Scott's Lady of the Lake
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CANTO FIFTH
THE COMBAT
IFair as the earliest beam of eastern light,When first, by the bewilder’d pilgrim spied,It smiles upon the dreary brow of night,And silvers o’er the torrent’s foaming tide,And lights the fearful path on mountain side; —Fair as that beam, although the fairest far,Giving to horror grace, to danger pride,Shine martial Faith, and Courtesy’s bright star,Through all the wreckful storms that cloud the brow of War. IIThat early beam, so fair and sheen,Was twinkling through the hazel screen,When, rousing at its glimmer red,The warriors left their lowly bed,Look’d out upon the dappled sky,Mutter’d their soldier matins by,And then awaked their fire, to steal,276As short and rude, their soldier meal.That o’er, the Gael around him threwHis graceful plaid of varied hue,And, true to promise, led the way,By thicket green and mountain gray.A wildering path! – they winded nowAlong the precipice’s brow,Commanding the rich scenes beneath,The windings of the Forth and Teith,And all the vales beneath that lie,Till Stirling’s turrets melt in sky;Then, sunk in copse, their farthest glanceGain’d not the length of horseman’s lance’Twas oft so steep, the foot was fainAssistance from the hand to gain;So tangled oft, that, bursting through,Each hawthorn shed her showers of dew, —That diamond dew, so pure and clear,It rivals all but Beauty’s tear!IIIAt length they came where, stern and steep,The hill sinks down upon the deep.Here Vennachar in silver flows,There, ridge on ridge, Benledi rose;Ever the hollow path twined on,Beneath steep bank and threatening stone;An hundred men might hold the postWith hardihood against a host.The rugged mountain’s scanty cloakWas dwarfish shrubs of birch and oak,With shingles277 bare, and cliffs between,And patches bright of bracken green,And heather black, that waved so high,It held the copse in rivalry.But where the lake slept deep and still,Dank278 osiers fringed the swamp and hill;And oft both path and hill were torn,Where wintry torrent down had borne,And heap’d upon the cumber’d landIts wreck of gravel, rocks, and sand.So toilsome was the road to trace,The guide, abating of his pace,Led slowly through the pass’s jaws,And ask’d Fitz-James, by what strange causeHe sought these wilds, traversed by few,Without a pass from Roderick Dhu.IV“Brave Gael, my pass in danger tried,Hangs in my belt, and by my side;Yet, sooth to tell,” the Saxon said,“I dreamt not now to claim its aid.When here, but three days since, I came,Bewilder’d in pursuit of game,All seem’d as peaceful and as stillAs the mist slumbering on yon hill;Thy dangerous Chief was then afar,Nor soon expected back from war.Thus said, at least, my mountain guide,Though deep, perchance, the villain lied.” —“Yet why a second venture try?” —“A warrior thou, and ask me why! —Moves our free course by such fix’d causeAs gives the poor mechanic laws?Enough, I sought to drive awayThe lazy hours of peaceful day;Slight cause will then suffice to guideA Knight’s free footsteps far and wide, —A falcon flown, a greyhound stray’d,The merry glance of mountain maid:Or, if a path be dangerous known,The danger’s self is lure alone.” —V“Thy secret keep, I urge thee not; —Yet, ere again ye sought this spot,Say, heard ye naught of Lowland war,Against Clan-Alpine, raised by Mar?”– “No, by my word; – of bands preparedTo guard King James’s sports I heard;Nor doubt I aught, but, when they hearThis muster of the mountaineer,Their pennons will abroad be flung,Which else in Doune had peaceful hung.” —“Free be they flung! – for we were lothTheir silken folds should feast the moth.Free be they flung! – as free shall waveClan-Alpine’s pine in banner brave.But, Stranger, peaceful since you came,Bewilder’d in the mountain game,Whence the bold boast by which you show279Vich-Alpine’s vow’d and mortal foe?” —“Warrior, but yester-morn, I knewNaught of thy Chieftain, Roderick Dhu,Save as an outlaw’d desperate man,The chief of a rebellious clan,Who, in the Regent’s280 