CANTO SECOND THE ISLAND

At morn the blackcock trims his jetty wing,note 'Tis morning prompts the linnet's blithest lay, All Nature's children feel the matin spring Of life reviving, with reviving day; 5 And while yon little bark glides down the bay, Wafting the stranger on his way again, Morn's genial influence roused a minstrel gray,note And sweetly o'er the lake was heard thy strain, Mixed with the sounding harp, O white-haired Allan-bane!

10 "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 in the lake away, 15 Than men from memory erase The benefits of former days; Then, stranger, go! good speed the while, Nor think again of the lonely isle. "High place to thee in royal court, 20 High place in battle line, Good hawk and hound for silvan sport, Where beauty sees the brave resort; The honored meed be thine! True be thy sword, thy friend sincere, 25 Thy lady constant, kind and dear, And lost in love, and friendship's smile Be memory of the lonely isle.

"But if beneath yon southern sky A plaided stranger roam 30 Whose 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; 35 Remember then thy hap 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, 40 Woe, want, and exile thou sustain Beneath the fickle gale; Waste not a sigh on fortune changed, On thankless courts, or friends estranged, But come where kindred worth shall smile, 45 To greet thee in the lonely isle."

As died the sounds upon the tide, The shallop reached the mainland side, And ere his onward way he took, The stranger cast a lingering look, 50 Where easily his eye might reach The Harper on the islet beach, Reclined against a blighted tree, As wasted, gray, and worn as he. To minstrel meditation given, 55 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, Seemed watching the awakening fire; 60 So still he sat, 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, 65 In the last sound his harp had sped.

Upon a rock with lichens wild, Beside him Ellen sat and smiled— Smiled she to see the stately drake Lead forth his fleet upon the lake,note 70 While her vexed spaniel, from the beach Bayed at the prize beyond his reach? Yet tell me, then, the maid who knows, Why deepened on her cheek the rose? Forgive, forgive, Fidelity! 75 Perchance the maiden smiled to see Yon parting lingerer wave adieu, And stop and turn to wave anew; And, lovely ladies, ere your ire Condemn the heroine of my lyre, 80 Show me the fair would scorn to spy, And prize such conquest of her eye!

While yet he loitered on the spot, It seemed as Ellen marked him not; But when he turned him to the glade, 85 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, 90 So highly did his bosom swell, As at that simple mute farewell. Now with a trusty mountain-guide, And his dark stag-hounds by his side, He parts—the maid, unconscious still, 95 Watched 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!" 'Twas thus upbraiding conscience said— 100 "Not so had Malcolm idly hung On the smooth phrase of southern tongue; Not so had Malcolm strained his eye Another step than thine to spy. Wake, Allan-bane," aloud she cried, 105 To the old Minstrel by her side— "Arouse thee from thy moody dream! I'll give thy harp heroic theme, And warm thee with a noble name; Pour forth the glory of the Graeme!" 110 Scarce from her lip the word had rushed, When deep the conscious maiden blushed; For of his clan, in hall and bower, Young Malcolm Graeme was held the flower.

The Minstrel waked his harp—three times 115 Arose the well-known martial chimes, And thrice their high heroic pride In melancholy murmurs died. "Vainly thou bid'st, O noble maid," Clasping his withered hands, he said, 120 "Vainly thou bid'st me wake the strain, Though all unwont to bid in vain. Alas! than mine a mightier hand Has tuned my harp, my strings has spanned! I touch the chords of joy, but low 125 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! 130 If, as my tuneful fathers said, This harp, which erst Saint Modan swayed,note Can thus its master's fate foretell, Then welcome be the minstrel's knell!

"But ah! dear lady, thus it sighed 135 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, 140 And, disobedient to my call, Wailed loud through Bothwell's bannered hall,note Ere Douglases to ruin driven, Were exiled from their native heaven. Oh! if yet worse mishap and woe, 145 My master's house must undergo, Or aught but weal to Ellen fair, Brood in these accents of despair, No future bard, sad Harp! shall fling Triumph or rapture from thy string; 150 One short, one final strain shall flow, Fraught with unutterable woe, Then shivered shall thy fragments lie, Thy master cast him down and die!"

