On yonder mountain's purple head
Have ptarmigan and heath-cock bled,
And our broad nets have swept the mere,
To furnish forth your evening cheer.'-
'Now, by the rood, iny lovely maid,
Your courtesy has erred,' he said;
'No right have I to claim, misplaced,
The welcome of expected guest.
A wanderer, here by fortune tost,
My way, my friends, my courser lost,
I ne'er before, believe me, fair,
Have ever drawn your mountain air,
Till on this lake's romantic strand
I found a fay in fairy land !' —

XXIII

440

450

'I well believe,' the maid replied,
As her light skiff approached the side,
'I well believe, that ne'er before
Your foot has trod Loch Katrine's shore;
But yet, as far as yesternight,
Old Allan-bane foretold your plight,
A gray-haired sire, whose eye intent
Was on the visioned future bent.
He saw your steed, a dappled gray,
Lie dead beneath the birchen way;
Painted exact your form and mien,
Your hunting-suit of Lincoln green,
That tasselled horn so gayly gilt,
That falchion's crooked blade and hilt,
That cap with heron plumage trim,
And yon two hounds so dark and grim.
He bade that all should ready be
Το grace a guest of fair degree;
But light I held his prophecy,
And deemed it was my father's horn
Whose echoes o'er the lake were borne.'

460

470

-'Since to your

A destined errant-knight I come,
Announced by prophet sooth and old,
Doomed, doubtless, for achievement bold,
I'll lightly front each high emprise
For one kind glance of those bright eyes.
Permit me first the task to guide
Your fairy frigate o'er the tide.'

The maid, with smile suppressed and sly,
The toil unwonted saw him try;
For seldom, sure, if e'er before,
His noble hand had grasped an oar:

480

Yet with main strength his strokes he

drew,

And o'er the lake the shallop flew;

It was a lodge of ample size,

But strange of structure and device;
Of such materials as around

The workman's hand had readiest found. Lopped of their boughs, their hoar trunks bared,

And by the hatchet rudely squared,
To give the walls their destined height,
The sturdy oak and ash unite;

While moss and clay and leaves combined
To fence each crevice from the wind.
The lighter pine-trees overhead

Their slender length for rafters spread,
And withered heath and rushes dry
Supplied a russet canopy.

Due westward, fronting to the green,
A rural portico was seen,

Aloft on native pillars borne,

Of mountain fir with bark unshorn,

Where Ellen's hand had taught to twine
The ivy and Idæan vine,

The clematis, the favored flower
Which boasts the name of virgin-bower,
And every hardy plant could bear
Loch Katrine's keen and searching air.
An instant in this porch she stayed,
And gayly to the stranger said:
'On heaven and on thy lady call,
And enter the enchanted hall !'

530

My hope, my heaven, my trust must be, My gentle guide, in following thee !'

The wondering stranger round him gazed,
And next the fallen weapon raised: -
Few were the arms whose sinewy strength
Sufficed to stretch it forth at length.
And as the brand he poised and swayed,
'I never knew but one,' he said,
"Whose stalwart arm might brook to wield
A blade like this in battle-field.'
She sighed, then smiled and took the word:
'You see the guardian champion's sword;
As light it trembles in his hand
As in my grasp a hazel wand:

My sire's tall form might grace the part
Of Ferragus or Ascabart,

But in the absent giant's hold
Are women now, and menials old.'

XXIX

The mistress of the mansion came, Mature of age, a graceful dame, Whose easy step and stately port Had well become a princely court,

570

To whom, though more than kindred

Though all unasked his birth and name.
Such then the reverence to a guest,
That fellest foe might join the feast,
And from his deadliest foeman's door
Unquestioned turn, the banquet o'er.
At length his rank the stranger names, 90
The Knight of Snowdoun, James Fitz-
James;

Lord of a barren heritage,

Which his brave sires, from age to age,
By their good swords had held with toil;
His sire had fallen in such turmoil,
And he, God wot, was forced to stand
Oft for his right with blade in hand.
This morning with Lord Moray's train
He chased a stalwart stag in vain,
Outstripped his comrades, missed the deer,
Lost his good steed, and wandered here.'

XXX

599

610

Fain would the Knight in turn require
The name and state of Ellen's sire.
Well showed the elder lady's mien
That courts and cities she had seen;
Ellen, though more her looks displayed
The simple grace of sylvan maid,
In speech and gesture, form and face,
Showed she was come of gentle race.
'T were strange in ruder rank to find
Such looks, such manners, and such mind.
Each hint the Knight of Snowdoun gave,
Dame Margaret heard with silence grave;
Or Ellen, innocently gay,
Turned all inquiry light away:
'Weird women we! by dale and down
We dwell, afar from tower and town.
We stem the flood, we ride the blast,
On wandering knights our spells we cast;
While viewless minstrels touch the string,
'Tis thus our charted rhymes we sing.'
She sung, and still a harp unseen
Filled up the symphony between.

XXXI

SONG

'Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er,

618

Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking;

Dream of battled fields no more,

Days of danger, nights of waking.

In our isle's enchanted hall,

Hands unseen thy couch are strewing, Fairy strains of music fall,

Every sense in slumber dewing.

Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er,

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660

670

The hall was cleared, the stranger's bed
Was there of mountain heather spread,
Where oft a hundred guests had lain,
And dreamed their forest sports again.
But vainly did the heath-flower shed
Its moorland fragrance round his head;
Not Ellen's spell had lulled to rest
The fever of his troubled breast.
In broken dreams the image rose
Of varied perils, pains, and woes:
His steed now flounders in the brake,
Now sinks his barge upon the lake;
Now leader of a broken host,

His standard falls, his honor's lost.

The hearth's decaying brands were red,
And deep and dusky lustre shed,
Half showing, half concealing, all
The uncouth trophies of the hall.
Mid those the stranger fixed his eye
Where that huge falchion hung on high,
And thoughts on thoughts, a countless
throng,

Rushed, chasing countless thoughts along,
Until, the giddy whirl to cure,

He rose and sought the moonshine pure.

XXXV

The wild rose, eglantine, and broom
Wasted around their rich perfume;
The birch-trees wept in fragrant balm; 720
The aspens slept beneath the calm;
The silver light, with quivering glance,
Played on the water's still expanse,
Wild were the heart whose passion's sway
Could rage beneath the sober ray!
He felt its calm, that warrior guest,

'Why is it, at each turn I trace
Some memory of that exiled race?
Can I not mountain maiden spy,
But she must bear the Douglas eye?
Can I not view a Highland brand,
But it must match the Douglas hand?
Can I not frame a fevered dream,
But still the Douglas is the theme?
I'll dream no more,
by manly mind
Not even in sleep is will resigned.
My midnight orisons said o'er,
I'll turn to rest, and dream no more.'
His midnight orisons he told,

A prayer with every bead of gold,
Consigned to heaven his cares and woes,
And sunk in undisturbed repose,
Until the heath-cock shrilly crew,
And morning dawned on Benvenue.

CANTO SECOND

THE ISLAND

I

730

740

'But if beneath yon southern sky
A plaided stranger roam,
Whose drooping crest and stifled sigh,
And sunken cheek and heavy eye,

Pine for his Highland home;
Then, warrior, then be thine to show
The care that soothes a wanderer's woe;
Remember then thy hap erewhile,

A stranger in the lonely isle.

'Or if on life's uncertain main Mishap shall mar thy sail;

If faithful, wise, and brave in vain, Woe, want, and exile thou sustain Beneath the fickle gale;

20

30

40

Waste not a sigh on fortune changed,
On thankless courts, or friends estranged,
But come where kindred worth shall
smile,

To greet thee in the lonely isle.'

IV

As died the sounds upon the tide,
The shallop reached the mainland side,
And ere his onward way he took,
The stranger cast a lingering look,
Where easily his eye might reach
The Harper on the islet beach,
Reclined against a blighted tree,
As wasted, gray, and worn as he.
To minstrel meditation given,

His reverend brow was raised to heaven,
As from the rising sun to claim
A sparkle of inspiring flame.
His hand, reclined upon the wire,
Seemed watching the awakening fire;
So still he sat as those who wait
Till judgment speak the doom of fate;
So still, as if no breeze might dare
To lift one lock of hoary hair;
So still, as life itself were fled
In the last sound his harp had sped.

50

60

Upon a rock with lichens wild,

Beside him Ellen sat and smiled. ·
Smiled she to see the stately drake
Lead forth his fleet upon the lake,
While her vexed spaniel from the beach 70
Bayed at the prize beyond his reach ?
Yet tell me, then, the maid who knows,
Why deepened on her cheek the rose ?
Forgive, forgive, Fidelity!

Perchance the maiden smiled to see
Yon parting lingerer wave adieu,
And stop and turn to wave anew;
And, lovely ladies, ere your ire
Condemn the heroine of my lyre,
Show me the fair would scorn to spy
And prize such conquest of her eye!

VI

80

While yet he loitered on the spot,
It seemed as Ellen marked him not;
But when he turned him to the glade,
One courteous parting sign she made;
And after, oft the knight would say,
That not when prize of festal day
Was dealt him by the brightest fair
Who e'er wore jewel in her hair,
So highly did his bosom swell
As at that simple mute farewell.
Now with a trusty mountain-guide,
And his dark stag-hounds by his side,
He parts,
- the maid, unconscious still,
Watched him wind slowly round the
hill;

90

100

But when his stately form was hid, The guardian in her bosom chid, — Thy Malcolm! vain and selfish maid !' T was thus upbraiding conscience said, 'Not so had Malcolm idly hung On the smooth phrase of Southern tongue; Not so had Malcolm strained his eye Another step than thine to spy.'Wake, Allan-bane,' aloud she cried To the old minstrel by her side, 'Arouse thee from thy moody dream! I'll give thy harp heroic theme, And warm thee with a noble name; Pour forth the glory of the Græme!' Scarce from her lip the word had

rushed,

110

When deep the conscious maiden blushed;
For of his clan, in ball and bower,
Young Malcolm Græme was held the
flower.

VII

The minstrel waked his harp, - three times
Arose the well-known martial chimes,
And thrice their high heroic pride

In melancholy murmurs died.

Vainly thou bidst, O noble maid,'

Clasping his withered hands, he said,

Vainly thou bidst me wake the strain, 120 Though all unwont to bid in vain. Alas! than mine a mightier hand

Has tuned my harp, my strings has spanned!

I touch the chords of joy, but low
And mournful answer notes of woe;

And the proud march which victors tread
Sinks in the wailing for the dead.

O, well for me, if mine alone

That dirge's deep prophetic tone!
If, as my tuneful fathers said,

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