The warder's challenge, heard without, Staid in mid-roar the merry shout.

A soldier to the portal went,

46

Here is old Bertram, sirs, of Ghent;
And,--beat for jubilee the drum!

A maid and minstrel with him come."
Bertram, a Fleming, gray and scarr'd,
Was entering now the Court of Guard,
A harper with him, and in plaid
All muffled close, a mountain maid,
Who backward shrunk to 'scape the view
Of the loose scene and boisterous crew.
"What news?" they roar'd:-"I only know,
From noon till eve we fought with foe,
As wild and as untameable

As the rude mountains where they dwell;
On both sides store of blood is lost,
Nor much success can either boast."--
"But whence thy captives, friend? such spoil
As theirs must needs reward thy toil.
Old dost thou wax, and wars grow sharp;
Thou now hast glee-maiden and harp!
Get thee an ape, and trudge the land,
The leader of a juggler band."-§

VII.

"No, comrade;-no such fortune mine.
After the fight these sought our line,
That aged harper and the girl,
And, having audience of the Earl,
Mar bade I should purvey them steed,,
And bring them hitherward with speed.
Forbear your mirth and rude alarm,
For none shall do them shame or harm."
"Hear ye his boast ?" cried John of Brent,
Ever to strife and jangling bent;
'Shall he strike doe beside our lodge,
And yet the jealous niggard grudge

*Bacchanalian interjection, borrowed from the Dutch. ["The greatest blemish in the poem, is the ribaldry and dull vulgarity which is put into the mouths of the soldiery in the guard room. Mr. Scott has condescended to write a song for them, which will be read with pain, we are persuaded, even by his warmest admirers; and his whole genius, and even his power of versification, seems to desert him when he attempts to repeat their conversation. Here is some of the stuff which has dropped, in this inauspicious attempt, from the pen of one of the first poets of his age or country," &c. &c.-JEFFREY.] The MS. reads after this:-

"Get thee an ape, and then at once

Thou mayst renounce the warder's lance,
And trudge through borough and through land,
The leader of a juggler band."]

The

$ The jongleurs, or jugglers, as we learn from the elaborate work of the late Mr. Strutt, on the sports and pastimes of the people of England, used to call in the aid of various assistants, to render these performances as captivating as possible. glee maiden was a necessary attendant. Her duty was tumbling and dancing; and therefore the Anglo-Saxon version of Saint Mark's Gospel states Herodias to have vaulted or tumbled before King Herod. In Scotland, these poor creatures seem, even at a late period, to have been bondswomen to their masters, as appears from a case reported by Fountainball "Reid the mountebank pursues Scot of Harden and his lady, for stealing away from him a little girl, called the tumbling-lassie, that danced upon his stage and he claimed damages, and produced a contract, whereby he bought her from her mother for 302 Scots. But we have no slaves in Scotland, and mothers cannot sell their bairns; and

To pay the forester his fee?
I'll have my share, howe'er it be,
Despite of Moray, Mar, or thee.'
Bertram his forward step withstood;"
And, burning in his vengeful mood,
Old Allan, though unfit for strife,
Laid hand upon his dagger-knife;
But Ellen boldly stepp'd between,
And dropp'd at once the tartan screen :-
So, from his morning cloud appears
The sun of May, through summer tears.
The savage soldiery amazed,

As on descended angel gazed;
Even hardy Brent, abash'd and tam'd,
Stood half admiring, half ashamed.

VIII.

Boldly she spoke,-" Soldiers, attend!
My father was the soldier's friend;
Cheer'd him in camps, in marches led,
And with him in the battle bled.
Not from the valiant or the strong,
Should exile's daughter suffer wrong.
Answer'd De Brent, most forward still
In every feat or good or ill,-
"I shame me of the part I play'd:
And thou an outlaw's child, poor maid!
An outlaw I by forest laws,

And merry Needwood knows the cause.
Poor Rose,-if Rose be living now,”-tt
He wiped his iron eye and brow,-
"Must bear such age, I think, as thou.-
Hear ye, my mates;-I go to call
The Captain of our watch to hall:
There lies my halberd on the floor;
And he that steps my halberd o'er,
To do the maid injurious part,

My shaft shall quiver in his heart!-
Beware loose speech, or jesting rough:
Ye all know John de Brent. Enough."

