No! wildly while his virtues gleam,
They make his passions darker seem,
And flash along his spirit high,
Like lightning o'er the midnight sky.
While yet a child—and children know,
Instinctive taught, the friend and foe-
I shudder'd at his brow of gloom,
His shadowy plaid, and sable plume;
A maiden grown, I ill could bear
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.
To change such odious theme were best,
What think'st thou of our stranger guest ?”

XV. " What think I of him? wo the while That brought such wanderer to our isle ! Thy father's battle brand, of yore For Typemap forged by fairy lore, What time he leagued, no longer foes, His border spears with Hotspur's bows, Did, self-unscabbarded, foreshow The footsteps of a secret foe. If courtly spy had harbour'd here, What may we for the Douglas fear? What for this island, deem'd of old Clan-Alpine's last and surest hold? If neither spy nor foe, I pray, What yet may jealous Roderick say! Nay, wave not thy disdainful head! Bethink thee of the discord dread That kindled when at Beltane game Thou led'st the dance with Malcolm Græme; Still, though thy sire the peace renew'd, Smoulders in Roderick's breast the feud; Beware !-But hark, what sounds are these? My dull ears catch no faltering breeze, No weeping birch, nor aspen's wake, Nor breath is dimpling in the lake, Still is the canna's* hoary beard,Yet, by my minstrel faith, I heardAnd hark again! some pipe of war Sends the bold pibroch from afar.”

See, flashing at each sturdy stroke,
The wave ascending into smoke;
See the proud pipers on the bow,
And mark the gaudy streamers flow
From their loud chanters* down, and sweep
The furrow'd bosom of the deep,
As, rushing through the lake amain,
They plied the ancient highland strain.

XVII.
Ever, as on they bore, more loud
And louder rung the pibroch proud.
At first the sound, by distance tame,
Mellow'd along the waters came,
And, lingering long by cape and bay,
Wail'd every harsher note away ;
Then bursting bolder on the ear,
The clan's shrill gathering they could hear ;
Those thrilling sounds, that call the might
Of old Clan-Alpine to the fight.
Thick beat the rapid notes, as when
The mustering hundreds shake the glen,
And hurrying at the signal dread,
The batter'd earth returns their tread.
Then prelude light, of livelier tone,
Express'd their merry marching on,
Ere peal of closing battle rose,
With mingled outcry, shrieks, and blows:
And mimic din of stroke and ward,
As broadsword upon target jarrd;
And groaning pause, e'er yet again,
Condensed, the battle yell’d amain;
The rapid charge, the rallying shout,
Retreat borne headlong into rout,
And bursts of triumph, to declare,
Clan-Alpine's conquest--all were there.
Nor ended thus the strain ; but slow
Sunk in a moan prolong'd and low,
And changed the conquering clarion swell,
For wild lament o'er those that sell.

XVI. Far up the lengthen'd lake were spied Four darkening specks upon the tide, That, slow enlarging on the view, Four mann'd and masted barges grew, And, bearing downwards from Glengyle, Steer'd full upon the lonely isle ; The point of Brianchoil they pass'd, And to the windward as they cast, Against the sun they gave to shine The bold Sir Roderick's banner'd pine. Nearer and nearer as they bear, Spears, pikes, and axes Nash in air. Now might you see the tartans brave, And plaids apd plumage dance and wave; Now see the bonnets sink and rise, As his tough oar the rower plies ;

XVIII.
The war-pipes ceased; but lake and hill
Were busy with their echoes still;
And, when they slept, a vocal strain
Bade their hoarse chorus wake again,
While loud a hundred clansmen raise
Their voices in their chieftain's praise.
Each boatman, bending to his oar,
With measured sweep the burthen bore,
In such wild cadence, as the breeze
Makes through December's leafless trees.
The chorus first could Allen know,
“Roderigh Vich Alpine, ho! ieroe ??”
And near, and nearer, as they rowed,
Distinct the martial ditty flowed.

XIX,

BOAT SONG.
Hail to the chief who in triumph advances !

Honour'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,

* The drone of the bagpipe.

Gayly to bourgeon, aad broadly to grow ;

While every highland glen

Sends our shout back agen, “Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe !" 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.

Moord 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! ieroe !"

