Chapter 6
Soothing she answered him--"Assuage, Mine honored friend, the fears of age; 155 All melodies to thee are known, That harp has rung, or pipe has blown, In Lowland vale or Highland glen, From Tweed to Spey--what marvel, then, At times, unbidden notes should rise, 160 Confusedly bound in memory's ties, Entangling, as they rush along, The war-march with the funeral song? Small ground is now for boding fear; Obscure, but safe, we rest us here. 165 My sire, in native virtue great, Resigning lordship, lands, and state, Not then to fortune more resigned, Than yonder oak might give the wind; The graceful foliage storms may reave, 170 The noble stem they cannot grieve. For me,"--she stooped, and, looking round, Plucked a blue hare-bell from the ground-- "For me, whose memory scarce conveys An image of more splendid days, 175 This little flower, that loves the lea, May well my simple emblem be; It drinks heaven's dew as blithe as rose That in the king's own garden grows; And when I place it in my hair, 180 Allan, a bard is bound to swear He ne'er saw coronet so fair." Then playfully the chaplet wild She wreathed in her dark locks, and smiled.
X
Her smile, her speech, with winning sway, 185 Wiled the old harper's mood away. With such a look as hermits throw, When angels stoop to soothe their woe, He gazed, till fond regret and pride Thrilled to a tear, then thus replied: 190 "Loveliest and best! thou little know'st The rank, the honors, thou hast lost! O might I live to see thee grace, In Scotland's court, thy birth-right place, To see my favorite's step advance, 195 The lightest in the courtly dance, The cause of every gallant's sigh, And leading star of every eye, And theme of every minstrel's art, The Lady of the Bleeding Heart!" 200
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"Fair dreams are these," the maiden cried --Light was her accent, yet she sighed-- "Yet is this mossy rock to me Worth splendid chair and canopy; Nor would my footsteps spring more gay 205 In courtly dance than blithe strathspey, Nor half so pleased mine ear incline To royal minstrel's lay as thine. And then for suitors proud and high, To bend before my conquering eye-- 210 Thou, flattering bard! thyself wilt say, That grim Sir Roderick owns its sway. The Saxon scourge, Clan-Alpine's pride, The terror of Loch-Lomond's side, Would, at my suit, thou know'st, delay 215 A Lennox foray--for a day."
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The ancient bard his glee repressed: "Ill hast thou chosen theme for jest! For who, through all this western wild, Named Black Sir Roderick e'er, and smiled! 220 In Holy-Rood a knight he slew; I saw, when back the dirk he drew, Courtiers give place before the stride Of the undaunted homicide; And since, though outlawed, hath his hand 225 Full sternly kept his mountain land. Who else dared give--ah! woe the day, That I such hated truth should say-- The Douglas, like a stricken deer, Disowned by every noble peer, 230 Even the rude refuge we have here? Alas, this wild marauding Chief Alone might hazard our relief, And now thy maiden charms expand, Looks for his guerdon in thy hand; 235 Full soon may dispensation sought, To back his suit, from Rome he brought. Then, though an exile on the hill, Thy father, as the Douglas, still Be held in reverence and fear; 240 And though to Roderick thou'rt so dear, That thou might'st guide with silken thread, Slave of thy will, this chieftain dread; Yet, O loved maid, thy mirth refrain! Thy hand is on a lion's mane." 245
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"Minstrel," the maid replied, and high Her father's soul glanced from her eye, "My debts to Roderick's house I know: All that a mother could bestow, To Lady Margaret's care I owe, 250 Since first an orphan in the wild She sorrowed o'er her sister's child; To her brave chieftain son, from ire Of Scotland's king who shrouds my sire. 255 A deeper, holier debt is owed; And, could I pay it with my blood, Allan! Sir Roderick should command My blood, my life--but not my hand. Rather will Ellen Douglas dwell A votaress in Maronnan's cell; 260 Rather through realms beyond the sea, Seeking the world's cold charity, Where ne'er was spoke a Scottish word, And ne'er the name of Douglas heard, An outcast pilgrim will she rove, 265 Than wed the man she cannot love.
