A single brow but thine has frowned, To sadden this auspicious morn That bids the daughter of high Lorn Impledge her spousal faith to wed The heir of mighty Somerled? Ronald, from many a hero sprung, The fair, the valiant, and the young, LORD OF THE ISLES, whose lofty name A thousand bards have given to fame, The mate of monarchs, and allied On equal terms with England's pride. - From chieftain's tower to bondsman's cot,
Who hears the tale, and triumphs not? The damsel dons her best attire, The shepherd lights his beltane fire, Joy! joy! each warder's horn hath sung, Joy! joy! each matin bell hath rung; The holy priest says grateful mass, Loud shouts each hardy galla-glass, No mountain den holds outcast boor Of heart so dull, of soul so poor, But he hath flung his task aside, And claimed this morn for holy-tide; Yet, empress of this joyful day, Edith is sad while all are gay.'
Proud Edith's soul came to her eye, Resentment checked the struggling sigh. Her hurrying hand indignant dried
The burning tears of injured pride — Morag, forbear! or lend thy praise To swell yon hireling harpers' lays; Make to yon maids thy boast of power, That they may waste a wondering hour Telling of banners proudly borne, Of pealing bell and bugle horn, Or, theme more dear, of robes of price, Crownlets and gauds of rare device. But thou, experienced as thou art, Think'st thou with these to cheat the heart That, bound in strong affection's chain, Looks for return and looks in vain ? No! sum thine Edith's wretched lot
Ere yet I saw him, while afar
His broadsword blazed in Scotland's war, Trained to believe our fates the same, My bosom throbbed when Ronald's name Came gracing Fame's heroic tale, Like perfume on the summer gale. What pilgrim sought our halls nor told Of Ronald's deeds in battle bold; Who touched the harp to heroes' praise 254 But his achievements swelled the lays? Even Morag not a tale of fame Was hers but closed with Ronald's name. He came and all that had been told Of his high worth seemed poor and cold, Tame, lifeless, void of energy, Unjust to Ronald and to me!
More nobly think of Ronald's love. Look, where beneath the castle gray His fleet unmoor from Aros bay! See'st not each galley's topmnast bend As on the yards the sails ascend? Hiding the dark-blue land they rise, Like the white clouds on April skies; The shouting vassals man the oars, Behind them sink Mull's mountain shores, Onward their merry course they keep 180 Through whistling breeze and foaming deep.
And mark the headmost, seaward cast, Stoop to the freshening gale her mast, As if she veiled its bannered pride To greet afar her prince's bride! Thy Ronald comes, and while in speed His galley mates the flying steed,
He chides her sloth!' — Fair Edith sighed, Blushed, sadly smiled, and thus replied:
All day with fruitless strife they toiled, With eve the ebbing currents boiled
More fierce from strait and lake; And midway through the channel met Conflicting tides that foam and fret, And high their mingled billows jet, As spears that in the battle set
Spring upward as they break. Then too the lights of eve were past, And louder sung the western blast On rocks of Inninmore;
Rent was the sail, and strained the mast, And many a leak was gaping fast, And the pale steersman stood aghast And gave the conflict o'er.
'T was then that One whose lofty look Nor labor dulled nor terror shook
Thus to the leader spoke:- 'Brother, how hop'st thou to abide The fury of this wildered tide, Or how avoid the rock's rude side Until the day has broke?
Didst thou not mark the vessel reel With quivering planks and groaning keel
At the last billow's shock?
Yet how of better counsel tell, Though here thou see'st poor Isabel
Half dead with want and fear; For look on sea, or look on land, Or yon dark sky, on every hand Despair and death are near. For her alone I grieve on me Danger sits light by land and sea,
I follow where thou wilt; Either to bide the tempest's lour, Or wend to von unfriendly tower, Or rush amid their naval power, With war-ery wake their wassail-hour, And die with hand on hilt.'
