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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.'

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Proud Edith's soul came to her eye, Resentment checked the struggling sigh. Her hurrying hand indignant dried

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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

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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!

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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:

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XVIII

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.

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'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?

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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.'

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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

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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.

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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.

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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

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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,

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Feared lest amidst these wildering seas The darksome night and freshening breeze Had driven thy bark astray.'

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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.'

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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;

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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.

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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.'

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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,

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Nod, wink, and laughter, all were o'er; 630

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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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