court and sight,With ruffian dagger stabb’d a knight:Yet this alone might from his partSever each true and loyal heart.”VIWrothful at such arraignment foul,Dark lower’d the clansman’s sable scowl.A space he paused, then sternly said,“And heardst thou why he drew his blade?Heardst thou, that shameful word and blowBrought Roderick’s vengeance on his foe?What reck’d the Chieftain if he stoodOn Highland heath, or Holy-Rood?He rights such wrong where it is given,If it were in the court of heaven.” —“Still was it outrage; – yet, ’tis true,Not then claim’d sovereignty his due;While Albany, with feeble hand,Held borrow’d truncheon of command,The young King, mew’d281 in Stirling tower,Was stranger to respect and power.282But then, thy Chieftain’s robber life! —Winning mean prey by causeless strife,Wrenching from ruin’d Lowland swainHis herds and harvest rear’d in vain. —Methinks a soul, like thine, should scornThe spoils from such foul foray borne.”VIIThe Gael beheld him grim the while,And answer’d with disdainful smile, —“Saxon, from yonder mountain high,I mark’d thee send delighted eye,Far to the south and east, where lay,Extended in succession gay,Deep waving fields and pastures green,With gentle slopes and groves between: —These fertile plains, that soften’d vale,Were once the birthright of the Gael;The stranger came with iron hand,And from our fathers reft283 the land.Where dwell we now? See, rudely swellCrag over crag, and fell o’er fell.Ask we this savage hill we tread,For fatten’d steer or household bread;Ask we for flocks these shingles dry, —And well the mountain might reply,‘To you, as to your sires of yore,Belong the target and claymore!I give you shelter in my breast,Your own good blades must win the rest.’Pent in this fortress of the north,Thinkst thou we will not sally forth,To spoil the spoiler as we may,And from the robber rend the prey?Ay, by my soul! – While on yon plainThe Saxon rears one shock of grain;While, of ten thousand herds, there straysBut one along yon river’s maze, —The Gael, of plain and river heir,Shall, with strong hand, redeem his share.Where live the mountain Chiefs who hold,That plundering Lowland field and foldIs aught but retribution true?Seek other cause ’gainst Roderick Dhu.” —VIIIAnswer’d Fitz-James, – “And, if I sought,Thinkst thou no other could be brought?What deem ye of my path waylaid?My life given o’er to ambuscade?” —“As of a meed to rashness due:Hadst thou sent warning fair and true, —I seek my hound, or falcon stray’d,I seek, good faith,284 a Highland maid, —Free hadst thou been to come and go;But secret path marks secret foe.Nor yet, for this, even as a spy,Hadst thou, unheard, been doom’d to die,Save to fulfill an augury.” —“Well, let it pass; nor will I nowFresh cause of enmity avow,To chafe thy mood and cloud thy brow.Enough, I am by promise tiedTo match me with this man of pride:Twice have I sought Clan-Alpine’s glenIn peace; but when I come agen,I come with banner, brand, and bow,As leader seeks his mortal foe.For lovelorn swain, in lady’s bower,Ne’er panted for the appointed hour,As I, until before me standThis rebel Chieftain and his band!” —IX“Have, then, thy wish!” – He whistled shrill,And he was answer’d from the hill;Wild as the scream of the curlew,From crag to crag the signal flew.Instant, through copse and heath, aroseBonnets and spears and bended bows;On right, on left, above, below,Sprung up at once the lurking foe;From shingles gray their lances start,The bracken bush sends forth the dart,The rushes and the willow wandAre bristling into ax and brand,And every tuft of broom gives lifeTo plaided warrior arm’d for strife.That whistle garrison’d the glenAt once with full five hundred men,As if the yawning hill to heavenA subterranean host had given.Watching their leader’s beck and will,All silent there they stood, and still.Like the loose crags, whose threatening massLay tottering o’er the hollow pass,As if an infant’s touch could urgeTheir headlong passage down the verge,With step and weapon forward flung,Upon the mountain side they