THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. Walter Scott

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СКАЧАТЬ shook the ground,

       And spoke the stern and desperate strife

       That parts not but with parting life,

       Seeming, to minstrel ear, to toll

       The dirge of many a passing soul.

       Nearer it comes—the dim-wood glen

       The martial flood disgorged again,

       But not in mingled tide;

       The plaided warriors of the North

       High on the mountain thunder forth

       And overhang its side,

       While by the lake below appears

       The darkening cloud of Saxon spears.

       At weary bay each shattered band,

       Eying their foemen, sternly stand;

       Their banners stream like tattered sail,

       That flings its fragments to the gale,

       And broken arms and disarray

       Marked the fell havoc of the day.

       XX

      ‘Viewing the mountain’s ridge askance,

       The Saxons stood in sullen trance,

       Till Moray pointed with his lance,

       And cried: “Behold yon isle!—

       See! none are left to guard its strand

       But women weak, that wring the hand:

       ‘Tis there of yore the robber band

       Their booty wont to pile;—

       My purse, with bonnet-pieces store,

       To him will swim a bowshot o’er,

       And loose a shallop from the shore.

       Lightly we’ll tame the war-wolf then,

       Lords of his mate, and brood, and den.”

       Forth from the ranks a spearman sprung,

       On earth his casque and corselet rung,

       He plunged him in the wave:—

       All saw the deed,—the purpose knew,

       And to their clamors Benvenue

       A mingled echo gave;

       The Saxons shout, their mate to cheer,

       The helpless females scream for fear

       And yells for rage the mountaineer.

       ‘T was then, as by the outcry riven,

       Poured down at once the lowering heaven:

       A whirlwind swept Loch Katrine’s breast,

       Her billows reared their snowy crest.

       Well for the swimmer swelled they high,

       To mar the Highland marksman’s eye;

       For round him showered, mid rain and hail,

       The vengeful arrows of the Gael.

       In vain.—He nears the isle—and lo!

       His hand is on a shallop’s bow.

       Just then a flash of lightning came,

       It tinged the waves and strand with flame;

       I marked Duncraggan’s widowed dame,

       Behind an oak I saw her stand,

       A naked dirk gleamed in her hand:—

       It darkened,—but amid the moan

       Of waves I heard a dying groan;—

       Another flash!—the spearman floats

       A weltering corse beside the boats,

       And the stern matron o’er him stood,

       Her hand and dagger streaming blood.

       XXI

      “‘Revenge! revenge!” the Saxons cried,

       The Gaels’ exulting shout replied.

       Despite the elemental rage,

       Again they hurried to engage;

       But, ere they closed in desperate fight,

       Bloody with spurring came a knight,

       Sprung from his horse, and from a crag

       Waved ‘twixt the hosts a milk-white flag.

       Clarion and trumpet by his side

       Rung forth a truce-note high and wide,

       While, in the Monarch’s name, afar

       A herald’s voice forbade the war,

       For Bothwell’s lord and Roderick bold

       Were both, he said, in captive hold.’—

       But here the lay made sudden stand,

       The harp escaped the Minstrel’s hand!

       Oft had he stolen a glance, to spy

       How Roderick brooked his minstrelsy:

       At first, the Chieftain, to the chime,

       With lifted hand kept feeble time;

       That motion ceased,—yet feeling strong

       Varied his look as changed the song;

       At length, no more his deafened ear

       The minstrel melody can hear;

       His face grows sharp,—his hands are clenched’

       As if some pang his heartstrings wrenched;

       Set are his teeth, his fading eye

       Is sternly fixed on vacancy;

       Thus, motionless and moanless, drew

       His parting breath stout Roderick Dhu!—

       Old Allan-bane looked on aghast,

       While grim and still his spirit passed;

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