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Lord of a barren heritage

Which his brave sires, from age to age, By their good swords have held with toil; 595 His sire had fallen in such turmoil,

And he, God wot, was forced to stand Oft for his right with blade in hand. This morning, with Lord Moray's train, He chased a stalwart stag in vain, 600 Outstripp'd his comrades, miss'd the deer, Lost his good steed, and wander'd here.

Fain would the Knight in turn require The name and state of Ellen's sire. Well show'd the elder lady's mien, 605 That courts and cities she had seen; Ellen, though more her looks display'd The simple grace of silvan maid, In speech and gesture, form and face, Show'd she was come of gentle race. 610 "Twere strange, in ruder rank to find

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Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done,
While our slumbrous spells assail ye,
Dream not, with the rising sun,

Bugles here shall sound reveille,1
Sleep! the deer is in his den;

Sleep! thy hounds are by thee lying; 660 Sleep! nor dream in yonder glen

Such looks, such manners, and such mind. Each hint the Knight of Snowdoun gave, 665 Dame Margaret heard with silence grave; Or Ellen, innocently gay, 615 Turn'd all inquiry light away

"Weird women1 we! by dale and down2 We dwell, afar from tower and town. We stem the flood, we ride the blast, On wandering knights our spells we cast; 620 While viewless minstrels touch the string, "Tis thus our charmed rhymes we sing." She sung, and still a harp unseen Fill'd up the symphony between.

625

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Soldier rest! thy warfare o'er,

Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking; Dream of battled fields no more,

Days of danger, nights of waking.

In our isle's enchanted hall,

Hands unseen thy couch are strewing,

630 Fairy strains of music fall,

Every sense in slumber dewing.
Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er,
Dream of fighting fields no more;
Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking,
635 Morn of toil, nor night of waking.

No rude sound shall reach thine ear,
Armor's clang, or war-steed champing,
Trumps nor pibroch summon here

Mustering clan, or squadron tramping. 640 Yet the lark's shrill fife may come

At the daybreak from the fallow,5
And the bittern sound his drum,

Booming from the sedgy shallow.
Ruder sounds shall none be near

645 Guards nor warders challenge here;

1 women skilled in

witchcraft, or gifted
with prophecy

2 valley and hill

3 sound of trumpet

A kind of Highland bagpipe music. uncultivated land

670

How thy gallant steed lay dying.
Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done;
Think not of the rising sun,
For, at dawning to assail ye,
Here no bugles sound reveille.

The hall was cleared the stranger's
bed

Was there of mountain heathers spread, Where oft a hundred guests had lain, And dream'd their forest sports again. But vainly did the heath-flower shed Its moorland fragrance round his head; Not Ellen's spell had lull'd to rest The fever of his troubled breast. In broken dreams the image rose 675 Of varied perils, pains, and woes: His steed now flounders in the brake, Now sinks his barge upon the lake; Now leader of a broken host,

His standard falls, his honor's lost. 680 Then, from my couch may heavenly

might

Chase that worst phantom of the night!-
Again return'd the scenes of youth,
On confident undoubting truth;

Again his soul he interchanged

685 With friends whose hearts were long estranged.

They come, in dim procession led,
The cold, the faithless, and the dead;
As warm each hand, each brow as gay,
As if they parted yesterday.

690 And doubt distracts him at the view-
O were his senses false or true?
Dream'd he of death, or broken vow,
Or is it all a vision now?

At length, with Ellen in a grove

695 He seem'd to walk, and speak of love;

1 morning signal summoning soldiers to the duties of the day

She listen'd with a blush and sigh, His suit was warm, his hopes were high. He sought her yielded hand to clasp, And a cold gauntlet met his grasp: 700 The

phantom's sex had changed and
gone,

Upon its head a helmet shone;
Slowly enlarged to giant size,
With

darken'd cheek and threatening
eyes,

The grisly visage, stern and hoar, 705 To Ellen still a likeness bore.

He woke, and, panting with affright, Recall'd the vision of the night. The hearth's decaying brands were red, And deep and dusky lustre shed, 710 Half showing, half concealing, all The uncouth trophies of the hall. 'Mid those the stranger fix'd his eye, Where that huge falchion hung on high, And thoughts on thoughts, a countless throng,

715 Rush'd, chasing countless thoughts along Until, the giddy whirl to cure,

He rose, and sought the moonshine pure.