hung.The Mountaineer cast glance of prideAlong Benledi’s living side,Then fix’d his eye and sable browFull on Fitz-James – “How say’st thou now?These are Clan-Alpine’s warriors true;And, Saxon, – I am Roderick Dhu!” XFitz-James was brave: – Though to his heartThe lifeblood thrill’d with sudden start,He mann’d himself with dauntless air,Return’d the Chief his haughty stare,His back against a rock he bore,And firmly placed his foot before: —“Come one, come all! this rock shall flyFrom its firm base as soon as I.”Sir Roderick mark’d – and in his eyesRespect was mingled with surprise,And the stern joy which warriors feelIn foemen worthy of their steel.Short space he stood – then waved his hand:Down sunk the disappearing band;Each warrior vanish’d where he stood,In broom or bracken, heath or wood;Sunk brand and spear and bended bow,In osiers pale and copses low;It seem’d as if their mother EarthHad swallowed up her warlike birth.The wind’s last breath had toss’d in airPennon, and plaid, and plumage fair, —The next but swept a lone hillside,Where heath and fern were waving wide:The sun’s last glance was glinted285 back,From spear and glaive, from targe and jack, —The next, all unreflected, shoneOn bracken green, and cold gray stone.XIFitz-James look’d round – yet scarce believedThe witness that his sight received;Such apparition well might seemDelusion of a dreadful dream.Sir Roderick in suspense he eyed,And to his look the Chief replied,“Fear naught – nay, that I need not say —But – doubt not aught from mine array.Thou art my guest; – I pledged my wordAs far as Coilantogle ford:Nor would I call a clansman’s brandFor aid against one valiant hand,Though on our strife lay every valeRent by the Saxon from the Gael.So move we on; – I only meantTo show the reed on which you leant,Deeming this path you might pursueWithout a pass from Roderick Dhu.”They mov’d: – I said Fitz-James was brave,As ever knight that belted glaive;Yet dare not say, that now his bloodKept on its wont and temper’d flood,286As, following Roderick’s stride, he drewThat seeming lonesome pathway through,Which yet, by fearful proof, was rifeWith lances, that, to take his life,Waited but signal from a guideSo late dishonor’d and defied.Ever, by stealth, his eye sought roundThe vanish’d guardians of the ground,And still, from copse and heather deep,Fancy saw spear and broadsword peep,And in the plover’s shrilly strain,The signal-whistle heard again.Nor breathed he free till far behindThe pass was left; for then they windAlong a wide and level green,Where neither tree nor tuft was seen,Nor rush nor bush of broom was near,To hide a bonnet or a spear.XIIThe Chief in silence strode before,And reach’d that torrent’s sounding shore,Which, daughter of three mighty lakes,287From Vennachar in silver breaks,Sweeps through the plain, and ceaseless minesOn Bochastle the moldering lines,Where Rome, the Empress of the world,Of yore her eagle288 wings unfurl’d.And here his course the Chieftain stayed,Threw down his target and his plaid,And to the Lowland warrior said, —“Bold Saxon! to his promise just,Vich-Alpine has discharged his trust.This murderous Chief, this ruthless man,This head of a rebellious clan,Hath led thee safe, through watch and ward,Far past Clan-Alpine’s outmost guard.Now, man to man, and steel to steel,A Chieftain’s vengeance thou shalt feel.See here, all vantageless289 I stand,Arm’d, like thyself, with single brand:For this is Coilantogle ford,And thou must keep thee with thy sword.”XIIIThe Saxon paused: – “I ne’er delay’dWhen foeman bade me draw my blade;Nay, more, brave Chief, I vow’d thy death:Yet sure thy fair and generous faith,And my deep debt for life preserv’d,A better meed have well deserv’d:Can naught but blood our feud atone?Are there no means?” – “No, Stranger, none!And hear, – to fire thy flagging zeal, —The Saxon cause rests on thy steel;For thus spoke Fate, by prophet bredBetween the living and the dead:‘Who spills the foremost foeman’s life,His party conquers in the strife.’” —“Then, by my word,” the Saxon said,“The