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While, with set teeth and clenched hand,
XII. Then Roderick, with impatient look, From Brian's hand the symbol took : “ Speed, Malise, speed !” he said, and gave The crosslet to his henchman brave. “ The muster-place be Lanric meadInstant the time-speed, Malise, speed !” Like heath bird, when the hawks pursue, A barge across Loch-Katrine flew : High stood the henchman on the prow; So rapidly the bargemen row, The bubbles, where they launch'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, When lightly bounded to the land The messenger of blood and brand.
But danger, death, and warrior deed,
XIII. 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 hill thy breast, Burst down like torrent from its crest; With short and springing footstep pass The trembling bog and false morass; Across the brook like roebuck bound, And thread the brake like questing hound; The crag is high, the scaur 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 fleet career! The wounded hind thou track'st not now Pursuest not maid through greenwood bough, Nor pliest thou now thy fiying pace, With rivals in the mountain race;
He is lost to the forest,
When our need was the sorest. The font, reappearing,
From the raindrops shall borrow, But to us comes no cheering,
To Duncan no morrow !
* Funeral song.
The hand of the reaper
Takes the ears that are hoary, But the voice of the weeper
Wails manhood in glory ; The autumn winds rushing
Waft the leaves that are searest, But our flower was in flushing,
When blighting was nearest. Fleet foot on the correi,*
Sage counsel in cumber, Red hand in the foray,
How sound is thy slumber! Like the dew on the mountain,
Like the foam on the river, Like the bubble on the fountain,
Thou art gone, and for ever!
Yet trust I well, his duty done,
arms, and guard that orphan's head!
XIX. Benledi saw the cross of fire, It glanced like lightning up Strath-Ire. O'er dale and hill the summons flew, Nor rest nor pause young Angus knew; The tear that gather'd in his eye, He left the mountain breeze to dry; Until, where Teith's young waters roll, Betwixt him and a wooded knoll, 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 dizzily, Though reeld his sympathetic eye, He dash'd amid the torrent's roar; His right hand high 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 bigh, With hoarser swell the stream raced by; And had he fallen-for ever there, Farewell Duncraggan's orphan beir! But still, as if in parting life, Firmer he grasp'd the cross of strife, Until th' opposing bank he gain'd, And up the chapel pathway strain'd.
XX. A blithesome rout, that morning tide, Had sought the chapel of Saint Bride. Her troth Tombea's Mary gave To Norman, heir of Armandave, And, issuing from the Gothic arch, The bridal now resumed their march. In rude, but glad procession, came Bonnetted 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 their shrilly 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 snowy band; The gallant bridegroom, by her side, Beheld his prize with victor's pride,
* Or corri-The hollow side of the hill, where game usually lies.
+ Faithful-The name of a dog.
And the glad mother in her ear
XXI. Who meets them at the churchyard gate ?-The messenger of fear and fate! Haste in his hurried accent lies, And grief is swimming in his eyes. All dripping from the recent food, Panting and travel-soil'd he stood, The fatal sign of fire and sword Held forth, and spoke th' appointed word; “ The muster place is Lanric mead; Speed forth the signal! Norman, speed!"And must he change so soon the hand Just link'd to bis 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 ? O fatal doom -it must! it must! Clan-Alpine's cause, her chieftain's trust, Her summons dread, brooks no delay; Stretch to the race-away! away!
I may not, dare not, fancy now
And all it promised me, Mary!
His foot like arrow free, Mary!
Shall be a thought on thee, Mary!
XXII. Yet slow he laid his plaid aside, And, lingering, eyed his lovely bride, Until he saw the starting tear Speak wo 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 heath, Where Lubnaig's lake supplies the Teith. What in the racer's bosom stirr'd ? The sicken'd pang of hope deferr'd, And memory, with a torturing train Of all his morning visions vain. Mingle) 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, from well-fought field returning, With war's red honours on his crest, To clasp his Mary to his breast. Stung by his thoughts, o'er bank and brae, Like fire from fint he glanced away, While high resolve, and feeling strong, Burst into voluntary song.
The heath this night must be my bed, The bracken* curtain for my head, My lullaby the warder's tread,
Far, far from love and thee, Mary! To-morrow eve, more stilly laid, My couch may be my bloody plaid, My vesper song, thy wail, sweet maid !
It will not waken me, Mary!
XXV. That summer morn had Roderick Dhu Survey'd the skirts of Ben-venue, And sent his scouts o'er hill and beath, To view the frontiers of Menteith. All backward came with news of truce ; Still lay each martial Græme and Bruce, In Rednock courts no horsemen wait, No banner waved on Cardross gate, On Duchray's towers no beacon shone, Nor scared the herons from Loch-Con; All seem'd at peace.-Now, wot ye why The chieftain, with such anxious eye, Ere to the muster he repair, This western frontier scann'd with care !
It was a fair and gallant sight,
In Ben-venue's most darksome cleft
XXVII. Now eve with western shadows long, Floated on Katrine bright and strong, When Roderick, with a chosen few, Repass'd the heights of Ben-venue. Above the goblin-cave they go, Through the wild pass of Beal-nam-bo; 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.
XXVIII. Their chief, with step reluctant, still Was lingering on the craggy hill, Hard by where turn'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 proveBy firm resolve to conquer love! Eve finds the chief, like restless ghost, Still hovering near his treasure lost; For though his haughty heart deny A parting meeting to his eye, Still 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! what mingles in the strain? It is the harp of Allan-bane, That wakes its measure slow and high, Attuned to sacred minstrelsy. What melting voice attends the strings ! 'Tis Ellen, or an angel, sings.
HYMN TO THE VIRGIN.
Listen to a maiden's prayer;
Thou canst save amid despair.
Though banish’l, outcast, and reviledMaiden ! hear a maiden's prayer; Mother, hear a suppliant child!
Ave Maria! Ave Maria! undefiled!
The flinty couch we now must share Shall seem with down of eider piled,
If thy protection hover there. The murky cavern's heavy air
Shall breathe of balm if thou hast smiled; Then, maiden, hear a maiden's prayer,
Mother, list a suppliant child!
Ave Maria! Stainless styled !
Foul demons of the earth and air, From this their wonted haunt exiled,
Shall flee before thy presence fair. We bow us to thy lot of care,
Beneath thy guidance reconciled ;
* The Urisk, or highland satyr.
All while he stripp'd the wild-rose spray,
Hear for a maid a maiden's prayer,
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 Stirling 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 moor, That such dear pledge may rest secure ?"
IV. “ 'Tis well advised—the chieftain's plan Bespeaks the father of his clan. But wherefore sleeps Sir Roderick Dhu Apart from all his followers true ?” “ It is because last evening tide Brian an augury hath tried, Of that dread kind which must not be Unless in dread extremity. The taghairm call’d; by which, afar, Our sires foresaw th' events of war. Duncraggan's milk-white bull they slew.”
1. « 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. O 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, heir of Armandave, What time the sun arose on Vennachar's broad wave.
“ Ah! well the gallant brute I knew !