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XX.

Not Katrine, in her mirror blue,
Gives back the shaggy banks more true,
Than every free-born glance confess'd
The guileless movements of her breast;
Whether joy danced in her dark eye,
Or woe or pity claim'd a sigh,
Or filial love was glowing there,
Or meek devotion pour'd a prayer,
Or tale of injury callid forth
The indignant spirit of the North.
One only passion unreveal’d,
With maiden pride the maid conceald,
Yet not less purely felt the flame; -
O need I tell that passion's name!

Proudly our pibroch' has thrill'd in

Glen Fruin, And Bannochar's groans to our slo

gan' replied; Glen Luss and Ross-dhu, they are smok

ing in ruin, And the best of Loch Lomond lie

dead on her side. Widow and Saxon maid

Long shall lament our raid,
Think of Clan-Alpine with fear and

with woe!
Lennox and Leven-glen

Shake when they hear agen,
“Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho!

ieroe!”

BOAT SONG. (Lady of the Lake, Canto ii.)

XIX.

Hail to the Chief who in triumph ad

vances ! Honor'd and bless'd be the ever-green

Pine! Long may the tree, in his banner that

glances,
Flourish, the shelter and grace of our

line!
Heaven send it happy dew,

Earth lend it sap anew,
Gayly to bourgeon, and broadly to

grow,
While every Highland glen
Sends our shout back agen,
Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho!

ieroe!”

Row, vassals, row, for the pride of the

Highlands!
Stretch to your oars, for the ever-green

Pine!
O! that the rose-bud that graces yon

islands,
Were wreathed in a garland around

him to twine!
O that some seedling gem,

Worthy such noble stem,
Honor'd and bless'd in their shadow

might grow!
Loud should Clan-Alpine then

Ring from the deepmost glen,
“Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho!

ieroe!”
1 Bagpipe air belonging to a clan.
9 Slogan, a war-cry.

THE FIERY CROSS.

[Lady of the Lake, Canto iii.)

I.

Ours is no sapling, chance-sown by the

fountain, Blooming at Beltane, in winter to

fade; When the whirlwind has stripp'd every

leaf on the mountain, The more shall Clan-Alpine exult in

her shade.
Moor'd in the rifted rock,

Proof to the tempest's shock, Firmer he roots him the ruder it blow;

Menteith and Breadalbane, then,

Echo his praise agen, " Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho!

Time rolls his ceaseless course. The

race of yore, Who danced our infancy upon their

knee, And told our marvelling

boyhood legends store, Of their strange ventures happ'd by

ieroe!"

land or sea, How are they blotted from the things

that be!

VIII.

How few, all weak, and wither'd of Where weep the heavens their holiest their force,

dew, Wait on the verge of dark eternity,

On Alpine's dwelling low! Like stranded wrecks, the tide re- Deserter of his Chieftain's trust, turning hoarse,

He ne'er shall mingle with their dust, Co sweep them from our sight! Time But, from his sires and kindred thrust, rolls his ceaseless course.

Each clansman's execration just Tetlive there still who canremember well,

Shall doom him wrath and woe!” How, when a mountain chief his bu- He paused; the word the vassals tock, gle blew,

With forward step and fiery look, Both field and forest, dingle, cliff, and On high their naked brands they shook, dell,

Their clattering targets wildly strook; And solitary heath, the signal knew;

And first in murmur low, And fast the faithful clan around him Then, like the billow in his course, drew,

That far to seaward finds his source, What time the warning note was And flings to shore his muster'd force, keenly wound,

Burst, with loud roar, their answer What time alofttheir kindred banner flew, hoarse, While clam'rous warpipes yell’d the

“Woe to the traitor, woe!” gathering sound,

Ben-an's gray scalp the accents knew, And while the Fiery Cross glanced like The joyous wolf from covert drew, a meteor round.

The exulting eagle scream'd afar,

They knew the voice of Alpine's war. Twas all prepared : and from the

rock, A goat, the patriarch of the flock, Before the kindling pile was laid,

HYMN TO THE VIRGIN. And pierced by Roderick's ready blade.

(Lady of the Lake, Canto iii.] Patient the sickening victim eyed

XXIX.
The life-blood ebb in crimson tide,
Down his clogg'd beard and shaggy

Ave Maria ! maiden mild !
limb,

Listen to a maiden's prayer! Till darkness glazed his eyeballs dim.