IX.

Their Captain came, a gallant young,—
(Of Tullibardine's house he sprung,)
Nor wore he yet the spurs of knight;
Gay was his mien, his humour light,
And, though by courtesy controll'd,
Forward his speech, his bearing bold.
The high-born maiden ill could brook
The scanning of his curious look
And dauntless eye;-and yet, in sooth,
Young Lewis was a generous youth:
But Ellen's lovely face and mien,
Ill-suited to the garb and scene,
Might lightly bear construction strange,
And give loose fancy scope to range.
"Welcome to Stirling towers, fair maid!
Come ye to seek a champion's aid,
On palfrey white, with harper hoar,
Like errant damosel of yore?

physicians attested, the employment of tumbling would kill her; and her joints were now grown stiff, and she declined to return; though she was at least a 'prentice, and so could not run away from her master: yet some cited Moses's law, that if a servant shelter himself with thee, against his master's cruelty, thou shalt surely not deliver him up. The Lords, renitente cancellario, assoilzied Harden, on the 27th of January, (1687.)"-FOUNTAIN HALL'S Decisions, vol. i. p. 439.*

The facetious qualities of the ape soon rendered him an acceptable addition to the strolling baud of the jongleur. Ben Jonson, in his splenetic introduction to the comedy of Bartholomew Fair," is at pains to inform the audience that he has ne'er a sword-and-buckler man in bis Fair, nor a juggler, with a welleducated ape, to come over the chaine for the King of England, and back again for the prince, and sit still on his haunches for the Pope and the King of Spaine."

[MS.-"Bertram {his,
such violence withstood."]

TIMS." While the rude soldiery, amazed." [MS.-"Should Ellen Douglas suffer wrong."] ** [MS.-* My Rose,'-he wiped his iron eye and brow,'Poor Rose,-if Rose be living now,"]

tish irony.

Though less to my purpose, I cannot help noticing a circumstance res pecting another of this Mr. Reid's attendants, which occorred during James II's zeal for Catholic proselytiam, and is told by Fountainhall, with dry Scot "January 17th, 1687-Reid the mountebank is received into the Popish church, and one of his blackamores was persuaded to accept of baptism from the Popish priests, and to turn Christian papist; which was a great tro phy: he was called James, after the king and chancellor, and the Apostle James."-Ibid. p. 440.

Does thy high quest a knight require,
Or may the venture suit a squire ?"-
Her dark eye flash'd;-she paused and sigh'd,-
"O what have I to do with pride!-

-Through scenes of sorrow, shame, and strife,
A suppliant for a father's life,
I crave an audience of the King.
Behold, to back my suit, a ring,
The royal pledge of grateful claims,
Given by the Monarch to Fitz-James."*
X.

The signet-ring young Lewis took,
With deep respect and alter'd look;
And said," This ring our duties own;
And pardon, if to worth unknown,
In semblance mean obscurely veil'd,
Lady, in aught my folly fail'd.
Soon as the day flings wide his gates,
The King shall know what suitor waits.
Please you, meanwhile, in fitting bower
Repose you till his waking hour;
Female attendance shall obey
Your hest, for service or array.
Permit I marshal you the way."
But ere she follow'd, with the grace
And open bounty of her race,
She bade her slender purse be shared
Among the soldiers of the guard.

The rest with thanks their guerdon took;
But Brent, with shy and awkward look,
On the reluctant maiden's hold

Forced bluntly back the proffer'd gold ;-
"Forgive a haughty English heart,
And Ŏ forget its ruder part!

The vacant purse shall be my share,t
Which in my barret-cap I'll bear,
Perchance, in jeopardy of war,
Where gayer crests may keep afar."

With thanks,-'twas all she could,- the maid
His rugged courtesy repaid.

XI.

