The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd Centenary Edition. With a Memoir of the Author, by the Rev. Thomas Thomson ... Poems and Life. With Many Illustrative Engravings [by James Hogg] |
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 | The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd |  |
105
MADOR OF THE MOOR.
INTRODUCTION.
Thou Queen of Caledonia's mountain floods,
Theme of a thousand gifted bards of yore;
Majestic wanderer of the wilds and woods,
That lovest to circle cliff and mountain hoar,
And with the winds to mix thy kindred roar,
Startling the shepherd of the Grampian glen;
Rich are the vales that bound thy eastern shore,
And fair thy upland dales to human ken;
But scarcely are thy springs known to the sons of men.
Theme of a thousand gifted bards of yore;
Majestic wanderer of the wilds and woods,
That lovest to circle cliff and mountain hoar,
And with the winds to mix thy kindred roar,
Startling the shepherd of the Grampian glen;
Rich are the vales that bound thy eastern shore,
And fair thy upland dales to human ken;
But scarcely are thy springs known to the sons of men.
Oh that some spirit at the midnight noon
Aloft would bear me, middle space, to see
Thy thousand branches gleaming to the moon
By shadowy hill, gray rock, and fairy lea;
Thy gleesome elves disporting merrily
In glimmering circles by the lonely dell,
Or by the sacred fount, or haunted tree,
Where bowed the saint, as hoary legends tell,
And Superstition's last, wild, thrilling visions dwell!
Aloft would bear me, middle space, to see
Thy thousand branches gleaming to the moon
By shadowy hill, gray rock, and fairy lea;
Thy gleesome elves disporting merrily
In glimmering circles by the lonely dell,
Or by the sacred fount, or haunted tree,
Where bowed the saint, as hoary legends tell,
And Superstition's last, wild, thrilling visions dwell!
To Fancy's eye the ample scene is spread;
The yellow moonbeam sleeps on hills of dew,
On many an everlasting pyramid
That bathes its gray head in celestial blue.
These o'er thy cradle stand the guardians true,
The eternal bulwarks of the land and thee,
And evermore thy lullaby renew
To howling winds and storms that o'er thee flee:
All hail, ye battlements of ancient liberty!
The yellow moonbeam sleeps on hills of dew,
On many an everlasting pyramid
That bathes its gray head in celestial blue.
These o'er thy cradle stand the guardians true,
The eternal bulwarks of the land and thee,
And evermore thy lullaby renew
To howling winds and storms that o'er thee flee:
All hail, ye battlements of ancient liberty!
There the dark raven builds his dreary home;
The eagle o'er his eyrie raves aloud;
The brindled fox around thee loves to roam,
And ptarmigans, the inmates of the cloud;
And when the summer flings her dappled shroud
O'er reddening moors, and wilds of softened gray,
The youthful swain, unfashioned, unendowed,
The brocket and the lamb may round thee play:
These thy first guests alone, thou fair, majestic Tay!
The eagle o'er his eyrie raves aloud;
The brindled fox around thee loves to roam,
And ptarmigans, the inmates of the cloud;
And when the summer flings her dappled shroud
O'er reddening moors, and wilds of softened gray,
The youthful swain, unfashioned, unendowed,
The brocket and the lamb may round thee play:
These thy first guests alone, thou fair, majestic Tay!
106
But bear me, Spirit of the gifted eye,
Far on thy pinions eastward to the main,
O'er garish glens and straths of every dye,
Where oxen low, and waves the yellow grain;
Where beetling cliffs o'erhang the belted plain
In spiral forms, fantastic, wild, and riven;
Where swell the woodland choir and maiden's strain,
As forests bend unto the breeze of even,
And in the flood beneath wave o'er a downward heaven!
Far on thy pinions eastward to the main,
O'er garish glens and straths of every dye,
Where oxen low, and waves the yellow grain;
Where beetling cliffs o'erhang the belted plain
In spiral forms, fantastic, wild, and riven;
Where swell the woodland choir and maiden's strain,
As forests bend unto the breeze of even,
And in the flood beneath wave o'er a downward heaven!
Then hold thy visioned course along the skies,
O'er fertile valley bounded by the sea,
Girdled by silver baldrick, which now vies
In broadness with the ocean's majesty;
Where pleasure smiles, and laughing luxury,
And traffic bustles out the live-long day;
Where brazen keels before the billows flee—
Is that the murmuring rill of mountain gray?
Is that imperial flood the wildered Grampian Tay?
O'er fertile valley bounded by the sea,
Girdled by silver baldrick, which now vies
In broadness with the ocean's majesty;
Where pleasure smiles, and laughing luxury,
And traffic bustles out the live-long day;
Where brazen keels before the billows flee—
Is that the murmuring rill of mountain gray?
Is that imperial flood the wildered Grampian Tay?
Far on thy fringed borders, west away,
Queen of green Albyn's rivers, let me roam,
And mark thy graceful windings as I stray
When drowsy day-light seeks her curtained dome.
Fain would a weary wanderer from his home,
The wayward Minstrel of a southland dale,
Sing of thy mountain birth, thy billowy tomb,
And legends old that linger in thy vale;
To friendship and to thee, is due the simple tale.
Queen of green Albyn's rivers, let me roam,
And mark thy graceful windings as I stray
When drowsy day-light seeks her curtained dome.
Fain would a weary wanderer from his home,
The wayward Minstrel of a southland dale,
Sing of thy mountain birth, thy billowy tomb,
And legends old that linger in thy vale;
To friendship and to thee, is due the simple tale.
Old Caledonia! pathway of the storm
That o'er thy wilds resistless sweeps along,
Though clouds and snows thy sterile hills deform,
Thou art the land of freedom and of song.
Land of the eagle fancy, wild and strong!
Land of the loyal heart and valiant arm!
Though southern pride and luxury may wrong
Thy mountain honours, still my heart shall warm
At thy unquestioned weir and songs of magic charm.
That o'er thy wilds resistless sweeps along,
Though clouds and snows thy sterile hills deform,
Thou art the land of freedom and of song.
Land of the eagle fancy, wild and strong!
Land of the loyal heart and valiant arm!
Though southern pride and luxury may wrong
Thy mountain honours, still my heart shall warm
At thy unquestioned weir and songs of magic charm.
O, I might tell where ancient cities stood;
And I might sing of battles lost and won;
Of royal obsequies, and halls of blood,
And daring deeds by dauntless warrior done.
Since Scotland's crimson page was first begun,
Tay was the scene of actions great and high:
But aye when from the echoing hills I run,
My froward harp refuses to comply;
The nursling of the wild, the Mountain Bard am I.
And I might sing of battles lost and won;
Of royal obsequies, and halls of blood,
And daring deeds by dauntless warrior done.
Since Scotland's crimson page was first begun,
Tay was the scene of actions great and high:
But aye when from the echoing hills I run,
My froward harp refuses to comply;
The nursling of the wild, the Mountain Bard am I.
I cannot sing of Longcarty and Hay,
Nor long on deeds of death and danger dwell;
Of old Dunsinnan towers, or Birnam gray,
Where Canmore battled and the villain fell.
But list! I will an ancient story tell,
A tale of meikle woe and mystery;
Of sore mishaps that an old sire befell,
Wise Dame, and Minstrel of full high degree,
And visions of dismay, unfitting man to see.
Nor long on deeds of death and danger dwell;
Of old Dunsinnan towers, or Birnam gray,
Where Canmore battled and the villain fell.
But list! I will an ancient story tell,
A tale of meikle woe and mystery;
Of sore mishaps that an old sire befell,
Wise Dame, and Minstrel of full high degree,
And visions of dismay, unfitting man to see.
And thou shalt hear of maid, whose melting eye
Spoke to the heart what tongue could never say—
A maid, right gentle, frolicsome, and sly,
And blythe as lambkin on a morn of May;
Whose auburn locks when waving to the day,
And lightsome form of sweet simplicity,
Stole many a fond unweeting heart away,
And held those hearts in pleasing slavery;—
Woe that such flower should e'er by lover blighted be!
Spoke to the heart what tongue could never say—
A maid, right gentle, frolicsome, and sly,
And blythe as lambkin on a morn of May;
Whose auburn locks when waving to the day,
And lightsome form of sweet simplicity,
Stole many a fond unweeting heart away,
And held those hearts in pleasing slavery;—
Woe that such flower should e'er by lover blighted be!
But ween not thou that nature's simple bard
Can e'er unblemished character define;
True to his faithful monitor's award,
He paints her glories only as they shine.
Of men all pure, and maidens all divine,
Expect not thou his wild-wood lay to be;
But those whose virtues and defects combine,
Such as in erring man we daily see—
The child of failings born, and scathed humanity.
Can e'er unblemished character define;
True to his faithful monitor's award,
He paints her glories only as they shine.
Of men all pure, and maidens all divine,
Expect not thou his wild-wood lay to be;
But those whose virtues and defects combine,
Such as in erring man we daily see—
The child of failings born, and scathed humanity.
CANTO FIRST. The Hunting.
ARGUMENT.
God prosper long our noble king,Our lives and safeties all!
A woeful hunting once there did
In Chevy Chase befall.
To drive the deer with hound and horn
Earl Percy took his way;
The child may rue that is unborn
The hunting of that day.
Haste, ranger, to the Athol mountains blue;
Unleash the hounds, and let the bugle sing!
The thousand traces in the morning dew,
The bounding deer, the black-cock on the wing,
Bespeak the route of Scotland's gallant king:
The bearded rock shouts to the desert hoar;
Haste, ranger!—all the mountain echoes ring;
From cairn of Bruar to the dark Glen-More,
The forest's in a howl, and all is wild uproar.
Unleash the hounds, and let the bugle sing!
The thousand traces in the morning dew,
The bounding deer, the black-cock on the wing,
Bespeak the route of Scotland's gallant king:
The bearded rock shouts to the desert hoar;
Haste, ranger!—all the mountain echoes ring;
From cairn of Bruar to the dark Glen-More,
The forest's in a howl, and all is wild uproar.
Oh, many a gallant hart that time was slain,
And many a roebuck foundered in the glen!
The gor-cock beat the shivering winds in vain;
The antlered rover sought his widowed den;
Even birds that ne'er had seen the forms of men,
But roosted careless on the desert doone,
An easy mark to ruthless archer's ken,
No more they whirr and crow at dawning boon,
Far on their grizzled heights, contiguous to the moon.
And many a roebuck foundered in the glen!
The gor-cock beat the shivering winds in vain;
The antlered rover sought his widowed den;
Even birds that ne'er had seen the forms of men,
But roosted careless on the desert doone,
An easy mark to ruthless archer's ken,
No more they whirr and crow at dawning boon,
Far on their grizzled heights, contiguous to the moon.
Where'er the chase to dell or valley neared,
There for the royal train the feast was laid;
There was the monarch's light pavilion reared;
There flowed the wine, and much in glee was said
Of lady's form, and blooming mountain maid;
And many a fair was toasted to the brim:
But knight and squire a languishing betrayed
When one was named, whose eye made diamonds dim:
The king looked sad and sighed; no sleep that night for him!
There for the royal train the feast was laid;
There was the monarch's light pavilion reared;
107
Of lady's form, and blooming mountain maid;
And many a fair was toasted to the brim:
But knight and squire a languishing betrayed
When one was named, whose eye made diamonds dim:
The king looked sad and sighed; no sleep that night for him!
The morning rose, but scarce they could discern
When night gave in her sceptre to the day,
The clouds of heaven were moored so dark and dern,
And wrapt the forest in a shroud of gray.
Man, horse, and hound, in listless languor lay,
For the wet rack traversed the mountain's brow:
But, long ere night, the monarch stole away;
His courtiers searched, and raised the loud halloo,
But well they knew their man, and made not much ado.
When night gave in her sceptre to the day,
The clouds of heaven were moored so dark and dern,
And wrapt the forest in a shroud of gray.
Man, horse, and hound, in listless languor lay,
For the wet rack traversed the mountain's brow:
But, long ere night, the monarch stole away;
His courtiers searched, and raised the loud halloo,
But well they knew their man, and made not much ado.
Another day came on, another still,
And aye the clouds their drizzly treasures shed;
The pitchy mist hung moveless on the hill,
And hooded every pine-tree's reverend head.
The heavens seemed sleeping on their mountain bed;
The straggling roes mistimed their noontide den,
And strayed the forest, belling for the dead,
Started at every rustle—paused, and then
Sniffed, whistling in the wind, and bounded to the glen.
And aye the clouds their drizzly treasures shed;
The pitchy mist hung moveless on the hill,
And hooded every pine-tree's reverend head.
The heavens seemed sleeping on their mountain bed;
The straggling roes mistimed their noontide den,
And strayed the forest, belling for the dead,
Started at every rustle—paused, and then
Sniffed, whistling in the wind, and bounded to the glen.
The king was lost, and much conjecture past;
At length the morning rose in lightsome blue,
Far to the west her pinken veil she cast;
Up rose the fringed sun, and softly threw
A golden tint along the moorland dew:
The mist had sought the winding vales, and lay
A slumbering ocean of the softest hue,
Where mimic rainbows bent in every bay,
And thousand islets smiled amid the watery way.
At length the morning rose in lightsome blue,
Far to the west her pinken veil she cast;
Up rose the fringed sun, and softly threw
A golden tint along the moorland dew:
The mist had sought the winding vales, and lay
A slumbering ocean of the softest hue,
Where mimic rainbows bent in every bay,
And thousand islets smiled amid the watery way.
The steeps of proud Ben-Glow the nobles scaled,
For there they heard their monarch's bugle yell;
First on the height the beauteous morn he hailed,
And rested, wondering, on the heather-bell.
The amber blaze that tipt the moor and fell,
The fleecy clouds that rolled afar below,
The hounds' impatient whine, the bugle's swell,
Raised in his breast a more than wonted glow:
The nobles found him pleased, nor farther strove to know.