XX.
Proudly our pibroch has thrill'd in Glen Fruin,

And Bannochar's groans to our slogan replied, Glen Luss and Ross-dhu, they are smoking in ruin, And the best of Loch-Lomond lie dead on her

side.
Widow and Saxon maid

Long shall lament our aid,
Think of Clan-Alpine with fear and with wo;

Lennox and Leven-glen

Shake when they hear agen, - Roderigh Vich Alpine ahu, bo ! jerou !" Row, vassals, row, for the pride of the highlanas !

Stretch to your oars for the ever-green pine :
O! that the rose-bud that graces yun islands
Were wreath'd in a garland around him “v

twine!
O that some seedling gem,

Worthy such noble stem,
Honour'd and bless'd in their shadow might grow!

Loud should Clan-Alpine then

Ring from her deepmost glen, Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho ! ieroe.”

The islet far behind her lay,
And she had landed in the bay.

XXII.
Some feelings are to mortals given,
With less of earth in them than heaven;
And if there be a human tear
From passion's dross refined and clear,
A tear so limpid and so meek,
It would not stain an angel's cheek,
'Tis that which pious fathers shed
Upon a duteous daughter's head!
And as the Douglas to his breast
His darling Ellen closely pressid,
Such holy drops her tresses steep'd,
Though 'twas a hero's eye that weep'd.
Nor while on Ellen's faltering tongue
Her filial welcomes crowded hung,
Mark'd she that fear (affection's proof)
Still held a graceful youth aloof:
No! not till Douglas named his name,
Although the youth was Malcolm Grame.

XXIII.
Allan, with wistful look the while,
Mark'd Roderick landing on the isle
His master piteously he eyed,
Then gazed upon the chieftain's pride,
Then dash’d, with hasty hand, away
From his dimm'd eye the gathering spray ;
And Douglas, as his hand he laid
On Malcolm's shoulder, kindly said,
"Canst thou, young friend, no meaning spy
In my poor follower's glistening eye ?
I'll tell thee :- he recalls the day,
When in my praise he led the lay
O'er the arch'd gate of Bothwell proud,
While many a minstrel answer'd loud.
When Percy's Norman pennon, won
In bloody field, before me shone,
And twice ten knights, the least a name
As mighty as yon chief may claim,
Gracing my pomp, behind me came.
Yet trust me, Malcolm, not so proud
Was I of all that marshall'd crowd,
Though the waned crescent own'd my might,
And in my train troop'd lord and knight,
Though Blantyre hymn'd her holiest lays,
And Bothwell's harps flung back my praise,
As when this old man's silent tear,
And this poor maid's affection dear,
A welcome give more kind and true
Than aught my better fortunes knew.
Forgive, my friend, a father's boast;
0! it outbeggars all I lost!”

XXIV.
Delightful praise !--like summer rose,
That brighter in the dewdrop glows,
The bashsul maiden's cheek appeard,
For Douglas spoke, and Malcolm heard.
The flush of shamefaced joy to hide,
The hounds, the hawk, her cares divide :
The loved caresses of the maid
The dogs with crouch and whimper paid;
And, at her whistle, on her hand
The falcon took his favourite stand,

XXI. With all her joyful female band, Had lady Margaret sought the strand. Loose on the breeze their tresses fiew, And high their snowy arms they threw; As echoing back with shrill acclaim And chorus wild, the chieftain's name; While, prompt to please, with mother's art, The darling passion of his heart, The dame called Ellen to the strand, To greet her kinsman ere he land: “ Come, loiterer, come! a Douglas thou, And shun to wreath a victor's brow!"Reluctantly, and slow, the maid Th’ unwelcome summoning obey'd, And, when a distant bugle rung, In the mid path aside she sprung:“ List, Allan-bane! from main land cast, I hear my father's signal blast. Be ours,” she cried,“ the skiff to guide, And waft him from the mountain side." Then, like a sunbeam, swist and bright, She darted to her shallop light, And, eagerly while Roderick scann'a For her dear form his mother's band,

Closed his dark wing, relax'd his eye,
Nor, though un hooded, sought to fiy.
And, trust, while in such guise she stood
Like fabled goddess of the wood,
That if a father's partial thought
O’erweigh'd her worth and beauty aught,
Well might the lover's judgment fail
To balance with a juster scale ;
For with each secret glance he stole,
The fond enthusiast sent his soul.

