When in rude waves or roaring winds Some words of woe the muser finds, Until more loudly and more near, Their speech arrests the page's ear.1

XXIV.

"And was she thus," said Clifford, "lost?
The priest should rue it to his cost!
What says the monk!"" The holy Sire
Owns, that in masquer's quaint attire
She sought his skiff, disguised, unknown
To all except to him alone.

But, says the priest, a bark from Lorn
Laid them aboard that very morn,
And pirates seized her for their prey.
He proffer'd ransom-gold to pay,
And they agreed-but ere told o'er,
The winds blow loud, the billows roar;
They sever'd, and they met no more.

He deems-such tempest vex'd the coast-
Ship, crew, and fugitive, were lost.
So let it be, with the disgrace
And scandal of her lofty race! 3

Thrice better she had ne'er been born,
Than brought her infamy on Lorn!"

XXV.

Lord Clifford now the captive spied ;--
"Whom, Herbert, hast thou there;" he cried.
"A spy we seized within the Chase,
A hollow oak his lurking place."-
"What tidings can the youth afford?"—

"He plays the mute."" Then noose a cord-
Unless brave Lorn reverse the doom
For his plaid's sake."-" Clan-Colla's loom,"
Said Lorn, whose careless glances trace
Rather the vesture than the face,
"Clan-Colla's dames such tartans twine;
Wearer nor plaid claims care of mine.
Give him, if my advice you crave,

His own scathed oak; 5 and let him wave
In air, unless, by terror wrung,
A frank confession find his tongue.-6
Nor shall he die without his rite;
-Thou, Angus Roy, attend the sight,
And give Clan-Colla's dirge thy breath,
As they convey him to his death.”—

"O brother! cruel to the last!"
Through the poor captive's bosom pass'd
The thought, but, to his purpose true
He said not, though he sigh'd, "Adieu!"

XXVI.

And will he keep his purpose still,

In sight of that last closing ill,7
When one poor breath, one single word,
May freedom, safety, life, afford?
Can he resist the instinctive call,
For life that bids us barter all?—

Love, strong as death, his heart hath steel'd,
His nerves hath strung-he will not yield!
Since that poor breath, that little word,
May yield Lord Ronald to the sword.-8
Clan-Colla's dirge is pealing wide,
The griesly headsman 's by his side;
Along the greenwood Chase they bend,
And now their march has ghastly end!
That old and shatter'd oak beneath,
They destine for the place of death."
-What thoughts are his, while all in vain
His
eye for aid explores the plain?
What thoughts, while, with a dizzy ear,
He hears the death-prayer mutter'd near?
And must he die such death accurst,

Or will that bosom-secret burst?
Cold on his brow breaks terror's dew,
His trembling lips are livid blue;
The agony of parting life

Has nought to match that moment's strife!

XXVII.

But other witnesses are nigh,

Who mock at fear, and death defy!
Soon as the dire lament was play'd,

It waked the lurking ambuscade.
The Island Lord look'd forth, and spied
The cause, and loud in fury cried,10
"By Heaven, they lead the page to die,
And mock me in his agony !

They shall abye it!"-On his arm

Bruce laid strong grasp, "They shall not harm

A ringlet of the stripling's hair;
But, till I give the word, forbear.

--Douglas, lead fifty of our force
Up yonder hollow water-course,
And couch thee midway on the wold,
Between the flyers and their hold:
A spear above the copse display'd,
Be signal of the ambush made.
-Edward, with forty spearmen, straight
Through yonder copse approach the gate
And, when thou hear'st the battle-din,
Rush forward, and the passage win,
Secure the drawbridge-storm the port,
And man and guard the castle-court.-
The rest move slowly forth with me,
In shelter of the forest-tree,
Till Douglas at his post I see."

XXVIII.

Like war-horse eager to rush on,
Compell'd to wait the signal blown,1
Hid, and scarce hid, by greenwood bough,
Trembling with rage, stands Ronald now,
And in his grasp his sword gleams blue,
Soon to be dyed with deadlier hue.—
Meanwhile the Bruce, with steady eye,
Sees the dark death-train moving by,
And, heedful, measures oft the space
The Douglas and his band must trace,
Ere they can reach their destined ground.
Now sinks the dirge's wailing sound,
Now cluster round the direful tree
That slow and solemn company,
While hymn mistuned and mutter'd prayer
The victim for his fate prepare.—
What glances o'er the greenwood shade?
The spear that marks the ambuscade!—
"Now, noble Chief! I leave thee loose;
Upon them, Ronald!" said the Bruce.

