I stanch'd thy father's death-feud stern,
With stout De Vaux and gray Glencairn;
And Bothwell's lord henceforth we own
The friend and bulwark of our throne.-
But, lovely infidel, how now?
What clouds thy misbelieving brow?
Lord James of Douglas, lend thine aid-
Thou must confirm this doubting maid."

XXVIII.

Then forth the noble Douglas sprung,
And on his neck his daughter hung.
The monarch drank, that happy hour,
The sweetest, holiest draught of power-
When it can say, with godlike voice,
Arise, sad virtue, and rejoice!
Yet would not James the general eye
On nature's raptures long should pry;
He stepp'd between-" Nay, Douglas, nay,
Steal not my proselyte away!
The riddle 'tis my right to read,

That brought this happy chance to speed.-
Yes, Ellen, when disguised I stray
In life's more low but happier way,
'Tis under name which veils my power,
Nor falsely veils-for Stirling's tower
Of yore the name of Snowdoun claims,
And Normans call me James Fitz-James.
Thus watch I o'er insulted laws,
Thus learn to right the injured cause."
Then in a tone apart and low,
-"Ah, little trait'ress! none must know
What idle dream, what lighter thought,
What vanity full dearly bought,
Join'd to thine eye's dark witchcraft, drew
My spell-bound steps to Ben-venue,
In dangerous hour, and all but gave
Thy monarch's life to mountain glaive!"
Aloud he spoke-"Thou still dost hold
That little talisman of gold,

Pledge of my faith, Fitz-James's ring-
What seeks fair Ellen of the king?”

XXIX.

Full well the conscious maiden guess'd
He probed the weakness of her breast;
But, with that consciousness there came
A lightening of her fears for Græme,
And more she deem'd the monarch's ire
Kindled 'gainst him, who, for her sire,
Rebellious broadsword boldly drew;
And, to her generous feeling true,
She craved the grace of Roderick Dhu.-
"Forbear thy suit ;-the King of kings
Alone can stay life's parting wings:
I knew his heart, I knew his hand,

Have shared his cheer and proved his brand.

My fairest earldom would I give

To bid Clan-Alpine's chieftain live!— Hast thou no other boon to crave? No other captive friend to save ?"— Blushing she turn'd her from the king, And to the Douglas gave the ring, As if she wished her sire to speak The suit that stain'd her glowing cheek."Nay, then my pledge has lost its force, And stubborn justice holds her course. Malcolm, come forth!"-And, at the word, Down kneel'd the Græme to Scotland's lord. "For thee, rash youth, no suppliant sues, From thee may vengeance claim her dues, Who, nurtured underneath our smile, Has paid our care by treacherous wile, And sought, amid thy faithful clan, A refuge for an outlaw'd man, Dishonouring thus thy loyal name.Fetters and warder for the Græme!" His chain of gold the king unstrung, The links o'er Malcolm's neck he flung, Then gently drew the glittering band, And laid the clasp on Ellen's hand.

THE FIRE KING.

And she has ta'en shipping for Palestine's land, To ransom Count Albert from Soldanrie's hand.

This ballad was written at the request of Mr. Lewis, to be inserted in his Tales Wonder. It is the third in a series of four ballads, on the subject of Elementary Spirits. The story is, however, partly historical; for it is recorded, that, during the struggles of the Latin kingdom of Jerusalem, a knight templar, called Saint Alban, deserted to the Saracens, and defeated the Christians in many combats, till he was finally routed and slain, in a conflict with King Baldwin, under the walls of Jerusalem.

BOLD knights and fair dames, to my harp give an ear,
Of love, and of war, and of wonder to hear;
And you haply may sigh, in the midst of your glee,
At the tale of Count Albert, and fair Rosalie.

O see you that castle, so strong and so high?
And see you that lady, the tear in her eye?
And see you that palmer from Palestine's land,
The shell on his hat, and the staff in his hand?

"Now, palmer, gray palmer, O tell unto me,
What news bring you home from the Holy Countrie?
And how goes the warfare by Galilee's strand?
And how fare our nobles, the flower of the land?"

"O well goes the warfare by Galilee's wave,
For Gilead, and Nablous, and Ramah we have ;
And well fare our nobles by Mount Lebanon,
For the heathen have lost, and the Christians have
won."

"And, palmer, good palmer, by Galilee's wave, O saw ye Count Albert, the gentle and brave? When the crescent went back, and the red-cross rush'd on,

O saw ye him foremost on Mount Lebanon ?"

"O lady, fair lady, the tree green it grows; O lady, fair lady, the stream pure it flows:

Small thought had Count Albert on fair Rosalie, Small thought on his faith, or his knighthood had he; A heathenish damsel his light heart had won, The Soldan's fair daughter of Mount Lebanon. "O Christian, brave Christian, my love wouldst thou be,

Three things must thou do ere I hearken to thee; Our laws and our worship on thee shalt thou take; And this thou shalt first do for Zulema's sake.

"And, next, in the cavern, where burns evermore The mystical flame which the Kurdmans adore, Alone, and in silence, three nights shalt thou wake; And this thou shalt next do for Zulema's sake.

"And, last, thou shalt aid us with counsel and To drive the Frank robber from Palestine's land; hand, For my lord and my love then Count Albert I'll take, When all this is accomplish'd for Zulema's sake."

He has thrown by his helmet and cross-handled sword,

Renouncing his knighthood, denying his Lord; He has ta'en the green caftan, and turban put on, For the love of the maiden of fair Lebanon.

Which fifty steel gates and steel portals surround, And in the dread cavern, deep, deep under ground, He has watch'd until daybreak, but sight saw he none,

Save the flame burning bright on its altar of stone.

