And on the opposing shore take ground, With plash, with scramble, and with bound.
'Yes! all is true my fears could frame;
A prisoner lies the noble Græme,
And fiery Roderick soon will feel
Right-hand they leave thy cliffs, Craig- The vengeance of the royal steel.
And soon the bulwark of the North, Grey Stirling, with her towers and town,
Upon their fleet career look'd down.
As up the flinty path they strain'd Sudden his steed the leader rein'd; A signal to his squire he flung, Who instant to his stirrup sprung: 'Seest thou, De Vaux, yon woodsman grey,
Who town-ward holds the rocky way, Of stature tall and poor array? Mark'st thou the firm, yet active stride, With which he scales the mountainside?
Know'st thou from whence he comes, or whom?'
No, by my word; a burly groom He seems, who in the field or chase A baron's train would nobly grace.' 'Out, out, De Vaux! can fear supply. And jealousy, no sharper eye? 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! The uncle of the banish'd Earl. Away, away to court, to show The near approach of dreaded foe:
I, only I, can ward their fate;
God grant the ransom come not late!
The Abbess hath her promise given
My child shall be the bride of Heaven;
Be pardon'd one repining tear!
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;
And thou, O sad and fatal mound!
That oft hast heard the death-axesound,
As on the noblest of the land
Fell the stern headsman's bloody hand,
The dungeon, block, and nameless
tomb
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 masquers meet!
Banner and pageant, pipe and drum,
And merry morrice-dancers come.
I guess, by all this quaint array,
The burghers hold their sports to-day.
James will be there; he loves such
show,
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 shivers spear.
I'll follow to the Castle-park,
The King must stand upon his guard; And play my prize; King James shall
Douglas and he must meet prepared.' Then right-hand wheel'd their steeds,
They won the castle's postern gate.
The Douglas, who had bent his way From Cambus-Kenneth's abbey grey, Now, as he climb'd the rocky shelf, Held sad communion with himself:
If age has tamed these sinews stark, Whose force so oft, in happier days, His boyish wonder loved to praise.'
The Castle gates were open flung, The quivering drawbridge rock'd and rung,
And echo'd loud the flinty street
Beneath the coursers' clattering feet,
As slowly down the steep descent
Fair Scotland's King and nobles went,
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,
Friar Tuck with quarterstaff and cowl,
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.
The Douglas bent a bow of might;
His first shaft centered in the white,
And when in turn he shot again,
Who smiled and blush'd for pride and His second split the first in twain.
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,
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 throng'd peer and
knight,
And noble dame and damsel bright,
Whose fiery steeds ill brook'd the stay
Of the steep street and crowded way.
But in the train you might discern
Dark lowering brow and visage stern;
There nobles mourn'd their pride re-
strain'd,
And the mean burgher's joys disdain'd;
And chiefs, who, hostage for their clan,
Were each from home a banish'd man,
There thought upon their own grey
From the King's hand must Douglas
A silver dart, the archer's stake;
Fondly he watch'd, with watery eye,
Some answering glance of sympathy;
No kind emotion made reply!
Indifferent as to archer wight,
The monarch gave the arrow bright.
Now, clear the ring! for, hand to
hand,
The manly wrestlers take their stand.
Two o'er the rest superior rose,
And proud demanded mightier foes,
Nor call'd in vain; for Douglas came.
-For life is Hugh of Larbert lame;
Scarce better John of Alloa's fare,
Whom senseless home his comrades
bear.
Prize of the wrestling match, the King
To Douglas gave a golden ring,
While coldly glanced his eye of blue,
As frozen drop of wintry dew.
Douglas would speak, but in his breast
Their waving woods, their feudal His struggling soul his words sup
And deem'd themselves a shameful part
Of pageant which they cursed in heart.
Now, in the Castle-park, drew out
Their chequer'd bands the joyous rout.
There morricers, with bell at heel,
And blade in hand, their mazes wheel;
But chief, beside the butts, there stand
Indignant then he turn'd him where
Their arms the brawny yeomen bare,
To hurl the massive bar in air.
When each his utmost strength had
shown,
The Douglas rent an earth-fast stone
From its deep bed, then heaved it high,
And sent the fragment through the sky
A rood beyond the farthest mark.
Bold Robin Hood and all his band-And still in Stirling's royal park,
The grey-hair'd sires, who know the Whose pride, the holiday to crown,
To strangers point the Douglas-cast, And moralize on the decay
Of Scottish strength in modern day.
The vale with loud applauses rang, The Ladies' Rock sent back the clang. The King, with look unmoved, bestow'd
A purse well-fill'd with pieces broad. Indignant smiled the Douglas proud, And threw the gold among the crowd, Who now, with anxious wonder, scan, And sharper glance, the dark grey man;
Till whispers rose among the throng,
That heart so free, and hand so strong,
Must to the Douglas blood belong;
The old men mark'd, and shook the
head,
To see his hair with silver spread;
And wink'd aside, and told each son,
Of feats upon the English done,
Ere Douglas of the stalwart hand
Was exiled from his native land.
The women praised his stately form,
Though wreck'd by many a winter's
storm;
The youth with awe and wonder saw
His strength surpassing Nature's law.
Thusjudged, as is their wont, the crowd,
Till murmur rose to clamours loud.
But not a glance from that proud ring
Of peers, who circled round the King,
With Douglas held communion kind,
Or call'd the banish'd man to mind;
No, not from those who, at the chase,
Once held his side the honour'd place,
Begirt his board, and, in the field,
Found safety underneath his shield;
For he, whom royal eyes disown,
When was his form to courtiers
known!
