XXVIII.

To Allan's eyes was harder task
The weary watch their safeties ask.
He trimmed the fire and gave to shine
With bickering light the splintered pine;
Then gazed awhile where silent laid
Their hosts were shrouded by the plaid.
But little fear waked in his mind,
For he was bred of martial kind,
And, if to manhood he arrive,
May match the boldest knight alive.
Then thought he of his mother's tower,
His little sister's greenwood bower,
How there the Easter-gambols pass,
And of Dan Joseph's lengthened mass.
But still before his weary eye
In rays prolonged the blazes die-
Again he roused him- on the lake
Looked forth where now the twilight-flake
Of pale cold dawn began to wake.
On Coolin's cliffs the mist lay furled,
The morning breeze the lake had curled,
The short dark waves, heaved to the land,
With ceaseless plash kissed cliff or sand;
It was a slumbrous sound - he turned
To tales at which his youth had burned,
Of pilgrim's path by demon crossed,
Of sprightly elf or yelling ghost,
Of the wild witch's baneful cot,
And mermaid's alabaster grot,

Who bathes her limbs in sunless well
Deep in Strathaird's enchanted cell.
Thither in fancy rapt he flies,
And on his sight the vaults arise;
That hut's dark walls he sees no more,
His foot is on the marble floor,
And o'er his head the dazzling spars
Gleam like a firmament of stars!
Hark! hears he not the sea-nymph speak
Her anger in that thrilling shriek!
No! all too late, with Allan's dream
Mingled the captive's warning scream.
As from the ground he strives to start,
A ruffian's dagger finds his heart!
Upwards he casts his dizzy eyes-
Murmurs his master's name - and dies!

XXIX.

Not so awoke the king! his hand
Snatched from the flame a knotted brand,
The nearest weapon of his wrath;
With this he crossed the murderer's path
And venged young Allan well!
The spattered brain and bubbling blood
Hissed on the half-extinguished wood,
The miscreant gasped and fell!
Nor rose in peace the Island Lord;
One caitiff died upon his sword,
And one beneath his grasp lies prone

In mortal grapple overthrown.
But while Lord Ronald's dagger drank
The life-blood from his panting flank,
The father-ruffian of the band
Behind him rears a coward hand!

O for a moment's aid,

Till Bruce, who deals no double blow, Dash to the earth another foe,

Above his comrade laid!And it is gained-the captive sprung On the raised arm and closely clung,

And, ere he shook him loose, The mastered felon pressed the ground, And gasped beneath a mortal wound, While o'er him stands the Bruce.

Then resting on his bloody blade,
The valiant Bruce to Ronald said,
'Now shame upon us both! - that boy
Lifts his mute face to heaven
And clasps his hands, to testify
His gratitude to God on high

For strange deliverance given.
His speechless gesture thanks hath paid,
Which our free tongues have left unsaid!'
He raised the youth with kindly word,
But marked him shudder at the sword:
He cleansed it from its hue of death,
And plunged the weapon in its sheath.
'Alas, poor child! unfitting part
Fate doomed when with so soft a heart
And form so slight as thine
She made thee first a pirate's slave,
Then in his stead a patron gave

Of wayward lot like mine;

A landless prince, whose wandering life
Is but one scene of blood and strife

11.

Through such wild scenes the champio. passed,

When bold halloo and bugle-blast
Upon the breeze came loud and fast.
There,' said the Bruce, 'rung Edward's
horn!

What can have caused such brief return?
And see, brave Ronald, - see him dart
O'er stock and stone like hunted hart,
Precipitate, as is the use,

In war or sport, of Edward Bruce.
He marks us, and his eager cry
Will tell his news ere he be nigh.'

III.

Loud Edward shouts, 'What make ye here, Warring upon the mountain-deer,

When Scotland wants her king?

A bark from Lennox crossed our track,
With her in speed I hurried back,
These joyful news to bring

The Stuart stirs in Teviotdale,
And Douglas wakes his native vale;

Thy storm-tossed fleet hath won its way
With little loss to Brodick-Bay,
And Lennox with a gallant band
Waits but thy coming and command
To waft them o'er to Carrick strand.

