Like adder darting from his coil,
Like wolf that dashes through the toil,
Like mountain-cat who guards her young,
Full at Fitz-James's throat he sprung,
Received, but recked not of a wound,
And locked his arms his foeman round.
Now, gallant Saxon, hold thine own!
No maiden's hand is round thee thrown!
That desperate grasp thy frame might feel
Through bars of brass and triple steel!"
They tug, they strain !-down, down, they go,
The Gael above, Fitz-James below!
The Chieftain's gripe his throat compressed,
His knee was planted in his breast;
His clotted locks he backward threw,
Across his brow his hand he drew,
From blood and mist to clear his sight,.
Then gleamed aloft his dagger bright!
- But hate and fury ill supplied
The stream of life's exhausted tide,
And all too late the advantage came,
To turn the odds of deadly game;
For, while the dagger gleamed on high,
Reeled soul and sense, reeled brain and eye.
Down came the blow! but in the heath
The erring blade found bloodless sheath.
The struggling foe may now unclasp
The fainting Chief's relaxing grasp;
Unwounded from the dreadful close,
But breathless all, Fitz-James arose.

Fitz-James summoned four squires by a bugle blast, and caused Roderick Dhu to be at once transported to Stirling, whither he himself sped as fast as his steed (which his squires had brought) would carry him. Douglas too had ventured to Stirling, where he was discovered and arrested.

PART V.

DEATH OF RODERICK DHU.

The old Minstrel seeking to share the captive lot of his master the Douglas, was conducted to the prison of Roderick Dhu. As the tall ship, whose lofty prore Shall never stem the billows more, Deserted by her gallant band, Amid the breakers lies astrand,

So, on his couch, lay Roderick Dhu!
And oft his fevered limbs he threw

In toss abrupt, as when her sides
Lie rocking in the advancing tides,
That shake her frame with ceaseless beat,
Yet cannot heave her from her seat;
Oh! how unlike her course on sea!
Or his free step on hill and lea!—
Soon as the Minstrel he could scan,
"What of thy lady?—of my clan ?—
My mother?-Douglas?-tell me all!
Have they been ruined in my fall?
Ah, yes! or wherefore art thou here!
Yet speak,-speak boldly!-do not fear."
(For Allan, who his mood well knew,
Was choked with grief and terror too.)
"Who fought?-who fled? Old man, be brief;
Some might-for they had lost their Chief.
Who basely live?-who bravely died?"
"Oh, calm thee, Chief!" the Minstrel cried,
"Ellen is safe; "-" For that, thank Heaven!"
"And hopes are for the Douglas given;
The Lady Margaret too is well,
And, for thy clan--on field or fell,
Has never harp of minstrel told,
Of combat fought so true and bold.
Thy stately pine is yet unbent,
Though many a goodly bough is rent."
The Chieftain reared his form on high,
And fever's fire was in his eye;

But ghastly, pale, and livid streaks
Chequered his swarthy brow and cheeks.

Hark, Minstrel! I have heard thee play, With measure bold on festal day,

In yon lone isle . again where ne'er
Shall harper play, or warrior hear

That stirring air that peals on high,

O'er Dermid's race our victory.

Strike it!-and then (for well thou canst)

Free from thy minstrel-spirit glanced,

Fling me the picture of the fight,

When met my clan the Saxon might.

I'll listen, till my fancy hears

The clang of swords, the crash of spears! These grates, these walls, shall vanish then, For the fair field of fighting men,

And my free spirit burst away,

As if it soared from battle fray."

The trembling bard with awe obeyed,-
Slow on the harp his hand he laid;
But soon remembrance of the sight
He witnessed from the mountain's height,
With what old Bertram told at night,
Awakened the full power of song,
And bore him in career along;-
As shallop launched on river's tide,
That slow and fearful leaves the side,
But, when it feels the middle stream,
Drives downward swift as lightning's beam.
Battle of Beal' an Duine.