The Monarch saw the gambols flag, And bade let loose a gallant stag,
Two favourite greyhounds should pull
That venison free, and Bourdeaux wine,
Might serve the archery to dine.
But Lufra, whom from Douglas' side
Nor bribe nor threat could e'er divide,
The fleetest hound in all the North,
Brave Lufra saw, and darted forth.
She left the royal hounds mid-way,
And dashing on the antler'd prey,
Sunk her sharp muzzle in his flank,
And deep the flowing life-blood drank.
The King's stout huntsman saw the
sport
By strange intruder broken short,
Came up, and with his leash unbound,
In anger struck the noble hound.
The Douglas had endured, that morn,
The King's cold look, the nobles'
scorn,
And last, and worst to spirit proud,
Had borne the pity of the crowd;
But Lufra had been fondly bred,
To share his board, to watch his bed,
And oft would Ellen Lufra's neck
In maiden glee with garlands deck;
They were such playmates, that with
Of Lufra, Ellen's image came.
His stifled wrath is brimming high,
In darken'd brow and flashing eye;
As waves before the bark divide,
The crowd gave way before his stride;
Needs but a buffet and no more,
The groom lies senseless in his gore.
Such blow no other hand could deal,
Though gauntleted in glove of steel.
Then clamour'd loud the royal train, And brandish'd swords and staves amain.
But stern the Baron's warning'Back! Back, on your lives, ye menial pack!
Beware the Douglas. Yes! behold, King James! the Douglas, doom'd of old,
And vainly sought for near and far,
A victim to atone the war,
A willing victim, now attends,
Nor craves thy grace but for his friends.'
Thus is my clemency repaid?
Presumptuous Lord!' the monarch
said;
'Of thy mis-proud ambitious clan,
Thou, James of Bothwell, wert the man,
The only man, in whom a foc
My woman-mercy would not know:
But shall a Monarch's presence brook
Injurious blow, and haughty look?
What ho! the Captain of our Guard!
Give the offender fitting ward.
Break off the sports!'-for tumult rose,
And yeomen 'gan to bend their bows.
'Break off the sports!' he said, and
frown'd,
'And bid our horsemen clear the ground.'
Then uproar wild and misarray
Marr'd the fair form of festal day.
The horsemen prick'd among the
crowd,
Repell'd by threats and insult loud;
To earth are borne the old and weak,
The timorous fly, the women shriek ;
With flint, with shaft, with staff, with
bar,
The hardier urge tumultuous war.
At once round Douglas darkly sweep
The royal spears in circle deep,
And slowly scale the pathway steep;
While on the rear in thunder pour
The rabble with disorder'd roar.
With grief the noble Douglas saw
The Commons rise against the law,
And to the leading soldier said,
'Sir John of Hyndford! 'twas my blade
That knighthood on thy shoulder laid;
For that good deed, permit me then
A word with these misguided men.
Hear, gentle friends! ere yet for me,
Ye break the bands of fealty.
My life, my honour, and my cause,
I tender free to Scotland's laws.
Are these so weak as must require
The aid of your misguided ire?
Or, if I suffer causeless wrong,
Is then my selfish rage so strong,
My sense of public weal so low,
That, for mean vengeance on a foe,
Those cords of love I should unbind,
Which knit my country and my kind?
Oh no! Believe, in yonder tower
It will not soothe my captive hour
To know those spears our foes should
dread
For me in kindred gore are red;
To know, in fruitless brawl begun,
For me that mother wails her son;
For me that widow's mate expires;
For me that orphans weep their sires;
That patriots mourn insulted laws,
And curse the Douglas for the cause.
O let your patience ward such ill,
And keep your right to love me still!
The crowd's wild fury sunk again
In tears, as tempests melt in rain.
With lifted hands and eyes, they pray'd
For blessings on his generous head,
Who for his country felt alone,
And prized her blood beyond his own.
Old men, upon the verge of life,
Bless'd him who staid the civil strife;
And mothers held their babes on high,
The self-devoted Chief to spy,
Triumphant over wrongs and ire,
To whom the prattlers owed a sire:
Even the rough soldier's heart was
moved;
As if behind some bier beloved,
With trailing arms and drooping head,
The Douglas up the hill he led,
And at the Castle's battled verge,
With sighs resign'd his honour'd
charge.
Hear'st thou,' he said, 'the loud Retrace with speed thy former way; Spare not for spoiling of thy steed,
acclaim, With which they shout the Douglas The best of mine shall be thy meed.
Say to our faithful Lord of Mar,
We do forbid the intended war:
Roderick, this morn, in single fight,
Was made our prisoner by a knight;
And Douglas hath himself and cause
Submitted to our kingdom's laws.
The tidings of their leaders lost
Will soon dissolve the mountain host,
Nor would we that the vulgar feel,
Fortheir Chief's crimes, avenging steel.
Bear Mar our message, Braco: fly!'
He turn'd his steed. My liege, I hie,
Yet, ere I cross this lily lawn,
I fear the broadswords will be drawn.'
The turf the flying courser spurn'd,
And to his towers the King return'd.
Ill with King James's mood, that day,
Suited gay feast and minstrel lay;
Soon were dismiss'd the courtly throng,
And soon cut short the festal song.
Nor less upon the sadden'd town
The evening sunk in sorrow down.
The burghers spoke of civil jar,
Of rumour'd feuds and mountain war,
Of Moray, Mar, and Roderick Dhu,
All up in arms :-the Douglas too,
They mourn'd him pent within the hold
'Where stout Earl William was of old,'
And there his word the speaker staid,
And finger on his lip he laid,
Or pointed to his dagger blade.
To break their muster march'd, and But jaded horsemen, from the west,
At evening to the Castle press'd;
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