There are blithe news!- but mark the

close!

Edward, the deadliest of our foes,
As with his host he northward passed,
Hath on the borders breathed his last.'

IV.

-

Still stood the Bruce - his steady cheek Was little wont his joy to speak,

But then his color rose: 'Now, Scotland! shortly shalt thou see, With God's high will, thy children free

And vengeance on thy foes! Yet to no sense of selfish wrongs, Bear witness with me, Heaven, belongs My joy o'er Edward's bier; I took my knighthood at his hand, And lordship held of him and land, And well may vouch it here, That, blot the story from his page Of Scotland ruined in his rage, You read a monarch brave and sage

And to his people dear.' —

'Let London's burghers mourn her lord
And Croydon monks his praise record,'
The eager Edward said;
Eternal as his own, my hate
Surmounts the bounds of mortal fate

And dies not with the dead!
Such hate was his on Solway's strand

When vengeance clenched his palsied hand,
That pointed yet to Scotland's land,
As his last accents prayed
Disgrace and curse upon his heir
If he one Scottish head should spare
Till stretched upon the bloody lair

Each rebel corpse was laid!

Such hate was his when his last breath
Renounced the peaceful house of death,
And bade his bones to Scotland's coast
Be borne by his remorseless host,
As if his dead and stony eye
Could still enjoy her misery!
Such hate was his — dark, deadly, long;
Mine as enduring, deep, and strong!'
-

V.

'Let women, Edward, war with words,
With curses monks, but men with swords:
Nor doubt of living foes to sate
Deepest revenge and deadliest hate.
Now to the sea! Behold the beach,
And see the galley's pendants stretch
Their fluttering length down favoring gale!
Aboard, aboard! and hoist the sail.
Hold we our way for Arran first,
Where meet in arms our friends dispersed;
Lennox the loyal, De la Haye,
And Boyd the bold in battle fray.

I long the hardy band to head,

And see once more my standard spread. ·
Does noble Ronald share our course,
Or stay to raise his island force?'
'Come weal, come woe, by Bruce's side,'
Replied the chief, will Ronald bide.
And since two galleys yonder ride,
Be mine, so please my liege, dismissed
To wake to arms the clans of Uist,
And all who hear the Minche's roar
On the Long Island's lonely shore.
The nearer Isles with slight delay
Ourselves may summon in our way;
And soon on Arran's shore shall meet
With Torquil's aid a gallant fleet,
If aught avails their chieftain's hest
Among the islesmen of the west.'

VI.

Thus was their venturous council said.
But, ere their sails the galleys spread,
Coriskin dark and Coolin high
Echoed the dirge's doleful cry.
Along that sable lake passed slow-
Fit scene for such a sight of woe -
The sorrowing islesmen as they bore
The murdered Allan to the shore.
At every pause with dismal shout
Their coronach of grief rung out,
And ever when they moved again
The pipes resumed their clamorous strain,

VII.

Merrily, merrily bounds the bark,
She bounds before the gale,
The mountain breeze from Ben-na-darch
Is joyous in her sail!

With fluttering sound like laughter hoarse
The cords and canvas strain,
The waves, divided by her force,
In rippling eddies chased her course,
As if they laughed again.

Not down the breeze more blithely flew,
Skimming the wave, the light sea-mew
Than the gay galley bore

Her course upon that favoring wind,
And Coolin's crest has sunk behind

And Slapin's caverned shore. 'T was then that warlike signals wake Dunscaith's dark towers and Eisord's lake, And soon from Cavilgarrigh's head Thick wreaths of eddying smoke were spread;

A summons these of war and wrath
To the brave clans of Sleat and Strath,
And ready at the sight

Each warrior to his weapon sprung
And targe upon his shoulder flung,
Impatient for the fight.

Mac-Kinnon's chief, in warfare gray,
Had charge to muster their array
And guide their barks to Brodick-Bay.

VIII.