For there they heard their monarch's bugle yell;
First on the height the beauteous morn he hailed,
And rested, wondering, on the heather-bell.
The amber blaze that tipt the moor and fell,
The fleecy clouds that rolled afar below,
The hounds' impatient whine, the bugle's swell,
Raised in his breast a more than wonted glow:
The nobles found him pleased, nor farther strove to know.
The driven circle narrowed on the heath,
Close, and more close, the deer were bounding by;
Upon the bow-string lies the shaft of death;
Breathless impatience burns in every eye;
At once a thousand winged arrows fly;
The greyhound up the glen outstrips the wind;
At once the slow-hound's music rends the sky,
The hunter's whoop and hallo cheers behind;
Halloo! away they speed swift as the course of mind.
Close, and more close, the deer were bounding by;
Upon the bow-string lies the shaft of death;
Breathless impatience burns in every eye;
At once a thousand winged arrows fly;
The greyhound up the glen outstrips the wind;
At once the slow-hound's music rends the sky,
The hunter's whoop and hallo cheers behind;
Halloo! away they speed swift as the course of mind.
There rolled the bausined hind adown the linn,
Transfixed by arrow from the Border bow;
There the poor roe-deer quakes the cliff within,
The silent greyhound watching close below.
But yonder far the chestnut rovers go,
O'er hill, o'er dale, they mock thy hounds and thee;
Cheer, hunter, cheer! unbend thy cumbrous bow,
Bayard and blood-hound now thy hope must be,
Or soon they gain the steeps, and pathless woods of Dee.
Transfixed by arrow from the Border bow;
There the poor roe-deer quakes the cliff within,
The silent greyhound watching close below.
But yonder far the chestnut rovers go,
O'er hill, o'er dale, they mock thy hounds and thee;
Cheer, hunter, cheer! unbend thy cumbrous bow,
Bayard and blood-hound now thy hope must be,
Or soon they gain the steeps, and pathless woods of Dee.
Halloo! o'er hill and dale the slot is warm!
To every cliff the bugle lends a bell;
On to the northward peals the loud alarm,
And aye the brocket and the sorel fell:
But flying still before the mingled yell,
The gallant herd outspeeds the troubled wind;
Their rattling antlers brush the birken dell;
Their haughty eyes the rolling tear-drops blind;
But onward still they speed, and look not once behind.
To every cliff the bugle lends a bell;
On to the northward peals the loud alarm,
And aye the brocket and the sorel fell:
But flying still before the mingled yell,
The gallant herd outspeeds the troubled wind;
Their rattling antlers brush the birken dell;
Their haughty eyes the rolling tear-drops blind;
But onward still they speed, and look not once behind.
The Tilt is vanished on the upland gray,
The Tarf is dwindled to a foaming rill;
But many a hound lay gasping by the way,
Bathed in the stream, or stretched upon the hill.
The cooling brook with burning jaws they swill,
Nor once will deign to scent the tainted ground:
The herd has crossed Breriach's gulfing gill,
The Athol forest's formidable bound,
And in the Garcharye a last retreat has found.
The Tarf is dwindled to a foaming rill;
But many a hound lay gasping by the way,
Bathed in the stream, or stretched upon the hill.
The cooling brook with burning jaws they swill,
Nor once will deign to scent the tainted ground:
The herd has crossed Breriach's gulfing gill,
The Athol forest's formidable bound,
And in the Garcharye a last retreat has found.
One hound alone has crossed the dreary height,
The deep-toned Jowler, ever staunch and true.
The chase was o'er; but long ere fell the night,
Full thirty hinds those gallant hunters slew,
Of every age and kind; the drivers drew
Their quarry on behind by ford and lea:
But never more shall eye of monarch view
So wild a scene of mountain majesty
As Scotland's king beheld from the tall peaks of Dee.
The deep-toned Jowler, ever staunch and true.
The chase was o'er; but long ere fell the night,
Full thirty hinds those gallant hunters slew,
Of every age and kind; the drivers drew
Their quarry on behind by ford and lea:
But never more shall eye of monarch view
So wild a scene of mountain majesty
As Scotland's king beheld from the tall peaks of Dee.
On gray Macduich's utmost verge he stood,
The loftiest cone of all that desert dun:
The seas afar were streamered o'er with blood;
Dark forests waved, and winding waters run;
For nature glowed beneath the evening sun;
The western shadows darkening every dale,
Where dens of gloom, the sight of man to shun,
Lay shrouded in impervious magic veil;
While, o'er them poured the rays of light so lovely pale.
The loftiest cone of all that desert dun:
The seas afar were streamered o'er with blood;
Dark forests waved, and winding waters run;
For nature glowed beneath the evening sun;
The western shadows darkening every dale,
Where dens of gloom, the sight of man to shun,
Lay shrouded in impervious magic veil;
While, o'er them poured the rays of light so lovely pale.
But oh, what bard could sing the onward sight!
The piles that frowned, the gulfs that yawned beneath
Downward a thousand fathoms from the height,
Grim as the caverns in the land of death!
Like mountains shattered in the Eternal's wrath,
When fiends their banners 'gainst his reign unfurled;
A grisly wilderness, a land of scathe;
Rocks upon rocks in dire confusion hurled,
A rent and formless mass, the rubbish of a world.
The piles that frowned, the gulfs that yawned beneath
Downward a thousand fathoms from the height,
Grim as the caverns in the land of death!
Like mountains shattered in the Eternal's wrath,
When fiends their banners 'gainst his reign unfurled;
A grisly wilderness, a land of scathe;
108
A rent and formless mass, the rubbish of a world.
As if by lost pre-eminence abased,
Hill behind hill erected locks of gray,
And every misty morion was upraised,
To speak its farewell to the God of Day.
When tempests rave along their polar way,
Not closer rear the billows of the deep,
Shining with silver foam, and maned with spray,
As up the mid-way heaven they war and sweep,
Then, foiled and chafed to rage, roll down the broken steep.
Hill behind hill erected locks of gray,
And every misty morion was upraised,
To speak its farewell to the God of Day.
When tempests rave along their polar way,
Not closer rear the billows of the deep,
Shining with silver foam, and maned with spray,
As up the mid-way heaven they war and sweep,
Then, foiled and chafed to rage, roll down the broken steep.
First died upon the peaks the golden hue,
And o'er them spread a beauteous purple screen;
Then rose a shade of pale cerulean blue,
Softening the hills and hazy vales between.
Deeper and deeper grew the magic scene,
As darker shades of the night-heaven came on;
No star along the firmament was seen,
But solemn majesty prevailed alone
Around the brows of Eve, upon her Grampian throne.
And o'er them spread a beauteous purple screen;
Then rose a shade of pale cerulean blue,
Softening the hills and hazy vales between.
Deeper and deeper grew the magic scene,
As darker shades of the night-heaven came on;
No star along the firmament was seen,
But solemn majesty prevailed alone
Around the brows of Eve, upon her Grampian throne.
Steep the descent and rugged was the way
By which the monarch and his knights came down,
And oft they groped and stumbled on the brae;
For far below, on vale of heather brown,
The tents were reared, and fires of evening shone.
The mountain sounds had perished in the gloom,
All save the unwearied Jowler's swelling tone,
That bore to trembling stag the sounds of doom,
While every cave of Night rolled back the breathing boom.
By which the monarch and his knights came down,
And oft they groped and stumbled on the brae;
For far below, on vale of heather brown,
The tents were reared, and fires of evening shone.
The mountain sounds had perished in the gloom,
All save the unwearied Jowler's swelling tone,
That bore to trembling stag the sounds of doom,
While every cave of Night rolled back the breathing boom.
The impassioned huntsman wended up the brae,
And loud the order of desistance bawled;
But aye, as louder waxed his tyrant's say,
Louder and fiercer, Jowler, unappalled,
Across the glen, along the mountain brawled,
Unpractised he to part till blood was seen—
Though sore by precipice and darkness galled,
He turned his dewlap to the starry sheen,
And howled in furious tone, with yelp and bay between.
And loud the order of desistance bawled;
But aye, as louder waxed his tyrant's say,
Louder and fiercer, Jowler, unappalled,
Across the glen, along the mountain brawled,
Unpractised he to part till blood was seen—
Though sore by precipice and darkness galled,
He turned his dewlap to the starry sheen,
And howled in furious tone, with yelp and bay between.
Well known that spot, once graced by sovereign's sleep,
Still bears it the memorial of his name;
The silver torrent played his vesper deep,
The mountain plover sung his loud acclaim.
Inured to toil, and battle's deadly flame,
The Stuart rose the son of health and might:
Ah! how unlike the bland voluptuous frame
In this unthrifty age, that takes delight
To doze in qualms by day, and revel out the night.
Still bears it the memorial of his name;
The silver torrent played his vesper deep,
The mountain plover sung his loud acclaim.
Inured to toil, and battle's deadly flame,
The Stuart rose the son of health and might:
Ah! how unlike the bland voluptuous frame
In this unthrifty age, that takes delight
To doze in qualms by day, and revel out the night.
The night had journeyed up the dark blue steep,
And leaned upon the casement of the sky,
Smiling serenely o'er a world in sleep,
At millions of her wandering elfins sly,
Harassing helpless mortals as they lie
With dreams and fantasies of endless train;
With tantalizing sweets that mock the eye;
With startling horror, and with visions vain,
And every thrilling trance of pleasure and of pain.
And leaned upon the casement of the sky,
Smiling serenely o'er a world in sleep,
At millions of her wandering elfins sly,
Harassing helpless mortals as they lie
With dreams and fantasies of endless train;
With tantalizing sweets that mock the eye;
With startling horror, and with visions vain,
And every thrilling trance of pleasure and of pain.
In mantle wrapt, and stretched on flowery heath,
She saw the King of Scotland weary lie;
So deep his slumber, that the hand of death
Arrests not more the reasoning faculty.
Yet was his fancy rapt in passion high:
He toiled with visions of a wayward dream;
Quivered his limbs, his bosom broke the sigh,
He clasped the yielding heath, and named a name—
He would not for his crown to noble's ear it came!
She saw the King of Scotland weary lie;
So deep his slumber, that the hand of death
Arrests not more the reasoning faculty.
Yet was his fancy rapt in passion high:
He toiled with visions of a wayward dream;
Quivered his limbs, his bosom broke the sigh,
He clasped the yielding heath, and named a name—
He would not for his crown to noble's ear it came!
The heavenly guardian of the royal head,
That rules events and elements at will,
Unused in wilderness to watch his bed,
Or spread his sheltering pinion on the hill;
Unrife in circumstance foreboding ill,
Yet trembled for some danger lingering near.
What gathering sound comes nigher, nigher still?
Why does the wakening hound turn up his ear,
Then start with shortened bark, and bristle all with fear?
That rules events and elements at will,
Unused in wilderness to watch his bed,
Or spread his sheltering pinion on the hill;
Unrife in circumstance foreboding ill,
Yet trembled for some danger lingering near.
What gathering sound comes nigher, nigher still?
Why does the wakening hound turn up his ear,
Then start with shortened bark, and bristle all with fear?
Fast gains the alarm—the nobles, half awake,
Restrain their breathing mindless where they lie;
The sleepy ranger starts from out the brake,
With mouth wide open and unvisioned eye;
Knight, squire, and hind, in one direction fly,
Mixed with the hounds that loud in couples bay,
All to the downward burn that sounded by,
For there arose the dubious, frantic bray,
That raised the dreamer's eye, and all that loud affray.
Restrain their breathing mindless where they lie;
The sleepy ranger starts from out the brake,
With mouth wide open and unvisioned eye;
Knight, squire, and hind, in one direction fly,
Mixed with the hounds that loud in couples bay,
All to the downward burn that sounded by,
For there arose the dubious, frantic bray,
That raised the dreamer's eye, and all that loud affray.
Oh, smile not at the confluent midnight scene,
The blazing torch, the looks of wild dismay!—
It was no angry spirit of the glen,
No murderous clansmen mixed in red array:
There stood the monarch of the wild at bay,
The impetuous Jowler howling at his brow,
His cheeks all drenched with brine, his antlers gray
Moving across the cliff, majestic, slow,
Like living fairy trees of blenched and leafless bough.
The blazing torch, the looks of wild dismay!—
It was no angry spirit of the glen,
No murderous clansmen mixed in red array:
There stood the monarch of the wild at bay,
The impetuous Jowler howling at his brow,
His cheeks all drenched with brine, his antlers gray
Moving across the cliff, majestic, slow,
Like living fairy trees of blenched and leafless bough.
With ruthless shaft they pierced his heaving breast,
The baited, thirsty Jowler laps his blood;
The royal hunter his brave hound caressed,
Lauded his zeal and spirit unsubdued;
While the staunch victor, of approval proud,
Rolled his brown back upon the prostrate slain,
Capered around in playful whelpish mood,
As if unspent by all his toil and pain,
Then licked his crimson flue, and looked to the hills again.
The baited, thirsty Jowler laps his blood;
The royal hunter his brave hound caressed,
Lauded his zeal and spirit unsubdued;
While the staunch victor, of approval proud,
Rolled his brown back upon the prostrate slain,
Capered around in playful whelpish mood,
As if unspent by all his toil and pain,
Then licked his crimson flue, and looked to the hills again.
For three long days the deer were driven afar,
And many a herd was thinned and sore bespent;
Through dark Glen-Avin, and the woods of Mar,
Hart, hind, and roe, in trembling trails were blent.
Still in the wild remained the royal tent;
One little bothy stood behind the lea,
Where oft at eve the king and nobles went
The setting sun and soaring erne to see,
Behind the dreadful cliffs that watch the springs of Dee.
And many a herd was thinned and sore bespent;
Through dark Glen-Avin, and the woods of Mar,
Hart, hind, and roe, in trembling trails were blent.
Still in the wild remained the royal tent;
109
Where oft at eve the king and nobles went
The setting sun and soaring erne to see,
Behind the dreadful cliffs that watch the springs of Dee.
