Chapter 5

A chieftain's daughter seemed the maid; Her satin snood, her silken plaid, Her golden brooch such birth betrayed. And seldom was a snood amid 365 Such wild luxuriant ringlets hid, Whose glossy black to shame might bring The plumage of the raven's wing; And seldom o'er a breast so fair, Mantled a plaid with modest care, 370 And never brooch the folds combined Above a heart more good and kind. Her kindness and her worth to spy, You need but gaze on Ellen's eye; Not Katrine, in her mirror blue, 375 Gives back the shaggy banks more true, Than every free-born glance confessed The guileless movements of her breast; Whether joy danced in her dark eye, Or woe or pity claimed a sigh, 380 Or filial love was glowing there, Or meek devotion poured a prayer, Or tale of injury called forth The indignant spirit of the North. One only passion unrevealed, 385 With maiden pride the maid concealed, Yet not less purely felt the flame-- Oh! need I tell that passion's name!

XX

Impatient of the silent horn, Now on the gale her voice was borne: 390 "Father!" she cried; the rocks around Loved to prolong the gentle sound. A while she paused, no answer came-- "Malcolm, was thine the blast?" the name Less resolutely uttered fell, 395 The echoes could not catch the swell. "A stranger I," the Huntsman said, Advancing from the hazel shade. The maid, alarmed, with hasty oar, Pushed her light shallop from the shore, 400 And when a space was gained between, Closer she drew her bosom's screen-- So forth the startled swan would swing, So turn to prune his ruffled wing. Then safe, though fluttered and amazed, 405 She paused, and on the stranger gazed. Not his the form, nor his the eye, That youthful maidens wont to fly.

XXI

On his bold visage middle age Had slightly pressed its signet sage, 410 Yet had not quenched the open truth And fiery vehemence of youth; Forward and frolic glee was there, The will to do, the soul to dare, The sparkling glance, soon blown to fire, 415 Of hasty love, or headlong ire. His limbs were cast in manly mold, For hardy sports or contest bold; And though in peaceful garb arrayed, And weaponless, except his blade, 420 His stately mien as well implied A high-born heart, a martial pride, As if a Baron's crest he wore, And sheathed in armor trod the shore. Slighting the petty need he showed, 425 He told of his benighted road; His ready speech flowed fair and free, In phrase of gentlest courtesy; Yet seemed that tone, and gesture bland, Less used to sue than to command. 430

XXII

A while the maid the stranger eyed, And, reassured, at length replied, That Highland halls were open still To wildered wanderers of the hill. "Nor think you unexpected come 435 To yon lone isle, our desert home; Before the heath had lost the dew, This morn, a couch was pulled for you; On yonder mountain's purple head Have ptarmigan and heath-cock bled, 440 And our broad nets have swept the mere, To furnish forth your evening cheer." "Now, by the rood, my lovely maid, Your courtesy has erred," he said; "No right have I to claim, misplaced, 445 The welcome of expected guest. A wanderer here, by fortune tost, My way, my friends, my courser lost, I ne'er before, believe me, fair, Have ever drawn your mountain air, 450 Till on this lake's romantic strand, I found a fay in fairy land!"

XXIII

"I well believe," the maid replied, As her light skiff approached the side, "I well believe, that ne'er before 455 Your foot has trod Loch Katrine's shore; But yet, as far as yesternight, Old Allan-bane foretold your plight, A gray-haired sire, whose eye intent Was on the visioned future bent. 460 He saw your steed, a dappled gray, Lie dead beneath the birchen way; Painted exact your form and mien, Your hunting suit of Lincoln green, That tasselled horn so gaily gilt, 465 That falchion's crooked blade and hilt, That cap with heron plumage trim, And yon two hounds so dark and grim. He bade that all should ready be, To grace a guest of fair degree; 470 But light I held his prophecy, And deemed it was my father's horn, Whose echoes o'er the lake were borne."

XXIV

The stranger smiled: "Since to your home A destined errant-knight I come, 475 Announced by prophet sooth and old, Doomed, doubtless, for achievement bold, I'll lightly front each high emprise, For one kind glance of those bright eyes. Permit me, first, the task to guide 480 Your fairy frigate o'er the tide." The maid with smile suppressed and sly, The toil unwonted saw him try; For seldom sure, if e'er before, His noble hand had grasped an oar. 485 Yet with main strength his strokes he drew, And o'er the lake the shallop flew; With heads erect, and whimpering cry, The hounds behind their passage ply. Nor frequent does the bright oar break 490 The dark'ning mirror of the lake, Until the rocky isle they reach, And moor their shallop on the beach.

