XIV. BALLAD (Continued)

'Tis merry, 'tis merry, in good greenwood, Though the birds have stilled their singing;

The evening blaze doth Alice raise,
And Richard is fagots bringing.

Up Urgan starts, that hideous dwarf,
Before Lord Richard stands,
And, as he crossed and blessed himself,
"I fear not sign," quoth the grisly elf,
"That is made with bloody hands."

But out then spoke she, Alice Brand,
That woman void of fear,
"And if there's blood upon his hand,
"Tis but the blood of deer."

320

325

314

To the joyless Elfin bower.

330. kindly, kindred.

355

I'll guard thee like a tender flower""O hush, Sir Knight! 'twere female art

416

385

By promise bound, my former guide
Met me betimes this morning tide,
And marshaled, over bank and bourne,
The happy path of my return."
"The happy path!-what! said he naught
Of war, of battle to be fought,

Of guarded pass?" "No, by my faith!
Nor saw I aught could augur scathe."
"O haste thee, Allan, to the kern,
-Yonder his tartans I discern;
Learn thou his purpose, and conjure
That he will guide the stranger sure!
What prompted thee, unhappy man?
The meanest serf in Roderick's clan
Had not been bribed by love or fear,
Unknown to him to guide thee here."

390

395

400

To say I do not read thy heart;
Too much, before, my selfish ear

Was idly soothed my praise to hear.
That fatal bait hath lured thee back,
In deathful hour, o'er dangerous track;
And how, O how, can I atone
The wreck my vanity brought on!—
One way remains-I'll tell him all-
Yes! struggling bosom, forth it shall!
Thou, whose light folly bears the blame,
Buy thine own pardon with thy shame!
But first-my father is a man
Outlawed and exiled, under ban;
The price of blood is on his head,
With me 'twere infamy to wed.

421

427

430

Still wouldst thou speak?-then hear the

As death had sealed her Malcolm's doom,
And she sat sorrowing on his tomb.
Hope vanished from Fitz-James's eye,

487. train, lure, enticement.

"Hear, lady, yet a parting word!

It chanced in fight that my poor sword
Preserved the life of Scotland's lord.
This ring the grateful Monarch gave,
And bade, when I had boon to crave,
To bring it back, and boldly claim
The recompense that I would name.
Ellen, I am no courtly lord,

465

470

But one who lives by lance and sword,
Whose castle is his helm and shield,
His lordship the embattled field.
What from a prince can I demand,
Who neither reck of state nor land?
Ellen, thy hand-the ring is thine;
Each guard and usher knows the sign. 475
Seek thou the king without delay—
This signet shall secure thy way—
And claim thy suit, whate'er it be,
As ransom of his pledge to me."
He placed the golden circlet on,
Paused-kissed her hand-and then was

480

485

Now wound the path its dizzy ledge
Around a precipice's edge,
When lo! a wasted female form,
Blighted by wrath of sun and storm,
In tattered weeds and wild array,
Stood on a cliff beside the way,
And glancing round her restless eye,
Upon the wood, the rock, the sky,
Seemed naught to mark, yet all to spy.
Her brow was wreathed with gaudy broom;
With gesture wild she waved a plume
Of feathers, which the eagles fling

509

To crag and cliff from dusky wing;
Such spoils her desperate step had sought,
Where scarce was footing for the goat. 516
The tartan plaid she first descried,
And shrieked till all the rocks replied;
As loud she laughed when near they drew,
For then the Lowland garb she knew; 520
And then her hands she wildly wrung,
And then she wept, and then she sung-
She sung!-the voice, in better time,
Perchance to harp or lute might chime;
And now, though strained and roughened,
still

Rung wildly sweet to dale and hill.

XXII

SONG

525

They bid me sleep, they bid me pray, They say my brain is warped and wrung— I cannot sleep on Highland brae,

530

I cannot pray in Highland tongue. But were I now where Allan glides, Or heard my native Devan's tides, So sweetly would I rest, and pray That Heaven would close my wintry day! 'Twas thus my hair they bade me braid, 535 They made me to the church repair; It was my bridal morn, they said,

And my true love would meet me there. But woe betide the cruel guile

531, 592. Allan, Devan, two streams which flow into the lowland plain from the hills of Perthshire (in which the scene of the story is laid).

615

He waved at once his blade on high,
"Disclose thy treachery, or die!"
Forth at full speed the Clansman flew,
But in his race his bow he drew,
The shaft just grazed Fitz-James's crest,
And thrilled in Blanche's faded breast.
Murdoch of Alpine! prove thy speed,
For ne'er had Alpine's son such need!
With heart of fire, and foot of wind,
The fierce avenger is behind!
Fate judges of the rapid strife—
The forfeit death-the prize is life!
Thy kindred ambush lies before,
Close couched upon the heathery moor; 625
Them couldst thou reach!—it may not be―
Thine ambushed kin thou ne'er shalt see,

620

590. toils are pitched, snares are laid. 598. Hunters, Clan Alpine's men. 594. stag of ten, stag having ten branches on his antlers; hence, noble game, FitzJames. 598. wounded doe, Blanche. 617. thrilled in, pierced.

640

She sat beneath the birchen-tree,
Her elbow resting on her knee;
She had withdrawn the fatal shaft,
And gazed on it, and feebly laughed,
Her wreath of broom and feathers gray,
Daggled with blood, beside her lay.
The Knight to stanch the life-stream tried-
"Stranger, it is in vain!" she cried.
"This hour of death has given me more
Of reason's power than years before;
For, as these ebbing veins decay,
My frenzied visions fade away.
A helpless injured wretch I die,
And something tells me in thine eye,
That thou wert mine avenger born.
Seest thou this tress?-Oh, still I've worn
This little tress of yellow hair,
Through danger, frenzy, and despair!
It once was bright and clear as thine,

646

650

655

But blood and tears have dimmed its shine.

660

I will not tell thee when 'twas shred,
Nor from what guiltless victim's head-
My brain would turn!-but it shall wave
Like plumage on thy helmet brave,
Till sun and wind shall bleach the stain,
And thou wilt bring it me again.—
I waver still.-O God! more bright
Let reason beam her parting light!—
Oh! by thy knighthood's honored sign, 665
And for thy life preserved by mine,
When thou shalt see a darksome man,
Who boasts him Chief of Alpine's Clan,
With tartans broad and shadowy plume
And hand of blood, and brow of gloom, 670
Be thy heart bold, thy weapon strong,
And wreak poor Blanche of Devan's
wrong!-

695

700

And oft must change his desperate track,
By stream and precipice turned back.
Heartless, fatigued, and faint, at length,
From lack of food and loss of strength,
He couched him in a thicket hoar,
And thought his toils and perils o'er:
"Of all my rash adventures past,
This frantic feat must prove the last!
Who e'er so mad but might have guessed
That all this Highland hornet's nest
Would muster up in swarms so soon 704
As e'er they heard of bands at Doune?
Like bloodhounds now they search me out-
Hark, to the whistle and the shout!

If farther through the wilds I go,

I only fall upon the foe;

I'll couch me here till evening gray,
Then darkling try my dangerous way."

XXIX

710

715

The shades of eve come slowly down,
The woods are wrapped 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,
Tempered the midnight mountain air,
But every breeze, that swept the wold,
Benumbed his drenchéd limbs with cold.
In dread, in danger, and alone,

720

726