BALLAD.

ALICE BRAND.

Merry it is in the good greenwood,

When the mavis* and merle † 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 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 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 gray,
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."

↑ Blackbird.

XIII.

BALLAD-Continued.

'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good greenwood, So blithe Lady Alice is singing;

On the beech's pride, and 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 beach and oak, Our moonlight 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 fairie's 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."

XIV.

BALLAD-Continued.

'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good greenwood,
Though the birds have still'd their singing
The evening blaze doth Alice raise,
And Richard his fagots 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?"

XV.

BALLAD-Continued.

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

When the court doth ride by the monarch's side,

With bit and bridle ringing:

"And gaily shines the Fairy-land-
But all its 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 between 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 away
To the joyless Elfin bower.

"But wist I of a woman bold,

Who thrice my brow durst sign,

I might regain my mortal mold,

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 bold;
He rose beneath her hand

The fairest knight on Scottish mold,

Her brother, Ethert Brand!

Merry it is in good greenwood,

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

XVI.

Just as the minstrel sounds were staid,
A stranger climb'd the steepy glade:

His marshal step, his stately mien,

His hunting suit of Lincoln green,

His eager 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
Met me betimes this morning tide,
And marshall'd over bank and bourne,
The happy path of my return.”—

"The happy path! what! said he nought
Of war, of battle to be fought,
Of guarded pass?"-"No, by my faith!
Nor saw I aught could augur scathe."
"Oh, haste thee, Allan, to the kern,
-Yonder his tartans I discern;
Learn thou his purpose, and conjure
That he will guide the stranger sure!-
What prompted thee, unhappy man?
The meanest serf in Roderick's clan
Had not been bribed by love or fear,
Unknown to him to guide thee here."

XVII.

"Sweet Ellen, dear my life must be,
Since it is worthy care from thee;
Yet life I hold but idle breath,

When love or honour's weigh'd with death.
Then let me profit by my chance,
And speak my purpose bold at once.
I come to bear thee from a wild,
Where ne'er before such blossom smiled;
By this soft hand to lead thee far
From frantic scenes of feud and war.
Near Bochastle my horses wait;
They bear us soon to Stirling gate.
I'll place thee in a lovely bower,
I'll guard thee like a tender flower"-
"O! hush, Sir Knight, 'twere female art
To say I do not read thy heart;
Too much, before, my selfish ear
Was idly soothed my praise to hear.
That fatal bait hath lured thee back,
In deathful hour, o'er dangerous track;