The Lady of the Lake Part 19

But, ere she followed, with the grace And open bounty of her race, She bade her slender purse be shared 225 Among the soldiers of the guard.

The rest with thanks their guerdon took; But Brent, with shy and awkward look, On the reluctant maiden's hold Forced bluntly back the proffered gold: 230 "Forgive a haughty English heart, And O forget its ruder part!

The vacant purse shall be my share, Which in my barret-cap I'll bear.

Perchance, in jeopardy of war, 235 Where gayer crests may keep afar."

With thanks--'twas all she could--the maid His rugged courtesy repaid.

XI

When Ellen forth with Lewis went, Allan made suit to John of Brent: 240 "My lady safe, O let your grace Give me to see my master's face!

His minstrel I--to share his doom Bound from the cradle to the tomb.

Tenth in descent, since first my sires 245 Waked for his n.o.ble house their lyres, Nor one of all the race was known But prized its weal above their own.

With the Chief's birth begins our care; Our harp must soothe the infant heir, 250 Teach the youth tales of fight, and grace His earliest feat of field or chase; In peace, in war, our ranks we keep, We cheer his board, we soothe his sleep, Nor leave him till we pour our verse-- 255 A doleful tribute!--o'er his hea.r.s.e.

Then let me share his captive lot; It is my right--deny it not!"

"Little we reck," said John of Brent, "We Southern men, of long descent; 260 Nor wot we how a name--a word-- Makes clansmen va.s.sals to a lord; Yet kind my n.o.ble landlord's part-- G.o.d bless the house of Beaudesert!

And, but I loved to drive the deer, 265 More than to guide the laboring steer, I had not dwelt an outcast here.

Come, good old Minstrel, follow me; Thy Lord and Chieftain shalt thou see."

XII

Then, from a rusted iron hook, 270 A bunch of ponderous keys he took, Lighted a torch, and Allan led Through grated arch and pa.s.sage dread.

Portals they pa.s.sed, where, deep within, Spoke prisoner's moan, and fetters' din; 275 Through rugged vaults, where, loosely stored, Lay wheel, and ax, and headsman's sword, And many an hideous engine grim, For wrenching joint, and crus.h.i.+ng limb, By artist formed, who deemed it shame 280 And sin to give their work a name.

They halted at a low-browed porch, And Brent to Allan gave the torch, While bolt and chain he backward rolled And made the bar unhasp its hold. 285 They entered--'twas a prison-room Of stern security and gloom, Yet not a dungeon; for the day Through lofty gratings found its way, And rude and antique garniture 290 Decked the sad walls and oaken floor; Such as the rugged days of old Deemed fit for captive n.o.ble's hold.

"Here," said De Brent, "thou mayst remain Till the Leech visit him again. 295 Strict is his charge, the warders tell, To tend the n.o.ble prisoner well."

Retiring then the bolt he drew, And the lock's murmurings growled anew.

Roused at the sound, from lowly bed 300 A captive feebly raised his head; The wondering Minstrel looked, and knew-- Not his dear lord, but Roderick Dhu!

For, come from where Clan-Alpine fought, They, erring, deemed the Chief he sought. 305

XIII

As the tall s.h.i.+p, whose lofty prore Shall never stem the billows more, Deserted by her gallant band, Amid the breakers lies astrand, So, on his couch, lay Roderick Dhu! 310 And oft his fevered limbs he threw In toss abrupt, as when her sides Lie rocking in the advancing tides, That shake her frame with ceaseless beat, Yet cannot heave her from her seat-- 315 Oh! how unlike her course at sea!

Or his free step on hill and lea!

Soon as the Minstrel he could scan, "What of thy lady?--of my clan?-- My mother?--Douglas?--tell me all? 320 Have they been ruined in my fall?

Ah, yes! or wherefore art thou here!

Yet speak--speak boldly--do not fear."

For Allan, who his mood well knew, Was choked with grief and terror too. 325 "Who fought--who fled?--Old man, be brief-- Some might--for they had lost their Chief.

Who basely live?--who bravely died?"

"O calm thee, Chief!" the Minstrel cried, "Ellen is safe;" "For that thank Heaven!" 330 "And hopes are for the Douglas given; The Lady Margaret too is well; And, for thy clan--on field or fell, Has never harp of minstrel told, Of combat fought so true and bold. 335 Thy stately Pine is yet unbent, Though many a goodly bough is rent."

XIV

The Chieftain reared his form on high, And fever's fire was in his eye; But ghastly pale, and livid streaks 340 Checkered his swarthy brow and cheeks.

"Hark, Minstrel! I have heard thee play, With measure bold, on festal day, In yon lone isle, ... again where ne'er Shall harper play, or warrior hear!... 345 That stirring air that peals on high, O'er Dermid's race our victory.

Strike it!--and then--for well thou canst-- Free from thy minstrel spirit glanced, Fling me the picture of the fight, 350 When met my clan the Saxon might.

I'll listen, till my fancy hears The clang of swords, the crash of spears!

These grates, these walls, shall vanish then, For the fair field of fighting men, 355 And my free spirit burst away, As if it soared from battle fray."

The trembling Bard with awe obeyed-- Slow on the harp his hand he laid; But soon remembrance of the sight 360 He witnessed from the mountain's height, With what old Bertram told at night, Awakened the full power of song, And bore him in career along; As shallop launched on river's side, 365 That slow and fearful leaves the side, But, when it feels the middle stream, Drives downward swift as lightning's beam.

XV

BATTLE OF BEAL' AN DUINE

"The Minstrel came once more to view The eastern ridge of Benvenue, 370 For ere he parted, he would say Farewell to lovely Loch Achray-- Where shall he find in foreign land, So lone a lake, so sweet a strand!

