Vain as the leaf upon the stream,
And fickle as a changeful dream;
Fantastic as a woman's mood,
And fierce as Frenzy's fevered blood.
Thou many-headed monster-thing,
Oh, who would wish to be thy king!-
31 But soft! what messenger of speed
Spurs hitherward his panting steed?
guess his cognizance afar-
What from our cousin, John of Mar?'
'He prays, my liege, your sports keep
bound
Within the safe and guarded ground:
For some foul purpose yet unknown,—
Most sure for evil to the throne,-
The outlawed Chieftain, Roderick Dhu,
Has summoned his rebellious crew;
'Tis said, in James of Bothwell's aid
These loose banditti stand arrayed.
The Earl of Mar, this morn, from Doune,
To break their muster marched, and soon
Your grace will hear of battle fought;
But earnestly the Earl besought,
Till for such danger he provide,
With scanty train you will not ride.'-
32 Thou warn'st me I have done amiss,-
I should have earlier looked to this:
I lost it in this bustling day.
-Retrace with speed thy former way;
Spare not for spoiling of thy steed,
The best of mine shall be thy meed.
Say to our faithful Lord of Mar,
We do forbid the intended war;
Roderick, this morn, in single fight,
Was made our prisoner by a knight,
And Douglas hath himself and cause
Submitted to our kingdom's laws.
The tidings of their leaders lost
Will soon dissolve the mountain host,
Nor would we that the vulgar feel,
For their Chief's crimes, avenging steel.
Bear Mar our message, Braco, fly.'-
He turned his steed,- My liege, I hie,
Yet, ere I cross this lily lawn,
I fear the broadswords will be drawn.'--
The turf the flying courser spurned,
And to his towers the King returned.
33 Ill with King James's mood that day,
Suited gay feast and minstrel lay;
Soon were dismissed the courtly throng,
And soon cut short the festal song.
Nor less upon the saddened town
The evening sunk in sorrow down;
The burghers spoke of civil jar,
Of rumoured feuds and mountain war,
Of Moray, Mar, and Roderick Dhu,
All up in arms:-the Douglas too,
They mourned him pent within the hold.
'Where stout Earl William was of old,''
And there his word the speaker stayed,
And finger on his lip he laid,
Or pointed to his dagger blade.
'Stabbed by James II. in Stirling Castle.
But jaded horsemen, from the west,
At evening to the castle pressed;
And busy talkers said they bore
Tidings of fight on Katrine's shore;
At noon the deadly fray begun,
And lasted till the set of sun.
Thus giddy rumour shook the town,
Till closed the Night her pennons brown.
1 THE sun, awakening, through the smoky air
Of the dark city casts a sullen glance,
Rousing each caitiff to his task of care,
Of sinful man the sad inheritance :
Summoning revellers from the lagging dance,
Scaring the prowling robber to his den;
Gilding on battled tower the warder's lance,
And warning student pale to leave his pen,
And yield his drowsy eyes to the kind nurse of men
What various scenes, and, oh! what scenes of woe, Are witnessed by that red and struggling beam! The fevered patient, from his pallet low,
Through crowded hospital beholds it stream; The ruined maiden trembles at its gleam,
The debtor wakes to thoughts of gyve and jail, The lovelorn wretch starts from tormenting dream; The wakeful mother, by the glimmering pale, Trims her sick infant's couch, and soothes his feeble wail.
2 At dawn the towers of Stirling rang,
With soldier-step and weapon-clang,
While drums, with rolling note, foretell
Relief to weary sentinel.
Through narrow loop and casement barr'd,
The sunbeams sought the Court of Guard,
And, struggling with the smoky air,
Deadened the torches' yellow glare.
In comfortless alliance shone
The lights through arch of blackened stone,
And showed wild shapes in garb of war,
Faces deformed with beard and scar,
All haggard from the midnight watch,
And fevered with the stern debauch;
For the oak table's massive board,
Flooded with wine, with fragments stored,
And beakers drained, and cups o'erthrown,
Showed in what sport the night had flown.
Some, weary, snored on floor and bench;
Some laboured still their thirst to quench;
Some, chilled with watching, spread their
hands
O'er the huge chimney's dying brands,
While round them, or beside them flung,
At every step their harness rung.
3 These drew not for their fields the sword, Like tenants of a feudal lord,
Nor owned the patriarchal claim
Of chieftain in their leader's name;
Adventurers they, from far who roved,
To live by battle which they loved.
There the Italian's clouded face,
The swarthy Spaniard's there you trace;
The mountain-loving Switzer there
More freely breathed in mountain-air ;
The Fleming there despised the soil,
That paid so ill the labourer's toil;
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