Soothing she answered him—"Assuage, 155 Mine honored 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,note 160 At times, unbidden notes should rise, Confusedly bound in memory's ties, Entangling, as they rush along, The war-march with the funeral song? Small ground is now for boding fear; 165 Obscure, but safe, we rest us here. My sire, in native virtue great, Resigning lordship, lands, and state, Not then to fortune more resigned, Than yonder oak might give the wind; 170 The graceful foliage storms may reave, The noble stem they cannot grieve. For me,"—she stooped, and, looking round, Plucked a blue hare-bell from the ground— "For me, whose memory scarce conveys 175 An image of more splendid days, This little flower, that loves the lea, May well my simple emblem be; It drinks heaven's dew as blithe as rose That in the king's own garden grows; 180 And when I place it in my hair, Allan, a bard is bound to swear He ne'er saw coronet so fair." Then playfully the chaplet wild She wreathed in her dark locks, and smiled.

185 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 their woe, He gazed, till fond regret and pride 190 Thrilled to a tear, then thus replied: "Loveliest and best! thou little know'st The rank, the honors, thou hast lost! O might I live to see thee grace, In Scotland's court, thy birth-right place, 195 To see my favorite's step advance, The lightest in the courtly dance, The cause of every gallant's sigh, And leading star of every eye, And theme of every minstrel's art, 200 The Lady of the Bleeding Heart!"note

"Fair dreams are these," the maiden cried —Light was her accent, yet she sighed— "Yet is this mossy rock to me Worth splendid chair and canopy; 205 Nor would my footsteps spring more gay In courtly dance than blithe strathspey,note Nor half so pleased mine ear incline To royal minstrel's lay as thine. And then for suitors proud and high, 210 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,note The terror of Loch-Lomond's side, 215 Would, at my suit, thou know'st, delay A Lennox foray—for a day."note

The ancient bard his glee repressed: "Ill hast thou chosen theme for jest! For who, through all this western wild, 220 Named Black Sir Roderick e'er, and smiled! In Holy-Rood a knight he slew;note I saw, when back the dirk he drew, Courtiers give place before the stride Of the undaunted homicide; 225 And since, though outlawed, hath his hand Full sternly kept his mountain land. Who else dared give—ah! woe the day,note That I such hated truth should say— The Douglas, like a stricken deer, 230 Disowned by every noble peer, Even the rude refuge we have here? Alas, this wild marauding Chief Alone might hazard our relief, And now thy maiden charms expand, 235 Looks for his guerdon in thy hand; Full soon may dispensation sought,note To back his suit, from Rome he brought. Then, though an exile on the hill, Thy father, as the Douglas, still 240 Be held in reverence and fear; And though to Roderick thou'rt so dear, That thou might'st guide with silken thread, Slave of thy will, this chieftain dread; Yet, O loved maid, thy mirth refrain! 245 Thy hand is on a lion's mane."

"Minstrel," the maid replied, and high Her father's soul glanced from her eye, "My debts to Roderick's house I know: All that a mother could bestow,note 250 To Lady Margaret's care I owe, Since first an orphan in the wild She sorrowed o'er her sister's child; To her brave chieftain son, from ire Of Scotland's king who shrouds my sire. 255 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. Rather will Ellen Douglas dwell 260 A votaress in Maronnan's cell;note 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, 265 An outcast pilgrim will she rove, Than wed the man she cannot love.

"Thou shakest, good friend, thy tresses gray— That pleading look, what can it say But what I own?—I grant him brave, 270 But wild as Bracklinn's thundering wave;note And generous—save vindictive mood, Or jealous transport, chafe his blood; I grant him true to friendly band, As his claymore is to his hand;note 275 But O! 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, 280 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 honor, as his daughter ought; 285 But can I clasp it reeking red, From peasants slaughtered in their shed? No! wildly while his virtues gleam, They make his passions darker seem, And flash along his spirit high, 290 Like lightning o'er the midnight sky. While yet a child—and children know, Instinctive taught, the friend and foe— I shuddered at his brow of gloom, His shadowy plaid, and sable plume; 295 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! or, if e'er 300 A Douglas knew the word, with fear. To change such odious theme were best— What think'st thou of our stranger guest?"