When Ellen forth with Lewis went,
Allan made suit to John of Brent:-
"My lady safe, O let your grace
Give me to see my master's face!
His minstrel I,-to share his doom
Bound from the cradle to the tomb.
Tenth in descent, since first my sires
Waked for his noble house their lyres,
Nor one of all the race was known
But prized its weal above their own.
With the Chief's birth begins our care;
Our harp must soothe the infant heir,
Teach the youth tales of fight, and grace
His earliest feat of field or chase;
In peace, in war, our rank we keep,
We cheer his board, we soothe his sleep,
Nor leave him till we pour our verse,—
A doleful tribute!-o'er his hearse.
Then let me share his captive lot;
It is my right-deny it not !"-
"Little we reck," said John of Brent,
"We Southern men, of long descent;
Nor wot 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!
And, but I loved to drive the deer,
More than to guide the labouring steer,
I had not dwelt an outcast here.
Come, good old Minstrel, follow me;
Thy Lord and Chieftain shalt thou see."
XII.
Then, from a rusted iron hook,
A bunch of ponderous keys he took,
Lighted a torch, and Allan led
Through grated arch and passage dread.

[MS.-"The Monarch gave to James Fitz-James."
(MS.-"The silken purse shall serve for me,
And in my barret-cap shall flee."]

1 [MS.-"Low broad vaults."]

$ (MS.-" Stretching."]

(MS-"Flinty floor."]

TIMS.

"Thou mayst remain

Portals they pass'd, where, deep within,
Spoke prisoner's moan, and fetters' din;
Through rugged vaults, where, loosely stor❜d,
Lay wheel, and axe, and headsman's sword,
And many a hideous engine grim,

For wrenching joint, and crushings limb,
By artists 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,
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,
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 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.
Roused at the sound, from lowly bed
A captive feebly raised his head:

The wondering Minstrel look'd, and knew-
Not his dear lord, but Roderick Dhu!
For, come from where Clan-Alpine fought,
They, erring, deem'd the Chief he sought.

XIII.

As the tall ship, whose lofty prore
Shall never stem the billows more,
Deserted by her gallant band,,
Amid the breakers lies astrand,-
So, on his couch, lay Roderick Dhu!
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,
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 ?-
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,
Was choked with grief and terror too.)-
"Who fought-who fled ?-Old man, be brief;-
Some might-for they had lost their Chief.
Who basely live?-who bravely died?"-
"O, calm thee, Chief!" the Minstrel cried,
"Ellen is safe;"- 'For that thank Heaven !"-
"And hopes are for the Douglas given ;-
The Lady Margaret too is well,
And, for thy clan,-on field or fell,
Has never harp of minstrel told,tt
Of combat fought so true and bold.
Thy stately Pine is yet unbent,
Though many a goodly bough is rent."
XIV.

The Chieftain rear'd his form on high,
And fever's fire was in his eye;
But ghastly, pale, and livid streaks
Checker'd his swarthy brow and cheeks.
-"Hark, Minstrel! I have heard thee play,
With measure bold, on festal day,
In yon lone isle,... again where ne'er
Shall harper play, or warrior hear!...
That stirring air that peals on high,
O'er Dermid's race our victory.-

And then, retiring, bolt and chain,
And rusty bar, he drew again.
Roused at the sound," &c.]
** (MS.-"O! how unlike her course on main!
Or his free step on hill and plain!"]

++ (MS.-" Shall never harp of minstrel tell,
Of combat fought so fierce and well."]

Strike it!*-and then, (for well thou canst,)

Free from thy minstrel-spirit glanced,
Fling me the picture of the fight,
When met my clan the Saxon might.
I'll listen, till my fancy hears

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;
But soon remembrance of the sight

He witness'd from the mountain's height,
With what old Bertram told at night,f
Awaken'd the full power of song,
And bore him in career along;-
As shallop launch'd on river's tide,
That slow and fearful leaves the side,
But, when it feels the middle stream,
Drives downward swift as lightning's beam.

XV.

BATTLE OF BEAL' AN DUINE.

The Minstrel came once more to view
The eastern ridge of Benvenue,
For ere he parted, he would say
Farewell to lovely Loch Achray-
Where shall he find, in foreign land,
So lone a lake, so sweet a strand!--
There is no breeze upon the fern,
No ripple on the lake,
Upon her eyry nods the erne,

The deer has sought the brake;
The small birds will not sing aloud,
The springing trout lies still,
So darkly glooms yon thunder-cloud,
That swathes, as with a purple shroud,
Benledi's distant hill.

