Chapter 9
"That bull was slain; his reeking hide They stretched the cataract beside, 80 Whose waters their wild tumult toss Adown the black and craggy boss Of that huge cliff, whose ample verge Tradition calls the Hero's Targe. Couched on a shelf beneath its brink, 85 Close where the thundering torrents sink, Rocking beneath their headlong sway, And drizzled by the ceaseless spray, Midst groan of rock, and roar of stream, The wizard waits prophetic dream. 90 Nor distant rests the Chief--but hush! See, gliding slow through mist and bush, The hermit gains yon rock, and stands To gaze upon our slumbering bands. Seems he not, Malise, like a ghost, 95 That hovers o'er a slaughtered host? Or raven on the blasted oak, That, watching while the deer is broke, His morsel claims with sullen croak?"
MALISE
"Peace! peace! to other than to me 100 Thy words were evil augury; But still I hold Sir Roderick's blade Clan-Alpine's omen and her aid, Not aught that, gleaned from heaven or hell, Yon fiend-begotten Monk can tell. 105 The Chieftain joins him, see--and now, Together they descend the brow."
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And, as they came, with Alpine's Lord The Hermit Monk held solemn word: "Roderick! it is a fearful strife, 110 For man endowed with mortal life, Whose shroud of sentient clay can still Feel feverish pang and fainting chill, Whose eye can stare in stony trance, Whose hair can rouse like warrior's lance-- 115 'Tis hard for such to view, unfurled, The curtain of the future world. Yet, witness every quaking limb, My sunken pulse, my eyeballs dim, My soul with harrowing anguish torn-- 120 This for my Chieftain have I borne! The shapes that sought my fearful couch, A human tongue may ne'er avouch; No mortal man--save he, who, bred Between the living and the dead, 125 Is gifted beyond nature's law-- Had e'er survived to say he saw. At length the fatal answer came, In characters of living flame! Not spoke in word, nor blazed in scroll, 130 But borne and branded on my soul: WHICH SPILLS THE FOREMOST FOEMAN'S LIFE, THAT PARTY CONQUERS IN THE STRIFE."
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"Thanks, Brian, for thy zeal and care! Good is thine augury, and fair. 135 Clan-Alpine ne'er in battle stood, But first our broadswords tasted blood. A surer victim still I know, Self-offered to the auspicious blow: A spy has sought my land this morn-- 140 No eve shall witness his return! My followers guard each pass's mouth, To east, to westward, and to south; Red Murdoch, bribed to be his guide, Has charge to lead his steps aside, 145 Till in deep path or dingle brown, He light on those shall bring him down. --But see, who comes his news to show! Malise! what tidings of the foe?"
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"At Doune, o'er many a spear and glaive 150 Two Barons proud their banners wave. I saw the Moray's silver star, And marked the sable pale of Mar." "By Alpine's soul, high tidings those! I love to hear of worthy foes. 155 When move they on?" "Tomorrow's noon Will see them here for battle boune." "Then shall it see a meeting stern! But, for the place--say, couldst thou learn Nought of the friendly clans of Earn? 160 Strengthened by them, we well might bide The battle on Benledi's side. Thou couldst not! Well! Clan-Alpine's men Shall man the Trossachs' shaggy glen; Within Loch Katrine's gorge we'll fight, 165 All in our maids' and matrons' sight, Each for his hearth and household fire, Father for child, and son for sire-- Lover for maid beloved! But why-- Is it the breeze affects mine eye? 170 Or dost thou come, ill-omened tear! A messenger of doubt and fear? No! sooner may the Saxon lance Unfix Benledi from his stance, Than doubt or terror can pierce through 175 The unyielding heart of Roderick Dhu! 'Tis stubborn as his trusty targe. Each to his post--all know their charge." The pibroch sounds, the bands advance, The broadswords gleam, the banners dance, 180 Obedient to the Chieftain's glance. --I turn me from the martial roar, And seek Coir-Uriskin once more.
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Where is the Douglas?--he is gone; And Ellen sits on the gray stone 185 Fast by the cave, and makes her moan; While vainly Allan's words of cheer Are poured on her unheeding ear: "He will return--dear lady trust! With joy return--he will--he must. 190 Well was it time to seek, afar, Some refuge from impending war, When e'en Clan-Alpine's rugged swarm Are cowed by the approaching storm. I saw their boats with many a light, 195 Floating the live-long yesternight, Shifting like flashes darted forth By the red streamers of the north; I marked at morn how close they ride, Thick moored by the lone islet's side, 200 Like wild-ducks couching in the fen, When stoops the hawk upon the glen. Since this rude race dare not abide The peril on the mainland side, Shall not thy noble father's care 205 Some safe retreat for thee prepare?"