XXVII. Sir Roderick, who to meet them came, Redden'd at sight of Malcolm Græme. Yet, not in action, word, or eye, Fail'd aught in hospitality, In talk and sport they whiled away The morning of that summer day; But at high noon a courier light Held secret parley with the knight; Whose moody aspect soon declared, That evil were the news he heard. Deep thought seem'd toiling in his head; Yet was the evening banquet made, E'er he assembled round the Aame, His mother, Douglas, and the Græme, And Ellen, too; then cast around His eyes, then fix'd them on the ground, As studying phrase that might avail Best to convey unpleasant tale. Long with his dagger’s hilt he play'd, Then raised his haughty brow, and said :

XXV. Of stature tall, and slender frame, But firmly knit, was Malcolm Græme. The belted plaid and tartan hose Did ne'er more graceful limbs disclose ; His flaxen hair, of sunny hue, Curl'd closely round his bonnet blue. Train'd to the chase, his eagle eye The ptarmigan in snow could spy: Each pass, by mountain, lake, and heath, He knew, through Lennox and Menteith; Vain was the bound of dark brown doe, Wheu Malcolm bent his sounding bow, And scarce that doe, though wing'd with fear, Outstripp'd in speed the mountaineer: Right up Ben-Lomond could he press, And not a sob his toil confess. His form accorded with a mind Lively and ardent, frank and kind ; A blither heart, till Ellen came, Did never love nor sorrow tame; It danced as lightsome in his breast, As play'd the feather on his crest. Yet friends who nearest knew the youth, His scorn of wrong, bis zeal for truth, And bards, who saw his features bold, When kindled by the tales of old, Said, were that youth to manhood grown, Not long should Roderick Dhu's renown Be foremost voiced by mountain fame, But quail to that of Malcolm Graeme.

XXVIII. “ Short be my speech ;-nor time affords, Nor my plain temper, glozing words. Kinsman and father,-if such name Douglas vouchsafe to Roderick's claim ; Mine honour'd mother ;-Ellen-why, My cousin, turn away thine eye? And Græme; in whom I hope to know Full soon a noble friend or foe, When age shall give thee thy command, And leading in thy native land ;List all !—The king's vindictive pride Boasts to have tamed the border-side, Where chiefs, with hound and hawk who came To share their monarch's sylvan game, Themselves in bloody toils were snared, And when the banquel they prepared, And wide their loyal portals fung, O'er their own gateway struggling hung. Loud cries their blood from Meggat's mead, From Yarrow braes, and banks of Tweed, Where the lone streams of Ettrick glide, And from the silver Teviot's side ; The dales where martial clans did ride Are now one sheepwalk waste and wide. This tyrant of the Scottish throne, So faithless and so ruthless known, Now hither comes; his end the same, The same pretext of sylvan game. What grace for highland chiefs judge ye, By fate of border chivalry. Yet more; amid Glenfinlas' green, Douglas, thy stately form was seen. This by espial sure I know; Your counsel in the streight I show."

1

XXVI. Now back they wend their watery way, And, “O my sire !” did Ellen say, “ Why urge thy chase so far astray? And why so late return’d? And why"The rest was in her speaking eye. “My child, the chase I follow far, 'Tis mimicry of noble war; And with that gallant pastime reft Were all of Douglas I have left. I met young Malcolm as I stray'd Far eastward, in Glenfinlas' shade, Nor stray'd I safe ; for, all around, Hunters and horsemen scour'd the ground. This youth, though still a royal ward, Risk'd life and land to be my guard, And through the passes of the wood Guided my steps, not unpursued; And Roderick shall his welcome make, Despite old spleen, for Douglas' sake. Then must he seek Strath-Endrick glen, Nor peril aught for me agen.”