XIV
"Thou shakest, good friend, thy tresses gray-- That pleading look, what can it say But what I own?--I grant him brave, But wild as Bracklinn's thundering wave; 270 And generous--save vindictive mood, Or jealous transport, chafe his blood; I grant him true to friendly band, As his claymore is to his hand; But O! that very blade of steel 275 More mercy for a foe would feel: I grant him liberal, to fling Among his clan the wealth they bring, When back by lake and glen they wind, And in the Lowland leave behind, 280 Where once some pleasant hamlet stood, A mass of ashes slaked with blood. The hand that for my father fought, I honor, as his daughter ought; But can I clasp it reeking red, 285 From peasants slaughtered in their shed? No! wildly while his virtues gleam, They make his passions darker seem, And flash along his spirit high, Like lightning o'er the midnight sky. 290 While yet a child--and children know, Instinctive taught, the friend and foe-- I shuddered at his brow of gloom, His shadowy plaid, and sable plume; A maiden grown, I ill could bear 295 His haughty mien and lordly air; But, if thou join'st a suitor's claim, In serious mood, to Roderick's name, I thrill with anguish! or, if e'er A Douglas knew the word, with fear. 300 To change such odious theme were best-- What think'st thou of our stranger guest?"
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"What think I of him?--woe the while That brought such wanderer to our isle! Thy father's battle-brand, of yore 305 For Tine-man forged by fairy lore. What time he leagued, no longer foes, His Border spears with Hotspur's bows, Did, self-unscabbarded, foreshow The footstep of a secret foe. 310 If courtly spy hath harbored here, What may we for the Douglas fear? What for this island, deemed of old Clan-Alpine's last and surest hold? If neither spy nor foe, I pray 315 What yet may jealous Roderick say? --Nay, wave not thy disdainful head, Bethink thee of the discord dread, That kindled when at Beltane game Thou ledst the dance with Malcolm Graeme; 320 Still, though thy sire the peace renewed, Smolders in Roderick's breast the feud; Beware!--But hark, what sounds are these? My dull ears catch no faltering breeze, No weeping birch, nor aspens wake, 325 Nor breath is dimpling in the lake, Still is the canna's hoary beard, Yet, by my minstrel faith, I heard-- And hark again! some pipe of war Sends the bold pibroch from afar." 330
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Far up the lengthened lake were spied Four darkening specks upon the tide, That, slow enlarging on the view, Four manned and masted barges grew, And, bearing downwards from Glengyle, 335 Steered full upon the lonely isle; The point of Brianchoil they passed, And, to the windward as they cast, Against the sun they gave to shine The bold Sir Roderick's bannered Pine. 340 Nearer and nearer as they bear, Spears, pikes, and axes flash in air. Now might you see the tartans brave, And plaids and plumage dance and wave; Now see the bonnets sink and rise, 345 As his tough oar the rower plies; See, flashing at each sturdy stroke, The wave ascending into smoke; See the proud pipers on the bow, And mark the gaudy streamers flow 350 From their loud chanters down, and sweep The furrowed bosom of the deep, As, rushing through the lake amain, They plied the ancient Highland strain.
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Ever, as on they bore, more loud 355 And louder rung the pibroch proud. At first the sound, by distance tame, Mellowed along the waters came, And, lingering long by cape and bay, Wailed every harsher note away, 360 Then bursting bolder on the ear, The clan's shrill Gathering they could hear; Those thrilling sounds, that call the might Of Old Clan-Alpine to the fight. Thick beat the rapid notes, as when 365 The mustering hundreds shake the glen, And hurrying at the signal dread, The battered earth returns their tread. Then prelude light, of livelier tone, Expressed their merry marching on, 370 Ere peal of closing battle rose, With mingled outcry, shrieks, and blows; And mimic din of stroke and ward, As broad sword upon target jarred; And groaning pause, ere yet again, 375 Condensed, the battle yelled amain; The rapid charge, the rallying shout, Retreat borne headlong into rout, And bursts of triumph, to declare Clan-Alpine's conquest--all were there. 380 Nor ended thus the strain; but slow Sunk in a moan prolonged and low, And changed the conquering clarion swell, For wild lament o'er those that fell.
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The war-pipes ceased; but lake and hill 385 Were busy with their echoes still; And, when they slept, a vocal strain Bade their hoarse chorus wake again, While loud a hundred clansmen raise Their voices in their Chieftain's praise. 390 Each boatman, bending to his oar, With measured sweep the burden bore, In such wild cadence, as the breeze Makes through December's leafless trees. The chorus first could Allan know, 395 "Roderick Vich Alpine, ho! iro!" And near, and nearer as they rowed, Distinct the martial ditty flowed.
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BOAT SONG
Hail to the Chief who in triumph advances! Honored and blessed be the ever-green Pine! 400 Long may the tree, in his banner that glances, Flourish, the shelter and grace of our line! Heaven send it happy dew, Earth lend it sap anew, Gayly to borgeon, and broadly to grow, 405 While every Highland glen Sends our shout back again, "Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!"