Is it the thunder's solemn sound
That mutters deep and dread,
Or echoes from the groaning ground
The warrior's measured tread?
Is it the lightning's quivering glance
That on the thicket streams,
Or do they flash on spear and lance
The sun's retiring beams?
-I see the dagger-crest of Mar,
I see the Moray's silver star,
Waye o'er the cloud of Saxon war,
That up the lake comes winding far!
To hero bound for battle-strife,
Or bard of martial lay,

There are several instances, at least in tradition, of persons so much attached to particular tunes, as to require to hear them on their deathbed. Such an anecdote is mentioned by the late Mr. Riddel of Glenriddel, in his collection of Border tunes, respecting an air called the "Dandling of the Bairns," for which a certain Gallovidian laird is said to have evinced this strong mark of partiality. It is popularly told of a famous freebooter, that he composed the tune known by the name of Macpherson's Rant while under sentence of death, and played it at the gallows-tree. Some spirited words have been adapted to it by Burns. A similar story is recounted of a Welsh bard, who composed and played on his death-bed the air called Dafyddy Garregg Wen. But the most curious example is given by Brantome, of a maid of honour at the court of France, entitled, Mademoiselle de Limeuil. "Durant sa maladie, dont elle trespassa, jamais elle ne cessa, ains causa tousjours; car elle estoit fort grande parleuse, brocardeuse, et tres-bien et fort a propos, et tres-belle avec cela. Quand l'heure de sa fin fut venue, elle fit venir a soy son valet, (ainsi que le filles de la cour en ont chacune un,) qui s'appelloit Julien, et scavoit tres-bien jouer du violon. Julien,' luy dit elle," prenez vostre violon, et sonnez moy tousjours jusques a ce que me voyez morte (car je m'y en vais) la défaite des Suisses, et le mieux que vous pourrez, et quand vous serez sur le mot, 'Tout est perdu,' sonnez le par quatre ou cing fois, le plus piteusement que vous pourrez,' ce qui fit l'autre, et elle mesme luy aidoit de la voix, et quand ce vint tout est perdu,' elle le reitera par deux fois; et se tournant de l'autre costé du chevet, elle dit à ses compagnes: Tout est perdu à ce coup, et à bon escient;' et ainsi deceda. Voila une morte joyeuse et plaisante. Je tiens ce conte de deux de ses compagnes, dignes de foi, qui virent jouer ce mystere."-Oeuvres de Braniome, iii. 507. The tune to which this fair lady chose to make her final exit, was composed on the defeat of the Swiss at Marignano. The burden is quoted by Panurge, in Rabelais, and consists of these words, imitating the jargon of the Swiss, which is a mixture of French and German:

"Tout est velore

La Tintelore, Tout est verlore, bi Got!"

"Twere worth ten years of peaceful life,
One glance at their array!
XVI.

"Their light-arm'd archers far and near
Survey'd the tangled ground,
Their centre ranks, with pike and spear,
A twilight forest frown'd,
Their barbed horsemen, in the rear,

The stern battalia crown'd.
No cymbal clash'd, no clarion rang,
Still were the pipe and drum;
Save heavy tread, and armour's clang,
The sullen march was dumb.

There breathed no wind their crests to shake,
Or wave their flags abroad;

Scarce the frail aspen seem'd to quake,
That shadow'd o'er their road.
Their vaward scouts no tidings bring,
Can rouse no lurking foe,

Nor spy a trace of living thing,

Save when they stirr'd the roe;
The host moves, like a deep-sea wave,
Where rise no rocks its pride to brave,
High-swelling, dark, and slow.
The lake is pass'd, and now they gain
A narrow and a broken plain,
Before the Trosach's rugged jaws;
And here the horse and spearmen pause,
While, to explore the dangerous glen,
Dive through the pass the archer-men.
XVII.

"At once there rose so wild a yell
Within that dark and narrow dell,
As all the fiends, from heaven that fell,
Had peal'd the banner-cry of hell!

Forth from the pass in tumult driven,
Like chaff before the wind of heaven,

The archery appear:

For life! for life! their plight they ply-
And shriek, and shout, and battle-cry,
And plaids and bonnets waving high,
And broadswords flashing to the sky,
Are maddening in the rear.
Onward they drive, in dreadful race,
Pursuers and pursued;
Before that tide of flight and chase,
How shall it keep its rooted place,
The spearmen's twilight wood ?-
'Down, down,' cried Mar, 'your lances down!
Bear back both friend and foe!'
Like reeds before the tempest's frown,
That serried grove of lances brown
At once lay levell'd low;

[The MS. has not this line.]

