Have they not been on gibbet bound, Their quarters flung to hawk and hound,

And hold we here a cold debate,
To yield more victims to their fate?
What can the English Leopard's
mood

Never be gorged with northern blood?
Was not the life of Athole shed
To soothe the tyrant's sicken'd bed?
And must his word, till dying day,
Be nought but quarter, hang, and slay!
Thou frown'st, De Argentine; my
gage

Is prompt to prove the strife I wage.'

XXVII.

'Nor deem,' said stout Dunvegan's knight,

'That thou shalt brave alone the fight! By saints of isle and mainland both, By Woden wild (my grandsire's oath),

Let Rome and England do their worst,
Howe'er attainted or accursed,
If Bruce shall e'er find friends again
Once more to brave a battle-plain,
If Douglas couch again his lance,
Or Randolph dare another chance,
Old Torquil will not be to lack
With twice a thousand at his back.
Nay, chafe not at my bearing bold,
Good Abbot for thou know'st of old,
Torquil's rude thought and stubborn
will

Smack of the wild Norwegian still;
Nor will I barter Freedom's cause
For England's wealth, or Rome's.
applause.'

XXVIII.

The Abbot seem'd with eye severe The hardy Chieftain's speech to hear; Then on King Robert turn'd the Monk, But twice his courage came and sunk, Confronted with the hero's look; Twice fell his eye, his accents shook;

At length, resolved in tone and brow,
Sternly he question`d him—‘And thou,
Unhappy what hast thou to plead,
Why I denounce not on thy deed
That awful doom which canons tell
Shuts paradise, and opens hell;
Anathema of power so dread,
It blends the living with the dead,
Bids each good angel soar away,
And every ill one claim his prey;
Expels thee from the Church's care,
And deafens Heaven against thy

prayer;

Arms every hand against thy life, Bans all who aid thee in the strife, Nay, each whose succour, cold and scant,

With meanest alms relieves thy want; Haunts thee while living, and, when dead,

Dwells on thy yet devoted head, Rends Honour's scutcheon from thy hearse,

Stills o'er thy bier the holy verse. And spurns thy corpse from hallow'd ground,

Flung like vile carrion to the hound;
Such is the dire and desperate doom
For sacrilege, decreed by Rome;
And such the well-deservéd meed
Of thine unhallow'd, ruthless deed.'

Heaven hath our destined purpose broke,

Not here must nuptial vow be spoke; Brethren, our errand here is o'er, Our task discharged. Unmoor, unmoor!'

Then murmuring sounds of doubt and fear,

Close pour'd in many an anxious car,
The solemn stillness broke;
And still they gazed with eager guess,
Where, in an oriel's deep recess,

wrong.

My sister, slaves! For further scorn,
Be sure nor she nor I will stay.
Away, De Argentine, away!
We nor ally nor brother know,
In Bruce's friend, or England's foe.'

IV.

But who the Chieftain's rage can tell,
When, sought from lowest dungeon cell
To highest tower the castle round,
No Lady Edith was there found!
Heshouted, Falsehood!-treachery!!
Revenge and blood! a lordly meed
To him that will avenge the deed!
A Baron's lands!'-His frantic mood
Was scarcely by the news withstood,
That Morag shared his sister's flight,
And that, in hurry of the night,

'Scaped noteless, and without remark, Two strangers sought the Abbot's bark. [1 Scott Leems to have missed or dropt a line here.]

'Man every galley! fly-pursue!
The priest his treachery shall rue!
Ay, and the time shall quickly come
When we shall hear the thanks that
Rome

Will pay his feigned prophecy!'
Such was fierce Lorn's indignant cry;
And Cormac Doil in haste obey'd,
Hoisted his sail, his anchor weigh'd
(For, glad of each pretext for spoil,
A pirate sworn was Cormac Doil).
But others, lingering, spoke apart,—
'The Maid has given her maiden heart

To Ronald of the Isles,
And, fearful lest her brother's word
Bestow her on that English Lord,
She seeks Iona's piles,
And wisely deems it best to dwell
A votaress in the holy cell,
Until these feuds so fierce and fell
The Abbot reconciles.'

V.

As impotent of ire, the hall Echo'd to Lorn's impatient call, 'My horse, my mantle, and my train! Let none who honours Lorn remain !' Courteous, but stern, a bold request To Bruce De Argentine express'd. 'Lord Earl,' he said, 'I cannot chuse But yield such title to the Bruce, Though name and earldom both are gone,

Since he braced rebel's armour onBut, Earl or serf- rude phrase was thine

Of late, and launch'd at Argentine ;
Such as compels me to demand
Redress of honour at thy hand.
We need not to each other tell
That both can wield their weapons well;
Then do me but the soldier grace,
This glove upon thy helm to place
Where we may meet in fight;
And I will say, as still I've said,
Though by ambition far misled,
Thou art a noble knight.'

VI.

'And I,' the princely Bruce replied, Might term it stain on knighthood's pride

That the bright sword of Argentine Should in a tyrant's quarrel shine;

But, for your brave request,
Be sure the honour'd pledge you gave
In every battle-field shall wave
Upon my helmet-crest ;
Believe, that if my hasty tongue
Hath done thine honour causeless
wrong,

It shall be well redress'd.
Not dearer to my soul was glove,
Bestow'd in youth by lady's love,

Than this which thou hast given ! Thus, then, my noble foe I greet; Health and high fortune till we meet, And then-what pleases Heaven.'

VII.

Thus parted they; for now, with sound Like waves roll'd back from rocky ground,

The friends of Lorn retire; Each mainland chieftain, with his train, Draws to his mountain towers again, Pondering how mortal schemes prove vain,

And mortal hopes expire. But through the castle double guard, By Ronald's charge, kept wakeful ward,

Wicket and gate were trebly barr'd,

By beam and bolt and chain; Then of the guests, in courteous sort, He pray'd excuse for mirth broke short, And bade them in Artornish fort

In confidence remain. Now torch and menial tendance led Chieftain and knight to bower and bed, And beads were told, and Aves said, And soon they sunk away Into such sleep, as wont to shed Oblivion on the weary head,

After a toilsome day.

VIII.

But soon uproused, the Monarch cried To Edward slumbering by his side,

'Awake, or sleep for aye! Even now there jarr'd a secret door, A taper-light gleams on the floor,

Up, Edward, up, I say! Some one glides in like midnight ghost

Nay, strike not! 'tis our noble Host.' Advancing then his taper's flame, Ronald stept forth, and with him came Dunvegan's chief--each bent the knee

To Bruce in sign of fealty,

And proffer'd him his sword, And hail'd him, in a monarch's style, As king of mainland and of isle,

And Scotland's rightful lord. 'And O,' said Ronald, 'Own'd of Heaven!

Say, is my erring youth forgiven,
By falsehood's arts from duty driven,
Who rebel falchion drew,
Yet ever to thy deeds of fame,
Even while I strove against thy claim,

Paid homage just and true?' 'Alas! dear youth, the unhappy time,' Answer'd the Bruce, must bear the crime,

Since, guiltier far than you, Even I'-he paused; for Falkirk's woes Upon his conscious soul arose. The Chieftain to his breast he press'd, And in a sigh conceal'd the rest.

IX.

They proffer'd aid, by arms and might,
To repossess him in his right;
But well their counsels must be

weigh'd,

Ere banners raised and musters made, For English hire and Lorn's intrigues Bound many chiefs in southern leagues. In answer, Bruce his purpose bold To his new vassals frankly told.