Then safe, though flutter'd and amazed,
She paused, and on the stranger gazed.
Not his the form, nor his the eye,
That youthful maidens wont to fly.
On his bold visage middle age
Had slightly press'd its signet sage,1
Yet had not quench'd the open truth
And fiery vehemence of youth;
Forward and frolic glee was there,
The will to do, the soul to dare,
The sparkling glance, soon blown to fire,
Of hasty love, or headlong ire.
His limbs were cast in manly mold,
For hardy sports or contest bold;
And though in peaceful garb array'd,
And weaponless, except his blade,
His stately mien as well implied
A high-born heart, a martial pride,
As if a baron's crest he wore,
And sheathed 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.
A while the maid the stranger eyed,
And, reassured, at length replied,
That Highland halls were open still
To wilder'd 3 wanderers of the hill.
"Nor think you unexpected come
Το yon lone isle, our desert home;
Before the heath had lost the dew,
This morn, a couch 1 was pull'd for you;
On yonder mountain's purple head
Have ptarmigan 2 and heath cock bled,
And our broad nets have swept the mere,3
To furnish forth your evening cheer."
"Now, by the rood,4 my lovely maid,
Your courtesy has 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 fairyland!"
"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 5 bent.
He saw your steed, a dappled gray,
Lie dead beneath the birchen way;
1 Heather, of which the Highlanders' rude couches were made. 2 (Tärmi-gan.) The white grouse.
4 Crucifix or cross of Christ.
Vision'd future," i.e., visions of the future.
Painted exact your form and mien,
Your hunting suit of Lincoln green,1
That tassel'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; 2
But light I held his prophecy,
And deem'd it was my father's horn
Whose echoes o'er the lake were borne."
The stranger smiled: -"Since to your home
A destined errant 3 knight I come,
Announced by prophet sooth and old,
Doom'd, doubtless, for achievement bold,
I'll lightly front each high emprise 5
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 dark'ning mirror of the lake,
1 Lincoln green is a kind of cloth made in Lincoln.
2 "Fair degree," i.e., high rank.
5 " High emprise," i.e., dangerous adventures.
Until the rocky isle they reach,
And moor their shallop on the beach.
The stranger view'd the shore around;
'Twas 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 fibers swept the ground.
Here, for retreat in dangerous hour,
Some chief had framed a rustic bower.
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 off 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,1
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 staid,
And gayly to the stranger said,
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-ax, a hunting spear,
And broadswords, bows, and arrows store,
With the tusk'd trophies of the boar.
Here grins the wolf as when he died,
1 " 'Idæan vine," i.e., a translation of the Latin name of the red whortleberry, Vitis Idæa; but this is a shrub, and could not be "taught to twine." 2 Which could.
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