Chapter 8

Fast as the fatal symbol flies, In arms the huts and hamlets rise; From winding glen, from upland brown, They poured each hardy tenant down. 325 Nor slacked the messenger his pace; He showed the sign, he named the place, And, pressing forward like the wind, Left clamor and surprise behind. The fisherman forsook the strand, 330 The swarthy smith took dirk and brand; With changed cheer, the mower blithe Left in the half-cut swathe the scythe; The herds without a keeper strayed, The plow was in mid-furrow stayed, 335 The falc'ner tossed his hawk away, The hunter left the stag at bay; Prompt at the signal of alarms, Each son of Alpine rushed to arms; So swept the tumult and affray 340 Along the margin of Achray. Alas, thou lovely lake! that e'er Thy banks should echo sounds of fear! The rocks, the bosky thickets, sleep So stilly on thy bosom deep, 345 The lark's blithe carol, from the cloud Seems for the scene too gaily loud.

XV

Speed, Malise, speed! the lake is past, Duncraggan's huts appear at last, And peep, like moss-grown rocks, half seen, 350 Half hidden in the copse so green; There mayst thou rest, thy labor done, Their Lord shall speed the signal on. As stoops the hawk upon his prey, The henchman shot him down the way. 355 --What woeful accents load the gale? The funeral yell, the female wail! A gallant hunter's sport is o'er, A valiant warrior fights no more. Who, in the battle or the chase, 360 At Roderick's side shall fill his place!-- Within the hall, where torches' ray Supplies the excluded beams of day, Lies Duncan on his lowly bier, And o'er him streams his widow's tear. 365 His stripling son stands mournful by, His youngest weeps, but knows not why; The village maids and matrons round The dismal coronach resound.

XVI

CORONACH

He is gone on the mountain, 370 He is lost to the forest, Like a summer-dried fountain, When our need was the sorest. The font, reappearing, From the raindrops shall borrow, 375 But to us comes no cheering, To Duncan no morrow!

The hand of the reaper Takes the ears that are hoary, But the voice of the weeper 380 Wails manhood in glory. The autumn winds rushing Waft the leaves that are searest, But our flower was in flushing, When blighting was nearest. 385

Fleet foot on the correi, Sage counsel in cumber, Red hand in the foray, How sound is thy slumber! Like dew on the mountain, 390 Like the foam on the river, Like the bubble on the fountain Thou art gone, and forever!

XVII

See Stumah, who, the bier beside, His master's corpse with wonder eyed-- 395 Poor Stumah! whom his least halloo Could send like lightning o'er the dew, Bristles his crest, and points his ears, As if some stranger step he hears. 'Tis not a mourner's muffled tread, 400 Who comes to sorrow o'er the dead, But headlong haste, or deadly fear, Urge the precipitate career. All stand aghast--unheeding all, The henchman bursts into the hall; 405 Before the dead man's bier he stood; Held forth the Cross besmeared with blood: "The muster-place is Lanrick mead; Speed forth the signal! clansmen, speed!"

XVIII

Angus, the heir of Duncan's line, 410 Sprung forth and seized the fatal sign. In haste the stripling to his side His father's dirk and broadsword tied; But when he saw his mother's eye Watch him in speechless agony, 415 Back to her opened arms he flew, Pressed on her lips a fond adieu-- "Alas!" she sobbed--"and yet be gone, And speed thee forth, like Duncan's son!" One look he cast upon the bier, 420 Dashed from his eye the gathering tear, Breathed deep to clear his laboring breast, And tossed aloft his bonnet crest, Then, like the high-bred colt, when, freed, First he essays his fire and speed, 425 He vanished, and o'er moor and moss Sped forward with the Fiery Cross. Suspended was the widow's tear, While yet his footsteps she could hear; And when she marked the henchman's eye 430 Wet with unwonted sympathy, "Kinsman," she said, "his race is run, That should have sped thine errand on; The oak has fallen--the sapling bough Is all Duncraggan's shelter now. 435 Yet trust I well, his duty done, The orphan's God will guard my son. And you, in many a danger true, At Duncan's hest your blades that drew, To arms, and guard that orphan's head! 440 Let babes and women wail the dead." Then weapon-clang and martial call Resounded through the funeral hall, While from the walls the attendant band Snatched sword and targe, with hurried hand; 445 And short and flitting energy Glanced from the mourner's sunken eye, As if the sounds to warrior dear, Might rouse her Duncan from his bier. But faded soon that borrowed force; 450 Grief claimed his right, and tears their course.