riddle is already read.Seek yonder brake beneath the cliff, —There lies Red Murdoch, stark and stiff.Thus Fate hath solved her prophecy,Then yield to Fate, and not to me.To James, at Stirling, let us go,When, if thou wilt be still his foe,Or if the King shall not agreeTo grant thee grace and favor free,290I plight mine honor, oath, and word,That, to thy native strengths291 restored,With each advantage shalt thou stand,That aids thee now to guard thy land.”XIVDark lightning flash’d from Roderick’s eye —“Soars thy presumption, then, so high,Because a wretched kern ye slew,Homage to name to Roderick Dhu?He yields not, he, to man nor Fate!Thou add’st but fuel to my hate: —My clansman’s blood demands revenge.Not yet prepared? – By Heaven, I changeMy thought, and hold thy valor lightAs that of some vain carpet knight,Who ill deserved my courteous care,And whose best boast is but to wearA braid of his fair lady’s hair.” —“I thank thee, Roderick, for the word!It nerves my heart, it steels my sword;For I have sworn this braid to stainIn the best blood that warms thy vein.Now, truce, farewell! and, ruth, begone! —Yet think not that by thee alone,Proud Chief! can courtesy be shown;Though not from copse, or heath, or cairn,Start at my whistle clansmen stern,Of this small horn one feeble blastWould fearful odds against thee cast.But fear not – doubt not – which thou wilt —We try this quarrel hilt to hilt.” —Then each at once his falchion drew,Each on the ground his scabbard threw,Each look’d to sun, and stream, and plain,As what they ne’er might see again;Then foot, and point, and eye opposed,In dubious strife they darkly closed.XVIll fared it then with Roderick Dhu,That on the field his targe he threw,Whose brazen studs and tough bull hideHad death so often dash’d aside;For, train’d abroad292 his arms to wield,Fitz-James’s blade was sword and shield.He practiced every pass and ward,To thrust, to strike, to feint, to guard;While less expert, though stronger far,The Gael maintain’d unequal war.Three times in closing strife they stood,And thrice the Saxon blade drank blood;No stinted draught, no scanty tide,The gushing flood the tartans dyed.Fierce Roderick felt the fatal drain,And shower’d his blows like wintry rain;And, as firm rock, or castle roof,Against the winter shower is proof,The foe, invulnerable still,Foil’d his wild rage by steady skill;Till, at advantage ta’en, his brandForced Roderick’s weapon from his hand,And backward borne upon the lea,Brought the proud Chieftain to his knee.XVI“Now, yield thee, or by Him who madeThe world, thy heart’s blood dyes my blade!” —“Thy threats, thy mercy, I defy!Let recreant yield, who fears to die.”– Like adder darting from his coil,Like wolf that dashes through the toil,Like mountain cat who guards her young,Full at Fitz-James’s throat he sprung;Received, but reck’d not of a wound,And lock’d his arms his foeman round. —Now, gallant Saxon, hold thine own!No maiden’s hand is round thee thrown!That desperate grasp thy frame might feel,Through bars of brass and triple steel! —They tug, they strain! down, down they go,The Gael above, Fitz-James below.The Chieftain’s gripe his throat compress’d,His knee was planted in his breast;His clotted locks he backward threw,Across his brow his hand he drew,From blood and mist to clear his sight,Then gleam’d aloft his dagger bright! —– But hate and fury ill suppliedThe stream of life’s exhausted tide,And all too late the advantage came,To turn the odds of deadly game;For, while the dagger gleam’d on high,Reel’d soul and sense, reel’d brain and eye.Down came the blow! but in the heathThe erring blade found bloodless sheath.The struggling foe may now unclaspThe fainting Chief’s relaxing grasp;Unwounded from the dreadful close,But breathless all, Fitz-James arose.XVIIHe falter’d thanks to Heaven for life,Redeem’d, unhoped, from desperate strife;Next on his foe his look he cast,Whose every gasp appear’d his last;In Roderick’s gore he dipt the braid, —“Poor Blanche! thy wrongs are dearly paid:Yet with thy foe must die, or