It is my right, deny it not!" "Little we reck," said John of Brent, 260 We Southern men, of long descent; Nor wot1 we how a name, a word, Makes clansmen vassals to a lord: Yet kind my noble landlord's part,— God bless the house of Beaudesert! 265 And, but I loved to drive the deer, More than to guide the laboring steer, I had not dwelt an outcast here. Come, good old Minstrel, follow me; Thy lord and chieftain shalt thou see." 270 Then, from a rusted iron hook, A bunch of ponderous keys he took, Through grated arch and passage dread; Portals they pass'd, where, deep within, 275 Spoke prisoner's moan, and fetters' din; Through rugged vaults, where, loosely stored, Lay wheel, and axe, and headsman's sword, And many an hideous engine2 grim, For wrenching joint, and crushing limb, 280 By artist form 'd, who deem'd it shame And sin to give their work a name. They halted at a low-brow'd porch, And Brent to Allan gave the torch, While bolt and chain he backward roll'd, 285 And made the bar unhasp its hold. They enter'd: 'twas a prison-room Of stern security and gloom, Yet not a dungeon; for the day Through lofty gratings found its way, 290 And rude and antique garniture Deck'd the sad walls and oaken floor; Such as the rugged days of old Deem'd fit for captive noble's hold. "Here," said De Brent, "thou mayst remain 295 Till the leech visit him again. Strict is his charge, the warders tell, To tend the noble prisoner well." Retiring then, the bolt he drew, And the lock's murmurs growl'd anew. 300 Roused at the sound, from lowly bed A captive feebly raised his head; And oft his fever'd limbs he threw In toss abrupt, as when her sides Lie rocking in the advancing tides, That shake her frame with ceaseless beat, 315 Yet cannot heave her from her seat; O! how unlike her course at sea! Or his free step on hill and lea! Soon as the Minstrel he could scan, "What of thy lady? of my clan? 320 My mother? Douglas? tell me all? Have they been ruin'd in my fall? Ah, yes! or wherefore art thou here? Yet speak, speak boldly, do not fear." (For Allan, who his mood well knew, 325 Was choked with grief and terror too.)— Who fought-who fled? Old man, be brief; The Chieftain rear'd his form on high, 340 But ghastly, pale, and livid streaks The wondering Minstrel look'd, and knew 355 Not his dear lord, but Roderick Dhu! For, come from where Clan-Alpine fought, 305 They, erring, deem'd the Chief he sought. The clang of swords, the crash of spears! These grates, these walls, shall vanish then, For the fair field of fighting men, And my free spirit burst away As if it soar'd from battle fray." The trembling Bard with awe obey'd, Slow on the harp his hand he laid; 360 But soon remembrance of the sight He witness'd from the mountain's height, With what old Bertram told at night, Awaken'd the full power of song, And bore him in career along 1 The Campbells. A narrow and a broken plain, At once there rose so wild a yell 435 380 The deer has sought the brake; 440 385 390 Is it the thunder's solemn sound I see the dagger-crest of Mar, I see the Moray's silver star 400 405 410 "Twere worth ten years of peaceful life, Their light-arm'd archers far and near 445 450 Forth from the pass in tumult driven, The archery appear; For life! for life! their flight they ply- Onward they drive, in dreadful race, Before that tide of flight and chase, The spearmen's twilight wood? "Down, down," cried Mar, "your lances down! Bear back both friend and foe!" And closely shouldering side to side, As their Tinchel1 cows the game! We'll drive them back as tame."' 455 Bearing before them, in their course, Each targe2 was dark below; There breathed no wind their crests to 470 Of horsemen on Clan-Alpine's flank, shake, "My banner-man, advance! " he cried, "their column shake. Clan-Alpine's best are backward borne! Were worth a thousand men! 1 A circle of hunters surrounding game. 485 490 And refluent through the pass of fear, As Bracklinn's chasm, so black and steep, As the dark caverns of the deep Suck the wild whirlpool in, 495 Now westward rolls the battle's din, Where the rude Trosachs' dread defile 505 To the deep lake has given; 510 Mine eye but saw the Trosachs' gorge, The dirge of many a passing soul. 520 The plaided warriors of the North And overhang its side; While by the lake below appears Viewing the mountain's ridge askance And cried-"Behold yon isle! My purse, with bonnet-pieces store,2 540 To him will swim a bow-shot o'er, And loose a shallop from the shore. Lightly we'll tame the war-wolf then, Lords of his mate, and brood, and den." Forth from the ranks a spearman sprung, 1 cataract; waterfall filled with gold coins embossed with the King's head wearing a bonnet instead of a crown 545 On earth his casque and corslet rung, All saw the deed, the purpose knew, 550 The Saxons shout, their mate to cheer, 560 The vengeful arrows of the Gael. Just then a flash of lightning came, It tinged the waves and strand with flame; 565 I mark'd Duncraggan's widow'd dame,1 Behind an oak I saw her stand, A naked dirk gleamed in her hand: But, ere they closed in desperate fight, But here the lay made sudden stand! His face grows sharp, his hands are clench'd, As if some pang his heart-strings 600 Set are