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
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."-
"O 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;1
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;
And how, O how, can I atone
The wreck my vanity brought on !—
One way remains-I'll tell him all-
Yes! struggling bosom, forth it shall !
Thou, whose light folly bears the blame,
Buy thine own pardon with thy shame!
But first-my father is a man

Outlaw'd and exiled, under ban;

XVIII.
Fitz-James knew every wily train

A lady's fickle heart to gain;

But here he knew and felt them vain.
There shot no glance from Ellen's eye,
To give her steadfast speech the lie;
In maiden confidence she stood,
Though mantled in her cheek the blood,
And told her love with such a sigh
Of deep and hopeless agony,

As death had seal'd her Malcolm's doom,
And she sat sorrowing on his tomb.
Hope vanish'd from Fitz-James's eye,
But not with hope fled sympathy.

He proffer'd to attend her side,
As brother would a sister guide.-

"O! little know'st thou Roderick's heart! Safer for both we go apart.

O haste thee, and from Allan learn,
If thou may'st trust yon wily kern."
With hand upon his forehead laid,
The conflict of his mind to shade,
A parting step or two he made;
Then, as some thought had cross'd his brain,
He paused, and turn'd, and came again.

XIX.

"Hear, lady, yet, a parting word!—
It chanced in fight that my poor sword
Preserved the life of Scotland's lord.
This ring the grateful Monarch gave,3
And bade, when I had boon to crave,
To bring it back, and boldly claim
The recompense that I would name.
Ellen, I am no courtly lord,

But one who lives by lance and sword,
Whose castle is his helm and shield,
His lordship the embattled field.
What from a prince can I demand,
Who neither reck of state nor land?
Ellen, thy hand-the ring is thine;
Each guard and usher knows the sign.
Seek thou the king without delay;5
This signet shall secure thy way;
And claim thy suit, whate'er it be,
As ransom of his pledge to me."

4 MS." Permit this hand-the ring is thine."'

5 MS.-"Seek thou the King, and on thy knee Put forth thy suit, whate'er it be,

As ransom of his pledge to me;

He placed the golden circlet on,

Paused-kiss'd her hand-and then was gone.
The aged Minstrel stood aghast,
So hastily Fitz-James shot past.
He join'd his guide, and wending down
The ridges of the mountain brown,
Across the stream they took their way,
That joins Loch Katrine to Achray.

XX.

All in the Trosach's glen was still,
Noontide was sleeping on the hill:
Sudden his guide whoop'd loud and high-
Murdoch! was that a signal cry?”—
He stammer'd forth,-" I shout to scare1
Yon raven from his dainty fare."
He look'd he knew the ravet.'s prey,
His own brave steed:-"Ah! gallant grey!
For thee for me, perchance--'twere well
We ne'er had seen the Trosach's dell.—
Murdoch, move first-but silently;
Whistle or whoop, and thou shalt die!"
Jealous and sullen on they fared,
Each silent, each upon his guard.

XXI.

Now wound the path its dizzy ledge
Around a precipice's edge,
When lo! a wasted female form,
Blighted by wrath of sun and storm,
In tatter'd weeds and wild array,2
Stood on a cliff beside the way,
And glancing round her restless eye,
Upon the wood, the rock, the sky,
Seem'd nought to mark, yet all to spy.

Her brow was wreath'd with gaudy broom;
With gesture wild she waved a plume
Of feathers, which the eagles fling
To crag and cliff from dusky wing;
Such spoils her desperate step had sought,
Where scarce was footing for the goat.
The tartan plaid she first descried,
And shriek'd till all the rocks replied;
As loud she laugh'd when near they drew,
For then the Lowland garb she knew;
And then her hands she wildly wrung,
And then she wept, and then she sung-
She sung!-the voice, in better time,
Perchance to harp or lute might chime,
And now, though strain'd and roughen'd, still
Rung wildly sweet to dale and hill.

My name and this shall make thy way."
He put the little signet on."

XXII. Song.

They bid me sleep, they bid me pray,
They say my brain is warp'd and wrung-
I cannot sleep on Highland brae,

I cannot pray in Highland tongue.
But were I now where Allan3 glides,
Or heard my native Devan's tides,
So sweetly would I rest, and pray
That Heaven would close my wintry day!

"Twas thus my hair they bade me braid, They made me to the church repair; It was my bridal morn they said,

And my true love would meet me there. But woe betide the cruel guile,

That drown'd in blood the morning smile! And woe betide the fairy dream!

