Chapter 7
"No, by mine honor," Roderick said, 665 "So help me Heaven, and my good blade! No, never! Blasted be yon Pine, My fathers' ancient crest and mine, If from its shade in danger part The lineage of the Bleeding Heart! 670 Hear my blunt speech: Grant me this maid To wife, thy counsel to mine aid; To Douglas, leagued with Roderick Dhu, Will friends and allies flock enow; Like cause of doubt, distrust, and grief 675 Will bind to us each Western Chief. When the loud pipes my bridal tell, The Links of Forth shall hear the knell, The guards shall start in Stirling's porch; And, when I light the nuptial torch, 680 A thousand villages in flames Shall scare the slumbers of King James! --Nay, Ellen, blench not thus away, And, mother, cease these signs, I pray; I meant not all my heat might say. 685 Small need of inroad, or of fight, When the sage Douglas may unite Each mountain clan in friendly band, To guard the passes of their land, Till the foiled king, from pathless glen, 690 Shall bootless turn him home again."
XXXI
There are who have, at midnight hour, In slumber scaled a dizzy tower, And, on the verge that beetled o'er The ocean tide's incessant roar, 695 Dreamed calmly out their dangerous dream, Till wakened by the morning beam; When, dazzled by the eastern glow, Such startler cast his glance below, And saw unmeasured depth around, 700 And heard unintermitted sound, And thought the battled fence so frail, It waved like cobweb in the gale; Amid his senses' giddy wheel, Did he not desperate impulse feel, 705 Headlong to plunge himself below, And meet the worst his fears foreshow? Thus, Ellen, dizzy and astound, As sudden ruin yawned around, By crossing terrors wildly tossed, 710 Still for the Douglas fearing most, Could scarce the desperate thought withstand, To buy his safety with her hand.
XXXII
Such purpose dread could Malcolm spy In Ellen's quivering lip and eye, 715 And eager rose to speak--but ere His tongue could hurry forth his fear, Had Douglas marked the hectic strife, Where death seemed combating with life; For to her cheek, in feverish flood, 720 One instant rushed the throbbing blood, Then ebbing back, with sudden sway, Left its domain as wan as clay. "Roderick, enough! enough!" he cried, "My daughter cannot be thy bride; 725 Not that the blush to wooer dear, Nor paleness that of maiden fear. It may not be--forgive her, Chief, Nor hazard aught for our relief. Against his sovereign, Douglas ne'er 730 Will level a rebellious spear. 'Twas I that taught his youthful hand To rein a steed and wield a brand; I see him yet, the princely boy! Not Ellen more my pride and joy; 735 I love him still, despite my wrongs, By hasty wrath, and slanderous tongues. O seek the grace you well may find, Without a cause to mine combined."
XXXIII
Twice through the hall the Chieftain strode; 740 The waving of his tartans broad, And darkened brow, where wounded pride With ire and disappointment vied, Seemed, by the torch's gloomy light, Like the ill Demon of the night, 745 Stooping his pinions' shadowy sway Upon the knighted pilgrim's way. But, unrequited Love! thy dart Plunged deepest its envenomed smart, And Roderick, with thine anguish stung, 750 At length the hand of Douglas wrung, While eyes, that mocked at tears before, With bitter drops were running o'er. The death-pangs of long-cherished hope Scarce in that ample breast had scope, 755 But, struggling with his spirit proud, Convulsive heaved its checkered shroud, While every sob--so mute were all-- Was heard distinctly through the hall. The son's despair, the mother's look, 760 Ill might the gentle Ellen brook; She rose, and to her side there came, To aid her parting steps, the Graeme.
XXXIV
Then Roderick from the Douglas broke-- As flashes flame through sable smoke, 765 Kindling its wreaths, long, dark, and low, To one broad blaze of ruddy glow, So the deep anguish of despair Burst, in fierce jealousy, to air. With stalwart grasp his hand he laid 770 On Malcolm's breast and belted plaid: "Back, beardless boy!" he sternly said, "Back, minion! hold'st thou thus at naught The lesson I so lately taught? This roof, the Douglas, and that maid, 775 Thank thou for punishment delayed." Eager as a greyhound on his game Fiercely with Roderick grappled Graeme. "Perish my name, if aught afford Its Chieftain's safety save his sword!" 780 Thus as they strove, their desperate hand Griped to the dagger or the brand, And death had been--but Douglas rose, And thrust between the struggling foes His giant strength: "Chieftains, forego! 785 I hold the first who strikes, my foe. Madmen, forbear your frantic jar! What! is the Douglas fallen so far, His daughter's hand is deemed the spoil Of such dishonorable broil!" 790 Sullen and slowly they unclasp, As struck with shame, their desperate grasp, And each upon his rival glared, With foot advanced, and blade half bared.
