The Lady of the Lake Part 16

The Saxon paused: "I ne'er delayed, When foeman bade me draw my blade; 320 Nay more, brave Chief, I vowed thy death; Yet sure thy fair and generous faith, And my deep debt for life preserved, A better meed have well deserved.

Can naught but blood our feud atone? 325 Are there no means?" "No, Stranger, none!

And hear--to fire thy flagging zeal-- The Saxon cause rests on thy steel; For thus spoke Fate, by prophet bred Between the living and the dead; 330 'Who spills the foremost foeman's life, His party conquers in the strife.'"

"Then, by my word," the Saxon said, "The riddle is already read.

Seek yonder brake beneath the cliff-- 335 There lies Red Murdoch, stark and stiff.

Thus Fate hath solved her prophecy, Then yield to Fate, and not to me.

To James, at Stirling, let us go, When, if thou wilt be still his foe, 340 Or if the King shall not agree To grant thee grace and favor free, I plight mine honor, oath, and word, That, to thy native strengths restored, With each advantage shalt thou stand, 345 That aids thee now to guard thy land."

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Dark lightning flashed from Roderick's eye-- "Soars thy presumption, then, so high, Because a wretched kern ye slew, Homage to name to Roderick Dhu? 350 He yields not, he, to man nor Fate!

Thou add'st but fuel to my hate; My clansman's blood demands revenge.

Not yet prepared?--By heaven, I change My thought, and hold thy valor light 355 As that of some vain carpet knight, Who ill deserved my courteous care, And whose best boast is but to wear A braid of his fair lady's hair."

"I thank thee, Roderick, for the word! 360 It nerves my heart, it steels my sword; For I have sworn this braid to stain In the best blood that warms thy vein.

Now, truce, farewell! and ruth, begone!-- Yet think not that by thee alone, 365 Proud Chief! can courtesy be shown; Though not from copse, or heath, or cairn, Start at my whistle clansmen stern, Of this small horn one feeble blast Would fearful odds against thee cast. 370 But fear not--doubt not--which thou wilt-- We try this quarrel hilt to hilt."

Then each at once his falchion drew, Each on the ground his scabbard threw, Each looked to sun, and stream, and plain, 375 As what they ne'er might see again; Then foot, and point, and eye opposed, In dubious strife they darkly closed.

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Ill fared it then with Roderick Dhu, That on the field his targe he threw, 380 Whose brazen studs and tough bull-hide Had death so often dashed aside; For, trained abroad his arms to wield, Fitz-James's blade was sword and s.h.i.+eld.

He practiced every pa.s.s and ward, 385 To thrust, to strike, to feint, to guard; While less expert, though stronger far, The Gael maintained unequal war.

Three times in closing strife they stood, And thrice the Saxon blade drank blood; 390 No stinted draft, no scanty tide, The gus.h.i.+ng flood the tartans dyed.

Fierce Roderick felt the fatal drain, And showered his blows like wintry rain; And, as firm rock, or castle-roof, 395 Against the winter shower is proof, The foe, invulnerable still, Foiled his wild rage by steady skill; Till, at advantage ta'en, his brand Forced Roderick's weapon from his hand, 400 And backward borne upon the lea, Brought the proud Chieftain to his knee.

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"Now, yield thee, or by Him who made The world, thy heart's blood dyes my blade!"-- "Thy threats, thy mercy, I defy! 405 Let recreant yield, who fears to die."

--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; 410 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, 415 Through bars of bra.s.s 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; 420 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 425 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. 430 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, 435 But breathless all, Fitz-James arose.

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He faltered thanks to Heaven for life, Redeemed, unhoped, from desperate strife; Next on his foe his look he cast, Whose every gasp appeared his last; 440 In Roderick's gore he dipped the braid-- "Poor Blanche! thy wrongs are dearly paid; Yet with thy foe must die, or live, The praise that faith and valor give."

With that he blew a bugle-note, 445 Undid the collar from his throat, Unbonneted, and by the wave Sat down his brow and hands to lave.

Then faint afar are heard the feet Of rus.h.i.+ng steeds in gallop fleet; 450 The sounds increase, and now are seen Four mounted squires in Lincoln green; Two who bear lance, and two who lead, By loosened rein, a saddled steed; Each onward held his headlong course, 455 And by Fitz-James reined up his horse-- With wonder viewed the b.l.o.o.d.y spot-- "Exclaim not, gallants! question not.

You, Herbert and Luffness, alight, And bind the wounds of yonder knight; 460 Let the gray palfrey bear his weight, We destined for a fairer freight, And bring him on to Stirling straight; I will before at better speed, To seek fresh horse and fitting weed. 465 The sun rides high--I must be boune, To see the archer-game at noon; But lightly Bayard clears the lea-- De Vaux and Herries, follow me.

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"Stand, Bayard, stand!" The steed obeyed, 470 With arching neck and bended head, And glancing eye and quivering ear As if he loved his lord to hear.

No foot Fitz-James in stirrup stayed, No grasp upon the saddle laid, 475 But wreathed his left hand in the mane, And lightly bounded from the plain, Turned on the horse his armed heel, And stirred his courage with the steel.

Bounded the fiery steed in air; 480 The rider sat erect and fair; Then like a bolt from steel crossbow Forth launched, along the plain they go.

