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And satyrs hold their sylvan court,

       By moonlight tread their mystic maze,

       And blast the rash beholder’s gaze.

       XXVII

      Now eve, with western shadows long,

       Floated on Katrine bright and strong,

       When Roderick with a chosen few

       Repassed the heights of Benvenue.

       Above the Goblin Cave they go,

       Through the wild pass of Beal-nam-bo;

       The prompt retainers speed before,

       To launch the shallop from the shore,

       For ‘cross Loch Katrine lies his way

       To view the passes of Achray,

       And place his clansmen in array.

       Yet lags the Chief in musing mind,

       Unwonted sight, his men behind.

       A single page, to bear his sword,

       Alone attended on his lord;

       The rest their way through thickets break,

       And soon await him by the lake.

       It was a fair and gallant sight

       To view them from the neighboring height,

       By the low-levelled sunbeam’s light!

       For strength and stature, from the clan

       Each warrior was a chosen man,

       As even afar might well be seen,

       By their proud step and martial mien.

       heir feathers dance, their tartars float,

       Their targets gleam, as by the boat

       A wild and warlike group they stand,

       That well became such mountain-strand.

       XXVI

      Their Chief with step reluctant still

       Was lingering on the craggy hill,

       Hard by where turned apart the road

       To Douglas’s obscure abode.

       It was but with that dawning morn

       That Roderick Dhu had proudly sworn

       To drown his love in war’s wild roar,

       Nor think of Ellen Douglas more;

       But he who stems a stream with sand,

       And fetters flame with flaxen band,

       Has yet a harder task to prove,—

       By firm resolve to conquer love!

       Eve finds the Chief, like restless ghost,

       Still hovering near his treasure lost;

       For though his haughty heart deny

       A parting meeting to his eye

       Still fondly strains his anxious ear

       The accents of her voice to hear,

       And inly did he curse the breeze

       That waked to sound the rustling trees.

       But hark! what mingles in the strain?

       It is the harp of Allan-bane,

       That wakes its measure slow and high,

       Attuned to sacred minstrelsy.

       What melting voice attends the strings?

       ‘Tis Ellen, or an angel, sings.

       XXIX

      Hymn to the Virgin.

      Ave. Maria! maiden mild!

       Listen to a maiden’s prayer!

       Thou canst hear though from the wild,

       Thou canst save amid despair.

       Safe may we sleep beneath thy care,

       Though banished, outcast, and reviled—

       Maiden! hear a maiden’s prayer;

       Mother, hear a suppliant child!

       Ave Maria!

      Ave Maria! undefiled!

       The flinty couch we now must share

       Shall seem with down of eider piled,

       If thy protection hover there.

       The murky cavern’s heavy air

       Shall breathe of balm if thou hast smiled;

       Then, Maiden! hear a maiden’s prayer,

       Mother, list a suppliant child!

       Ave Maria!

      Ave. Maria! stainless styled!

       Foul demons of the earth and air,

       From this their wonted haunt exiled,

       Shall flee before thy presence fair.

       We bow us to our lot of care,

       Beneath thy guidance reconciled:

       Hear for a maid a maiden’s prayer,

       And for a father hear a child!

       Ave Maria!

       XXX

      Died on the harp the closing hymn,—

       Unmoved in attitude and limb,

       As listening still, Clan-Alpine’s lord

       Stood leaning on his heavy sword,

       Until the page with humble sign

       Twice pointed to the sun’s decline.

       Then while his plaid he round him cast,

       ‘It is the last time—‘tis the last,’

       He muttered thrice,—‘the last time e’er

       That angel-voice shall Roderick hear”

       It was a goading thought,—his stride

       Hied hastier down the mountainside;

       Sullen he flung him in the boat

       An instant ‘cross the lake it shot.

       They landed in that silvery bay,

       And eastward held their hasty way

       Till, with the latest beams of light,

       The band arrived on Lanrick height’

       Where mustered in the vale below

       Clan-Alpine’s men in martial show.

       XXXI

      A various scene the clansmen made:

       Some sat, some stood, some slowly strayer):

       But most, with mantles folded round,

       Were couched to rest upon the ground,

       Scarce to be known by curious eye

       From the deep heather where they lie,

       So well was matched the tartan screen

       With heathbell dark and brackens green;

       Unless where, here and there, a blade

       Or lance’s point a glimmer made,

       Like glowworm twinkling through the shade.

       But when, advancing through the gloom,

       They saw the Chieftain’s eagle plume,

       Their shout of welcome, shrill and wide,

       Shook the steep mountain’s steady side.

       Thrice it arose, and lake and fell

       Three times returned the martial yell;

      

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