I mark'd at morn how close they ride,
Thick moor'd by the lone islet's side,
Like wild-ducks couching in the fen,
When stoops the hawk upon the glen.
Since this rude race dare not abide
The peril on the mainland side,
Shall not thy noble father's care
Some safe retreat for thee prepare?"-

X.

ELLEN.

"No, Allan, no! Pretext so kind1
My wakeful terrors could not blind.
When in such tender tone, yet grave,
Douglas a parting blessing gave,
The tear that glisten'd in his eye
Drown'd not his purpose fix'd on high.
My soul, though feminine and weak,
Can image his; e'en as the lake,
Itself disturb'd by slightest stroke,
Reflects the invulnerable rock.
He hears report of battle rife,

He deems himself the cause of strife.
I saw him redden, when the theme
Turn'd, Allan, on thine idle dream,
Of Malcolm Græme, in fetters bound,
Which I, thou saidst, about him wound.
Think'st thou he trow'd thine omen aught?
Oh no! 'twas apprehensive thought
For the kind youth,-for Roderick too-
(Let me be just) that friend so true;
In danger both, and in our cause!
Minstrel, the Douglas dare not pause.
Why else that solemn warning given,
'If not on earth, we meet in heaven!'
Why else, to Cambus-kenneth's fane,
If eve return him not again,
Am I to hie, and make me known?
Alas! he goes to Scotland's throne,
Buys his friend's safety with his own ;-
He goes to do what I had done,

Had Bouglas' daughter been his son !”—

XI.

"Nay, lovely Ellen !-dearest, nay!
If aught should his return delay,
He only named yon holy fane
As fitting place to meet again.

Be sure he's safe; and for the Græme,-
Heaven's blessing on his gallant name !-
My vision'd sight may yet prove true,
Nor bode of ill to him or you.
When did my gifted dream beguile?
Think of the stranger at the isle,

IMS.-"No, Allan, no! His words so kind
Were but pretexts my fears to blind.
When in such solemn tone, and grave,
Douglas a parting blessing gave."
MS.-"Itself disturb'd by slightest shock,
Reflects the adamantine rock."

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;

MS.-" By Cambusmore my horses wait."

MS.-"Was idly fond thy praise to hear." M8.-" This ring of gold the monarch gave."

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;1
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.

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,

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,1
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 speedHunters watch so narrowly."

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.-

1 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.

8 "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,"
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.