The Lady of the Lake Part 7

Sir Roderick, who to meet them came, 585 Reddened at sight of Malcolm Graeme, Yet, not in action, word, or eye, Failed aught in hospitality.

In talk and sport they whiled away The morning of that summer day; 590 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 seemed toiling in his head; 595 Yet was the evening banquet made, Ere he a.s.sembled round the flame, His mother, Douglas, and the Graeme, And Ellen too; then cast around His eyes, then fixed them on the ground, 600 As studying phrase that might avail Best to convey unpleasant tale.

Long with his dagger's hilt he played, Then raised his haughty brow, and said:

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"Short be my speech--nor time affords, 605 Nor my plain temper, glozing words.

Kinsman and father--if such name Douglas vouchsafe to Roderick's claim; Mine honored mother--Ellen--why, My cousin, turn away thine eye?-- 610 And Graeme, in whom I hope to know Full soon a n.o.ble friend or foe, When age shall give thee thy command, And leading in thy native land-- List all--The King's vindictive pride 615 Boasts to have tamed the Border-side, Where chiefs, with hound and hawk who came To share their monarch's silvan game, Themselves in b.l.o.o.d.y toils were snared; And when the banquet they prepared, 620 And wide their loyal portals flung, 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, 625 And from the silver Teviot's side; The dales, where martial clans did ride, Are now one sheep-walk, waste and wide.

This tyrant of the Scottish throne, So faithless, and so ruthless known, 630 Now hither comes; his end the same, The same pretext of silvan game.

What grace for Highland Chiefs, judge ye By fate of Border chivalry.

Yet more; amid Glenfinlas' green, 635 Douglas, thy stately form was seen.

This by espial sure I know: Your counsel in the strait I show."

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Ellen and Margaret fearfully Sought comfort in each other's eye, 640 Then turned their ghastly look, each one, This to her sire, that to her son.

The hasty color went and came In the bold cheek of Malcolm Graeme; But from his glance it well appeared, 645 'Twas but for Ellen that he feared; While, sorrowful, but undismayed, The Douglas thus his counsel said: "Brave Roderick, though the tempest roar, It may but thunder and pa.s.s o'er; 650 Nor will I here remain an hour, To draw the lightning on thy bower; For well thou know'st, at this gray head The royal bolt were fiercest sped.

For thee, who, at thy King's command, 655 Canst aid him with a gallant band, Submission, homage, humbled pride, Shall turn the Monarch's wrath aside.

Poor remnants of the Bleeding Heart, Ellen and I will seek, apart, 660 The refuge of some forest cell, There, like the hunted quarry, dwell, Till on the mountain and the moor, The stern pursuit be pa.s.sed and o'er."

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"No, by mine honor," Roderick said, 665 "So help me Heaven, and my good blade!

No, never! Blasted be yon Pine, My fathers' ancient crest and mine, If from its shade in danger part The lineage of the Bleeding Heart! 670 Hear my blunt speech: Grant me this maid To wife, thy counsel to mine aid; To Douglas, leagued with Roderick Dhu, Will friends and allies flock enow; Like cause of doubt, distrust, and grief 675 Will bind to us each Western Chief.

When the loud pipes my bridal tell, The Links of Forth shall hear the knell, The guards shall start in Stirling's porch; And, when I light the nuptial torch, 680 A thousand villages in flames Shall scare the slumbers of King James!

--Nay, Ellen, blench not thus away, And, mother, cease these signs, I pray; I meant not all my heat might say. 685 Small need of inroad, or of fight, When the sage Douglas may unite Each mountain clan in friendly band, To guard the pa.s.ses of their land, Till the foiled king, from pathless glen, 690 Shall bootless turn him home again."

x.x.xI

There are who have, at midnight hour, In slumber scaled a dizzy tower, And, on the verge that beetled o'er The ocean tide's incessant roar, 695 Dreamed calmly out their dangerous dream, Till wakened by the morning beam; When, dazzled by the eastern glow, Such startler cast his glance below, And saw unmeasured depth around, 700 And heard unintermitted sound, And thought the battled fence so frail, It waved like cobweb in the gale; Amid his senses' giddy wheel, Did he not desperate impulse feel, 705 Headlong to plunge himself below, And meet the worst his fears foreshow?

Thus, Ellen, dizzy and astound, As sudden ruin yawned around, By crossing terrors wildly tossed, 710 Still for the Douglas fearing most, Could scarce the desperate thought withstand, To buy his safety with her hand.

