THE

LORD OF THE ISLES.

CANTO FIFTH.

I.

N

Ox fair Loch-Ranza streamed the early day, Thin wreaths of cottage-smoke are upward curled,

1

From the lone hamlet, which her inland bay And circling mountains sever from the world. And there the fisherman his sail unfurled,

The goat-herd drove his kids to steep Ben-Ghoil, Before the hut the dame her spindle twirled,

Courting the sunbeam as she plied her toil,For, wake where'er he may, Man wakes to care and

coil.

But other duties called each convent maid,

Roused 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 rosary to tell. And Isabel has knelt in lonely prayer; The sunbeam, through the narrow lattice, fell Upon the snowy neck and long dark hair, As stooped her gentle head in meek devotion there,

II.

She raised her eyes, that duty done,
When glanced upon the pavement stone,
Gemmed 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 hand.
And O! for better fortune born,
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 vanished in the blush of shame,
That, as its penance, instant came.
"O thought unworthy of my race!
Selfish, ungenerous, mean, and base,
A moment's throb of joy to own,
That rose upon her hopes o'erthrown!

Thou pledge of vows too well believed,
Of man ingrate and maid deceived,
Think not thy lustre here shall gain
Another heart to hope in vain!
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 a-jar-

She looks abroad-the morning dew
A light short step had brushed anew,
And there were foot prints seen
On the carved buttress rising still,
Till on the mossy window-sill'

Their track effaced the green.
The ivy twigs were torn and frayed,
As if some climber's steps to aid.--
But who the hardy messenger,

Whose venturous path these signs infer?

"Strange doubts are mine!-Mona, draw nigh, -Nought 'scapes old Mona's curious eyeWhat 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 prayed him pass

To chapel where they said the mass;

But like an arrow he shot by,

And tears seemed bursting from his eye.”—

IV.

The truth at once on Isabel,

As darted by a sunbeam, fell.

""Tis Edith's self!-her speechless wo,
Her form, her looks, the secret show!
-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."-
What! know'st thou not his warlike host
At break of day has left our coast?
My old eyes saw them from the tower.

At eve they couched in green-wood bower,
At dawn a bugle-signal, made

By their bold Lord, their ranks arrayed;
Up sprung the spears through bush and tree,
No time for benedicite!

Like deer, that, rousing from their lair,

Just shake the dew-drops from their hair,
And toss their armed crests aloft,
Such matins theirs!"-"Good mother, soft-

Where does my brother bend his way?""As I have heard, 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."

-

"If such their purpose, deep the need,"
Said anxious Isabel," of speed!
Call Father Augustine, good dame."-
The nun obeyed, the Father came.

V.

"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!
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!-take good heed,
That life and death are on thy speed."-
His cowl the good old priest did on,
Took his piked staff and sandalled 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 was there beside, whose care Might such important message bear. Through birchen copse he wandered slow, Stunted and sapless, thin and low;