-Minstrel, away! the work of fate Where the rude Trosach's dread defile The sun is set ;-the clouds are met, An inky view of vivid blue To the deep lake is given; Strange gusts of wind from mountain glen 2 1 [MS.-" Away! away! the work of fate!"] That parts not quite with parting breath." [MS." And seem'd to minstrel ear, to toll The parting dirge of many a soul."] The plaided warriors of the North While by the lake below appears 66 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.' [MS.-"While by the darker.'d lake below, File out the spearmen of the foe."] Forth from the ranks a spearman sprung, He plunged him in the wave :— A mingled echo gave; The Saxon shout, their mate to cheer, 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 :-1 A naked dirk gleam'd in her hand ;- 1 [MS. reads "It tinged the boats and lake with flame." The eight closing lines of the stanza are interpolated on a slip of paper.] Another flash!—the spearman floats 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, Rung forth a truce-note high and wide, 1 [MS.-"Glowed in his look, as swell'd the song."] At length, no more his deafen'd ear His face grows sharp,-his hands are clench'd, Is sternly fixed on vacancy; Thus, motionless, and moanless, drew XXII. "And art thou cold and lowly laid, Thy foeman's dread, thy people's aid, 2 [" 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, enquiring after the health of his formidable neighbour. Rob Roy maintained a cold haughty civility during their short conference; and so soon as he had left 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 expired before the dirge was finished."—Introduction to Rob Roy, Waverley Novels, vol. vii. p. 85.] [MS.-"And art thou gone,' the Minstrel said."] |