The wild-rose, eglantine, and broom, Wasted around their rich perfume; 720 The birch-trees wept in fragrant balın, The aspens slept beneath the calm; The silver light, with quivering glance, Play'd on the water's still expanse: Wild

were the heart whose passion's sway

725 Could rage beneath the sober ray! He felt its calm, that warrior guest, While thus he communed with his breast: "Why is it, at each turn I trace 730 Can I not mountain-maiden spy, Some memory of that exiled race?1

But she must bear the Douglas eye? Can I not view a Highland brand, But it must match the Douglas hand? Can I not frame a fever'd dream, 735 But still the Douglas is the theme? I'll dream no more; by manly mind Not even in sleep is will resign'd. My midnight orisons2 said o'er, I'll turn to rest, and dream no more.' 740 His midnight orisons he told, A prayer with every bead of gold, Consign'd to heaven his cares and woes, And sunk in undisturb'd repose; Until the heath-cock shrilly crew, 745 And morning dawn'd on Benvenue.

1 The Douglases,

hated by James V because the Earl of who had

Angus, married James's

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O! that the rose-bud that graces yon islands

Were wreathed in a garland around him to twine!

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20

Fleet foot on the correi,2

Sage counsel in cumber,3

Red hand in the foray,

How sound is thy slumber! Like the dew on the mountain,

Like the foam on the river, Like the bubble on the fountain, Thou art gone, and forever!

CANTO VI. THE GUARD-ROOM

The sun, awakening, through the smoky air Of the dark city casts a sullen glance, Rousing each caitiff to his task of care, Of sinful men the sad inheritance; 5 Summoning the revellers from the lagging

dance,

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At dawn the towers of Stirling rang
20 With soldier-step and weapon-clang,
While drums, with rolling note, foretell
Relief to weary sentinel.

Through narrow loop and casement barr'd, The sunbeams sought the Court of Guard, 25 And, struggling with the smoky air, Deaden'd the torches' yellow glare.

In comfortless alliance shone

The lights through arch of blacken'd stone, And show'd wild shapes in garb of war, 30 Faces deform'd with beard and scar, All haggard from the midnight watch, And fever'd with the stern debauch; For the oak table's massive board, Flooded with wine, with fragments stored, 35 And beakers drain'd, and cups o'erthrown,

Show'd in what sport the night had
flown.

Some, weary, snored on floor and bench;
Some labor'd still their thirst to quench;
Some, chill'd with watching, spread their
hands

40 O'er the huge chimney's dying brands,
While round them, or beside them flung,
At every step their harness rung.

These drew not for their fields the sword, 45 Nor own'd the patriarchal claim Like tenants of a feudal lord,

Of chieftain in their leader's name;
Adventurers they, from far who roved,
To live by battle which they loved.
There the Italian's clouded face,

50 The swarthy Spaniard's there you trace;
The mountain-loving Switzer there
More freely breathed in mountain-air;
The Fleming there despised the soil,
That paid so ill the laborer's toil;

55 Their rolls show'd French and German

name;

And merry England's exiles came,
To share, with ill conceal'd disdain,
Of Scotland's pay the scanty gain.
All brave in arms, well train'd to wield

60 The heavy halberd,1 brand, and shield;
In camps licentious, wild, and bold;
In pillage fierce and uncontroll'd;
And now, by holytide2 and feast,
From rules of discipline released.

65 They held debate of bloody fray,

Fought 'twixt Loch Katrine and Achray. Fierce was their speech, and, 'mid their words,

Their hands oft grappled to their swords; Nor sunk their tone to spare the ear 70 Of wounded comrades groaning near, Whose mangled limbs, and bodies gored, Bore token of the mountain sword, Though, neighboring to the Court of Guard,

Their prayers and feverish wails were heard;

75 Sad burden to the ruffian joke,
And savage oath by fury spoke!
At length up-started John of Brent,
A yeoman from the banks of Trent;
A stranger to respect or fear,
80 In peace a chaser of the deer,
In hosts a hardy mutineer,

But still the boldest of the crew,
When deed of danger was to do.

He grieved, that day, their games cut
short,

85 And marr'd the dicer's brawling sport,
And shouted loud, "Renew the bowl!
And, while a merry catch I troll,+
Let each the buxom chorus bear,
Like brethren of the brand and spear:—

SOLDIER'S SONG

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90 Our vicar still preaches that Peter and Poule Laid a swinging long curse on the bonny brown bowl,

Yet whoop, bully-boys! off with your liquor, Sweet Marjorie's the word, and a fig for the vicar!

The warder's challenge, heard without, Staid in mid-roar the merry shout. 110 A soldier to the portal went,

That there's wrath and despair in the jolly black-jack,5

And the seven deadly sins in a flagon of

sack;7

Yet whoop, Barnaby! off with thy liquor, 95 Drink upsees out,s and a fig for the vicar.

"Here is old Bertram, sirs, of Ghent;
And, beat for jubilee the drum!

