Chapter 12

"Thou warn'st me I have done amiss-- I should have earlier looked to this; 855 I lost it in this bustling day. Retrace with speed thy former way; Spare not for spoiling of thy steed The best of mine shall be thy meed. Say to our faithful Lord of Mar, 860 We do forbid the intended war. Roderick, this morn, in single fight, Was made our prisoner by a knight; And Douglas hath himself and cause Submitted to our kingdom's laws. 865 The tidings of their leaders lost Will soon dissolve the mountain host, Nor would we that the vulgar feel For their Chief's crimes, avenging steel. Bear Mar our message, Braco; fly!" 870 He turned his steed--"My liege, I hie, Yet, ere I cross this lily lawn, I fear the broadswords will be drawn." The turf the flying courser spurned, And to his towers the King returned. 875

XXXIII

Ill with King James's mood that day, Suited gay feast and minstrel lay; Soon were dismissed the courtly throng, And soon cut short the festal song. Nor less upon the saddened town 880 The evening sunk in sorrow down. The burghers spoke of civil jar, Of rumored feuds and mountain war, Of Moray, Mar, and Roderick Dhu, All up in arms--The Douglas too, 885 They mourned him pent within the hold, "Where stout Earl William was of old." And there his word the speaker stayed, And finger on his lip he laid, Or pointed to his dagger blade. 890 But jaded horsemen, from the west, At evening to the Castle pressed; And busy talkers said they bore Tidings of fight on Katrine's shore; At noon the deadly fray begun, 895 And lasted till the set of sun. Thus giddy rumor shook the town, Till closed the Night her pennons brown.

CANTO SIXTH

THE GUARD-ROOM

I

The sun, awakening, through the smoky air Of the dark city casts a sullen glance, Rousing each caitiff to his task of care, Of sinful man the sad inheritance; Summoning revelers from the lagging dance, 5 Scaring the prowling robber to his den; Gilding on battled tower the warder's lance, And warning student pale to leave his pen, And yield his drowsy eyes to the kind nurse of men.

What various scenes, and, Oh! what scenes of woe, 10 Are witnessed by that red and struggling beam! The fevered patient, from his pallet low, Through crowded hospital beholds its stream; The ruined maiden trembles at its gleam; The debtor wakes to thought of gyve and jail; 15 The love-lorn wretch starts from tormenting dream; The wakeful mother, by the glimmering pale, Trims her sick infant's couch, and soothes his feeble wail.

II

At dawn the towers of Stirling rang With soldier-step and weapon-clang, 20 While drums, with rolling note, foretell Relief to weary sentinel. Through narrow loop and casement barred, The sunbeams sought the Court of Guard, And, struggling with the smoky air, 25 Deadened the torches' yellow glare. In comfortless alliance shone The lights through arch of blackened stone, And showed wild shapes in garb of war, Faces deformed with beard and scar, 30 All haggard from the midnight watch, And fevered with the stern debauch; For the oak table's massive board, Flooded with wine, with fragments stored, And beakers drained, and cups o'erthrown, 35 Showed in what sport the night had flown. Some, weary, snored on floor and bench; Some labored still their thirst to quench; Some, chilled with watching, spread their hands O'er the huge chimney's dying brands, 40 While round them, or beside them flung, At every step their harness rung.

III

These drew not for their fields the sword, Like tenants of a feudal lord, Nor owned the patriarchal claim 45 Of Chieftain in their leader's name; Adventurers they, from far who roved, To live by battle which they loved. There the Italian's clouded face, The swarthy Spaniard's there you trace; 50 The mountain-loving Switzer there More freely breathed in mountain-air; The Fleming there despised the soil, That paid so ill the laborer's toil; Their rolls showed French and German name; 55 And merry England's exiles came, To share, with ill-concealed disdain, Of Scotland's pay the scanty gain. All brave in arms, well trained to wield The heavy halberd, brand, and shield; 60 In camps licentious, wild and bold; In pillage fierce and uncontrolled; And now, by holytide and feast, From rules of discipline released.

IV

They held debate of bloody fray, 65 Fought 'twixt Loch Katrine and Achray. Fierce was their speech, and, mid their words, Their hands oft grappled to their swords; Nor sunk their tone to spare the ear Of wounded comrades groaning near, 70 Whose mangled limbs, and bodies gored, Bore token of the mountain sword, Though, neighboring to the Court of Guard, Their prayers and feverish wails were heard; Sad burden to the ruffian joke, 75 And savage oath by fury spoke!-- At length up-started John of Brent, A yeoman from the banks of Trent; A stranger to respect or fear, In peace a chaser of the deer, 80 In host a hardy mutineer, But still the boldest of the crew, When deed of danger was to do. He grieved, that day, their games cut short, And marred the dicer's brawling sport, 85 And shouted loud, "Renew the bowl! And, while in merry catch I troll, Let each the buxom chorus bear, Like brethren of the brand and spear."

