CANTO SECOND THE ISLAND I Ar morn the black-cock trims his jetty wing, Of life reviving, with reviving day; And while yon little bark glides down the bay, bane! II SONG 'Not faster yonder rowers' might Flings from their oars the spray, Not faster yonder rippling bright, Than men from memory erase The benefits of former days; 1 See Note II. Then, stranger, go! good speed the while, Nor think again of the lonely isle. 'High place to thee in royal court, High place in battled line, Good hawk and hound for sylvan sport! Where beauty sees the brave resort, The honoured meed be thine! True be thy sword, thy friend sincere, III SONG CONTINUED 'But if beneath yon southern sky Pine for his Highland home; Then, warrior, then be thine to show The care that soothes a wanderer's woe; Remember then thy hap erewhile, A stranger in the lonely isle. 'Or if on life's uncertain main Mishap shall mar thy sail; If faithful, wise, and brave in vain, Waste not a sigh on fortune changed, On thankless courts, or friends estranged, But come where kindred worth shall smile, To greet thee in the lonely isle.' IV As died the sounds upon the tide, The shallop reached the mainland side, His reverend brow was raised to heaven, As from the rising sun to claim A sparkle of inspiring flame. His hand, reclined upon the wire, So still, as life itself were fled In the last sound his harp had sped. V Upon a rock with lichens wild, Perchance the maiden smiled to see VI While yet he loitered on the spot, And after, oft the knight would say, As at that simple mute farewell. He parts, the maid, unconscious still, Watched him wind slowly round the hill; But when his stately form was hid, The guardian in her bosom chid, — 'Thy Malcolm! vain and selfish maid!' 'T was thus upbraiding conscience said, 'Not so had Malcolm idly hung On the smooth phrase of Southern tongue; Not so had Malcolm strained his eye Another step than thine to spy.' 'Wake, Allan-bane,' aloud she cried To the old minstrel by her side, 'Arouse thee from thy moody dream! I'll give thy harp heroic theme, And warm thee with a noble name; Pour forth the glory of the Græme!'1 Scarce from her lip the word had rushed, When deep the conscious maiden blushed; 1 See Note 12. |