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Kindling its wreaths, long, dark, and low,
To one broad blaze of ruddy glow,
So deep the anguish of despair
Burst, in fierce jealousy, to air.
With stalwart grasp his hand he laid
On Malcolm's breast and belted plaid :
"Back, beardless boy !" he sternly said,
Back, minion! hold'st thou thus at nought
The lesson I so lately taught?

This roof, the Douglas, and that maid,
Thank thou for punishment delay'd."
Eager as greyhound on his game,
Fiercely with Roderick grappled Græme.
"Perish my name, if aught afford
Its Chieftain safety save his sword!"
Thus as they strove, their desperate hand
Griped to the dagger or the brand,
And death had been-but Douglas rose,
And thrust between the struggling foes
His giant strength :-"Chieftains, forego!
I hold the first who strikes, my foe.-
Madmen, forbear your frantic jar!
What is the Douglas fall'n so far,
His daughter's hand is doom'd the spoil
Of such dishonourable broil!"

Sullen and slowly, they unclasp,

As struck with shame, their desperate grasp,

And each upon his rival glared,

With foot advanced, and blade half bared.


Ere yet the brands aloft were flung,
Margaret on Roderick's mantle hung,

And Malcolm heard his Ellen's scream,
As falter'd through terrific dream.

Then Roderick plunged in sheath his sword,
And veil'd his wrath in scornful word.
"Rest safe till morning; pity 'twere'
Such cheek should feel the midnight air!
Then mayest thou to James Stuart tell,
Roderick will keep the lake and fell,
Nor lackey, with his freeborn clan,
The pageant pomp of earthly man.
More would he of Clan-Alpine know,
Thou canst our strength and passes show.--
Malise, what ho!"-his henchman came;
"Give our safe-conduct to the Græme."
Young Malcolm answer'd, calm and bold,
"Fear nothing for thy favourite hold;
The spot an angel deign'd to grace,
Is bless'd, though robbers haunt the place.
Thy churlish courtesy for those
Reserve, who fear to be thy foes.
As safe to me the mountain way
At midnight as in blaze of day,
Though with his boldest at his back,
Even Roderick Dhu beset the track.-
Brave Douglas,-lovely Ellen,-nay,
Nought here of parting will I say.
Earth does not hold a lonesome glen,
So secret, but we meet agen.-

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Chieftain we too shall find an hour,"-
He said, and left the silvan bower.


Old Allan follow'd to the strand,
(Such was the Douglas's command,)

And anxious told, how, on the morn,

The stern Sir Roderick deep had sworn,
The Fiery Cross should circle o'er

Dale, glen, and valley, down, and moor,
Much were the peril to the Græme,
From those who to the signal came;
Far up the lake 'twere safest land,
Himself would row him to the strand.
He gave his counsel to the wind,
While Malcolm did, unheeding, bind,
Round dirk and pouch and broadsword roll'à,
His ample plaid in tighten'd fold,

And stripp'd his limbs to such array,

As best might suit the watery way.


Then spoke abrupt :

"Farewell to thee,

Pattern of old fidelity!"

The Minstrel's hand he kindly press'd,
"O! could I point a place of rest!
My sovereign holds in ward my land,
My uncle leads my vassal band;
To tame his foes, his friends to aid,
Poor Malcolm has but heart and blade.
Yet, if there be one faithful Græme,
Who loves the Chieftain of his name,
Not long shall honour'd Douglas dwell,
Like hunted stag, in mountain cell;
Nor, ere yon pride-swoll'n robber dare,—
I may not give the rest to air!

Tell Roderick Dhu, I owed him nought,
Not the poor service of a boat,

To waft me to yon mountain-side."
Then plunged he in the flashing tide;

Bold o'er the flood his head he bore,

And stoutly steer'd him from the shore;
And Allan strain'd his anxious eye,
Far 'mid the lake his form to spy.
Darkening across each puny wave,
To which the moon her silver gave,
Fast as the cormorant could skim,
The swimmer plied each active limb;
Then landing in the moonlight dell,
Loud shouted of his weal to tell.
The Minstrel heard the far halloo,
And joyful from the shore withdrew.

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Who danced our infancy upon their knee, And told our marvelling boyhood legends store, Of their strange ventures happ'd by land or sea, How are they blotted from the things that be! How few, all weak and wither'd of their force, Wait on the verge of dark eternity,

Like stranded wrecks, the tide returning hoarse, To sweep them from our sight! Time rolls his ceaseless course.

Yet live there still who can remember well,

How when a mountain chief his bugle blew, Both field and forest, dingle, cliff, and dell, And solitary heath, the signal knew; And fast the faithful clan around him drew, What time the warning note was keenly wound, What time aloft their kindred banner flew, While clamorous war-pipes yell'd the gathering sound, [round. And while the Fiery Cross glanced, like a meteor,

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