"High place to thee in royal court, High place in battle line, 20 Good hawk and hound for silvan sport, Where beauty sees the brave resort; The honored meed be thine!
True be thy sword, thy friend sincere, Thy lady constant, kind and dear, 25 And lost in love, and friendship"s smile Be memory of the lonely isle.
III
SONG (_Continued_)
"But if beneath yon southern sky A plaided stranger roam, Whose drooping crest and stifled sigh, 30 And sunken cheek and heavy eye, Pine for his Highland home; Then, warrior, then be thine to show The care that soothes a wanderer"s woe; Remember then thy hap ere while, 35 A stranger in the lonely isle.
"Or if on life"s uncertain main Mishap shall mar thy sail; If faithful, wise, and brave in vain, Woe, want, and exile thou sustain 40 Beneath the fickle gale; Waste not a sigh on fortune changed, On thankless courts, or friends estranged, But come where kindred worth shall smile, To greet thee in the lonely isle." 45
IV
As died the sounds upon the tide, The shallop reached the mainland side, And ere his onward way he took, The stranger cast a lingering look, Where easily his eye might reach 50 The Harper on the islet beach, Reclined against a blighted tree, As wasted, gray, and worn as he.
To minstrel meditation given, His reverend brow was raised to heaven, 55 As from the rising sun to claim A sparkle of inspiring flame.
His hand, reclined upon the wire, Seemed watching the awakening fire; So still he sat, as those who wait 60 Till judgment speak the doom of fate; So still, as if no breeze might dare To lift one lock of h.o.a.ry hair; So still, as life itself were fled, In the last sound his harp had sped. 65
V
Upon a rock with lichens wild, Beside him Ellen sat and smiled-- Smiled she to see the stately drake Lead forth his fleet upon the lake, While her vexed spaniel, from the beach 70 Bayed at the prize beyond his reach?
Yet tell me, then, the maid who knows, Why deepened on her cheek the rose?
Forgive, forgive, Fidelity!
Perchance the maiden smiled to see 75 Yon parting lingerer wave adieu, And stop and turn to wave anew; And, lovely ladies, ere your ire Condemn the heroine of my lyre, Show me the fair would scorn to spy, 80 And prize such conquest of her eye!
VI
While yet he loitered on the spot, It seemed as Ellen marked him not; But when he turned him to the glade, One courteous parting sign she made; 85 And after, oft the knight would say, That not when prize of festal day Was dealt him by the brightest fair, Who e"er wore jewel in her hair, So highly did his bosom swell, 90 As at that simple mute farewell.
Now with a trusty mountain-guide, And his dark stag-hounds by his side, He parts--the maid, unconscious still, Watched him wind slowly round the hill; 95 But when his stately form was hid, The guardian in her bosom chid-- "Thy Malcolm! vain and selfish maid!"
"Twas thus upbraiding conscience said-- "Not so had Malcolm idly hung 100 On the smooth phrase of southern tongue; Not so had Malcolm strained his eye Another step than thine to spy.
Wake, Allan-bane," aloud she cried, To the old Minstrel by her side-- 105 "Arouse thee from thy moody dream!
I"ll give thy harp heroic theme, And warm thee with a n.o.ble name; Pour forth the glory of the Graeme!"
Scarce from her lip the word had rushed, 110 When deep the conscious maiden blushed; For of his clan, in hall and bower, Young Malcolm Graeme was held the flower.
VII
The Minstrel waked his harp--three times Arose the well-known martial chimes, 115 And thrice their high heroic pride In melancholy murmurs died.
"Vainly thou bid"st, O n.o.ble maid,"
Clasping his withered hands, he said, "Vainly thou bid"st me wake the strain, 120 Though all unwont to bid in vain.
Alas! than mine a mightier hand Has tuned my harp, my strings has spanned!
I touch the chords of joy, but low And mournful answer notes of woe; 125 And the proud march, which victors tread, Sinks in the wailing for the dead.
O well for me, if mine alone That dirge"s deep prophetic tone!
If, as my tuneful fathers said, 130 This harp, which erst Saint Modan swayed, Can thus its master"s fate foretell, Then welcome be the minstrel"s knell!
VIII
"But ah! dear lady, thus it sighed The eve thy sainted mother died; 135 And such the sounds which, while I strove To wake a lay of war or love, Came marring all the festal mirth, Appalling me who gave them birth, And, disobedient to my call, 140 Wailed loud through Bothwell"s bannered hall, Ere Douglases to ruin driven, Were exiled from their native heaven.
Oh! if yet worse mishap and woe, My master"s house must undergo, 145 Or aught but weal to Ellen fair, Brood in these accents of despair, No future bard, sad Harp! shall fling Triumph or rapture from thy string; One short, one final strain shall flow, 150 Fraught with unutterable woe, Then shivered shall thy fragments lie, Thy master cast him down and die!"
IX
Soothing she answered him--"a.s.suage, Mine honored friend, the fears of age; 155 All melodies to thee are known, That harp has rung, or pipe has blown, In Lowland vale or Highland glen, From Tweed to Spey--what marvel, then, At times, unbidden notes should rise, 160 Confusedly bound in memory"s ties, Entangling, as they rush along, The war-march with the funeral song?