"What think I of him?—woe the while That brought such wanderer to our isle! 305 Thy father's battle-brand, of yorenote For Tine-man forged by fairy lore. What time he leagued, no longer foes, His Border spears with Hotspur's bows, Did, self-unscabbarded, foreshow 310 The footstep of a secret foe. If courtly spy hath harbored here, What may we for the Douglas fear? What for this island, deemed of old Clan-Alpine's last and surest hold? 315 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 gamenote 320 Thou ledst the dance with Malcolm Graeme; Still, though thy sire the peace renewed, Smolders in Roderick's breast the feud; Beware!—But hark, what sounds are these? My dull ears catch no faltering breeze, 325 No weeping birch, nor aspens wake, Nor breath is dimpling in the lake, Still is the canna's hoary beard,note Yet, by my minstrel faith, I heard— And hark again! some pipe of war 330 Sends the bold pibroch from afar."

Far up the lengthened lake were spiednote Four darkening specks upon the tide, That, slow enlarging on the view, Four manned and masted barges grew,note 335 And, bearing downwards from Glengyle,note Steered full upon the lonely isle; The point of Brianchoil they passed, And, to the windward as they cast, Against the sun they gave to shine 340 The bold Sir Roderick's bannered Pine. Nearer and nearer as they bear, Spears, pikes, and axes flash in air. Now might you see the tartans brave,note And plaids and plumage dance and wave; 345 Now see the bonnets sink and rise, As his tough oar the rower plies; See, flashing at each sturdy stroke, The wave ascending into smoke; See the proud pipers on the bow, 350 And mark the gaudy streamers flow From their loud chanters down, and sweep The furrowed bosom of the deep, As, rushing through the lake amain, They plied the ancient Highland strain.

355 Ever, as on they bore, more loud And louder rung the pibroch proud. At first the sound, by distance tame, Mellowed along the waters came, And, lingering long by cape and bay, 360 Wailed every harsher note away, Then bursting bolder on the ear, The clan's shrill Gathering they could hear; Those thrilling sounds, that call the might Of Old Clan-Alpine to the fight. 365 Thick beat the rapid notes, as when The mustering hundreds shake the glen, And hurrying at the signal dread, The battered earth returns their tread. Then prelude light, of livelier tone, 370 Expressed their merry marching on, Ere peal of closing battle rose, With mingled outcry, shrieks, and blows; And mimic din of stroke and ward, As broad sword upon target jarred; 375 And groaning pause, ere yet again, Condensed, the battle yelled amain; The rapid charge, the rallying shout, Retreat borne headlong into rout, And bursts of triumph, to declare 380 Clan-Alpine's conquest—all were there. Nor ended thus the strain; but slow Sunk in a moan prolonged and low, And changed the conquering clarion swell, For wild lament o'er those that fell.

385 The war-pipes ceased; but lake and hill Were busy with their echoes still; And, when they slept, a vocal strain Bade their hoarse chorus wake again, While loud a hundred clansmen raise 390 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. 395 The chorus first could Allan know,note "Roderick Vich Alpine, ho! iro!" And near, and nearer as they rowed, Distinct the martial ditty flowed.

Hail to the Chief who in triumph advances! 400 Honored and blessed be the ever-green Pine! Long may the tree, in his banner that glances, Flourish, the shelter and grace of our line! Heaven send it happy dew, Earth lend it sap anew, 405 Gayly to borgeon, and broadly to grow, While every Highland glen Sends our shout back again, "Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!"note Ours is no sapling, chance-sown by the fountain, 410 Blooming at Beltane, in winter to fade;note When the whirlwind has stripped every leaf on the mountain, The more shall Clan-Alpine exult in her shade. Moored in the rifted rock, Proof to the tempest's shock, 415 Firmer he roots him the ruder it blow; Menteith and Breadalbane, then,note Echo his praise again, "Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!"

