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For man endowed with mortal life

       Whose shroud of sentient clay can still

       Feel feverish pang and fainting chill,

       Whose eye can stare in stony trance

       Whose hair can rouse like warrior’s lance,

       ‘Tis hard for such to view, unfurled,

       The curtain of the future world.

       Yet, witness every quaking limb,

       My sunken pulse, mine eyeballs dim,

       My soul with harrowing anguish torn,

       This for my Chieftain have I borne!—

       The shapes that sought my fearful couch

       A human tongue may ne’er avouch;

       No mortal man—save he, who, bred

       Between the living and the dead,

       Is gifted beyond nature’s law

       Had e’er survived to say he saw.

       At length the fateful answer came

       In characters of living flame!

       Not spoke in word, nor blazed in scroll,

       But borne and branded on my soul:—

       WHICH SPILLS THE FOREMOST FOEMAN’S LIFE,

       THAT PARTY CONQUERS IN THE STRIFE.’

       VII

      ‘Thanks, Brian, for thy zeal and care!

       Good is thine augury, and fair.

       Clan-Alpine ne’er in battle stood

       But first our broadswords tasted blood.

       A surer victim still I know,

       Self-offered to the auspicious blow:

       A spy has sought my land this morn,—

       No eve shall witness his return!

       My followers guard each pass’s mouth,

       To east, to westward, and to south;

       Red Murdoch, bribed to be his guide,

       Has charge to lead his steps aside,

       Till in deep path or dingle brown

       He light on those shall bring him clown.

       But see, who comes his news to show!

       Malise! what tidings of the foe?’

       VIII

      ‘At Doune, o’er many a spear and glaive

       Two Barons proud their banners wave.

       I saw the Moray’s silver star,

       And marked the sable pale of Mar.’

       ‘By Alpine’s soul, high tidings those!

       I love to hear of worthy foes.

       When move they on?’ ‘Tomorrow’s noon

       Will see them here for battle boune.’

       ‘Then shall it see a meeting stern!

       But, for the place,—say, couldst thou learn

       Nought of the friendly clans of Earn?

       Strengthened by them, we well might bide

       The battle on Benledi’s side.

       Thou couldst not?—well! Clan-Alpine’s men

       Shall man the Trosachs’ shaggy glen;

       Within Loch Katrine’s gorge we’ll fight,

       All in our maids’ and matrons’ sight,

       Each for his hearth and household fire,

       Father for child, and son for sire Lover

       for maid beloved!—But why

       Is it the breeze affects mine eye?

       Or dost thou come, ill-omened tear!

       A messenger of doubt or fear?

       No! sooner may the Saxon lance

       Unfix Benledi from his stance,

       Than doubt or terror can pierce through

       The unyielding heart of Roderick Dhu!

       ‘tis stubborn as his trusty targe.

       Each to his post!—all know their charge.’

       The pibroch sounds, the bands advance,

       The broadswords gleam, the banners dance’

       Obedient to the Chieftain’s glance.—

       I turn me from the martial roar

       And seek Coir-Uriskin once more.

       IX

      Where is the Douglas?—he is gone;

       And Ellen sits on the gray stone

       Fast by the cave, and makes her moan,

       While vainly Allan’s words of cheer

       Are poured on her unheeding ear.

       ‘He will return—dear lady, trust!—

       With joy return;—he will—he must.

       Well was it time to seek afar

       Some refuge from impending war,

       When e’en Clan-Alpine’s rugged swarm

       Are cowed by the approaching storm.

       I saw their boats with many a light,

       Floating the livelong yesternight,

       Shifting like flashes darted forth

       By the red streamers of the north;

       I marked at morn how close they ride,

       Thick moored by the lone islet’s side,

       Like wild ducks couching in the fen

       When stoops the hawk upon the glen.

       Since this rude race dare not abide

       The peril on the mainland side,

       Shall not thy noble father’s care

       Some safe retreat for thee prepare?’

       X

      Ellen.

      ‘No, Allan, no ‘ Pretext so kind

       My wakeful terrors could not blind.

       When in such tender tone, yet grave,

       Douglas a parting blessing gave,

       The tear that glistened in his eye

       Drowned not his purpose fixed and high.

       My soul, though feminine and weak,

       Can image his; e’en as the lake,

       Itself disturbed by slightest stroke.

       Reflects the invulnerable rock.

       He hears report of battle rife,

       He deems himself the cause of strife.

       I saw him redden when the theme

       Turned, Allan, on thine idle dream

       Of Malcolm Graeme in fetters bound,

       Which I, thou saidst, about him wound.

       Think’st thou he bowed thine omen aught?

       O no’ ‘t was apprehensive thought

       For the kind youth,— for Roderick too—

       Let me be just—that friend so true;

       In danger both, and in our cause!

       Minstrel, the Douglas dare not pause.

       Why else that solemn warning given,

      

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