Thou canst hear though from the wild, The grisly priest, with murmuring

Thou canst save amid despair. prayer,

Safe may we sleep beneath thy care, A slender crosslet form'd with care,

Though banish'd, outcast, and A cubit's length in measure due;

viled — The shaft and limbs were rods of yew,

Maiden! hear a maiden's prayer ; Whose parents in Inch-Cailliach wave

Mother, hear a suppliant child ! Their shadows o'er Clan-Alpine's grave,

Ave Maria
And, answering Lomond's breezes deep,
Sooth many a chieftain's endless sleep. Ave Maria! undefiled!
The Cross, thus form’d, he held on high, The flinty couch we now must share
With wasted hand, and haggard eye, Shall seem with down of eider piled,
And strange and mingled feelings woke, If thy protection hover there.
While his anathema he spoke.

The murky cavern's heavy air
Shall breathe of balm if thou hast

smiled; “Woe to the clansman, who shall view Then, Maiden! hear a maiden's prayer; This symbol of sepulchral yew,

Mother, list a suppliant child ! Forgetful that its branches grew

Ave Marial

re

IX.

Ave Maria! stainless styled !

Which, daughter of three mighty lakes Foul demons of the earth and air, From Vennachar in silver breaks, From this their wanton haunt exiled, Sweeps through the plain, and ceaseless Shall flee before thy presence fair.

mines We bow us to our lot of care,

On Bochastle the mouldering lines, Beneath thy guidance reconciled; Where Rome, the Empress of the world, Hear for a maid a maiden's prayer, Of yore her eagle wings unfurl'd. And for a father hear a child !

And here his course the Chieftain staid Ave Maria! | Threw down his target and his plaid,

And to the Lowland warrior said:

“Bold Saxon! to his promise just, FITZ-JAMES AND RODERICK Vich-Alpine has discharged his trust. DHU.

This murderous Chief, this ruthless mar, THE COMBAT.

This head of a rebellious clan,

Hath led thee safe through watch and (Lady of the Lake, Canto v.]

ward, X.

Far past Clan-Alpine's outmost guard. FITZ-JAMES was brave:– Though to his Now, man to man, and steel to steel, beart

A chieftain's vengeance thou shalt feel. The life-blood thrill'd with sudden start, See here, all vantageless I stand, He mann'd himself with dauntless air, Arm'd, like thyself, with single brand: Returu'd the chief his haughty stare,

For this is Coilantogle ford, His back against å rock he bore, And thou must keep thee with thy And firmly placed his foot before :

sword." "Come one, come all! this rock shall fly

XIII. From its firm base as soon as I." The Saxon paused:—"I ne'er delay'd, Sir Roderick mark'd — and in his eyes When foeman bade me draw my blade: Respect was mingled with surprise, Nay, more, brave Chief, I vow'd thy And the stern joy which warriors feel

death : In foemen worthy of their steel.

Yet sure thy fair and generous faith, Short space he stood -- then waved his And my deep debt for life preserved, hand :

A better meed have well deserved : Down sunk the disappearing band; Can nought but blood our feud atone? Each warrior vanish'd where he stood, Are there no means?"--"No, Stranger, In broom or bracken, heath or wood;

none ! Sunk brand and spear and bended bow, And hear, — to fire thy flagging zeal, In osiers pale and copses low;

The Saxon cause rests on thy steel; It seem'd as if their mother Earth For thus spoke Fate, by prophet bred Had swallow'd up her warlike birth. Between the living and the dead: The wind's last breath had toss'd in air, • Who spills the foremost foeman's life. Pennon, and plaid, and plumage fair, His party conquers in the strife.'". The next but swept a lone hill-side,

“Then, by my word,” the Saxon said, Where heath and fern were waving wide

“The riddle is already read. From.

spear and glaive, from targe and Seek yonder brake beneath the cliff, jack,

There lies Red Murdoch, stark and stiff The next, all unreflected shone

Thus Fate has solved her prophecy, On bracken green and cold gray stone. Then yield to Fate, and not to me.

To James, at Stirling, let us go,

When, if thou wilt be still his foe, The Chief in silence strode before, Or if the King shall not agree And reach'd that torrent's sounding To grant thee grace and favor free, shore,

I plight mine honor, oath, and word,

XII.

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