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ELLEN
"No, Allan, no! Pretext so kind My wakeful terrors could not blind. When in such tender tone, yet grave, Douglas a parting blessing gave, 210 The tear that glistened in his eye Drowned not his purpose fixed and high. My soul, though feminine and weak, Can image his; e'en as the lake, Itself disturbed by slightest stroke, 215 Reflects the invulnerable rock. He hears the report of battle rife, He deems himself the cause of strife. I saw him redden, when the theme Turned, Allan, on thine idle dream 220 Of Malcolm Graeme in fetters bound, Which I, thou saidst, about him wound. Think'st thou he trowed thine omen aught? Oh, no! 'twas apprehensive thought For the kind youth--for Roderick too-- 225 Let me be just--that friend so true; In danger both, and in our cause! Minstrel, the Douglas dare not pause. Why else that solemn warning given, 'If not on earth, we meet in heaven!' 230 Why else, to Cambus-kenneth's fane, If eve return him not again, Am I to hie, and make me known? Alas! he goes to Scotland's throne, Buys his friend's safety with his own; 235 He goes to do--what I had done, Had Douglas' daughter been his son!"
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"Nay, lovely Ellen!--dearest, nay! If aught should his return delay, He only named yon holy fane 240 As fitting place to meet again. Be sure he's safe; and for the Graeme-- Heaven's blessing on his gallant name! My visioned sight may yet prove true, Nor bode of ill to him or you. 245 When did my gifted dream beguile? Think of the stranger at the isle, And think upon the harpings slow, That presaged this approaching woe! Sooth was my prophecy of fear; 250 Believe it when it augurs cheer. Would we had left this dismal spot! Ill luck still haunts a fairy grot. Of such a wondrous tale I know-- Dear lady, change that look of woe, 255 My harp was wont thy grief to cheer."
ELLEN
"Well, be it as thou wilt; I hear, But cannot stop the bursting tear." The minstrel tried his simple art, But distant far was Ellen's heart. 260
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BALLAD--ALICE BRAND
Merry it is in the good greenwood, When the mavis and merle are singing, When the deer sweeps by, and the hounds are in cry, And the hunter's horn is ringing.
"O Alice Brand, my native land 265 Is lost for love of you; And we must hold by wood and wold, As outlaws wont to do.
"O Alice, 'twas all for thy locks so bright, And 'twas all for thine eyes so blue, 270 That on the night of our luckless flight, Thy brother bold I slew.
"Now must I teach to hew the beech The hand that held the glaive, For leaves to spread our lowly bed, 275 And stakes to fence our cave.
"And for vest of pall, thy fingers small, That wont on harp to stray, A cloak must shear from the slaughtered deer, To keep the cold away." 280
"O Richard! if my brother died, 'Twas but a fatal chance; For darkling was the battle tried, And fortune sped the lance.
"If pall and vair no more I wear, 285 Nor thou the crimson sheen, As warm, we'll say, is the russet gray, As gay the forest-green.
"And, Richard, if our lot be hard, And lost thy native land, 290 Still Alice has her own Richard, And he his Alice Brand."
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BALLAD--(_Continued_)
'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good greenwood, So blithe Lady Alice is singing; On the beech's pride, and oak's brown side, 295 Lord Richard's ax is ringing.
Up spoke the moody Elfin King, Who wonned within the hill, Like wind in the porch of a ruined church, His voice was ghostly shrill. 300
"Why sounds yon stroke on beech and oak, Our moonlight circle's screen? Or who comes here to chase the deer, Beloved of our Elfin Queen? Or who may dare on wold to wear 305 The fairies' fatal green?
"Up, Urgan, up! to yon mortal hie, For thou wert christened man; For cross or sign thou wilt not fly, For muttered word or ban. 310
"Lay on him the curse of the withered heart, The curse of the sleepless eye; Till he wish and pray that his life would part, Nor yet find leave to die."
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BALLAD--(_Continued_)
'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good greenwood, 315 Though the birds have stilled their singing; The evening blaze doth Alice raise, And Richard is fagots bringing.
Up Urgan starts, that hideous dwarf, Before Lord Richard stands, 320 And, as he crossed and blessed himself, "I fear not sign," quoth the grisly elf, "That is made with bloody hands."
But out then spoke she, Alice Brand, That woman void of fear, 325 "And if there's blood upon his hand, 'Tis but the blood of deer."
"Now loud thou liest, thou bold of mood! It cleaves unto his hand, The stain of thine own kindly blood, 330 The blood of Ethert Brand."
Then forward stepped she, Alice Brand, And made the holy sign, "And if there's blood on Richard's hand, A spotless hand is mine. 335
"And I conjure thee, Demon elf, By Him whom Demons fear, To show us whence thou art thyself, And what thine errand here?"