One eve they sat all in a jocund row,
The cruel Knight of Souden he was one;
They noted horror staring on his brow,
His lip was quivering, and his colour gone!
And aye he looked the startled knights upon,
Then rolled his troubled glance along the hill.
“What moves thee?” said the king, in mildest tone:
He bowed his head, but held his silence still:
“What moves my gallant knight? Speak Souden, art thou ill?”
The cruel Knight of Souden he was one;
They noted horror staring on his brow,
His lip was quivering, and his colour gone!
And aye he looked the startled knights upon,
Then rolled his troubled glance along the hill.
“What moves thee?” said the king, in mildest tone:
He bowed his head, but held his silence still:
“What moves my gallant knight? Speak Souden, art thou ill?”
“My sovereign liege, forgiveness I implore;
Strange recollections dim my palsied sight;
But this same dreary scene I've seen before,
Either in trance, or vision of the night.
Some dismal doom shall soon my honours blight;
I know these bodings fraught with woe to me:
It seems as demon dragged a deed to light,
That lies unfathomed even to destiny!”—
Oh, ne'er may leal man keep with murderer company!
Strange recollections dim my palsied sight;
But this same dreary scene I've seen before,
Either in trance, or vision of the night.
Some dismal doom shall soon my honours blight;
I know these bodings fraught with woe to me:
It seems as demon dragged a deed to light,
That lies unfathomed even to destiny!”—
Oh, ne'er may leal man keep with murderer company!
No more he spoke that eve, as legends tell;
No orders issued to his page or groom;
But servitors, with trembling, marked full well
A wondrous face behind him in the gloom;
Of flame it seemed, yet nothing did illume;
Laughing revenge gleamed red in every line:
But how it entered the pavilioned room,
Or how it past, no mortal could divine;
A visitant it seemed from some unhallowed shrine!
No orders issued to his page or groom;
But servitors, with trembling, marked full well
A wondrous face behind him in the gloom;
Of flame it seemed, yet nothing did illume;
Laughing revenge gleamed red in every line:
But how it entered the pavilioned room,
Or how it past, no mortal could divine;
A visitant it seemed from some unhallowed shrine!
Again the lowering clouds immure the hill;
Again the sportsmen stretch their limbs in rest;
To the lone bothy, by the sounding rill,
The king retired, its wildness pleased him best,
With his good knights to list the song and jest;
His ancient minstrel waiting at command,
Gilbert of Sheil, by all the land confest
A minstrel worthy by his king to stand,
And play his native airs, with sounding harp in hand.
Again the sportsmen stretch their limbs in rest;
To the lone bothy, by the sounding rill,
The king retired, its wildness pleased him best,
With his good knights to list the song and jest;
His ancient minstrel waiting at command,
Gilbert of Sheil, by all the land confest
A minstrel worthy by his king to stand,
And play his native airs, with sounding harp in hand.
That evening, called to sing, he framed a lay,—
A lay of such mysterious tendency,
It stole the listeners' reasoning powers away:
They dreamed not that they lay in moors of Dee,
But in some fairy isle amid the sea,
So well did Fancy mould her visions vain;
Bent was the minstrel's eye, and wild to see,
The whilst he poured the visionary strain;
Oh, ne'er shall Grampian echo murmur such again!
A lay of such mysterious tendency,
It stole the listeners' reasoning powers away:
They dreamed not that they lay in moors of Dee,
But in some fairy isle amid the sea,
So well did Fancy mould her visions vain;
Bent was the minstrel's eye, and wild to see,
The whilst he poured the visionary strain;
Oh, ne'er shall Grampian echo murmur such again!
And when he ceased, the chords, with sighing tone,
On listeners' ears in soft vibrations fell;
They almost weened they heard the parting moan
Of some old reverend sire, and wished him well!—
On gospel faith, and superstition's spell,
The converse turned, and high the dispute ran:
And words were said unfitting bard to tell,
Unfitting tongue of poor despondent man,
Still prone to yearn and doubt o'er all he cannot scan.
On listeners' ears in soft vibrations fell;
They almost weened they heard the parting moan
Of some old reverend sire, and wished him well!—
On gospel faith, and superstition's spell,
The converse turned, and high the dispute ran:
And words were said unfitting bard to tell,
Unfitting tongue of poor despondent man,
Still prone to yearn and doubt o'er all he cannot scan.
To what unsaintly goal the words had borne,
Dubious conjecture only can portray;
Just in the blab of Souden's impious scorn
Entered a stranger guest in poor array:
His locks were thin, and bleached a silver gray;
His reverend beard across his girdle hung.
Each mind was carried, by resistless sway,
To the unearthly strain the minstrel sung:—
Blenched was the proudest cheek, and mute was every tongue!
Dubious conjecture only can portray;
Just in the blab of Souden's impious scorn
Entered a stranger guest in poor array:
His locks were thin, and bleached a silver gray;
His reverend beard across his girdle hung.
Each mind was carried, by resistless sway,
To the unearthly strain the minstrel sung:—
Blenched was the proudest cheek, and mute was every tongue!
He stood erect, but raised not up his eye,
Seeming to listen for expected sound;
But all was still as Night's solemnity,
Not even a sandal grazed upon the ground.
Transformed to breathing statues, all around
The nobles sat, nor wist they what to dread;
But every sense by hand unseen was bound,
On every valiant heart was chillness shed,
As to that wild had come a message from the dead.
Seeming to listen for expected sound;
But all was still as Night's solemnity,
Not even a sandal grazed upon the ground.
Transformed to breathing statues, all around
The nobles sat, nor wist they what to dread;
But every sense by hand unseen was bound,
On every valiant heart was chillness shed,
As to that wild had come a message from the dead.
At length to Scotland's monarch rose his look,
On whom he beckoned with commanding mien,
With manner that denial would not brook—
Then gliding forth he paused upon the green.
What the mysterious messenger could mean
No one would risk conjecture; all were still.
In converse close, the two were lingering seen
Across the lea, and down beside the rill,
Then seemed to vanish both in shadow of the hill.
On whom he beckoned with commanding mien,
With manner that denial would not brook—
Then gliding forth he paused upon the green.
What the mysterious messenger could mean
No one would risk conjecture; all were still.
In converse close, the two were lingering seen
Across the lea, and down beside the rill,
Then seemed to vanish both in shadow of the hill.
And never more was seen the royal face
By Athol forest or the links of Dee!
Oh, why should haughty worm of human race
Presume to question Heaven's supremacy;
Or trow his God, alike unmoved, can see
To death exposed the monarch and the clown?
That night was done, by the supreme decree,
A deed that story scarce may dare to own—
By what unearthly hand, to all mankind unknown!
By Athol forest or the links of Dee!
Oh, why should haughty worm of human race
Presume to question Heaven's supremacy;
Or trow his God, alike unmoved, can see
To death exposed the monarch and the clown?
That night was done, by the supreme decree,
A deed that story scarce may dare to own—
By what unearthly hand, to all mankind unknown!
At midnight, strange disturbing sounds awoke
The drowsy slumberers on the tented heath:
It was no blast that on the mountain broke,
Nor bolised thunder wrapt in sable wrath;
Yet were they listening, with suspended breath,
To hear the rushing tumult once again:
It seemed to all the passing sounds of death,
Or angry spirits of the mountain reign,
Combined at midnight deep to clear their wild domain.
The drowsy slumberers on the tented heath:
It was no blast that on the mountain broke,
Nor bolised thunder wrapt in sable wrath;
Yet were they listening, with suspended breath,
To hear the rushing tumult once again:
It seemed to all the passing sounds of death,
Or angry spirits of the mountain reign,
Combined at midnight deep to clear their wild domain.
Six gallant yeomen rose, and, hand to hand,
Set forth the bothy's wild recess to gain;
Despising fate, and monarch's strict command,
That all should quiet at the tents remain:
They harboured fears that tongue could not explain.
Darkling and silent, midway on they past,
When power unseen their passage did restrain;
Each onward step they deemed would be their last,
And backward traced their path, unboastful and aghast.
Set forth the bothy's wild recess to gain;
Despising fate, and monarch's strict command,
That all should quiet at the tents remain:
They harboured fears that tongue could not explain.
Darkling and silent, midway on they past,
When power unseen their passage did restrain;
110
And backward traced their path, unboastful and aghast.
The morning came, in pall of sackcloth veiled;
The cliffs of Dee a sable vestment bound;
Then every squire and yeoman's spirit failed,
As slow approached a maimed and bleeding hound,
Sad herald of the dead! his every wound
Bespoke the desolation that was wrought.
Oh, ne'er may scene in Scottish glen be found
With wonder, woe, and death, so fully fraught;
So far beyond the pale of bounded mortal thought!
The cliffs of Dee a sable vestment bound;
Then every squire and yeoman's spirit failed,
As slow approached a maimed and bleeding hound,
Sad herald of the dead! his every wound
Bespoke the desolation that was wrought.
Oh, ne'er may scene in Scottish glen be found
With wonder, woe, and death, so fully fraught;
So far beyond the pale of bounded mortal thought!
No knight walked forth to taste the morning air,
The bugle's echo slept within the hill;
And—O the blasting truth!—no cot was there;
No! not a vestige stood beside the rill.
Though trace of element, or human skill,
In all the fatal glen could not be found,
The ghastly forms, in prostrate guise and still,
Knight, page, and hound, lay scattered far around,
Deformed by many a stain, and deep unseemly wound.
The bugle's echo slept within the hill;
And—O the blasting truth!—no cot was there;
No! not a vestige stood beside the rill.
Though trace of element, or human skill,
In all the fatal glen could not be found,
The ghastly forms, in prostrate guise and still,
Knight, page, and hound, lay scattered far around,
Deformed by many a stain, and deep unseemly wound.
The king was sought by many an anxious eye;—
No king was there!—Well might the wonder grow.
They rode—they searched the land afar and nigh—
He was not found, nor learned the tale of woe.
Hast thou not marked a lonely spot and low,
Where Moulin opes her bosom to the day,
O'er which the willow weeps and birches blow,
Where nine rude stones erect their frontlets gray?—
There the blasphemers lie, slain in mysterious way.
No king was there!—Well might the wonder grow.
They rode—they searched the land afar and nigh—
He was not found, nor learned the tale of woe.
Hast thou not marked a lonely spot and low,
Where Moulin opes her bosom to the day,
O'er which the willow weeps and birches blow,
Where nine rude stones erect their frontlets gray?—
There the blasphemers lie, slain in mysterious way.
When nine long days were past, and all was o'er;
When round his nobles slain had closed the mould,
The king returned to Scotland's court once more,
And wondered at the tale his huntsmen told;
His speech revolted, and his blood ran cold,
As low he kneeled at good Saint Bothan's shrine.
Where he had been no tongue did e'er unfold.—
List to my tale!—if thou can'st nought divine,
A slow misfashioned mind, a moody soul is thine.
When round his nobles slain had closed the mould,
The king returned to Scotland's court once more,
And wondered at the tale his huntsmen told;
His speech revolted, and his blood ran cold,
As low he kneeled at good Saint Bothan's shrine.
Where he had been no tongue did e'er unfold.—
List to my tale!—if thou can'st nought divine,
A slow misfashioned mind, a moody soul is thine.
CANTO SECOND. The Minstrel.
ARGUMENT.
There cam a fiddler here to play,And oh, but he was jimp an' gay;
He staw the lassie's heart away,
An' made it a' his ain O.
For weel he kend the way O, the way O, the way O,
Weel he kend the way O, the lassie's love to gain O.
That time there lived upon the banks of Tay
A man of right ungainly courtesy;
Yet he was eident in his froward way,
And honest as a Highlander may be.
He was not man of rank, nor mean degree,
And loved his spouse, and child, as such became;
Yet oft would fret, and wrangle irefully,
Fastening on them of every ill the blame,
Nor list the loud defence of his unyielding dame.
A man of right ungainly courtesy;
Yet he was eident in his froward way,
And honest as a Highlander may be.
He was not man of rank, nor mean degree,
And loved his spouse, and child, as such became;
Yet oft would fret, and wrangle irefully,
Fastening on them of every ill the blame,
Nor list the loud defence of his unyielding dame.
She was unweeting, plump, and fair to see;
Dreadless of ills she ne'er before had seen;
Full of blithe jolliment and boisterous glee;
Yet was her home not well bedight or clean,
For, like the most of all her sex, I ween,
Much she devised, but little did conclude;
Much toil was lost, as if it ne'er had been.
Her tongue was fraught with matter wondrous crude,
And, in her own defence, most voluble and loud.
Dreadless of ills she ne'er before had seen;
Full of blithe jolliment and boisterous glee;
Yet was her home not well bedight or clean,
For, like the most of all her sex, I ween,
Much she devised, but little did conclude;
Much toil was lost, as if it ne'er had been.
Her tongue was fraught with matter wondrous crude,
And, in her own defence, most voluble and loud.
But oh, the lovely May,
their only child,
Was sweeter than the flower that scents the gale!
Her lightsome form, and look so soothing mild,
The loftiest minstrel song would much avail.
And she was cheerful, forwardsome, and hale;
And she could work the rich embroidery,
Or with her maidens bear the milking pail;
Yet, dight at beltane reel, you could espy
No lady in the land who with this May could vie.
Was sweeter than the flower that scents the gale!
Her lightsome form, and look so soothing mild,
The loftiest minstrel song would much avail.
And she was cheerful, forwardsome, and hale;
And she could work the rich embroidery,
Or with her maidens bear the milking pail;
Yet, dight at beltane reel, you could espy
No lady in the land who with this May could vie.
And many a younker sighed her love to gain;
Her steps were haunted at the bught and pen;
But all their prayers and vows of love were vain,
Her choice was fixed on Albert of the Glen:
No youth was he, nor winsomest of men,
For he was proud, and full of envy's gall;
But what was lovelier to the damsel's ken,
He had wide lands, and servants at his call;
Her sire was liegeman bound, and held of him his all.