A skirmish actually took place at a pass thus called in the Trosachs, and closed with the remarkable incident mentioned in the text. It was greatly posterior in date to the reign of James V

In this roughly wooded Island, the country people secreted their wives and children, and their most valuable effects, from the rapacity of Cromwell's soldiers, during their inroad into this country, in the time of the republie. These invaders, not ventu ring to ascend by the ladders, along the side of the lake, took & nore circuitous road, through the heart of the Trosachs, the most frequented path at that time, which penetrates the wildernes about half way between Binean and the lake, by a tract calle Yea-chilleach, or the Old Wife's Bog.

In one of the defiles of this by road, the men of the county at that time hung upon the rear of the invading enemy, and shot one of Cromwell's men, whose grave marks the scene of action, and gives name to that pass. In revenge of this insult the sol diers resolved to plunder the island, to violate the women, and put the children to death. With this brutal intention, one of the party, more expert than the rest, swam towards the island, to fetch the boat to his comrades, which had carried the women to their asylum, and lay moored in one of the creeks. His comp nions stood on the shore of the mainland, in full view of all that was to pass, waiting anxiously for his return with the boat. But just as the swimmer had got to the nearest point of the island. and was laying hold of a black rock, to get on shore, a heroine, who stood on the very point where he meant to land, hastily snatching a dagger from below her apron, with one stroke severed his head from the body. His party seeing this disaster, and relin of their way out of the perilous situation. This amazon's gre quishing all future hope of revenge or conquest, made the best grandson lives at Bridge of Turk, who, besides others, attests the anecdote."-Sketch of the Scenery near Callender Stirling, 1806, p. 20. I have only to add to this account, that the heroine's name was Helen Stuart.

text.

That at the eastern extremity of Loch Katrine, so often mentioned is

↑ Beallach an duine.

And closely shouldering side to side,
The bristling ranks the onset bide.-
'We'll quell the savage mountaineer,
As their Tinchelt cows the game!
They come as fleet as forest deer, ̧
We'll drive them back as tame.'
XVIII.

"Bearing before them, in their course,
The relics of the archer force,

Like wave with crest of sparkling foam,
Right onward did Clan-Alpine come.
Above the tide, each broadsword bright
Was brandishing like beam of light,

Each targe was dark below;
And with the ocean's mighty swing,
When heaving to the tempest's wing,
They hurl'd them on the foe.

I heard the lance's shivering crash,
As when the whirlwind rends the ash;
I heard the broadsword's deadly clang,
As if a hundred anvils rang!

But Moray wheel'd his rearward rank
Of horsemen on Clan-Alpine's flank,

-My banner-man advance!

I see,' he cried, their column shake.-
Now, gallants! for your ladies' sake,
Upon them with the lance!-
The horsemen dash'd among the rout,
As deer break through the broom;
Their steeds are stout, their swords are out,
They soon make lightsome room.
Clan-Alpine's best are backward borne--
Where, where was Roderick then!
One blast upon his bugle-horn
Were worth a thousand men.

And refluent through the pass of feart
The battle's tide was pour'd;
Vanish'd the Saxon's struggling spear,
Vanish'd the mountain sword.

As Bracklinn's chasm, so black and steep,
Receives her roaring linn,

As the dark caverns of the deep
Suck the wild whirlpool in,
So did the deep and darksome pass
Devour the battle's mingled mass:
None linger now upon the plain,
Save those who ne'er shall fight again.
XIX.

"Now westward rolls the battle's din,
That deep and doubling pass within.
-Minstrel, away! the work of fates
Is bearing on: its issue wait,
Where the rude Trosach's dread defile
Opens on Katrine's lake and isle.-
Gray Benvenue I soon repass'd,
Loch Katrine lay beneath me cast.
The sun is set ;-the clouds are met,
The lowering scowl of heaven
An inky hue of livid blue

To the deep lake has given;

Strange gusts of wind from mountain glen
Swept o'er the lake, then sunk agen.
I heeded not the eddying surge,
Mine eye but saw the Trosach's gorge,
Mine ear but heard the sullen sound,

Which like an earthquake shook the ground,
And spoke the stern and desperate strife
That parts not but with parting life,ll
Seemning, to minstrel-ear, to toll¶
The dirge of many a passing soul.
Nearer it comes-the dim-wood glen
The martial flood disgorged agen,
But not in mingled tide;
The plaided warriors of the North
High on the mountain thunder forth
And overhang its side;

(The MS. has not this couplet.]

