Fling me the picture of the fight When met my clan the Saxon might. I'll listen, till my fancy hears

The clang of swords, the crash of spears!

These grates, these walls, shall vanish then,

For the fair field of fighting men,
And my free spirit burst away,
As if it soar'd from battle fray."
The trembling Bard with awe obey'd,
Slow on the harp his hand he laid;
But soon remembrance of the sight
He witness'd from the mountain's
height,

With what old Bertram told at night,
Awaken'd the full power of song,
And bore him in career along ---
As shallop launch'd on river's tide,
That slow and fearful leaves the side,
But, when it feels the middle stream,
Drives downward swift as lightning's
beam :

XV.

BATTLE OF BEAL' AN DUINE.

'The Minstrel came once more to view
The eastern ridge of Benvenue,
For, ere he parted, he would say
Farewell to lovely Loch Achray:
Where shall he find, in foreign land,
So lone a lake, so sweet a strand!
There is no breeze upon the fern,
Nor ripple on the lake;
Upon her eyry nods the erne,

The deer has sought the brake;
The small birds will not sing aloud,
The springing trout lies still,
So darkly glooms yon thunder cloud,
That swathes, as with a purple
shroud,

Benledi's distant hill.

Is it the thunder's solemn sound
That mutters deep and dread,
Or echoes from the groaning ground
The warrior's measured tread?

Is it the lightning's quivering glance
That on the thicket streams,
Or do they flash on spear and lance
The sun's retiring beams?

I see the dagger-crest of Mar,
I see the Moray's silver star
Wave o'er the cloud of Saxon war,
That up the lake comes winding far!
To hero bound for battle-strife,
Or bard of martial lay,
'Twere worth ten years of peaceful
life,

One glance at their array!

XVI.

'Their light-arm'd archers far and

near

Survey'd the tangled ground; Their centre ranks, with pike and spear,

A twilight forest frown'd; Their barbed horsemen, in the rear,

The stern battalia crown'd. No cymbal clash'd, no clarion rang, Still were the pipe and drum; Save heavy tread, and armour's clang,

The sullen march was dumb. There breathed no wind their crests

to shake,

Or wave their flags abroad;

Scarce the frail aspen seem'd to quake,

That shadow'd o'er their road. Their vaward scouts no tidings bring. Can rouse no lurking foe,

Nor spy a trace of living thing,

Save when they stirr'd the roe; The host moves like a deep-sea wave,

Where rise no rocks its pride to brave,

High-swelling, dark, and slow. The lake is pass'd, and now they gain A narrow and a broken plain, Before the Trosachs' rugged jaws ; And here the horse and spearmen pause,

While, to explore the dangerous glen, Dive through the pass the archer-men.

XVII.

'At once there rose so wild a yell
Within that dark and narrow dell,
As all the fiends, from heaven that fell,
Had peal'd the banner-cry of hell!

Forth from the pass in tumult driven,
Like chaff before the wind of heaven,

The archery appear;

For life for life! their plight they
ply-

And shriek, and shout, and battle-cry,
And plaids and bonnets waving high,
And broadswords flashing to the sky,

Are maddening in the rear.
Onward they drive, in dreadful race,

Pursuers and pursued;

Before that tide of flight and chase,
How shall it keep its rooted place,

The spearmen's twilight wood? "Down, down," cried Mar, "your

lances down!

Bear back both friend and foe!" Like reeds before the tempest's frown,

That serried grove of lances brown

At once lay levell'd low; And closely shouldering side to side, The bristling ranks the onset bide. "We'll quell the savage mountäineer,

As their Tinchel cows the game! They come as fleet as forest deer, We'll drive them back as tame." XVIII.

'Bearing before them, in their course,
The relics of the archer force,
Like wave with crest of sparkling foam,
Right onward did Clan-Alpine come.
Above the tide, each broadsword
bright

Was brandishing like beam of light,
Each targe was dark below;
And with the ocean's mighty swing,
When heaving to the tempest's wing,
They hurl'd them on the foc.

I heard the lance's shivering crash,
As when the whirlwind rends the ash,
I heard the broadsword's deadly clang,
As if an hundred anvils rang!
But Moray wheel'd his rearward rank
Of horsemen on Clan-Alpine's flank,

"My banner-man, advance!
Isee," he cried, "their column shake.
Now, gallants! for your ladies' sake,
Upon them with the lance!"
The horsemen dash'd among the
rout,

As deer break through the broom; Their steeds are stout, their swords are out,

They soon make lightsome room. Clan-Alpine's best are backward borne!

Where, where was Roderick then?

One blast upon his bugle-horn

Were worth a thousand men! And refluent through the pass offear, The battle's tide was pour'd; Vanish'd the Saxon's struggling spear,

Vanish'd the mountain-sword.
As Bracklinn's chasm, so black and
steep,

Receives her roaring linn,
As the dark caverns of the deep

Suck the wild whirlpool in,
So did the deep and darksome pass
Devour the battle's mingled mass :
None linger now upon the plain,
Save those who ne'er shall fight again.

XIX.

