robert Bruce, had 
 made him master of almost all Scotland, Stirling Castle continued to hold 
 out. The care of the blockade was committed by the King to his brother 
 Edward, who concluded a treaty with Sir PhUip Mowbray, the governor, 
 that he should siurender the fortress, if it were not succoured by the Iving 
 of England before St John the Baptist's day. The King severely blamed 
 his brother for the impolicy of a treaty, which g.ave time to the king of 
 England to advance to the rehef of the castle with all his assembled forces, 
 and obliged liimself either to meet them in battle with an inferior force, or 
 to retreat with dishonour. " Let all England come," answered the reckless 
 Edward ; " we would fight them were tliey more." The consequence was, 
 of course, that each kingdom mustered its strength for the expected battle; 
 and as the space agreed upon reached from Lent to Jlidsmnmer, full time 
 was allowed for that purpose. 
 
 Note 42, page 562. 
 
 Jnii Cambria hut of late subdued. 
 Sent forth her movntain-mullitude. 
 
 Edward the First, with the usual policy of a conqueror, employed the 
 Welsh, whom he had subdued, to assist him in his Scottish wars, for which 
 their habits, as momitaineers, particularly fitted them. But this policy 
 WR.? not without its risks. Previous to the battle of Falkirk, the "VVelsU 
 quarrelled with the English men-at-arms, and after bloodshed on both 
 parts, separated themselves from his army, and the feud between them, at 
 80 dangerous and critical a Jimcture, was reconciled with difhculty. Ed- 
 ward IL followed his father's example in this paiticular, and with no 
 better success. Tliey could not be brought to exert themselves in the 
 cause of their conquerors. But they had an iudilTereivt reward for their 
 forbearance, ^^■ithout arms, and clad only in scanty dresses of linen 
 cloth, they appeared naked in the eyes even of the Scottish peasantry;
 
 740 NOTES TO THE LORD OF THE ISLEa. 
 
 and after the rout of Bannockbum, were massacred by them In great 
 numbers, as they Ktired in confusion towards their own country. TLey 
 were undei- command of Sir Maurice de Berkeley. 
 
 KoTE 43, page 562. 
 
 And Connoght potirtdfrom waste and wood 
 Her hundred tribes, whose sceplre rude 
 Dark Elk O'Connor sway'd. 
 
 There is in the Fccdera an invitation to Eth O'Connor, chief of the Irish 
 of Connaught, setting forth tliat the king was about to move against his 
 Scottish rebels, and therefore requesting the attendance of all the force he 
 could muster, either commanded by himself in person, or by some noble • 
 man of his race. These auxiliaries were to be commanded by Richard de 
 Bm-gh, Earl of Ulster. 
 
 Note 44, page 566. 
 The Monarch rode along the van. 
 
 The English vanguard, commanded by the Earls of Gloucester and 
 Hereford, came in siglit of the Scottish army upon the evenmg of the 23d 
 of June. Bruce was then riding upon a little palfrey, in front of his fore- 
 most line, putting his^ host in order. It was then that the personal encoun- 
 ter took place betwixt him and Sir Henry de Bohun, a gallant English 
 knight, the issue of which had a great effect upon the spirits of both amiie» 
 
 Note 45, page 570. 
 
 Sesponsive from the Scottish host, 
 Pipe-clang and bugle-sound were toss'd. 
 
 There is an old tradition, that the well known Scottish tune of "Hey, 
 tutti, taitti," was Bruce's march at ths battle of Bamiockburn. The late 
 Mr Eitson, no granter of propositions, doubts whether the Scots had any 
 martial music, quotes Froissart's account of each soldier in the host bear- 
 ing a Uttle horn, on which, at the onset, they would make such a horrible 
 noise, as if all the devils of hell liad been among them. He observes, that 
 these horns are tlie only music mentioned by Barbour, and concludes, 
 that it must remain a moot point whether Bruce's army were cheered by 
 the sound even of a solitaiy bagpipe. — Historical Essag prefixed to liitsoii's 
 Scottish Songs. It may be obser\-ed in passing, that the Scottish of 
 tills period certainly observed some musical cadence, even in -wuidhig 
 their horns, since Bruce was at once recognised by his followers fi-om his 
 mode of blowing. See Note 29, on canto iv. But the tradition, true or 
 false, has been the means of securmg to Scotland one of the finest lyrics in 
 the language, the celebi'ated war-song of Burns, — "Scots, wha hae wi' 
 Wallace bled." 
 