I only waked to sob and scream.

XXIII.

"Who is this maid? what means her lay!
She hovers o'er the hollow way,
And flutters wide her mantle grey,
As the lone heron spreads his wing,
By twilight, o'er a haunted spring.”—
" "Tis Blanche of Devan," Murdoch said,
"A crazed and captive Lowland maid,*
Ta'en on the morn she was a bride,
When Roderick foray'd Devan-side.
The gay bridegroom resistance made,
And felt our Chief's unconquer'd blade,
I marvel she is now at large,

But oft she 'scapes from Maudlin's charge.—
Hence, brain-sick fool!"-He raised his bow:-
"Now, if thou strikest her but one blow,
I'll pitch thee from the cliff as far
As ever peasant pitch'd a bar!"--
"Thanks, champion, thanks!" the Maniac
cried,

6

And press'd her to Fitz-James's side.
"See the grey pennons I prepare,
To seek my true-love through the air?
I will not lend that savage groom,
To break his fall, one downy plume!
No! deep amid disjointed stones,
The wolves shall batten on his bones,
And then shall his detested plaid,
By bush and brier in mid air staid,
Wave forth a banner fair and free,
Meet signal for their revelry."—

celebrated in the poetry of Burns, which descend from the
hills of Perthshire into the great carse or plain of Stirling
4 MS. A Saxon born, a crazy maid-
'Tis Blanche of Devan,' Murdoch said."
5 MS." With thee these pennons will I share,
Then seek my true love through the air."

6 MS." But I'll not lend that savage groom,
To break his fall, one downy plume!
Deep, deep 'mid yon disjointed stones,
The wolf shall batten on his bones."

XXIV. "Hush thee, poor maiden, and be still!"— "O! thou look'st kindly, and I will.— Mine eye has dried and wasted been, But still it loves the Lincoln green; And, though mine ear is all unstrung, Still, still it loves the Lowland tongue.

"For O my sweet William was forester true,' He stole poor Blanche's heart away! His coat it was all of the greenwood hue,

And so blithely he trill'd the Lowland lay!

"It was not that I meant to tell..
But thou art wise and guessest well."
Then, in a low and broken tone,
And hurried note, the song went on.
Still on the Clansman, fearfully,
She fix'd her apprehensive eye;

Then turn'd it on the Knight, and then
Her look glanced wildly o'er the glen.

XXV.

"The toils are pitch'd, and the stakes are set, Ever sing merrily, merrily;

The bows they bend, and the knives they whet,

Hunters live so cheerily.

"It was a stag, a stag of ten,

Bearing its branches sturdily; He came stately down the glen, Ever sing hardily, hardily.

"It was there he met with a wounded doe, She was bleeding deathfully;

She warn'd him of the toils below,
O, so faithfully, faithfully!

"He had an eye, and he could heed, Ever sing warily, warily;

He had a foot, and he could speed-Hunters watch so narrowly."3

XXVI.

Fitz-James's mind was passion-toss'd, When Ellen's hints and fears were lost; But Murdoch's shout suspicion wrought, And Blanche's song conviction brought.—

MS.-"Sweet William was a woodsman true,
He stole poor Blanche's heart away!
His coat was of the forest hue,
And sweet he sung the Lowland lay."

Having ten branches on his antlers.

"No machinery can be conceived more clumsy for effecting the deliverance of a distressed hero, than the introduction of a mad woman, who, without knowing or caring about the wanderer, warns him by a song, to take care of the ambush that was set for him. The maniacs of poetry have indeed had a prescriptive right to be musical, since the days of Ophelia downwards; but it is rather a rash extension of this privilege

Not like a stag that spies the snare,
But lion of the hunt aware,
He waved at once his blade on high,
"Disclose thy treachery, or die!"
Forth at full speed the Clansman flew,♦
But in his race his bow he drew.
The shaft just grazed Fitz-James's crest.
And thrill'd in Blanche's faded breast,-
Murdoch of Alpine! prove thy speed,
For ne'er had Alpine's son such need!
With heart of fire, and foot of wind,
The fierce avenger is behind!
Fate judges of the rapid strife-
The forfeit death-the prize is life!
Thy kindred ambush lies before,
Close couch'd upon the heathery moor;
Them couldst thou reach!—it may not be-
Thine ambush'd kin thou ne'er shalt see,
The fiery Saxon gains on thee!
-Resistless speeds the deadly thrust,
As lightning strikes the pine to dust;
With foot and hand Fitz-James must strain,
Ere he can win his blade again.
Bent o'er the fall'n, with falcon eye,"
He grimly smiled to see him die;
Then slower wended back his way,
Where the poor maiden bleeding lay.