XXIX. Ellen and Margaret fearfully Sought comfort in each other's eye, Then turn'd their ghastly look, each one, This to her sire, that to her son. The hasty colour went and came In the bold cheek of Malcolm Græmc:

Kindling its wreaths, long, dark and low,
To one broad blaze of ruddy glow,
So the deep anguish of despair
Burst, in fierce jealousy, to air. -
With stalwart grasp his hand he laid
On Malcolm's breast and belted plaid:
“ Back, beardless boy !” he sternly said,
“ Back, minion ! hold'st thou thus at naught
The lesson I so lately taught?
This roof, the Douglas, and that maid,
Thank thou for punishment delay'd.”
Eager as greyhound on his game,
Fiercely with Roderick grappled Græme.
“Perish my name, if aught afford
Its chieftain safety, save his sword !"
Thus as they strove, their desperate hand
Griped to the dagger or the brand,
And death had been—but Douglas rose,
And thrust between the struggling foes
His giant strength:-“ Chieftains, forego!
I hold the first who strikes, my foe.-
Madmen, forbear your frantic jar!
What! is the Douglas fallen so far,
His daughter's hand is deem'd the spoil
Of such dishonourable broil!”
Sullen and slowly they unclasp,
As struck with shame, their desperate grasp,
And each upon his rival glared,
With foot advanced, and blade half bared.

XXXV.
Ere yet the brands aloft were flung,
Margaret on Roderick's mantle hung,
And Malcolm heard his Ellen scream,
As falter'd through terrific dream.
Then Roderick plunged in sheath his sword,
And veil'd his wrath in scornful word:
“ Rest safe till morning; pity 'twere
Such cheek should feel the midnight air!
Then mayest thou to James Stuart tell
Roderick will keep the lake and fell,
Nor lackey, with his freeborn clan,
The pageant pomp of earthly man.
More would be of Clan-Alpine know,
Thou canst our strength and passes show.-
Malise, what ho !”—his henchman came;
“Give our safe-conduct to the Græme.”
Young Malcolm answer'd, calm and bold,
“ Fear nothing for thy favourite hold:
The spot an angel deign'd to grace
Is bless'd, though robbers haunt the place.
Thy churlish courtesy for those
Reserve, who fear to be thy foes.
As safe to me the mountain way
At midnight, as in blaze of day,
Though with his boldest at his back,
E'en Roderick Dhu beset the track.-
Brave Douglas,-lovely Ellen, nay,
Naught here of parting will I say.
Earth does not hold a lonesome glen,
So secret, but we meet agen.-
Chieftain! we too shall find an hour.”
He said, and left the sylvan bower.

XXXVI. Old Allan follow'd to the strand, (Such was the Douglas's command,)

And anxious told, how, on the morn,
The stern Sir Roderick deep had sworn
The fiery cross should circle o'er
Dale, glen, and valley, down, and moor.
Much were the peril to the Græme,
From those who to the signal came:
Far up the lake 'twere safest land,
Himself would row him to the strand.
He gave his counsel to the wind,
While Malcolm did, unheeding, bind
Round dirk, and pouch, and broadsword roll'd,
His ample plaid in tighten’d fold,
And stripp'd his limbs to such array,
As best might suit the watery way.

XXXVII.
Then spoke abrupt: “Farewell to thee
Pattern of old fidelity!"
The minstrel's hand he kindly press'd,
“O! could I point a place of rest!
My sovereign holds in ward my land,
My uncle leads my vassal band;
To tame his foes, his friends to aid,
Poor Malcolm has but heart and blade.
Yet, if there be one faithful Grame
Who loves the chieftain of his name,
Not long shall honour'd Douglas dwell,
Like bunted stag, in mountain cell;
Nor, ere yon pride-swollen robber dare,
I may not give the rest to air ! -
Tell Roderick Dhu I owed him naught,
Not the poor service of a boat,
To waft me to yon mountain side.”—
Then plunged he in the flashing tide.
Bold o'er the flood his head he bore,
And stoutly steer'd him from the shore;
And Allan strain'd his anxious eye
Far mid the lake, his form to spy
Darkening across each puny wave,
To which the moon her silver gave.
Fast as the cormorant could skim,
The swimmer plied each active limb:
Then, landing in the moonlight dell,
Loud shouted of his weal to tell.
The minstrel heard the far halloo,
And joyful from the shore withdrew.

CANTO III.

THE GATHERING.

1. 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 land or sea, How are they blotted from the things that be!

How few, all weak and wither'd of their force, Wait, on the verge of dark eternity,

Like stranded wrecks, the tide returning hoarse, To sweep them from our sight! Time rolls his

ceaseless course. Yet live there still who can remember well,

How, when a mountain chief bis bugle blew, Both field and forest, dingle, cliff, and dell,

And solitary heath, the signal knew;