XXV

The stranger viewed the shore around, 'Twas all so close with copsewood bound, 495 Nor track nor pathway might declare That human foot frequented there, Until the mountain-maiden showed A clambering, unsuspected road, That winded through the tangled screen, 500 And opened on a narrow green, Where weeping birch and willow round With their long fibres swept the ground. Here, for retreat in dangerous hour, Some chief had framed a rustic bower. 505

XXVI

It was a lodge of ample size, But strange of structure and device; Of such materials as around The workman's hand had readiest found. Lopped of their boughs, their hoar trunks bared, 510 And by the hatchet rudely squared, To give the walls their destined height, The sturdy oak and ash unite; While moss and clay and leaves combined To fence each crevice from the wind. 515 The lighter pine-trees overhead, Their slender length for rafters spread, And withered heath and rushes dry Supplied a russet canopy. Due westward, fronting to the green, 520 A rural portico was seen, Aloft on native pillars borne, Of mountain fir with bark unshorn, Where Ellen's hand had taught to twine The ivy and Idaean vine, 525 The clematis, the favored flower Which boasts the name of virgin-bower, And every hardy plant could bear Loch Katrine's keen and searching air. An instant in this porch she stayed 530 And gaily to the stranger said, "On heaven and on thy lady call, And enter the enchanted hall!"

XXVII

"My hope, my heaven, my trust must be, My gentle guide, in following thee." 535 He crossed the threshold--and a clang Of angry steel that instant rang. To his bold brow his spirit rushed, But soon for vain alarm he blushed, When on the floor he saw displayed, 540 Cause of the din, a naked blade Dropped from the sheath, that careless flung Upon a stag's huge antlers swung; For all around, the walls to grace, Hung trophies of the fight or chase: 545 A target there, a bugle here, A battle-ax, a hunting spear, And broadswords, bows, and arrows store, With the tusked trophies of the boar. Here grins the wolf as when he died, 550 And there the wild-cat's brindled hide The frontlet of the elk adorns, Or mantles o'er the bison's horns; Pennons and flags defaced and stained, That blackening streaks of blood retained, 555 And deer-skins, dappled, dun, and white, With otter's fur and seal's unite, In rude and uncouth tapestry all, To garnish forth the silvan hall.

XXVIII

The wondering stranger round him gazed, 560 And next the fallen weapon raised-- Few were the arms whose sinewy strength, Sufficed to stretch it forth at length. And as the brand he poised and swayed, "I never knew but one," he said, 565 "Whose stalwart arm might brook to wield A blade like this in battle-field." She sighed, then smiled and took the word: "You see the guardian champion's sword; As light it trembles in his hand, 570 As in my grasp a hazel wand; My sire's tall form might grace the part Of Ferragus, or Ascabart; But in the absent giant's hold Are women now, and menials old." 575

XXIX

The mistress of the mansion came, Mature of age, a graceful dame; Whose easy step and stately port Had well become a princely court, To whom, though more than kindred knew, 580 Young Ellen gave a mother's due. Meet welcome to her guest she made, And every courteous rite was paid, That hospitality could claim, Though all unasked his birth and name. 585 Such then the reverence to a guest, That fellest foe might join the feast, And from his deadliest foeman's door Unquestioned turn, the banquet o'er. At length his rank the stranger names, 590 "The Knight of Snowdoun, James Fitz-James; Lord of a barren heritage, Which his brave sires, from age to age, By their good swords had held with toil; His sire had fallen in such turmoil, 595 And he, God wot, was forced to stand Oft for his right with blade in hand. This morning, with Lord Moray's train He chased a stalwart stag in vain, Outstripped his comrades, missed the deer, 600 Lost his good steed, and wandered here."

XXX

Fain would the Knight in turn require The name and state of Ellen's sire. Well showed the elder lady's mien, That courts and cities she had seen; 605 Ellen, though more her looks displayed The simple grace of silvan maid, In speech and gesture, form and face, Showed she was come of gentle race. 'Twere strange in ruder rank to find 610 Such looks, such manners, and such mind. Each hint the Knight of Snowdoun gave, Dame Margaret heard with silence grave; Or Ellen, innocently gay, Turned all inquiry light away: 615 "Weird women we--by dale and down We dwell, afar from tower and town. We stem the flood, we ride the blast, On wandering knights our spells we cast; While viewless minstrels touch the string, 620 'Tis thus our charmed rimes we sing." She sung, and still a harp unseen Filled up the symphony between.