 Note 46, page 571. 
 
 See where yon bar/foot Abbot stands. 
 
 And blesses them with lifted hands. 
 
 " Mam-ice, abbot of Inchaffray, placing himself on an eminence, cele- 
 brated mass in sight of the Scottish army. He then passed along the front, 
 bai'efooted, and bearing a crucifix in his hands, and exhorting the Scots, 
 in few and forcible words, to combat for their rights and their liberty. 
 The Scots kneeled down. 'They yield,' cried Edward; 'see, they Im- 
 plore mercy.' 'They do,' answered Ingelram de Umfraville, 'but not 
 ours. On that field they will be ■victorious, or die.' " — Annals of Scotland, 
 voL ii. p. 47. 
 
 Note 47, page 572. 
 Forth, Marshal, on the peasant foe I 
 We'll tame the terrors of their boto, 
 And cut the bow-string loose I 
 The English archers commenced the attack with their usual bravery 
 and dexterity. But agamst a force, whose importance he had learned by 
 tatal experience, Bruce was provided. A small but select body of cavalry
 
 NOTES TO THE LORD OP THE ISLES. 741 
 
 were detached from the right, under command of Sir Robert Keith. They 
 rounded, as I conceive, the marsh called Milton-bog, anil, keeping the firm 
 (jround, charged the left flank and rear of the Enghsh archers. As the 
 bowmen had no spears nor long weapons fit to defend themselves against 
 horse, they were instantly thrown into disorder, and spread through the 
 whole English army a confusion from which they never fairly recovered. 
 
 Although the success of this manoeuvTC was e\'ident, it is verj' remark- 
 able that the Scottish generals do not appear to have profited by the lesson. 
 Almost every subsequent battle which they lost agamst England, was de- 
 cided by the archers, to whom the close and compact array of the Scottish 
 phalanx afforded an exposed and unresisting mark. The bloody battle of 
 Habdoun-hill, fought scarce twenty yeai's afterwards, was so completely 
 gained by the archers, that the EngUsh are said to have lost only one 
 knight, one esquire, and a few foot soldiers. At the battle of Neville's 
 Cross, in 1'34C, where Da%id IL was defeated and made prisoner, John de 
 Graham, obsei-ving the loss which the Scots sustained from the EngUsh 
 bowmen, offered to charge and disperse them, if a hundred men-at-anns 
 were put under his command. "But, to confess the truth," says Fordun, 
 " he could not procure a single horseman fur the service proposed." Of such 
 httle use is experience in war, where its results are opposed by habit or 
 prejudice. 
 
 KoTE 48, page 573. 
 
 Bach hraggart churl could boast iefore. 
 Twelve Scottish lives his baldric bore! 
 
 Roger Ascham quotes a similar Scottish proverb, " whereby they give 
 the whole praise of shooting honestly to Englishmen, saying thus, ' that 
 every English archer beareth under his girdle twenty-four Scottes.' Indeed 
 Toxophilus says before, and truly of the Scottish nation, ' The Scottes 
 surely be good men of warre hi thejTe o^^•ne feates as can be ; but as for 
 shootinge, they can neither use it to any profile, nor yet challenge it for 
 any praise.' " — Works of Ascham, edited by Bennet, 4to, p. 110. 
 
 It is said, I trust incorrectly, by an ancient English historian, that the 
 "good Lord James of Douglas" dreaded the superiority of the English 
 archers so much, that when he made any of them prisoner, he gave him 
 the option of losing the forefinger of his right hand, or his right eye, either 
 species of mutilation renderhig him incapable to use the bow. I have 
 mislaid the reference to this singular passage. 
 
 Note 49, page 573. 
 
 Down ! down I in headlonfj overthrow, 
 Borseman and horse, the foremost go. 
 
