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Small need of inroad or of fight,

       When the sage Douglas may unite

       Each mountain clan in friendly band,

       To guard the passes of their land,

       Till the foiled King from pathless glen

       Shall bootless turn him home again.’

       XXXI

      There are who have, at midnight hour,

       In slumber scaled a dizzy tower,

       And, on the verge that beetled o’er

       The ocean tide’s incessant roar,

       Dreamed calmly out their dangerous dream,

       Till wakened by the morning beam;

       When, dazzled by the eastern glow,

       Such startler cast his glance below,

       And saw unmeasured depth around,

       And heard unintermitted sound,

       And thought the battled fence so frail,

       It waved like cobweb in the gale;

       Amid his senses’ giddy wheel,

       Did he not desperate impulse feel,

       Headlong to plunge himself below,

       And meet the worst his fears foreshow?—

       Thus Ellen, dizzy and astound,

       As sudden ruin yawned around,

       By crossing terrors wildly tossed,

       Still for the Douglas fearing most,

       Could scarce the desperate thought withstand,

       To buy his safety with her hand.

       XXXII

      Such purpose dread could Malcolm spy

       In Ellen’s quivering lip and eye,

       And eager rose to speak,—but ere

       His tongue could hurry forth his fear,

       Had Douglas marked the hectic strife,

       Where death seemed combating with life;

       For to her cheek, in feverish flood,

       One instant rushed the throbbing blood,

       Then ebbing back, with sudden sway,

       Left its domain as wan as clay.

       ‘Roderick, enough! enough!’ he cried,

       ‘My daughter cannot be thy bride;

       Not that the blush to wooer dear,

       Nor paleness that of maiden fear.

       It may not be,—forgive her,

       Chief, Nor hazard aught for our relief.

       Against his sovereign, Douglas ne’er

       Will level a rebellious spear.

       ‘T was I that taught his youthful hand

       To rein a steed and wield a brand;

       I see him yet, the princely boy!

       Not Ellen more my pride and joy;

       I love him still, despite my wrongs

       By hasty wrath and slanderous tongues.

       O. seek the grace you well may find,

       Without a cause to mine combined!’

       XXXIII

      Twice through the hall the Chieftain strode;

       The waving of his tartars broad,

       And darkened brow, where wounded pride

       With ire and disappointment vied

       Seemed, by the torch’s gloomy light,

       Like the ill Demon of the night,

       Stooping his pinions’ shadowy sway

       Upon the righted pilgrim’s way:

       But, unrequited Love! thy dart

       Plunged deepest its envenomed smart,

       And Roderick, with thine anguish stung,

       At length the hand of Douglas wrung,

       While eyes that mocked at tears before

       With bitter drops were running o’er.

       The death-pangs of long-cherished hope

       Scarce in that ample breast had scope

       But, struggling with his spirit proud,

       Convulsive heaved its checkered shroud,

       While every sob—so mute were all

       Was heard distinctly through the ball.

       The son’s despair, the mother’s look,

       III might the gentle Ellen brook;

       She rose, and to her side there came,

       To aid her parting steps, the Graeme.

       XXXIV

      Then Roderick from the Douglas broke—

       As flashes flame through sable smoke,

       Kindling its wreaths, long, dark, and low,

       To one broad blaze of ruddy glow,

       So the deep anguish of despair

       Burst, in fierce jealousy, to air.

       With stalwart grasp his hand he laid

       On Malcolm’s breast and belted plaid:

       ‘Back, beardless boy!’ he sternly said,

       ‘Back, minion! holdst thou thus at naught

       The lesson I so lately taught?

       This roof, the Douglas. and that maid,

       Thank thou for punishment delayed.’

       Eager as greyhound on his game,

       Fiercely with Roderick grappled Graeme.

       ‘Perish my name, if aught afford

       Its Chieftain safety save his sword!’

       Thus as they strove their desperate hand

       Griped to the dagger or the brand,

       And death had been—but Douglas rose,

       And thrust between the struggling foes

       His giant strength:—’ Chieftains, forego!

       I hold the first who strikes my foe.—

       Madmen, forbear your frantic jar!

       What! is the Douglas fallen so far,

       His daughter’s hand is deemed the spoil

       Of such dishonorable broil?’

       Sullen and slowly they unclasp,

       As struck with shame, their desperate grasp,

       And each upon his rival glared,

       With foot advanced and blade half bared.

       XXXV

      Ere yet the brands aloft were flung,

       Margaret on Roderick’s mantle hung,

       And Malcolm heard his Ellen’s scream,

       As faltered through terrific dream.

       Then Roderick plunged in sheath his sword,

       And veiled his wrath in scornful word:’

       Rest safe till morning; pity ‘t were

       Such cheek should feel the midnight air!

       Then mayst thou to James Stuart tell,

       Roderick will keep the lake and fell,

      

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