XXVII.

She sate beneath the birchen-tree,
Her elbow resting on her knee;
She had withdrawn the fatal shaft,
And gazed on it, and feebly laugh'd;
Her wreath of broom and feathers grey,
Daggled with blood, beside her lay.

The Knight to stanch the life-stream tried,——
"Stranger, it is in vain!" she cried.
"This hour of death has given me more
Of reason's power than years before;
For, as these ebbing veins decay,
My frenzied visions fade away.
A helpless injured wretch I die,7
And something tells me in thine eye,
That thou wert mine avenger born.-
Seest thou this tress?-O! still I've worn
This little tress of yellow hair,
Through danger, frenzy, and despair!
It once was bright and clear as thine,

But blood and tears have dimm'd its shine.

I will not tell thee when 'twas shred,
Nor from what guiltless victim's head-
My brain would turn!--but it shall wave!
Like plumage on thy helmet brave,
Till sun and wind shall bleach the stain,
And thou wilt bring it me again.—
I waver still.-O God! more bright
Let reason beam her parting light !——
O! by thy knighthood's honour'd sign,
And for thy life preserved by mine,
When thou shalt see a darksome man,
Who boasts him Chief of Alpine's Clan,
With tartan's broad and shadowy plume,
And hand of blood, and brow of gloom,
Be thy heart bold, thy weapon strong,
And wreak poor Blanche of Devan's wrong!
They watch for thee by pass and fell . . .
Avoid the path... O God! . . . farewell."

XXVIII.

A kindly heart had brave Fitz-James;
Fast pour'd his eyes at pity's claims,
And now with mingled grief and ire,
He saw the murder'd maid expire.
"God, in my need, be my relief,
As I wreak this on yonder Chief!"
A lock from Blanche's tresses fair
He blended with her bridegroom's hair;
The mingled braid in blood he dyed,
And placed it on his bonnet-side:
"By Him whose word is truth! I swear,
No other favour will I wear,
Till this sad token I imbrue
In the best blood of Roderick Dhu!

-But hark! what means yon faint halloo?
The chase is up,-but they shall know,
The stag at bay 's a dangerous foe."
Barr'd from the known but guarded way,
Through copse and cliffs Fitz-James must stray,
And oft must change his desperate track,
By stream and precipice turn'd back.
Heartless, fatigued, and faint, at length,
From lack of food and loss of strength,
He couch'd him in a thicket hoar,
And thought his toils and perils o'er :-
"Of all my rash adventures past,
This frantic feat must prove the last!
Who e'er so mad but might have guess'd,
That all this Highland hornet's nest
Would muster up in swarms so soon
As e'er they heard of bands at Doune?-
Like bloodhounds now they search me out,-
Hark, to the whistle and the shout!--
If farther through the wilds I go,
I only fall upon the foe:

1 MS.-" But now, my champion,-it shall wave." MS." God, in my need, to me be true,

As I wreak this on Roderick Dhu."

MS.-"By the decaying flame was laid
A warrior in his Highland plaid."

The shades of eve come slowly down,
The woods are wrapt in deeper brown,
The owl awakens from her dell,
The fox is heard upon the fell;
Enough remains of glimmering light
To guide the wanderer's steps aright.
Yet not enough from far to show
His figure to the watchful foe.
With cautious step, and ear awake,
He climbs the crag and threads the brake;
And not the summer solstice, there,
Temper'd the midnight mountain air,
But every breeze, that swept the wold,
Benumb'd his drenched limbs with cold.
In dread, in danger, and alone,

Famish'd and chill'd, through ways unknown,
Tangled and steep, he journey'd on;
Till, as a rock's huge point he turn'd,
A watch-fire close before him burn'd.

XXX.