Her steps were haunted at the bught and pen;
But all their prayers and vows of love were vain,
Her choice was fixed on Albert of the Glen:
No youth was he, nor winsomest of men,
For he was proud, and full of envy's gall;
But what was lovelier to the damsel's ken,
He had wide lands, and servants at his call;
Her sire was liegeman bound, and held of him his all.
The beauteous May, to parents' will resigned,
Opposed not that which boded nothing ill;
It gave an ease and freedom to her mind,
And wish, the anxious interval to kill:
She listed wooer's tale with right good-will;
And she would jest, and smile, and heave the sigh;
Would torture whining youth with wicked skill,
Turn on her heel, then off like lightning fly,
Leaving the hapless wight resolved forthwith to die.
Opposed not that which boded nothing ill;
It gave an ease and freedom to her mind,
And wish, the anxious interval to kill:
She listed wooer's tale with right good-will;
And she would jest, and smile, and heave the sigh;
Would torture whining youth with wicked skill,
Turn on her heel, then off like lightning fly,
Leaving the hapless wight resolved forthwith to die.
The rainbow's lovely in the eastern cloud;
The rose is beauteous on the bended thorn;
Sweet is the evening ray from purple shroud,
And sweet the orient blushes of the morn:
Sweeter than all, the beauties which adorn
The female form in youth and maiden bloom.
Oh, why should passion ever man suborn
To work the sweetest flower of Nature's doom,
And cast o'er all her joys a veil of cheerless gloom?
The rose is beauteous on the bended thorn;
Sweet is the evening ray from purple shroud,
And sweet the orient blushes of the morn:
Sweeter than all, the beauties which adorn
The female form in youth and maiden bloom.
Oh, why should passion ever man suborn
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And cast o'er all her joys a veil of cheerless gloom?
O fragile flower, that blossoms but to fade,
One slip recovery or recal defies!
Thou walk'st the dizzy verge with steps unstaid,
Fair as the habitants of yonder skies;
Like them, thou fallest never more to rise.
O fragile flower, for thee my heart's in pain!
Haply a world is his from mortal eyes,
Where thou mayest smile in purity again,
And shine in virgin bloom that ever shall remain.
One slip recovery or recal defies!
Thou walk'st the dizzy verge with steps unstaid,
Fair as the habitants of yonder skies;
Like them, thou fallest never more to rise.
O fragile flower, for thee my heart's in pain!
Haply a world is his from mortal eyes,
Where thou mayest smile in purity again,
And shine in virgin bloom that ever shall remain.
The twentieth spring had breathed upon the flower,
Nor had that flower passed with the year away,
Since first the infant bloom of Ila Moore,
The flower of Athol, opened to the day.
Kincraigy was her home, that o'er the Tay
A prospect held of Nature's fairest scene;
Far mountains mixing with aerial gray,
Low golden-vested valleys stretched between,
And, far below the eye, broad flood and islet green.
Nor had that flower passed with the year away,
Since first the infant bloom of Ila Moore,
The flower of Athol, opened to the day.
Kincraigy was her home, that o'er the Tay
A prospect held of Nature's fairest scene;
Far mountains mixing with aerial gray,
Low golden-vested valleys stretched between,
And, far below the eye, broad flood and islet green.
The day was wet, the mist was on the moor,
Rested from labour husbandman and maid;
There came a stranger to Kincraigy's door,
Of goodly form, in minstrel garb arrayed;
Of braided silk his bulziement was made:
Short the entreatance he required to stay;
He tuned his viol, and with vehemence played;
Mistress and menial, maid and matron gray,
Soon mixed were on the floor, and frisked in wild affray.
Rested from labour husbandman and maid;
There came a stranger to Kincraigy's door,
Of goodly form, in minstrel garb arrayed;
Of braided silk his bulziement was made:
Short the entreatance he required to stay;
He tuned his viol, and with vehemence played;
Mistress and menial, maid and matron gray,
Soon mixed were on the floor, and frisked in wild affray.
The minstrel strained and twisted sore his face,
Beat with his heel, and twinkled with his eye,
But still, at every effort and grimace,
Louder and quicker rushed the melody:
The dancers round the floor in mazes fly,
With cheering whoop, and wheel, and caper wild;
The jolly dame did well her mettle ply;
Even old Kincraigy, of his spleen beguiled,
Turned his dark brow aside, softened his looks and smiled.
Beat with his heel, and twinkled with his eye,
But still, at every effort and grimace,
Louder and quicker rushed the melody:
The dancers round the floor in mazes fly,
With cheering whoop, and wheel, and caper wild;
The jolly dame did well her mettle ply;
Even old Kincraigy, of his spleen beguiled,
Turned his dark brow aside, softened his looks and smiled.
When supper on the ashen board was set,
The minstrel, all unasked, jocosely came,
Brought his old chair, and, without pause or let,
Placed it betwixt the maid and forthright dame.
They smiled, and asked his lineage and his name—
'Twas Mador of the Moor, a name renowned;
A kindred name with theirs, well known to fame—
A high-born name; but old Kincraigy frowned;
Such impudence in man, he weened, had not been found.
The minstrel, all unasked, jocosely came,
Brought his old chair, and, without pause or let,
Placed it betwixt the maid and forthright dame.
They smiled, and asked his lineage and his name—
'Twas Mador of the Moor, a name renowned;
A kindred name with theirs, well known to fame—
A high-born name; but old Kincraigy frowned;
Such impudence in man, he weened, had not been found.
The last red embers on the hearth were spread,
But Mador still his antic tricks pursued;
The doors were closed, and all were bound to bed,
When, spite of old Kincraigy's angry mood,
The frantic hurlyburly was renewed:
His tongue grew mute, his face o'erspread with gloom;
Wild uproar raged resistless, unsubdued;
The younkers of the hamlet crowd the room,
And Mador's viol squeaks with rough and raging boom.
But Mador still his antic tricks pursued;
The doors were closed, and all were bound to bed,
When, spite of old Kincraigy's angry mood,
The frantic hurlyburly was renewed:
His tongue grew mute, his face o'erspread with gloom;
Wild uproar raged resistless, unsubdued;
The younkers of the hamlet crowd the room,
And Mador's viol squeaks with rough and raging boom.
The dire misrule Kincraigy could not brook;
He saw distinction lost, and order spurned;
And, much displeased that his offended look
Was all unminded, high his anger burned.
Upon the rocket minstrel dark he turned,
And asked to whom such strains he wont to play?—
Oh! he had played to nobles now inurned;
And he had played in countries far away,
And to the gallant king that o'er them held the sway.
He saw distinction lost, and order spurned;
And, much displeased that his offended look
Was all unminded, high his anger burned.
Upon the rocket minstrel dark he turned,
And asked to whom such strains he wont to play?—
Oh! he had played to nobles now inurned;
And he had played in countries far away,
And to the gallant king that o'er them held the sway.
“Ay!” said Kincraigy, with malignant scowl,
Stroking his beard and writhing down his brow;
“I've heard our monarch was an arrant fool!
I weened it so, but knew it not till now.
But 'tis enough—his choice of such as you—
Great Heaven! to man what inconsistence clings,
To meanest of the species doomed to bow!
Had I one day o'er all created things,
The world should once be cleared of fiddlers and of kings!”
Stroking his beard and writhing down his brow;
“I've heard our monarch was an arrant fool!
I weened it so, but knew it not till now.
But 'tis enough—his choice of such as you—
Great Heaven! to man what inconsistence clings,
To meanest of the species doomed to bow!
Had I one day o'er all created things,
The world should once be cleared of fiddlers and of kings!”
'Twas a hard jest, but Mador laughed it bye;
Across the strings his careless fingers strayed,
Till staunch Kincraigy, with unaltered eye,
Asked how, or where, he learned the scraping trade?
When those new jars to music came allayed?
And how it happ'd he in the line had thriven?
For sure, of all the fiddlers ever played,
Never was bow by such a novice driven,
Never were human ears by such discordance riven.
Across the strings his careless fingers strayed,
Till staunch Kincraigy, with unaltered eye,
Asked how, or where, he learned the scraping trade?
When those new jars to music came allayed?
And how it happ'd he in the line had thriven?
For sure, of all the fiddlers ever played,
Never was bow by such a novice driven,
Never were human ears by such discordance riven.
Go tell the monarch of his feelings cold;
Go tell the prince that he is lewd and vain;
Go tell the wrinkled maid that she is old;
The wretched miser of his ill-got gain;
But oh, in human kindness, spare the pain
That conscious excellence abased must feel!
It proves to wounded pride the deadliest bane;
The judgment it arraigns, and stamps the seal
Of fool with burning brand, which blood alone can heal.
Go tell the prince that he is lewd and vain;
Go tell the wrinkled maid that she is old;
The wretched miser of his ill-got gain;
But oh, in human kindness, spare the pain
That conscious excellence abased must feel!
It proves to wounded pride the deadliest bane;
The judgment it arraigns, and stamps the seal
Of fool with burning brand, which blood alone can heal.
The earliest winter hues of old Cairn-Gorm,
Schehallion when the clouds begin to lower,
Even the wan face of heaven before the storm,
Looked ne'er so stern as Mador of the Moor.
Most cutting sharp was his retort and sour,
And in offensive guise his bow he drew:
Kincraigy reddened, stepped across the floor,
Lifted his staff, and back indignant flew
To scathe the minstrel's pate, and baste him black and blue.
Schehallion when the clouds begin to lower,
Even the wan face of heaven before the storm,
Looked ne'er so stern as Mador of the Moor.
Most cutting sharp was his retort and sour,
And in offensive guise his bow he drew:
Kincraigy reddened, stepped across the floor,
Lifted his staff, and back indignant flew
To scathe the minstrel's pate, and baste him black and blue.
Had those to Mador known in royal hall,
(For well I ween he was not stranger there),
Beheld him crouching 'gainst that smoky wall,
His precious violin heaved high in air,
As guardian shield, the ireful blow to bear;
The blowzy dame holding with all her might;
An interceding maid so lovely fair;
Matron and peasant gaping with affright—
Oh, 'twas a scene of life might charm an anchorite!
(For well I ween he was not stranger there),
Beheld him crouching 'gainst that smoky wall,
His precious violin heaved high in air,
As guardian shield, the ireful blow to bear;
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An interceding maid so lovely fair;
Matron and peasant gaping with affright—
Oh, 'twas a scene of life might charm an anchorite!
'Twas not the flustered dame's inept rebuke,
'Twas not the cowering minstrel's perilous state,
'Twas beauteous Ila Moore's reproving look
That quelled her sire, and barred the work of fate.
With smile serene she led him to his seat,
Sat by his knee, and bade the minstrel play.
No word was heard of anger or debate,
So much may woman's eye our passions sway;
When beauty gives command, all mankind must obey!
'Twas not the cowering minstrel's perilous state,
'Twas beauteous Ila Moore's reproving look
That quelled her sire, and barred the work of fate.
With smile serene she led him to his seat,
Sat by his knee, and bade the minstrel play.
No word was heard of anger or debate,
So much may woman's eye our passions sway;
When beauty gives command, all mankind must obey!
The wearied peasants to their rest retire;
Kincraigy bows to sleep's resistless call;
But the kind dame stirred up the sluggish fire,
And with the minstrel long out-sat them all.
He praised her much, her order, and her hall;
Her manners, far above her rank and place;
Her daughter's beauteous form, so comely tall,
The peerless charms of her bewitching face,
So well befitting court, or noble's hall to grace.
Kincraigy bows to sleep's resistless call;
But the kind dame stirred up the sluggish fire,
And with the minstrel long out-sat them all.
He praised her much, her order, and her hall;
Her manners, far above her rank and place;
Her daughter's beauteous form, so comely tall,
The peerless charms of her bewitching face,
So well befitting court, or noble's hall to grace.
Well mayest thou trust the chicken with the dam;
The eaglet in her parents' home sublime;
The yeaning ewe with the poor starveling lamb;
Nor is a son's default a mother's crime:
But a fair only daughter in her prime,
Oh, never trust to mother's wistful care!
The heart's too anxious of her darling's time:
Too well she loves—too well she is aware
In what the maid delights, nor sees the lurking snare.
The eaglet in her parents' home sublime;
The yeaning ewe with the poor starveling lamb;
Nor is a son's default a mother's crime:
But a fair only daughter in her prime,
Oh, never trust to mother's wistful care!
The heart's too anxious of her darling's time:
Too well she loves—too well she is aware
In what the maid delights, nor sees the lurking snare.
Aloft was framed the minstrel's humble bed
Of the green braken and the yielding heath,
With coverlet of dowlas o'er it spread;
That too he lauded with obsequious breath.
But he was out, and in—above—beneath,
Unhinging doors, and groping in the dark:
The hamlet matrons dread unearthly scathe;
The maidens hide their heads, the watch-dogs bark,
And all was noise and fright till matin of the lark.
Of the green braken and the yielding heath,
With coverlet of dowlas o'er it spread;
That too he lauded with obsequious breath.
But he was out, and in—above—beneath,
Unhinging doors, and groping in the dark:
The hamlet matrons dread unearthly scathe;
The maidens hide their heads, the watch-dogs bark,
And all was noise and fright till matin of the lark.
Next day, the wind from eastern oceans drove
The drizzly sea-rack up the Athol plain,
And o'er the woodland and the welkin wove
A moving mantle of the fleecy rain:
The cottagers from labour still refrain;
Well by the lowly window could they spy
The droplets from the thatch descend amain;
While round the hearth they closed with cheerful eye,
Resolved, on better days, with all their might to ply.
The drizzly sea-rack up the Athol plain,
And o'er the woodland and the welkin wove
A moving mantle of the fleecy rain:
The cottagers from labour still refrain;
Well by the lowly window could they spy
The droplets from the thatch descend amain;
While round the hearth they closed with cheerful eye,
Resolved, on better days, with all their might to ply.