 It is generally alleged by historians, that the English men-at-arms fell 
 into the hidden snare which Bruce had prepared for them. Barbour does 
 not mention the circumstance. According to his account, Randolph, seeing 
 the slaughter made by the cavalry on the right wing among the archers, 
 advanced courageously against the main body of the EngUsh, and entered 
 into close combat with them. Douglas and Stuart, who commanded the 
 Scottish centre, led their division also to the charge, and the battle becom- 
 ing general along the whole line, was obstinately maintauied on both sides 
 for a long space of time ; the Scottish archers doing great execution among 
 the English men-at-arms, after the bo^nnen of England were dispersed. 
 
 Note 50, page 573. 
 
 And steeds that shriek in agony. 
 
 I have been told that this line requires an explanatory note ; and, in- 
 deed, those who witness the silent patience with which horses submit to 
 the most cruel usage, may be pennittcd to doubt, that, m moments of 
 sudden and intolerable anguish, they utter a most melancholy cry. Lord 
 Erskine, in a speech made in the House of Lords, ujion a bill for enforcing 
 himiimity towards animals, noticed this remarkable fact in language
 
 742 NOTES TO THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 
 
 which I will not mutUate by attempting to repeat it It was my fortune, 
 upon one occasion, to hear a horse, in a moment of agony, utter a thrill- 
 ing scream, which I still consider the most melancholy sound 1 eve! 
 heard. 
 
 Note 51, page 575. 
 
 Lord of the Isles, my trust in thee 
 
 Is firm as .-tUsa Rock; 
 Bush on with Hii)hland sword and targe, 
 I, with my Carrick spearmen charge. 
 
 When the engagement between the main bodies had lasted some time, 
 Bruce made a decisive movement, by bringing up the Scottish reserve. It 
 Is traditionaOy said, that at this crisis, he addressed the Lord of the Isles 
 iu a phrase used as a motto by some of his descendants, " My tnist is 
 constant in tliee." Barl)our intimates, that the reserve "assembled on 
 one field," that is, on the same line with the Scottish forces ah'eady en- 
 gaged; which leads Lord Hailes to conjecture that the Scottish ranks 
 must have been much thinned by slaughter, since, m that cu-cumscribed 
 ground, there was room for the reserve to fall into the line. But the ad- 
 vance of tlie Scottish cavahy must have contributed a good deal to form 
 the vacancy occupied by the reserve. 
 
 Note 63, page 576. 
 
 To arms they flew, — axe, cluh, or spear, — 
 And mimic ensiyns hiyh they rear. 
 
 The followers of the Scottish camp observed from the Gillies' Hill in 
 the rear, tlie impression produced upon the English army by the brhighig 
 up of the Scottish resen'e, and, prompted by the enthusiasm of the mo- 
 ment, or the desire of plunder, assumed, in a tumultuary manner, such 
 anns as they found nearest, fastened sheets to tent-poles and lances, and 
 showed themselves hke a new anny advancing to battle. 
 
 The unexpected apparition, of what seemed a new army, completed the 
 confusion which already prevailed among the English, wlio fled in every 
 direction, and were pm-sued with immense slaughter.
 
 NOTES 
 
 TO 
 
 GLENFINLAS. 
 
 Note 1, page 635. 
 
 The seer's prophetic sjiirit found. 
 
 I CAN only describe the second sisrht, by adopting Dr Johnson's defini- 
 t'on, vho calls it "An impression, either by the mind upon the eye, or by 
 ttie eye upon the mind, by which tliijigs distant and future arc perceived 
 and seen as if they ^vere present." To which I would only add, that the 
 spectral appearances, thus presented, usually presage misfortune ; that the 
 faculty is painful to those who suppose they possess it ; and that they 
 usually acquire it while themsleves under the pressme of melancholy. 
 
 Note 2, page 636. 
 
 Will good St Orati's ritleprevcnl? 
 
 St Oran was a friend and follower of St Columba, and was buried at 
 IcolmkUL His pretensions to be a saint were rather dubious. According 
 to the legend, he consented to be bmied alive, m order to propitiate certain 
 demons of the soil, who obstnicttd the attempts of Columba to build a 
 chapel. Columba caused the body of his friend to be dug up, after three 
 days had elapsed; when Oran, to the horror and scandal of the assistants, 
 declared, tliat there was neither a God, a judgment, nor a future state ! 
 Vie had no time to make further discoveries, for Columba caused the earth 
 ouce more to be shovelled over him with the utmost despatch. The cha- 
 pel, however, and the cemetery, was called Rclig Ournn ; and, in memoi-y 
 of his rigid celibacy, no female was permitted to pay her devotions, or be 
 buried in that place. This is the rule alluded to m the poem. 
 
