The Works of Lord Byron - LightNovelsOnl.com
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59.
The crimson glow of Allan's face Was turn'd at once to ghastly hue; The drops of death each other chace, Adown in agonizing dew.
60.
Thrice did he raise the goblet high, And thrice his lips refused to taste; For thrice he caught the stranger's eye On his with deadly fury plac'd.
61.
"And is it thus a brother hails A brother's fond remembrance here?
If thus affection's strength prevails, What might we not expect from fear?"
62.
Roused by the sneer, he rais'd the bowl, "Would Oscar now could share our mirth!"
Internal fear appall'd his soul; [i]
He said, and dash'd the cup to earth.
63.
"'Tis he! I hear my murderer's voice!"
Loud shrieks a darkly gleaming Form.
"A murderer's voice!" the roof replies, And deeply swells the bursting storm.
64.
The tapers wink, the chieftains shrink, The stranger's gone,--amidst the crew, A Form was seen, in tartan green, And tall the shade terrific grew.
65.
His waist was bound with a broad belt round, His plume of sable stream'd on high; But his breast was bare, with the red wounds there, And fix'd was the glare of his gla.s.sy eye.
66.
And thrice he smil'd, with his eye so wild On Angus bending low the knee; And thrice he frown'd, on a Chief on the ground, Whom s.h.i.+vering crowds with horror see.
67.
The bolts loud roll from pole to pole, And thunders through the welkin ring, And the gleaming form, through the mist of the storm, Was borne on high by the whirlwind's wing.
68.
Cold was the feast, the revel ceas'd.
Who lies upon the stony floor?
Oblivion press'd old Angus' breast, [iv]
At length his life-pulse throbs once more.
69.
"Away, away! let the leech essay To pour the light on Allan's eyes:"
His sand is done,--his race is run; Oh! never more shall Allan rise!
70.
But Oscar's breast is cold as clay, His locks are lifted by the gale; And Allan's barbed arrow lay With him in dark Glentanar's vale.
71.
And whence the dreadful stranger came, Or who, no mortal wight can tell; But no one doubts the form of flame, For Alva's sons knew Oscar well.
72.
Ambition nerv'd young Allan's hand, Exulting demons wing'd his dart; While Envy wav'd her burning brand, And pour'd her venom round his heart.
73.
Swift is the shaft from Allan's bow; Whose streaming life-blood stains his side?
Dark Oscar's sable crest is low, The dart has drunk his vital tide.
74.
And Mora's eye could Allan move, She bade his wounded pride rebel: Alas! that eyes, which beam'd with love, Should urge the soul to deeds of h.e.l.l.
75.
Lo! see'st thou not a lonely tomb, Which rises o'er a warrior dead?
It glimmers through the twilight gloom; Oh! that is Allan's nuptial bed.
76.
Far, distant far, the n.o.ble grave Which held his clan's great ashes stood; And o'er his corse no banners wave, For they were stain'd with kindred blood.