XXXV
Ere yet the brands aloft were flung 795 Margaret on Roderick's mantle hung, And Malcolm heard his Ellen's scream, As faltered through terrific dream. Then Roderick plunged in sheath his sword And veiled his wrath in scornful word: 800 "Rest safe till morning; pity 'twere Such cheek should feel the midnight air! Then mayest thou to James Stuart tell, Roderick will keep the lake and fell, Nor lackey, with his freeborn clan, 805 The pageant pomp of earthly man. More would he of Clan-Alpine know, Thou canst our strength and passes show. Malise, what ho!"--his henchman came; "Give our safe-conduct to the Graeme." 810 Young Malcolm answered, calm and bold, "Fear nothing for thy favorite hold; The spot, an angel deigned to grace, Is blessed, though robbers haunt the place. Thy churlish courtesy for those 815 Reserve, who fear to be thy foes. As safe to me the mountain way At midnight as in blaze of day, Though with his boldest at his back Even Roderick Dhu beset the track.-- 820 Brave Douglas--lovely Ellen--nay, Nought here of parting will I say. Earth does not hold a lonesome glen So secret but we meet again.-- Chieftain! we too shall find an hour," 825 He said, and left the silvan bower.
XXXVI
Old Allan followed to the strand-- Such was the Douglas's command-- And anxious told, how, on the morn, The stern Sir Roderick deep had sworn 830 The Fiery Cross should circle o'er Dale, glen, and valley, down, and moor. Much were the peril to the Graeme From those who to the signal came; Far up the lake 'twere safest land, 835 Himself would row him to the strand. He gave his counsel to the wind, While Malcolm did, unheeding, bind, Round dirk and pouch and broadsword rolled, His ample plaid in tightened fold, 840 And stripped his limbs to such array, As best might suit the watery way--
XXXVII
Then spoke abrupt: "Farewell to thee, Pattern of old fidelity!" The Minstrel's hand he kindly pressed-- 845 "Oh, could I point a place of rest! My sovereign holds in ward my land, My uncle leads my vassal band; To tame his foes, his friends to aid, Poor Malcolm has but heart and blade. 850 Yet, if there be one faithful Graeme, Who loves the chieftain of his name, Not long shall honored Douglas dwell Like hunted stag in mountain cell; Nor, ere yon pride-swoll'n robber dare, 855 I might not give the rest to air! Tell Roderick Dhu, I owed him nought, Not the poor service of a boat, To waft me to yon mountain-side." Then plunged he in the flashing tide. 860 Bold o'er the flood his head he bore, And stoutly steered him from the shore; And Allan strained his anxious eye, Far mid the lake his form to spy, Darkening across each puny wave, 865 To which the moon her silver gave, Fast as the cormorant could skim, The swimmer plied each active limb; Then landing in the moonlight dell, Loud shouted of his weal to tell. 870 The Minstrel heard the far halloo, And joyful from the shore withdrew.
CANTO THIRD
THE GATHERING
I
Time rolls his ceaseless course. The race of yore, Who danced our infancy upon their knee, And told our marveling boyhood legends store Of their strange ventures happed by land or sea, How are they blotted from the things that be! 5 How few, all weak and withered of their force, Wait on the verge of dark eternity, Like stranded wrecks, the tide returning hoarse, To sweep them from our sight! Time rolls his ceaseless course.
Yet live there still who can remember well, 10 How, when a mountain chief his bugle blew, Both field and forest, dingle, cliff, and dell, And solitary heath, the signal knew; And fast the faithful clan around him drew, What time the warning note was keenly wound, 15 What time aloft their kindred banner flew, While clamorous war-pipes yelled the gathering sound, And while the Fiery Cross glanced, like a meteor, round.