Though many hints, to make the minstrel budge,
Were by Kincraigy thrown, they were in vain:
He asked him where that night he meant to lodge,
And when he purposed calling there again?
He could not stir!—the hateful driving rain
Would all his valued tuneful chords undo.
The dame reproached her husband's surly strain,
Welcomed the minstrel's stay, and 'gan to show
Her excellence in song, and skill in music too.
Were by Kincraigy thrown, they were in vain:
He asked him where that night he meant to lodge,
And when he purposed calling there again?
He could not stir!—the hateful driving rain
Would all his valued tuneful chords undo.
The dame reproached her husband's surly strain,
Welcomed the minstrel's stay, and 'gan to show
Her excellence in song, and skill in music too.
Woe to the hapless wight, self-doomed to see
His measures warped by woman's weak control!
Woe to the man, whate'er his wealth may be,
Condemned to prove the everlasting growl,
The fret, the plaint, the babble, and the scowl!
Yet such outnumber all the stars above.
When sponsaled pairs run counter, soul to soul,
Oh, there's an end to all the sweets of love!
That ray of heavenly bliss, which reason should improve.
His measures warped by woman's weak control!
Woe to the man, whate'er his wealth may be,
Condemned to prove the everlasting growl,
The fret, the plaint, the babble, and the scowl!
Yet such outnumber all the stars above.
When sponsaled pairs run counter, soul to soul,
Oh, there's an end to all the sweets of love!
That ray of heavenly bliss, which reason should improve.
The dance and song prevailed till fell the night;
The minstrel's forward ease advanced apace;
He kissed their lovely May before their sight,
Who struggled, smiling, from the rude embrace,
And called him fiddler Mador to his face.
Loud laughed the dame, while old Kincraigy frowned;
Her fulsome levity, and flippant grace,
Had oft inflicted on his soul the wound,
But held at endless bay, redress could not be found.
The minstrel's forward ease advanced apace;
He kissed their lovely May before their sight,
Who struggled, smiling, from the rude embrace,
And called him fiddler Mador to his face.
Loud laughed the dame, while old Kincraigy frowned;
Her fulsome levity, and flippant grace,
Had oft inflicted on his soul the wound,
But held at endless bay, redress could not be found.
All quietness and peace our minstrel spurns;
Idle confusion through the hamlet rings;
He teazes, flatters, and cajoles by turns,
And to the winds all due distinction flings.
From his rude grasp the cottage matron springs,
The giggling maids in darksome corners hide,
But still to Ila Moore he fondly clings,
Seeming resolved, whatever might betide,
To teaze or flatter her, and all reserve deride.
Idle confusion through the hamlet rings;
He teazes, flatters, and cajoles by turns,
And to the winds all due distinction flings.
From his rude grasp the cottage matron springs,
The giggling maids in darksome corners hide,
But still to Ila Moore he fondly clings,
Seeming resolved, whatever might betide,
To teaze or flatter her, and all reserve deride.
Next, day by noon, the mountain's misty shroud
The bustling spirits of the air updrew,
And 'gan to open in the boreal cloud
Their marbled windows of the silvery hue:
Far through the bores appeared the distant blue;
Loud sung the merl upon the topmost spray;
The harping bleeter, and the grey curlew,
High in the air chanted incondite lay,
All heralding the approachment of a beauteous day.
The bustling spirits of the air updrew,
And 'gan to open in the boreal cloud
Their marbled windows of the silvery hue:
Far through the bores appeared the distant blue;
Loud sung the merl upon the topmost spray;
The harping bleeter, and the grey curlew,
High in the air chanted incondite lay,
All heralding the approachment of a beauteous day.
The minstrel to the forest turned his eye,
He seemed regretful that the rain should stay;
He seemed to wish the mist would lingering lie
Still on the bosom of the moorland gray.
The time was come he needs must wend his way,
His sovereign's pleasure might his presence claim.
No one remained to row him o'er the Tay,
Unless the blooming May or cordial dame:
The Tay was broad and deep—pray was the maid to blame?
He seemed regretful that the rain should stay;
He seemed to wish the mist would lingering lie
Still on the bosom of the moorland gray.
The time was come he needs must wend his way,
His sovereign's pleasure might his presence claim.
No one remained to row him o'er the Tay,
Unless the blooming May or cordial dame:
The Tay was broad and deep—pray was the maid to blame?
Westward they past by bank and greenwood side,
A varied scene it was of wondrous guise;
Below them parting rivers smoothly glide,
And far above their heads aspiring rise
Gray crested rocks, the columns of the skies,
While little lowly dells lay hid between:
It seemed a fairy land, a paradise,
Where every bloom that scents the woodland green
Opened to heaven its breast, by human eye unseen.
A varied scene it was of wondrous guise;
Below them parting rivers smoothly glide,
And far above their heads aspiring rise
Gray crested rocks, the columns of the skies,
While little lowly dells lay hid between:
It seemed a fairy land, a paradise,
113
Opened to heaven its breast, by human eye unseen.
Queen of the forest, there the birch tree swung
Her light green locks aslant the southern breeze;
Red berries of the brake around them hung;
A thousand songsters warbled on the trees.
A scene it was befitting youth to please;
Too well it pleased, as reverend legends say.
Unmarked the hour o'er lovers' head that flees;
'Twas but one little mile!—a summer day!
And when the sun went down they scarce had reached the Tay.
Her light green locks aslant the southern breeze;
Red berries of the brake around them hung;
A thousand songsters warbled on the trees.
A scene it was befitting youth to please;
Too well it pleased, as reverend legends say.
Unmarked the hour o'er lovers' head that flees;
'Twas but one little mile!—a summer day!
And when the sun went down they scarce had reached the Tay.
Oh, read not, lovers—sure you may not think
That Ila Moore by minstrel airs was won!
'Twas nature's cordial glow, the kindred link
That all unweeting chains two hearts in one.
Then why should mankind ween the maid undone,
Though with her youth she seek the woodland deep,
Rest in a bower to view the parting sun,
Lean on his breast, at tale of woe to weep,
Or sweetly, on his arm, recline in mimic sleep?
That Ila Moore by minstrel airs was won!
'Twas nature's cordial glow, the kindred link
That all unweeting chains two hearts in one.
Then why should mankind ween the maid undone,
Though with her youth she seek the woodland deep,
Rest in a bower to view the parting sun,
Lean on his breast, at tale of woe to weep,
Or sweetly, on his arm, recline in mimic sleep?
Oh, I have seen, and fondly blest the sight,
The peerless charms of maiden's guileful freak!
Through the dark eye-lash peep the orb so bright;
The wily features so demurely meek;
The smile of love half dimpling on the cheek;
The quaking breast, that heaves the sigh withal;
The parting lips which more than language speak!—
Of fond delights, which memory can recal,
Oh, beauty's feigned sleep far—far outdoes them all!
The peerless charms of maiden's guileful freak!
Through the dark eye-lash peep the orb so bright;
The wily features so demurely meek;
The smile of love half dimpling on the cheek;
The quaking breast, that heaves the sigh withal;
The parting lips which more than language speak!—
Of fond delights, which memory can recal,
Oh, beauty's feigned sleep far—far outdoes them all!
O'er such a sleep the enamoured minstrel hung,
Stole one soft kiss, but still she sounder fell;
The half-formed sentence died upon her tongue;
'Twas through her sleep she spoke!—Pray was it well,
Molesting helpless maiden in the dell,
On sweet restoring slumber so intent?
Our minstrel framed resolve I joy to tell—
'Twas, not to harm that beauteous innocent,
For no delight, nor joy, that fancy might present.
Stole one soft kiss, but still she sounder fell;
The half-formed sentence died upon her tongue;
'Twas through her sleep she spoke!—Pray was it well,
Molesting helpless maiden in the dell,
On sweet restoring slumber so intent?
Our minstrel framed resolve I joy to tell—
'Twas, not to harm that beauteous innocent,
For no delight, nor joy, that fancy might present.
When at the ferry, silent long they stood,
And eyed the red beam on the pool that lay,
Or baseless shadow of the waving wood—
That lonely spot, upon the banks of Tay,
Still bears the maiden's name, and shall for aye—
Warm was the parting sigh their bosoms drew;
For sure, the joys of that enchanting day,
'Twas worth an age of sorrow to renew:
Then, glancing oft behind, they sped along the dew.
And eyed the red beam on the pool that lay,
Or baseless shadow of the waving wood—
That lonely spot, upon the banks of Tay,
Still bears the maiden's name, and shall for aye—
Warm was the parting sigh their bosoms drew;
For sure, the joys of that enchanting day,
'Twas worth an age of sorrow to renew:
Then, glancing oft behind, they sped along the dew.
Oft did Kincraigy's wayward humour keep
The hamlet and the hall in teazing broil;
But his reproaches never cut so deep
As when, that eve, he ceased his rural toil.
He learned the truth, and raised such grievous coil,
That even the dame in rage gave up defence;
The lovely cause of all the wild turmoil
Sat in a corner, grieved for her offence,
Offering no urgent plea, nor any false pretence.
The hamlet and the hall in teazing broil;
But his reproaches never cut so deep
As when, that eve, he ceased his rural toil.
He learned the truth, and raised such grievous coil,
That even the dame in rage gave up defence;
The lovely cause of all the wild turmoil
Sat in a corner, grieved for her offence,
Offering no urgent plea, nor any false pretence.
When summer suns around the zenith glow,
Nature is gaudy, frolicsome, and boon;
But when September breezes cease to blow,
And twilight steals beneath the broadened moon,
How changed the scene!—the year's resplendent noon
Is long gone past, and all is mildly still;
Sedateness settles on the dale and doone;
Wan is the floweret by the mountain rill,
And a pale boding look sits solemn on the hill.
Nature is gaudy, frolicsome, and boon;
But when September breezes cease to blow,
And twilight steals beneath the broadened moon,
How changed the scene!—the year's resplendent noon
Is long gone past, and all is mildly still;
Sedateness settles on the dale and doone;
Wan is the floweret by the mountain rill,
And a pale boding look sits solemn on the hill.
More changed than all the mien of Ila Moore;
Scarce could you trow the self-same soul within:
The buxom lass that loved the revel hour,
That laughed at all, and grieved for nought but sin,
Steals from her darling frolic, jest and din,
And sits alone beneath the fading tree:
Upon her bosom leans her dimpled chin,
Her moistened eye fixed moveless on the lea,
Or vagrant tiny moth that sojourned on her knee.
Scarce could you trow the self-same soul within:
The buxom lass that loved the revel hour,
That laughed at all, and grieved for nought but sin,
Steals from her darling frolic, jest and din,
And sits alone beneath the fading tree:
Upon her bosom leans her dimpled chin,
Her moistened eye fixed moveless on the lea,
Or vagrant tiny moth that sojourned on her knee.
Her songs, that erst did scarcely maid become,
So framed they were of blandishment and jest,
Were changed into a soft unmeaning hum,
A sickly melody, yet unexpressed.
At tale of pity throbbed her ardent breast;
The tear was ready for mishap or joy;
And well she loved in evening grove to rest,
To tender Heaven her vow without annoy,
Indulging secret thought—a thought that did not cloy.
So framed they were of blandishment and jest,
Were changed into a soft unmeaning hum,
A sickly melody, yet unexpressed.
At tale of pity throbbed her ardent breast;
The tear was ready for mishap or joy;
And well she loved in evening grove to rest,
To tender Heaven her vow without annoy,
Indulging secret thought—a thought that did not cloy.
The dame perceived the maiden's altered mood;
A dame of keen distinguishment was she!
And oh, her measures were most wondrous shrewd,
And deeply schemed, as woman's needs must be,
Though all the world with little toil could see
Her latent purposes from first to last.
An ancient friar, who shrived the family,
She called into her chamber—barred it fast,
That listener might not hear the important words that past.
A dame of keen distinguishment was she!
And oh, her measures were most wondrous shrewd,
And deeply schemed, as woman's needs must be,
Though all the world with little toil could see
Her latent purposes from first to last.
An ancient friar, who shrived the family,
She called into her chamber—barred it fast,
That listener might not hear the important words that past.
“Father, you marked the gallant minstrel youth
Who lately to the forest passed this way;
I ween, he proffer made of hand and troth
To our own child, and hardly would take nay.
Put on thy humble cowl and frock of gray;
Thy order and array thy warrant be;
And watch the royal tent at close of day,
It stands in glen below the wells of Dee;
Note all entreatment there, and bring the truth to me.
Who lately to the forest passed this way;
I ween, he proffer made of hand and troth
To our own child, and hardly would take nay.
Put on thy humble cowl and frock of gray;
Thy order and array thy warrant be;
And watch the royal tent at close of day,
It stands in glen below the wells of Dee;
Note all entreatment there, and bring the truth to me.
“Young Mador of the Moor, thou know'st him well;
Mark thou what rank he holds, and mark aright,
If with the squires or vulgar grooms he dwell:
If in the outer tent he sleeps by night,
Regard him not, nor wait the morning light;
But if with royalty or knighthood set,
Beckon him forth, in seeming serious plight,
And say, what most will his impatience whet,
That for his sake some cheeks are ever, ever wet!”
Mark thou what rank he holds, and mark aright,
If with the squires or vulgar grooms he dwell:
If in the outer tent he sleeps by night,
Regard him not, nor wait the morning light;
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Beckon him forth, in seeming serious plight,
And say, what most will his impatience whet,
That for his sake some cheeks are ever, ever wet!”
Next morn, while yet the eastern mountains threw
Their giant shadows o'er the slumbering dale,
Their darkened verges trembling on the dew
In rosy wreath, so lovely and so pale,
The warped and slender rainbow of the vale;
Ere beauteous Ila's foot had prest the floor,
Or her fair cheek had kissed the morning gale,
A lively rap came to Kincraigy's door—
There stood the active friar, and Mador of the Moor!