A circle of sportsmen, who, by surrounding a great space, and gradually narrowing, brought immense quantities of deer together, which usually made desperate efforts to break through the Tinchel. (MS-And refluent down the darksome pass

The battle's tide was pour'd;
There toil'd the spearman's struggling spear
There raged the mountain sword.")

$ (MS.-"Away! away! the work of fate!"']

While by the lake below appears The dark'ning cloud of Saxon spears.** At weary bay each shatter'd band, Eyeing their foemen, sternly stand; Their banners stream like tatter'd sail, That flings its fragments to the gale, And broken arms and disarray Mark'd the fell havoc of the day. XX. "Viewing the mountain's ridge askance, The Saxon stood in sullen trance, Till Moray pointed with his lance,

And cried-Behold yon isle !See none are left to guard its strand, But women weak that wring the hand: 'Tis there of yore the robber band

Their booty wont to pile ;My purse, with bonnet-pieces store, 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, On earth his casque and corslet rung, He plung'd him in the wave:All saw the deed-the purpose knew, And to their clamours Benvenue

A mingled echo gave;

The Saxons shout, their mate to cheer
The helpless females scream for fear,
And yells for rage the mountaineer.
"Twas then, as by the outcry riven,
Pour'd down at once the lowering heaven;
A whirlwind swept Loch Katrine's breast,
Her billows rear'd their snowy crest.
Well for the swimmer swell'd they high,
To mar the Highland marksman's eye;
For round him shower'd, 'mid rain and hail,
The vengeful arrows of the Gael.-

In vain. He nears the isle-and lo!
His hand is on a shallop's bow.

-Just then a flash of lightning came,

It tinged the waves and strand with flame;-tt
I mark'd Duncraggan's widow'd dame,
Behind an oak I saw her stand,

A naked dirk gleam'd in her hand :-
It darken'd, but amid the moan
Of waves I heard a dying groan;-
Another flash!-the spearman floats
A weltering corse beside the boats,
And the stern Matron o'er him stood,
Her hand and dagger streaming blood.
XXI.
"Revenge! revenge! the Saxons cried,
The Gaels' exulting shout replied.
Despite the elemental rage,
Again they hurried to engage;
But, ere they closed in desperate fight,
Bloody with spurring came a knight,
Sprung from his horse, and, from a crag,
Waved 'twixt the hosts a milk-white flag.
Clarion and trumpet by his side
Rung forth a truce-note high and wide,
While, in the Monarch's name, afar
A herald's voice forbade the war,
For Bothwell's lord, and Roderick bold,
Were both, he said, in captive hold."
-But here the lay made sudden stand,
The harp escaped the Minstrel's hand!-
Oft had he stolen a glance, to spy
How Roderick brook'd his minstrelsy:
At first, the Chieftain, to the chime,
With lifted hand, kept feeble time;
That motion ceased,-yet feeling strong
Varied his look as changed the song;**

At length, no more his deafen'd ear
The minstrel melody can hear;

His face grows sharp-his hands are clench'd,
As if some pang his heart-strings wrench'd;
Set are his teeth, his fading eye*

Is sternly fixed on vacancy;,

Thus, motionless, and moanless, drew

His parting breath, stout Roderick Dhu!-t
Old Allan-bane look'd on aghast,
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.
XXII.

LAMENT.

"And art thou cold and lowly laid,
Thy foeman's dread, thy people's aid,
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,§
E'en in this prison-house of thine,
I'll wail for Alpine's honour'd Pine!
"What groans shall yonder valleys fill!
What shrieks of grief shall rend yon hill!
What tears of burning rage shall thrill,
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.-
O wo for Alpine's honour'd Pine!
"Sad was thy lot on mortal stage!-
The captive thrush may brook the cage,
The prison'd eagle dies for rage.
Brave spirit, do not scorn my strain!
And, when its notes awake again,
Even she, so long beloved in vain,
Shall with my harp her voice combine,
And mix her wo and tears with mine,
To wail Clan-Alpine's honour'd Pine."
XXIII.

