Sidor som bilder
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Yet not less purely felt the flame;-
O need I tell that passion's name!
Impatient of the silent horn,
Now on the gale her voice was borne:-
“ Father!" she cried; the rocks around
Loved to prolong the gentle sound.
A while she paused, no answer came,
“ Malcolm, was thine the blast ?" the name
Less resolutely uttered fell,
The echoes could not catch the swell.
" A stranger, I,” the huntsman said,
Advancing from the hazel shade.
The maid alarmed, with hasty car,
Pushed her light shallop from the shore;
And when a space was gained between,
Closer she drew her bosom's screen;
So forth the startled Swan would swing,
So turn to prune her ruffled wing;
Then safe, though fluttered and amazed,
She paused, and on the stranger gazed:
Not his the form, nor his the eye,
That youthful maidens wont to fly.

On his bold visage, middle age
Had slightly pressed its signet sage,
Yet had not quenched the open truth,
And fiery vehemence of youth;
Forward and frolic glee was there,
The will to do, the soul to dare,
The sparkling glance, soon blown to fire;
of hasty love, or headlong ire.
His limbs were cast in manly mould,
For hardy sports, or contest bold;
And though in peaceful garb arrayed,
And weaponless, except his blade.
His stately mien as well implied
A high-born heart, a martial pride,
As if a Baron's crest he wore,
And sheathed in armor trod the shore.
Slighting the petty need he showed,
He told of his benighted road;
His ready speech flowed fair and free,
In phrase of gentlest courtesy,
Yet seemed that tone, and gesture bland,
Less used to sue than to command.

A while the maid the stranger eyed,
And, reassured, at last replied,
That highland halls were open still
To wildered wanderers of the hill.

• Nor think you unexpected come
To yon lone isle, our desert home:
Before the heath had lost the dew,
This morn a couch was pulled for you;
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, my 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.”
o I well believe,” the maid replied,
As her light skiff approached the side,
o 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 tassel'd horn so gaily gilt,
That falchion's crooked blade and hilt,
That cap with heron's plumage trim,
And yon two hounds so dark and grim,
He bade that all should ready be,
To 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.”

The stranger smiled—“Since to your home,
A destined errant knight I come,
Announced by prophet sooth and old,
Doomed, doubtless, for achievement bold,
I'll lightly front each high emprize,
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 ere before,
His noble hand had grasped an oar:
Yet with main strength his strokes he drew,
And o'er the lake the shallop flew;
With heads erect, and whimpering cry,
The hounds behind their passage ply,
Nor frequent does the bright oar break
The darkening mirror of the lake,
Until the rocky isle they reach,
And moor their shallop on the beach.
The stranger viewed the shore around;
'Twas all so close with copse-wood bound,
Nor track nor path-way might declare

That human foot frequented there,
Until the mountain-maiden showed
A clambering unsuspected road,
That winded through the tangled screen,
And opened on a narrow green,
Where weeping birch and willow round
With their long fibres swept the ground;
Here, for retreat in dangerous hour,
Some chief had framed a rustic bower.

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 over-head,
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 staid,
And gaily to the stranger said,

66 On heaven and on thy lady call,
And enter the enchanted hall.”

“My hope, my heaven, my trust must be,
My gentle guide, in following thee."

QUARREL BETWEEN RODERICK DHU AND

FITZ-JAMES. 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, Benumbed his drenched limbs with cold. In dread, in danger, and alone, Famished and chilled, through ways unknown; Tangled and steep, he journeyed on; Till, as a rock's huge point he turned, A watch-fire close before him burned.

Beside its embers red and clear, Basked, in his plaid, a mountaineer; And up he sprung with sword in hand, 6. Thy name and purpose ! Saxon, stand!" "A stranger."-"What dost thou require?" 6. Rest and a guide, and food and fire. My life's beset, my path is lost, The gale has chilled my limbs with frost.” « Art thou a friend to Roderick?"_"No." - Thou darest 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 or slain?"

Thus treacherous scouts, yet sure they lie, Who say thou camest a secret spy!” 6. 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 bea’rst 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 addressed,
“Stranger, I am to Roderick Dhu,
A clansman born, a kinsman true;
Each word against his honor 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, nor for clan, nor kindred's cause,
Will I depart from honor's laws:
To 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 gathered 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.

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