V

SOLDIER'S SONG

Our vicar still preaches that Peter and Poule 90 Laid a swinging long curse on the bonny brown bowl, That there's wrath and despair in the jolly black-jack, And the seven deadly sins in a flagon of sack; Yet whoop, Barnaby! off with thy liquor, Drink upsees out, and a fig for the vicar! 95

Our vicar he calls it damnation to sip The ripe ruddy dew of a woman's dear lip, Says, that Beelzebub lurks in her kerchief so sly, And Apollyon shoots darts from her merry black eye; Yet whoop, Jack! kiss Gillian the quicker, 100 Till she bloom like a rose, and a fig for the vicar!

Our vicar thus preaches--and why should he not? For the dues of his cure are the placket and pot; And 'tis right of his office poor laymen to lurch, Who infringe the domains of our good Mother Church. 105 Yet whoop, bully-boys! off with your liquor, Sweet Marjorie's the word, and a fig for the Vicar!

VI

The warder's challenge, heard without, Stayed in mid-roar the merry shout. A soldier to the portal went-- 110 "Here is old Bertram, sirs, of Ghent; And--beat for jubilee the drum! A maid and minstrel with him come." Bertram, a Fleming, gray and scarred, Was entering now the Court of Guard, 115 A harper with him, and in plaid All muffled close, a mountain maid, Who backward shrunk, to 'scape the view Of the loose scene and boisterous crew. "What news?" they roared. "I only know, 120 From noon till eve we fought with foe, As wild and as untamable As the rude mountains where they dwell; On both sides store of blood is lost, Nor much success can either boast." 125 "But whence thy captives, friend? Such spoil As theirs must needs reward thy toil. Old dost thou wax, and wars grow sharp; Thou now hast glee-maiden and harp! Get thee an ape, and trudge the land, 130 The leader of a juggler band."

VII

"No, comrade; no such fortune mine. After the fight these sought our line, That aged harper and the girl, And, having audience of the Earl, 135 Mar bade I should purvey them steed, And bring them hitherward with speed. Forbear your mirth and rude alarm, For none shall do them shame or harm." "Hear ye his boast?" cried John of Brent, 140 Ever to strife and jangling bent; "Shall he strike doe beside our lodge, And yet the jealous niggard grudge To pay the forester his fee? I'll have my share, howe'er it be, 145 Despite of Moray, Mar, or thee." Bertram his forward step withstood; And, burning in his vengeful mood, Old Allan, though unfit for strife; Laid hand upon his dagger-knife; 150 But Ellen boldly stepped between, And dropped at once the tartan screen. So, from his morning cloud, appears The sun of May, through summer tears. The savage soldiery, amazed, 155 As on descended angel gazed; Even hardy Brent, abashed and tamed, Stood half admiring, half ashamed.

VIII

Boldly she spoke--"Soldiers, attend! My father was the soldier's friend; 160 Cheered him in camps, in marches led, And with him in the battle bled. Not from the valiant, or the strong, Should exile's daughter suffer wrong." Answered De Brent, most forward still 165 In every feat of good or ill: "I shame me of the part I played; And thou an outlaw's child, poor maid! An outlaw I by forest laws, And merry Needwood knows the cause. 170 Poor Rose--if Rose be living now"-- He wiped his iron eye and brow-- "Must bear such age, I think, as thou. Hear ye, my mates; I go to call The Captain of our watch to hall. 175 There lies my halberd on the floor; And he that steps my halberd o'er, To do the maid injurious part, My shaft shall quiver in his heart! Beware loose speech, or jesting rough; 180 Ye all know John de Brent. Enough."

IX

Their Captain came, a gallant young-- Of Tullibardine's house he sprung-- Nor wore he yet the spurs of knight; Gay was his mien, his humor light, 185 And, though by courtesy controlled, Forward his speech, his bearing bold. The high-born maiden ill could brook The scanning of his curious look And dauntless eye; and yet, in sooth, 190 Young Lewis was a generous youth; But Ellen's lovely face and mien, Ill suited to the garb and scene, Might lightly bear construction strange, And give loose fancy scope to range. 195 "Welcome to Stirling towers, fair maid! Come ye to seek a champion's aid, On palfrey white, with harper hoar, Like errant damosel of yore? Does thy high quest a knight require, 200 Or may the venture suit a squire?" Her dark eye flashed--she paused and sighed-- "O what have I to do with pride! Through scenes of sorrow, shame, and strife, A suppliant for a father's life, 205 I crave an audience of the King. Behold, to back my suit, a ring, The royal pledge of grateful claims, Given by the Monarch to Fitz-James."