Their giant shadows o'er the slumbering dale,
Their darkened verges trembling on the dew
In rosy wreath, so lovely and so pale,
The warped and slender rainbow of the vale;
Ere beauteous Ila's foot had prest the floor,
Or her fair cheek had kissed the morning gale,
A lively rap came to Kincraigy's door—
There stood the active friar, and Mador of the Moor!
Well knew the dame this speed betokened good,
But when she learned that Mador consort held
With majesty and knights of noblest blood,
One of the select number in the field,
Her courtesy no blandishment withheld.
Fair Ila trembled like the aspen bough,
She dreaded passions guidelessly impelled—
'Twas what of all the world she wished; yet now
A weight her heart oppressed, she felt she wist not how.
But when she learned that Mador consort held
With majesty and knights of noblest blood,
One of the select number in the field,
Her courtesy no blandishment withheld.
Fair Ila trembled like the aspen bough,
She dreaded passions guidelessly impelled—
'Twas what of all the world she wished; yet now
A weight her heart oppressed, she felt she wist not how.
Kincraigy growled like hunted wolf at bay,
And in his fields from outrage sought relief;
No burning fiend whom convent wights gainsay,
No ruthless abbey reave, nor Ranoch thief,
Did ever work him such chagrin and grief,
As did the minstrel's smooth obtrusive face.
Albert of Glen, his kind but haughty chief,
He saw exposed to infamous disgrace,
Himself to loss of name, of honour, and of place.
And in his fields from outrage sought relief;
No burning fiend whom convent wights gainsay,
No ruthless abbey reave, nor Ranoch thief,
Did ever work him such chagrin and grief,
As did the minstrel's smooth obtrusive face.
Albert of Glen, his kind but haughty chief,
He saw exposed to infamous disgrace,
Himself to loss of name, of honour, and of place.
His rage availed not—each reflective hint
Was treated by his knowing dame with scorn,
Whose every word, and every action, went
To show him his discernment was forlorn:
He knew no more of life than babe unborn!
'Twas well some could distinguish who was who!
Kincraigy's years were cumbered and outworn
In manful strife his mastery to show,
Though forced on every point his privilege to forego.
Was treated by his knowing dame with scorn,
Whose every word, and every action, went
To show him his discernment was forlorn:
He knew no more of life than babe unborn!
'Twas well some could distinguish who was who!
Kincraigy's years were cumbered and outworn
In manful strife his mastery to show,
Though forced on every point his privilege to forego.
The minstrel's table was with viands spread,
His cup was filled though all the rest were dry;
Not on the floor was made the minstrel's bed,
He got the best Kincraigy could supply;
While every day the former did outvie
In idle frolic round Kincraigy's hall:
His frugal meal is changed to luxury;
His oxen low unnoted in the stall;
Loud revelry pervades, and lords it over all.
His cup was filled though all the rest were dry;
Not on the floor was made the minstrel's bed,
He got the best Kincraigy could supply;
While every day the former did outvie
In idle frolic round Kincraigy's hall:
His frugal meal is changed to luxury;
His oxen low unnoted in the stall;
Loud revelry pervades, and lords it over all.
The blooming May, from his first fond embrace
Shrunk pale and sullen, as from insult high;
A nameless dread was settled on her face;
She feared the minstrel, yet she knew not why.
That previous night, when closed was every eye,
O she had dreamed of grievous scenes to be;
And she had heard a little plaintive cry;
And she had sung beneath the willow tree,
And seen a rueful sight, unfitting maid to see!
Shrunk pale and sullen, as from insult high;
A nameless dread was settled on her face;
She feared the minstrel, yet she knew not why.
That previous night, when closed was every eye,
O she had dreamed of grievous scenes to be;
And she had heard a little plaintive cry;
And she had sung beneath the willow tree,
And seen a rueful sight, unfitting maid to see!
But when he told her of his fixed resolve,
That, should they not in wedlock ties be bound,
He never would that loving breast involve
In rankling crime, nor pierce it with a wound,—
It was so generous, she no longer frowned,
But sighing sunk upon his manly breast.
Sweet tender sex! with snares encompassed round,
On others hang thy comforts and thy rest;
Child of dependence born, and failings unconfest!
That, should they not in wedlock ties be bound,
He never would that loving breast involve
In rankling crime, nor pierce it with a wound,—
It was so generous, she no longer frowned,
But sighing sunk upon his manly breast.
Sweet tender sex! with snares encompassed round,
On others hang thy comforts and thy rest;
Child of dependence born, and failings unconfest!
At eve they leaned upon the flowery sward,
On fairy mound that overlooks the Tay;
And in the greenwood bowers of sweet Kinnaird
They sought a refuge from the noontide ray.
In bowers that scarce received the light of day,
Far, far below a rock's stupendous pile,
In raptures of the purest love they lay,
While tender tale would intervals beguile—
Woe to the venal friar, won to religious wile!
On fairy mound that overlooks the Tay;
And in the greenwood bowers of sweet Kinnaird
They sought a refuge from the noontide ray.
In bowers that scarce received the light of day,
Far, far below a rock's stupendous pile,
In raptures of the purest love they lay,
While tender tale would intervals beguile—
Woe to the venal friar, won to religious wile!
If pure and full terrestrial bliss may be,
And human imperfection that enjoy,
Those twain, beneath the deep embowering tree,
Bathed in that perfect bliss without alloy.
But passion's flame will passion's self destroy,
Such imperfections round our nature lower;
No bliss is ours, that others mayn't annoy:
So happ'd it to Kincraigy's beauteous flower,
And eke her gallant gay, young Mador of the Moor.
And human imperfection that enjoy,
Those twain, beneath the deep embowering tree,
Bathed in that perfect bliss without alloy.
But passion's flame will passion's self destroy,
Such imperfections round our nature lower;
No bliss is ours, that others mayn't annoy:
So happ'd it to Kincraigy's beauteous flower,
And eke her gallant gay, young Mador of the Moor.
Albert of Glen, o'er his betrothed bride
Kept jealous eye, and oft unnoted came;
He saw the minstrel ever by her side,
And how his presence flushed the bustling dame.
Enraged at such a fond ungrateful flame,
One eve he caught them locked in fond embrace;
And, bent his amorous rival's pride to tame,
Began with sandalled foot, and heavy mace,
To work the minstrel woe, and very deep disgrace.
Kept jealous eye, and oft unnoted came;
He saw the minstrel ever by her side,
And how his presence flushed the bustling dame.
Enraged at such a fond ungrateful flame,
One eve he caught them locked in fond embrace;
And, bent his amorous rival's pride to tame,
Began with sandalled foot, and heavy mace,
To work the minstrel woe, and very deep disgrace.
Few and unpolished were the words that passed;
Hard was the struggle and infuriate grasp;
But Mador of the Moor, o'erborne at last,
Beneath his rival's frame began to gasp;
His slender nape was locked in keyless hasp;
A maid's exertion saved him as before—
Her willing fingers made the hands unclasp
That soon had stilled the struggling minstrel's core—
He ne'er had flattered dame nor courted maiden more.
Hard was the struggle and infuriate grasp;
But Mador of the Moor, o'erborne at last,
Beneath his rival's frame began to gasp;
His slender nape was locked in keyless hasp;
A maid's exertion saved him as before—
Her willing fingers made the hands unclasp
That soon had stilled the struggling minstrel's core—
He ne'er had flattered dame nor courted maiden more.
The swords were drawn, but neither jeer nor threat
Could drive the fearless maiden from between;
Again her firmness quelled the dire debate,
And drove the ruffian from their bower of green.
But grim and resolute revenge was seen
In his dark eye, as furious he withdrew;
And Mador of the Moor, his life to screen,
Escaped by night, through shades of murky hue:
The maiden deemed it meet, for Albert well she knew.
Could drive the fearless maiden from between;
Again her firmness quelled the dire debate,
And drove the ruffian from their bower of green.
But grim and resolute revenge was seen
In his dark eye, as furious he withdrew;
And Mador of the Moor, his life to screen,
Escaped by night, through shades of murky hue:
The maiden deemed it meet, for Albert well she knew.
115
And well it proved for him!—At woman's schemes
And deep-laid policy the jeer is due;
But for resource and courage in extremes,
For prompt expedient and affection true,
Distrust her not;—even though her means are few,
She will defeat the utmost powers of man;
In strait, she never yet distinction drew
'Twixt right and wrong, nor squeamishly began
To calculate, or weigh, save how to gain her plan.
And deep-laid policy the jeer is due;
But for resource and courage in extremes,
For prompt expedient and affection true,
Distrust her not;—even though her means are few,
She will defeat the utmost powers of man;
In strait, she never yet distinction drew
'Twixt right and wrong, nor squeamishly began
To calculate, or weigh, save how to gain her plan.
Albert of Glen with twenty warriors came,
Beset Kincraigy's hall, and searched it through;
Like the chafed ocean stormed the flustered dame—
Of Mador's hasty flight she did not know.
Kincraigy hoped they would the wight undo;
In his malicious grin was joyance seen.
Albert is baulked of sweet revenge, and now
Blazes outright a chieftain's smothered spleen;
And Mador's lost and gone, as if he ne'er had been.
Beset Kincraigy's hall, and searched it through;
Like the chafed ocean stormed the flustered dame—
Of Mador's hasty flight she did not know.
Kincraigy hoped they would the wight undo;
In his malicious grin was joyance seen.
Albert is baulked of sweet revenge, and now
Blazes outright a chieftain's smothered spleen;
And Mador's lost and gone, as if he ne'er had been.
A May, in old Scottish ballads and romances, denotes a young lady, or a maiden, somewhat above the lower class.
CANTO THIRD. The Cottage.
ARGUMENT.
O waly, waly, but love be bonnie,A little while when it is new!
But when 'tis old it waxes cold,
An' fades away like morning dew.
But had I wist before I kissed,
That love had been so ill to win,
I had locked my heart in a case o' gowd,
An' pinned it wi' a siller pin.
What art thou, Love? or who may thee define?
Where lies thy bourne of pleasure or of pain?
No sceptre, graved by Reason's hand, is thine,
Child of the moistened eye and burning brain,
Of glowing fancy, and the fervid vein,
That soft on bed of roses loves to rest,
And crop the flower where lurks the deadly bane:
Oh, many a thorn those dear delights invest,
Child of the rosy cheek, and heaving snow-white breast!
Where lies thy bourne of pleasure or of pain?
No sceptre, graved by Reason's hand, is thine,
Child of the moistened eye and burning brain,
Of glowing fancy, and the fervid vein,
That soft on bed of roses loves to rest,
And crop the flower where lurks the deadly bane:
Oh, many a thorn those dear delights invest,
Child of the rosy cheek, and heaving snow-white breast!
Thou art the genial balm of virtuous youth,
And point'st where Honour waves her wreath on high;
Like the sweet breeze that wanders from the south,
Thou breath'st upon the soul, where embryos lie
Of new delights, the treasures of the sky.
Who knows thy trembling watch in bower of even,
Thy earliest grateful tear, and melting sigh?
Oh, never was to yearning mortal given
So dear delights as thine, thou habitant of heaven!
And point'st where Honour waves her wreath on high;
Like the sweet breeze that wanders from the south,
Thou breath'st upon the soul, where embryos lie
Of new delights, the treasures of the sky.
Who knows thy trembling watch in bower of even,
Thy earliest grateful tear, and melting sigh?
Oh, never was to yearning mortal given
So dear delights as thine, thou habitant of heaven!
Woe that thy regal sway, so framed to please,
Should ever from usurper meet control;
That ever shrivelled wealth, or gray disease,
Should mar the grateful concord of the soul:
That bloated sediment of crazing bowl
Should crop thy blossoms which untasted die;
Or that the blistering phrase of babbler foul
Should e'er profane thy altars, framed to lie
Veiled from all heaven and earth, save silent Fancy's eye!
Should ever from usurper meet control;
That ever shrivelled wealth, or gray disease,
Should mar the grateful concord of the soul:
That bloated sediment of crazing bowl
Should crop thy blossoms which untasted die;
Or that the blistering phrase of babbler foul
Should e'er profane thy altars, framed to lie
Veiled from all heaven and earth, save silent Fancy's eye!
Oh, I will worship even before thy bust,
When my dimmed eye no more thy smile can see!
While this deserted bosom beats, it must
Still beat in unison with hope and thee:
For I have wept o'er perished ecstasy,
And o'er the fall of beauty's early prime;
But I will dream of new delights to be,
When moon and stars have ceased their range sublime,
And angels rung the knell of all-consuming Time.
When my dimmed eye no more thy smile can see!
While this deserted bosom beats, it must
Still beat in unison with hope and thee:
For I have wept o'er perished ecstasy,
And o'er the fall of beauty's early prime;
But I will dream of new delights to be,
When moon and stars have ceased their range sublime,
And angels rung the knell of all-consuming Time.
Then speed, thou great coeval of the sun;
Thy world with flowers and snows alternate sow:
Long has thy whelming tide resistless run,
And swelled the seas of wickedness and woe.
While moons shall wane, and mundane oceans flow,
To count the hours of thy dominion o'er,
The dyes of human guilt shall deeper grow,
And millions sink to see thy reign no more:
Haste, haste thy guilty course to yon eternal shore!
Thy world with flowers and snows alternate sow:
Long has thy whelming tide resistless run,
And swelled the seas of wickedness and woe.
While moons shall wane, and mundane oceans flow,
To count the hours of thy dominion o'er,
The dyes of human guilt shall deeper grow,
And millions sink to see thy reign no more:
Haste, haste thy guilty course to yon eternal shore!
Cease, thou wild Muse, thy vague unbodied lay:
What boots these wanderings from thy onward tale?
I know thee well! when once thou fliest astray,
To lure thee back no soothing can avail.
Thou lov'st amid the burning stars to sail,
Or sing with sea-maids down the coral deep;
The groves of visionary worlds to hail;
In moonlight dells thy fairy rites to keep,
Or through the wilderness on booming pinion sweep.