Now westward rolls the battle's din,

That deep and doubling pass within.
Minstrel, away, the work of fate
Is bearing on: its issue wait,
Where the rude Trosachs' dread defile
Opens on Katrine's lake and isle.
Grey Benvenue I soon repass'd,
Loch Katrine lay beneath me cast.

The sun is set; the clouds are met,
The lowering scowl of heaven
An inky hue of livid blue

To the deep lake has given; Strange gusts of wind from mountainglen

Swept o'er the lake, then sunk agen.
I heeded not the eddying surge,
Mine eye but saw the Trosachs' gorge,
Mine ear but heard the sullen sound,
Which like an earthquake shook the
ground,

And spoke the stern and desperate . strife

That parts not but with parting life,
Seeming, to minstrel ear, to toll
The dirge of many a passing soul.
Nearer it comes; the dim-wood glen
The martial flood disgorged agen,

But not in mingled tide;
The plaided warriors of the North
High on the mountain thunder forth
And overhang its side;

While by the lake below appears
The dark'ning cloud of Saxon spears.
At weary bay each shatter'd band,
Eyeing their foemen, sternly stand;
Their banners stream like tatter'd sail,
That flings its fragments to the gale,
And broken arms and disarray
Mark'd the fell havoc of the day.

xx.

Forth from the ranks a spearman

sprung,

On earth his casque and corslet rung,
He plunged him in the wave:
All saw the deed, the purpose knew,
And to their clamours Benvenue

A mingled echo gave;

The Saxons shout, their mate to cheer, The helpless females scream for fear, And yells for rage the mountaineer. 'Twas then, as by the outcry riven, Pour'd down at once the lowering heaven:

A whirlwind swept Loch Katrine's breast,

Her billows rear'd their snowy crest. Well for the swimmerswell'd they high, To mar the Highland marksman's eye; For round him shower'd, 'mid rain

and hail,

skance,

The Saxon stood in sullen trance,
Till Moray pointed with his lance,

And cried-Behold yon isle!
See! none are left to guard its strand,
But women weak, that wring the hand:
'Tis there of yore the robber band

Their booty wont to pile; My purse, with bonnet-pieces store, To him will swim a bow-shot o'er, And loose a shallop from the shore. Lightly we 'll tame the war-wolf then, Lords of his mate, and brood, and den.'

Her hand and dagger streaming blood.

XXI.

"Revenge revenge!" the Saxons

cried, The Gaels' exulting shout replied. Despite the elemental rage, Again they hurried to engage; But, ere they closed in desperate fight, Bloody with spurring came a knight, Sprung from his horse, and, from

a crag.

Waved 'twixt the hosts a milk-white flag.

Clarion and trumpet by his side
Rung forth a truce-note high and wide,
While, in the Monarch's name, afar
An herald's voice forbade the war,
For Bothwell's lord, and Roderick
bold,

Were both, he said, in captive hold.'

But here the lay made sudden stand!
The harp escaped the Minstrel's hand!
Oft had he stolen a glance, to spy
How Roderick brook'd his minstrelsy:
At first, the Chieftain, to the chime,
With lifted hand, kept feeble time;
That motion ceased, yet feeling strong
Varied his look as changed the song;
At length, no more his deafen'd ear
The minstrel melody can hear;
His face grows sharp, his hands are
clench'd,

As if some pang his heart-strings wrench'd;

Set are his teeth, his fading eye
Is sternly fix'd on vacancy;
Thus, motionless, and moanless, drew
His parting breath, stout Roderick
Dhu!

Old Allan-bane look'd on aghast,
While grim and still his spirit pass'd:
But when he saw that life was fled,
He pour'd his wailing o'er the dead:

XXII. LAMENT.

'And art thou cold and lowly laid, Thy foeman's dread, thy people's aid, Breadalbane's boast, Clan - Alpine's shade!

For thee shall none a requiem say?
For thee, who loved the minstrel's lay,
For thee, of Bothwell's house the stay,
The shelter of her exiled line,
E'en in this prison-house of thine,
I'll wail for Alpine's honour'd Pine!

When mourns thy tribe thy battles done,

Thy fall before the race was won, Thy sword ungirt ere set of sun! There breathes not clansman of thy line, But would have given his life for thine. O woe for Alpine's honour'd Pine!

Sad was thy lot on mortal stage! The captive thrush may brook the cage, The prison'd eagle dies for rage. Brave spirit, do not scorn my strain! And, when its notes awake again, Even she, so long beloved in vain, Shall with my harp her voice combine, And mix her woe and tears with mine, To wail Clan-Alpine's honour'd Pine.'

XXIII.

Ellen the while with bursting heart
Remain'd in lordly bower apart,
Where play'd with many-colour'd
gleams,

Through storied pane the rising beams.
In vain on gilded roof they fall,
And lighten'd 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 look'd, 'twas but to say,
With better omen dawn'd 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 claim'd with jealous pride,
And Douglas, bent on woodland game,
Whose answer, oft at random made,
Spoke of the chase to Malcolm Græme,
The wandering of his thoughts
betray'd.

Those who such simple joys have known,

gone.