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That aged harper and the girl;
And, having audience of the Earl,
Mar bade I should purvey them steed,
And bring them hitherward with speed.
Forbear your mirth and rude alarm,

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For none shall do them shame or harm."
Hear ye his boast?" cried John of
Brent,

Ever to strife and jangling bent;
"Shall he strike doe beside our lodge,
And yet the jealous niggard grudge
To pay the forester his fee?

I'll have my share, howe'er it be,
Despite of Moray, Mar, or thee."
Bertram his forward step withstood;
And, burning in his vengeful mood,
Old Allan, though unfit for strife,
Laid hand upon his dagger-knife;
But Ellen boldly stepped between,
And dropped at once the tartan screen-
So, from his morning cloud, appears
The sun of May, through summer tears.
The savage soldiery, amazed,
As on descended angel gazed;

Even hardy Brent, abashed and tamed,
Stood half admiring, half ashamed.

V.

Boldly she spoke :-"Soldiers, attend!
My father was the soldier's friend;
Cheered him in camps, in marches led,
And with him in the battle bled.
Not from the valiant, or the strong,
Should exile's daughter suffer wrong."
Answered De Brent, most forward still
In every feat or good or ill:-
"I shame me of the part I played:
And thou an outlaw's child, poor maid!
An outlaw I by forest laws,
And merry Needwood knows the cause.
Poor Rose,-if Rose be living now,”-
He wiped his iron eye and brow,-
"Must bear such age, I think, as thou.-
Hear ye, my mates:-I go to call
The Captain of our watch to hall:
There lies my halberd on the floor;
And he that steps my halberd o'er,
To do the maid injurious part,
My shaft shall quiver in his heart!--
Beware loose speech, or jesting rough:
Ye all know John de Brent. Enough."

VI.

Their Captain came, a gallant young,(Of Tullibardine's house he sprung,) Nor wore he yet the spurs of knight; Gay was his mien, his humour light, And, though by courtesy controlled, Forward his speech, his bearing bold.

The high-born maiden ill could brook
The scanning of his curious look
And dauntless eye;--and yet, in sooth,
Young Lewis was a generous youth;
But Ellen's lovely face and mien,
Ill suited to the garb and scene,
Might lightly bear construction strange,
And give loose fancy scope to range.
"Welcome to Stirling towers, fair maid!
Come ye to seek a champion's aid,
On palfrey white, with harper hoar,
Like errant damosel of yore?

Does thy high quest a knight require,
Or may the venture suit a squire?"-
Her dark eye flashed;--she paused and
sighed,-

"Oh, what have I to do with pride! Through scenes of sorrow, shame, and strife, A suppliant for a father's life,

I crave an audience of the King.
Behold, to back my suit, a ring,
The royal pledge of grateful claims,
Given by the Monarch to Fitz-James."

VII.

The signet-ring young Lewis took,
With deep respect and altered look;
And said: "This ring our duties own;
And pardon, if, to worth unknown,
In semblance mean obscurely veiled,
Lady, in aught my folly failed.

Soon as the day flings wide his gates,
The King shall know what suitor waits.
Please you, meanwhile, in fitting bower
Repose you till his waking hour;
Female attendance shall obey
Your hest, for service or array.
Permit I marshal you the way."
But, ere she followed, with the grace
And open bounty of her race,

She bade her slender purse be shared
Among the soldiers of the guard.
The rest with thanks their guerdon took;
But Brent, with shy and awkward look,
On the reluctant maiden's hold

Forced bluntly back the proffered gold;-

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Where played, with many-coloured gleams, | It trickled still, the starting tear,

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.
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 woful hour!
"Twas from a turret that o'erhung
Her latticed bower, the strain was sung.

IX.

LAY OF THE IMPRISONED 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 blood-hound free,
For that's the life that's meet for me.

"I hate to learn the ebb of time

From yon dull steeple's drowsy chime;
Or mark it as the sun-beams 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 blithesome welcome blithely meet,
And lay my trophies at her feet,
While fled the eve on wing of glee,-
That life is lost to love and me!

X.

The heart-sick lay was hardly said, The list'ner had not turned her head,

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.

"O welcome, brave Fitz-James!" she

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said;

How may an almost orphan maid
Pay the deep debt"- "O 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.

XI.

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
Aerial 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;
'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!

XII.

As wreath of snow, on mountain breast,
Slides from the rock that gave it rest,
Poor Helen 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.
We would not to the vulgar crowd

Yield what they craved with clamour loud;
Calmly we heard and judged his cause---
Our council aided, and our laws.

I stanched thy father's death-feud stern,
With stout De Vaux and gray Glencairn;
And Bothwell's Lord henceforth we own
The friend and bulwark of our Throne.--
But, lovely infidel! how now?
What clouds thy misbelieving brow?
Lord James of Douglas, lend thine aid;
Thou must confirm this doubting maid."