What boots these wanderings from thy onward tale?
I know thee well! when once thou fliest astray,
To lure thee back no soothing can avail.
Thou lov'st amid the burning stars to sail,
Or sing with sea-maids down the coral deep;
The groves of visionary worlds to hail;
In moonlight dells thy fairy rites to keep,
Or through the wilderness on booming pinion sweep.
Wilt thou not stoop, where beauty sits forlorn,
Trembling at symptoms of approaching woe?
Where lovely Ila, by the aged thorn,
Notes what she scarce dare trust her heart to know?
Mark how her cheek's new roses come and go!
Has Mador dared his virtuous vow to break?
It cannot be;—we may not deem it so;
Spare the ungrateful thought, for mercy's sake!
Alas! man still is man—And woman—ah, how weak!
Trembling at symptoms of approaching woe?
Where lovely Ila, by the aged thorn,
Notes what she scarce dare trust her heart to know?
Mark how her cheek's new roses come and go!
Has Mador dared his virtuous vow to break?
It cannot be;—we may not deem it so;
Spare the ungrateful thought, for mercy's sake!
Alas! man still is man—And woman—ah, how weak!
Why do the maidens of the strath rejoice,
And lilt with meaning gesture on the loan?
Why do they smirk, and talk with giggling voice
Of laces, and of stays; and thereupon
Hang many a fruitful jest?—Ah! is there none
The truth to pledge, and prove the nuptial vow?
Alas! the friar on pilgrimage is gone;
Mador is lost—none else the secret knew,
And all is deemed pretext assumptive and untrue.
And lilt with meaning gesture on the loan?
Why do they smirk, and talk with giggling voice
Of laces, and of stays; and thereupon
Hang many a fruitful jest?—Ah! is there none
The truth to pledge, and prove the nuptial vow?
Alas! the friar on pilgrimage is gone;
Mador is lost—none else the secret knew,
And all is deemed pretext assumptive and untrue.
116
Slander prevails, to woman's longing mind
Sweet as the April blossom to the bee;
Her meal that never palls, but leaves behind
An appetite still yearning food to see.
Kincraigy's dame of perspicacity
Sees nought at all amiss, but flounces on;
Her brawling humour shows increased to be;
Much does she speak, in loud and grumbling tone,
Nor time takes to reflect, nor even a prayer to con.
Sweet as the April blossom to the bee;
Her meal that never palls, but leaves behind
An appetite still yearning food to see.
Kincraigy's dame of perspicacity
Sees nought at all amiss, but flounces on;
Her brawling humour shows increased to be;
Much does she speak, in loud and grumbling tone,
Nor time takes to reflect, nor even a prayer to con.
The injured Albert timely sent command
That pierced Kincraigy to the inmost soul,
To drive his worthless daughter from the land,
Or forthwith yield, of goods and gear, the whole.
Alternative severe!—no tale of dole
The chief would hear, on full revenge intent.
The good sagacious dame, in murmuring growl,
Proposed to drive her forth incontinent,
For she deserved it all, and Albert might relent.
That pierced Kincraigy to the inmost soul,
To drive his worthless daughter from the land,
Or forthwith yield, of goods and gear, the whole.
Alternative severe!—no tale of dole
The chief would hear, on full revenge intent.
The good sagacious dame, in murmuring growl,
Proposed to drive her forth incontinent,
For she deserved it all, and Albert might relent.
“She is to blame,” Kincraigy made reply,
“And may deserve so hard a guerdon well;
But so dost thou, and haply I may try
That last expedient with a shrew so fell;
But when I do, no man shall me compel:
For thy own good, to poverty I yield;
My child is still my own, and shall not tell
At Heaven's high bar, that I, her only shield,
For blame that was not hers, expelled her to the field.”
“And may deserve so hard a guerdon well;
But so dost thou, and haply I may try
That last expedient with a shrew so fell;
But when I do, no man shall me compel:
For thy own good, to poverty I yield;
My child is still my own, and shall not tell
At Heaven's high bar, that I, her only shield,
For blame that was not hers, expelled her to the field.”
Kincraigy leaves his ancient home with tears,
And sits in lowly cot without a name;
No angry word from him his daughter hears,
But oh! how pined the much-degraded dame!
Plaint followed plaint, and blame was eked to blame.
Her muster-roll of grievances how long!
She mentions not her darling minstrel's fame,
His spotless honour, nor affection strong,
But to her weeping child imputes each grievous wrong.
And sits in lowly cot without a name;
No angry word from him his daughter hears,
But oh! how pined the much-degraded dame!
Plaint followed plaint, and blame was eked to blame.
Her muster-roll of grievances how long!
She mentions not her darling minstrel's fame,
His spotless honour, nor affection strong,
But to her weeping child imputes each grievous wrong.
Concealed within the cot's sequestered nook
Where fire had never beamed the gloom to cheer,
Young Ila Moore is doomed her woes to brook,
And every query's answered by a tear.
What mean those tiny robes, concealed with fear?
These clothes, dear maid, are all unmeet for thee;
Are all unfitting human thing to wear,
Save noble infant on his nurse's knee,—
Yet them thou dost survey, and weep when none can see.
Where fire had never beamed the gloom to cheer,
Young Ila Moore is doomed her woes to brook,
And every query's answered by a tear.
What mean those tiny robes, concealed with fear?
These clothes, dear maid, are all unmeet for thee;
Are all unfitting human thing to wear,
Save noble infant on his nurse's knee,—
Yet them thou dost survey, and weep when none can see.
O maiden of the bright and melting eye,
Of the soft velvet cheek and balmy breath,
Whose lips the coral's deepest tints outvie,
Thy bosom fairer than the winter wreath!
Before thou yield'st those lips of simple faith,
Or giv'st that heaving breast to love's caress,
Oh, look beyond!—the sweet luxuriant path
May lead thee into labyrinth of distress:
Think of this comely May, nor deem thy danger less.
Of the soft velvet cheek and balmy breath,
Whose lips the coral's deepest tints outvie,
Thy bosom fairer than the winter wreath!
Before thou yield'st those lips of simple faith,
Or giv'st that heaving breast to love's caress,
Oh, look beyond!—the sweet luxuriant path
May lead thee into labyrinth of distress:
Think of this comely May, nor deem thy danger less.
Blame not the bard, who yearns thy peace to save;
Who fain would see thy virtuous worth excel
Thy beauty, and thy purity engrave
Where time may scarce the lines of life cancel.
Deem not he on thy foibles lists to dwell,
Thy failings, or the dangers thee belay;
'Tis all to caution thee, and warn thee well.
Wipe but thy little stains of love away
And thou art goodness all, and pure as bloom of May.
Who fain would see thy virtuous worth excel
Thy beauty, and thy purity engrave
Where time may scarce the lines of life cancel.
Deem not he on thy foibles lists to dwell,
Thy failings, or the dangers thee belay;
'Tis all to caution thee, and warn thee well.
Wipe but thy little stains of love away
And thou art goodness all, and pure as bloom of May.
To give thy secret ear to lover's tale,
Or cast approving glance, is kindly done;
But, ere thy soul the darling sweets inhale,
Mark out the bourn—nor farther be thou won.
Eventful is the sequel once begun,
And all delusive sweets that onward lie:
Think of the inmost nook of cottage lone,
Of the blenched cheek, the bleared and swimming eye,
And how 'twill thee become, the unsainted lullaby!
Or cast approving glance, is kindly done;
But, ere thy soul the darling sweets inhale,
Mark out the bourn—nor farther be thou won.
Eventful is the sequel once begun,
And all delusive sweets that onward lie:
Think of the inmost nook of cottage lone,
Of the blenched cheek, the bleared and swimming eye,
And how 'twill thee become, the unsainted lullaby!
'Tis done, and Shame his masterpiece hath wrought:
Why should the laws of God and man combine
To sear the heart with keenest sorrows fraught,
And every blush and every tear enshrine
In brazen tomb of punishment malign?
The gentle sufferer beacon stands to scorn;
Kincraigy's dame is sunk in woes condign;
A helpless minstrel to her house is born,
A grandson hale and fair, and comely as the morn.
Why should the laws of God and man combine
To sear the heart with keenest sorrows fraught,
And every blush and every tear enshrine
In brazen tomb of punishment malign?
The gentle sufferer beacon stands to scorn;
Kincraigy's dame is sunk in woes condign;
A helpless minstrel to her house is born,
A grandson hale and fair, and comely as the morn.
Poor child of shame! thy fortune to divine
Would conjure up the scenes of future pain;
No father's house, nor shielding arm is thine;
No banquet hails thee, stranger of disdain.
A lowly shelter from the wind and rain
Hides thy young weetless head, unwelcome guest;
And thy unholy frame must long remain
Unhouselled, and by churchman's tongue unblest;
Yet peaceful is thy sleep, cradled on guileless breast.
Would conjure up the scenes of future pain;
No father's house, nor shielding arm is thine;
No banquet hails thee, stranger of disdain.
A lowly shelter from the wind and rain
Hides thy young weetless head, unwelcome guest;
And thy unholy frame must long remain
Unhouselled, and by churchman's tongue unblest;
Yet peaceful is thy sleep, cradled on guileless breast.
Hard works Kincraigy 'mid his woodland reign,
And boasts his earnings to his flustered dame;
Seemed as unknowing the event of pain,
Nor once by him is named his daughter's name,
Till ardent matron of the hamlet came,
And brought the child abrupt his eye before:
He saw the guiltless his protection claim,
With little arms outstretched seemed to implore—
He kissed the babe and wept, then hasted to the door.
And boasts his earnings to his flustered dame;
Seemed as unknowing the event of pain,
Nor once by him is named his daughter's name,
Till ardent matron of the hamlet came,
And brought the child abrupt his eye before:
He saw the guiltless his protection claim,
With little arms outstretched seemed to implore—
He kissed the babe and wept, then hasted to the door.
But oh, Kincraigy's dame is warped in dread!
The days of Heaven's forbearance are outgone,
And round the unchristened babe's unholy bed
No guardian spirits watch at midnight lone;
Well to malignant elves the same was known—
There slept the babe, to them an easy prey.
Oh! every nightly buzz or distant moan
Drove the poor dame's unrooted wits away;
Her terror 'twas by night, her thought and prayer by day.
The days of Heaven's forbearance are outgone,
And round the unchristened babe's unholy bed
No guardian spirits watch at midnight lone;
Well to malignant elves the same was known—
There slept the babe, to them an easy prey.
Oh! every nightly buzz or distant moan
Drove the poor dame's unrooted wits away;
Her terror 'twas by night, her thought and prayer by day.
117
Still waxed her dread, for ah! too well she knew
Her floor, o'ernight, had frames unearthly borne;
Around her cot, the giggling fairies flew,
And all arrangement altered ere the morn.
At eve, the candle of its beams was shorn,
While a blue halo round the flame would play;
And she could hear the fairies' fitful horn
Ring in her ears an eldritch roundelay,
When every eye was shut, and her's all wakeful lay.
Her floor, o'ernight, had frames unearthly borne;
Around her cot, the giggling fairies flew,
And all arrangement altered ere the morn.
At eve, the candle of its beams was shorn,
While a blue halo round the flame would play;
And she could hear the fairies' fitful horn
Ring in her ears an eldritch roundelay,
When every eye was shut, and her's all wakeful lay.
And many a private mark the infant bore,
Surveyed each morn with dread which none can tell,
Lest the real child was borne to downward shore,
And in his stead, and form, by fairy spell,
Some froward elfin child, deformed and fell:
Oh, how her troubled breast with horror shook,
Lest thing from confines of the lower hell
Might sit upon her knee and on her look!—
'Twas more than her weak mind and fading form could brook.
Surveyed each morn with dread which none can tell,
Lest the real child was borne to downward shore,
And in his stead, and form, by fairy spell,
Some froward elfin child, deformed and fell:
Oh, how her troubled breast with horror shook,
Lest thing from confines of the lower hell
Might sit upon her knee and on her look!—
'Twas more than her weak mind and fading form could brook.
Sweet Ila Moore had borne the world's revile
With meekness, and with warm repentant tears;
At church anathemas she well could smile,
And silent oft of faithless man she hears.
But now a kind misjudging parent's fears
Oppressed her heart—her father too would sigh
O'er the unrighteous babe, whose early years
Excluded were from saints' society;
Disowned by God and man, an heathen he might die.
With meekness, and with warm repentant tears;
At church anathemas she well could smile,
And silent oft of faithless man she hears.
But now a kind misjudging parent's fears
Oppressed her heart—her father too would sigh
O'er the unrighteous babe, whose early years
Excluded were from saints' society;
Disowned by God and man, an heathen he might die.
Forthwith she tried a letter to indite,
To rouse the faithless Mador's dormant flame:
Her soul was racked with feelings opposite;
She found no words proportioned to his blame.
At memory's page her blushes went and came;
And aye she stooped and o'er the cradle hung,
Called her loved infant by his father's name,
Then framed a little lay, and thus she sung—
“Thy father's far away, thy mother all too young.
To rouse the faithless Mador's dormant flame:
Her soul was racked with feelings opposite;
She found no words proportioned to his blame.
At memory's page her blushes went and came;
And aye she stooped and o'er the cradle hung,
Called her loved infant by his father's name,
Then framed a little lay, and thus she sung—
“Thy father's far away, thy mother all too young.
“Be still, my babe, be still!—the die is cast;
Beyond thy weal no joy remains for me;
Thy mother's spring was clouded and o'erpast
Erewhile the blossom opened on the tree.
But I will nurse thee kindly on my knee,
In spite of every taunt and jeering tongue;
Oh, thy sweet eye will melt my wrongs to see,
And thy kind little heart with grief be wrung!
Thy father's far away, thy mother all too young.
Beyond thy weal no joy remains for me;
Thy mother's spring was clouded and o'erpast
Erewhile the blossom opened on the tree.
