Is it the lightning's quivering glance

That on the thicket streams,
Or do they flash on spear and lance

The sun's retiring beams?
-I see the dagger-crest of Mar,
I see the Moray's silver star,
Wave o'er the cloud of Saxon war,
That up the lake comes winding far!
To hero bound for battle-strife,

Or bard of martial lay,

"Twere worth ten years of peaceful life, One glance at their array!

XVI.

"Their light-arm'd archers far and near
Survey'd the tangled ground,

Their centre ranks, with pi' e and spear,

A twilight forest frown'd,

Their barbed 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 Lring,
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 Trosach's rugged jaws;
And here the horse and spearmen pause,
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;

For life! for life! their plight 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.

The MS. has not this couplet.

A circle of sportsmen, who, by surrounding a great space, and gradually narrowing, brought immense quantities of deer together, which usually made desperate efforts to break through the Tinchel.

Onward they drive, in dreadful rare,
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 Tinchel2 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.

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!
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;
Vanish'd the Saxon's struggling spear,
Vanish'd the mountain-sword.
As Bracklinn's chasm, so black and steep,
Receives her roaring linn,

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

MS. And refluent down the darksome pass
The battle's tide was pour'd;
There toil'd the spearman's struggling spear,
There raged the mountain-sword."

P

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.

XIX.

"Now westward rolls the battle's din,
That deep and doubling pass within,
-Minstrel, away, the work of fate1
Is bearing on its issue wait,

Where the rude Trosach's 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 view of vivid 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 Trosach's gorge,
Mine ear but heard the sullen sound,
Which like an earthquake shook the ground,
And spoke the stern and desperate strife
That parts not but with parting life,2
Seeming, to minstrel ear, to toll3
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.1
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.

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

Am ingled 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;
A whirlwind swept Loch Katrine's breast,
Her billows rear'd their snowy crest.
Well for the swimmer swell'd they high,
To mar the Highland marksman's eye;
For round him shower'd, 'mid rain and

hail,

The vengeful arrows of the Gael.—

In vain-He nears the isle-and lo!
His hand is on a shallop's bow.
-Just then a flash of lightning came,

It tinged the waves and strand with flame ;

I mark'd Duncraggan's widow'd dame,

Behind an oak I saw her stand,

A naked dirk gleam'd in her hand:
It darken'd, but, amid the moan
Of waves, I heard a dying groan;
Another flash!-the spearman floats
A weltering corse beside the boats,
And the stern matron o'er him stood,
Her hand and dagger streaming blood.

XXI.

"Revenge! revenge!' the Saxons cried,
The Gaels' exulting shout replied.
Despite the elemental rage,
Again they hurried to engage;
But, ere they closed in desperate fight,
Bloody with spurring came a knight,
Sprung from his horse, and, from a crag,
Waved 'twixt the hosts a milk-white flag.
Clarion and trumpet by his side
Rung forth a truce-note high and wide,
While, in the Monarch's name, afar
An herald's voice forbade the war,
For Bothwell's lord, and Roderick bold,
Were both, he said, in captive hold."

-But here the lay made sudden stand !—
The harp escaped the Minstrel's hand!—

Oft had he stolen a glance, to spy
How Roderick brook'd his minstrelsy:
At first, the Chieftain, to the chime,
With lifted hand, kept feeble time;
That motion ceased,-yet feeling strong
Varied his look as changed the song;'
At length, no more his deafen'd ear
The minstrel melody can hear;

His face grows sharp,-his hands are clench'd,
As if some pang his heart-strings wrench'd;
Set are his teeth, his fading eye2

Is sternly fix'd on vacancy;

Thus, motionless, and moanless, drew

His parting breath, stout Roderick Dhu !-3

Old Allan-bane look'd on aghast,
While grim and still his spirit pass'd:
But when he saw that life was fled,
He pour'd his wailing o'er the dead.

