XXX.
Died on the harp the closing hymn,-- Unmoved in attitude and limb, As listening still, Clan-Alpine's lord Stood leaning on his heavy sword, Until the page with humble sign Twice pointed to the sun's decline. Then while his plaid he round him cast, 'It is the last time--'tis the last,' He muttered thrice,--'the last time e'er That angel-voice shall Roderick hear'' It was a goading thought,--his stride Hied hastier down the mountain-side; Sullen he flung him in the boat An instant 'cross the lake it shot. They landed in that silvery bay, And eastward held their hasty way Till, with the latest beams of light, The band arrived on Lanrick height' Where mustered in the vale below Clan-Alpine's men in martial show.
XXXI.
A various scene the clansmen made: Some sat, some stood, some slowly strayed: But most, with mantles folded round, Were couched to rest upon the ground, Scarce to be known by curious eye From the deep heather where they lie, So well was matched the tartan screen With heath-bell dark and brackens green; Unless where, here and there, a blade Or lance's point a glimmer made, Like glow-worm twinkling through the shade. But when, advancing through the gloom, They saw the Chieftain's eagle plume, Their shout of welcome, shrill and wide, Shook the steep mountain's steady side. Thrice it arose, and lake and fell Three times returned the martial yell; It died upon Bochastle's plain, And Silence claimed her evening reign.
CANTO FOURTH.
The Prophecy.
I.
The rose is fairest when 't is budding new, And hope is brightest when it dawns from fears; The rose is sweetest washed with morning dew And love is loveliest when embalmed in tears. O wilding rose, whom fancy thus endears, I bid your blossoms in my bonnet wave, Emblem of hope and love through future years!' Thus spoke young Norman, heir of Armandave, What time the sun arose on Vennachar's broad wave.
II.
Such fond conceit, half said, half sung, Love prompted to the bridegroom's tongue. All while he stripped the wild-rose spray, His axe and bow beside him lay, For on a pass 'twixt lake and wood A wakeful sentinel he stood. Hark!--on the rock a footstep rung, And instant to his arms he sprung. 'Stand, or thou diest!--What, Malise?--soon Art thou returned from Braes of Doune. By thy keen step and glance I know, Thou bring'st us tidings of the foe.'-- For while the Fiery Cross tried on, On distant scout had Malise gone.-- 'Where sleeps the Chief?' the henchman said. 'Apart, in yonder misty glade; To his lone couch I'll be your guide.'-- Then called a slumberer by his side, And stirred him with his slackened bow,-- 'Up, up, Glentarkin! rouse thee, ho! We seek the Chieftain; on the track Keep eagle watch till I come back.'
III.
Together up the pass they sped: 'What of the foeman?' Norman said.-- 'Varying reports from near and far; This certain,--that a band of war Has for two days been ready boune, At prompt command to march from Doune; King James the while, with princely powers, Holds revelry in Stirling towers. Soon will this dark and gathering cloud Speak on our glens in thunder loud. Inured to bide such bitter bout, The warrior's plaid may bear it out; But, Norman, how wilt thou provide A shelter for thy bonny bride?''-- 'What! know ye not that Roderick's care To the lone isle hath caused repair Each maid and matron of the clan, And every child and aged man Unfit for arms; and given his charge, Nor skiff nor shallop, boat nor barge, Upon these lakes shall float at large, But all beside the islet moor, That such dear pledge may rest secure?'--
IV.
''T is well advised,--the Chieftain's plan Bespeaks the father of his clan. But wherefore sleeps Sir Roderick Dhu Apart from all his followers true?' 'It is because last evening-tide Brian an augury hath tried, Of that dread kind which must not be Unless in dread extremity, The Taghairm called; by which, afar, Our sires foresaw the events of war. Duncraggan's milk-white bull they slew,'--
Malise.
'Ah! well the gallant brute I knew! The choicest of the prey we had When swept our merrymen Gallangad. His hide was snow, his horns were dark, His red eye glowed like fiery spark; So fierce, so tameless, and so fleet, Sore did he cumber our retreat, And kept our stoutest kerns in awe, Even at the pass of Beal 'maha. But steep and flinty was the road, And sharp the hurrying pikeman's goad, And when we came to Dennan's Row A child might scathless stroke his brow.'