That elder leader's calm reply In steady voice was given, In man's most dark extremity Oft succor dawns from heaven. Edward, trim thou the shattered sail, The helm be mine, and down the gale Let our free course be driven; So shall we 'scape the western bay, The hostile fleet, the unequal fray, So safely hold our vessel's way
The helm, to his strong arm consigned, Gave the reefed sail to meet the wind, And on her altered way Fierce bounding forward sprung the ship, Like greyhound starting from the slip To seize his flying prey. Awaked before the rushing prow The mimic fires of ocean glow,
Those lightnings of the wave; Wild sparkles crest the broken tides, And flashing round the vessel's sides With elfish lustre lave,
While far behind their livid light To the dark billows of the night
A gloomy splendor gave,
It seems as if old Ocean shakes From his dark brow the lucid flakes In envious pageantry,
To match the meteor-light that streaks Grim Hecla's midnight sky.
Nor lacked they steadier light to keep Their course upon the darkened deep;Artornish, on her frowning steep
"Twixt cloud and ocean hung, Glanced with a thousand lights of glee, And landward far, and far to sea
Her festal radiance flung.
By that blithe beacon-light they steered, Whose lustre mingled well With the pale beam that now appeared, As the cold moon her head upreared Above the eastern fell.
Thus guided, on their course they bore Until they neared the mainland shore, When frequent on the hollow blast Wild shouts of merriment were cast, And wind and wave and sea-birds' cry 48 With wassail sounds in concert vie, Like funeral shrieks with revelry,
Or like the battle-shout
By peasants heard from cliffs on high
Beneath the castle's sheltering lee They staid their course in quiet sea. Hewn in the rock, a passage there Sought the dark fortress by a stair, So strait, so high, so steep, With peasant's staff one valiant hand Might well the dizzy pass have manned 'Gainst hundreds armed with spear and brand
And plunged them in the deep. His bugle then the helmsman wound: Loud answered every echo round
From turret, rock, and bay; The postern's hinges crash and groan, And soon the warder's cresset shone On those rude steps of slippery stone, To light the upward way. "Thrice welcome, holy Sire!' he said; Full long the spousal train have staid, And, vexed at thy delay,
Feared lest amidst these wildering seas The darksome night and freshening breeze Had driven thy bark astray.'
Though urged in tone that more expressed A monarch than a suppliant guest. Be what ye will, Artornish Hall On this glad eve is free to all. Though ye had drawn a hostile sword 'Gainst our ally, great England's Lord, Or mail upon your shoulders borne To battle with the Lord of Lorn, Or outlawed dwelt by greenwood tree With the fierce Knight of Ellerslie, Or aided even the murderous strife When Comyn fell beneath the knife Of that fell homicide the Bruce, This night had been a term of truce. Ho, vassals! give these guests your care, And show the narrow postern stair.'
To land these two bold brethren leapt - The weary crew their vessel kept- And, lighted by the torches' flare That seaward flung their smoky glare,
The younger knight that maiden bare
Half lifeless up the rock;
On his strong shoulder leaned her head, And down her long dark tresses shed, 58 As the wild vine in tendrils spread
Droops from the mountain oak.
And 'Rest ye here,' the warder bade, 'Till to our lord your suit is said. And, comrades, gaze not on the maid And on these men who ask our aid,
As if ye ne'er had seen
A damsel tired of midnight bark Or wanderers of a moulding stark And bearing martial mien.' But not for Eachin's reproof Would page or vassal stand aloof, But crowded on to stare,
As men of courtesy untaught, Till Fiery Edward roughly caught
From one the foremost there
His chequered plaid, and in its shroud, To hide her from the vulgar crowd, Involved his sister fair.
His brother, as the clansman bent His sullen brow in discontent,
Made brief and stern excuse: 'Vassal, were thine the cloak of pall That decks thy lord in bridal hall, 'T were honored by her use.'
Prond was his tone but calm; his eye Had that compelling dignity, His mien that bearing haught and high, Which common spirits fear; Needed nor word nor signal more,
Nod, wink, and laughter, all were o'er; 630
With beakers' clang, with harpers' lay, 10 With all that olden time deemed gay, The Island Chieftain feasted high; But there was in his troubled eye A gloomy fire, and on his brow Now sudden flushed and faded now Emotions such as draw their birth From deeper source than festal mirth. By fits he paused, and harper's strain And jester's tale went round in vain, Or fell but on his idle ear Like distant sounds which dreamers hear. Then would he rouse him, and employ Each art to aid the clamorous joy, And call for pledge and lay,
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