3" Rob Roy, while on his deathbed, learned that a person, with whom he was at enmity, proposed to visit him. 'Raise me from my bed,' said the invalid; throw my plaid around me, and bring me my claymore, dirk, and pistols,-it shall never be said that a foeman saw Rob Roy MacGregor defenceless and unarmed.' His foeman, conjectured to be one of the MacLarens before and after mentioned, entered and paid his compliments, inquiring after the health of his formidable neighbour. Rob Roy maintained a cold haughty civility during their short conference; and so soon as he had eft the house, 'Now,' he said, 'all is over-let the piper play, Ha til mi tulidh' [we return no more], and he is said to have

Brave spirit, do not scorn my strain!
And, when its notes awake again,
Even she, so long beloved in vain,
Shall with my harp her voice combine,
And mix her woe and tears with mine,
To wail Clan-Alpine's honour'd Pine."—"

XXIII.

Ellen, the while, with bursting heart,
Remain'd in lordly bower apart,

Where play'd with many-colour'd gleams,
Through storied pane the rising beams.
In vain on gilded roof they fall,
And lighten'd up a tapestried wall,
And for her use a menial train
A rich collation spread in vain.

The banquet proud, the chamber gay,7
Scarce drew one curious glance astray;
Or, if she look'd, 'twas but to say,
With better omen dawn'd the day
In that lone isle, where waved on high
The dun-deer's hide for canopy;
Where oft her noble father shared
The simple meal her care prepared,
While Lufra, crouching by her side,
Her station claim'd with jealous pride,
And Douglas, bent on woodland game,8
Spoke of the chase to Malcolm Græme,
Whose answer, oft at random made,
The wandering of his thoughts betray'd.-
Those who such simple joys have known,
Are taught to prize them when they're gone.
But sudden, see, she lifts her head!
The window seeks with cautious tread.
What distant music has the power
To win her in this woful hour!
"Twas from a turret that o'erhung
Her latticed bower, the strain was sung.

expired before the dirge was finished."-Introduction to Rob Roy. Waverley Novels, vol. vii. p. 85.

4 MS." And art thou gone,' the Minstrel said.

5 MS." The mightiest of a mighty line."

6 MS.-To the Printer.-"I have three pages ready to be copied, you may send for them in about an hour. The rest of my flax is on the spindle, but not yet twisted into proper yarn. I am glad you like the battle of Beal' an Duine. It is rather too long, but that was unavoidable. I hope you will push on the notes. To save time I shall send the copy when ready to St. John Street.-W. S."

7 MS."The banquet gay, the chamber's pride, Scarce drew one curious glance aside."

8 MS." Earnest on his game."

I wish I were, as I have been,
Hunting the hart in forest green,
With bended bow and bloodhound free,
For that's the life is meet for me.'
I hate to learn the ebb of time,
From yon dull steeple's drowsy chime,
Or mark it as the sunbeams crawl,
Inch after inch, along the wall.
The lark was wont my matins ring,3
The sable rook my vespers sing;
These towers, although a king's they be,
Have not a hall of joy for me.*

No more at dawning morn I rise,
And sun myself in Ellen's eyes,
Drive the fleet deer the forest through,
And homeward wend with evening dew;
A blithesome welcome blithely meet,
And lay my trophies at her feet,
While fled the eve on wing of glee,-
That life is lost to love and me!"

XXV.

The heart-sick lay was hardly said,
The list'ner had not turn'd her head,
It trickled still, the starting tear,
When light a footstep struck her ear,
And Snowdoun's graceful knight was near.
She turn'd the hastier, lest again
The prisoner should renew his strain.-
"O welcome, brave Fitz-James !" she said;
"How may an almost orphan maid
Pay the deep debt"- "O say not so!
To me no gratitude you owe.
Not mine, alas! the boon to give,
And bid thy noble father live;

I can but be thy guide, sweet maid,
With Scotland's king thy suit to aid.
No tyrant he, though ire and pride
May lay his better mood aside.
Come, Ellen, come! 'tis more than time,
He holds his court at morning prime."
With beating heart, and bosom wrung,
As to a brother's arm she clung.
Gently he dried the falling tear,
And gently whisper'd hope and cheer;
Her faltering steps half led, half staid,
Through gallery fair, and high arcade,
Till, at its touch, its wings of pride
A portal arch unfolded wide.

