And yield his drowsy eyes to the kind

nurse of men.

What various scenes, and, O! what scenes of woe,

Are witness'd by that red and struggling beam!

The fever'd patient, from his pallet low, Through crowded hospital beholds its stream;

The ruin'd maiden trembles at its gleam,

The debtor wakes to thought of gyve and jail, The love-lorn wretch starts from tormenting dream;

The wakeful mother, by the glimmering pale, Trims her sick infant's couch, and

soothes his feeble wail.

II.

At dawn the towers of Stirling rang
With soldier-step and weapon-clang,
While drums, with rolling note, fortell
Relief to weary sentinel.
Through narrow loop and casement
barr'd,

The sunbeams sought the Court of Guard,

And, struggling with the smoky air, Deaden'd the torches' yellow glare. In comfortless alliance shone

The lights through arch of blacken'd stone,

And show'd wild shapes in garb of war, Faces deform'd with beard and scar, All haggard from the midnight watch, And fever'd with the stern debauch; For the oak table's massive board, Flooded with wine, with fragments. stored,

And beakers drain'd, and cups o'erthrown,

Show'd in what sport the night had flown.

Some, weary, snored on floor and bench; Some labour'd still their thirst to quench;

Some, chill'd with watching, spread their hands

O'er the huge chimney's dying brands, While round them, or beside them flung,

At every step their harness rung.

III.

These drew not for their fields the
Like tenants of a feudal lord,
sword,
Of Chieftain in their leader's name;
Nor own'd the patriarchal claim
To live by battle which they loved.
Adventurers they, from far who roved,
There the Italian's clouded face,
The swarthy Spaniard's there you
trace;

The mountain-loving Switzer there
More freely breathed in mountain-air;
That paid so ill the labourer's toil;
The Fleming there despised the soil,

Their rolls show'd French and German name,

To share, with ill conceal'd disdain,
And merry England's exiles came,
Of Scotland's pay the scanty gain.
All brave in arms, well train'd to
wield

The heavy halberd, brand, and shield;
In camps licentious, wild, and bold;
In pillage fierce and uncontroll'd;
And now, by holytide and feast,
From rules of discipline released.

IV.

They held debate of bloody fray, Fought 'twixt Loch Katrine and Achray.

Fierce was their speech, and, 'mid their words,

Their hands oft grappled to their swords;

Nor sunk their tone to spare the ear Of wounded comrades groaning near, Whose mangled limbs, and bodies gored,

Bore token of the mountain sword, Though, neighbouring to the Court of Guard,

Their prayers and feverish wails were heard;

Sad burden to the ruffian joke,
And savage oath by fury spoke!-
At length up-started John of Brent,
A yeoman from the banks of Trent;
A stranger to respect or fear,
In peace a chaser of the deer,
In host a hardy mutineer,
But still the boldest of the crew,
When deed of danger was to do.

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 played:
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,"
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?
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,
And said, "This ring our duties own;
With deep respect and alter'd look;
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 followed, 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-'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,
Not 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

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.

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 an hideous engine grim,
For wrenching joint, and crushing limb,
By artist 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

66

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,
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;

These gates, 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,
Awaken'd the full power of song,
And bore him in career along;-
As shallop launch' 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 view 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,
Nor 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, Wave 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,

'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 amd 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,