508

LADY OF THE LAKE · -BOAT SONG.

And, ling'ring long by cape and bay,
Wail'd every harsher note away;
Then, bursting bolder on the ear,

The clan's shrill Gath'ring they could hear;
Those thrilling sounds, that call the might
Of old Clan-Alpine to the fight.
Thick beat the rapid notes, as when
The must'ring hundreds shake the glen,
And, hurrying at the signal dread,
The batter'd earth returns their tread!
Then prelude light, of livelier tone,
Express'd their merry marching on,
Ere peal of closing battle rose,
With mingled outcry, shrieks, and blows;
And mimic din of stroke and ward,
As broad-sword upon target jarr'd;
And groaning pause, ere yet again,
Condens'd, the battle yell'd amain;
The rapid charge, the rallying shout,
Retreat borne headlong into rout,
And bursts of triumph, to declare
Clan-Alpine's conquest - all were there!
Nor ended thus the strain; but slow,
Sunk in a moan prolong'd and low.
And chang'd the conquering clarion swell,
For wild lament o'er those that fell.

"Hail to the chief who in triumph advances!
Honour'd and bless'd be the ever-green Pine!
Long may the Tree in his banner that glances,
Flourish, the shelter and grace of our line !"-
"Ours is no sapling, chance-sown by the fountain,
Blooming at Beltane, in winter to fade;

When the whirlwind has stripp'd ev'ry leaf on the mountain,
The more shall Clan-Alpine exult in her shade.

1

66

LOCH KATRINE.

Moored in the rifted rock,
Proof to the tempest's shock,
Firmer he roots him the ruder it blow;
Menteith and Breadalbane, then,
Echo his praise agen,

'Rodrigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!'

Row, vassals, row, for the pride of the Highlands!
Stretch to your oars, for the ever-green Pine!
O! that the rose-bud that graces yon islands,

Were wreath'd in a garland around him to twine!
O that some seedling gem,

Worthy such noble stem,

Honour'd and bless'd in their shadow might grow!
Loud should Clan-Alpine then

Ring from her deepmost glen,

'Rodrigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!'"-p. 65-71.

509

The reader may take next the following general sketch of Loch Katrine:

"One burnish'd sheet of living gold,

Loch Katrine lay beneath him roll'd;
In all her length far winding lay,
With promontory, creek, and bay,
And islands that, empurpled bright,
Floated amid the livelier light;

And mountains, that like giants stand,
To sentinel enchanted land.

High on the south, huge Benvenue

Down to the lake in masses threw

Crags, knolls, and mounds, confusedly hurl'd,
The fragments of an earlier world!

A wild'ring forest feather'd o'er

His ruin'd sides and summit hoar;

While on the north, through middle air,
Ben-an heav'd high his forehead bare.".

-p. 18, 19.

The next is a more minute view of the same scenery in a summer dawn-closed with a fine picture of its dark lord.

"The summer dawn's reflected hue

To purple chang'd Loch Katrine blue;
Mildly and soft the western breeze
Just kiss'd the lake, just stirr❜d the trees;
And the pleas'd lake, like maiden coy,
Trembled but dimpled not for joy!
The mountain shadows on her breast
Were neither broken nor at rest;

510

LADY OF THE LAKE – THE FIERY CROSS.

In bright uncertainty they lie,
Like future joys to Fancy's eye!
The water lily to the light

Her chalice rear'd of silver bright;

The doe awoke, and to the lawn,

Begemm'd with dew-drops, led her fawn;

The grey mist left the mountain side,
The torrent show'd its glistening pride;
Invisible in flecked sky,

The lark sent down her revelry;

The black-bird and the speckled thrush
Good-morrow gave from brake and bush;
In answer coo'd the cushat dove

Her notes of peace, and rest, and love.

"No thought of peace, no thought of rest,
Assuag'd the storm in Rodrick's breast.
With sheathed broad-sword in his hand,
Abrupt he pac'd the islet strand:
The shrinking band stood oft aghast
At the impatient glance he cast;
Such glance the mountain eagle threw,
As, from the cliffs of Ben-venue,
She spread her dark sails on the wind,
And, high in middle heaven reclin'd,
With her broad shadow on the lake,
Silenc'd the warblers of the brake."

-p. 98-100.

The following description of the starting of "the fiery cross," bears more marks of labour than most of Mr. Scott's poetry, and borders, perhaps, upon straining and exaggeration; yet it shows great power.