XXVI.

Within 'twas brilliant all and light 5 A thronging scene of figures bright; It glow'd on Ellen's dazzled sight,

As when the setting sun has given
Ten thousand hues to summer even,
And from their tissue, fancy frames
Aerial knights and fairy dames.
Still by Fitz-James her footing staid;
A few faint steps she forward made,
Then slow her drooping head she raised,
And fearful round the presence gazed;
For him she sought, who own'd this state,
The dreaded prince whose will was fate.
She gazed on many a princely port,
Might well have ruled a royal court;
On many a splendid garb she gazed,
Then turn'd bewilder'd and amazed,
For all stood bare; and, in the room,
Fitz-James alone wore cap and plume.
To him each lady's look was lent;
On him each courtier's eye was bent;
Midst furs, and silks, and jewels sheen,
He stood, in simple Lincoln green,
The centre of the glittering ring.
And Snowdoun's Knight is Scotland's King!

XXVII.

8

As wreath of snow, on mountain-breast,
Slides from the rock that gave it rest,
Poor Ellen glided from her stay,
And at the Monarch's feet she lay:
No word her choking voice commands,—
She show'd the ring, she clasp'd her hands.
O! not a moment could he brook,
The generous prince, that suppliant look!
Gently he raised her; and, the while,
Check'd with a glance the circle's smile;
Graceful, but grave, her brow he kiss'd,
And bade her terrors be dismiss'd:-
"Yes, Fair; the wandering poor Fitz-James
The fealty of Scotland claims.

To him thy woes, thy wishes, bring;
He will redeem his signet ring.

Ask nought for Douglas; yester even,
His prince and he have much forgiven.
Wrong hath he had from slanderous tongue,
I, from his rebel kinsmen, wrong.
We would not, to the vulgar crowd,
Yield what they craved with clamour loud;
Calmly we heard and judged his cause,
Our council aided, and our laws.

I stanch'd thy father's death-feud stern,
With stout De Vaux and Grey Glencairn;
And Bothwell's Lord henceforth we own
The friend and bulwark of our Throne.
But, lovely infidel, how now!
What clouds thy misbelieving brow?

MS." was meant for me."
MS.-"From darken'd steeple's."
MS.-"The lively lark my matins rung,

The sable rook my vespers sung."

MS.-"Have not a hall should harbour me.'

5 MS.-"Within 'twas brilliant all, and bright The vision glow'd on Ellen's sight."

6 MS.-"For him who own'd this royal state."

7 See Appendix, Note 3 Y.

8 MS.shrinking, quits her stay.”

Lord James of Douglas, lend thine aid; Thou must confirm this doubting maid."

XXVIII.

Then forth the noble Douglas sprung,
And on his neck his daughter hung.
The Monarch drank, that happy hour,
The sweetest, holiest draught of Power,-
When it can say, with godlike voice,
Arise, sad Virtue, and rejoice!
Yet would not James the general eye
On Nature's raptures long should pry;

He stepp'd between-" Nay, Douglas, nay,
Steal not my proselyte away!

The riddle 'tis my right to read,

That brought this happy chance to speed.
Yes, Ellen, when disguised I stray
In life's more low but happier way,1
"Tis under name which veils my power,
Nor falsely veils-for Stirling's tower
Of yore the name of Snowdoun claims,
And Normans call me James Fitz-James.
Thus watch I o'er insulted laws,
Thus learn to right the injured cause."-
Then, in a tone apart and low,-

66 Ah, little traitress! none must know
What idle dream, what lighter thought,
What vanity full dearly bought,
Join'd to thine eye's dark witchcraft, drew
My spell-bound steps to Benvenue,3
In dangerous hour, and all but gave
Thy Monarch's life to mountain glaive!"-
Aloud he spoke-"Thou still dost hold
That little talisman of gold,

Pledge of my faith, Fitz-James's ring-4
What seeks fair Ellen of the King?"