V.
Norman.
'That bull was slain; his reeking hide They stretched the cataract beside, Whose waters their wild tumult toss Adown the black and craggy boss Of that huge cliff whose ample verge Tradition calls the Hero's Targe. Couched on a shelf beneath its brink, Close where the thundering torrents sink, Rocking beneath their headlong sway, And drizzled by the ceaseless spray, Midst groan of rock and roar of stream, The wizard waits prophetic dream. Nor distant rests the Chief;--but hush! See, gliding slow through mist and bush, The hermit gains yon rock, and stands To gaze upon our slumbering bands. Seems he not, Malise, dike a ghost, That hovers o'er a slaughtered host? Or raven on the blasted oak, That, watching while the deer is broke, His morsel claims with sullen croak?'
Malise.
'Peace! peace! to other than to me Thy words were evil augury; But still I hold Sir Roderick's blade Clan-Alpine's omen and her aid, Not aught that, gleaned from heaven or hell, Yon fiend-begotten Monk can tell. The Chieftain joins him, see--and now Together they descend the brow.'
VI.
And, as they came, with Alpine's Lord The Hermit Monk held solemn word:--. 'Roderick! it is a fearful strife, For man endowed with mortal life Whose shroud of sentient clay can still Feel feverish pang and fainting chill, Whose eye can stare in stony trance Whose hair can rouse like warrior's lance, 'Tis hard for such to view, unfurled, The curtain of the future world. Yet, witness every quaking limb, My sunken pulse, mine eyeballs dim, My soul with harrowing anguish torn, This for my Chieftain have I borne!-- The shapes that sought my fearful couch A human tongue may ne'er avouch; No mortal man--save he, who, bred Between the living and the dead, Is gifted beyond nature's law Had e'er survived to say he saw. At length the fateful answer came In characters of living flame! Not spoke in word, nor blazed in scroll, But borne and branded on my soul:-- WHICH SPILLS THE FOREMOST FOEMAN'S LIFE, THAT PARTY CONQUERS IN THE STRIFE.'
VII.
'Thanks, Brian, for thy zeal and care! Good is thine augury, and fair. Clan-Alpine ne'er in battle stood But first our broadswords tasted blood. A surer victim still I know, Self-offered to the auspicious blow: A spy has sought my land this morn,-- No eve shall witness his return! My followers guard each pass's mouth, To east, to westward, and to south; Red Murdoch, bribed to be his guide, Has charge to lead his steps aside, Till in deep path or dingle brown He light on those shall bring him clown. But see, who comes his news to show! Malise! what tidings of the foe?'
VIII.
'At Doune, o'er many a spear and glaive Two Barons proud their banners wave. I saw the Moray's silver star, And marked the sable pale of Mar.' 'By Alpine's soul, high tidings those! I love to hear of worthy foes. When move they on?' 'To-morrow's noon Will see them here for battle boune.' 'Then shall it see a meeting stern! But, for the place,--say, couldst thou learn Nought of the friendly clans of Earn? Strengthened by them, we well might bide The battle on Benledi's side. Thou couldst not?--well! Clan-Alpine's men Shall man the Trosachs' shaggy glen; Within Loch Katrine's gorge we'll fight, All in our maids' and matrons' sight, Each for his hearth and household fire, Father for child, and son for sire Lover for maid beloved!--But why Is it the breeze affects mine eye? Or dost thou come, ill-omened tear! A messenger of doubt or fear? No! sooner may the Saxon lance Unfix Benledi from his stance, Than doubt or terror can pierce through The unyielding heart of Roderick Dhu! 'tis stubborn as his trusty targe. Each to his post!--all know their charge.' The pibroch sounds, the bands advance, The broadswords gleam, the banners dance' Obedient to the Chieftain's glance.-- I turn me from the martial roar And seek Coir-Uriskin once more.