Up spoke the moody elfin king,
Who won'd within the hill,Like wind in the porch of a ruin'd church, His voice was ghostly shrill.
"Why sounds yon stroke on beach and oak, Our moonlight circle's screen?
Or who comes here to chase the deer,
Beloved of our elfin queen?
Or who may dare on wold to wear
The fairies' fatal green?
"Up, Urgan, up! to yon mortal hie,
For thou wert christen'd man ;
For cross or sign thou wilt not fly,
For mutter'd word or ban.
"Lay on him the curse of the wither'd heart, The curse of the sleepless eye;
Till he wish and pray that his life would part, Nor yet find leave to die."
'Tis merry, 'tis merry in good green wood, Though the birds have still'd their singing; The evening blaze doth Alice raise,
And Richard is fagots bringing.
Up Urgan starts, that hideous dwarf,
Before Lord Richard stands,
And, as he cross'd and bless'd himself,
"I fear not sign," quoth the grisly elf,
"That is made with bloody hands."-
But out then spoke she, Alice Brand,
That woman void of fear,-
"And if there's blood upon his hand,
"Tis but the blood of deer."-
"Now loud thou liest, thou bold of mood!
It cleaves unto his hand,
The stain of thine own kindly blood,
The blood of Ethert Brand."
Then forward stepp'd she, Alice Brand,
And made the holy sign,-
"And if there's blood on Richard's hand,
A spotless hand is mine.
"And I conjure thee, demon elf,
By him who demons fear,
To show us whence thou art thyself,
And what thine errand here?"-
BALLAD CONTINUED.
"'Tis merry, 'tis merry in fairy land,
When fairy birds are singing,
When the court doth ride by their monarch's side,
With bit and bridle ringing:
"And gayly shines the fairy land
But all is glistening show,
Like the idle gleam that December's beam
Can dart on ice and snow.
"And fading like that varied gleam,
Is our inconstant shape,
Who now like knight and lady seem,
And now like dwarf and ape.
"It was between the night and day, When the fairy king has power, That I sunk down in a sinful fray, And, 'twixt life and death, was snatch'd away To the joyless elfin bower. "But wist I of a woman bold,
Who thrice my brow durst sign, I might regain my mortal mould, As fair a form as thine."
She cross'd him once, she cross'd him twiceThat lady was so brave;
The fouler grew his goblin hue,
The darker grew the cave.
She cross'd him thrice, that lady bold;
He rose beneath her hand
The fairest knight on Scottish mould,
Her brother, Ethert Brand!
Merry it is in good green wood,
When the mavis and merle are singing;
But merrier were they in Dunfermline gray
When all the bells were ringing.
Just as the minstrel sounds were stay'd,
A stranger climb'd the steepy glade;
His martial step, his stately mien,
His hunting suit of Lincoln green,
His eagle glance, remembrance claims-
'Tis Snowdoun's knight, 'tis James Fitz-James
Ellen beheld as in a dream,
Then, starting, scarce suppress'd a scream:
"O stranger! in such hour of fear,
What evil hap has brought thee here?"
"An evil hap! how can it be,
That bids me look again on thee?
By promise bound, my former guide
Met me betimes this morning tide,
And marshall'd, over bank and bourne,
The happy path of my return."-
"The happy path!-what! said he naught
Of war, of battle to be fought,
Of guarded pass ?"-" No, by my faith!
Nor saw I aught could augur scathe."
"O! haste thee, Allan, to the kern,-
Yonder his tartans I discern;
Learn thou his purpose, and conjure
That he will guide the stranger sure!—
What prompted thee, unhappy man?
The meanest serf in Roderick's clan
Had not been bribed by love or fear,
Unknown to him, to guide thee here."-
"Sweet Ellen, dear my life must be,
Since it is worthy care from thee;
Yet life I hold but idle breath,
When love or honour's weigh'd with death.
Then let me profit by my chance,
And speak my purpose bold at once.