"Then Rodrick, with impatient look,

From Brian's hand the symbol took :

Speed, Malise, speed!' he said, and gave

The crosslet to his henchman brave.

'The muster-place be Lanric mead -
Instant the time-speed, Malise, speed!'
Like heath-bird, when the hawks pursue,
The barge across Loch Katrine flew ;
High stood the henchman on the prow;
So rapidly the bargemen row,

The bubbles, where they launch'd the boat,
Were all unbroken and afloat,

Dancing in foam and ripple still,

When it had near'd the mainland hill!
And from the silver beach's side
Still was the prow three fathom wide,
When lightly bounded to the land,
The messenger of blood and brand.

6

SUMMONING OF THE CLAN.

Speed, Malise, speed! the dun deer's hide
On fleeter foot was never tied.

Speed, Malise, speed! such cause of haste
Thine active sinews never brac'd.

Bend 'gainst the steepy hill thy breast,
Burst down like torrent from its crest;
With short and springing footstep pass
The trembling bog and false morass;
Across the brook like roe-buck bound,
And thread the brake like questing hound;
The crag is high, the scaur is deep,
Yet shrink not from the desperate leap;
Parch'd are thy burning lips and brow,
Yet by the fountain pause not now;
Herald of battle, fate, and fear,
Stretch onward in thy fleet career!

The wounded hind thou track'st not now,
Pursu'st not maid through greenwood bough,
Nor pliest thou now thy flying pace
With rivals in the mountain race;
But danger, death, and warrior deed,

Are in thy course-Speed, Malise, speed!""

511

-p. 112-114.

The following reflections on an ancient field of battle afford one of the most remarkable instances of false taste in all Mr. Scott's writings. Yet the brevity and variety of the images serve well to show, as we have formerly hinted, that even in his errors there are traces of a powerful genius.

66 a dreary glen,
Where scatter'd lay the bones of men,
In some forgotten battle slain,

And bleach'd by drifting wind and rain.
It might have tam'd a warrior's heart,
To view such mockery of his art!
The knot-grass fetter'd there the hand,
Which once could burst an iron band;
Beneath the broad and ample bone,
That buckler'd heart to fear unknown,
A feeble and a timorous guest,
The field-fare fram'd her lowly nest!
There the slow blind-worm left his slime
On the fleet limbs that mock'd at time;

And there, too, lay the leader's skull,

Still wreath'd with chaplet flush'd and full,
For heath-bell, with her purple bloom,

Supplied the bonnet and the plume."-p. 102, 103.

512 LADY OF THE LAKE THE MOUNTAIN AMBUSH.

But one of the most striking passages in the poem, certainly, is that in which Sir Roderick is represented as calling up his men suddenly from their ambush, when Fitz-James expressed his impatience to meet, face to face, that murderous chieftain and his clan.

"Have, then, thy wish!'. He whistled shrill :
And he was answer'd from the hill!
Wild as the scream of the curlew,
From crag to crag the signal flew.
Instant, through copse and heath, arose
Bonnets and spears and bended bows!
On right, on left, above, below,
Sprung up at once the lurking foe;
From shingles grey their lances start,
The bracken-bush sends forth the dart,
The rushes and the willow-wand
Are bristling into axe and brand,
And ev'ry tuft of broom gives life
To plaided warrior arm'd for strife.
That whistle garrison'd the glen
At once with full five hundred men !
As if the yawning hill to heaven
A subterranean host had given.
Watching their leader's beck and will,
All silent there they stood and still.

Like the loose crags whose threat'ning mass
Lay tott'ring o'er the hollow pass,
As if an infant's touch could urge

Their headlong passage down the verge,
With step and weapon forward flung,

Upon the mountain-side they hung.

The mountaineer cast glance of pride
Along Benledi's living side;

Then fix'd his eye and sable brow

Full on Fitz-James- "How say'st thou now?
These are Clan-Alpine's warriors true;
And, Saxon, I am Roderick Dhu !"—-

"Fitz-James was brave:-
:- Though to his heart
The life-blood thrill'd with sudden start,
He mann'd himself with dauntless air,
Return'd the Chief his haughty stare,
His back against a rock he bore,
And firmly plac'd his foot before:-
'Come one, come all! this rock shall fly
From its firm base as soon as I.'-
Sir Roderick mark'd-and in his eyes
Respect was mingled with surprise,