Ours is no sapling, chance-sown by the fountain, Blooming at Beltane, in winter to fade; 410 When the whirlwind has stripped every leaf on the mountain, The more shall Clan-Alpine exult in her shade. Moored in the rifted rock, Proof to the tempest's shock, Firmer he roots him the ruder it blow; 415 Menteith and Breadalbane, then, Echo his praise again, "Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!"
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Proudly our pibroch has thrilled in Glen Fruin, And Bannochar's groans to our slogan replied; 420 Glen Luss and Ross-dhu, they are smoking in ruin, And the best of Loch-Lomond lie dead on her side. Widow and Saxon maid Long shall lament our raid, Think of Clan-Alpine with fear and with woe; 425 Lennox and Leven-glen Shake when they hear again "Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!"
Row, vassals, row, for the pride of the highlands! Stretch to your oars, for the ever-green Pine! 430 O that the rose-bud that graces yon islands, Were wreathed in a garland around him to twine! O that some seedling gem, Worthy such noble stem, Honored and blest in their shadow might grow; Loud should Clan-Alpine then Ring from her deepmost glen, "Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!"
XXI
With all her joyful female band, Had Lady Margaret sought the strand. 440 Loose on the breeze their tresses flew, And high their snowy arms they threw, As echoing back with shrill acclaim, And chorus wild, the Chieftain's name; While, prompt to please, with mother's art, 445 The darling passion of his heart, The Dame called Ellen to the strand, To greet her kinsman ere he land: "Come, loiterer, come! a Douglas thou, And shun to wreathe a victor's brow?" 450 Reluctantly and slow, the maid The unwelcome summoning obeyed, And, when a distant bugle rung, In the mid-path aside she sprung: "List Allan-bane! From mainland cast 455 I hear my father's signal blast. Be ours," she cried, "the skiff to guide, And waft him from the mountain side." Then, like a sunbeam, swift and bright, She darted to her shallop light, 460 And, eagerly while Roderick scanned, For her dear form, his mother's band, The islet far behind her lay, And she had landed in the bay.
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Some feelings are to mortals given, 465 With less of earth in them than heaven: And if there be a human tear From passion's dross refined and clear, A tear so limpid and so meek, It would not stain an angel's cheek, 470 'Tis that which pious fathers shed Upon a duteous daughter's head! And as the Douglas to his breast His darling Ellen closely pressed, Such holy drops her tresses steeped, 475 Though 'twas an hero's eye that weeped. Nor while on Ellen's faltering tongue Her filial welcomes crowded hung, Marked she, that fear, affection's proof, Still held a graceful youth aloof; 480 No! not till Douglas named his name, Although the youth was Malcolm Graeme.
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Allan, with wistful look the while, Marked Roderick landing on the isle; His master piteously he eyed. 485 Then gazed upon the Chieftain's pride, Then dashed, with hasty hand, away From his dimmed eye the gathering spray; And Douglas, as his hand he laid On Malcolm's shoulder, kindly said, 490 "Canst thou, young friend, no meaning spy In my poor follower's glistening eye? I'll tell thee: he recalls the day, When in my praise he led the lay O'er the arched gate of Bothwell proud, 495 While many a minstrel answered loud, When Percy's Norman pennon, won In bloody field, before me shone, And twice ten knights, the least a name As mighty as yon Chief may claim, 500 Gracing my pomp, behind me came. Yet trust me, Malcolm, not so proud Was I of all that marshaled crowd, Though the waned crescent owned my might, And in my train trooped lord and knight, 505 Though Blantyre hymned her holiest lays, And Bothwell's bards flung back my praise, As when this old man's silent tear, And this poor maid's affection dear, A welcome give more kind and true, 510 Than aught my better fortunes knew. Forgive, my friend, a father's boast, Oh! it out-beggars all I lost!"
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Delightful praise!--like summer rose, That brighter in the dew-drop glows, 515 The bashful maiden's cheek appeared, For Douglas spoke and Malcolm heard. The flush of shame-faced joy to hide, The hounds, the hawk, her cares divide; The loved caresses of the maid 520 The dogs with crouch and whimper paid; And, at her whistle, on her hand The falcon took his favorite stand, Closed his dark wing, relaxed his eye, Nor, though unhooded, sought to fly. 525 And, trust, while in such guise she stood, Like fabled Goddess of the wood, That if a father's partial thought O'erweighed her worth, and beauty aught, Well might the lover's judgment fail 530 To balance with a juster scale; For with each secret glance he stole, The fond enthusiast sent his soul.
