II.

At dawn the towers of Stirling rang With soldier-step and weapon-clang, While drums, with rolling note, foretell Relief to weary sentinel.

Through narrow loop and casement barr'd,

The sunbeams sought the Court of Guard,

And, struggling with the smoky air, Deaden'd the torches' yellow glare. In comfortless alliance shone

The lights through arch of blacken'd stone,

And show'd wild shapes in garb of war,

Faces deform'd with beard and scar,

All haggard from the midnight watch,

And fever'd with the stern debauch; For the oak table's massive board, Flooded with wine, with fragments stored,

And beakers drain'd, and cups o'er

thrown,

Show'd in what sport the night had flown.

Some, weary, snored on floor and bench;

Some labour'd still their thirst to quench;

Some, chill'd with watching, spread

their hands

O'er the huge chimney's dying brands,

III.

its stream;

gyve and jail,

The love-lorn wretch starts from

tormenting dream;

mering pale,

There the Italian's clouded face,

The mountain-loving Switzer there More freely breathed in mountain-air; The Fleming there despised the soil, That paid so ill the labourer's toil; Their rolls show'd French and Ger

man name;

And merry England's exiles came,
To share, with ill conceal'd disdain,
Of Scotland's pay the scanty gain.
All brave in arms, well train'd to wield
The heavy halberd, brand, and shield;
In camps licentious, wild, and bold;
In pillage fierce and uncontroll'd ;
And now, by holytide and feast,
From rules of discipline released.

IV.

They held debate of bloody fray, Fought 'twixt Loch Katrine and Achray.

Fierce was their speech, and, 'mid their words,

Their hands oft grappled to their swords;

Nor sunk their tone to spare the ear Of wounded comrades groaning near, Whose mangled limbs, and bodies gored,

Bore token of the mountain sword, Though, neighbouring to the Court of Guard,

Their prayers and feverish wails were heard ;

Sad burden to the ruffian joke,
And savage oath by fury spoke!
At length up-started John of Brent,
A yeoman from the banks of Trent;
A stranger to respect or fear,
In peace a chaser of the deer,
In host a hardy mutineer,
But still the boldest of the crew,
When deed of danger was to do.
He grieved, that day, their games cut
short,

And marr'd the dicer's brawling sport,
And shouted loud, 'Renew the bowl!
And, while a merry catch I troll,

A soldier to the portal went,-
'Here is old Bertram, sirs, of Ghent;
And, beat for jubilee the drum!
A maid and minstrel with him come.'
Bertram, a Fleming, grey and scarr'd,
Was entering now the Court of Guard,
A harper with him, and in plaid
All muffled close, a mountain maid,
Who backward shrunk to 'scape the
view

Ofthe loose scene and boisterous crew. 'What news?' they roar'd. I only

know,

From noon till eve we fought with foe, As wild and as untamcable

As the rude mountains where they dwell;

On both sides store of blood is lost, Nor much success can either boast.' 'But whence thy captives, friend? such spoil

As theirs must needs reward thy toil. Old dost thou wax, and wars grow sharp;

Thou now hast glee-maiden and harp! Get thee an ape, and trudge the land, The leader of a juggler band.'

VII.

'No, comrade; no such fortune mine.
After the fight these sought our line,
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,
For none shall do them shame or
harm.'

'Hearye 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 stepp'd between,
And dropp'd 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, abash'd and tamed,
Stood half admiring, half ashamed.

VIII.

Boldly she spoke, 'Soldiers, attend!
My father was the soldier's friend;
Cheer'd 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.'
Answer'd De Brent, most forward still
In every feat or good or ill-
'I shame me of the part I play'd:
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.'

IX.

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 controll'd,
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,
Mightlightly 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 flash'd; she paused and
sigh'd,

'O 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.'

X.

The signet-ring young Lewis took,
With deep respect and alter'd look ;
And said, 'This ring our duties own;
And pardon, if to worth unknown,
In semblance mean obscurely veil'd,
Lady, in aught my folly fail'd.
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 marshall 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.
Therest with thanks their guerdon took;
But Brent, with shy and awkward look,
On the reluctant maiden's hold
Forced bluntly back the proffer'd gold—
'Forgive a haughty English heart,
And O forget its ruder part!
The vacant purse shall be my share,
Which in my barret-cap I'll bear,

Perchance, in jeopardy of war, Where gayer crests may keep afar.' With thanks ('twas all she could) the maid

His rugged courtesy repaid.