 Note 3, page 639. 
 
 J»d thrice St Fillan s powerful prayer. 
 
 St Flllan has given his name to many chapels, holy fountains, &c. in 
 Scotland. He was, according to Camerarius, an Abbot of Pittenweem, in 
 Fife; from which situation lie retired, and died a hermit in the wilds of 
 Glenurchy, a.d. 649. 'While engaged in transcribing the Scriptures, his 
 left hand was observxd to send fortli sucli a splendour, as to aflbrd light to 
 that with which he wrote ; a miracle v Inch saved many candles to tho 
 convent, as St Fillan used to spend wliole nights in that exercise. The 9th 
 of January was dedicated to this saint, who gave his name to KilfiUan, Ib 
 llenfrew, and St Phillans, or Forgend, in Fife. Lesley, lib. vii. tells us, 
 that Robert the Bruce was possessed of Fillan's miraculous and luminous 
 arm, which he enclosed in a silver shrine, and had it carried at the head of 
 his army. Previous to the battle of Bannockbum, the king's chaplain, a 
 man of "little faith, abstracted the relic, and deposited it in a place of secu- 
 rity, lest it should fall into the hands of the English. But, lo! while 
 Hobert was addressing his prayers to the empty casket, it was observed to 
 open and shut suddenly; and, on inspection, the saint was found to have 
 himself deposited liis arm in the shrine as an assurance of victory. Such 
 Is the tale of Lesley. But though Bruce hltle needed that the ami of St 
 Fillan should assist his owu, he dedicated to hiui, lu gratitude, a prioiy at 
 KilUn, upon Loch Tay.
 
 NOTES 
 
 TO 
 
 THE EYE OF ST JOHN. 
 
 Note 1, page 641. 
 
 BATTLE OF AJfCEAM MOOE. 
 
 LoBl) Evy.Hs, and Sir Brian Latoun, during the year 1544, committed 
 the most dreadful ravages upon the Scottish frontiers, compcllhig most of 
 the inhabitants, and especially the men of Liddesdale, to take assurance 
 imder the King of England. Upon the 17th November, in that year, the 
 sum total of their depredations stood thus in the bloody ledger of Lord 
 Evers : — 
 
 Towns, towers, bamekynes, parj-she churches, bastill 
 houses, burned and destroyed, . . . 192 
 
 Scots slain, 403 
 
 Prisoners taken, 816 
 
 Kolt (cattle), 10,386 
 
 Shepe, 12,402 
 
 Kags and geldings, 1298 
 
 Gayt, 200 
 
 Bolls of com, 850 
 
 Insight gear, &c. (furniture), an incalculable quantity. 
 
 Murdin's State Papers, voL i. p. 51. 
 For these services Sir Ralph Evers was made a Lord of Parliament 
 
 Note 2, page 645. 
 That nun who ne'er beholds the day. 
 
 The circumstance of the nun, "who never saw the day," is not en- 
 tirely imaginaiy. About 50 years ago, an unfortunate female wanderer 
 took up her residence in a dark vault, among the ruins of Drjburgh 
 Abbey, which, during the day, she never quitted. WTien night fell, she 
 issued from this miserable habitation, and went to the house of ilr Hali- 
 burton of Newmains, the Editor's gi-eat-grandfather, or to that of Jlr 
 Erskine of Sheilfield, two gentlemen of the neighbourhood. From their 
 charity she obtained such necessaries as she could be prevailed upon to ac- 
 cept At twelve each night she liglited her candle, and returned to her 
 vault, assmnng her friendly neighbours, that, during her absence, her 
 habitation was arranged by a spirit, to whom she gave the uncouth name 
 of FatUfs: describing him as a little man, wearing hea^•y iron shoes, with 
 ■which he trampled the clay floor of the vau'.t, to dispel the damps. This 
 circumstance caused her to be regarded, by the weU-informcd, with com- 
 passion, as deranged in her understanding; and by the vulgar, with some 
 degree of teiTor. The cause of her adopting this extraordinary mode of 
 life she would never explain. It was, however, believed to have been oc- 
 casioned by a vow, that during the absence of a m.an to whom she was 
 attached, she would never look ujion the sun. Her lover never returned. 
 He feU during the civil war of 1745-6, and she never more would behold 
 tlie light of day. 
 