Proudly our pibroch has thrilled in Glen Fruin,note 420 And Bannochar's groans to our slogan replied; Glen Luss and Ross-dhu, they are smoking in ruin, And the best of Loch-Lomond lie dead on her side. Widow and Saxon maid Long shall lament our raid, 425 Think of Clan-Alpine with fear and with woe; Lennox and Leven-glen Shake when they hear again "Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!" Row, vassals, row, for the pride of the highlands! 430 Stretch to your oars, for the ever-green Pine! O that the rose-bud that graces yon islands,note Were wreathed in a garland around him to twine! O that some seedling gem, Worthy such noble stem, 435 Honored and blest in their shadow might grow; Loud should Clan-Alpine then Ring from her deepmost glen, "Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!"

With all her joyful female band, 440 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; 445 While, prompt to please, with mother's art, The darling passion of his heart, The Dame called Ellen to the strand, To greet her kinsman ere he land: "Come, loiterer, come! a Douglas thou, 450 And shun to wreathe a victor's brow?" Reluctantly and slow, the maid The unwelcome summoning obeyed, And, when a distant bugle rung, In the mid-path aside she sprung: 455 "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, 460 She darted to her shallop light, And, eagerly while Roderick scanned, For her dear form, his mother's band, The islet far behind her lay, And she had landed in the bay.

465 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, 470 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 pressed, 475 Such holy drops her tresses steeped, Though 'twas an hero's eye that weeped. Nor while on Ellen's faltering tongue Her filial welcomes crowded hung, Marked she, that fear, affection's proof, 480 Still held a graceful youth aloof; No! not till Douglas named his name, Although the youth was Malcolm Graeme.

Allan, with wistful look the while, Marked Roderick landing on the isle; 485 His master piteously he eyed. Then gazed upon the Chieftain's pride, Then dashed, with hasty hand, away From his dimmed eye the gathering spray; And Douglas, as his hand he laid 490 On Malcolm's shoulder, kindly said, "Canst thou, young friend, no meaning spy In my poor follower's glistening eye? I'll tell thee: he recalls the day, When in my praise he led the lay 495 O'er the arched gate of Bothwell proud, While many a minstrel answered loud, When Percy's Norman pennon, wonnote In bloody field, before me shone, And twice ten knights, the least a name 500 As mighty as yon Chief may claim, Gracing my pomp, behind me came. Yet trust me, Malcolm, not so proud Was I of all that marshaled crowd, Though the waned crescent owned my might,note 505 And in my train trooped lord and knight, Though Blantyre hymned her holiest lays,note And Bothwell's bards flung back my praise, As when this old man's silent tear, And this poor maid's affection dear, 510 A welcome give more kind and true, Than aught my better fortunes knew. Forgive, my friend, a father's boast, Oh! it out-beggars all I lost!"

Delightful praise!—like summer rose, 515 That brighter in the dew-drop glows, The bashful maiden's cheek appeared, For Douglas spoke and Malcolm heard. The flush of shame-faced joy to hide, The hounds, the hawk, her cares divide; 520 The loved caresses of the maid The dogs with crouch and whimper paid; And, at her whistle, on her hand The falcon took his favorite stand, Closed his dark wing, relaxed his eye, 525 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'erweighed her worth, and beauty aught, 530 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.