X

The signet ring young Lewis took, 210 With deep respect and altered look; And said--"This ring our duties own; And pardon, if to worth unknown, In semblance mean obscurely veiled, Lady, in aught my folly failed. 215 Soon as the day flings wide his gates, The King shall know what suitor waits. Please you, meanwhile, in fitting bower Repose you till his waking hour; Female attendance shall obey 220 Your hest, for service or array. Permit I marshal you the way." But, ere she followed, with the grace And open bounty of her race, She bade her slender purse be shared 225 Among the soldiers of the guard. The rest with thanks their guerdon took; But Brent, with shy and awkward look, On the reluctant maiden's hold Forced bluntly back the proffered gold: 230 "Forgive a haughty English heart, And O forget its ruder part! The vacant purse shall be my share, Which in my barret-cap I'll bear. Perchance, in jeopardy of war, 235 Where gayer crests may keep afar." With thanks--'twas all she could--the maid His rugged courtesy repaid.

XI

When Ellen forth with Lewis went, Allan made suit to John of Brent: 240 "My lady safe, O let your grace Give me to see my master's face! His minstrel I--to share his doom Bound from the cradle to the tomb. Tenth in descent, since first my sires 245 Waked for his noble house their lyres, Nor one of all the race was known But prized its weal above their own. With the Chief's birth begins our care; Our harp must soothe the infant heir, 250 Teach the youth tales of fight, and grace His earliest feat of field or chase; In peace, in war, our ranks we keep, We cheer his board, we soothe his sleep, Nor leave him till we pour our verse-- 255 A doleful tribute!--o'er his hearse. Then let me share his captive lot; It is my right--deny it not!" "Little we reck," said John of Brent, "We Southern men, of long descent; 260 Nor wot we how a name--a word-- Makes clansmen vassals to a lord; Yet kind my noble landlord's part-- God bless the house of Beaudesert! And, but I loved to drive the deer, 265 More than to guide the laboring steer, I had not dwelt an outcast here. Come, good old Minstrel, follow me; Thy Lord and Chieftain shalt thou see."

XII

Then, from a rusted iron hook, 270 A bunch of ponderous keys he took, Lighted a torch, and Allan led Through grated arch and passage dread. Portals they passed, where, deep within, Spoke prisoner's moan, and fetters' din; 275 Through rugged vaults, where, loosely stored, Lay wheel, and ax, and headsman's sword, And many an hideous engine grim, For wrenching joint, and crushing limb, By artist formed, who deemed it shame 280 And sin to give their work a name. They halted at a low-browed porch, And Brent to Allan gave the torch, While bolt and chain he backward rolled And made the bar unhasp its hold. 285 They entered--'twas a prison-room Of stern security and gloom, Yet not a dungeon; for the day Through lofty gratings found its way, And rude and antique garniture 290 Decked the sad walls and oaken floor; Such as the rugged days of old Deemed fit for captive noble's hold. "Here," said De Brent, "thou mayst remain Till the Leech visit him again. 295 Strict is his charge, the warders tell, To tend the noble prisoner well." Retiring then the bolt he drew, And the lock's murmurings growled anew. Roused at the sound, from lowly bed 300 A captive feebly raised his head; The wondering Minstrel looked, and knew-- Not his dear lord, but Roderick Dhu! For, come from where Clan-Alpine fought, They, erring, deemed the Chief he sought. 305

XIII

As the tall ship, whose lofty prore Shall never stem the billows more, Deserted by her gallant band, Amid the breakers lies astrand, So, on his couch, lay Roderick Dhu! 310 And oft his fevered limbs he threw In toss abrupt, as when her sides Lie rocking in the advancing tides, That shake her frame with ceaseless beat, Yet cannot heave her from her seat-- 315 Oh! how unlike her course at sea! Or his free step on hill and lea! Soon as the Minstrel he could scan, "What of thy lady?--of my clan?-- My mother?--Douglas?--tell me all? 320 Have they been ruined in my fall? Ah, yes! or wherefore art thou here! Yet speak--speak boldly--do not fear." For Allan, who his mood well knew, Was choked with grief and terror too. 325 "Who fought--who fled?--Old man, be brief-- Some might--for they had lost their Chief. Who basely live?--who bravely died?" "O calm thee, Chief!" the Minstrel cried, "Ellen is safe;" "For that thank Heaven!" 330 "And hopes are for the Douglas given; The Lady Margaret too is well; And, for thy clan--on field or fell, Has never harp of minstrel told, Of combat fought so true and bold. 335 Thy stately Pine is yet unbent, Though many a goodly bough is rent."

