THE

LORD OF THE ISLES.

CANTO THIRD.

THE

LORD OF THE ISLES.

CANTO THIRD,

I.

HAST thou not marked, when o'er thy startled

head

Sudden and deep the thunder-peal has rolled, 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 ruined Hold, Till, murmuring distant first, then near and shrill,

The savage whirlwind wakes, and sweeps the groaning hill.

II.

Artornish such a silence sunk

Upon thy halls, when that gray Monk
His prophet-speech had spoke ;

And his obedient brethren's sail

Was stretched to meet the southern gale

Before a whisper woke.

Then murmuring sounds of doubt and fear,
Close poured 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 seemed bent to press
What Lorn, by his impatient cheer,
And gesture fierce, scarce deigned to hear.

III.

Starting at length with frowning look, His hand he clenched, 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!
But well our mountain proverb shows
The faith of Islesmen ebbs and flows.
Be it e'en so-believe, ere long,

He that now bears shall wreak the wrong.

Call Edith-call the Maid of Lorn!

My sister, slaves!-for further scorn,
Be sure nor she nor I will stay.-

Away, De Argentine, away!—