 The vault, or rather dungeon, in which this unfortunate woman lived 
 and died, passes still by the name of the supernatural being, with which 
 its gloom was tenanted by her disturbed imagination, and few of the neigh- 
 bouring peasants dare enter it by night — 1803.
 
 NOTES 
 
 TO 
 
 CADYOW CASTLE. 
 
 KoTE 1, page 648, 
 
 Stern Claud replied. 
 
 Lord Claud Hamflton, second son of the Duke of Chatelherault, aud 
 commendator of the Abbey of Paisley, acted a distinguished part during 
 the troubles of Queen JIary's reign, and remained unalterably attached to 
 the cause of that unfortunate princess. He led the van of her anny at the 
 fatal battle of Langside, and was one of the commanders at the Raid of 
 Stirling, which had so nearly given complete success to the Queen's faction. 
 He was ancestor of the present Marquis of Abercorn. 
 
 Note 2, page 618. 
 
 Woodhouselee. 
 
 This barony, stretching along the banks of the Esk, near Auchendinny, 
 belonged to Bothwellhaugh, in right of his wife. The ruuis of the mansion, 
 from whence she was expelled in the bnital manner which occasioned her 
 death, are still to be seen in a hollow glen beside the river. PopiUar re- 
 port tenants them vrith the restless ghost of the Lady Bothwellliaugh ; 
 whom, however, it confounds with Iiady Anne Bothwell, whose Lament is 
 so popular. This spectre is so tenacious of her rights, that, a part of the 
 stones of the ancient edifice having been employed in building or repairing 
 the present Woodhouselee, she has deemed it a part of her privilege to 
 haimt that house also; and, even of very late years, has excited consider- 
 able distiu-bauce and terror among tlie domestics. This is a more remark- 
 able vindication of the riyhts of(jhosts, as tlie present Woodhouselee, which 
 gives his title to the Honourable Alexander Fraser Tytler, a Senator of the 
 College of Justice, is situated on the slope of tlie Pentland hills, distant at 
 least four miles from her proper abode. She always appears in wliite, and 
 with her cliild in her arms. 
 
 Note 3, page 649. 
 
 Drives to the leap his jaded steed. 
 
 Birrell informs ns, that Bothwellhaugh, being closely pursued, " after 
 that spur and wand had tailed him, he drew forth his dagger, and strocke 
 his horse behind, whilk caused the horse to leap a verj- brode stanke [i. e. 
 ditch,] by whilk means he escapit, and gat away from all the rest of the 
 hotscs."—Birrel'a Diary, p. 18. 
 
 Nott: 4, page 650. 
 
 With hackbut bent, 
 Eaclchnt hent—Gim cock'd. The carbine, with which the Regent was 
 shot, is preserved at llamihon Palace. It is a brass piece, of a middhng 
 length, verj- small in tlie bore, and, what is rather cxtraordmarj-, appears 
 to have been rifled or imleiued in the barrel. It had a match-lock, for 
 ■which a modern fire-lock has been injudiciously substituted.
 
 748- NOTES TO CADTOW CASTLU. 
 
 Note 5, page 650. 
 
 The toild Macfarlane's plaided clan. 
 
 This clan of Lennox Highlanders were attached to the Regent 5Inrray 
 HoUinshed, speaking of the battle gf Langside, says — "In this batayle the 
 valiancie of an Heiland gentleman, named Macfaiiane, stood the Regent's 
 part in great steede ; for, in the hottest bruiite of the tighte, he came up 
 vrith two hundred of his friendes and coimtrjTnen, and so manfully gave m 
 upon the flankes of the Queen's people, that he was a great cause of the 
 disordering of them. This Macfarlane had been lately before, as I have 
 lieard, condemned to die, for some outrage by him committed, and obtajna- 
 ing pardon through suyte of the Countess of JIurray, he recompensed that 
 clemeucie by this piece of ser\ice now at this batayle." 
 
 KoTE 6, page 650. 
 