XIII.

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 stepped 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.

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Full well the conscious maiden guessed
He probed the weakness of her breast;
But, with that consciousness, there came
A light'ning of her fears for Græme,
And more she deemed the Monarch's ire
Kindled 'gainst him who, for her sire,
Rebellious broad-sword boldly drew;
And, to her generous feeling true,
She craved the grace of Roderick Dhu.——
Forbear thy suit;-the King of kings
Alone can stay life's parting wings:
I know his heart, I know his hand,
Have shared his cheer, and proved his
brand;-

My fairest earldom would I give
To bid Clan-Alpine's chieftain live!———
Hast thou no other boon to crave,
No other captive friend to save?
Blushing, she turned her from the King,
And to the Douglas gave the ring,
As if she wished her sire to speak
The suit that stained her glowing cheek.

Nay, then, my pledge has lost its force, And stubborn Justice holds her course! Malcolm, come forth!"-And, at the word, Down kneeled the Græme to Scotland's Lord.

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SOLILOQUY.

"Tis now the dead of night, and half the | Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful

world

Is with a lonely solemn darkness hung!

Yet I (so coy a dame is Sleep to me)
With all the weary courtship of

My care-tired thoughts, can't win her to
my bed,

neighings,

Piercing the night's dull ear.-Hark! from the tents,

The armourers accomplishing the knights, With clink of hammers closing rivets up,

Though even the stars do wink, as 'twere Give dreadful note of preparation; while with overwatching.

some

I'll forth and walk a while. The air's Like sacrifices, by their fires of watch,

refreshing,

And the ripe harvest of the new-mown hay

Gives it a sweet and wholesome odour,--
How awful is this gloom!--And hark! from
camp to camp

The hum of either army stilly sounds,
That the fixed sentinels almost receive
The secret whispers of each other's watch:

With patience sit, and inly ruminate
The morning's danger. By yon heaven,
my stern

Impatience chides this tardy-gaited Night,
Which, like a foul and ugly witch, doth
limp

So tediously away. -I'll to my couch,
And once more try to sleep her into
morning.

SHAKSPEARE.

SHAKSPEARE.

IT has been said, by some critic, that Shakspeare was distinguished from the other dramatic writers of his day only by his wit; that they had all his other qualities but that;—that one writer had as much sense; another, as much fancy; another, as much knowledge of character; another, the same depth of passion; and another, as great power of language. This statement is not true; nor is the inference from it well founded, even if it were. This person does not seem to be aware, that, upon his own showing, the great distinction of Shakspeare's genius was its virtually including the genius of all the great men of his age, and not its differing from them in one accidental particular.

The striking peculiarity of Shakspeare's mind was its generic quality, its power of communication with all other minds; so that it contained a universe of thought and feeling within itself, and no one peculiar bias or exclusive excellence more than another. He was just like any other man, but that he was like all other

men.

He was the least of an egotist that it was possible to be. He was nothing in himself, but he was all that others were, or that they could become. He not only had in himself the germs of every faculty and feeling, but he could follow them by anticipation, intuitively, into all their conceivable ramifications, through every change of fortune, or conflict of passion, or turn of thought. He had “a mind reflecting ages past" and present; all the people that ever lived were there. There was no respect of persons with him. His genius shone equally on the evil and on the good, on the wise and the foolish, the monarch and the beggar. "All corners of the earth; kings, queens, and states; maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave," are hardly hid from his searching glance. He was like the genius of humanity, changing places with all of us at pleasure, and playing with our purposes as with his own.

He turned the globe round for his amusement, and surveyed the generations of men and the individuals as they passed, with their different concerns, passions, follies, vices, virtues, actions, and motives; as well those they knew as those they did not know or acknowledge to themselves. The dreams of childhood, the ravings of despair, were the toys of his fancy. Airy beings waited at his call and came at his bidding. Harmless fairies "nodded to him and did him their courtesies ;" and the night-hag bestrode the blast at the command of "his so potent art."

He had only to speak of anything, in order to become that thing, with all the circumstances belonging to it. When he conceived of a character, whether real or imaginary, he not only entered into all its thoughts and feelings, but seemed instantly, and as if by touching a secret spring, to be surrounded with all the same objects, "subject to the same skyey influences," the same local, outward, and unforeseen accidents, which would occur in reality. Thus, the character of Caliban not only stands before us with a language and manners of his own, but the scenery and situation of the enchanted island he inhabits, the traditions of the place, its strange noises, its hidden recesses, "his frequent haunts, and ancient neighbourhood," are given with a miraculous truth of

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