"He had an eye, and he could heed,
Ever sing warily, warily;
He had a foot, and he could speed-
Hunters watch so narrowly."1
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.-
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,2
But in his race his bow he drew,
The shaft just grazed Fitz-James's crest,
And thrill'd in Blanche's faded breast,-
["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 to make them sing good sense, and to make sensible people be guided by them.”— JEFFREY.]
[MS. Forth at full speed the Clansman went;
But in his race his bow he bent,
Halted-and back an arrow sent."]
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,2
He grimly smiled to see him die;
Then slower wended back his way,
Where the poor maiden bleeding lay.
She sate beneath the birchen-tree,
Her elbow resting on her knee ;
"It may not be
The fiery Saxon gains on thee,
Thine ambush'd kin thou ne'er shalt see!
Resistless as the lightning's flame,
The thrust betwixt his shoulder came."] [MS.-"Then o'er him hung, with falcon eye, And grimly smil'd to see him die."]
She had withdrawn the fatal shaft,
And gazed on it, and feebly laugh'd;
Her wreath of broom and feathers gray,
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,1
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 waves
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!—
1 [MS.-"A guiltless injured wretch I die."] [MS." But now, my champion,-it shall wave."]
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 tartans broad and shadowy plume,
And hand of blood, and brow of gloom,
Be thy heart bold, thy weapon strong,
And wreak Blanche of Devan's wrong!—
They watch for thee by pass and fell ...
Avoid the path ... O God!... farewell."
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,1
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 ?
• [MS." God in my need, to me be true,
As I wreak this on Roderick Dhu."]
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 cliff 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:
I'll couch me here till evening gray,
Then darkling try my dangerous way."
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;
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