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For oh my sweet William was forester true,
He stole poor Blanche's heart away!
His coat it was all of the greenwood hue,

And so blythely he trilled the Lowland lay!

It was not that I meant to tell

But thou art wise, and guessest well."
Then, in a low and broken tone,
And hurried note, the song went on.
Still on the Clansman, fearfully,
She fixed her apprehensive eye;

Then turned it on the Knight, and then
Her look glanced wildly o'er the glen.

"The toils are pitched, and the stakes are set,
Ever sing merrily, merrily;

The bows they bend, and the knives they whet,
Hunters live so cheerily.

"It was a stag, a stag of ten,*

Bearing his branches sturdily;
He came stately down the glen,
Ever sing hardily, hardily.

"It was there he met with a wounded doe

She was bleeding deathfully;
She warned him of the toils below,
Oh so faithfully, faithfully!

"He had an eye, and he could heed,
Ever sing warily, warily;

He had a foot, and he could speed—
Hunters watch so narrowly."

-Murdoch's shout suspicion wrought,
And Blanche's song conviction brought.
Not like a stag that spies the snare,
But lion of the hunt aware,

He waved at once his blade on high,
"Disclose thy treachery, or die!"
Forth at full speed the Clansman flew,
But in his race his bow he drew:
The shaft just grazed Fitz-James's crest,
And thrilled in Blanche's faded breast.
Murdoch of Alpine! prove thy speed,
For ne'er had Alpine's son such need!
With heart of fire, and foot of wind,
The fierce avenger is behind!

* Having ten branches on his antlers.

Fate judges of the rapid strife-
The forfeit, death-the prize is life!
Thy kindred ambush lies before,
Close couched upon the heathery moor;
Them could'st thou reach!-it may not be-
Thine ambushed kin thou ne'er shalt see,
The fiery Saxon gains on thee!
Resistless speeds the deadly thrust,
As lightning strikes the pine to dust;
With foot and hand Fitz-James must strain,
Ere he can win his blade again.
Bent o'er the fallen, with falcon eye,
He grimly smiled to see him die;
Then slower wended back his way,
Where the poor maiden bleeding lay.
She sate beneath the birchen tree,
Her elbow resting on her knee;
She had withdrawn the fatal shaft,
And gazed on it, and feebly laughed;
Her wreath of broom and feathers grey,
Daggled with blood, beside her lay.

The Knight to staunch the life-stream tried-
Stranger, it is in vain!" she cried:

"This hour of death has given me more
Of reason's power than years before;
For, as these ebbing veins decay,
My frenzied visions fade away.

Oh! by thy knighthood's honoured sign,
And for thy life preserved by mine,
When thou shalt see a darksome man,
Who boasts him Chief of Alpine's clan,
With tartans broad and shadowy plume,
And hand of blood, and brow of gloom,
Be thy heart bold, thy weapon strong,
And wreak poor Blanche of Devan's wrong!
They watch for thee by pass and fell. .

Avoid the path ... Oh God! . . . farewell!"

Fitz-James made a vow to revenge poor Blanche, and then wandered on, not knowing whither he was going. At length, "heartless, fatigued, and faint," he resolved to lie down till evening, when he would again resume his dangerous journey.

The shades of eve come slowly down,
The woods are wrapped in deeper brown,
The owl awakens from her dell,

The fox is heard upon the fell;

Enough remains of glimmering light
To guide the wanderer's steps aright,
Yet not enough from far to show
His figure to the watchful foe.
With cautious step, and ear awake,
He climbs the crag and threads the brake;
And not the summer solstice, there,
Tempered the midnight mountain air,
But every breeze that swept the wold,
Benumbed his drenched limbs with cold.
In dread, in danger, and alone,

Famished and chilled, through ways unknown,
Tangled and steep, he journeyed on ;
Till, as a rock's huge point he turned,
A watch-fire close before him burned.
Beside its embers red and clear,
Basked, in his plaid; a mountaineer;
And up he sprung with sword in hand,—
Thy name and purpose! Saxon, stand!"
"A stranger." "What dost thou require?
"Rest and a guide, and food and fire.
My life's beset, my path is lost,

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The gale has chilled my limbs with frost." "Art thou a friend to Roderick ?" "No." "Thou darest not call thyself a foe?" "I dare! to him and all the band

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He brings to aid his murderous hand." "Bold words!-but, though the beast of game The privilege of chase may claim, Though space and law the stag we lend, Ere hound we slip, or bow we bend, Who ever recked, where, how, or when, The prowling fox was trapped or slain?