4 MS." Pledge of Fitz-James's faith, the ring."
MS.-"And in her breast strove maiden shame;

More deep she deem'd the Monarch's ire
Kindled 'gainst him, who, for her sire,
Against his Sovereign broadsword drew;
And, with a pleading, warm and true,
She craved the grace of Roderick Dhu."

6" Malcolm Græme has too insignificant a part assigned him, considering the favour in which he is held both by Ellen and the author; and in bringing out the shaded and imperfect character of Roderick Dhu, as a contrast to the purer virtue of his rival, Mr. Scott seems to have fallen into the common error, of making him more interesting than him whose virtues he was intended to set off, and converted the villain of the piece in some measure into its hero. A modern poet, however, may perhaps be pardoned for an error, of which Milton himself is thought not to have kept clear, and for which there seems so natural a cause in the difference between poetical and amiable characters."-JEFFREY.

But, with that consciousness, there came
A lightening of her fears for Græme,
And more she deem'd the Monarch's ire
Kindled 'gainst him, who, for her sire,
Rebellious broadsword boldly drew;
And, to her generous feeling true,
She craved the grace of Roderick Dhu.
"Forbear thy suit :-the King of Kings
Alone can stay life's parting wings,

I know his heart, I know his hand,

Have shared his cheer, and proved his brand:-
My fairest earldom would I give

To bid Clan-Alpine's Chieftain live!—
Hast thou no other boon to crave!
No other captive friend to save?"
Blushing, she turn'd her from the King,
And to the Douglas gave the ring,
As if she wish'd her sire to speak

The suit that stain'd her glowing cheek.-
"Nay, then, my pledge has lost its force,
And stubborn justice holds her course.—
Malcolm, come forth!"-And, at the word,
Down kneel'd the Græme to Scotland's Lord.
"For thee, rash youth, no suppliant sues,
From thee may Vengeance claim her dues,
Who, nurtured underneath our smile,
Hast paid our care by treacherous wile,
And sought amid thy faithful clan,
A refuge for an outlaw'd man,
Dishonouring thus thy loyal name.—
Fetters and warder for the Græme!"-
His chain of gold the King unstrung,
The links o'er Malcolm's neck he flung,
Then gently drew the glittering band,
And laid the clasp on Ellen's hand.7

HARP of the North, farewell! The hills grow dark,
On purple peaks a deeper shade descending;
In twilight copse the glow-worm lights her spark,
The deer, half-seen, are to the covert wending.

7

-"And now, waiving myself, let me talk to you of the Prince Regent. He ordered me to be presented to him at a ball; and after some sayings peculiarly pleasing from royal lips, as to my own attempts, he talked to me of you and your immortalities; he preferred you to every bard past and present, and asked which of your works pleased me most. It was a difficult question. I answered, I thought the 'Lay.' He said his own opinion was nearly similar. In speaking of the others, I told him that I thought you more particularly the poet of Princes, as they never appeared more fascinating than in 'Marmion' and the Lady of the Lake.' He was pleased to coincide, and to dwell on the description of your James's as no less royal than poetical. He spoke alternately of Homer and yourself, and seemed well acquainted with both," &c.— Letter from Lord Byron to Sir Walter Scott, July 6, 1812.— BYRON'S Life and Works, vol. ii. p. 156.

8 MS.-To the Printer.-"I send the grand finale, and so exit the Lady of the Lake from the head she has tormented for six months. In canto vi. stanza 21,-stern and still, read | grim and still; sternly occurs four lines higher. For a similar reason, stanza 24-dun-deer, read fleet-deer. I will probably call this morning.-Yours truly, W. S."