They dashed that rapid torrent through, And up Carhonie's hill they flew; 485 Still at the gallop p.r.i.c.ked the Knight, His merrymen followed as they might.

Along thy banks, swift Teith! they ride, And in the race they mock thy tide; Torry and Lendrick now are past, 490 And Deanstown lies behind them cast; They rise, the bannered towers of Doune, They sink in distant woodland soon; Blair-Drummond sees the hoofs strike fire, They sweep like breeze through Ochtertyre; 495 They mark just glance and disappear The lofty brow of ancient Kier; They bathe their coursers' sweltering sides, Dark Forth! amid thy sluggish tides, And on the opposing sh.o.r.e take ground, 500 With plash, with scramble, and with bound.

Right-hand they leave thy cliffs, Craig-Forth!

And soon the bulwark of the North, Gray Stirling, with her towers and town, Upon their fleet career looked down. 505

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As up the flinty path they strained Sudden his steed the leader reined; A signal to his squire he flung, Who instant to his stirrup sprung: "Seest thou, De Vaux, yon woodsman gray, 510 Who townward holds the rocky way, Of stature tall and poor array?

Mark'st thou the firm, yet active stride, With which he scales the mountain-side?

Know'st thou from whence he comes, or whom?" 515 "No, by my word--a burly groom He seems, who in the field or chase A baron's train would n.o.bly grace."

"Out, out, De Vaux! can fear supply, And jealousy, no sharper eye? 520 Afar, ere to the hill he drew, That stately form and step I knew; Like form in Scotland is not seen, Treads not such step on Scottish green.

'Tis James of Douglas, by Saint Serle! 525 The uncle of the banished Earl.

Away, away, to court, to show The near approach of dreaded foe; The King must stand upon his guard; Douglas and he must meet prepared." 530 Then righthand wheeled their steeds, and straight They won the castle's postern gate.

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The Douglas, who had bent his way From Cambus-Kenneth's abbey gray, Now, as he climbed the rocky shelf, 535 Held sad communion with himself: "Yes! all is true my fears could frame; A prisoner lies the n.o.ble Graeme, And fiery Roderick soon will feel The vengeance of the royal steel. 540 I, only I, can ward their fate-- G.o.d grant the ransom come not late!

The Abbess hath her promise given, My child shall be the bride of heaven.

Be pardoned one repining tear! 545 For He, who gave her, knows how dear, How excellent!--but that is by, And now my business is--to die.

--Ye towers! within whose circuit dread A Douglas by his sovereign bled; 550 And thou, O sad and fatal mound!

That oft hast heard the death-ax sound, As on the n.o.blest of the land Fell the stern headsman's b.l.o.o.d.y hand-- The dungeon, block, and nameless tomb 555 Prepare--for Douglas seeks his doom!

--But hark! what blithe and jolly peal Makes the Franciscan steeple reel?

And see! upon the crowded street, In motley groups what maskers meet! 560 Banner and pageant, pipe and drum, And merry morris dancers come.

I guess, by all this quaint array, The burghers hold their sports today.

James will be there; he loves such show, 565 Where the good yeoman bends his bow, And the tough wrestler foils his foe, As well as where, in proud career, The high-born tilter s.h.i.+vers spear.

I'll follow to the Castle-park, 570 And play my prize--King James shall mark If age has tamed these sinews stark, Whose force so oft, in happier days, His boyish wonder loved to praise."

XXI

The Castle gates were open flung, 575 The quivering drawbridge rocked and rung, And echoed loud the flinty street Beneath the coursers' clattering feet, As slowly down the steep descent Fair Scotland's King and n.o.bles went, 580 While all along the crowded way Was jubilee and loud huzza.

And ever James was bending low, To his white jennet's saddle-bow, Doffing his cap to city dame, 585 Who smiled and blushed for pride and shame.

And well the simperer might be vain-- He chose the fairest of the train.

Gravely he greets each city sire, Commends each pageant's quaint attire. 590 Gives to the dancers thanks aloud, And smiles and nods upon the crowd, Who rend the heavens with their acclaims, "Long live the Commons' King, King James!"

Behind the King thronged peer and knight, 595 And n.o.ble dame and damsel bright, Whose fiery steeds ill brooked the stay Of the steep street and crowded way.

But in the train you might discern Dark lowering brow and visage stern; 600 There n.o.bles mourned their pride restrained, And the mean burgher's joys disdained; And chiefs, who, hostage for their clan, Were each from home a banished man, There thought upon their own gray tower, 605 Their waving woods, their feudal power, And deemed themselves a shameful part Of pageant which they cursed in heart.

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Now, in the Castle-park, drew out Their checkered bands the joyous rout. 610 Their morricers, with bell at heel, And blade in hand, their mazes wheel; And chief, beside the b.u.t.ts, there stand Bold Robin Hood and all his band-- Friar Tuck with quarterstaff and cowl, 615 Old Scathelocke with his surly scowl, Maid Marion, fair as ivory bone, Scarlet, and Mutch, and Little John; Their bugles challenge all that will, In archery to prove their skill. 620 The Douglas bent a bow of might-- His first shaft centered in the white, And when in turn he shot again, His second split the first in twain.

From the King's hand must Douglas take 625 A silver dart, the archer's stake; Fondly he watched, with watery eye, Some answering glance of sympathy-- No kind emotion made reply!

Indifferent as to archer wight, 630 The monarch gave the arrow bright.

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