live,The praise that Faith and Valor give.”With that he blew a bugle note,Undid the collar from his throat,Unbonneted, and by the waveSate down his brow and hands to lave.Then faint afar are heard the feetOf rushing steeds in gallop fleet;The sounds increase, and now are seenFour mounted squires in Lincoln green;Two who bear lance, and two who lead,By loosen’d rein, a saddled steed;Each onward held his headlong course,And by Fitz-James rein’d up his horse, —With wonder view’d the bloody spot —“Exclaim not, gallants! question not. —You, Herbert and Luffness, alight,And bind the wounds of yonder knight;Let the gray palfrey bear his weight,We destined for a fairer freight,And bring him on to Stirling straight;I will before at better speed,To seek fresh horse and fitting weed.The sun rides high; – I must be boune,To see the archer game at noon;But lightly Bayard clears the lea. —De Vaux and Herries, follow me.”XVIII“Stand, Bayard, stand!” – the steed obey’d,With arching neck and bended head,And glancing eye and quivering ear,As if he loved his lord to hear.No foot Fitz-James in stirrup stayed,No grasp upon the saddle laid,But wreath’d his left hand in the mane,And lightly bounded from the plain,Turn’d on the horse his armed heel,And stirr’d his courage with the steel.293Bounded the fiery steed in air,The rider sate erect and fair,Then like a bolt from steel crossbowForth launch’d, along the plain they go.They dash’d that rapid torrent through,And up Carhonie’s294 hill they flew;Still at the gallop prick’d295 the Knight,His merry-men follow’d as they might.Along thy banks, swift Teith! they ride,And in the race they mock thy tide;Torry and Lendrick now are past,And Deanstown lies behind them cast;They rise, the banner’d towers of Doune,They sink in distant woodland soon;Blair-Drummond sees the hoofs strike fire,They sweep like breeze through Ochtertyre;They mark just glance and disappearThe lofty brow of ancient Kier;They bathe their coursers’ sweltering sides,Dark Forth! amid thy sluggish tides,And on the opposing shore take ground,With plash, with scramble, and with bound.Right-hand they leave thy cliffs, Craig-Forth!And soon the bulwark of the North,Gray Stirling, with her towers and town,Upon their fleet career look’d down.XIXAs up the flinty path they strain’d,Sudden his steed the leader rein’d;A signal to his squire he flung,Who instant to his stirrup sprung: —“Seest thou, De Vaux, yon woodsman gray,Who townward holds the rocky way,Of stature tall and poor array?Mark’st thou the firm, yet active stride,With which he scales the mountain side?Know’st thou from whence he comes, or whom?” —“No, by my word; – a burly groomHe seems, who in the field or chaseA baron’s train would nobly grace.” —“Out, out, De Vaux! can fear supply,And jealousy, no sharper eye?Afar, ere to the hill he drew,That stately form and step I knew;Like form in Scotland is not seen,Treads not such step on Scottish green.’Tis James of Douglas, by St. Serle!The uncle of the banish’d Earl.Away, away, to court, to showThe near approach of dreaded foe:The King must stand upon his guard;Douglas and he must meet prepared.”Then right-hand wheel’d their steeds, and straightThey won the Castle’s postern gate.XXThe Douglas, who had bent his wayFrom Cambus-kenneth’s Abbey gray,Now, as he climb’d the rocky shelf,Held sad communion with himself: —“Yes! all is true my fears could frame;A prisoner lies the noble Græme,And fiery Roderick soon will feelThe vengeance of the royal steel.I, only I, can ward their fate, —God grant the ransom come not late!The Abbess hath her promise given,My child shall be the bride of Heaven;296—– Be pardon’d one repining tear!For He, who gave her, knows how dear,How excellent! but that is by,And now my business is – to die.