XIX

Benledi saw the Cross of Fire; It glanced like lightning up Strath-Ire. O'er dale and hill the summons flew, Nor rest nor pause young Angus knew; 455 The tear that gathered in his eye He left the mountain breeze to dry; Until, where Teith's young waters roll Betwixt him and a wooded knoll That graced the sable strath with green, 460 The chapel of St. Bride was seen. Swoln was the stream, remote the bridge, But Angus paused not on the edge; Though the dark waves danced dizzily, Though reeled his sympathetic eye, 465 He dashed amid the torrent's roar. His right hand high the crosslet bore, His left the pole-ax grasped, to guide And stay his footing in the tide. He stumbled twice--the foam splashed high; 470 With hoarser swell the stream raced by; And had he fallen--forever there, Farewell Duncraggan's orphan heir! But still, as if in parting life, Firmer he grasped the Cross of strife, 475 Until the opposing bank he gained, And up the chapel pathway strained.

XX

A blithesome rout, that morning tide, Had sought the chapel of St. Bride. Her troth Tombea's Mary gave 480 To Norman, heir of Armandave. And, issuing from the Gothic arch, The bridal now resumed their march. In rude, but glad procession, came Bonneted sire and coif-clad dame; 485 And plaided youth, with jest and jeer, Which snooden maiden would not hear: And children, that, unwitting why, Lent the gay shout their shrilly cry; And minstrels, that in measures vied 490 Before the young and bonny bride, Whose downcast eye and cheek disclose The tear and blush of morning rose. With virgin step, and bashful hand, She held the kerchief's snowy band; 495 The gallant bridegroom, by her side, Beheld his prize with victor's pride, And the glad mother in her ear Was closely whispering word of cheer.

XXI

Who meets them at the churchyard gate? 500 The messenger of fear and fate! Haste in his hurried accent lies, And grief is swimming in his eyes. All dripping from the recent flood, Panting and travel-soiled he stood, 505 The fatal sign of fire and sword Held forth, and spoke the appointed word: "The muster-place is Lanrick mead; Speed forth the signal! Norman, speed!" And must he change so soon the hand, 510 Just linked to his by holy band, For the fell Cross of blood and brand? And must the day, so blithe that rose And promised rapture in the close, Before its setting hour, divide 515 The bridegroom from the plighted bride? O fatal doom!--it must! it must! Clan-Alpine's cause, her Chieftain's trust, Her summons dread, brook no delay; Stretch to the race--away! away! 520

XXII

Yet slow he laid his plaid aside, And, lingering, eyed his lovely bride, Until he saw the starting tear Speak woe he might not stop to cheer; Then, trusting not a second look, 525 In haste he sped him up the brook, Nor backward glanced, till on the heath Where Lubnaig's lake supplies the Teith. --What in the racer's bosom stirred? The sickening pang of hope deferred, 530 And memory, with a torturing train Of all his morning visions vain. Mingled with love's impatience came The manly thirst for martial fame; The stormy joy of mountaineers, 535 Ere yet they rush upon the spears; And zeal for Clan and Chieftain burning, And hope, from well-fought field returning, With war's red honors on his crest, To clasp his Mary to his breast. 540 Stung by such thoughts, o'er bank and brae, Like fire from flint he glanced away, While high resolve, and feeling strong, Burst into voluntary song.

XXIII

SONG

The heath this night must be my bed, 545 The bracken curtain for my head, My lullaby the warder's tread, Far, far, from love and thee, Mary; To-morrow eve, more stilly laid, My couch may be my bloody plaid, 550 My vesper song, thy wail, sweet maid! It will not waken me, Mary! I may not, dare not, fancy now The grief that clouds thy lovely brow, I dare not think upon thy vow, 555 And all it promised me, Mary. No fond regret must Norman know; When bursts Clan-Alpine on the foe, His heart must be like bended bow, His foot like arrow free, Mary. 560

A time will come with feeling fraught, For if I fall in battle fought, Thy hapless lover's dying thought Shall be a thought on thee, Mary. And if returned from conquered foes, 565 How blithely will the evening close, How sweet the linnet sing repose, To my young bride and me, Mary!

XXIV

Not faster o'er thy heathery braes, Balquidder, speeds the midnight blaze, 570 Rushing, in conflagration strong, Thy deep ravines and dells along, Wrapping thy cliffs in purple glow, And reddening the dark lakes below; Nor faster speeds it, nor so far, 575 As o'er thy heaths the voice of war. The signal roused to martial coil, The sullen margin of Loch Voil, Waked still Loch Doine, and to the source Alarmed, Balvaig, thy swampy course; 580 Thence southward turned its rapid road Adown Strath-Gartney's valley broad, Till rose in arms each man might claim A portion in Clan-Alpine's name, From the gray sire, whose trembling hand 585 Could hardly buckle on his brand, To the raw boy, whose shaft and bow Were yet scarce terror to the crow. Each valley, each sequestered glen, Mustered its little horde of men, 590 That met as torrents from the height In Highland dales their streams unite, Still gathering, as they pour along, A voice more loud, a tide more strong, Till at the rendezvous they stood 595 By hundreds prompt for blows and blood, Each trained to arms since life began, Owning no tie but to his clan, No oath, but by his chieftain's hand, No law, but Roderick Dhu's command. 600