Signal of Ronald's high command,
A beacon gleamed o'er sea and land
From Canna's tower, that, steep and gray,
Like falcon-nest o'erhangs the bay.
Seek not the giddy crag to climb
To view the turret scathed by time;
It is a task of doubt and fear
To aught but goat or mountain-deer.
But rest thee on the silver beach,
And let the aged herdsman teach
His tale of former day;

His cur's wild clamor he shall chide,
And for thy seat by ocean's side

His varied plaid display;

Then tell how with their chieftain came
In ancient times a foreign dame

To yonder turret gray.
Stern was her lord's suspicious mind
Who in so rude a jail confined

So soft and fair a thrall!
And oft when moon on ocean slept

That lovely lady sate and wept
Upon the castle-wall,

And turned her eye to southern climes,
And thought perchance of happier times,
And touched her lute by fits, and sung
Wild ditties in her native tongue.
And still, when on the cliff and bay
Placid and pale the moonbeams play
And every breeze is mute
Upon the lone Hebridean's ear

Steals a strange pleasure mixed with fear,
While from that cliff he seems to hear

The murmur of a lute

And sounds as of a captive lone

That mourns her woes in tongue unknown.

Strange is the tale - but all too long
Already hath it staid the song

Yet who may pass them by,
That crag and tower in ruins gray,
Nor to their hapless tenant pay
The tribute of a sigh?

IX.

Merrily, merrily bounds the bark
O'er the broad ocean driven,
Her path by Ronin's mountains dark
The steersman's hand hath given.
And Ronin's mountains dark have sent
Their hunters to the shore,
And each his ashen bow unbent,

And gave his pastime o'er,
And at the Island Lord's command
For hunting spear took warrior's brand.
On Scooreigg next a warning light
Summoned her warriors to the fight;
A numerous race ere stern MacLeod
O'er their bleak shores in vengeance strode,
When all in vain the ocean-cave

Its refuge to his victims gave.
The chief, relentless in his wrath,
With blazing heath blockades the path;
In dense and stifling volumes rolled,
The vapor filled the caverned hold!
The warrior-threat, the infant's plain,
The mother's screams, were heard in vain;
The vengeful chief maintains his fires
Till in the vault a tribe expires!

The bones which strew that cavern's gloom
Too well attest their dismal doom.

X.

Merrily, merrily goes the bark

On a breeze from the northward free, So shoots through the morning sky the lark,

Or the swan through the summer sea. The shores of Mull on the eastward lay, And Ulva dark and Colonsay,

And all the group of islets gay

That guard famed Staffa round.
Then all unknown its columns rose
Where dark and undisturbed repose
The cormorant had found,
And the shy seal had quiet home
And weltered in that wondrous dome
Where, as to shame the temples decked
By skill of earthly architect,
Nature herself, it seemed, would raise
A minster to her Maker's praise!
Not for a meaner use ascend
Her columns or her arches bend;
Nor of a theme less solemn tells
That mighty surge that ebbs and swells,
And still, between each awful pause,
From the high vault an answer draws
In varied tone prolonged and high
That mocks the organ's melody.
Nor doth its entrance front in vain
To old Iona's holy fane,

That Nature's voice might seem to say,
'Well hast thou done, frail child of clay!
Thy humble powers that stately shrine
Tasked high and hard - but witness

mine!'

XI.

Merrily, merrily goes the bark,

Before the gale she bounds;

So darts the dolphin from the shark,
Or the deer before the hounds.
They left Loch-Tua on their lee,

And they wakened the men of the wild
Tiree,

And the chief of the sandy Coll; They paused not at Columba's isle, Though pealed the bells from the holy pile With long and measured toll; No time for matin or for mass,

And the sounds of the holy summons pass
Away in the billows' roll.

Lochbuie's fierce and warlike lord
Their signal saw and grasped his sword,
And verdant Islay called her host,
And the clans of Jura's rugged coast

Lord Ronald's call obey,

And Scarba's isle, whose tortured shore
Still rings to Corrievreken's roar,

And lonely Colonsay;

Scenes sung by him who sings no more! His bright and brief career is o'er,

And mute his tuneful strains; Quenched is his lamp of varied lore That loved the light of song to pour; A distant and a deadly shore

Has LEYDEN'S cold remains !

XII.

Ever the breeze blows merrily,
But the galley ploughs no more the sea.