Ellen, the while, with bursting heart,
Remain'd in lordly bower apart,
Where play'd, with many-coloured gleams,
Through storied pane the rising beams.
In vain on gilded roof they fall,
And lighten'd up a tapestried wall,
And for her use a menial train
A rich collation spread in vain.
The banquet proud, the chamber gay,||
Scarce drew one curious glance astray;
Or, if she look'd, 'twas but to say,
With better omen dawn'd the day
In that lone isle, where waved on high
The dun-deer's hide for canopy:
Where oft her noble father shared
The simple meal her care prepared,
While Lufra, crouching by her side,
Her station claim'd with jealous pride,
And Douglas, bent on woodland game, T
Spoke of the chase to Malcolm Græme,
Whose answer, oft at random made,
The wandering of his thoughts betray'd.-
Those who such simple joys have known,
Are taught to prize them when they're gone.
But sudden, see, she lifts her head!
The window seeks with cautious tread.
What distant music has the power
To win her in this woful hour!

Twas from a turret that o'erhung
Her latticed bower, the strain was sung.

* [MS.

glaring eye."] -"his { fiery [" Rob Roy, while on his deathbed, learned that a person, with whom he was at enmity, proposed to visit him. Raise me from my bed,' said the invalid; throw my plaid around me, and bring me my claymore, dirk, and pistols, it shall never be said that a foeman saw Rob Roy MacGregor defenceless and unarmed.' His foeman, conjectured to be one of the MacLarens before and after mentioned, entered and paid his compliments, inquiring after the health of his formidable neighbour. Rob Roy maintained a cold haughty civility during their short conference; and so soon as he had left the house, Now,' he said, all is over-let he piper play, Ha til mi tulidh,' [we return no more,) and he is

XXIV.

LAY OF THE IMPRISONED HUNTSMAN.

My hawk is tired of perch and hood,
My idle greyhound loaths his food,
My horse is weary of his stall,
And I am sick of captive thrall.
I wish I were as I have been,
Hunting the hart in forest green,

With bended bow and bloodhound free,
For that's the life is meet for me.**

I hate to learn the ebb of time,

From yon dulltt steeple's drowsy chime,
Or mark it as the sunbeams crawl,
Inch after inch, along the wall.
The lark was wont my matins ring,#
The sable rook my vespers sing;
These towers, although a king they be,
Have not a hall of joy for me. §§

"No more at dawning morn I rise,
And sun myself in Ellen's eyes,
Drive the fleet deer the forest through,
And homeward wend with evening dew;
A blithesome welcome blithely meet,
And lay my trophies at her feet,
While fled the eve on wing of glee,-
That life is lost to love and me!"

XXV.

The heart-sick lay was hardly said,
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
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.
Not mine, alas! the boon to give,
And bid thy noble father live;

I can but be thy guide, sweet maid,
With Scotland's King thy suit to aid.
No tyrant he, though ire and pride
May lay his better mood aside.
Come, Ellen, come !-'tis more than time,
He holds his court at morning prime."
With beating heart, and bosom wrung,
As to a brother's arm she clung.
Gently he dried the falling tear,
And gently whisper'd hope and cheer;
Her faltering steps half led, half staid,
Through gallery fair and high arcade,
Till, at his touch, its wings of pride
A portal arch unfolded wide.

XXVI.
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
Ten thousand hues to summer even,
And from their tissue, fancy frames
Aerial knights and fairy dames.
Still by Fitz-James her footing staid;
A few faint steps she forward made,
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,
Might well have ruled a royal court;

said to have expired before the dirge was finished."-Introdue tion to Rob Roy. Waverley Novels, vol. ii. p. 3.]

I [MS." And art thou gone,' the Minstrel said."]
$(MS.-"The mightiest of a mighty line."]
(MS.-"The banquet gay, the chamber's pride,
Scarce drew one curious glance aside.")
earnest on his game."]

TIMS.

** (MS.

was meant for me."]

MS.-" From darken'd steeple's."]

II (MS.-" The lively lark my matins rung. The sable rook my vespers sung."] $$ [MS.-" Have not a hall should harbour me."] [MS." Within 'twas brilliant all and bright, The vision glow'd on Ellen's sight." TT (MS.-"For him who own'd this royal state."]