Of stature tall, and slender frame, 535 But firmly knit, was Malcolm Graeme. The belted plaid and tartan hose Did ne'er more graceful limbs disclose; His flaxen hair, of sunny hue, Curled closely round his bonnet blue. 540 Trained to the chase, his eagle eye The ptarmigan in snow could spy; Each pass, by mountain, lake, and heath, He knew, through Lennox and Menteith; Vain was the bound of dark-brown doe, 545 When Malcolm bent his sounding bow, And scarce that doe, though winged with fear, Outstripped in speed the mountaineer; Right up Ben-Lomond could he press, And not a sob his toil confess. 550 His form accorded with a mind Lively and ardent, frank and kind; A blither heart, till Ellen came, Did never love nor sorrow tame; It danced as lightsome in his breast, 555 As played the feather on his crest. Yet friends, who nearest knew the youth, His scorn of wrong, his zeal for truth, And bards, who saw his features bold, When kindled by the tales of old, 560 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.

Now back they wend their watery way, 565 And, "O my sire!" did Ellen say, "Why urge thy chase so far astray? And why so late returned? And why"— The rest was in her speaking eye. "My child, the chase I follow far, 570 'Tis mimicry of noble war; And with that gallant pastime reft Were all of Douglas I have left. I met young Malcolm as I strayed Far eastward, in Glenfinlas' shade,note 575 Nor strayed I safe; for all around, Hunters and horsemen scoured the ground. This youth, though still a royal ward,note Risked life and land to be my guard, And through the passes of the wood 580 Guided my steps, not unpursued; And Roderick shall his welcome make, Despite old spleen, for Douglas' sake. Then must he seek Strath-Endrick glen,note Nor peril aught for me again."

585 Sir Roderick, who to meet them came, Reddened at sight of Malcolm Graeme, Yet, not in action, word, or eye, Failed aught in hospitality. In talk and sport they whiled away 590 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 evil were the news he heard. 595 Deep thought seemed toiling in his head; Yet was the evening banquet made, Ere he assembled round the flame, His mother, Douglas, and the Graeme, And Ellen too; then cast around 600 His eyes, then fixed them on the ground, As studying phrase that might avail Best to convey unpleasant tale. Long with his dagger's hilt he played, Then raised his haughty brow, and said:

605 "Short be my speech—nor time affords, Nor my plain temper, glozing words. Kinsman and father—if such name Douglas vouchsafe to Roderick's claim; Mine honored mother—Ellen—why, 610 My cousin, turn away thine eye?— And Graeme, in whom I hope to know Full soon a noble friend or foe, When age shall give thee thy command, And leading in thy native land— 615 List all—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; 620 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,note From Yarrow braes, and banks of Tweed, 625 Where the lone streams of Ettrick glide, And from the silver Teviot's side; The dales, where martial clans did ride, Are now one sheep-walk, waste and wide. This tyrant of the Scottish throne, 630 So faithless, and so ruthless known, 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. 635 Yet more; amid Glenfinlas' green, Douglas, thy stately form was seen. This by espial sure I know: Your counsel in the strait I show."

Ellen and Margaret fearfully 640 Sought comfort in each other's eye, Then turned their ghastly look, each one, This to her sire, that to her son. The hasty color went and came In the bold cheek of Malcolm Graeme; 645 But from his glance it well appeared, 'Twas but for Ellen that he feared; While, sorrowful, but undismayed, The Douglas thus his counsel said: "Brave Roderick, though the tempest roar, 650 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 gray head The royal bolt were fiercest sped. 655 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, 660 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 passed and o'er."

665 "No, by mine honor," Roderick said, "So help me Heaven, and my good blade! No, never! Blasted be yon Pine, My fathers' ancient crest and mine, If from its shade in danger part 670 The lineage of the Bleeding Heart! 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; 675 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,note The guards shall start in Stirling's porch; 680 And, when I light the nuptial torch, A thousand villages in flames Shall scare the slumbers of King James! —Nay, Ellen, blench not thus away, And, mother, cease these signs, I pray; 685 I meant not all my heat 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, 690 Till the foiled king, from pathless glen, Shall bootless turn him home again."

There are who have, at midnight hour,note In slumber scaled a dizzy tower, And, on the verge that beetled o'er 695 The ocean tide's incessant roar, Dreamed calmly out their dangerous dream, Till wakened by the morning beam; When, dazzled by the eastern glow, Such startler cast his glance below, 700 And saw unmeasured depth around, And heard unintermitted sound, And thought the battled fence so frail, It waved like cobweb in the gale; Amid his senses' giddy wheel, 705 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 yawned around, 710 By crossing terrors wildly tossed, Still for the Douglas fearing most, Could scarce the desperate thought withstand, To buy his safety with her hand.