I come to bear thee from a wild,
Where ne'er before such blossom smiled;
By this soft hand to lead thee far
From frantic scenes of feud and war.
Near Bochastle my horses wait,
They bear us soon to Stirling gate:
I'll place thee in a lovely bower,
I'll guard thee like a tender flower-
"O, hush, sir knight! 'twere female art
To say I do not read thy heart;
Too much, before, my selfish ear
Was idly soothed my praise to hear.
That fatal bait hath lured thee back,
In deathful hour, o'er dangerous track!
And how, O how, can I atone
The wreck my vanity brought on ;-
One way remains-I'll tell him all-
Yes! struggling bosom, forth it shall!
Thou, whose light folly bears the blame,
Buy thine own pardon with thy shame!
But first-my father is a man
Outlaw'd and exiled, under ban;
The price of blood is on his head,
With me 'twere infamy to wed.-
Still wouldst thou speak?-then hear the truth:
Fitz-James, there is a noble youth-
If yet he is!-exposed for me
And mine to dread extremity-
Thou hast the secret of my heart;
Forgive, be generous, and depart."
Fitz-James knew every wily train
A lady's fickle heart to gain,
But here he knew and felt them vain.
There shot no glance from Ellen's eye,
To give her steadfast speech the lie;
In maiden confidence she stood,
Though mantled in her cheek the blood,
And told her love with such a sigh
Of deep and hopeless agony,
As death had seal'd her Malcolm's doom,
And she sat sorrowing on his tomb.
Hope vanish'd from Fitz-James's eye,
But not with hope fled sympathy.
He proffer'd to attend her side,
As brother would a sister guide.-
"O! little know'st thou Roderick's heart!
Safer for both we go apart.
O haste thee, and from Allan learn,
If thou may'st trust yon wily kern.”—
With hand upon his forehead laid,
The conflict of his mind to shade,
A parting step or two he made;
Then, as some thought had cross'd his brain He paused, and turn'd, and came again.
"Hear, lady, yet, a parting word!—
It chanced in fight that my poor sword
Preserved the life of Scotland's lord.
This ring the grateful monarch gave,
And bade, when I had boon to crave,
To bring it back, and boldly claim
The recompense that I would name.
Ellen, I am no courtly lord,
But one who lives by lance and sword,
Whose castle is his helm and shield,
His lordship the embattled field.
What from a prince can I demand,
Who neither reck of state nor land?
Ellen, thy hand-the ring is thine;
Each guard and usher knows the sign.
Seek thou the king without delay;
This signet shall secure thy way;
And claim thy suit, whate'er it be,
As ransom of his pledge to me."—
He placed the golden circlet on,
Paused-kiss'd her hand-and then was gone.
The aged minstrel stood aghast,
So hastily Fitz-James shot past.
He join'd his guide, and wending down
The ridges of the mountain brown,
Across the stream they took their way,
That joins Loch-Katrine to Achray.
All in the Trosach's glen was still,
Noontide was sleeping on the hill:
Sudden his guide whoop'd loud and high-
"Murdoch! was that a signal cry?"
He stammer'd forth,-"I shout to scare
Yon raven from his dainty fare."
He look'd-he knew the raven's prey,
His own brave steed:"Ah! gallant gray!
For thee-for me, perchance-'twere well
We ne'er had left the Trosach's dell.
Murdoch, move first-but silently;
Whistle or whoop, and thou shalt die."
Jealous and sullen on they fared,
Each silent, each upon his guard.
Now wound the path its dizzy ledge
Around a precipice's edge.
When lo! a wasted female form,
Blighted by wrath of sun and storm,
In tatter'd weeds and wild array,
Stood on a cliff beside the way,
And glancing round her restless eye,
Upon the wood, the rock, the sky,
Seem'd naught to mark, yet all to spy.
Her brow was wreath'd with gaudy broom;
With gesture wild she waved a plume
Of feathers, which the eagles fling
To crag and cliff from dusky wing;
Such spoils her desperate step had sought,
Where scarce was footing for the goat.