II
The summer dawn's reflected hue To purple changed Loch Katrine blue; 20 Mildly and soft the western breeze Just kissed the lake, just stirred the trees, And the pleased lake, like maiden coy, Trembled but dimpled not for joy; The mountain-shadows on her breast 25 Were neither broken nor at rest; In bright uncertainty they lie, Like future joys to Fancy's eye. The water-lily to the light Her chalice reared of silver bright; 30 The doe awoke, and to the lawn, Begemmed with dew-drops, led her fawn; The gray mist left the mountain side, The torrent showed its glistening pride; Invisible in flecked sky, 35 The lark sent down her revelry; The blackbird and the speckled thrush, Good-morrow gave from brake and bush; In answer cooed the cushat dove Her notes of peace, and rest, and love. 40
III
No thought of peace, no thought of rest, Assuaged the storm in Roderick's breast. With sheathed broadsword in his hand, Abrupt he paced the islet strand, And eyed the rising sun, and laid 45 His hand on his impatient blade. Beneath a rock, his vassals' care Was prompt the ritual to prepare, With deep and deathful meaning fraught; For such Antiquity had taught 50 Was preface meet, ere yet abroad The Cross of Fire should take its road. The shrinking band stood oft aghast At the impatient glance he cast-- Such glance the mountain eagle threw, 55 As, from the cliffs of Benvenue, She spread her dark sails on the wind, And, high in middle heaven reclined, With her broad shadow on the lake, Silenced the warblers of the brake. 60
IV
A heap of withered boughs was piled, Of juniper and rowan wild, Mingled with shivers from the oak, Rent by the lightning's recent stroke. Brian, the Hermit, by it stood, 65 Barefooted, in his frock and hood. His grizzled beard and matted hair Obscured a visage of despair; His naked arms and legs, seamed o'er, The scars of frantic penance bore. 70 That monk, of savage form and face, The impending danger of his race Had drawn from deepest solitude, Far in Benharrow's bosom rude. Not his the mien of Christian priest, 75 But Druid's, from the grave released, Whose hardened heart and eye might brook On human sacrifice to look; And much, 'twas said, of heathen lore Mixed in the charms he muttered o'er. 80 The hallowed creed gave only worse And deadlier emphasis of curse; No peasant sought that Hermit's prayer, His cave the pilgrim shunned with care, The eager huntsman knew his bound, 85 And in mid chase called off his hound; Or if, in lonely glen or strath, The desert-dweller met his path, He prayed, and signed the cross between, While terror took devotion's mien. 90
V
Of Brian's birth strange tales were told. His mother watched a midnight fold, Built deep within a dreary glen, Where scattered lay the bones of men In some forgotten battle slain, 95 And bleached by drifting wind and rain. It might have tamed a warrior's heart, To view such mockery of his art! The knot-grass fettered there the hand Which once could burst an iron band; 100 Beneath the broad and ample bone, That bucklered heart to fear unknown, A feeble and a timorous guest, The fieldfare framed her lowly nest; There the slow blindworm left his slime 105 On the fleet limbs that mocked at time; And there, too, lay the leader's skull, Still wreathed with chaplet, flushed and full, For heath-bell with her purple bloom Supplied the bonnet and the plume. 110 All night, in this sad glen, the maid Sat, shrouded in her mantle's shade: She said no shepherd sought her side, No hunter's hand her snood untied; Yet ne'er again to braid her hair 115 The virgin snood did Alice wear; Gone was her maiden glee and sport, Her maiden girdle all too short, Nor sought she, from that fatal night, Or holy church or blessed rite, 120 But locked her secret in her breast, And died in travail, unconfessed.
VI
Alone, among his young compeers, Was Brian from his infant years; A moody and heartbroken boy, 125 Estranged from sympathy and joy, Bearing each taunt with careless tongue On his mysterious lineage flung. Whole nights he spent by moonlight pale, To wood and stream his hap to wail, 130 Till, frantic, he as truth received What of his birth the crowd believed, And sought, in mist and meteor fire, To meet and know his Phantom Sire! In vain, to soothe his wayward fate, 135 The cloister oped her pitying gate; In vain, the learning of the age Unclasped the sable-lettered page; Even in its treasures he could find Food for the fever of his mind. 140 Eager he read whatever tells Of magic, cabala, and spells, And every dark pursuit allied To curious and presumptuous pride; Till with fired brain and nerves o'erstrung, 145 And heart with mystic horrors wrung, Desperate he sought Benharrow's den, And hid him from the haunts of men.
VII
The desert gave him visions wild, Such as might suit the specter's child. 150 Where with black cliffs the torrents toil, He watched the wheeling eddies boil, Till, from their foam, his dazzled eyes Beheld the River Demon rise; The mountain mist took form and limb, 155 Of noontide hag, or goblin grim; The midnight wind came wild and dread, Swelled with the voices of the dead; Far on the future battle-heath His eyes beheld the ranks of death. 160 Thus the lone Seer, from mankind hurled, Shaped forth a disembodied world. One lingering sympathy of mind Still bound him to the mortal kind; The only parent he could claim 165 Of ancient Alpine lineage came. Late had he heard, in prophet's dream, The fatal Ben-Shie's boding scream; Sounds, too, had come in midnight blast, Of charging steeds, careering fast 170 Along Benharrow's shingly side, Where mortal horseman ne'er might ride; The thunderbolt had split the pine-- All augured ill to Alpine's line. He girt his loins, and came to show 175 The signals of impending woe, And now stood prompt to bless or ban, As bade the Chieftain of his clan.
