Have they not been on gibbet bound, Their quarters flung to hawk and hound, And hold we here a cold debate, Never be gorged with northern blood? 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, Smack of the wild Norwegian still; 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, 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; Heaven knows my purpose to atone, My conscience owns the debt I owe, more. Do what thou wilt; my shrift is o'er.' Like man by prodigy amazed, I feel within mine aged breast It burns, it maddens, it constrains!- I bless thee, and thou shalt be bless'd!' Was silence, awful, deep, and long. XXXII. Again that light has fired his eye, A hunted wanderer on the wild, His breathing came more thick and Avenger of thy country's shame, fast, And from his pale blue eyes were cast Strange rays of wild and wandering light; Uprise his locks of silver white, In azure tide the currents strain, XXXI. 'De Bruce! I rose with purpose dread Restorer of her injured fame, Bless'd in thy sceptre and thy sword, In distant ages, sire to son Shall tell thy tale of freedom won, Hath bless'd thee, and thou shalt be Enough-my short-lived decays, strength And sinks the momentary blaze. 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, His priests received the exhausted The Island Prince seem'd bent to press How, when its echoes fell, a silence He that now bears shall wreak the dead wrong. Sunk on the wood, the meadow, Call Edith-call the Maid of Lorn! My sister, slaves! For further scorn, IV. But who the Chieftain's rage can tell, '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! Will pay his feigned prophecy!' To Ronald of the Isles, 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 ; 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, It shall be well redress'd. 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, 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, 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. |