– Ye towers! within whose circuit dreadA Douglas297 by his sovereign bled;And thou, O sad and fatal mound!298That oft hast heard the death-ax sound,As on the noblest of the landFell the stern headsman’s bloody hand, —The dungeon, block, and nameless tombPrepare – for Douglas seeks his doom! —– But hark! what blithe and jolly pealMakes the Franciscan299 steeple reel?And see! upon the crowded street,In motley groups what maskers meet!Banner and pageant, pipe and drum,And merry morris dancers300 come.I guess, by all this quaint array,The burghers hold their sports to-day.301James will be there; he loves such show,Where the good yeoman bends his bow,And the tough wrestler foils his foe,As well as where, in proud career,The high-born tilter shivers spear.I’ll follow to the Castle-park,And play my prize; – King James shall mark,If age has tamed these sinews stark,302Whose force so oft, in happier days,His boyish wonder loved to praise.”XXIThe Castle gates were open flung,The quivering drawbridge rock’d and rung,And echo’d loud the flinty streetBeneath the coursers’ clattering feet,As slowly down the steep descentFair Scotland’s King and nobles went,While all along the crowded wayWas jubilee and loud huzza.And ever James was bending low,To his white jennet’s303 saddlebow,Doffing his cap to city dame,Who smiled and blush’d for pride and shame.And well the simperer might be vain, —He chose the fairest of the train.Gravely he greets each city sire,Commends each pageant’s quaint attire,Gives to the dancers thanks aloud,And smiles and nods upon the crowd,Who rend the heavens with their acclaims, —“Long live the Commons’ King,304 King James!”Behind the King throng’d peer and knight,And noble dame, and damsel bright,Whose fiery steeds ill brook’d the stayOf the steep street and crowded way.– But in the train you might discernDark lowering brow, and visage stern:There nobles mourn’d their pride restrain’d,And the mean burgher’s joys disdain’d;And chiefs, who, hostage for their clan,Were each from home a banish’d man,There thought upon their own gray tower,Their waving woods, their feudal power,And deem’d themselves a shameful partOf pageant which they cursed in heart.XXIINow, in the Castle-park, drew outTheir checker’d305 bands the joyous rout.There morrisers, with bell at heel,And blade in hand, their mazes wheel;But chief, beside the butts, there standBold Robin Hood306 and all his band, —Friar Tuck with quarterstaff and cowl,Old Scathlock with his surly scowl,Maid Marian, fair as ivory bone,Scarlet, and Mutch, and Little John;307Their bugles challenge all that will,In archery to prove their skill.The Douglas bent a bow of might, —His first shaft centered in the white,And when in turn he shot again,His second split the first in twain.From the King’s hand must Douglas takeA silver dart,308 the archer’s stake;Fondly he watch’d, with watery eye,Some answering glance of sympathy, —No kind emotion made reply!Indifferent as to archer wight,309The Monarch gave the arrow bright.XXIIINow, clear the ring! for, hand to hand,The manly wrestlers take their stand.Two o’er the rest superior rose,And proud demanded mightier foes,Nor call’d in vain; for Douglas came.– For life is Hugh of Larbert lame;Scarce better John of Alloa’s fare,Whom senseless home his comrades bear.Prize of the wrestling match, the KingTo Douglas gave a golden ring,While coldly glanced his eye of blue,As frozen drop of wintry dew.Douglas would speak, but in his breastHis struggling soul his words suppress’d;Indignant then he turn’d him whereTheir arms the brawny yeoman bare,To hurl the massive bar in air.When each his utmost strength had shown,The Douglas rent an earth-fast stoneFrom its deep bed, then heaved it high,And sent the fragment through the sky,A rood beyond the farthest mark; —And still in Stirling’s royal park,The gray-haired sires, who know the past,To strangers point the Douglas-cast,310And moralize on the decayOf Scottish strength in modern day.XXIVThe vale with loud applauses rang,The Ladies’ Rock311 sent back the clang.The King, with look unmoved, bestow’dA purse well fill’d with pieces broad.Indignant smiled the Douglas proud,And threw the gold among the crowd,Who now, with anxious wonder, scan,And sharper glance, the dark gray man;Till whispers rose among the throng,That heart so free, and hand so strong,Must