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back they wend their watery way,

       And, ‘O my sire!’ did Ellen say,

       ‘Why urge thy chase so far astray?

       And why so late returned? And why ‘—

       The rest was in her speaking eye.

       ‘My child, the chase I follow far,

       ‘Tis mimicry of noble war;

       And with that gallant pastime reft

       Were all of Douglas I have left.

       I met young Malcolm as I strayed

       Far eastward, in Glenfinlas’ shade

       Nor strayed I safe, for all around

       Hunters and horsemen scoured the ground.

       This youth, though still a royal ward,

       Risked life and land to be my guard,

       And through the passes of the wood

       Guided my steps, not unpursued;

       And Roderick shall his welcome make,

       Despite old spleen, for Douglas’ sake.

       Then must he seek Strath-Endrick glen

       Nor peril aught for me again.’

       XXVII

      Sir Roderick, who to meet them came,

       Reddened at sight of Malcolm Graeme,

       Yet, not in action, word, or eye,

       Failed aught in hospitality.

       In talk and sport they whiled away

       The morning of that summer day;

       But at high noon a courier light

       Held secret parley with the knight,

       Whose moody aspect soon declared

       That evil were the news he heard.

       Deep thought seemed toiling in his head;

       Yet was the evening banquet made

       Ere he assembled round the flame

       His mother, Douglas, and the Graeme,

       And Ellen too; then cast around

       His eyes, then fixed them on the ground,

       As studying phrase that might avail

       Best to convey unpleasant tale.

       Long with his dagger’s hilt he played,

       Then raised his haughty brow, and said:—

       XXVIII

      ‘Short be my speech; — nor time affords,

       Nor my plain temper, glozing words.

       Kinsman and father,—if such name

       Douglas vouchsafe to Roderick’s claim;

       Mine honored mother;—Ellen,—why,

       My cousin, turn away thine eye?—

       And Graeme, in whom I hope to know

       Full soon a noble friend or foe,

       When age shall give thee thy command,

       And leading in thy native land,—

       List all!—The King’s vindictive pride

       Boasts to have tamed the Border-side,

       Where chiefs, with hound and trawl; who came

       To share their monarch’s sylvan game,

       Themselves in bloody toils were snared,

       And when the banquet they prepared,

       And wide their loyal portals flung,

       O’er their own gateway struggling hung.

       Loud cries their blood from Meggat’s mead,

       From Yarrow braes and banks of Tweed,

       Where the lone streams of Ettrick glide,

       And from the silver Teviot’s side;

       The dales, where martial clans did ride,

       Are now one sheepwalk, waste and wide.

       This tyrant of the Scottish throne,

       So faithless and so ruthless known,

       Now hither comes; his end the same,

       The same pretext of sylvan game.

       What grace for Highland Chiefs, judge ye

       By fate of Border chivalry.

       Yet more; amid Glenfinlas’ green,

       Douglas, thy stately form was seen.

       This by espial sure I know:

       Your counsel in the streight I show.’

       XXIX

      Ellen and Margaret fearfully

       Sought comfort in each other’s eye,

       Then turned their ghastly look, each one,

       This to her sire, that to her son.

       The hasty color went and came

       In the bold cheek of Malcohm Graeme,

       But from his glance it well appeared

       ‘T was but for Ellen that he feared;

       While, sorrowful, but undismayed,

       The Douglas thus his counsel said:

       ‘Brave Roderick, though the tempest roar,

       It may but thunder and pass o’er;

       Nor will I here remain an hour,

       To draw the lightning on thy bower;

       For well thou know’st, at this gray head

       The royal bolt were fiercest sped.

       For thee, who, at thy King’s command,

       Canst aid him with a gallant band,

       Submission, homage, humbled pride,

       Shall turn the Monarch’s wrath aside.

       Poor remnants of the Bleeding Heart,

       Ellen and I will seek apart

       The refuge of some forest cell,

       There, like the hunted quarry, dwell,

       Till on the mountain and the moor

       The stern pursuit be passed and o’er,’—

       XXX

      ‘No, by mine honor,’ Roderick said,

       ‘So help me Heaven, and my good blade!

       No, never! Blasted be yon Pine,

       My father’s ancient crest and mine,

       If from its shade in danger part

       The lineage of the Bleeding Heart!

       Hear my blunt speech: grant me this maid

       To wife, thy counsel to mine aid;

       To Douglas, leagued with Roderick Dhu,

       Will friends and allies flock enow;

       Like cause of doubt, distrust, and grief,

       Will bind to us each Western Chief

       When the loud pipes my bridal tell,

       The Links of Forth shall hear the knell,

       The guards shall start in Stirling’s porch;

       And when I light the nuptial torch,

       A thousand villages in flames

       Shall scare the slumbers of King James!—

       Nay, Ellen, blench not thus away,

       And, mother, cease these signs, I pray;

      

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