No marvel, 'mid such musings high,
Sleep shunned the monarch's thoughtful eye. Now over Coolin's eastern head
The grayish light begins to spread,
The otter to his cavern drew,
And clamoured shrill the wakening mew;
Then watched the Page-to needful rest
The King resigned his anxious breast.
To Allan's eyes was harder task,
The weary watch their safeties ask.
He trimmed the fire, and gave to shine
With bickering light the splintered pine;
Then gazed awhile, where silent laid
Their hosts were shrouded by the plaid.
But little fear waked in his mind,
For he was bred of martial kind,
And, if to manhood he arrive,
May match the boldest knight alive.
Then thought he of his mother's tower,
His little sister's green-wood bower,
How there the Easter-gambols pass,
And of Dan Joseph's lengthened mass.
But still before his weary eye
In rays prolonged the blazes die
Again he roused him-on the lake
Looked forth, where now the twilight-flake
Of pale cold dawn began to wake.
On Coolin's cliffs the mist lay furled,'
The morning breeze the lake had curled,
The short dark waves, heaved to the land,
With ceaseless plash kissed cliff or sand ;—
It was a slumb'rous sound-he turned
To tales at which his youth had burned,
Of pilgrim's path by demon crossed,
Of sprightly elf or yelling ghost,
Of the wild witch's baneful cot,
And mermaid's alabaster grot,
Who bathes her limbs in sunless well
Deep in Strathaird's enchanted cell.
Thither in fancy wrapt he flies,
And on his sight the vaults arise;
That hut's dark walls he sees no more,
His foot is on the marble floor,
And o'er his head the dazzling spars
Gleam like a firmament of stars!
-Hark! hears he not the sea-nymph speak
Her anger in that thrilling shriek ?—
No! all too late, with Allan's dream
Mingled the captive's warning scream!
As from the ground he strives to start,
A ruffian's dagger finds his heart!
Upward he casts his dizzy eyes, . . .
Murmurs his master's name,... and dies!
Not so awoke the King! his hand
Snatched from the flame a knotted brand,
The nearest weapon of his wrath;
With this he crossed the murderer's path,
And venged young Allan well!
The spattered brain and bubbling blood
Hissed on the half-extinguished wood,
The miscreant gasped and fell!
Nor rose in peace the Island Lord;
One caitiff died upon his sword,
And one beneath his grasp lies prone,
In mortal grapple overthrown.
But while Lord Ronald's dagger drank
The life-blood from his panting flank,
The Father-ruffian of the band
Behind him rears a coward hand!
-O for a moment's aid,
Till Bruce, who deals no double blow,
Dash to the earth another foe,
Above his comrade laid!
And it is gained-the captive sprung
On the raised arm, and closely clung,
And, ere he shook him loose,
The mastered felon pressed the ground,
And gasped beneath a mortal wound,
While o'er him stands the Bruce.
"Miscreant! while lasts thy flitting spark,
Give me to know the purpose dark,
That armed thy hand with murderous knife,
Against offenceless stranger's life?"-
"-No stranger thou!" with accent fell,
Murmured the wretch; "I know thee well;
And know thee for the foeman sworn
Of my high chief, the mighty Lorn."-
"-Speak yet again, and speak the truth
For thy soul's sake!-from whence this youth?
His country, birth, and name declare,
And thus one evil deed repair."—
"Vex me no more!...my blood runs cold...
No more I know than I have told.
We found him in a bark we sought
With different purpose... and I thought"...
Fate cut him short; in blood and broil,
As he had lived, died Cormac Doil.
Then resting on his bloody blade,
The valiant Bruce to Ronald said,
"Now shame upon us both!—that boy
Lifts his mute face to heaven,
And clasps his hands, to testify
His gratitude to God on high,
For strange deliverance given.
His speechless gesture thanks hath paid,
Which our free tongues have left unsaid!"..
He raised the youth with kindly word,
But marked him shudder at the sword;
He cleansed it from its hue of death,
And plunged the weapon in its sheath.
"Alas, poor child! unfitting part
Fate doomed, when with so soft a heart,
And form so slight as thine,
She made thee first a pirate's slave,
Then, in his stead, a patron gave
Of wayward lot like mine;
A landless prince, whose wandering life
Is but one scene of blood and strife-
Yet scant of friends the Bruce shall be,
But he'll find resting-place for thee.-
Come, noble Ronald! o'er the dead
Enough thy generous grief is paid,
And well has Allan's fate been wroke ;-
Come, wend we hence the day has broke.
Seek we our bark-I trust the tale
Was false, that she had hoisted sail."
Yet, ere they left that charnel-cell,
The Island Lord bade sad farewell
To Allan:-"Who shall tell this tale,"
He said, "in halls of Donagaile!
Oh, who his widowed mother tell,
That, ere his bloom, her fairest fell!---
Rest thee, poor youth! and trust my care,
For mass and knell and funeral prayer;
While o'er those caitiffs, where they lie,
The wolf shall snarl, the raven cry!"—
And now the eastern mountain's head
On the dark lake threw lustre red;
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