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BALLAD--(_Continued_)
"'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in Fairyland 340 When fairy birds are singing, When the court doth ride by their monarch's side With bit and bridle ringing;
"And gaily shines the Fairyland-- But all is glistening show, 345 Like the idle gleam that December's beam Can dart on ice and snow.
"And fading, like that varied gleam, Is our inconstant shape, Who now like knight and lady seem, 350 And now like dwarf and ape.
"It was between the night and day, When the Fairy King has power, That I sunk down in a sinful fray, And, 'twixt life and death, was snatched away 355 To the joyless Elfin bower.
"But wist I of a woman bold, Who thrice my brow durst sign, I might regain my mortal mold, As fair a form as thine." 360
She crossed him once--she crossed him twice-- That lady was so brave; The fouler grew his goblin hue, The darker grew the cave.
She crossed him thrice, that lady bold; 365 He rose beneath her hand The fairest knight on Scottish mold, Her brother, Ethert Brand!
Merry it is in good greenwood, When the mavis and merle are singing, 370 But merrier were they in Dunfermline gray, When all the bells were ringing.
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Just as the minstrel sounds were stayed, A stranger climbed the steepy glade; His martial step, his stately mien, 375 His hunting suit of Lincoln green, His eagle glance, remembrance claims-- 'Tis Snowdoun's Knight, 'tis James Fitz-James. Ellen beheld as in a dream, Then, starting, scarce suppressed a scream 380 "Oh, stranger! in such hour of fear, What evil hap has brought thee here?" "An evil hap how can it be That bids me look again on thee? By promise bound, my former guide 385 Met me betimes this morning tide, And marshaled, over bank and bourne, The happy path of my return." "The happy path!--what! said he nought Of war, of battle to be fought, 390 Of guarded pass?" "No, by my faith! Nor saw I ought could augur scathe." "O haste thee, Allan, to the kern, --Yonder his tartans I discern; Learn thou his purpose, and conjure 395 That he will guide the stranger sure! What prompted thee, unhappy man? The meanest serf in Roderick's clan Had not been bribed by love or fear, Unknown to him to guide thee here." 400
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"Sweet Ellen, dear my life must be Since it is worthy care from thee; Yet life I hold but idle breath, When love or honor's weighed with death. Then let me profit by my chance, 405 And speak my purpose bold at once. I come to bear thee from a wild, Where ne'er before such blossom smiled; By this soft hand to lead thee far From frantic scenes of feud and war. 410 Near Bochastle my horses wait; They bear us soon to Stirling gate. I'll place thee in a lovely bower, I'll guard thee like a tender flower"-- "O hush, Sir Knight! 'twere female art 415 To say I do not read thy heart; Too much, before, my selfish ear Was idly soothed my praise to hear. That fatal bait hath lured thee back, In deathful hour, o'er dangerous track; 420 And how, O how, can I atone The wreck my vanity brought on!-- One way remains--I'll tell him all-- Yes! struggling bosom, forth it shall! Thou, whose light folly bears the blame, 425 Buy thine own pardon with thy shame! But first--my father is a man Outlawed and exiled, under ban; The price of blood is on his head, With me 'twere infamy to wed. 430 Still wouldst thou speak?--then hear the truth! Fitz-James, there is a noble youth-- If yet he is!--exposed for me And mine to dread extremity-- Thou hast the secret of my heart; 435 Forgive, be generous, and depart!"
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Fitz-James knew every wily train A lady's fickle heart to gain, But here he knew and felt them vain. There shot no glance from Ellen's eye, 440 To give her steadfast speech the lie; In maiden confidence she stood. Though mantled in her cheek the blood, And told her love with such a sigh Of deep and hopeless agony, 445 As death had sealed her Malcolm's doom, And she sat sorrowing on his tomb. Hope vanished from Fitz-James's eye, But not with hope fled sympathy. He proffered to attend her side, 450 As brother would a sister guide. "O little know'st thou Roderick's heart! Safer for both we go apart. O haste thee, and from Allan learn, If thou may'st trust yon wily kern." 455 With hand upon his forehead laid, The conflict of his mind to shade, A parting step or two he made; Then, as some thought had crossed his brain, He paused, and turned, and came again. 460
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"Hear, lady, yet, a parting word! It chanced in fight that my poor sword Preserved the life of Scotland's lord. This ring the grateful Monarch gave, And bade, when I had boon to crave, 465 To bring it back, and boldly claim The recompense that I would name. Ellen, I am no courtly lord, But one who lives by lance and sword, Whose castle is his helm and shield, 470 His lordship the embattled field. What from a prince can I demand, Who neither reck of state nor land? Ellen, thy hand--the ring is thine; Each guard and usher knows the sign. 475 Seek thou the king without delay-- This signet shall secure thy way-- And claim thy suit, whate'er it be, As ransom of his pledge to me." He placed the golden circlet on, 480 Paused--kissed her hand--and then was gone. The aged Minstrel stood aghast, So hastily Fitz-James shot past. He joined his guide, and wending down The ridges of the mountain brown, 485 Across the stream they took their way, That joins Loch Katrine to Achray.