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Such purpose dread could Malcolm spy In Ellen's quivering lip and eye, 715 And eager rose to speak--but ere His tongue could hurry forth his fear, Had Douglas marked the hectic strife, Where death seemed combating with life; For to her cheek, in feverish flood, 720 One instant rushed the throbbing blood, Then ebbing back, with sudden sway, Left its domain as wan as clay.

"Roderick, enough! enough!" he cried, "My daughter cannot be thy bride; 725 Not that the blush to wooer dear, Nor paleness that of maiden fear.

It may not be--forgive her, Chief, Nor hazard aught for our relief.

Against his sovereign, Douglas ne'er 730 Will level a rebellious spear.

'Twas I that taught his youthful hand To rein a steed and wield a brand; I see him yet, the princely boy!

Not Ellen more my pride and joy; 735 I love him still, despite my wrongs, By hasty wrath, and slanderous tongues.

O seek the grace you well may find, Without a cause to mine combined."

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Twice through the hall the Chieftain strode; 740 The waving of his tartans broad, And darkened brow, where wounded pride With ire and disappointment vied, Seemed, by the torch's gloomy light, Like the ill Demon of the night, 745 Stooping his pinions' shadowy sway Upon the knighted pilgrim's way.

But, unrequited Love! thy dart Plunged deepest its envenomed smart, And Roderick, with thine anguish stung, 750 At length the hand of Douglas wrung, While eyes, that mocked at tears before, With bitter drops were running o'er.

The death-pangs of long-cherished hope Scarce in that ample breast had scope, 755 But, struggling with his spirit proud, Convulsive heaved its checkered shroud, While every sob--so mute were all-- Was heard distinctly through the hall.

The son's despair, the mother's look, 760 Ill might the gentle Ellen brook; She rose, and to her side there came, To aid her parting steps, the Graeme.

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Then Roderick from the Douglas broke-- As flashes flame through sable smoke, 765 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 770 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, 775 Thank thou for punishment delayed."

Eager as a greyhound on his game Fiercely with Roderick grappled Graeme.

"Perish my name, if aught afford Its Chieftain's safety save his sword!" 780 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! 785 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 deemed the spoil Of such dishonorable broil!" 790 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.

x.x.xV

Ere yet the brands aloft were flung 795 Margaret on Roderick's mantle hung, And Malcolm heard his Ellen's scream, As faltered through terrific dream.

Then Roderick plunged in sheath his sword And veiled his wrath in scornful word: 800 "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, 805 The pageant pomp of earthly man.

More would he of Clan-Alpine know, Thou canst our strength and pa.s.ses show.

Malise, what ho!"--his henchman came; "Give our safe-conduct to the Graeme." 810 Young Malcolm answered, calm and bold, "Fear nothing for thy favorite hold; The spot, an angel deigned to grace, Is blessed, though robbers haunt the place.

Thy churlish courtesy for those 815 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 Even Roderick Dhu beset the track.-- 820 Brave Douglas--lovely Ellen--nay, Nought here of parting will I say.

Earth does not hold a lonesome glen So secret but we meet again.-- Chieftain! we too shall find an hour," 825 He said, and left the silvan bower.

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Old Allan followed to the strand-- Such was the Douglas's command-- And anxious told, how, on the morn, The stern Sir Roderick deep had sworn 830 The Fiery Cross should circle o'er Dale, glen, and valley, down, and moor.

Much were the peril to the Graeme From those who to the signal came; Far up the lake 'twere safest land, 835 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 rolled, His ample plaid in tightened fold, 840 And stripped his limbs to such array, As best might suit the watery way--

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Then spoke abrupt: "Farewell to thee, Pattern of old fidelity!"

The Minstrel's hand he kindly pressed-- 845 "Oh, could I point a place of rest!

My sovereign holds in ward my land, My uncle leads my va.s.sal band; To tame his foes, his friends to aid, Poor Malcolm has but heart and blade. 850 Yet, if there be one faithful Graeme, Who loves the chieftain of his name, Not long shall honored Douglas dwell Like hunted stag in mountain cell; Nor, ere yon pride-swoll'n robber dare, 855 I might not give the rest to air!

Tell Roderick Dhu, I owed him nought, Not the poor service of a boat, To waft me to yon mountain-side."

Then plunged he in the flas.h.i.+ng tide. 860 Bold o'er the flood his head he bore, And stoutly steered him from the sh.o.r.e; And Allan strained his anxious eye, Far mid the lake his form to spy, Darkening across each puny wave, 865 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. 870 The Minstrel heard the far halloo, And joyful from the sh.o.r.e withdrew.