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The plaided warriors of the North,
High on the mountain thunder forth,
And overhang its side;

While by the lake below appears
The darkening cloud of Saxon spears.

Viewing the mountain's ridge askance,
The Saxons stood in sullen trance,
Till Moray pointed with his lance,
And cried- Behold yon isle!
See! none are left to guard its strand,
But women weak, that wring the hand:
'Tis there of yore the robber band
Their booty wont to pile ;-
My purse, with bonnet-pieces* store
To him will swim a bow-shot o'er,
And loose a shallop from the shore.
Lightly we'll tame the war-wolf then,
Lords of his mate, and brood, and den.'
Forth from the ranks a spearman sprung,
On earth his casque and corslet rung,
He plunged him in the wave:—
All saw the deed-the purpose knew,
And to their clamours Ben-venue
A mingled echo gave;

The Saxons shout, their mate to cheer,
The helpless females scream for fear,
And yells for rage the mountaineer.
'Twas then, as by the outcry riven,
Poured down at once the lowering heaven;
A whirlwind swept Loch-Katrine's breast,
Her billows reared their snowy crest.
Well for the swimmer swelled they high,
To mar the Highland marksman's eye;
For round him showered, 'mid rain and hail,
The vengeful arrows of the Gael.
In vain. He nears the isle-and lo!
His hand is on a shallop's bow.

-Just then a flash of lightning came,
It tinged the waves and strand with flame;
I marked Duncraggan's widowed dame,
Behind an oak I saw her stand,

A naked dirk gleamed in her hand :—
It darkened-but amid the moan
Of waves I heard a dying groan ;-
Another flash! the spearman floats
A weltering corse beside the boats,

* Gold coins of James V. of Scotland, so called because the impression of the king on them represents him wearing a bonnet.

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And the stern Matron o'er him stood,

Her hand and dagger streaming blood.
Revenge! revenge!' the Saxons cried,
The Gaels' exulting shout replied.
Despite the elemental rage,
Again they hurried to engage;

But, ere they closed in desperate fight,
Bloody with spurring came a knight,
Sprang from his horse, and, from a crag,
Waved 'twixt the hosts a milk-white flag.
Clarion and trumpet by his side

Rang forth a truce-note high and wide,
While, in the monarch's name, afar
A herald's voice forbade the war,
For Bothwell's lord, and Roderick bold,
Were both, he said, in captive hold."
-But here the lay made sudden stand;
The harp escap'd the minstrel's hand!
Oft had he stolen a glance, to spy
How Roderick brooked his minstrelsy:
At first, the Chieftain, to the chime,
With lifted hand, kept feeble time;
That motion ceased,-yet feeling strong
Varied his look as changed the song;

At length, no more his deafened ear

The minstrel melody can hear;

His face grows sharp,-his hands are clenched,
As if some pang his heart-strings wrenched;
Set are his teeth,-his fading eye

Is sternly fixed on vacancy.

Thus, motionless, and moanless, drew
His parting breath, stout Roderick Dhu!—
Old Allan-bane looked on aghast,

While grim and still his spirit passed;
But when he saw that life was fled,
He poured his wailing o'er the dead.

PART VI.

ELLEN'S AUDIENCE OF THE KING.

Ellen, the while, with bursting heart,
Remained in lordly bower apart,

Where played, with many-coloured gleams,
Through storied pane the rising beams.
In vain on gilded roof they fall,
And lightened up a tapestried wall,
And for her use a menial train
A rich collation spread in vain.

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The banquet proud, the chamber gay,
Scarce drew one curious glance astray;
Or, if she looked, 'twas but to say,
With better omen dawned the day
In that lone isle, where waved on high
The dun deer's hide for canopy;
Where oft her noble father shared
The simple meal her care prepared,
While Lufra, crouching by her side,
Her station claimed with jealous pride,
And Douglas, bent on woodland game,
Spoke of the chase to Malcolm Græme,
Whose answer, oft at random made,
The wandering of his thoughts betrayed.-
Those who such simple joys have known
Are taught to prize them when they're gone.
But sudden, see, she lifts her head!
The window seeks with cautious tread.
What distant music has the power
To win her in this woeful hour!
'Twas from a turret that o'erhung
Her latticed bower, the strain was sung.

Lay of the Emprisoned Huntsman.