XXXI

SONG

"Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er, Sleep the sleep that knows no breaking; 625 Dream of battled fields no more, Days of danger, nights of waking. In our isle's enchanted hall, Hands unseen thy couch are strewing, Fairy strains of music fall, 630 Every sense in slumber dewing. Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er, Dream of fighting fields no more; Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, Morn of toil, nor night of waking. 635

"No rude sound shall reach thine ear, Armor's clang, or war-steed champing, Trump nor pibroch summon here Mustering clan, or squadron tramping. Yet the lark's shrill fife may come 640 At the day-break from the fallow, And the bittern sound his drum, Booming from the sedgy shallow. Ruder sounds shall none be near, Guards nor warders challenge here, 645 Here's no war-steed's neigh and champing, Shouting clans or squadrons stamping."

XXXII

She paused--then, blushing, led the lay To grace the stranger of the day. Her mellow notes awhile prolong 650 The cadence of the flowing song, Till to her lips in measured frame The minstrel verse spontaneous came.

SONG--(_Continued_)

"Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done, While our slumbrous spells assail ye, 655 Dream not, with the rising sun, Bugles here shall sound reveille. Sleep! the deer is in his den; Sleep! thy hounds are by thee lying; Sleep! nor dream in yonder glen, 660 How thy gallant steed lay dying. Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done, Think not of the rising sun, For at dawning to assail ye, Here no bugles sound reveille." 665

XXXIII

The hall was cleared--the stranger's bed Was there of mountain heather spread, Where oft a hundred guests had lain, And dreamed their forest sports again. But vainly did the heath-flower shed 670 Its moorland fragrance round his head; Not Ellen's spell had lulled to rest The fever of his troubled breast. In broken dreams the image rose Of varied perils, pains, and woes: 675 His steed now flounders in the brake, Now sinks his barge upon the lake; Now leader of a broken host, His standard falls, his honor's lost. Then--from my couch may heavenly might 680 Chase that worst phantom of the night! Again returned the scenes of youth, Of confident undoubting truth; Again his soul he interchanged With friends whose hearts were long estranged. 685 They come, in dim procession led, The cold, the faithless, and the dead; As warm each hand, each brow as gay, As if they parted yesterday. And doubt distracts him at the view-- 690 O were his senses false or true? Dreamed he of death, or broken vow, Or is it all a vision now?

XXXIV

At length, with Ellen in a grove He seemed to walk, and speak of love; 695 She listened with a blush and sigh, His suit was warm, his hopes were high. He sought her yielded hand to clasp, And a cold gauntlet met his grasp; The phantom's sex was changed and gone, 700 Upon its head a helmet shone; Slowly enlarged to giant size, With darkened cheek and threatening eyes, The grisly visage, stern and hoar, To Ellen still a likeness bore. 705 He woke, and, panting with affright, Recalled the vision of the night. The hearth's decaying brands were red. And deep and dusky luster shed, Half showing, half concealing, all 710 The uncouth trophies of the hall. Mid those the stranger fixed his eye, Where that huge falchion hung on high, And thoughts on thoughts, a countless throng, Rushed, chasing countless thoughts along. 715 Until, the giddy whirl to cure, He rose, and sought the moonshine pure.

XXXV

The wild-rose, eglantine, and broom, Wasted around their rich perfume: The birch-trees swept in fragrant balm, 720 The aspens slept beneath the calm; The silver light, with quivering glance, Played on the water's still expanse-- Wild were the heart whose passion's sway Could rage beneath the sober ray! 725 He felt its calm, that warrior guest, While thus he communed with his breast: "Why is it, at each turn I trace Some memory of that exiled race? Can I not mountain-maiden spy, 730 But she must bear the Douglas eye? Can I not view a Highland brand, But it must match the Douglas hand? Can I not frame a fevered dream, But still the Douglas is the theme? 735 I'll dream no more--by manly mind Not even in sleep is will resigned. My midnight orisons said o'er, I'll turn to rest, and dream no more." His midnight orisons he told, 740 A prayer with every bead of gold, Consigned to heaven his cares and woes, And sunk in undisturbed repose, Until the heath-cock shrilly crew, And morning dawned on Benvenue. 745

CANTO SECOND

THE ISLAND

I

At morn the blackcock trims his jetty wing, 'Tis morning prompts the linnet's blithest lay, All Nature's children feel the matin spring Of life reviving, with reviving day; And while yon little bark glides down the bay, 5 Wafting the stranger on his way again, Morn's genial influence roused a minstrel gray, And sweetly o'er the lake was heard thy strain, Mixed with the sounding harp, O white-haired Allan-bane!

II

SONG

"Not faster yonder rowers' might 10 Flings from their oars the spray, Not faster yonder rippling bright, That tracks the shallop's course in light, Melts in the lake away, Than men from memory erase 15 The benefits of former days; Then, stranger, go! good speed the while, Nor think again of the lonely isle.