The tartan plaid she first descried,
And shriek'd till all the rocks replied;
As loud she laugh'd when near they drew,
For then the lowland garb she knew;
And then her hands she wildly wrung,
And then she wept, and then she sung.—
She sung-the voice, in better time,
Perchance to harp or lute might chime;
And now, though strain'd and roughen'd, stil.
Rung wildly sweet to dale and hill.
"They bid me sleep, they bid me pray, They say my brain is warp'd and wrung
I cannot sleep on highland brae,
I cannot pray in highland tongue. But were I now where Allan glides, Or heard my native Devan's tides,
So sweetly would I rest, and pray
That heaven would close my wintry day!
"Twas thus my hair they bade me braid,
They bade me to the church repair;
It was my bridal morn, they said,
And my truelove would meet me there. But wo betide the cruel guile, That drown'd in blood the morning smile! And wo betide the fairy dream! I only waked to sob and scream."
"Who is this maid? what means her lay?
She hovers o'er the hollow way,
And flutters wide her mantle gray,
As the lone heron spreads his wing,
By twilight, o'er a haunted spring."
"Tis Blanche of Devan," Murdoch said,
"A crazed and captive lowland maid,
Ta'en on the morn she was a bride,
When Roderick foray'd Devan side:
The gay bridegroom resistance made,
And felt our chief's unconquer'd blade.
I marvel she is now at large,
But oft she 'scapes from Maudlin's charge. Hence, brain-sick fool!"-He raised his bow: "Now, if thou strik'st her but one blow, I'll pitch thee from the cliff as far As ever peasant pitch'd a bar." "Thanks, champion, thanks!" the maniac cried, And press'd her to Fitz-James's side. "See the gray pennons I prepare, To seek my true love through the air! I will not lend that savage groom, To break his fall, one downy plume! No!-deep among disjointed stones The wolves shall batten on his bones, And then shall his detested plaid, By bush and brier in mid air stay'd, Wave forth a banner fair and free, Meet signal for their revelry.”
"Hush thee, poor maiden, and be still!"
"O! thou look'st kindly, and I will.
Mine eye has dried and wasted been,
But still it loves the Lincoln green;
And though mine ear is all unstrung,
Still, still it loves the lowland tongue.
"For O, my sweet William was forester true,
He stole poor Blanche's heart away!
His coat it was all of the greenwood hue,
And so blithely he trill'd the lowland lay!
"It was not that I meant to tell-
But thou art wise, and guessest well."
Then, in a low and broken tone,
And hurried note, the song went on.
Still on the clansman, fearfully,
She fix'd her apprehensive eye;
Then turn'd it on the knight, and then
Her look glanced wildly o'er the glen.
"The toils are pitch'd, and the stakes are set, Ever sing merrily, merrily;
The bows they bend, and the knives they whet Hunters live so cheerily.
"It was a stag, a stag of ten,*
Bearing his branches sturdily; He came stately down the glen, Ever sing hardily, hardily.
"It was there he met with a wounded doe. She was bleeding deathfully;
She warn'd him of the toils below,
O, so faithfully, faithfully!
"He had an eye and he could heed,
Ever sing warily, warily;
He had a foot and he could speed-
Hunters watch so narrowly."
Fitz-James's mind was passion-toss'd When Ellen's hints and fears were lost; But Murdoch's shout suspicion wrought, And Blanche's song conviction brought.Not like a stag that spies the snare, But lion of the hunt aware, He waved at once his blade on high, "Disclose thy treachery, or die!"— Forth at full speed the clansman flew, But in his race his bow he drew: The shaft just grazed Fitz-James's crest, And thrill'd in Blanche's faded breast.Murdoch of Alpine, prove thy speed, For ne'er had Alpine's son such need! With heart of fire and foot of wind, The fierce avenger is behind! Fate judges of the rapid strifeThe forfeit death-the prize is life! Thy kindred ambush lies before, Close couch'd upon the heathery moor; Them couldst thou reach !-it may not beThine ambush'd kin thou ne'er shalt see, The fiery Saxon gains on thee! -Resistless speeds the deadly thrust, As lightning strikes the pine to dust; With foot and hand Fitz-James must strain, Ere he can win his blade again. Bent o'er the fallen, with falcon eye, He grimly smiled to see him die; Then slower wended back his way, Where the poor maiden bleeding lay.
