THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. Walter Scott

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       ‘Rest and a guide, and food and fire

       My life’s beset, my path is lost,

       The gale has chilled my limbs with frost.’

       ‘Art thou a friend to Roderick?’ ‘No.’

       ‘Thou dar’st not call thyself a foe?’

       ‘I dare! to him and all the band

       He brings to aid his murderous hand.’

       ‘Bold words!—but, though the beast of game

       The privilege of chase may claim,

       Though space and law the stag we lend

       Ere hound we slip or bow we bend

       Who ever recked, where, how, or when,

       The prowling fox was trapped or slain?

       Thus treacherous scouts,—yet sure they lie

       Who say thou cam’st a secret spy!’—

       ‘They do, by heaven!—come Roderick Dhu

       And of his clan the boldest two

       And let me but till morning rest,

       I write the falsehood on their crest.’

       If by the blaze I mark aright

       Thou bear’st the belt and spur of Knight.’

       ‘Then by these tokens mayst thou know

       Each proud oppressor’s mortal foe.’

       ‘Enough, enough; sit down and share

       A soldier’s couch, a soldier’s fare.’

       XXXI

      He gave him of his Highland cheer,

       The hardened flesh of mountain deer;

       Dry fuel on the fire he laid,

       And bade the Saxon share his plaid.

       He tended him like welcome guest,

       Then thus his further speech addressed:—

       ‘Stranger, I am to Roderick Dhu

       A clansman born, a kinsman true;

       Each word against his honour spoke

       Demands of me avenging stroke;

       Yet more,—upon thy fate, ‘tis said,

       A mighty augury is laid.

       It rests with me to wind my horn,—

       Thou art with numbers overborne;

       It rests with me, here, brand to brand,

       Worn as thou art, to bid thee stand:

       But, not for clan, nor kindred’s cause,

       Will I depart from honour’s laws;

       To assail a wearied man were shame,

       And stranger is a holy name;

       Guidance and rest, and food and fire,

       In vain he never must require.

       Then rest thee here till dawn of day;

       Myself will guide thee on the way,

       O’er stock and stone, through watch and ward,

       Till past Clan-Alpine’s outmost guard,

       As far as Coilantogle’s ford;

       From thence thy warrant is thy sword.’

       ‘I take thy courtesy, by heaven,

       As freely as ‘tis nobly given!’

       Well, rest thee; for the bittern’s cry

       Sings us the lake’s wild lullaby.’

       With that he shook the gathered heath,

       And spread his plaid upon the wreath;

       And the brave foemen, side by side,

       Lay peaceful down like brothers tried,

       And slept until the dawning beam

       Purpled the mountain and the stream.