XXV

That summer morn had Roderick Dhu Surveyed the skirts of Benvenue, And sent his scouts o'er hill and heath, To view the frontiers of Menteith. All backward came with news of truce; 605 Still lay each martial Graeme and Bruce; In Rednoch courts no horsemen wait, No banner waved on Cardross gate, On Duchray's towers no beacon shone, Nor scared the herons from Loch Con; 610 All seemed at peace. Now wot ye why The Chieftain, with such anxious eye, Ere to the muster he repair, This western frontier scanned with care? In Benvenue's most darksome cleft, 615 A fair, though cruel, pledge was left; For Douglas, to his promise true, That morning from the isle withdrew, And in a deep sequestered dell Had sought a low and lonely cell. 620 By many a bard, in Celtic tongue, Has Coir-nan-Uriskin been sung; A softer name the Saxons gave, And called the grot the Goblin-cave.

XXVI

It was a wild and strange retreat, 625 As e'er was trod by outlaw's feet. The dell, upon the mountain's crest, Yawned like a gash on warrior's breast; Its trench had stayed full many a rock, Hurled by primeval earthquake shock 630 From Benvenue's gray summit wild, And here, in random ruin piled, They frowned incumbent o'er the spot, And formed the rugged silvan grot. The oak and birch, with mingled shade, 635 At noontide there a twilight made, Unless when short and sudden shone Some straggling beam on cliff or stone, With such a glimpse as prophet's eye Gains on thy depth, Futurity. 640 No murmur waked the solemn still, Save tinkling of a fountain rill; But when the wind chafed with the lake, A sullen sound would upward break, With dashing hollow voice, that spoke 645 The incessant war of wave and rock. Suspended cliffs, with hideous sway, Seemed nodding o'er the cavern gray. From such a den the wolf had sprung, In such the wild-cat leaves her young; 650 Yet Douglas and his daughter fair Sought for a space their safety there. Gray Superstition's whisper dread Debarred the spot to vulgar tread; For there, she said, did fays resort, 655 And satyrs hold their silvan court, By moonlight tread their mystic maze, And blast the rash beholder's gaze.

XXVII

Now eve, with western shadows long, Floated on Katrine bright and strong, 660 When Roderick, with a chosen few, Repassed the heights of Benvenue. Above the Goblin-cave they go, Through the wild pass of Beal-nam-bo: The prompt retainers speed before, 665 To launch the shallop from the shore, For 'cross Loch Katrine lies his way To view the passes of Achray, And place his clansmen in array. Yet lags the chief in musing mind, 670 Unwonted sight, his men behind. A single page, to bear his sword, Alone attended on his lord; The rest their way through thickets break, And soon await him by the lake. 675 It was a fair and gallant sight, To view them from the neighboring height, By the low-leveled sunbeam's light! For strength and stature, from the clan Each warrior was a chosen man, 680 As even afar might well be seen, By their proud step and martial mien. Their feathers dance, their tartans float, Their targets gleam, as by the boat A wild and warlike group they stand, 685 That well became such mountain-strand.

XXVIII

Their Chief, with step reluctant, still Was lingering on the craggy hill, Hard by where turned apart the road To Douglas's obscure abode. 690 It was but with that dawning morn, That Roderick Dhu had proudly sworn To drown his love in war's wild roar, Nor think of Ellen Douglas more; But he who stems a stream with sand, 695 And fetters flame with flaxen band, Has yet a harder task to prove-- By firm resolve to conquer love! Eve finds the Chief, like restless ghost, Still hovering near his treasure lost; 700 For though his haughty heart deny A parting meeting to his eye, Still fondly strains his anxious ear, The accents of her voice to hear, And inly did he curse the breeze 705 That waked to sound the rustling trees. But hark! what mingles in the strain? It is the harp of Allan-bane, That wakes its measures slow and high, Attuned to sacred minstrelsy. 710 What melting voice attends the strings? 'Tis Ellen, or an angel, sings.

