As if a baron's crest he wore,

And, sheath'd in armor, trode the shore.
Slighting the petty need he show'd,
He told of his benighted road;
His ready speech flow'd fair and free,
In phrase of gentlest courtesy ;

Yet seem'd that tone, and gesture bland,
Less used to sue than to command.

XXII.

Awhile the maid the stranger eyed,
And, reassured, at length replied,
That Highland halls were open still
To wilder'd wanderers of the hill.
"Nor think you unexpected come
To yon lone isle, our desert home;
Before the heath had lost the dew,
This morn, a couch was pull'd for you;
On yonder mountain's purple head
Have ptarmigan and heath-cock bled,
And our broad nets have swept the mere

To furnish forth your evening cheer."

66

Now, by the rood, my lovely maid,

Your courtesy hath err'd," he said;
"No right have I to claim, misplaced,
The welcome of expected guest.

A wanderer, here by fortune tost,
My way, my friends, my courser lost,
I ne'er before, believe me, fair,
Have ever drawn your mountain air,
Till on this lake's romantic strand
I found a fay in fairy-land!”-

XXIII.

"I well believe," the maid replied, As her light skiff approach'd the side, "I well believe that ne'er before

Your foot has trod Loch Katrine's shore; But yet, as far as yesternight, Old Allan-Bane foretold your plight, — A gray-hair'd sire, whose eye intent Was on the vision'd future bent. He saw your steed, a dappled gray, Lie dead beneath the birchen way; Painted exact your form and mien, Your hunting-suit of Lincoln green, That tassell'd horn, so gayly gilt, That falchion's crooked blade and hilt, That cap with heron plumage trim, And yon two hounds so dark and grim. He bade that all should ready be, To grace a guest of fair degree; But light I held his prophecy,

And deem'd it was my father's horn,

Whose echoes o'er the lake were borne."

XXIV.

The stranger smiled: :—“Since to your home
A destined errant-knight I come,

Announced by prophet sooth and old,
Doom'd, doubtless, for achievement bold,
I'll lightly front each high emprise,
For one kind glance of those bright eyes.
Permit me, first, the task to guide .
Your fairy frigate o'er the tide."
The maid, with smile suppress'd and sly,
The toil unwonted saw him try;

For seldom, sure, if e'er before,

His noble hand had grasp'd an oar:

Yet with main strength his strokes he drew,
And o'er the lake the shallop flew ;
With heads erect, and whimpering cry,
The hounds behind their passage ply.
Nor frequent does the bright oar break
The darkening mirror of the lake,
Until the rocky isle they reach,

And moor their shallop on the beach.

XXV.

'The stranger view'd the shore around;
'T was all so close with copsewood bound,
Nor track nor pathway might declare
That human foot frequented there,

Until the mountain-maiden show'd
A clambering unsuspected road,
That winded through the tangled screen,
And open'd on a narrow green,

Where weeping birch and willow round
With their long fibres swept the ground,
Here, for retreat in dangerous hour,
Some chief had framed a rustic bower.

XXVI.

It was a lodge of ample size,

But strange of structure and device;

Of such materials, as around

The workman's hand had readiest found.

Lopp'd of their boughs, their hoar trunks bared,

And by the hatchet rudely squared,

To give the walls their destined height,
The sturdy oak and ash unite;

While moss and clay and leaves combined

To fence each crevice from the wind.

The lighter pine-trees, overhead,

Their slender length for rafters spread,
And wither'd heath and rushes dry
Supplied a russet canopy.

Due westward, fronting to the green,

A rural portico was seen,
Aloft on native pillars borne,

Of mountain fir with bark unshorn,

Where Ellen's hand had taught to twine
The ivy and Idæan vine,

The clematis, the favor'd flower

Which boasts the name of virgin-bower,
And every hardy plant could bear
Loch Katrine's keen and searching air.
An instant in this porch she stayed,
And gayly to the stranger said,
"On heaven and on thy lady call,
And enter the enchanted hall!

XXVII.

"My hope, my heaven, my trust must be,
My gentle guide, in following thee."
He cross'd the threshold — and a clang
Of angry steel that instant rang.
To his bold brow his spirit rush'd,
But soon for vain alarm he blush'd,
When on the floor he saw display'd,
Cause of the din, a naked blade,

Dropp'd from the sheath, that, careless flung,
Upon a stag's huge antlers swung;

For all around, the walls to grace,
Hung trophies of the fight or chase:
A target there, a bugle here,

A battle-axe, a hunting-spear,

And broadswords, bows, and arrows store,

With the tusk'd trophies of the boar.