"High place to thee in royal court, High place in battle line, 20 Good hawk and hound for silvan sport, Where beauty sees the brave resort; The honored meed be thine! True be thy sword, thy friend sincere, Thy lady constant, kind and dear, 25 And lost in love, and friendship's smile Be memory of the lonely isle.

III

SONG (_Continued_)

"But if beneath yon southern sky A plaided stranger roam, Whose drooping crest and stifled sigh, 30 And sunken cheek and heavy eye, Pine for his Highland home; Then, warrior, then be thine to show The care that soothes a wanderer's woe; Remember then thy hap ere while, 35 A stranger in the lonely isle.

"Or if on life's uncertain main Mishap shall mar thy sail; If faithful, wise, and brave in vain, Woe, want, and exile thou sustain 40 Beneath the fickle gale; Waste not a sigh on fortune changed, On thankless courts, or friends estranged, But come where kindred worth shall smile, To greet thee in the lonely isle." 45

IV

As died the sounds upon the tide, The shallop reached the mainland side, And ere his onward way he took, The stranger cast a lingering look, Where easily his eye might reach 50 The Harper on the islet beach, Reclined against a blighted tree, As wasted, gray, and worn as he. To minstrel meditation given, His reverend brow was raised to heaven, 55 As from the rising sun to claim A sparkle of inspiring flame. His hand, reclined upon the wire, Seemed watching the awakening fire; So still he sat, as those who wait 60 Till judgment speak the doom of fate; So still, as if no breeze might dare To lift one lock of hoary hair; So still, as life itself were fled, In the last sound his harp had sped. 65

V

Upon a rock with lichens wild, Beside him Ellen sat and smiled-- Smiled she to see the stately drake Lead forth his fleet upon the lake, While her vexed spaniel, from the beach 70 Bayed at the prize beyond his reach? Yet tell me, then, the maid who knows, Why deepened on her cheek the rose? Forgive, forgive, Fidelity! Perchance the maiden smiled to see 75 Yon parting lingerer wave adieu, And stop and turn to wave anew; And, lovely ladies, ere your ire Condemn the heroine of my lyre, Show me the fair would scorn to spy, 80 And prize such conquest of her eye!

VI

While yet he loitered on the spot, It seemed as Ellen marked him not; But when he turned him to the glade, One courteous parting sign she made; 85 And after, oft the knight would say, That not when prize of festal day Was dealt him by the brightest fair, Who e'er wore jewel in her hair, So highly did his bosom swell, 90 As at that simple mute farewell. Now with a trusty mountain-guide, And his dark stag-hounds by his side, He parts--the maid, unconscious still, Watched him wind slowly round the hill; 95 But when his stately form was hid, The guardian in her bosom chid-- "Thy Malcolm! vain and selfish maid!" 'Twas thus upbraiding conscience said-- "Not so had Malcolm idly hung 100 On the smooth phrase of southern tongue; Not so had Malcolm strained his eye Another step than thine to spy. Wake, Allan-bane," aloud she cried, To the old Minstrel by her side-- 105 "Arouse thee from thy moody dream! I'll give thy harp heroic theme, And warm thee with a noble name; Pour forth the glory of the Graeme!" Scarce from her lip the word had rushed, 110 When deep the conscious maiden blushed; For of his clan, in hall and bower, Young Malcolm Graeme was held the flower.

VII

The Minstrel waked his harp--three times Arose the well-known martial chimes, 115 And thrice their high heroic pride In melancholy murmurs died. "Vainly thou bid'st, O noble maid," Clasping his withered hands, he said, "Vainly thou bid'st me wake the strain, 120 Though all unwont to bid in vain. Alas! than mine a mightier hand Has tuned my harp, my strings has spanned! I touch the chords of joy, but low And mournful answer notes of woe; 125 And the proud march, which victors tread, Sinks in the wailing for the dead. O well for me, if mine alone That dirge's deep prophetic tone! If, as my tuneful fathers said, 130 This harp, which erst Saint Modan swayed, Can thus its master's fate foretell, Then welcome be the minstrel's knell!

VIII

"But ah! dear lady, thus it sighed The eve thy sainted mother died; 135 And such the sounds which, while I strove To wake a lay of war or love, Came marring all the festal mirth, Appalling me who gave them birth, And, disobedient to my call, 140 Wailed loud through Bothwell's bannered hall, Ere Douglases to ruin driven, Were exiled from their native heaven. Oh! if yet worse mishap and woe, My master's house must undergo, 145 Or aught but weal to Ellen fair, Brood in these accents of despair, No future bard, sad Harp! shall fling Triumph or rapture from thy string; One short, one final strain shall flow, 150 Fraught with unutterable woe, Then shivered shall thy fragments lie, Thy master cast him down and die!"

IX