"No! never to Lord Ronald's bower Will I again as paramour"—
"Nay, hush thee, too impatient maid,
Until my final tale be said!-
The good King Robert would engage
Edith once more his elfin page,
By her own heart, and her own eye,
Her lover's penitence to try-
Safe in his royal charge, and free,
Should such thy final purpose be,
Again unknown to seek the cell,
And live and die with Isabel."-
Thus spoke the maid-King Robert's eye
Might have some glance of policy;
Dunstaffnage had the monarch ta'en,
And Lorn had owned King Robert's reign;
Her brother had to England fled,
And there in banishment was dead:
Ample, through exile, death, and flight,
O'er tower and land was Edith's right;
This ample right o'er tower and land
Were safe in Ronald's faithful hand.
Embarrassed eye and blushing cheek,
Pleasure, and shame, and fear bespeak!
Yet much the reasoning Edith made;
"Her sister's faith she must upbraid,
Who gave such secret, dark and dear,
In council to another's ear.
Why should she leave the peaceful cell?-
How should she part with Isabel?—
How wear that strange attire again?—
How risk herself midst martial men?-
And how be guarded on the way?-
At least she might entreat delay."-
Kind Isabel, with secret smile,
Saw and forgave the maiden's wile,
Reluctant to be thought to move
At the first call of truant love.'
Oh, blame her not!-when zephyrs wake,
The aspen's trembling leaves must shake;
When beams the sun through April's shower,
It needs must bloom, the violet flower;
And Love, howe'er the maiden strive,
Must with reviving hope revive!
A thousand soft excuses came,
To plead his cause 'gainst virgin shame.
Pledged by their sires in earliest youth,
He had her plighted faith and truth-
Then, 'twas her Liege's strict command,
And she, beneath his royal hand,
A ward in person and in land:-
And, last, she was resolved to stay
Only brief space-one little day--
Close hidden in her safe disguise
From all, but most from Ronald's eyesBut once to see him more !-nor blame Her wish-to hear him name her name! Then, to bear back to solitude
The thought, he had his falsehood rued!
But Isabel, who long had seen
Her pallid cheek and pensive mien,
And well herself the cause might know,
Though innocent, of Edith's wo,
Joyed, generous, that revolving time
Gave means to expiate the crime.
High glowed her bosom as she said,
"Well shall her sufferings be repaid!"
Now came the parting hour-a band
From Arran's mountains left the land:
Their chief, Fitz-Louis, had the care
Their speechless Amadine to bear
To Bruce, with honour, as behooved
To page the monarch dearly loved.
The king had deemed the maiden bright
Should reach him long before the fight,
But storms and fate her course delay:
It was on eve of battle-day,
When o'er the Gillie's hill she rode.
The landscape like a furnace glowed,
And far as e'er the eye was borne,
The lances waved like autumn corn.
In battles four beneath their eye,
The forces of King Robert lie.
And one below the hill was laid,
Reserved for rescue and for aid:
And three, advanced, formed vaward-line,
"Twixt Bannock's brook and Ninian's shrine.
Detached was each, yet each so nigh
As well might mutual aid supply.
Beyond, the Southern host appears,
A boundless wilderness of spears,
Whose verge or rear the anxious eye
Strove far, but strove in vain, to spy.
Thick flashing in the evening beam,
Glaves, lances, bills, and banners gleam;
And where the heaven joined with the hill,
Was distant armour flashing still,
So wide, so far, the boundless host
Seemed in the blue horizon lost.
Down from the hill the maiden passed,
At the wild show of war aghast;
And traversed first the rearward host,
Reserved for aid where needed most.
The men of Carrick and of Ayr,
Lennox and Lanark too, were there,
And all the western land;
With these the valiant of the Isles
Beneath their chieftains ranked their files,
In many a plaided band.
There, in the centre, proudly raised,
The Bruce's royal standard blazed,
And there Lord Ronald's banner bore
A galley driven by sail and oar.
A wild, yet pleasing contrast, made
Warriors in mail and plate arrayed,
With the plumed bonnet and the plaid
By these Hebrideans worn;
But O! unseen for three long years,
Dear was the garb of mountaineers
To the fair Maid of Lorn'
For one she looked-but he was far
Busied amid the ranks of war-
Yet with affection's troubled eye
She marked his banner boldly fly,
Gave on the countless foe a glance,
And thought on battle's desperate chance.
To centre of the vaward line
Fitz-Louis guided Amadine.
Armed all on foot, that host appears
A serried mass of glimmering spears.
There stood the Marcher's warlike band,
The warriors there of Lodon's land;
Ettrick and Liddel bent the yew,
A band of archers fierce, though few;
The men of Nith and Annan's vale,
And the bold Spears of Teviotdale ;—
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