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Thus, treacherous scouts, yet sure they lie,

Who say thou camest a secret spy!"

They do, by Heaven! Come Roderick Dhu, And of his clan the boldest two,

And let me but till morning rest,

I write the falsehood on their crest."

"If by the blaze I mark aright,

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Thou bear'st the belt and spur of Knight."
Then, by these tokens may'st thou know,

Each proud oppressor's mortal foe."

Enough, enough; sit down and share
A soldier's couch, a soldier's fare."
He gave him of his Highland cheer,
The hardened flesh of mountain deer;

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Dry fuel on the fire he laid,

And bade the Saxon share his plaid.
He tended him like welcome guest,
Then thus his further speech addressed
'Stranger, I am to Roderick Dhu

A clansman born, a kinsman true;
Each word against his honour spoke,
Demands of me avenging stroke;
Yet more,-upon thy fate, 'tis said,
A mighty augury is laid.

It rests with me to wind my horn,
Thou art with numbers overborne ;
It rests with me, here, brand to brand,
Worn as thou art, to bid thee stand:
But nor for clan nor kindred's cause,
Will I depart from honour's laws;
To assail a wearied man were shame,
And stranger is a holy name;
Guidance and rest, and food and fire,
In vain he never must require.
Then rest thee here till dawn of day;
Myself will guide thee on the way,

O'er stock and stone, through watch and ward,
Till past Clan-Alpine's outmost guard,

As far as Coilantogle's ford,

From thence thy warrant is thy sword."
"I take thy courtesy, by Heaven,
As freely as 'tis nobly given!"
"Well, rest thee; for the bittern's cry
Sings us the lake's wild lullaby."
With that he shook the gathered heath,
And spread his plaid upon the wreath;
And the brave foemen, side by side,
Lay peaceful down like brothers tried,
And slept until the dawning beam
Purpled the mountain and the stream.

-The Gael

PART IV.

THE COMBAT.

around him threw

His graceful plaid of varied hue,
And, true to promise, led the way,

By thicket green and mountain grey.

The Scottish Highlander calls himself Gael, or Gaul, and terms the Lowlanders Sassenach, or Saxons.

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So toilsome was the road to trace,
The guide, abating of his pace,
Led slowly through the pass's jaws,

And asked Fitz-James, by what strange cause
He sought these wilds, traversed by few
Without a pass from Roderick Dhu?
"Brave Gael, my pass, in danger tried,
Hangs in my belt, and by my side;
Yet, sooth to tell," the Saxon said,
"I dreamed not now to claim its aid.
When here, but three days since, I came
Bewildered in pursuit of game,
All seemed as peaceful and as still,
As the mist slumbering on yon hill;
Thy dangerous chief was then afar,
Nor soon expected back from war."

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"But, stranger, peaceful since you came,
Bewildered in the mountain game,
Whence the bold boast by which you show
Vich-Alpine's vowed and mortal foe ?"-
"Warrior, but yester-morn I knew
Nought of thy Chieftain, Roderick Dhu,
Save as an outlawed desperate man,
The chief of a rebellious clan,

Who, in the Regent's court and sight,
With ruffian dagger stabbed a knight;
Yet this alone might from his part
Sever each true and loyal heart."
Wrothful at such arraignment foul,
Dark lowered the clansman's sable scowl.
A space he paused, then sternly said,—
"And heardst thou why he drew his blade?
Heardst thou that shameful word and blow
Brought Roderick's vengeance on his foe?
What recked the Chieftain, if he stood
On Highland heath or Holy-Rood?”

"But then, thy Chieftain's robber life!—
Winning mean prey by causeless strife,
Wrenching from ruin'd Lowland swain
His herds and harvests reared in vain,—
Methinks a soul like thine should scorn
The spoils from such foul foray borne."
The Gael beheld him grim the while,
And answered with disdainful smile,—
"Saxon, from yonder mountain high,
I marked thee send delighted eye,

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