She sate beneath the birchen tree,
Her elbow resting on her knee;
She had withdrawn the fatal shaft,
And gazed on it and feebly laughed ;
Her wreath of broom and feathers gray,
Daggled with blood, beside her lay.
The knight to stanch the life-stream tried :-
"Stranger, it is in vain !" she cried,
"This hour of death has given me more
Of reason's power than years before;
For, as these ebbing veins decay,
My frenzied visions fade away.
* Having ten branches on his antlers.
A helpless injured wretch I die,
And something tells me in thine eye,
That thou wert my avenger born.
Seest thou this tress ?"-O! still I've worn
This little tress of yellow hair,
Through danger, frenzy, and despair!
It once was bright and clear as thine,
But blood and tears have dimm'd its shine.
I will not tell thee when 'twas shred,
Nor from what guiltless victim's head—
My brain would turn !—but it shall wave
Like plumage on thy helmet brave,
Till sun and wind shall bleach the stain,
And thou wilt bring it me again.-
I waver still. O God! more bright
Let reason beam her parting light!
O! by thy knighthood's honour'd sign,
And for thy life preserved by mine,
When thou shalt see a darksome man,
Who boasts him chief of Alpine's clan,
With tartans broad and shadowy plume,
And hand of blood, and brow of gloom
Be thy heart bold, thy weapon strong,
And wreak poor Blanche of Devan's wrong!
They watch for thee by pass and fell-
Avoid the path-O God!-farewell!"
A kindly heart had brave Fitz-James;
Fast pour'd his eye at pity's claims,
And now, with mingled grief and ire,
He saw the murder'd maid expire.
"God, in my need, be my relief,
As I wreak this on yonder chief!"
A lock from Blanche's tresses fair
He blended with her bridegroom's hair;
The mingled braid in blood he died,
And placed it on his bonnet side;
"By him whose word is truth! I swear
No other favour will I wear,
Till this sad token I imbrue
In the best blood of Roderick Dhu!
-But hark! what means yon faint halloo ? The chase is up-but they shall know, The stag at bay's a dangerous foe." Barr'd from the known but guarded way, Through copse and cliffs Fitz-James must stray, And oft must change his desperate track, By stream and precipice turn'd back. Heartless, fatigued, and faint, at length, From lack of food and loss of strength, He couch'd him in a thicket hoar, And thought his toils and perils o'er : "Of all my rash adventures past, This frantic feat must prove the last! Who e'er so mad but might have guess'd, That all this highland hornet's nest Would muster up in swarms so soon As e'er they heard of bands at Doune? Like bloodhounds now they search me out.Hark to the whistle and the shout!
If farther through the wilds I go,
I only fall upon the foe;
I'll couch me here till evening gray,
Then darkling try my dangerous way.”—
The shades of eve come slowly down,
The woods are wrapp'd in deeper brown,
The owl awakens from her dell,
The fox is heard upon the fell;
Enough remains of glimmering light,
To guide the wanderer's steps aright,
Yet not enough from far to show
His figure to the watchful foe.
With cautious step and ear awake,
He climbs the crag, and threads the brake;
And not the summer solstice there,
Temper'd the midnight mountain air,
But every breeze that swept the wold,
Benumb'd his drenched limbs with cold.
In dread, in danger, and alone,
Famish'd and chill'd, through ways unknown,
Tangled and steep, he journey'd on;
Till, as a rock's huge point he turn'd,
A watch-fire close beside him burn'd.
