Their barded horsemen, in the rear,
The stern battalia crown'd.

No cymbal clash'd, no clarion rang,

Still were the pipe and drum;

Save heavy tread, and armour's clang,

The sullen march was dumb.

There breathed no wind their crests to shake,

Or wave their flags abroad;

Scarce the frail aspen seem'd to quake,

That shadow'd o'er their road.

Their vaward scouts no tidings bring,

Can rouse no lurking foe,

Nor spy a trace of living thing,

Save when they stirr'd the roe;
The host moves like a deep-sea wave,
Where rise no rocks its pride to brave,
High-swelling, dark, and slow.

The lake is pass'd, and now they gain
A narrow and a broken plain,

Before the Trosachs' rugged jaws;

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And here the horse and spearmen pause,

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While, to explore the dangerous glen,
Dive through the pass the archer-men.

XVII.

'At once there rose so wild a yell Within that dark and narrow dell,

As all the fiends, from heaven that fell,

Had peal'd the banner-cry of hell!

Forth from the pass in tumult driven,
Like chaff before the wind of heaven,

The archery appear;

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For life! for life! their flight they ply—
And shriek, and shout, and battle-cry,
And plaids and bonnets waving high,
And broadswords flashing to the sky,
Are maddening in the rear.
Onward they drive, in dreadful race,

Pursuers and pursued;

Before that tide of flight and chase,
How shall it keep its rooted place,

The spearmen's twilight wood?—

'Down, down,' cried Mar, 'your lances down!

Bear back both friend and foe!'—
Like reeds before the tempest's frown,
That serried grove of lances brown

At once lay levell❜d low;
And closely shouldering side to side,
The bristling ranks the onset bide.-
'We'll quell the savage mountaineer,

As their Tinchel cows the game!
They come as fleet as forest deer,
We'll drive them back as tame.'-

XVIII.

'Bearing before them, in their course,
The relics of the archer force,
Like wave with crest of sparkling foam,
Right onward did Clan-Alpine come.

Above the tide, each broadsword bright
Was brandishing like beam of light,

Each targe was dark below;
And with the ocean's mighty swing,
When heaving to the tempest's wing,
They hurl'd them on the foe.

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I heard the lance's shivering crash,
As when the whirlwind rends the ash;
I heard the broadsword's deadly clang,
As if an hundred anvils rang!

But Moray wheel'd his rearward rank
Of horsemen on Clan-Alpine's flank,

-"My banner-man, advance!

I see," he cried, "their column shake.-
Now, gallants! for your ladies' sake,
Upon them with the lance!".
The horsemen dash'd among the rout,
As deer break through the broom;

Their steeds are stout, their swords are out,
They soon make lightsome room.
Clan-Alpine's best are backward borne-

Where, where was Roderick then?

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One blast upon his bugle-horn

Were worth a thousand men!

And refluent through the pass of fear
The battle's tide was pour'd;

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Vanish'd the Saxon's struggling spear,

Vanish'd the mountain-sword.

Receives her roaring linn,

As the dark caverns of the deep
Suck the dark whirlpool in,

So did the deep and darksome pass
Devour the battle's mingled mass:
None linger now upon the plain,
Save those who ne'er shall fight again.

As Bracklinn's chasm, so black and steep,

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XIX.

'Now westward rolls the battle's din,
That deep and doubling pass within.
-Minstrel, away! the work of fate
Is bearing on: its issue wait,

Where the rude Trosachs' dread defile
Opens on Katrine's lake and isle.
Grey Benvenue I soon repass'd,
Loch Katrine lay beneath me cast.

The sun is set ;-the clouds are met,
The lowering scowl of heaven

An inky hue of livid blue

To the deep lake has given;

Strange gusts of wind from mountain-glen
Swept o'er the lake, then sunk agen.
I heeded not the eddying surge,
Mine eye but saw the Trosachs' gorge,

Mine ear but heard that sullen sound,

Which like an earthquake shook the ground,
And spoke the stern and desperate strife
That parts not but with parting life,

Seeming, to minstrel ear, to toll
The dirge of many a passing soul.
Nearer it comes the dim-wood glen
The martial flood disgorged agen,
But not in mingled tide;
The plaided warriors of the North
High on the mountain thunder forth
And overhang its side;

While by the lake below appears
The dark'ning cloud of Saxon spears.

At weary bay each shatter'd band,
Eyeing their foemen, sternly stand;
Their banners stream like tatter'd sail,
That flings its fragments to the gale,
And broken arms and disarray
Mark'd the fell havoc of the day.

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XX.

'Viewing the mountain's ridge askance,
The Saxon stood in sullen trance,
Till Moray pointed with his lance,

And cried-"Behold yon isle !—

See! none are left to guard its strand,
But women weak, that wring the hand:
'Tis there of yore the robber band

Their booty wont to pile;-
My purse, with bonnet-pieces store,
To him will swim a bow-shot o'er,
And loose a shallop from the shore.
Lightly we'll tame the war-wolf then,
Lords of his mate, and brood, and den."-
Forth from the ranks a spearman sprung,
On earth his casque and corslet rung,

He plunged him in the wave :—
All saw the deed-the purpose knew,
And to their clamours Benvenue

A mingled echo gave;

The Saxons shout, their mate to cheer,
The helpless females scream for fear,
And yells for rage the mountaineer.
'Twas then, as by the outcry riven,
Pour'd down at once the lowering heaven;

L. L.

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