THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. Walter Scott

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СКАЧАТЬ Along thy banks, swift Teith! they ride,

       And in the race they mock thy tide;

       Torry and Lendrick now are past,

       And Deanstown lies behind them cast;

       They rise, the bannered towers of Doune,

       They sink in distant woodland soon;

       Blair-Drummond sees the hoofs strike fire,

       They sweep like breeze through Ochtertyre;

       They mark just glance and disappear

       The lofty brow of ancient Kier;

       They bathe their coursers’ sweltering sides

       Dark Forth! amid thy sluggish tides,

       And on the opposing shore take ground

       With plash, with scramble, and with bound.

       Righthand they leave thy cliffs, Craig-Forth!

       And soon the bulwark of the North,

       Gray Stirling, with her towers and town,

       Upon their fleet career looked clown.

       XIX

      As up the flinty path they strained,

       Sudden his steed the leader reined;

       A signal to his squire he flung,

       Who instant to his stirrup sprung:—

       ‘Seest thou, De Vaux, yon woodsman gray,

       Who townward holds the rocky way,

       Of stature tall and poor array?

       Mark’st thou the firm, yet active stride,

       With which he scales the mountainside?

       Know’st thou from whence he comes, or whom?’

       ‘No, by my word;—a burly groom

       He seems, who in the field or chase

       A baron’s train would nobly grace—’

       ‘Out, out, De Vaux! can fear supply,

       And jealousy, no sharper eye?

       Afar, ere to the hill he drew,

       That stately form and step I knew;

       Like form in Scotland is not seen,

       Treads not such step on Scottish green.

       ‘Tis James of Douglas, by Saint Serle!

       The uncle of the banished Earl.

       Away, away, to court, to show

       The near approach of dreaded foe:

       The King must stand upon his guard;

       Douglas and he must meet prepared.’

       Then righthand wheeled their steeds, and straight

       They won the Castle’s postern gate.

       XX

      The Douglas, who had bent his way

       From Cambuskenneth’s abbey gray,

       Now, as he climbed the rocky shelf,

       Held sad communion with himself:—

       ‘Yes! all is true my fears could frame;

       A prisoner lies the noble Graeme,

       And fiery Roderick soon will feel

       The vengeance of the royal steel.

       I, only I, can ward their fate,—

       God grant the ransom come not late!

       The Abbess hath her promise given,

       My child shall be the bride of Heaven;—

       Be pardoned one repining tear!

       For He who gave her knows how dear,

       How excellent!—but that is by,

       And now my business is—to die.—

       Ye towers! within whose circuit dread

       A Douglas by his sovereign bled;

       And thou, O sad and fatal mound!

       That oft hast heard the death-axe sound.

       As on the noblest of the land

       Fell the stern headsmen’s bloody hand,—

       The dungeon, block, and nameless tomb

       Prepare—for Douglas seeks his doom!

       But hark! what blithe and jolly peal

       Makes the Franciscan steeple reel?

       And see! upon the crowded street,

       In motley groups what masquers meet!

       Banner and pageant, pipe and drum,

       And merry morrice-dancers come.

       I guess, by all this quaint array,

       The burghers hold their sports to-day.

       James will be there; he loves such show,

       Where the good yeoman bends his bow,

       And the tough wrestler foils his foe,

       As well as where, in proud career,

       The highborn filter shivers spear.

       I’ll follow to the Castle-park,

       And play my prize;—King James shall mark

       If age has tamed these sinews stark,

       Whose force so oft in happier days

       His boyish wonder loved to praise.’

       XXI

      The Castle gates were open flung,

       The quivering drawbridge rocked and rung,

       And echoed loud the flinty street

       Beneath the coursers’ clattering feet,

       As slowly down the steep descent

       Fair Scotland’s King and СКАЧАТЬ