There is no breeze upon the fern, 375 Nor ripple on the lake, Upon her eyry nods the erne, The deer has sought the brake; The small birds will not sing aloud, The springing trout lies still, 380 So darkly glooms yon thunder cloud, That swathes, as with a purple shroud, Benledi's distant hill.

Is it the thunder's solemn sound That mutters deep and dread, 385 Or echoes from the groaning ground The warrior's measured tread?

Is it the lightning's quivering glance That on the thicket streams, Or do they flash on spear and lance 390 The sun's retiring beams?

--I see the dagger-crest of Mar, I see the Moray's silver star, Wave o'er the cloud of Saxon war, That up the lake comes winding far! 395 To hero boune for battle-strife, Or bard of martial lay, 'Twere worth ten years of peaceful life, One glance at their array!

XVI

"Their light-armed archers far and near 400 Surveyed the tangled ground, Their center ranks, with pike and spear, A twilight forest frowned, Their barded hors.e.m.e.n, in the rear, The stern battalia crowned. 405 No cymbal clashed, no clarion rang, Still were the pipe and drum; Save heavy tread, and armor's clang, The sullen march was dumb.

There breathed no wind their crests to shake, 410 Or wave their flags abroad; Scarce the frail aspen seemed to quake, That shadowed o'er their road.

Their vaward scouts no tidings bring, Can rouse no lurking foe, 415 Nor spy a trace of living thing, Save when they stirred the roe; The host moves, like a deep-sea wave, Where rise no rocks its pride to brave, High-swelling, dark, and slow. 420 The lake is pa.s.sed, and now they gain A narrow and a broken plain, Before the Trossachs' rugged jaws; And here the horse and spearmen pause, While, to explore the dangerous glen, 425 Dive through the pa.s.s the archer-men.

XVII

"At once there rose so wild a yell Within that dark and narrow dell, As all the fiends, from heaven that fell, Had pealed the banner-cry of h.e.l.l! 430 Forth from the pa.s.s in tumult driven, Like chaff before the wind of heaven, The archery appear; For life! for life! their flight they ply-- And shriek, and shout, and battle-cry, 435 And plaids and bonnets waving high, And broadswords flas.h.i.+ng to the sky, Are maddening in the rear.

Onward they drive, in dreadful race, Pursuers and pursued; 440 Before that tide of flight and chase, How shall it keep its rooted place, The spearmen's twilight wood?

'Down, down,' cried Mar, 'your lances down!

Bear back both friend and foe!' 445 Like reeds before the tempest's frown, That serried grove of lances brown At once lay leveled low; And closely shouldering side to side, The bristling ranks the onset bide. 450 'We'll quell the savage mountaineer, As their Tinchel cows the game!

They come as fleet as forest deer, We'll drive them back as tame.'

XVIII

"Bearing before them, in their course, 455 The relics of the archer force, Like wave with crest of sparkling foam, Right onward did Clan-Alpine come.

Above the tide, each broadsword bright Was brandis.h.i.+ng like beam of light, 460 Each targe was dark below; And with the ocean's mighty swing, When heaving to the tempest's wing, They hurled them on the foe.

I heard the lance's s.h.i.+vering crash, 465 As when the whirlwind rends the ash; I heard the broadsword's deadly clang, As if an hundred anvils rang!

But Moray wheeled his rearward rank Of hors.e.m.e.n on Clan-Alpine's flank, 470 'My banner-man advance!

I see,' he cried, 'their column shake.

Now, gallants! for your ladies' sake, Upon them with the lance!'

The hors.e.m.e.n dashed among the rout, 475 As deer break through the broom; Their steeds are stout, their swords are out, They soon make lightsome room.

Clan-Alpine's best are backward borne-- Where, where was Roderick then! 480 One blast upon his bugle-horn Were worth a thousand men.

And refluent through the pa.s.s of fear The battle's tide was poured; Vanished the Saxon's struggling spear, 485 Vanished the mountain-sword.

As Bracklinn's chasm, so black and steep, Receives her roaring linn, As the dark caverns of the deep Suck the wild whirlpool in, 490 So did the deep and darksome pa.s.s Devour the battle's mingled ma.s.s; None linger now upon the plain, Save those who ne'er shall fight again.

XIX

"Now westward rolls the battle's din, 495 That deep and doubling pa.s.s within.-- Minstrel, away! the work of fate Is bearing on; its issue wait, Where the rude Trossachs' dread defile Opens on Katrine's lake and isle.-- 500 Gray Benvenue I soon repa.s.sed, Loch Katrine lay beneath me cast.

The sun is set, the clouds are met, The lowering scowl of heaven An inky hue of livid blue 505 To the deep lake has given; Strange gusts of wind from mountain-glen Swept o'er the lake, then sunk again.

I heeded not the eddying surge, Mine eye but saw the Trossachs' gorge, 510 Mine ear but heard the sullen sound, Which like an earthquake shook the ground, And spoke the stern and desperate strife That parts not but with parting life, Seeming, to minstrel ear, to toll 515 The dirge of many a pa.s.sing soul.

Nearer it comes--the dim-wood glen The martial flood disgorged again, But not in mingled tide; The plaided warriors of the North 520 High on the mountain thunder forth And overhang its side; While by the lake below appears The dark'ning cloud of Saxon spears.

At weary bay each shattered band, 525 Eyeing their foemen, sternly stand; Their banners stream like tattered sail, That flings its fragments to the gale, And broken arms and disarray Marked the fell havoc of the day. 530