In our isle's enchanted hall, Hands unseen thy couch are strewing, Fairy strains of music fall, Every sense in slumber dewing. Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er, Dream of fighting fields no more: "No rude sound shall reach thine ear,1 Armour's clang, or war-steed champing, Trump nor pibroch summon here Mustering clan, or squadron tramping. Yet the lark's shrill fife may come At the day-break from the fallow, And the bittern sound his drum, Booming from the sedgy shallow. Ruder sounds shall none be near, Guards nor warders challenge here, Here's no war-steed's neigh and champing, Shouting clans, or squadrons stamping." XXXII. She paused—then, blushing, led the lay To grace the stranger of the day. 1 [MS.-" Noon of hunger, night of waking. [MS." She paused-but waked again the lay."] Her mellow notes awhile prolong Song continued. "Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done, While our slumbrous spells assail ye,' Dream not, with the rising sun, Bugles here shall sound reveillé. Sleep! thy hounds are by thee lying; Here no bugles sound reveillé." XXXIII. The hall was clear'd-the stranger's bed "Slumber sweet our spells shall deal ye, [MS.—{ Let our slumbrous spells avail ye, beguile ye."] [MS.-"And dream'd their mountain chase again."] But vainly did the heath-flower shed His standard falls, his honour's lost. Then, from my couch may heavenly might Chase that worst phantom of the night!— Again his soul he interchanged With friends whose hearts were long estranged. They come, in dim procession led, The cold, the faithless, and the dead; As warm each hand, each brow as gay, As if they parted yesterday. And doubt distracts him at the view, 1 ["Ye guardian spirits, to whom man is dear, From these foul demons shield the midnight gloom: And o'er the blank of sleep diffuse a bloom. XXXIV. At length, with Ellen in a grove Slowly enlarged to giant size, With darkened cheek and threatning eyes, To Ellen still a likeness bore.- But chief, awhile, O! lend us from the tomb Those long-lost friends for whom in love we smart, "Or are you sportive ?-bid the morn of youth Of innocence, simplicity, and truth; To cares estranged, and manhood's thorny ways. Our easy bliss, when each thing joy supplied; Of the wild brooks?"-Castle of Indolence, Canto I.] 1 ["Such a strange and romantic dream as may be naturally expected to flow from the extraordinary events of the past day. It might, perhaps, be quoted as one of Mr Scott's most successful efforts in descriptive poetry. Some few lines of it are indeed unrivalled for delicacy ard melancholy tenderness."-Critical Review.] The hearth's decaying brands were red, The uncouth trophies of the hall. He rose, and sought the moonshine pure. XXXV. The wild-rose, eglantine, and broom, He felt its calm, that warrior guest, While thus he communed with his breast: the bosom of the lake, [MS." Play'd on Loch Katrine's still expanse ; The birch, the wild-rose, and the broom, The aspen slept on Benvenue; Wild were the heart whose passions' power |