Their eyes oft turn'd where glimmer'd far
What might have seem'd an early star
On heaven's blue arch, save that its light
Was all too flickering, fierce and bright.
Far distant in the south, the ray
Shone pale amid retiring day,

But as, on Carrick shore,

Dim seen in outline faintly blue,
The shades of evening closer drew,

It kindled more and more.

The Monk's slow steps now press the sands, And now amid a scene he stands,

Full strange to churchman's eye;

Warriors, who, arming for the fight,
Rivet and clasp their harness light,
And twinkling spears, and axes bright,
And helmets flashing high;

Oft, too, with unaccustom'd ears,

A language much unmeet he hears,

While hastening all on board,

As stormy as the swelling surge

That mix'd its roar, the leaders urge
Their followers to the ocean verge,

With many a haughty word.

VIII.

Through that wild throng the Father pass'd,

And reach'd the Royal Bruce at last.
He leant against a stranded boat,

That the approaching tide must float,
And counted every rippling wave,
As higher yet her sides they lave,
And oft the distant fire he eyed,

And closer yet his hauberk tied,
And loosen'd in its sheath his brand.
Edward and Lennox were at hand,
Douglas and Ronald had the care
The soldiers to the barks to share.
The Monk approach'd and homage paid;
"And art thou come,” King Robert said,

"So far, to bless us ere we part?"

-" My Liege, and with a loyal heart !— But other charge I have to tell,"

And spoke the hest of Isabel.

"Now by Saint Giles," the Monarch cried, "This moves me much !—this morning tide, I sent the stripling to Saint Bride,

With

my commandment there to bide.""Thither he came the portress show'd,

But there, my Liege, made brief abode.”–

IX.

""Twas I," said Edward, "found employ

Of nobler import for the boy.

Deep pondering in my anxious mind,

A fitting messenger to find,

To bear thy written mandate o'er
To Cuthbert on the Carrick shore,
I chanced, at early dawn, to pass
The chapel gate to snatch a mass.

I found the stripling on a tomb

Low-seated, weeping for the doom

That gave his youth to convent-gloom.

I told my purpose, and his

eyes

Flash'd joyful at the glad surprise.
He bounded to the skiff, the sail
Was spread before a prosperous gale,
And well my charge he hath obey'd;
For, see! the ruddy signal made,
That Clifford, with his merry-men all,
Guards carelessly our father's hall.”

X.

"O wild of thought, and hard of heart!"

Answer'd the Monarch, " on a part

Of such deep danger to employ

A mute, an orphan, and a boy!
Unfit for flight, unfit for strife,
Without a tongue to plead for life!

Now, were my right restored by Heaven,
Edward, my crown I would have given,
Ere, thrust on such adventure wild,

I peril'd thus the helpless child."-
-Offended half, and half submiss,

"Brother and Liege, of blame like this,"
Edward replied, "I little dream'd.

A stranger messenger, I deem'd,

Might safest seek the beadsman's cell,
Where all thy squires are known so well.
Noteless his presence, sharp his sense,
His imperfection his defence.

If seen, none can his errand guess;
If ta'en, his words no tale express—
Methinks, too, yonder beacon's shine

Might expiate greater fault than mine.".
"Rash," said King Robert, " was the deed-

But it is done.-Embark with speed!—

Good Father, say to Isabel

How this unhappy chance befel ;