 Glencairn and stout Parfchead were nigh. 
 
 The Earl of Glencairn was a steady adherent of the Regent. George 
 Douglas of Parkhead was a natural brother of the Earl of Morton, whose 
 horse was killed by the same ball by which Blurray fell. 
 
 Note 7, page 650. 
 
 ' haffqard Lindesay's iron eye. 
 
 That saw fair Mary weep in vain. 
 
 Lord Lindsay, of the Byres, was the most ferocious and brutal of tlie 
 Regenfs faction, and, as such, was employed to extort Mary's signature 
 to the deed of resignation presented to her in Loclileven castle. He dis- 
 charged his commission with the most savage rigour ; and it is even said, 
 that when the weeping captive, in the act of signhig, averted her eyes 
 from the fatal deed, he pinched her arm with the grasp of his iron glove. 
 
 Note 8, page 650. 
 
 So close the minions crowded nigh. 
 
 Not only had the Regent notice of the intended attempt upon his life, 
 but even of the very house from which it was tlireatened. "With that in- 
 fatuation at which men wonder, after such events have happened, he 
 deemed it would be a sufficient precaution to ride briskly past the danger- 
 ous spot But even this was prevented by the crowd : so that Bothwell- 
 hangli had time to take a deliberate aim. — Spotiswood, p. 233. Bixhanan.
 
 NOTES 
 
 TO 
 
 THE GEAT BEOTHEPt. 
 
 Notes 1 to 7, pnge 634. 
 
 SCENERY OK THE ESK. 
 
 1 The barony of Pennycuik, the property of Sir Geor?re Oerk, Bart, is 
 held by a singular tenure ; tlie proprietor being bound tj sit upon a large 
 rocky frapnent called the Buclistane, and wind three blasts of a horn, 
 when the King shall come to hunt on the Borough Jlulr, near Edinburgh, 
 Hence the family have adopted as their crest a demi forester proper, wud- 
 ing a horn, with the motto, Free for a Blast. The beautiful mansion-house 
 of Pennycuik is much admired, both on account of the architecture and 
 surrounding scenery. 
 
 2 Auchendinny, situated upon the Eske, below Pennycuik, the present 
 residence of the ingenious H. Mackenzie, Esq., autlior of the Man of 
 Feeling, ^-c. — Edition 1&03. 
 
 3 " Haunted Woodliouselee." — For the traditions connected with this 
 ruinous mansion, see Ballad of Cadjiow Castle, Note, p. 7-15. 
 
 4 Melville Castle, the seat of the Right Honourable Lord Melville, to 
 whom it gives the title of Viscount, is delightfully situated upon the Eske, 
 near Lasswade. 
 
 5 Tlie ruins of Roslin Castle, the baronial residence of the ancient family 
 of St Clair. The Gothic chapel, which is still in beautiful preser\ation, 
 with the romantic and woody dell in which they are situated, belong to 
 the Right Honourable the Earl of Rosslyn, the representative of the former 
 Lords of Roslin. 
 
 6 The village and castle of Dalkeith belonged of old to the famous Earl 
 of Morton, but is now the residence of the noble family of Buccleuch. The 
 park extends along the Eske, wliich is there joined by its sister stream of 
 the same name. 
 
 7 Hawthomden, the residence of the poet Drummond. A house of 
 more modem date is enclosed, as it were, by the ruins of the ancient castle, 
 and overhangs a tremendous precipice upon the banks of the Eske, per- 
 forated by winding caves, which in former times were a refuge to the oj)- 
 pressed patriots of Scotland. Here Drmnmond received Ben Jonson, who 
 journeyed from London on foot in order to ■^•isit him. Tlie beauty of this 
 striking scene has been much injured of late ye.vs by the indiseruninate 
 use of the axe. The traveller now looks in vain for the leafy bower, 
 
 ** Where Jonson sat in Drummond'a social shade." 
 
 Upon the whole, tracing the Eske from its source till it joins the sea at 
 Musselburgh, no stream in Scotland can boast such a varied succession of 
 the most interesting objects, as well as of the most romantic and beautiful 
 
 scenery. 1803 The beautiful sceiierj- of Hawthomden has, 
 
 frince the above note was written, recovered all its proper ornament of 
 vrood. 183L
 
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