XXIX.

"The Bruce, the Bruce!" to well-known cry His native rocks and woods reply.

"The Bruce, the Bruce!" in that dread word
The knell of hundred deaths was heard.
The astonish'a Southern gazed at first,
Where the wild tempest was to burst,
That waked in that presaging name.
Before, behind, around it came!
Half-arm'd, surprised, on every side
Hemm'd in, hew'd down, they bled and died.
Deep in the ring the Bruce engaged,
And fierce Clan-Colla's broadsword raged!
Full soon the few who fought were sped,

1 MS." Yet waiting for the trumpet tone."

2 MS.-"See the slow-death-train."

3 MS." And scarce his recollection," &c.

4 MS.-"A harder task fierce Edward waits, Whose ire assail'd the castle gates." "KS" Where sober thought had fail'd.

Upon the bridge himself he threw."

Nor better was their lot who fled, And met, 'mid terror's wild career, The Douglas's redoubted spear!

Two hundred yeomen on that morn The castle left, and none return.

XXX.

Not on their flight press'd Ronald's brand.
A gentler duty claim'd his hand.
He raised the page, where on the plain
His fear had sunk him with the slain:
And twice, that morn, surprise well near
Betray'd the secret kept by fear;
Once, when, with life returning, came
To the boy's lip Lord Ronald's name,
And hardly recollection3 drown'd
The accents in a murmuring sound;
And once, when scarce he could resist
The Chieftain's care to loose the vest,
Drawn tightly o'er his labouring breast.
But then the Bruce's bugle blew,
For martial work was yet to do.

XXXI.

A harder task fierce Edward waits.
Ere signal given, the castle gates

His fury had assail'd ;*
Such was his wonted reckless mood,
Yet desperate valour oft made good,
Even by its daring, venture rude,

Where prudence might have fail'd.
Upon the bridge his strength he threw,'
And struck the iron chain in two,

By which its planks arose;
The warder next his axe's edge
Struck down upon the threshold ledge,
"Twixt door and post a ghastly wedge !6

The gate they may not close.
Well fought the Southern in the fray,
Clifford and Lorn fought well that day,
But stubborn Edward forced his way?

Against a hundred foes.

Loud came the cry, "The Bruce, the Bruce!" No hope or in defence or truce,

Fresh combatants pour in;

Mad with success, and drunk with gore,
They drive the struggling foe before,

And ward on ward they win.
Unsparing was the vengeful sword,

And limbs were lopp'd and life-blood pour'd, The cry of death and conflict roar'd, And fearful was the din!

6 MS." His axe was steel of temper'd edge.
That truth the warder well might pledge,
He sunk upon the threshold ledge!
The gate," &c.

7 MS.-"Well fought the English ycomen then,
And Lorn and Clifford play'd the men,
But Edward mann'd the pass he won

Against," &c.

The startling horses plunged and flung, Clamour'd the dogs till turrets rung,

Nor sunk the fearful cry,

Till not a foeman was there found
Alive, save those who on the ground
Groan'd in their agony !1

XXXII.

The valiant Clifford is no more;2

On Ronald's broadsword stream'd his gore.
But better hap had he of Lorn,
Who, by the foemen backward borne,
Yet gain'd with slender train the port,
Where lay his bark beneath the fort,
And cut the cable loose.3

Short were his shrift in that debate,
That hour of fury and of fate,

If Lorn encounter'd Bruce!4
Then long and loud the victor shout
From turret and from tower rung out,

The rugged vaults replied;

And from the donjon tower on high,
The men of Carrick may descry
Saint Andrew's cross, in blazonry
Of silver, waving wide!

XXXIII.

The Bruce hath won his father's hall!5 "Welcome, brave friends and comrades all,

Welcome to mirth and joy!

The first, the last, is welcome here,
From lord and chieftain, prince and peer,
To this poor speechless boy.

Great God! once more my sire's abode
Is mine-behold the floor I trode

In tottering infancy!

And there the vaulted arch, whose sound
Echoed my joyous shout and bound
In boyhood, and that rung around

To youth's unthinking glee!

O first, to thee, all-gracious Heaven,
Then to my friends, my thanks be given!"--
He paused a space, his brow he cross'd-
Then on the board his sword he toss'd,

Yet steaming hot; with Southern gore From hilt to point 'twas crimson'd o'er.

XXXIV.