to the Douglas blood belong;The old men mark’d, and shook the head,To see his hair with silver spread,And wink’d aside, and told each sonOf feats upon the English done,Ere Douglas of the stalwart handWas exiled from his native land.The women praised his stately form,Though wreck’d by many a winter’s storm;The youth with awe and wonder sawHis strength surpassing nature’s law.Thus judged, as is their wont, the crowd,Till murmur rose to clamors loud.But not a glance from that proud ringOf peers who circled round the King,With Douglas held communion kind,Or call’d the banish’d man to mind;No, not from those who, at the chase,Once held his side the honor’d place,Begirt312 his board, and, in the field,Found safety underneath his shield;For he, whom royal eyes disown,When was his form to courtiers known!XXVThe Monarch saw the gambols flag,And bade let loose a gallant stag,Whose pride, the holiday to crown,Two favorite greyhounds should pull down,That venison free, and Bordeaux wine,Might serve the archery to dine.But Lufra, – whom from Douglas’ sideNor bribe nor threat could e’er divide,The fleetest hound in all the North, —Brave Lufra saw, and darted forth.She left the royal hounds midway,And dashing on the antler’d prey,Sunk her sharp muzzle in his flank,And deep the flowing lifeblood drank.The King’s stout huntsman saw the sportBy strange intruder broken short,Came up, and with his leash unbound,In anger struck the noble hound.– The Douglas had endured, that morn,The King’s cold look, the nobles’ scorn,And last, and worst to spirit proud,Had borne the pity of the crowd;But Lufra had been fondly bred,To share his board, to watch his bed,And oft would Ellen, Lufra’s neckIn maiden glee with garlands deck;They were such playmates, that with nameOf Lufra, Ellen’s image came.His stifled wrath is brimming high,In darken’d brow and flashing eye;As waves before the bark divide,The crowd gave way before his stride;Needs but a buffet and no more,The groom lies senseless in his gore.Such blow no other hand could dealThough gauntleted in glove of steel.XXVIThen clamor’d loud the royal train,And brandish’d swords and staves amain.But stern the baron’s warning – “Back!Back, on313 your lives, ye menial pack!Beware the Douglas. – Yes! behold,King James! The Douglas, doom’d of old,And vainly sought for near and far,A victim to atone the war,A willing victim, now attends,Nor craves thy grace but for his friends.” —“Thus is my clemency repaid?Presumptuous Lord!" the Monarch said;"Of thy mis-proud314 ambitious clan,Thou, James of Bothwell, wert the man,The only man, in whom a foeMy woman mercy would not know:But shall a Monarch’s presence brookInjurious blow, and haughty look? —What ho! the Captain of our Guard!Give the offender fitting ward. —Break off the sports!” – for tumult rose,And yeomen ’gan to bend their bows, —“Break off the sports!” he said, and frown’d,“And bid our horsemen clear the ground.”XXVIIThen uproar wild and misarray315Marr’d the fair form of festal day.The horsemen prick’d among the crowd,Repell’d by threats and insult loud;To earth are borne the old and weak,The timorous fly, the women shriek;With flint, with shaft, with staff, with bar,The hardier urge tumultuous war.At once round Douglas darkly sweepThe royal spears in circle deep,And slowly scale the pathway steep;While on the rear in thunder pourThe rabble with disorder’d roar.With grief the noble Douglas sawThe Commons rise against the law,And to the leading soldier said, —“Sir John of Hyndford!316 ’twas my bladeThat knighthood on thy shoulder laid;317For that good deed, permit me thenA word with these misguided men.” —XXVIII“Hear, gentle friends! ere yet for meYe break the bands of fealty.My life, my honor, and my cause,I tender free to Scotland’s laws.Are these so weak as must requireThe aid of your misguided ire?Or, if I suffer causeless wrong,Is then my selfish rage so strong,My sense of public weal so low,That, for mean vengeance on a foe,Those cords of love I should unbind,Which knit my country and my kind?Oh, no! Believe, in