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Of stature tall, and slender frame, But firmly knit, was Malcolm Graeme. 535 The belted plaid and tartan hose Did ne'er more graceful limbs disclose; His flaxen hair, of sunny hue, Curled closely round his bonnet blue. Trained to the chase, his eagle eye 540 The ptarmigan in snow could spy; Each pass, by mountain, lake, and heath, He knew, through Lennox and Menteith; Vain was the bound of dark-brown doe, When Malcolm bent his sounding bow, 545 And scarce that doe, though winged with fear, Outstripped in speed the mountaineer; Right up Ben-Lomond could he press, And not a sob his toil confess. His form accorded with a mind 550 Lively and ardent, frank and kind; A blither heart, till Ellen came, Did never love nor sorrow tame; It danced as lightsome in his breast, As played the feather on his crest. 555 Yet friends, who nearest knew the youth, His scorn of wrong, his zeal for truth, And bards, who saw his features bold, When kindled by the tales of old, Said, were that youth to manhood grown, 560 Not long should Roderick Dhu's renown Be foremost voiced by mountain fame, But quail to that of Malcolm Graeme.
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Now back they wend their watery way, And, "O my sire!" did Ellen say, 565 "Why urge thy chase so far astray? And why so late returned? And why"-- The rest was in her speaking eye. "My child, the chase I follow far, 'Tis mimicry of noble war; 570 And with that gallant pastime reft Were all of Douglas I have left. I met young Malcolm as I strayed Far eastward, in Glenfinlas' shade, Nor strayed I safe; for all around, 575 Hunters and horsemen scoured the ground. This youth, though still a royal ward, Risked life and land to be my guard, And through the passes of the wood Guided my steps, not unpursued; 580 And Roderick shall his welcome make, Despite old spleen, for Douglas' sake. Then must he seek Strath-Endrick glen, Nor peril aught for me again."
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Sir Roderick, who to meet them came, 585 Reddened at sight of Malcolm Graeme, Yet, not in action, word, or eye, Failed aught in hospitality. In talk and sport they whiled away The morning of that summer day; 590 But at high noon a courier light Held secret parley with the knight, Whose moody aspect soon declared, That evil were the news he heard. Deep thought seemed toiling in his head; 595 Yet was the evening banquet made, Ere he assembled round the flame, His mother, Douglas, and the Graeme, And Ellen too; then cast around His eyes, then fixed them on the ground, 600 As studying phrase that might avail Best to convey unpleasant tale. Long with his dagger's hilt he played, Then raised his haughty brow, and said:
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"Short be my speech--nor time affords, 605 Nor my plain temper, glozing words. Kinsman and father--if such name Douglas vouchsafe to Roderick's claim; Mine honored mother--Ellen--why, My cousin, turn away thine eye?-- 610 And Graeme, in whom I hope to know Full soon a noble friend or foe, When age shall give thee thy command, And leading in thy native land-- List all--The King's vindictive pride 615 Boasts to have tamed the Border-side, Where chiefs, with hound and hawk who came To share their monarch's silvan game, Themselves in bloody toils were snared; And when the banquet they prepared, 620 And wide their loyal portals flung, O'er their own gateway struggling hung. Loud cries their blood from Meggat's mead, From Yarrow braes, and banks of Tweed, Where the lone streams of Ettrick glide, 625 And from the silver Teviot's side; The dales, where martial clans did ride, Are now one sheep-walk, waste and wide. This tyrant of the Scottish throne, So faithless, and so ruthless known, 630 Now hither comes; his end the same, The same pretext of silvan game. What grace for Highland Chiefs, judge ye By fate of Border chivalry. Yet more; amid Glenfinlas' green, 635 Douglas, thy stately form was seen. This by espial sure I know: Your counsel in the strait I show."
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Ellen and Margaret fearfully Sought comfort in each other's eye, 640 Then turned their ghastly look, each one, This to her sire, that to her son. The hasty color went and came In the bold cheek of Malcolm Graeme; But from his glance it well appeared, 645 'Twas but for Ellen that he feared; While, sorrowful, but undismayed, The Douglas thus his counsel said: "Brave Roderick, though the tempest roar, It may but thunder and pass o'er; 650 Nor will I here remain an hour, To draw the lightning on thy bower; For well thou know'st, at this gray head The royal bolt were fiercest sped. For thee, who, at thy King's command, 655 Canst aid him with a gallant band, Submission, homage, humbled pride, Shall turn the Monarch's wrath aside. Poor remnants of the Bleeding Heart, Ellen and I will seek, apart, 660 The refuge of some forest cell, There, like the hunted quarry, dwell, Till on the mountain and the moor, The stern pursuit be passed and o'er."
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