"Bring here," he said, "the mazers four,
My noble fathers loved of yore.7
Thrice let them circle round the board,
The pledge, fair Scotland's rights restored!
And he whose lip shall touch the wine,
Without a vow as true as mine,
To hold both lands and life at nought,
Until her freedom shall be bought,-
Be brand of a disloyal Scot,
And lasting infamy his lot!8

Sit, gentle friends! our hour of glee
Is brief, we'll spend it joyously!
Blithest of all the sun's bright beams,
When betwixt storm and storm he gleams.
Well is our country's work begun,
But more, far more, must yet be done.
Speed messengers the country through;
Arouse old friends, and gather new ;9
Warn Lanark's knights to gird their mail,
Rouse the brave sons of Teviotdale,
Let Ettrick's archers sharp their darts,
The fairest forms, the truest hearts!
Call all, call all! from Reedswair-Path,
To the wild confines of Cape-Wrath;
Wide let the news through Scotland ring,
The Northern Eagle claps his wing!"

The Lord of the Esles.

CANTO SIXTH.

I.

O WHO, that shared them, ever shall forget 10
The emotions of the spirit-rousing time,
When breathless in the mart the couriers met,
Early and late, at evening and at prime;
When the loud cannon and the merry chime
Hail'd news on news, as field on field was won,11

The concluding stanza of "The Siege of Corinth" contains an obvious, though, no doubt, an unconscious imitation of the preceding nine lines, magnificently expanded through an extent of about thirty couplets:

"All the living things that heard

That deadly earth-shock disappear'd;
The wild birds flew; the wild dogs fled,
And howling left the unburied dead;
The camels from their keepers broke;
The distant steer forsook the yoke-
The nearer steed plunged o'er the plain,
And burst his girth, and tore his rein," &c.
2 In point of fact, Clifford fell at Bannockburn.
MS." And swiftly hoisted sail."
MS.-"Short were his shrift, if in that hour
of fate, of fury, and of power,
He 'counter'd Edward Bruce!"

5 See Appendix, Note 3 D.

6 MS." And see the vaulted arch," &c.

7 See Appendix, Note 3 E.

8 MS." Be lasting infamy his lot,

And brand of a disloyal Scot!"

9 See Appendix, Note 3 F.

10 MS." Hast thou forgot?-No! who can e'er forget." 11"Who can avoid conjuring up the idea of men with broad sheets of foolscap scored with victories rolled round their hats, and horns blowing loud defiance in each other's mouth, from the top to the bottom of Pall-Mall, or the Haymarket, when he reads such a passage? We actually hear the Park and Tower guns, and the clattering of ten thousand bells, as we read, and stop our ears from the close and sudden intrusion of the clamours of some hot and hornfisted patriot, blowing ourselves, as well as Bonaparte, to the devil! And what has all this to do with Bannockburn?"-Monthly Review.

When Hope, long doubtful, soar'd at length sublime, And our glad eyes, awake as day begun, Watch'd Joy's broad banner rise, to meet the rising sun!!

O these were hours, when thrilling joy repaid A long, long course of darkness, doubts, and fears! The heart-sick faintness of the hope delay'd, The waste, the woe, the bloodshed, and the tears That track'd with terror twenty rolling years, All was forgot in that blithe jubilee! Her downcast eye even pale Affliction rears, To sigh a thankful prayer, amid the glee, That hail'd the Despot's fall, and peace and liberty!

Such news o'er Scotland's hills triumphant rode, When 'gainst the invaders turn'd the battle's scale, When Bruce's banner had victorious flow'd O'er Loudoun's mountain, and in Ury's vale;2 When English blood oft deluged Douglas-dale, a And fiery Edward routed stout St. John,* When Randolph's war-cry swell'd the southern gale,5 And many a fortress, town, and tower, was won, And Fame still sounded forth fresh deeds of glory done.

II.

Blithe tidings flew from baron's tower,
To peasant's cot, to forest-bower,

And waked the solitary cell,

Where lone Saint Bride's recluses dwell. Princess no more, fair Isabel,

A vot'ress of the order now,
Say, did the rule that bid thee wear
Dim veil and woollen scapulaire,
And reft thy locks of dark-brown hair,
That stern and rigid vow,
Did it condemn the transport high,
Which glisten'd in thy watery eye,
When minstrel or when palmer told
Each fresh exploit of Bruce the bold?—
And whose the lovely form, that shares
Thy anxious hopes, thy fears, thy prayers?
No sister she of convent shade;

So say these locks in lengthen'd braid,
So say the blushes and the sighs,
The tremors that unbidden rise,
When, mingled with the Bruce's fame,
The brave Lord Ronald's praises came.

III.

