Well knows he then the gathering cloud Shall all his noontide glories shroud, Like smile of morn before the rain, Appeared the minstrel's mounting strain. Who sees not coming rains and wind, Nor notes the blink before the shower, Sees round him pour the sudden rain- Time was it when he 'gan to tell Of spectre stern, and barge of hell; Loud, and more loud, the minstrel sung; Loud, and more loud, the chords he rung; Wild grew his looks, for well he knew The scene was dread, the tale was true; And ere Loch-Ketturine's wave was won, Faultered his voice, his breath was done. He raised his brown hand to his brow, To veil his eye's enraptured glow; Flung back his locks of silver gray, The Bard of Clyde stepped next in view; A captain in the wars was he, Earl Walter. THE TWELFTH BARD'S SONG. "What makes Earl Walter pace the wood In the wan light of the moon? Why altered is Earl Walter's mood So strangely, and so soon?" "It is his lot to fight a knight Whom man could never tame, To-morrow, in his Sovereign's sight, Or bear perpetual shame." "Go warn the Clyde, go warn the Ayr, Go warn them suddenly, If none will fight for Earl Walter, "Now hold your tongue, my daughter dear, Now hold your tongue for shame! For never shall my son Walter Disgrace his father's name. "Shall ladies tell, and minstrels sing, How lord of Scottish blood, By proxy fought before his king? No, never! by the rood!" Earl Walter rose ere it was day, For battle made him boun'; Earl Walter mounted his bonny gray, Old Hamilton from the tower came down, "Go saddle a steed for me, And I'll away to Stirling town, "Mine eye is dim, my locks are gray, My cheek is furred and wan; Ah, me! but I have seen the day I feared not single man! "Bring me my steed," said Hamilton; "Darcie his vaunts may rue; Whoever slays my only son Must fight the father too. "Whoever fights my noble son May foin the best he can; Whoever braves Wat Hamilton, Shall know he braves a man.". And there was riding in belt and brand, For all the lords of fair Scotland And squire, and groom, and baron bold, Trooping in thousands came, And many a hind, and warrior old, And many a lovely dame. When good Earl Walter rode the ring, Upon his mettled gray, There was none so ready as our good king To bid that Earl good day. |