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 marshall 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 O, forget its ruder part!
The vacant purse shall be my share,
Which in my barret-cap I'll bear,
Perchance, in jeopardy of war,
Where gayer crests may keep afar."
With thanks-t was all she could
His rugged courtesy repaid.
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 laboring steer,
I had not dwelt an outcast here.
Come, good old Minstrel, follow me;
Thy Lord and Chieftain shalt thou see.”
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.
Portals they pass'd, where, deep within,
Spoke prisoner's moan and fetters' din;
Through rugged vaults, where, loosely stored
Lay wheel, and axe, and headsman's sword,
And many a hideous engine grim,
For wrenching joint and crushing 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 entered :-'t was 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 remair 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.
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, 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!". 66 - 'For that, thank Heaven!" "And hopes are for the Douglas given; The Lady Margaret, too, is well;
Has never harp of minstrel told
Of combat fought so true and bold.
Thy stately pine is yet unbent,
Though many a goodly bough is rent."
The Chieftain rear'd his form on high,
And fever's fire was in his eye;
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