Believe, his father's castle won,
And his bold enterprise begun,
That Bruce's earliest cares restore
The speechless page to Arran's shore:
Nor think that long the quaint disguise
Conceal'd her from a sister's eyes;

MS.-" Watch'd Joy's broad banner rise, watch'd

And sister-like in love they dwell
In that lone convent's silent cell.
There Bruce's slow assent allows
Fair Isabel the veil and vows;
And there, her sex's dress regain'd,
The lovely Maid of Lorn remain'd,
Unnamed, unknown, while Scotland far
Resounded with the din of war;
And many a month, and many a day,
In calm seclusion wore away.

IV.

These days, these months, to years had

worn,

When tidings of high weight were borne
To that lone island's shore;
Of all the Scottish conquests made
By the First Edward's ruthless blade,
His son retain'd no more,
Northward of Tweed, but Stirling's towers,
Beleaguer'd by King Robert's powers;

And they took term of truce, 6
If England's King should not relieve
The siege ere John the Baptist's eve,
To yield them to the Bruce.
England was roused-on every side
Courier and post and herald hied,

To summon prince and peer,
At Berwick-bounds to meet their Liege,
Prepared to raise fair Stirling's siege,
With buckler, brand, and spear.
The term was nigh-they muster'd fast,
By beacon and by bugle-blast

Forth marshall'd for the field;
There rode each knight of noble name,
There England's hardy archers came,
The land they trode seem'd all on flame,

With banner, blade, and shield! And not famed England's powers alone, Renown'd in arms, the summons own; For Neustria's knights obey'd, Gascogne hath lent her horsemen good, And Cambria, but of late subdued, Sent forth her mountain-multitude, And Connoght pour'd from waste and wood Her hundred tribes, whose sceptre rude Dark Eth O'Connor sway'd.10

Triumph's flashing gun."

8 The MS. has not this line.

His royal summons warn'd the land,
That all who own'd their King's command
Should instant take the spear and brand,1

To combat at his side.

O who may tell the sons of fame,
That at King Robert's bidding came,
To battle for the right!

From Cheviot to the shores of Ross,
From Solway-Sands to Marshal's-Moss,2
All boun'd them for the fight.
Such news the royal courier tells,
Who came to rouse dark Arran's dells;
But farther tidings must the ear
Of Isabel in secret hear.

These in her cloister walk, next morn,
Thus shared she with the Maid of Lorn.

VI.

"My Edith, can I tell how dear
Our intercourse of hearts sincere
Hath been to Isabel?-
Judge then the sorrow of my heart,
When I must say the words, We part!
The cheerless convent-cell

Was not, sweet maiden, made for thee;
Go thou where thy vocation free

On happier fortunes fell.
Nor, Edith, judge thyself betray'd
Though Robert knows that Lorn's high Maid
And his poor silent page were one.
Versed in the fickle heart of man,
Earnest and anxious hath he look'd
How Ronald's heart the message brook'd
That gave him, with her last farewell,
The charge of Sister Isabel,
To think upon thy better right,

And keep the faith his promise plight.
Forgive him for thy sister's sake,
At first if vain repinings wake-1

Long since that mood is gone:
Now dwells he on thy juster claims,
And oft his breach of faith he blames-
Forgive him for thine own!"--

"Nay, hush thee, too impatient maid,
Until my final tale be said!--
The good King Robert would engage
Edith once more his elfin page,
By her own heart, and her own eye,
Her lover's penitence to try-5
Safe in his royal charge and free,
Should such thy final purpose be,
Again unknown to seek the cell,
And live and die with Isabel,"
Thus spoke the maid-King Robert's eye
Might have some glance of policy;
Dunstaffnage had the monarch ta'en,
And Lorn had own'd King Robert's reign;"
Her brother had to England fled,
And there in banishment was dead;
Ample, through exile, death, and flight,
O'er tower and land was Edith's right;
This ample right o'er tower and land
Were safe in Ronald's faithful hand.

VIII.

Embarrass'd eye and blushing cheek
Pleasure and shame, and fear bespeak!
Yet much the reasoning Edith made:
"Her sister's faith she must upbraid,
Who gave such secret, dark and dear,
In council to another's ear.

Why should she leave the peaceful cell?—
How should she part with Isabel ?-
How wear that strange attire agen?—
How risk herself 'midst martial men?-
And how be guarded on the way?-
At least she might entreat delay."
Kind Isabel, with secret smile,
Saw and forgave the maiden's wile,
Reluctant to be thought to move
At the first call of truant love.?