Small ground is now for boding fear; Obscure, but safe, we rest us here. 165 My sire, in native virtue great, Resigning lordship, lands, and state, Not then to fortune more resigned, Than yonder oak might give the wind; The graceful foliage storms may reave, 170 The n.o.ble stem they cannot grieve.
For me,"--she stooped, and, looking round, Plucked a blue hare-bell from the ground-- "For me, whose memory scarce conveys An image of more splendid days, 175 This little flower, that loves the lea, May well my simple emblem be; It drinks heaven"s dew as blithe as rose That in the king"s own garden grows; And when I place it in my hair, 180 Allan, a bard is bound to swear He ne"er saw coronet so fair."
Then playfully the chaplet wild She wreathed in her dark locks, and smiled.
X
Her smile, her speech, with winning sway, 185 Wiled the old harper"s mood away.
With such a look as hermits throw, When angels stoop to soothe their woe, He gazed, till fond regret and pride Thrilled to a tear, then thus replied: 190 "Loveliest and best! thou little know"st The rank, the honors, thou hast lost!
O might I live to see thee grace, In Scotland"s court, thy birth-right place, To see my favorite"s step advance, 195 The lightest in the courtly dance, The cause of every gallant"s sigh, And leading star of every eye, And theme of every minstrel"s art, The Lady of the Bleeding Heart!" 200
XI
"Fair dreams are these," the maiden cried --Light was her accent, yet she sighed-- "Yet is this mossy rock to me Worth splendid chair and canopy; Nor would my footsteps spring more gay 205 In courtly dance than blithe strathspey, Nor half so pleased mine ear incline To royal minstrel"s lay as thine.
And then for suitors proud and high, To bend before my conquering eye-- 210 Thou, flattering bard! thyself wilt say, That grim Sir Roderick owns its sway.
The Saxon scourge, Clan-Alpine"s pride, The terror of Loch-Lomond"s side, Would, at my suit, thou know"st, delay 215 A Lennox foray--for a day."
XII
The ancient bard his glee repressed: "Ill hast thou chosen theme for jest!
For who, through all this western wild, Named Black Sir Roderick e"er, and smiled! 220 In Holy-Rood a knight he slew; I saw, when back the dirk he drew, Courtiers give place before the stride Of the undaunted homicide; And since, though outlawed, hath his hand 225 Full sternly kept his mountain land.
Who else dared give--ah! woe the day, That I such hated truth should say-- The Douglas, like a stricken deer, Disowned by every n.o.ble peer, 230 Even the rude refuge we have here?
Alas, this wild marauding Chief Alone might hazard our relief, And now thy maiden charms expand, Looks for his guerdon in thy hand; 235 Full soon may dispensation sought, To back his suit, from Rome he brought.
Then, though an exile on the hill, Thy father, as the Douglas, still Be held in reverence and fear; 240 And though to Roderick thou"rt so dear, That thou might"st guide with silken thread, Slave of thy will, this chieftain dread; Yet, O loved maid, thy mirth refrain!
Thy hand is on a lion"s mane." 245
XIII
"Minstrel," the maid replied, and high Her father"s soul glanced from her eye, "My debts to Roderick"s house I know: All that a mother could bestow, To Lady Margaret"s care I owe, 250 Since first an orphan in the wild She sorrowed o"er her sister"s child; To her brave chieftain son, from ire Of Scotland"s king who shrouds my sire. 255 A deeper, holier debt is owed; And, could I pay it with my blood, Allan! Sir Roderick should command My blood, my life--but not my hand.
Rather will Ellen Douglas dwell A votaress in Maronnan"s cell; 260 Rather through realms beyond the sea, Seeking the world"s cold charity, Where ne"er was spoke a Scottish word, And ne"er the name of Douglas heard, An outcast pilgrim will she rove, 265 Than wed the man she cannot love.
XIV
"Thou shakest, good friend, thy tresses gray-- That pleading look, what can it say But what I own?--I grant him brave, But wild as Bracklinn"s thundering wave; 270 And generous--save vindictive mood, Or jealous transport, chafe his blood; I grant him true to friendly band, As his claymore is to his hand; But O! that very blade of steel 275 More mercy for a foe would feel: I grant him liberal, to fling Among his clan the wealth they bring, When back by lake and glen they wind, And in the Lowland leave behind, 280 Where once some pleasant hamlet stood, A ma.s.s of ashes slaked with blood.
The hand that for my father fought, I honor, as his daughter ought; But can I clasp it reeking red, 285 From peasants slaughtered in their shed?
No! wildly while his virtues gleam, They make his pa.s.sions darker seem, And flash along his spirit high, Like lightning o"er the midnight sky. 290 While yet a child--and children know, Instinctive taught, the friend and foe-- I shuddered at his brow of gloom, His shadowy plaid, and sable plume; A maiden grown, I ill could bear 295 His haughty mien and lordly air; But, if thou join"st a suitor"s claim, In serious mood, to Roderick"s name, I thrill with anguish! or, if e"er A Douglas knew the word, with fear. 300 To change such odious theme were best-- What think"st thou of our stranger guest?"