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Shifting like flashes darted forth
By the red streamers of the north;
I marked at morn how close they ride,
Thick moored by the lone islet's side,
Like wild ducks couching in the fen,
When stoops the hawk upon the glen.
Since this rude race dare not abide
The peril on the mainland side,
Shall not thy noble father's care
Some safe retreat for thee prepare?"

X.

BLLEN.

"No, Allan, no! Pretext so kind
My wakeful terrors could not blind.
When in such tender tone, yet grave,
Douglas a parting blessing gave,
The tear that glistened in his eye
Drowned not his purpose fixed and high,
My soul, though feminine and weak,
Can image his; e'en as the lake,
Itself disturbed by slightest stroke,
Reflects the invulnerable rock.
He hears reports of battle rife,
He deems himself the cause of strife.
I saw him redden, when the theme
Turned, Allan, on thine idle dream,
Of Malcolm Græme in fetters bound,
Which I, thou said'st, about him wound.
Think'st thou he trow'd thine omen aught?
Oh no! 'twas apprehensive thought
For the kind youth-for Roderick too--
(Let me be just) that friend so true;
In danger both, and in our cause!
Minstrel, the Douglas dare not pause.
Why else that solemn warning given,
"If not on earth we meet in heaven?
Why else, to Cambus-kenneth's fane,
If eve return him not again,
Am I to hie and make me known?
Alas! he goes to Scotland's throne,
Buys his friend's safety with his own;
He goes to do-what I had done,
Had Douglas' daughter been his son!"

XI.

"Nay, lovely Ellen!-dearest, nay!
If aught should his return delay,
He only named yon holy fane
As fitting place to meet again.
Be sure he's safe; and for the Græme,
Heaven's blessing on his gallant name!
My visioned sight may yet prove true,
Nor bode of ill to him or you.
When did my gifted dream beguile?
Think of the stranger at the isle,
And think upon the harpings slow,
That presaged this approaching woe!
Sooth was my prophecy of fear;
Believe it when it augurs cheer.
Would we had left this dismal spot!
Ill luck still haunts a fairy grot,
Of such a wond'rous tale I know-
Dear lady, change that look of woe!
My heart was wont thy grief to cheer-

ELLEN.

"Well, be it as thou wilt; I hear,
But cannot stop the bursting tear."
The Minstrel tried his simple art,
But distant far was Ellen's heart.

XIL

BALLAD.

ALICE BRAND.

Merry it is in the good green wood,
When the mavis* and merlet are singing,

When the deer sweeps by, and the hounds are in cry,
And the hunter's horn is ringing.

"Oh Alice Brand! my native land

Is lost for love of you;

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And we must hold by wood and wold,

As outlaws wont to do.

"Oh Alice! 'twas all for thy locks so bright,

And 'twas all for thine eyes so blue,

* Thrush.

+ Blackbird.

That on the night of our luckless flight,
Thy brother bold I slew.

"Now must I teach to hew the beech,
The hand that held the glaive,
For leaves to spread our lowly bed,
And stakes to fence our cave.

"And for vest of pall, thy fingers small,
That wont on harp to stray,

A cloak must shear from the slaughtered doer To keep the cold away."

"Oh Richard! if my brother died,
"Twas but a fatal chance;

For darkling was the battle tried,
And Fortune sped the lance.

"If pall and vair no more I wear,
Nor thou the crimson sheen,
As warm, we'll say, is the russet grey,
As gay the forest-green.

"And, Richard, if our lot be hard,
And lost thy native land,
Still Alice has her own Richard,
And he his Alice Brand."

XIII

BALLAD continued.

"Tis merry, tis merry, in good green wood, So blithe Lady Alice is singing;

On the beech's pride, and the oak's brown side, Lord Richard's axe is ringing.

Up spoke the moody Elfin King,

Who won'd within the hill

Like wind in the porch of a ruined church,
His voice was ghostly shrill.

"Why sounds yon stroke on beech and oak,
Our moonlight circle's screen?

Or who comes here to chase the deer,
Beloved of our Elfin Queen?

Or who may dare op wold to wear
The fairy's fatal green?

"Up, Urgan, up! to yon mortal hie,
For thou wert christened man;
For cross or sign thou wilt not fly,.
For muttered word or ban.

"Lay on him the curse of the withered heart, The curse of the sleepless eye;

Till he wish and pray that his life would part, Nor yet find leave to die."

XIV.

BALLAD continued.

"Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good green wood,
Though the birds have stilled their singing;
The evening blaze doth Alice raise,
And Richard is faggots bringing.

Up Urgan starts, that hideous dwarf
Before Lord Richard stands,
And, as he crossed and blessed himself,
"I fear not sign," quoth the grisly, elf,
"That is made with bloody hands."

But out then spoke she, Alice Brand,
That woman void of fear-

"And if there's blood upon his hand,
'Tis but the blood of deer.”

"Now loud thou liest, thou bold of mood! It cleaves unto his hand,

The stain of thine own kindly blood,

The blood of Ethert Brand."

Then forward stepp'd she, Alice Brand,
And made the holy sign-

"And if there's blood on Richard's hand,
A spotless hand is mine.

"And I conjure thee, Demon elf,

By Him whom Demons fear,
To show us whence thou art thyself?
And what thine errand here?”

XV.

BALLAD—continued.

" "Tis merry, 'tis merry, in Fairy-land, When fairy birds are singing,

When the court doth ride by their monarch's side, With bit and bridle ringing:

"And gaily shines the Fairy-land

But all is glistening show,

Like the idle gleam that December's bean

Can dart on ice and snow.

And fading, like that varied gleam,
Is our inconstant shape,

Who now like knight and lady seem,
And now like dwarf and ape.

"It was between the night and day,
When the Fairy King has power,
That I sank down in a sinful fray,

And, 'twixt life and death, was snatched away
To the joyless Elfin bower.

"But wist I of a woman bold,

Who thrice my brow durst sign,

I might regain my mortal mould

As fair a form as thine."

She crossed him once-she crossed him twice

That lady was so brave;

The fouler grew his goblin hue,

The darker grew the cave.

She crossed him thrice, that lady bold:

He rose beneath her hand

The fairest knight on Scottish mould,
Her brother, Ethert Brand!

Merry it is in the good green wood,

When the mavis and merle are singing, But merrier were they in Dunfermline grey, When all the bells were ringing.

XVL

Just as the minstrel sounds were staid,
A stranger climbed the steepy glade:
His martial step, his stately mien,
His hunting suit of Lincoln, green,
His eagle glance, remembrance claims-

"Tis Snowdoun's Knight-'tis James Fitz-James!

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