'I, too,' the aged Ferrand said, 'Am qualified by minstrel trade Of rank and place to tell; Mark'd ye the younger stranger's eye, My mates, how quick, how keen, how high, How fierce its flashes fell, Glancing among the noble rout As if to seek the noblest out, Because the owner might not brook On any save his peers to look? And yet it moves me more, That steady, calm, majestic brow, With which the elder chief even now Scann'd the gay presence o'er, Like being of superior kind, In whose high-toned impartial mind Degrees of mortal rank and state Seem objects of indifferent weight. The lady too-though closely tied The mantle veil both face and eye, Her motions' grace it could not hide, Nor could her form's fair symmetry.' IX. Suspicious doubt and lordly scorn Lour'd on the haughty front of Lorn. From underneath his brows of pride, The stranger guests he sternly eyed, And whisper'd closely what the ear Of Argentine alone might hear; Then question'd, high and brief, If, in their voyage, aught they knew Of the rebellious Scottish crew, Who to Rath-Erin's shelter drew, With Carrick's outlaw'd Chief? And if, their winter's exile o'er, X. That younger stranger, fierce and high, At once confronts the Chieftain's eye With lock of equal scorn; 'Of rebels have we nought to show; But if of Royal Bruce thou'dst know, I warn thee he has sworn, Ere thrice three days shall come and go, His banner Scottish winds shall blow, Despite each mean or mighty foe, From England's every bill and bow, To Allaster of Lorn.' Kindled the mountain Chieftain's ire, Than wake, 'midst mirth and wine, the jars That flow from these unhappy wars.' 'Content,' said Lorn; and spoke apart With Ferrand, master of his art, Then whisper'd Argentine, The lay I named will carry smart To these bold strangers' haughty heart, If right this guess of mine.' He ceased, and it was silence all, Until the minstrel waked the hall: Gem! ne'er wrought on Highland mountain, Did the fairy of the fountain, XII. 'No! thy splendours nothing tell When the gem was won and lost, Widely was the war-cry toss'd! Rung aloud Bendourish fell, Answer'd Douchart's sounding dell, Fled the deer from wild Teyndrum, When the homicide, o'ercome, Hardly 'scaped with scathe and scorn, Left the pledge with conquering Lorn! XIII. 'Vain was then the Douglas brand, Farthest fled its former Lord, XIV. As glares the tiger on his foes, Hemm'd in by hunters, spears, and bows, And, ere he bounds upon the ring, Selects the object of his spring,— Now on the bard, now on his Lord, So Edward glared and grasp'd his sword; But stern his brother spoke, 'Be still! To praise the hand that pays thy pains; To speak more nobly of the Bruce.' 'Talk not to me,' fierce Lorn replied, 'Of odds or match! when Comyn died Three daggers clash'd within his side! Talk not to me of sheltering hall, The Church of GOD saw Comyn fall! On God's own altarstream'd his blood, While o'er my prostrate kinsman stood The ruthless murderer-c'en as nowWith armed hand and scornful brow! Up, all who love me! blow on blow! And lay the outlaw'd felons low!' XVI. Then upsprang many a mainland Lord, Into a wild and warlike yell; Onward they press with weapons high, The affrighted females shriek and fly, And, Scotland, then thy brightest ray Had darken'd ere its noon of day,But every chief of birth and fame, That from the Isles of Ocean came, At Ronald's side that hour withstood Fierce Lorn's relentless thirst for blood. XVII. Brave Torquil from Dunvegan high, With ready weapons rose at once, feud, Full oft suppress'd, full oft renew'd, Glow'd 'twixt the chieftains of Argyle, And many a lord of ocean's isle. Wild was the scene-each sword was bare, Back stream'd each chieftain's shaggy hair, In gloomy opposition set, Eyes, hands, and brandish'd weapons met; Blue gleaming o'er the social board, Flash'd to the torches many a sword; And soon those bridal lights may shine On purple blood for rosy wine. XVIII. up, each weapon While thus for blows and death prepared, Each heart was bared, Each foot advanced,-a surly pause Still reverenced hospitable laws. All menaced violence, but alike Reluctant each the first to strike, (For aye accursed in minstrel line Is he who brawls 'mid song and wine,) And, match'd in numbers and in might, Doubtful and desperate seem'd the fight. Thus threat and murmur died away, Show'd like the Sworder's form of old, XIX. That awful pause the stranger maid, 'Othou, of knighthood once the flower, Sure refuge in distressful hour, [Qu. touch of life?] Thou, who in Judah well hast fought This craves reflection-but though For our dear faith, and oft hast sought Say, can thy soul of honour brook To Argentine she turn'd her word, In tremor to his faltering tongue. XX. Now rose De Argentine, to claim sworn, 'Gainst their liege lord had weapon borne (Such speech, I ween, was but to hide His care their safety to provide ; For knight more true in thought and deed Than Argentine ne'er spurr'd a steed)- And Ronald, who his meaning guess'd, Seem'd half to sanction the request. This purpose fiery Torquil broke: 'Somewhat we've heard of England's yoke,' He said, and, in our islands, Fame Hath whisper'd of a lawful claim, That calls the Bruce fair Scotland's Lord, Though dispossess'd by foreign sword. | 'The holy man, whose favour'd glance Hath sainted visions known; Angels have met him on the way, Beside the blessed martyrs' bay, And by Columba's stone. His monks have heard their hymnings high Sound from the summit of Dun-Y, To cheer his penance lone When at each cross, on girth and wold, Their number thrice a hundred-fold,) His prayer he made, his beads he told, XXII. Scarcely this fair accord was o'er, When through the wide revolving door The black-stoled brethren wind; Twelve sandall'd monks, who relics Or dream of greeting, peace, or truce, With excommunicated Bruce! Yet well I grant, to end debate, Thy sainted voice decide his fate.' XXV. Then Ronald pled the stranger's cause, And knighthood's oath and honour's laws; And Isabel, on bended knee, Brought pray'rs and tears to back the plea: And Edith lent her generous aid, Was't not enough to Ronald's bower XXVI. Then Argentine, in England's name, So highly urged his sovereign's claim, He waked a spark, that, long suppress'd, Had smoulder'd in Lord Ronald's breast; And now, as from the flint the fire, And done to death by felon hand, |