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.

XXX

'Miscreant! while lasts thy flitting spark, Give me to know the purpose dark

That armed thy hand with murderous knife Against offenceless stranger's life?'

'No stranger thou!' with accent fell,

Murmured the wretch; 'I know thee well, And know thee for the foeman sworn

Of my high chief, the mighty Lorn.''Speak yet again, and speak the truth

For thy soul's sake! - from whence this youth? His country, birth, and name declare,

And thus one evil deed repair.' —

'Vex me no more!

my blood runs cold

No more I know than I have told.

We found him in a bark we sought

With different purpose and I thought' —

Fate cut him short; in blood and broil,

As he had lived, died Cormac Doil.

XXXI

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
Yet scant of friends the Bruce shall be,
But he'll find resting-place for thee. -
Come, noble Ronald! o'er the dead
Enough thy generous grief is paid,

And well has Allan's fate been wroke;

Come, wend we hence the day has broke.

-I trust the tale

Was false that she had hoisted sail.'

XXXII

Yet, ere they left that charnel-cell,
The Island Lord bade sad farewell
To Allan: 'Who shall tell this tale,'
He said, 'in halls of Donagaile?

O, who his widowed mother tell

That, ere his bloom, her fairest fell? —
Rest thee, poor youth! and trust my care
For mass and knell and funeral prayer;
While o'er those caitiffs where they lie
The wolf shall snarl, the raven cry!'

And now the eastern mountain's head On the dark lake threw lustre red; Bright gleams of gold and purple streak Ravine and precipice and peak

So earthly power at distance shows;
Reveals his splendour, hides his woes.
O'er sheets of granite, dark and broad,
Rent and unequal, lay the road.
In sad discourse the warriors wind,
And the mute captive moves behind.

CANTO FOURTH

I

STRANGER! if e'er thine ardent step hath traced

The northern realms of ancient Caledon,

Where the proud Queen of Wilderness hath placed
By lake and cataract her lonely throne,
Sublime but sad delight thy soul hath known,
Gazing on pathless glen and mountain high,
Listing where from the cliffs the torrents thrown
Mingle their echoes with the eagle's cry,

And with the sounding lake and with the moaning sky.

Yes! 't was sublime, but sad. - The loneliness
Loaded thy heart, the desert tired thine eye;
And strange and awful fears began to press
Thy bosom with a stern solemnity.

Then hast thou wished some woodman's cottage nigh,
Something that showed of life, though low and mean;
Glad sight, its curling wreath of smoke to spy,
Glad sound, its cock's blithe carol would have been,
Or children whooping wild beneath the willows green.

Such are the scenes where savage grandeur wakes An awful thrill that softens into sighs;