Beside its embers red and clear,3 Bask'd, in his plaid, a mountaineer; And up he sprung with sword in hand,"Thy name and purpose! Saxon, stand!""A stranger."-"What dost thou require?""Rest and a guide, and food and fire. My life's beset, my path is lost,

The gale has chill'd my limbs with frost.""Art thou a friend to Roderick ?""No.""Thou darest not call thyself a foe?”"I dare! to him and all the band* He brings to aid his murderous hand.""Bold words!--but, though the beast of game The privilege of chase may claim, Though space and law the stag we lend, Ere hound we slip, or bow we bend, Who ever reck'd, where, how, or when, The prowling fox was trapp'd or slain? 5 Thus treacherous scouts,-yet sure they lie, Who say thou camest a secret spy!"— "They do, by heaven!-Come Roderick Dhu, And of his clan the boldest two, And let me but till morning rest,

I write the falsehood on their crest."--
"If by the blaze I mark aright,

Thou bear'st the belt and spur of Knight.”—
"Then by these tokens mayest thou know
Each proud oppressor's mortal foe."—
"Enough, enough; sit down and share
A soldier's couch, a soldier's fare.

4 MS." I dare! to him and all the swarm He brings to aid his murderous arm.”

5 See Appendix, Note 3 F.

XXXI.

He gave him of his Highland cheer,

The harden'd flesh of mountain deer;1

Dry fuel on the fire he laid,

And bade the Saxon share his plaid.

He tended him like welcome guest,
Then thus his farther speech address'd.
"Stranger, I am to Roderick Dhu
A clansman born, a kinsman true;
Each word against his honour spoke,
Demands of me avenging stroke;
Yet more,-upon thy fate, 'tis said,
A mighty augury is laid.

It rests with me to wind my horn,-
Thou art with numbers overborne ;
It rests with me, here, brand to brand,
Worn as thou art, to bid thee stand:
But, not for clan, nor kindred's cause,
Will I depart from honour's laws;
To assail a wearied man were shame,
And stranger is a holy name;
Guidance and rest, and food and fire,
In vain he never must require.

Then rest thee here till dawn of day;
Myself will guide thee on the way,

O'er stock and stone, through watch and ward,
Till past Clan-Alpine's outmost guard,

As far as Coilantogle's ford;

From thence thy warrant is thy sword."-
"I take thy courtesy, by heaven,
As freely as 'tis nobly given !"-
"Well, rest thee; for the bittern's cry
Sings us the lake's wild lullaby."
With that he shook the gather'd heath,
And spread his plaid upon the wreath;
And the brave foemen, side by side,
Lay peaceful down, like brothers tried,
And slept until the dawning beam 2
Purpled the mountain and the stream.

The Lady of the Lake.

CANTO FIFTH.

The Combat.

I.

FAIR as the earliest beam of castern light,
When first, by the bewilder'd pilgrim spied,
It smiles upon the dreary brow of night,
And silvers o'er the torrents foaming tide,

1 See Appendix, Note 3 G.

MS.-" And slept until the dawning streak
Purpled the mountain and the lake."

a MS." And lights the fearful way along its side."

4 The Scottish Highlander calls himself Gael, or Gaul, and terms the Lowlanders, Sassenach, or Saxons.

That early beam, so fair and sheen,

Was twinkling through the hazel screen,
When, rousing at its glimmer red,
The warriors left their lowly bed,
Look'd out upon the dappled sky,
Mutter'd their soldier matins by,
And then awaked their fire, to steal,
As short and rude, their soldier meal.
That o'er, the Gael around him threw
His graceful plaid of varied hue,
And, true to promise, led the way,
By thicket green and mountain grey.
A wildering path !--they winded now
Along the precipice's brow,
Commanding the rich seenes beneath,
The windings of the Forth and Teith,
And all the vales beneath that lie,

Till Stirling's turrets melt in sky;

Then, sunk in copse, their farthest glance
Gain'd not the length of horseman's lance.
'Twas oft so steep, the foot was fain
Assistance from the hand to gain;
So tangled oft, that, bursting through,
Each hawthorn shed her showers of dew,-
That diamond dew, so pure and clear,
It rivals all but Beauty's tear!

III.

At length they came where, stern and steep," The hill sinks down upon the deep.

Here Vennachar in silver flows,

There, ridge on ridge, Benledi rose;

Ever the hollow path twined on,

Beneath steep bank and threatening stone;
An hundred men might hold the post
With hardihood against a host.
The rugged mountain's scanty cloak
Was dwarfish shrubs of birch and oak,"
With shingles bare, and cliffs between,
And patches bright of bracken green,
And heather black, that waved so high,
It held the copse in rivalry.

But where the lake slept deep and still,
Dank osiers fringed the swamp and hill;
And oft both path and hill were torn,
Where wintry torrents down had borne,