"The Minstrel came once more to view
The eastern ridge of Ben-venue,
For, ere he parted, he would say,
Farewell to lovely Loch-Achray-
Where shall he find, in foreign land,
So lone a lake, so sweet a strand!-
There is no breeze upon the fern,
No ripple on the lake,

Upon her eyrie nods the erne,

The deer has sought the brake;
The small birds will not sing aloud,
The springing trout lies still,
So darkly glooms yon thunder-cloud,
That swathes, as with a purple shroud,
Benledi's distant hill.

Is it the thunder's solemn sound
That mutters deep and dread,
Or echoes from the groaning ground
The warrior's measured tread?
Is it the lightning's quivering glance
That on the thicket streams,

Or do they flash on spear and lance
The sun's retiring beams?

-I see the dagger-crest of Mar,
I see the Moray's silver star,

Wave o'er the cloud of Saxon war,

That up the lake comes winding far!
To hero boune for battle-strife,

Or bard of martial lay,

"Twere worth ten years of peaceful life,
One glance at their array!

Their light-armed archers far and near,
Surveyed the tangled ground,

Their centre ranks, with pike and spear,
A twilight forest frowned,

Their barbed horsemen, in the rear,
The stern battalia crowned.
No cymbal clashed, no clarion rang,
Still were the pipe and drum;
Save heavy tread, and armour's clang,
The sullen march was dumb.

There breathed no wind their crests to shake,
Or wave their flags abroad;
Scarce the frail aspen seemed to quake,
That shadowed o'er their road.
Their vaward* scouts no tidings bring,
Can rouse no lurking foe,
Nor spy a trace of living thing,

Save when they stirred the roe;
The host moves, like a deep sea-ware,
Where rise no rocks its pride to brave,
High-swelling, dark, and slow.
The lake is passed, and now they gain
A narrow and a broken plain,
Before the Trosachs' rugged jaws;
And here the horse and spear-men pause,
While, to explore the dangerous glen,
Dive through the pass the archer-men.
At once there rose so wild a yell
Within that dark and narrow dell,
As all the fiends, from heaven that fell,
Had pealed the banner-cry of hell!
Forth from the pass in tumult driven,
Like chaff before the wind of heaven,
The archery appear:

For life! for life! their flight they ply-
And shriek, and shout, and battle-cry,
And plaids and bonnets waving high,
And broad-swords flashing to the sky,
Are maddening in their rear.
Onward they drive in dreadful race,
Pursuers and pursued;

Before that tide of flight and chase,

How shall it keep its rooted place,

The spearmen's twilight wood?

-Down, down,' cried Mar, 'your lances down! Bear back both friend and foe!'

Like reeds before the tempest's frown,

That serried grove of lances brown
At once lay levell❜d low;

And closely shouldering side to side,
The bristling ranks the onset bide.

* i.e. those in advance of the main army.

66

-'We'll quell the savage mountaineer,
As their Tinchel* cows the game!
They come as fleet as forest deer,

We'll drive them back as tame.'
Bearing before them, in their course,
The relics of the archer force,
Like wave with crest of sparkling foam,
Right onward did Clan-Alpine come.
Above the tide, each broad-sword bright
Was brandishing like beam of light,
Each targe was dark below;
And with the ocean's mighty swing,
When heaving to the tempest's wing,
They hurled them on the foe.

I heard the lance's shivering crash,
As when the whirlwind rends the ash;
I heard the broad-sword's deadly clang,
As if a hundred anvils rang!

But Moray wheeled his rear-ward rank
Of horsemen on Clan-Alpine's flank—
'My banner-man, advance!

I see,' he cried, 'their column shake.
Now, gallants! for your ladies' sake,
Upon them with the lance!'

The horsemen dashed among the rout,
As deer break through the broom;
Their steeds are stout, their swords are out,
They soon make lightsome room.
Clan-Alpine's best are backward borne,-
Where, where was Roderick then?
One blast upon his bugle-horn

Were worth a thousand men.

Now westward rolls the battle's din,
That deep and doubling pass within.

Grey Ben-venue I soon repassed,
Loch-Katrine lay beneath me cast.
The sun is set-the clouds are met-
The lowering scowl of heaven
An inky hue of livid blue

To the deep lake has given;

* A circle of sportsmen, who, by surrounding a great space, and gradually narrowing, brought immense quantities of deer together, which usually made desperate efforts to break through the Tinchel.