Enough of this-And, Minstrel, hold,
As minstrel-hire, this chain of gold,
For future lays a fair excuse,
To speak more nobly of the Bruce."
"Now, by Columba's shrine, I swear,
And every saint that's buried there,
''Tis he himself!" Lorn sternly cries,
"And for my kinsman's death he dies."-
As loudly Ronald calls" Forbear!
Not in my sight while brand I wear,
O'ermatched by odds, shall warrior fall,
Or blood of stranger stain my hall!
This ancient fortress of my race
Shall be Misfortune's resting place,
Shelter and shield of the distressed,
No slaughter-house for shipwrecked guest.”
"Talk not to me," fierce Lorn replied,
"Of odds or match!-when Comyn died,
Three daggers clashed within his side!
Talk not to me of sheltering hall,
The Church of God saw Comyn fall!
On God's own altar streamed 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! blow on blow!
And lay the outlawed felons low!"-
Then up sprung 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 clenched is Dermid's hand of death.
Their muttered threats of vengeance swell
Into a wild and warlike yell;
Onward they press with weapons high,
The affrighted females shriek and fly,
And, Scotland, then thy brightest ray
Had darkened 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.
Brave Torquil from Dunvegan high,
Lord of the misty hills of Skye,
Mac-Neil, wild Bara's ancient thane,
Duart, of bold Clan Gillian's strain,
Fergus, of Canna's castled bay,
Mac-Duffith, Lord of Colonsay,
Soon as they saw the broadswords glance,
With ready weapons rose at once,
More prompt, that many an ancient feud,
Full oft suppressed, full oft renewed,
Glowed 'twixt the chieftains of Argyle,
And many a lord of Ocean's isle.
Wild was the scene-each sword was bare,
Back streamed each chieftain's shaggy hair,
In gloomy opposition set,
Eyes, hands, and brandished weapons met;
Blue gleaming o'er the social board,
Flashed to the torches many a sword;
And soon those bridal lights may shine
On purple blood for rosy wine.
While thus for blows and death prepared,
Each heart was up, each weapon bared,
Each foot advanced,-a surly pause
Still reverenced hospitable laws.
All menaced violence, but alike
Reluctant each the first to strike,
(For aye accursed in minstrel line
Is he who brawls 'mid song and wine,
And, matched in numbers and in might,
Doubtful and desperate seemed the fight.)
Thus threat and murmur died away,
Till on the crowded hall there lay
Such silence, as the deadly still,
Ere bursts the thunder on the hill.
With blade advanced, each Chieftain bold
Showed like the Sworder's form of old,
As wanting still the torch of life,
To wake the marble into strife.
That awful pause the stranger maid,
And Edith, seized to pray for aid.
As to De Argentine they clung,
Away her veil the stranger flung,
And, lovely 'mid her wild despair,
Fast streamed her eyes, wide flowed her hair,
"O thou, of knighthood once the flower,
Sure refuge in distressful hour,
Thou, who in Judah well hast fought
For our dear faith, and oft hast sought
Renown in knightly exercise,
When this poor hand has dealt the prize,
Say, can thy soul of honour brook
On the unequal strife to look,
When, butchered thus in peaceful hall,
Those once thy friends, my brethren, fall !"—
To Argentine she turned her word,
But her eye sought the Island Lord.
A flush like evening's setting flame
Glowed on his cheek; his hardy frame,
As with a brief convulsion, shook:
With hurried voice and eager look,-
"Fear not," he said, "my Isabel!
What said I-Edith!-all is well-
Nay, fear not-I will well provide
The safety of my lovely bride-
My bride ?"—but there the accents clung
In tremor to his faltering tongue.
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 provide;
For knight more true in thought and deed
Than Argentine ne'er spurred a steed)-
And Ronald, who his meaning guessed,
Seemed half to sanction the request.
This purpose fiery Torquil broke ;-
"Somewhat we've heard of England's yoke,"
He said," and, in our islands, Fame
Hath whispered of a lawful claim,
That calls the Bruce fair Scotland's Lord,
Though dispossessed by foreign sword.
This craves reflection-but though right
And just the charge of England's Knight,
Let England's crown her rebels seize,
Where she has power;-in towers like these,
'Midst Scottish Chieftains summoned 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 banished knight."—
Then waked the wild debate again,
With brawling threat and clamour vain.
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