Amazed was the princess, the Soldan amazed, Sore murmur'd the priests as on Albert they gazed;

They search'd all his garments, and, under his weeds,

They found, and took from him, his rosary beads.

Again in the cavern, deep, deep under ground,
He watch'd the lone night, while the winds whis-

tled round;

They search'd Albert's body, and, lo! on his breast

high;

But lady, fair lady, all blossoms to die.

"The green boughs they wither, the thunderbolt falls,

It leaves of your castle but levin-scorch'd walls; The pure stream runs muddy; the gay hope is gone; Count Albert is prisoner on Mount Lebanon."

need;

gone,

Say, heard ye naught of lowland war
Against Clan-Alpine raised by Mar ?"
"No, by my word; of bands prepared
To guard king James's sports I heard ;
Nor doubt I aught, but, when they hear
This muster of the mountaineer,
Their pennons will abroad be flung,
Which else in Doune had peaceful hung."
"Free be they flung!-for we were loth
Their silken folds should feast the moth.
Free be they flung! as free shall wave
Clan-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 show
Vich-Alpine's vow'd and mortal foe?"
"Warrior, but yestermorn I knew
Naught of thy chieftain, Roderick Dhu,
Save as an outlaw'd desperate man,
The chief of a rebellious clan,
Who, in the regent's court and sight,
With ruffian dagger stabb'd a knight:
Yet this alone might from his part
Sever each true and loyal heart."

VI.

Wrothful at such arraignment foul,
Dark lour'd the clansman's sable scowl.
A space he paused, then sternly said,
"And heard'st thou why he drew his blade?
Heard'st thou that shameful word and blow
Brought Roderick's vengeance on his foe?
What reck'd the chieftain if he stood
On 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'd in Stirling tower,
Was stranger to respect and power.
But then, thy chieftain's robber life!
Winning mean prey by causeless strife,
Wrenching from ruin'd lowland swain
His herds and harvest rear'd in vain-
Methinks a soul like thine should scorn
The spoils from such foul foray borne."

VII.

The 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 reft the land.
Where dwell we now? See, rudely swell
Crag 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,
Think'st 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 plain
The Saxon rears one shock of grain;
While, of ten thousand herds, there strays
But 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 fold
Is aught but retribution true?

Seek other cause 'gainst Roderick Dhu.'

VIII.

Answer'd Fitz-James,-" And, if I sought,
Think'st 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, a highland maid;
Free hadst thou been to come and go;
But secret path marks secret foe.
Nor yet, for this, e'en as a spy,

Hadst thou, unheard, been doom'd to die,
Save to fulfil an augury."

"Well, let it pass; nor will I now
Fresh cause of enmity avow,

To chafe thy mood and cloud thy brow
Enough, I am by promise tied
To match me with this man of pride:
Twice have I sought Clan-Alpine's glen
In 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 th' appointed hour
As I, until before me stand

This 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, arose
Bonnets, 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 wand
Are bristling into axe and brand,
And every tuft of broom gives life
To plaided warrior arm'd for strife.
That whistle garrison'd the glen
At once with full five hundred men,

As if the yawning hill to heaven

A subterranean host had given.
Watching their leader's beck and will,
All silent there they stood, and still;
Like the loose crags whose threatening mass
Lay tottering o'er the hollow pass,
As if an infant's touch could urge
Their headlong passage down the verge,
With step and weapon forward flung,
Upon the mountain side they hung.
The mountaineer cast glance of pride
Along Benledi's living side,

Then fix'd his eye and sable brow
Full on Fitz-James-"How say'st thou now
These are Clan-Alpine's warriors true;
And, Saxon-I am Roderick Dhu!"

X.

Fitz-James was brave:-though to his heart
The 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 fly
From its firm base as soon as I."
Sir Roderick mark'd-and in his eyes
Respect was mingled with surprise,
And the stern joy which warriors feel
In foeman 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 earth
Had swallow'd up her warlike birth.
The wind's last breath had toss'd in air
Pennon, and plaid, and plumage fair;-
The next but swept a lone hill side,
Where heath and fern were waving wide;
The sun's last glance was glinted back
From spear and glaive, from targe and jack ;-
The next, all unreflected, shone

On bracken green, and cold gray stone.

XI.

Fitz-James look'd round-yet scarce believed
The witness that his sight received;
Such apparition well might seem
Delusion 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 word
As far as Coilantogle ford:

Nor would I call a clansman's brand
For aid against one valiant hand,
Though on our strife lay every vale
Rent by the Saxon from the Gael.
So move we on; I only meant
To show the reed on which you leant,
Deeming this path you might pursue
Without a pass from Roderick Dhu."

They moved :-I said Fitz-James was brave
As ever knight that belted glaive;
Yet dare not say, that now his blood
Kept on its wont and temper'd flood,
As, following Roderick's stride, he drew
That seeming lonesome pathway through,
Which yet, by fearful proof, was rife
With lances, that, to take his life,
Waited but signal from a guide

So late dishonour'd and defied.
Ever, by stealth, his eye sought round
The 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 behind
The pass was left; for then they wind
Along 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.

XII.

The chief in silence strode before,

And reach'd that torrent's sounding shore,
Which, daughter of three mighty lakes,
From Vennachar in silver breaks,

Sweeps through the plain, and ceaseless mines
On Bochastle the mouldering lines,
Where Rome, the empress of the world,
Of yore her eagle wings unfurl'd.

And here his course the chieftain stay'd,
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 vantageless I stand,
Arm'd, like thyself, with single brand;
For this is Coilantogle ford,

And thou must keep thee with thy sword."

XIII.

The Saxon paused:-"I ne'er delay'd,
When 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 preserved,
A better meed have well deserved:
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 bred
Between 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.