yonder towerIt will not soothe my captive hour,To know those spears our foes should dread,For me in kindred gore are red;To know, in fruitless brawl begunFor me, that mother wails her son;For me, that widow’s mate expires;For me, that orphans weep their sires;That patriots mourn insulted laws,And curse the Douglas for the cause.Oh, let your patience ward318 such ill,And keep your right to love me still!”XXIXThe crowd’s wild fury sunk againIn tears, as tempests melt in rain.With lifted hands and eyes, they pray’dFor blessings on his generous head,Who for his country felt alone,And prized her blood beyond his own.Old men, upon the verge of life,Bless’d him who stayed the civil strife;And mothers held their babes on high,The self-devoted Chief to spy,Triumphant over wrongs and ire,To whom the prattlers owed a sire:Even the rough soldier’s heart was moved;As if behind some bier beloved,With trailing arms and drooping head,The Douglas up the hill he led,And at the Castle’s battled verge,With sighs resign’d his honor’d charge.XXXThe offended Monarch rode apart,With bitter thought and swelling heart,And would not now vouchsafe againThrough Stirling streets to lead his train. —“O Lennox, who would wish to ruleThis changeling319 crowd, this common fool?Hear’st thou,” he said, “the loud acclaimWith which they shout the Douglas name?With like acclaim, the vulgar throatStrain’d for King James their morning note;With like acclaim they hail’d the dayWhen first I broke the Douglas’ sway;And like acclaim would Douglas greet,If he could hurl me from my seat.Who o’er the herd would wish to reign,Fantastic, fickle, fierce, and vain!Vain as the leaf upon the stream,And fickle as a changeful dream;Fantastic as a woman’s mood,And fierce as Frenzy’s fever’d blood,Thou many-headed monster thing,Oh, who would wish to be thy king!”XXXI“But soft! what messenger of speedSpurs hitherward his panting steed?I guess his cognizance320 afar —What from our cousin,321 John of Mar?” —“He prays, my liege, your sports keep boundWithin the safe and guarded ground:For some foul purpose yet unknown, —Most sure for evil to the throne, —The outlaw’d Chieftain, Roderick Dhu,Has summon’d his rebellious crew;’Tis said, in James of Bothwell’s aidThese loose banditti stand array’d.The Earl of Mar, this morn, from Doune,To break their muster march’d, and soonYour grace will hear of battle fought;But earnestly the Earl besought,Till for such danger he provide,With scanty train you will not ride.”XXXII“Thou warn’st me I have done amiss, —I should have earlier look’d to this:I lost it in this bustling day.– Retrace with speed thy former way;Spare not for spoiling of thy steed,The best of mine shall be thy meed.Say to our faithful Lord of Mar,We do forbid the intended war:Roderick, this morn, in single fight,Was made our prisoner by a knight;And Douglas hath himself and causeSubmitted to our kingdom’s laws.The tidings of their leaders lostWill soon dissolve the mountain host,Nor would we that the vulgar feel,For their Chief’s crimes, avenging steel.Bear Mar our message, Braco: fly!” —He turn’d his steed, – “My liege, I hie, —Yet, ere I cross this lily lawn,I fear the broadswords will be drawn.”The turf the flying courser spurn’d,And to his towers the King return’d.XXXIIIIll with King James’s mood that day,Suited gay feast and minstrel lay;Soon were dismiss’d the courtly throng,And soon cut short the festal song.Nor less upon the sadden’d townThe evening sunk in sorrow down.The burghers spoke of civil jar,Of rumor’d feuds and mountain war,Of Moray, Mar, and Roderick Dhu,All up in arms: – the Douglas too,They mourn’d him pent within the hold,“Where stout Earl William322 was of old.” —And there his word the speaker stayed,And finger on his lip he laid,Or pointed to his dagger blade.But jaded horsemen, from the west,At evening to the Castle press’d;And busy talkers said they boreTidings of fight on Katrine’s shore;At noon the deadly fray begun,And lasted till the set of sun.Thus giddy rumor shook the town,Till closed the Night her pennons brown.