VIII
'Twas all prepared--and from the rock, A goat, the patriarch of the flock, 180 Before the kindling pile was laid, And pierced by Roderick's ready blade. Patient the sickening victim eyed The life-blood ebb in crimson tide, Down his clogged beard and shaggy limb, 185 Till darkness glazed his eyeballs dim. The grisly priest, with murmuring prayer, A slender crosslet formed with care, A cubit's length in measure due; The shaft and limbs were rods of yew, 190 Whose parents in Inch-Cailliach wave Their shadows o'er Clan-Alpine's grave, And, answering Lomond's breezes deep, Soothe many a chieftain's endless sleep. The Cross, thus formed, he held on high, 195 With wasted hand and haggard eye, And strange and mingled feelings woke; While his anathema he spoke.
IX
"Woe to the clansman, who shall view This symbol of sepulchral yew, 200 Forgetful that its branches grew Where weep the heavens their holiest dew On Alpine's dwelling low! Deserter of his Chieftain's trust, He ne'er shall mingle with their dust, 205 But, from his sires and kindred thrust, Each clansman's execration just Shall doom him wrath and woe." He paused--the word the vassals took, With forward step and fiery look, 210 On high their naked brands they shook, Their clattering targets wildly strook; And first in murmur low, Then, like the billow in his course, That far to seaward finds his source, 215 And flings to shore his mustered force, Burst, with loud roar, their answer hoarse, "Woe to the traitor, woe!" Ben-an's grey scalp the accents knew, The joyous wolf from cover drew, 220 The exulting eagle screamed afar-- They knew the voice of Alpine's war.
X
The shout was hushed on lake and fell, The Monk resumed his muttered spell; Dismal and low its accents came, 225 The while he scathed the Cross with flame: And the few words that reached the air, Although the holiest name was there, Had more of blasphemy than prayer. But when he shook above the crowd 230 Its kindled points, he spoke aloud: "Woe to the wretch, who fails to rear At this dread sign the ready spear! For, as the flames this symbol sear, His home, the refuge of his fear, 235 A kindred fate shall know; Far o'er its roof the volumed flame Clan-Alpine's vengeance shall proclaim, While maids and matrons on his name Shall call down wretchedness and shame, 240 And infamy and woe." Then rose the cry of females, shrill As goshawk's whistle on the hill, Denouncing misery and ill, Mingled with childhood's babbling trill 245 Of curses stammered slow; Answering, with imprecation dread, "Sunk be his home in embers red! And cursed be the meanest shed That e'er shall hide the houseless head 250 We doom to want and woe!" A sharp and shrieking echo gave, Coir-Uriskin, thy goblin cave! And the gray pass where birches wave, On Beala-nam-bo. 255
XI
Then deeper paused the priest anew, And hard his laboring breath he drew, While, with set teeth and clenched hand, And eyes that glowed like fiery brand, He meditated curse more dread, 260 And deadlier, on the clansman's head, Who, summoned to his chieftain's aid, The signal saw and disobeyed. The crosslet's points of sparkling wood He quenched among the bubbling blood, 265 And, as again the sign he reared, Hollow and hoarse his voice was heard: "When flits this Cross from man to man, Vich-Alpine's summons to his clan, Burst be the ear that fails to heed! 270 Palsied the foot that shuns to speed! May ravens tear the careless eyes, Wolves make the coward heart their prize! As sinks that blood-stream in the earth, So may his heart's blood drench his hearth! 275 As dies in hissing gore the spark, Quench thou his light, Destruction dark! And be the grace to him denied, Bought by this sign to all beside!" He ceased; no echo gave again 280 The murmur of the deep Amen.
XII
Then Roderick, with impatient look, From Brian's hand the symbol took: "Speed, Malise, speed!" he said, and gave The crosslet to his henchman brave. 285 "The muster-place be Lanrick mead-- Instant the time--speed, Malise, speed!" Like heath-bird, when the hawks pursue, A barge across Loch Katrine flew; High stood the henchman on the prow, 290 So rapidly the barge-men row, The bubbles, where they launched the boat, Were all unbroken and afloat, Dancing in foam and ripple still, When it had neared the mainland hill; 295 And from the silver beach's side Still was the prow three fathom wide, When lightly bounded to the land The messenger of blood and brand.
XIII
Speed, Malise, speed! the dun deer's hide 300 On fleeter foot was never tied. Speed, Malise, speed! such cause of haste Thine active sinews never braced. Bend 'gainst the steepy hill thy breast, Burst down like torrent from its crest; 305 With short and springing footstep pass The trembling bog and false morass; Across the brook like roebuck bound, And thread the brake like questing hound; The crag is high, the scar is deep, 310 Yet shrink not from the desperate leap: Parched are thy burning lips and brow. Yet by the fountain pause not now; Herald of battle, fate, and fear, Stretch onward in thy fleet career! 315 The wounded hind thou track'st not now, Pursuest not maid through greenwood bough, Nor pliest thou now thy flying pace, With rivals in the mountain race; But danger, death, and warrior deed, 320 Are in thy course--speed, Malise, speed!
XIV