XXIX

HYMN TO THE VIRGIN

_Ave Maria!_ maiden mild! Listen to a maiden's prayer! Thou canst hear though from the wild, 715 Thou canst save amid despair. Safe may we sleep beneath thy care, Though banished, outcast, and reviled-- Maiden! hear a maiden's prayer; Mother, hear a suppliant child! 720 _Ave Maria!_ _Ave Maria!_ undefiled! The flinty couch we now must share Shall seem with down of eider piled, If thy protection hover there. 725 The murky cavern's heavy air Shall breathe of balm if thou hast smiled; Then, Maiden! hear a maiden's prayer; Mother, list a suppliant child! _Ave Maria!_ 730 _Ave Maria!_ stainless styled! Foul demons of the earth and air, From this their wonted haunt exiled, Shall flee before thy presence fair. We bow us to our lot of care, 735 Beneath thy guidance reconciled; Hear for a maid a maiden's prayer, And for a father hear a child! _Ave Maria!_

XXX

Died on the harp the closing hymn-- 740 Unmoved in attitude and limb, As listening still, Clan-Alpine's lord Stood leaning on his heavy sword, Until the page, with humble sign, Twice pointed to the sun's decline. 745 Then while his plaid he round him cast, "It is the last time--'tis the last," He muttered thrice, "the last time e'er That angel voice shall Roderick hear!" It was a goading thought--his stride 750 Hied hastier down the mountain side; Sullen he flung him in the boat, And instant 'cross the lake it shot. They landed in that silvery bay, And eastward held their hasty way, 755 Till, with the latest beams of light, The band arrived on Lanrick height, Where mustered, in the vale below, Clan-Alpine's men in martial show.

XXXI

A various scene the clansmen made, 760 Some sat, some stood, some slowly strayed; But most with mantles folded round, Were couched to rest upon the ground, Scarce to be known by curious eye, From the deep heather where they lie, 765 So well was matched the tartan screen With heath-bell dark and brackens green, Unless where, here and there, a blade, Or lance's point, a glimmer made, Like glow-worm twinkling through the shade. 770 But when, advancing through the gloom, They saw the Chieftain's eagle plume, Their shout of welcome, shrill and wide, Shook the steep mountain's steady side. Thrice it arose, and lake and fell 775 Three times returned the martial yell; It died upon Bochastle's plain, And Silence claimed her evening reign.

CANTO FOURTH

THE PROPHECY

I

"The rose is fairest when 'tis budding new, And hope is brightest when it dawns from fears; The rose is sweetest washed with morning dew, And love is loveliest when embalmed in tears. O wilding rose, whom fancy thus endears, 5 I bid your blossoms in my bonnet wave, Emblem of hope and love through future years!" Thus spake young Norman, heir of Armandave, What time the sun arose on Vennachar's broad wave.

II

Such fond conceit, half said, half sung, 10 Love prompted to the bridegroom's tongue. All while he stripped the wild-rose spray, His ax and bow beside him lay, For on a pass 'twixt lake and wood, A wakeful sentinel he stood. 15 Hark! on the rock a footstep rung, And instant to his arms he sprung. "Stand, or thou diest!--What, Malise?--soon Art thou returned from Braes of Doune. By thy keen step and glance I know, 20 Thou bring'st us tidings of the foe." For while the Fiery Cross hied on, On distant scout had Malise gone.-- "Where sleeps the Chief?" the henchman said. "Apart, in yonder misty glade; 25 To his lone couch I'll be your guide." Then called a slumberer by his side, And stirred him with his slackened bow-- "Up, up, Glantarkin! rouse thee, ho! We seek the Chieftain; on the track, 30 Keep eagle watch till I come back."

III

Together up the pass they sped: "What of the foeman?" Norman said. "Varying reports from near and far; This certain--that a band of war 35 Has for two days been ready boune, At prompt command, to march from Doune; King James, the while, with princely powers, Holds revelry in Stirling towers. Soon will this dark and gathering cloud 40 Speak on our glens in thunder loud. Inured to bide such bitter bout, The warrior's plaid may bear it out; But, Norman, how wilt thou provide A shelter for thy bonny bride?" 45 "What! know ye not that Roderick's care To the lone isle hath caused repair Each maid and matron of the clan, And every child and aged man Unfit for arms; and given his charge, 50 Nor skiff nor shallop, boat nor barge, Upon these lakes shall float at large, But all beside the islet moor, That such dear pledge may rest secure?"--

IV

"'Tis well advised--the Chieftain's plan 55 Bespeaks the father of his clan. But wherefore sleeps Sir Roderick Dhu Apart from all his followers true?" "It is, because last evening-tide Brian an augury hath tried, 60 Of that dread kind which must not be Unless in dread extremity, The Taghairm called; by which, afar, Our sires foresaw the events of war. Duncraggan's milk-white bull they slew." 65

MALISE

"Ah! Well the gallant brute I knew, The choicest of the prey we had, When swept our merrymen Gallangad. His hide was snow, his horns were dark, His red eye glowed like fiery spark; 70 So fierce, so tameless, and so fleet, Sore did he cumber our retreat, And kept our stoutest kerns in awe, Even at the pass of Beal 'maha. But steep and flinty was the road, 75 And sharp the hurrying pikeman's goad, And when we came to Dennan's Row, A child might scatheless stroke his brow."

V

NORMAN