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All in the Trossachs' glen was still, Noontide was sleeping on the hill: Sudden his guide whooped loud and high-- 490 "Murdoch! was that a signal cry?" He stammered forth--"I shout to scare Yon raven from his dainty fare." He looked--he knew the raven's prey, His own brave steed--"Ah! gallant gray! 495 For thee--for me, perchance--'twere well We ne'er had seen the Trossachs' dell. Murdoch, move first--but silently; Whistle or whoop, and thou shalt die!" Jealous and sullen on they fared, 500 Each silent, each upon his guard.
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Now wound the path its dizzy ledge Around a precipice's edge, When lo! a wasted female form, Blighted by wrath of sun and storm, 505 In tattered weeds and wild array, Stood on a cliff beside the way, And glancing round her restless eye, Upon the wood, the rock, the sky, Seemed naught to mark, yet all to spy. 510 Her brow was wreathed with gaudy broom; With gesture wild she waved a plume Of feathers which the eagles fling To crag and cliff from dusky wing; Such spoils her desperate step had sought, 515 Where scarce was footing for the goat. The tartan plaid she first descried, And shrieked till all the rocks replied; As loud she laughed when near they drew, For then the Lowland garb she knew; 520 And then her hands she wildly wrung, And then she wept, and then she sung-- She sung!--the voice, in better time, Perchance to harp or lute might chime; And now, though strained and roughened, still 525 Rung wildly sweet to dale and hill.
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SONG
They bid me sleep, they bid me pray, They say my brain is warped and wrung-- I cannot sleep on Highland brae, I cannot pray in Highland tongue. 530 But were I now where Allan glides, Or heard my native Devan's tides, So sweetly would I rest, and pray That Heaven would close my wintry day!
'Twas thus my hair they bade me braid, 535 They made me to the church repair; It was my bridal morn they said, And my true love would meet me there. But woe betide the cruel guile That drowned in blood the morning smile! 540 And woe betide the fairy dream! I only waked to sob and scream.
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"Who is this maid? what means her lay? She hovers o'er the hollow way, And flutters wide her mantle gray, 545 As the lone heron spreads his wing, By twilight, o'er a haunted spring." "'Tis Blanche of Devan," Murdoch said, "A crazed and captive Lowland maid, Ta'en on the morn she was a bride, 550 When Roderick forayed Devan side. The gay bridegroom resistance made, And felt our Chief's unconquered blade. I marvel she is now at large, But oft she 'scapes from Maudlin's charge. 555 Hence, brain-sick fool!"--he raised his bow. "Now, if thou strik'st her but one blow, I'll pitch thee from the cliff as far As ever peasant pitched a bar!"-- "Thanks, champion, thanks!" the maniac cried, 560 And pressed her to Fitz-James's side. "See the gray pennons I prepare, To seek my true-love through the air! I will not lend that savage groom, To break his fall, one downy plume! 565 No! Deep amid disjointed stones, The wolves shall batten on his bones, And then shall his detested plaid, By bush and brier in mid air stayed, Wave forth a banner fair and free, 570 Meet signal for their revelry."
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"Hush thee, poor maiden, and be still!" "Oh! thou look'st kindly and I will. Mine eye has dried and wasted been, But still it loves the Lincoln green; 575 And, though mine ear is all unstrung, Still, still it loves the Lowland tongue.
"For O my sweet William was forester true, He stole poor Blanche's heart away! His coat it was all of the greenwood hue, 580 And so blithely he trilled the Lowland lay!
"It was not that I meant to tell.... But thou art wise and guessest well." Then, in a low and broken tone, And hurried note, the song went on. 585 Still on the Clansman, fearfully, She fixed her apprehensive eye; Then turned it on the Knight, and then Her look glanced wildly o'er the glen.
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"The toils are pitched, and the stakes are set, 590 Ever sing merrily, merrily; The bows they bend, and the knives they whet, Hunters live so cheerily.
"It was a stag, a stag of ten, Bearing its branches sturdily; 595 He came stately down the glen, Ever sing hardily, hardily.
"It was there he met with a wounded doe, She was bleeding deathfully; She warned him of the toils below, 600 Oh, so faithfully, faithfully!
"He had an eye, and he could heed, Ever sing warily, warily; He had a foot, and he could speed-- Hunters watch so narrowly." 605
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