My hawk is tired of perch and hood,
My idle greyhound loathes his food,
My horse is weary of his stall,
And I am sick of captive thrall.
I wish I were as I have been,
Hunting the hart in forests green,
With bended bow and bloodhound free,
For that's the life is meet for me.

I hate to learn the ebb of time,
From yon dull steeple's drowsy chime,
Or mark it as the sunbeams crawl,

Inch after inch, along the wall.
The lark was wont my matins ring,
The sable rook my vespers sing;
These towers, although a king's they be,
Have not a hall of joy for me.

No more at dawning morn I rise,
And sun myself in Ellen's eyes,
Drive the fleet deer the forest through,
And homeward wend with evening dew;
A blythesome welcome blythely meet,
And lay my trophies at her feet,
While fled the eve on wing of glee-
That life is lost to love and me!"

The heart-sick lay was hardly said,
The listener had not turned her head,
It trickled still, the starting tear,
When light a footstep struck her ear,
And Snowdoun's graceful Knight was near.
She turned the hastier, lest again

The prisoner should renew his strain.
"Oh welcome, brave Fitz-James!" she said;
"How may an almost orphan maid
Pay the deep debt?"- "Oh say not so!
To me no gratitude you owe.
Not mine, alas! the boon to give,
And bid thy noble father live;
I can but be thy guide, sweet maid,
With Scotland's King thy suit to aid.
No tyrant he, though ire and pride
May lead his better mood aside.

Come, Ellen, come!-'tis more than time;
He holds his court at morning prime."
With beating heart, and bosom wrung,
As to a brother's arm she clung,
Gently he dried the falling tear,
And gently whispered hope and cheer;
Her faltering steps half led, half stayed,
Through gallery fair and high arcade,
Till, at his touch, its wings of pride
A portal arch unfolded wide.
Within 'twas brilliant all and light,
A thronging scene of figures bright;
It glowed on Ellen's dazzled sight,
As when the setting sun has given
Ten thousand hues to summer even,
And, from their tissue, fancy frames
Aërial knights and fairy dames.
Still by Fitz-James her footing stayed
A few faint steps she forward made,
Then slow her drooping head she raised,
And fearful round the presence gazed;
For him she sought, who owned this state,
The dreaded prince whose will was fate!
She gazed on many a princely port,
Might well have ruled a royal court;
On many a splendid garb she gazed,—
Then turned bewildered and amazed,
For all stood bare; and, in the room,
Fitz-James alone wore cap and plume.
To him each lady's look was lent,

On him each courtier's eye was bent;

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Midst furs, and silks, and jewels sheen,
He stood, in simple Lincoln green,
The centre of the glittering ring,-

And Snowdoun's Knight is Scotland's King!
As wreath of snow on mountain breast
Slides from the rock that gave it rest
Poor Ellen glided from her stay,
And at the Monarch's feet she lay ;
No word her choking voice commands,—
She showed the ring,-she clasped her hands.
Oh! not a moment could he brook,

The generous prince, that suppliant look!
Gently he raised her-and the while
Checked with a glance the circle's smile.
Graceful, but grave, her brow he kissed,
And bade her terrors be dismissed ;-
Yes, Fair; the wandering poor Fitz-James
The fealty of Scotland claims.

To him thy woes, thy wishes, bring;
He will redeem his signet-ring.

Ask nought for Douglas,-yester even,
His prince and he have much forgiven:
Wrong hath he had from slanderous tongue,
I, from his rebel kinsmen, wrong."

Then forth the noble Douglas sprung,
And on his neck his daughter hung.
The Monarch drank, that happy hour,
The sweetest, holiest draught of power,-
When it can say, with godlike voice,
Arise, sad Virtue, and rejoice!
Yet would not James the general eye
On nature's raptures long should pry;
He stepp'd between-" Nay, Douglas, nay,
Steal not my proselyte away!
The riddle 'tis my right to read,
That brought this happy chance to speed.
Yes, Ellen, when disguised I stray,
In life's more low but happier way,
'Tis under name which veils my power,
Nor falsely veils-for Stirling's tower
Of yore the name of Snowdoun claims,
And Normans call me James Fitz-James.
Thus watch I o'er insulted laws,
Thus learn to right the injured cause."
Then, in a tone apart and low,

"6 'Ah, little trait'ress! none must know
What idle dream, what lighter thought,
What vanity full dearly bought,

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