XIV

The Chieftain reared his form on high, And fever's fire was in his eye; But ghastly pale, and livid streaks 340 Checkered his swarthy brow and cheeks. "Hark, Minstrel! I have heard thee play, With measure bold, on festal day, In yon lone isle, ... again where ne'er Shall harper play, or warrior hear!... 345 That stirring air that peals on high, O'er Dermid's race our victory. Strike it!--and then--for well thou canst-- Free from thy minstrel spirit glanced, Fling me the picture of the fight, 350 When met my clan the Saxon might. I'll listen, till my fancy hears The clang of swords, the crash of spears! These grates, these walls, shall vanish then, For the fair field of fighting men, 355 And my free spirit burst away, As if it soared from battle fray." The trembling Bard with awe obeyed-- Slow on the harp his hand he laid; But soon remembrance of the sight 360 He witnessed from the mountain's height, With what old Bertram told at night, Awakened the full power of song, And bore him in career along; As shallop launched on river's side, 365 That slow and fearful leaves the side, But, when it feels the middle stream, Drives downward swift as lightning's beam.

XV

BATTLE OF BEAL' AN DUINE

"The Minstrel came once more to view The eastern ridge of Benvenue, 370 For ere he parted, he would say Farewell to lovely Loch Achray-- Where shall he find in foreign land, So lone a lake, so sweet a strand! There is no breeze upon the fern, 375 Nor ripple on the lake, Upon her eyry nods the erne, The deer has sought the brake; The small birds will not sing aloud, The springing trout lies still, 380 So darkly glooms yon thunder cloud, That swathes, as with a purple shroud, Benledi's distant hill. Is it the thunder's solemn sound That mutters deep and dread, 385 Or echoes from the groaning ground The warrior's measured tread? Is it the lightning's quivering glance That on the thicket streams, Or do they flash on spear and lance 390 The sun's retiring beams? --I see the dagger-crest of Mar, I see the Moray's silver star, Wave o'er the cloud of Saxon war, That up the lake comes winding far! 395 To hero boune for battle-strife, Or bard of martial lay, 'Twere worth ten years of peaceful life, One glance at their array!

XVI

"Their light-armed archers far and near 400 Surveyed the tangled ground, Their center ranks, with pike and spear, A twilight forest frowned, Their barded horsemen, in the rear, The stern battalia crowned. 405 No cymbal clashed, no clarion rang, Still were the pipe and drum; Save heavy tread, and armor's clang, The sullen march was dumb. There breathed no wind their crests to shake, 410 Or wave their flags abroad; Scarce the frail aspen seemed to quake, That shadowed o'er their road. Their vaward scouts no tidings bring, Can rouse no lurking foe, 415 Nor spy a trace of living thing, Save when they stirred the roe; The host moves, like a deep-sea wave, Where rise no rocks its pride to brave, High-swelling, dark, and slow. 420 The lake is passed, and now they gain A narrow and a broken plain, Before the Trossachs' rugged jaws; And here the horse and spearmen pause, While, to explore the dangerous glen, 425 Dive through the pass the archer-men.

XVII

"At once there rose so wild a yell Within that dark and narrow dell, As all the fiends, from heaven that fell, Had pealed the banner-cry of hell! 430 Forth from the pass in tumult driven, Like chaff before the wind of heaven, The archery appear; For life! for life! their flight they ply-- And shriek, and shout, and battle-cry, 435 And plaids and bonnets waving high, And broadswords flashing to the sky, Are maddening in the rear. Onward they drive, in dreadful race, Pursuers and pursued; 440 Before that tide of flight and chase, How shall it keep its rooted place, The spearmen's twilight wood? 'Down, down,' cried Mar, 'your lances down! Bear back both friend and foe!' 445 Like reeds before the tempest's frown, That serried grove of lances brown At once lay leveled low; And closely shouldering side to side, The bristling ranks the onset bide. 450 'We'll quell the savage mountaineer, As their Tinchel cows the game! They come as fleet as forest deer, We'll drive them back as tame.'

XVIII