Beside its embers red and clear, Bask'd in his plaid, a mountaineer; And up he sprung with sword in hand"Thy name and purpose! Saxon, stand!" "A stranger."-"What dost thou require ?" "Rest and a guide, and food and fire. My life's beset, my path is lost, The gale has chill'd my limbs with frost." "Art thou a friend to Roderick ?"-"No.""Thou dar'st not call thyself a foe?" "I dare to him and all the band
He brings to aid his murderous hand." "Bold words!-but, though the beast of game The privilege of chase may claim, Though space and law the stag we lend, Ere hound we slip, or bow we bend, Who ever reck'd where, how, or when, The prowling fox was trapp'd and slain? Thus treacherous scouts ;-yet sure they lie, Who say thou cam'st a secret spy! "They do, by heaven!-Come Roderick Dhu, And of his clan the boldest two,
And let me but till morning rest,
I write the falsehood on their crest.""If by the blaze I mark aright, Thou bear'st the belt and spur of knight." "Then by these tokens may'st thou know Each proud oppressor's mortal foe." "Enough, enough; sit down and share A soldier's couch, a soldier's fare."
He gave him of his highland cheer,
The harden'd flesh of mountain deer;
Dry fuel on the fire he laid,
And bade the Saxon share his plaid.
He tended him like welcome guest,
Then thus his further speech address'd.
"Stranger, I am to Roderick Dhu
A clansman born, a kinsman true;
Each word against his honour spoke
Demands of me avenging stroke;
Yet more upon thy fate, 'tis said,
A mighty augury is laid.
It rests with me to wind my horn-
Thou art with numbers overborne ;
It rests with me, here, brand to brand,
Worn as thou art, to bid thee stand:
But, not for clan, nor kindred's cause,
Will I depart from honour's laws;
T'assail a wearied man were shame,
And stranger is a holy name;
Guidance and rest, and food and fire,
In vain he never must require.
Then rest thee here till dawn of day;
Myself will guide thee on the way,
O'er stock and stone, through watch and ward,
Till past Clan-Alpine's outmost guard,
As far as Coilantogle's ford;
From thence thy warrant is thy sword."
I take thy courtesy, by heaven,
As freely as 'tis nobly given !"-
"Well, rest thee; for the bittern's cry
Sings us the lake's wild lullaby."
With that he shook the gather'd heath,
And spread his plaid upon the wreath;
And the brave foemen, side by side,
Lay peaceful down like brothers tried,
And slept until the dawning beam
Purpled the mountain and the stream.
FAIR 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.
That 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,
As short and rude, their soldier meal.
That o'er, the Gael around him threw
His graceful plaid of varied hue,
And, true to promise, led the way,
By thicket green and mountain gray.
A wildering path!-They winded now
Along the precipice's brow,
Commanding the rich scenes beneath,
The windings of the Forth and Teith,
And all the vales between that lie,
Till Stirling's turrets melt in sky;
The Scottish highlander calls himself Gael, or Gaul, and terms the lowlanders Sassenach, or Saxons.
Then, sunk in copse, their farthest glance
Gain'd not the length of horseman's lance.
'Twas oft so steep, the foot was fain
Assistance from the hand to gain;
So tangied 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!
At 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 post
With hardihood against a host.
The rugged mountain's scanty cloak
Was dwarfish shrubs of birch and oak,
With shingles 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,
Dank osiers fringed the swamp and hill;
And oft both path and hill were torn,
Where wintry torrents down had borne,
And heap'd upon the cumber'd land
Its 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 cause
He sought these wilds, travers'd by few,
Without a pass from Roderick Dhu.
"Brave Gael, my pass, in danger tried, Hangs in my belt, and by my side; Yet, sooth to tell," the Saxon said, "I dream'd 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 still, As 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 cause, As gives the poor mechanic laws? Enough, I sought to drive away The lazy hours of peaceful day; Slight cause will then suffice to guide A knight's free footsteps far and wide,A falcon flown, a grayhound stray'd, The merry glance of mountain maid; Or, if a path be dangerous known, The danger's self is lure alone."
"Thy secret keep, I urge thee not;Yet, ere again ye sought this spot,
|