A maid and minstrel with him come."
Bertram, a Fleming, gray and scarr'd,
115 Was entering now the Court of Guard,
A harper with him, and in plaid
All muffled close, a mountain maid,
Who backward shrunk to 'scape the view
Of the loose scene and boisterous crew.
120 What news?" they roar'd. "I only

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know,

From noon till eve we fought with foe,
As wild and as untameable

As the rude mountains where they dwell;
On both sides store of blood is lost,

125 Nor much success can either boast.
"But whence thy captives, friend? such
spoil

As theirs must needs reward thy toil. Old dost thou wax, and wars grow sharp; Thou now hast glee-maiden3 and harp! 130 Get thee an ape, and trudge the land, The leader of a juggler band."

"No, comrade; no such fortune mine. After the fight these sought our line, That aged harper and the girl, 135 And, having audience of the Earl, Mar bade I should purvey them steed, And bring them hitherward with speed. Forbear your mirth and rude alarm, For none shall do them shame or harm.' Hear ye his boast?" cried John of Brent,

140

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150 Laid hand upon his dagger-knife;
But Ellen boldly stepp'd between,
And dropp'd at once the tartan screen:
So, from his morning cloud, appears
The sun of May, through summer tears.
155 The savage soldiery, amazed,

As on descended angel gazed;
Even hardy Brent, abash'd and tamed,
Stood half admiring, half ashamed.

Boldly she spoke, "Soldiers, attend! 160 My father was the soldier's friend; Cheer'd him in camps, in marches led, And with him in the battle bled.

Not from the valiant, or the strong, Should exile's daughter suffer wrong.' 165 Answer'd De Brent, most forward still In every feat or good or ill

"I shame me of the part I play'd: And thou an outlaw's child, poor maid! An outlaw I by forest laws,

170 And merry Needwood knows the cause. Poor Rose-if Rose be living now”. He wiped his iron eye and brow"Must bear such age, I think, as thou. Hear ye, my mates;-I go to call 175 The captain of our watch to hall:

There lies my halberd on the floor: And he that steps my halberd o'er, To do the maid injurious part, My shaft shall quiver in his heart! 180 Beware loose speech, or jesting rough: Ye all know John de Brent. Enough.

Their captain came, a gallant young, (Of Tullibardine's house he sprung,) Nor wore he yet the spurs of knight; 185 Gay was his mien, his humor light,

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And, though by courtesy controll'd, Forward his speech, his bearing bold, The high-born maiden ill could brook The scanning of his curious look 190 And dauntless eye;-and yet, in sooth, Young Lewis was a generous youth: But Ellen's lovely face and mien, Ill suited to the garb and scene, Might lightly bear construction strange, 195 And give loose fancy scope to range. "Welcome to Stirling towers, fair maid! Come ye to seek a champion's aid, On palfrey white, with harper hoar, Like errant damosel of yore?

200 Does thy high quest a knight require, Or may the venture suit a squire?"

Through scenes of sorrow, shame, and
strife,

205 A suppliant for a father's life,
I crave an audience of the King.
Behold, to back my suit, a ring,
The royal pledge of grateful claims,
Given by the Monarch to Fitz-James.'

210 The signet-ring young Lewis took,
With deep respect and alter'd look;
And said, "This ring our duties own;
And pardon, if to worth unknown,
In semblance mean obscurely veil'd,
215 Lady, in aught my folly fail'd.

Soon as the day flings wide his gates,
The King shall know what suitor waits.
Please you, meanwhile, in fitting bower,
Repose you till his waking hour;
220 Female attendance shall obey

Your hest, for service or array.
Permit I marshall you the way.'
But, ere she followed, with the grace
And open bounty of her race,
225 She bade her slender purse be shared
Among the soldiers of the guard.

The rest with thanks their guerdon tock;
But Brent, with shy and awkward look,
On the reluctant maiden's hold

230 Forced bluntly back the proffer'd gold-
"Forgive a haughty English heart,
And O forget its ruder part!

The vacant purse shall be my share,
Which in my barret-cap1 I'll bear,

235 Perchance, in jeopardy of war,

Where gayer crests may keep afar."
With thanks ('twas all she could) the maid
His rugged courtesy repaid.

When Ellen forth with Lewis went, 240 Allan made suit to John of Brent: "My lady safe, O let your grace Give me to see my master's face! His minstrel I; to share his doom Bound from the cradle to the tomb; 245 Tenth in descent, since first my sires Waked for his noble house their lyres; Nor one of all the race was known But prized its weal above their own. With the chief's birth begins our care; 250 Our harp must soothe the infant heir, Teach the youth tales of fight, and grace His earliest feat of field or chase;

In peace, in war, our rank we keep,
We cheer his board, we soothe his sleep,

Her dark eye flash'd; she paused and 255 Nor leave him till we pour our verse,

sigh'd,

"O what have I to do with pride!

wandering on missions of chivalry

A doleful tribute! o'er his hearse. Then let me share his captive lot;

1 A kind of small cap formerly worn by soldiers.

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