Such purpose dread could Malcolm spy 715 In Ellen's quivering lip and eye, And eager rose to speak—but ere His tongue could hurry forth his fear, Had Douglas marked the hectic strife, Where death seemed combating with life; 720 For to her cheek, in feverish flood, One instant rushed the throbbing blood, Then ebbing back, with sudden sway, Left its domain as wan as clay. "Roderick, enough! enough!" he cried, 725 "My daughter cannot be thy bride; Not that the blush to wooer dear, Nor paleness that of maiden fear. It may not be—forgive her, Chief, Nor hazard aught for our relief. 730 Against his sovereign, Douglas ne'er Will 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! 735 Not Ellen more my pride and joy; I love him still, despite my wrongs, By hasty wrath, and slanderous tongues. O seek the grace you well may find, Without a cause to mine combined."

740 Twice through the hall the Chieftain strode; The waving of his tartans broad, And darkened brow, where wounded pride With ire and disappointment vied, Seemed, by the torch's gloomy light, 745 Like the ill Demon of the night, Stooping his pinions' shadowy sway Upon the knighted pilgrim's way. But, unrequited Love! thy dart Plunged deepest its envenomed smart, 750 And Roderick, with thine anguish stung, At length the hand of Douglas wrung, While eyes, that mocked at tears before, With bitter drops were running o'er. The death-pangs of long-cherished hope 755 Scarce in that ample breast had scope, But, struggling with his spirit proud, Convulsive heaved its checkered shroud, While every sob—so mute were all— Was heard distinctly through the hall. 760 The son's despair, the mother's look, Ill might the gentle Ellen brook; She rose, and to her side there came, To aid her parting steps, the Graeme.

Then Roderick from the Douglas broke— 765 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. 770 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 naught The lesson I so lately taught? 775 This roof, the Douglas, and that maid, Thank thou for punishment delayed." Eager as a greyhound on his game Fiercely with Roderick grappled Graeme. "Perish my name, if aught afford 780 Its Chieftain's 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 785 His giant strength: "Chieftains, forego! I hold the first who strikes, my foe. Madmen, forbear your frantic jar! What! is the Douglas fallen so far, His daughter's hand is deemed the spoil 790 Of such dishonorable broil!" Sullen and slowly they unclasp, As struck with shame, their desperate grasp, And each upon his rival glared, With foot advanced, and blade half bared.

795 Ere yet the brands aloft were flung Margaret on Roderick's mantle hung, And Malcolm heard his Ellen's scream, As faltered through terrific dream. Then Roderick plunged in sheath his sword 800 And veiled his wrath in scornful word: "Rest safe till morning; pity 'twerenote Such cheek should feel the midnight air! Then mayest thou to James Stuart tell, Roderick will keep the lake and fell, 805 Nor lackey, with his freeborn clan, The pageant pomp of earthly man. More would he of Clan-Alpine know, Thou canst our strength and passes show. Malise, what ho!"—his henchman came;note 810 "Give our safe-conduct to the Graeme." Young Malcolm answered, calm and bold, "Fear nothing for thy favorite hold; The spot, an angel deigned to grace, Is blessed, though robbers haunt the place. 815 Thy churlish 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 his boldest at his back 820 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 again.— 825 Chieftain! we too shall find an hour," He said, and left the silvan bower.

Old Allan followed to the strand— Such was the Douglas's command— And anxious told, how, on the morn, 830 The stern Sir Roderick deep had sworn The Fiery Cross should circle o'ernote Dale, glen, and valley, down, and moor. Much were the peril to the Graeme From those who to the signal came; 835 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 pouch and broadsword rolled, 840 His ample plaid in tightened fold, And stripped his limbs to such array, As best might suit the watery way—

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