his teeth, his fading eye 1 The widow of the Duncan lamented in the 2 Ellen's father. His parting breath, stout Roderick Dhu! Old Allan-bane look'd on aghast, 605 While grim and still his spirit pass'd: But when he saw that life was fled, He pour'd his wailing o'er the dead: LAMENT And art thou cold and lowly laid, Thy foeman's dread, thy people's aid, 610 Breadalbane's boast, Clan-Alpine's shade! For thee shall none a requiem say? For thee, who loved the minstrel's lay, For thee, of Bothwell's house the stay, The shelter of her exiled line, 615 E'en in this prison-house of thine, I'll wail for Alpine's honor'd pine! What groans shall yonder valleys fill! What shrieks of grief shall rend yon hill! What tears of burning rage shall thrill, 620 When mourns thy tribe thy battles done, Thy fall before the race was won, Thy sword ungirt ere set of sun! There breathes not clansman of thy line, But would have given his life for thine, 625 O, woe for Alpine's honor'd pine! Sad was thy lot on mortal stage! 635 Ellen the while with bursting heart A rich collation spread in vain. The wandering of his thoughts betray'd. 1 windows decorated with historical scenes (See Are taught to prize them when they're gone. But sudden, see, she lifts her head! 660 The window seeks with cautious tread. What distant music has the power To win her in this woful hour! LAY OF THE IMPRISONED HUNTSMAN 665 My hawk is tired of perch and hood, I wish I were, as I have been, I hate to learn the ebb of time From yon dull steeple's drowsy chime, 675 Or mark it as the sunbeams crawl, Inch after inch, along the wall. The lark was wont my matins ring, No more at dawning morn I rise, 685 A blithesome welcome blithely meet, The heart-sick lay was hardly said, 690 The list'ner had not turn'd her head, It trickled still, the starting tear, When light a footstep struck her ear, And Snowdoun's graceful knight was near. She turn'd the hastier, lest again 695 The prisoner should renew his strain, "O welcome, brave Fitz-James!" she said; "How may an almost orphan maid Pay the deep debt"-"O say not so! To me no gratitude you owe. 700 Not mine, alas! the boon to give, And bid thy noble father live; I can but be thy guide, sweet maid, Come, Ellen, come! 'tis more than time, 1 dawn (It is literally the first hour of prayer, 710 Gently he dried the falling tear, And gently whisper'd hope and cheer; Her faltering steps half led, half stayed, Through gallery fair, and high arcade, Till, at his touch, its wings of pride 715 A portal arch unfolded wide. Within 'twas brilliant all and light, A thronging scene of figures bright; It glow'd on Ellen's dazzled sight, As when the setting sun has given 720 Ten thousand hues to summer even, And from their tissue fancy frames Aërial knights and fairy dames. Still by Fitz-James her footing stayed; A few faint steps she forward made, 725 Then slow her drooping head she raised, And fearful round the presence gazed; For him she sought, who own'd this state, The dreaded prince whose will was fate. She gazed on many a princely port, 730 Might well have ruled a royal court; On many a splendid garb she gazed, Then turn'd bewilder'd and amazed, For all stood bare; and, in the room, Fitz-James alone wore cap and plume. 735 To him each lady's look was lent; On him each courtier's eye was bent; Midst furs, and silks, and jewels sheen, He stood, in simple Lincoln green,1 The centre of the glittering ring. 740 And Snowdoun's Knight is Scotland's King! As wreath of snow, on mountain-breast, Ask nought for Douglas; yester even, 760 I, from his rebel kinsmen, wrong. 1 A cloth made in Lincoln, worn by huntsmen. Then forth the noble Douglas sprung, And on his neck his daughter hung. 775 The Monarch drank, that happy hour, The sweetest, holiest draught of Power, When it can say, with godlike voice, Arise, sad Virtue, and rejoice! Yet would not James the general eye 780 On Nature's raptures long should pry; He stepp'd between-"Nay, Douglas, nay, Steal not my proselyte away! The riddle 'tis my right to read, That brought this happy chance to speed.1 785 Yes, Ellen, when disguised I stray In life's more low but happier way, 'Tis under name which veils my power, Nor falsely veils, for Stirling's tower Of yore the name of Snowdoun claims, 790 And Normans call me James Fitz-James. Thus watch I o'er insulted laws, Thus learn to right the injured cause." Then, in a tone apart and low,"Ah, little traitress! none must know 795 What idle dream, what lighter thought, What vanity full dearly bought, Join'd to thine eye's dark witchcraft, drew 800 Thy Monarch's life to mountain glaive!''2 -Aloud he spoke-"Thou still dost hold That little talisman of gold, Pledge of my faith, Fitz-James's ring; 805 Full well the conscious maiden guess'd He probed the weakness of her breast; But, with that consciousness, there came A lightening of her fears for Græme, And more she deem'd the Monarch's ire 810 Kindl'd 'gainst him, who, for her sire, Rebellious broadsword boldly drew; And, to her generous feeling true, She craved the grace of Roderick Dhu. "Forbear thy suit: the King of kings 815 Alone can stay life's parting wings: I know his heart, I know his hand, Have shared his cheer, and proved his brand: |