XI.

When Ellen forth with Lewis went,
Allan made suit to John of Brent:
My lady safe, O let your grace
Give me to see my master's face!
His minstrel I; to share his doom
Bound from the cradle to the tomb;
Tenth in descent, since first my sires
Waked for his noble house their lyres;
Nor one of all the race was known
But prized its weal above their own.
With the Chief's birth begins our care;
Our harp must soothe the infant heir,
Teach the youth tales of fight, and grace
His earliest feat of field or chase;
In peace, in war, our rank we keep,
Wecheer his board, we soothe his sleep,
Nor leave him till we pour our verse,
A doleful tribute! o'er his hearse.
Then let me share his captive lot;
It is my right, deny it not!'
'Little we reck,' said John of Brent,
'We Southern men, of long descent;
Nor wot we how a name, a word,
Makes clansmen vassals to a lord:
Yet kind my noble landlord's part,-
God bless the house of Beaudesert!
And, but I loved to drive the deer,
More than to guide the labouring steer,
I had not dwelt an outcast here.
Come, good old Minstrel, follow me;
Thy Lord and Chieftain shalt thou see.'

XII.

Then, from a rusted iron hook,
A bunch of ponderous keys he took,
Lighted a torch, and Allan led
Through grated arch and passage dread;
Portals they pass'd, where, deep
within,

Spoke prisoner's moan, and fetters' din;

stored,

beat,

sword,

And many an hideous engine grim,
For wrenching joint, and crushing limb,
By artist form'd, who deem'd it shame
And sin to give their work a name.
They halted at a low-brow'd porch,
And Brent to Allan gave the torch,
While bolt and chain he backward
roll'd,

And made the bar unhasp its hold.
They enter'd 'twas a prison-room
Of stern security and gloom,
Yet not a dungeon; for the day
Through lofty gratings found its way,
And rude and antique garniture
Deck'd the sad walls and oaken floor;
Such as the rugged days of old
Deem'd fit for captive noble's hold.
'Here,' said De Brent, thou mayst
remain

Till the leech visit him again.
Strict is his charge, the warders tell,
To tend the noble prisoner well.'
Retiring then, the bolt he drew,
And the lock's murmurs growl'd anew.
Roused at the sound, from lowly bed
A captive feebly raised his head;
The wondering Minstrel look'd, and
knew

Not his dear lord, but Roderick Dhu! For, come from where Clan-Alpine fought,

They, erring, deem'd the Chief he sought.

XIII.

As the tall ship, whose lofty prore
Shall never stem the billows more,
Deserted by her gallant band,
Amid the breakers lies astrand,
So, on his couch, lay Roderick Dhu!
And oft his fever'd limbs he threw
In toss abrupt, as when her sides
Lic rocking in the advancing tides,

O! how unlike her course at sea!
Or his free step on hill and lea!
Soon as the Minstrel he could scan,
What of thy lady? of my clan?
My mother? Douglas? tell me all?
Have they been ruin'd in my fall?
Ah, yes! or wherefore art thou here?
Yet speak, speak boldly, do not fear.'
(For Allan, who his mood well knew,
Was choked with grief and terror
too.)-

'Who fought-who fled? Old man, be brief;

Some might-for they had lost their Chief.

Who basely live? who bravely died?' 'O, calm thee, Chief!' the Minstrel cried,

Ellen is safe.'-'For that, thank
Heaven!'

'And hopes are for the Douglas given;
The Lady Margaret, too, is well;
And, for thy clan,-on field or fell,
Has never harp of minstrel told,
Of combat fought so true and bold.
Thy stately Pine is yet unbent,
Though many a goodly bough is rent.'

XIV.

The Chieftain rear'd his form on high,
And fever's fire was in his eye;
But ghastly, pale, and livid streaks
Chequer'd his swarthy brow and
cheeks.

Hark, Minstrel! I have heard thee
play,

With measure bold, on festal day,
In yon lone isle, . . . again where ne'er
Shall harper play, or warrior hear! . . .
That stirring air that peals on high,
O'er Dermid's race our victory.
Strike it and then (for well thou
canst)

Free from thy minstrel-spirit glanced,