When e'en Clan-Alpine's rugged swarm
Are cow'd by the approaching storm.
I saw their boats, with many a light,
Floating the live-long yesternight,
Shifting like flashes darted forth
By the red streamers of the north;
I mark'd at morn how close they ride,
Thick moor'd 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 main-land side,
Shall not thy noble father's care
Some safe retreat for thee prepare?"
"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 glisten'd in his eye
Drown'd not his purpose fix'd and high.
My soul, though feminine and weak,
Can image his; e'en as the lake,
Itself disturb'd by slightest stroke,
Reflects the invulnerable rock.
He hears report of battle rife,
He deems himself the cause of strife.
I saw him redden, when the theme
Turn'd, 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 friends' safety with his own;-
He goes to do what I had done,
Had Douglas' daughter been his son !"
"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 vision'd sight may yet prove true
Nor bode of ill to him or you.
When did my gifted dreams beguile ?
Think of the Stranger at the isle,
And think upon the harpings slow
That presaged this approaching wo!
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 wondrous tale I know-
Dear lady, change that look of wo!
My harp was wont thy grief to cheer.".
"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.
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.
"O Alice Brand, my native land
Is lost for love of you;
And we must hold by wood and wold,
As outlaws wont to do.
"O Alice, 'twas all for thy locks so bright
And 'twas all for thine eyes so blue,
That on the night of our luckless flight,
Thy brother bold I slew,
"Now must I teach to hew the beeck
The hand that held the glaive,
For leaves to spread our lowly bed,
Ana 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 slaughter'd deer,
To keep the cold away."-
"O 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."
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 wonn'd within the hill,-
Like wind in the porch of a ruin'd church,
His voice was ghostly shrill.
"Why sounds yon stroke on beech and oak,
Our moon-light circle's screen?
Or who comes here to chase the deer,
Beloved of our Elfin Queen?
Or who may dare on wold to wear
The fairies' fatal green!
"Up, Urgan, up! to yon mortal hie,
For thou wert christen'd man;
For cross or sign thou wilt not fly,
For mutter'd word or ban.
"Lay on him the curse of the wither'd heart
The curse of the sleepless eye;
Till he wish and pray that his life would part
Nor yet find leave to die."
'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good green-wood,
Though the birds have still'd 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 cross'd and bless'd 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?"
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 beam
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 hetween the night and day,
When the Fairy King has power,
That I sunk down in a sinful fray,
And, 'twixt life and death, was snatch'd awa
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 cross'd him once-she cross'd him twice-
That lady was so brave;
The fouler grew his goblin hue,
The darker grew the cave
She cross'd him thrice, that lady hold;
He rose beneath her hand
The fairest knight on Scottish mould,
Her brother, Ethert Brand!
Merry it is in good green-wood,
When the mavis and merle are singing,
But merrier were they in Dunfermline grey,
When all the bells were ringing.
Just as the minstrel sounds were staid,
A stranger climb'd 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.
Ellen beheld as in a dream,
Then, starting, scarce suppress'd a scream.
"O stranger! in such hour of fear,
What evil hap has brought thee here ?"-
'An evil hap how can it be,
That bids me look again on thee
By promise bound, my former guide
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