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Commanding the rich scenes beneath,

       The windings of the Forth and Teith,

       And all the vales between that lie.

       Till Stirling’s turrets melt in sky;

       Then, sunk in copse, their farthest glance

       Gained not the length of horseman’s lance.

       ‘Twas oft so steep, the foot was as fain

       Assistance from the hand to gain;

       So tangled oft that, bursting through,

       Each hawthorn shed her showers of dew,—

       That diamond dew, so pure and clear,

       It rivals all but Beauty’s tear!

       III

      At length they came where, stern and steep,

       The hill sinks down upon the deep.

       Here Vennachar in silver flows,

       There, ridge on ridge, Benledi rose;

       Ever the hollow path twined on,

       Beneath steep hank and threatening stone;

       A hundred men might hold the post

       With hardihood against a host.

       The rugged mountain’s scanty cloak

       Was dwarfish shrubs of birch and oak

       With shingles bare, and cliffs between

       And patches bright of bracken green,

       And heather black, that waved so high,

       It held the copse in rivalry.

       But where the lake slept deep and still

       Dank osiers fringed the swamp and hill;

       And oft both path and hill were torn

       Where wintry torrent down had borne

       And heaped upon the cumbered land

       Its wreck of gravel, rocks, and sand.

       So toilsome was the road to trace

       The guide, abating of his pace,

       Led slowly through the pass’s jaws

       And asked FitzJames by what strange cause

       He sought these wilds, traversed by few

       Without a pass from Roderick Dhu.

       IV

      ‘Brave Gael, my pass, in danger tried

       Hangs in my belt and by my side

       Yet, sooth to tell,’ the Saxon said,

       ‘I dreamt not now to claim its aid.

       When here, but three days since,

       I came Bewildered in pursuit of game,

       All seemed as peaceful and as still

       As the mist slumbering on yon hill;

       Thy dangerous Chief was then afar,

       Nor soon expected back from war.

       Thus said, at least, my mountain-guide,

       Though deep perchance the villain lied.’

       ‘Yet why a second venture try?’

       ‘A warrior thou, and ask me why!—

       Moves our free course by such fixed cause

       As gives the poor mechanic laws?

       Enough, I sought to drive away

       The lazy hours of peaceful day;

       Slight cause will then suffice to guide

       A Knight’s free footsteps far and wide,—

       A falcon flown, a greyhound strayed,

       The merry glance of mountain maid;

       Or, if a path be dangerous known,

       The danger’s self is lure alone.’

       V

      ‘Thy secret keep, I urge thee not;—

       Yet, ere again ye sought this spot,

       Say, heard ye naught of Lowland war,

       Against Clan-Alpine, raised by Mar?’

       ‘No, by my word;—of bands prepared

       To guard King James’s sports I heard;

       Nor doubt I aught, but, when they hear

       This muster of the mountaineer,

       Their pennons will abroad be flung,

       Which else in Doune had peaceful hung.’

       ‘Free be they flung! for we were loath

       Their silken folds should feast the moth.

       Free be they flung!—as free shall wave

       Clan-Alpine’s pine in banner brave.

       But, stranger, peaceful since you came,

       Bewildered in the mountain-game,

       Whence the bold boast by which you show

       Vich-Alpine’s vowed and mortal foe?’

       ‘Warrior, but yester-morn I knew

       Naught of thy Chieftain, Roderick Dhu,

       Save as an outlawed desperate man,

       The chief of a rebellious clan,

       Who, in the Regent’s court and sight,

       With ruffian dagger stabbed a knight;

       Yet this alone might from his part

       Sever each true and loyal heart.’

       VI

      Wrathful at such arraignment foul,

       Dark lowered the clansman’s sable scowl.

       A space he paused, then sternly said,

       ‘And heardst thou why he drew his blade?

       Heardst thou that shameful word and blow

       Brought Roderick’s vengeance on his foe?

       What recked the Chieftain if he stood

       On Highland heath or Holy-Rood?

       He rights such wrong where it is given,

       If it were in the court of heaven.’

       ‘Still was it outrage;—yet, ‘tis true,

       Not then claimed sovereignty his due;

       While Albany with feeble hand

       Held borrowed truncheon of command,

       The young King, mewed in Stirling tower,

       Was stranger to respect and power.

       But then, thy Chieftain’s robber life!—

       Winning mean prey by causeless strife,

       Wrenching from ruined Lowland swain

       His herds and harvest reared in vain,—

       Methinks a soul like thine should scorn

       The spoils from such foul foray borne.’

       VII

      The Gael beheld him grim the while,

       And answered with disdainful smile:

       ‘Saxon, from yonder mountain high,

       I marked thee send delighted eye

       Far to the south and east, where lay,

       Extended in succession gay,

       Deep waving fields and pastures green,

       With gentle slopes and groves between:—

      

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