But I will nurse thee kindly on my knee,
In spite of every taunt and jeering tongue;
Oh, thy sweet eye will melt my wrongs to see,
And thy kind little heart with grief be wrung!
Thy father's far away, thy mother all too young.
“If haggard poverty should overtake,
And threat our onward journey to forelay,
For thee I'll pull the berries of the brake,
Wake half the night, and toil the live-long day;
And when proud manhood o'er thy brow shall play,
For me thy bow in forest shall be strung:
The memory of my errors shall decay,
And of the song of shame I oft have sung,
Of father far away, and mother all too young!
And threat our onward journey to forelay,
For thee I'll pull the berries of the brake,
Wake half the night, and toil the live-long day;
And when proud manhood o'er thy brow shall play,
For me thy bow in forest shall be strung:
The memory of my errors shall decay,
And of the song of shame I oft have sung,
Of father far away, and mother all too young!
“But oh! when mellowed lustre gilds thine eye,
And love's soft passion thrills thy youthful frame,
Let this memorial bear thy mind on high
Above the guilty and regretful flame;
The mildew of the soul, the mark of shame;
Think of the fruit before the bloom that sprung.
When in the twilight bower with beauteous dame,
Let this unbreathed lay hang on thy tongue—
Thy father's far away, thy mother all too young.”
And love's soft passion thrills thy youthful frame,
Let this memorial bear thy mind on high
Above the guilty and regretful flame;
The mildew of the soul, the mark of shame;
Think of the fruit before the bloom that sprung.
When in the twilight bower with beauteous dame,
Let this unbreathed lay hang on thy tongue—
Thy father's far away, thy mother all too young.”
When days and nights a stained scroll had seen
Beneath young Ila Moore's betrothed eye;
When many a tear had dropt the lines between,
When dim the page with many a burning sigh,
A boy is charged to Scotland's court to hie,
The pledge to bear, nor leave the minstrel's door
Till answer came. Alas, nor low, nor high,
Porter nor groom, nor warder of the tower,
Had ever heard the name of Mador of the Moor.
Beneath young Ila Moore's betrothed eye;
When many a tear had dropt the lines between,
When dim the page with many a burning sigh,
A boy is charged to Scotland's court to hie,
The pledge to bear, nor leave the minstrel's door
Till answer came. Alas, nor low, nor high,
Porter nor groom, nor warder of the tower,
Had ever heard the name of Mador of the Moor.
CANTO FOURTH. The Palmer.
ARGUMENT.
Did ye never hear o' the puir auld man,That doughtna live, and coudna die?
Wha spak to the spirits a' night lang,
An' saw the things we coudna see,
An' raised the bairnies out o' the grave?
Oh but a waesome sight was he!
There is a bounded sphere, where human grief
May all the energies of mind benumb;
'Twixt purpose and regret, it seeks relief
In unavailing plaint, or musings dumb;
But to o'erwhelming height when mounts the sum,
Oft, to itself superior, mind hath shone,
That broken reed, Dependence, overcome:
Where dwells the might that may the soul unthrone,
Whose proud resolve is moored on its own powers alone?
May all the energies of mind benumb;
'Twixt purpose and regret, it seeks relief
In unavailing plaint, or musings dumb;
But to o'erwhelming height when mounts the sum,
Oft, to itself superior, mind hath shone,
That broken reed, Dependence, overcome:
Where dwells the might that may the soul unthrone,
Whose proud resolve is moored on its own powers alone?
Why is young Ila dight in robes so gay,
Her hue more lovely than the gold refined?
Why bears she to the southern vales away,
And leaves the woody banks of Tay behind,
Her beauteous boy well wrapt from sun and wind
In mantle spangled like the heath in flower?—
Ah! she is gone her wandering love to find,
In court or camp, in hall or lady's bower,
Resolved to die, or find young Mador of the Moor.
Her hue more lovely than the gold refined?
Why bears she to the southern vales away,
And leaves the woody banks of Tay behind,
Her beauteous boy well wrapt from sun and wind
In mantle spangled like the heath in flower?—
Ah! she is gone her wandering love to find,
In court or camp, in hall or lady's bower,
Resolved to die, or find young Mador of the Moor.
Had she not cause to weep her piteous plight,
In the wide world unfriended thus to be,
A babe unweaned, companion of her flight?
She did not weep; her spirits bounded free;
And, all indignant that her injury
Moved no congenial feeling on her side,
With robe of green, upfolded to her knee,
And light unsandalled foot, o'er wastes so wide
She journeyed far away, with Heaven alone to guide.
In the wide world unfriended thus to be,
118
She did not weep; her spirits bounded free;
And, all indignant that her injury
Moved no congenial feeling on her side,
With robe of green, upfolded to her knee,
And light unsandalled foot, o'er wastes so wide
She journeyed far away, with Heaven alone to guide.
She had not traversed far the woods of Bran,
Nor of her native hills had lost the view,
Where oft, on maidhood's lightsome foot, she ran,
Pilfering the rock-rose and the harebell blue,
Or moorland berries bathed in autumn dew,
When, startled, she beheld a palmer gray
Rise from beneath a lonely ronkled yew,
Where he had prostrate lain since dawn of day,
Who proffered her his hand, companion of her way.
Nor of her native hills had lost the view,
Where oft, on maidhood's lightsome foot, she ran,
Pilfering the rock-rose and the harebell blue,
Or moorland berries bathed in autumn dew,
When, startled, she beheld a palmer gray
Rise from beneath a lonely ronkled yew,
Where he had prostrate lain since dawn of day,
Who proffered her his hand, companion of her way.
He seemed familiar with her wrongs and aim;
Full oft she viewed his face, if she might see
Some feature there that might acquaintance claim—
It wore the mysteries of eternity!
That face was mild as face of age could be,
Yet something there 'twas dread to look upon;
A mien between profound and vacancy,
Bewraying thought to mortal man unknown,
Or soul abstract from sense, with feelings all its own.
Full oft she viewed his face, if she might see
Some feature there that might acquaintance claim—
It wore the mysteries of eternity!
That face was mild as face of age could be,
Yet something there 'twas dread to look upon;
A mien between profound and vacancy,
Bewraying thought to mortal man unknown,
Or soul abstract from sense, with feelings all its own.
She marvelled much to hear, as on they went,
His heavenly converse and his sage replies;
But marked him oft regard with fond intent
Things all invisible to mortal eyes.
The light-winged winds that flaunted through the skies,
Spoke in small voices, like the elfin's tongue;
From welling fountains harmonies would rise,
Like song of lark high in the rainbow hung;—
Seemed as if distant hymns of other worlds they sung.
His heavenly converse and his sage replies;
But marked him oft regard with fond intent
Things all invisible to mortal eyes.
The light-winged winds that flaunted through the skies,
Spoke in small voices, like the elfin's tongue;
From welling fountains harmonies would rise,
Like song of lark high in the rainbow hung;—
Seemed as if distant hymns of other worlds they sung.
In pleasing dread she sojourned by his side,
Nor durst she his companionship forego;
But either fear her faculties belied,
Else speech was whispered from the earth below,
And elemental converse round did flow:
The stranger answered oft in varied tone;
Then he would smile, and chide she knew not who.
Seemed as to him each herald cloud was known,
That crept along the hill, or sailed the starry zone.
Nor durst she his companionship forego;
But either fear her faculties belied,
Else speech was whispered from the earth below,
And elemental converse round did flow:
The stranger answered oft in varied tone;
Then he would smile, and chide she knew not who.
Seemed as to him each herald cloud was known,
That crept along the hill, or sailed the starry zone.
“Give me thy child, fair dame,” he said, and smiled,
Clasping his arms around the comely boy;
“Give me the child, thy youth is sorely toiled,
And I will bear him half the way with joy.”
She loosed her hold, unwilling to seem coy;
Scarce was the timid act of sufferance done,
Ere wild ideas wrought her sore annoy,
That elfin king the unchristened babe had won:
Deep in her heart she prayed that God would save her son!
Clasping his arms around the comely boy;
“Give me the child, thy youth is sorely toiled,
And I will bear him half the way with joy.”
She loosed her hold, unwilling to seem coy;
Scarce was the timid act of sufferance done,
Ere wild ideas wrought her sore annoy,
That elfin king the unchristened babe had won:
Deep in her heart she prayed that God would save her son!
She looked each moment when the old man's form
Would change to something of unearthly guise;
She looked each moment when the thunder-storm
Would roll in folded sulphur from the skies,
And snatch them from her terror-darkened eyes.
She followed nigh, enfeebled with affright,
And saw her boy, in roguish playful wise,
Pulling the old man's beard with all his might,—
The change to him was fraught with new and high delight.
Would change to something of unearthly guise;
She looked each moment when the thunder-storm
Would roll in folded sulphur from the skies,
And snatch them from her terror-darkened eyes.
She followed nigh, enfeebled with affright,
And saw her boy, in roguish playful wise,
Pulling the old man's beard with all his might,—
The change to him was fraught with new and high delight.
Her heart was quieted, but ill at rest,
And gave unwonted thoughts a teeming birth
Of this most reverend and mysterious guest,
Who scarcely seemed an habitant of earth.
The day was wearing late, no friendly hearth
Was nigh, where converse might the time betray;
The storm was hanging on the mountain swarth
Condense and gloomy, threatening sore dismay
To wanderer of the hills, on rough and pathless way.
And gave unwonted thoughts a teeming birth
Of this most reverend and mysterious guest,
Who scarcely seemed an habitant of earth.
The day was wearing late, no friendly hearth
Was nigh, where converse might the time betray;
The storm was hanging on the mountain swarth
Condense and gloomy, threatening sore dismay
To wanderer of the hills, on rough and pathless way.
A darksome sheiling, westward on the waste,
Stood like a lonely hermit of the glen;
A small green sward its bastioned walls embraced,
Kything right simply sweet to human ken,
On tiny path, unmarked by steps of men:
To that they turned in hopes of welcome meet;
'Twas only then the grovelling badger's den;
Damp was its floor untrode by human feet,
And cold, cold lay the hearth, uncheered by kindly heat.
Stood like a lonely hermit of the glen;
A small green sward its bastioned walls embraced,
Kything right simply sweet to human ken,
On tiny path, unmarked by steps of men:
To that they turned in hopes of welcome meet;
'Twas only then the grovelling badger's den;
Damp was its floor untrode by human feet,
And cold, cold lay the hearth, uncheered by kindly heat.
The marten, from his vault beneath the wall,
Peeped forth with fiend-like eye and fetid breath;
They heard the young brock's whining hunger-call,
And the grim polecat's grinding voice beneath.
The merlin from his raftered home in wrath,
Flitted with flapping wing and eldritch scream;
No downward sepulchre, nor vault of death,
Did ever deed of horror more beseem;
'Twas like some rueful cave seen in perturbed dream.
Peeped forth with fiend-like eye and fetid breath;
They heard the young brock's whining hunger-call,
And the grim polecat's grinding voice beneath.
The merlin from his raftered home in wrath,
Flitted with flapping wing and eldritch scream;
No downward sepulchre, nor vault of death,
Did ever deed of horror more beseem;
'Twas like some rueful cave seen in perturbed dream.
The storm was on, and darkening still behind,
Alternate rushed the rain and rattling hail;
In deepened breathings sighed the cumbered wind;
Played the swift gleam along the boreal pale,
While distant thunder murmured o'er the gale:
Far up the incumbent cloud its voice began,
Then, like resistless angel, bound to scale
The southern heaven, along the void it ran,
Booming, in wrathful tone, vengeance on sinful man.
Alternate rushed the rain and rattling hail;
In deepened breathings sighed the cumbered wind;
Played the swift gleam along the boreal pale,
While distant thunder murmured o'er the gale:
Far up the incumbent cloud its voice began,
Then, like resistless angel, bound to scale
The southern heaven, along the void it ran,
Booming, in wrathful tone, vengeance on sinful man.
It was a dismal and portentous hour:
A mute astonishment and torpid dread
Had settled on the soul of Ila Moore;
In whispered prayers, of Heaven she sought remede:
For well she knew, that He, who deigned to feed
The plumeless sea-bird on the stormy main.
The raven, and the osprey's orphan breed,
To save an injured heart would not disdain,
Nor leave the souls he made to sorrow and to pain.
A mute astonishment and torpid dread
Had settled on the soul of Ila Moore;
In whispered prayers, of Heaven she sought remede:
For well she knew, that He, who deigned to feed
The plumeless sea-bird on the stormy main.
The raven, and the osprey's orphan breed,
To save an injured heart would not disdain,
Nor leave the souls he made to sorrow and to pain.
119
Nigh and more nigh the rolling thunder came,
Muffled in moving pall of midnight hue;
Fiercer and fiercer burst the flakes of flame
From out the forge of heaven in burning blue.
They split the yawning cloud, and downward flew;
Before their wrath the solid hill was riven;
Some in the lake their fiery heads imbrue,
Its startled waters to the sky were driven,
Belching as if it mocked the angry coil of heaven.
Muffled in moving pall of midnight hue;
Fiercer and fiercer burst the flakes of flame
From out the forge of heaven in burning blue.
They split the yawning cloud, and downward flew;
Before their wrath the solid hill was riven;
Some in the lake their fiery heads imbrue,
Its startled waters to the sky were driven,
Belching as if it mocked the angry coil of heaven.
O ye, who mock religion's faded sway,
And flout the mind that bows to Heaven's decree,
Think of the fortitude of that fair May,
Her simple youth, in such a place to be,
In such a night, and in such company,—
With guest she weened not man of woman born,
A babe unblest upon her youthful knee!
Had she not cause to deem her case forlorn?
No! trusting to her God, she calmly waited morn.
And flout the mind that bows to Heaven's decree,
Think of the fortitude of that fair May,
Her simple youth, in such a place to be,
In such a night, and in such company,—
With guest she weened not man of woman born,
A babe unblest upon her youthful knee!
Had she not cause to deem her case forlorn?
No! trusting to her God, she calmly waited morn.
The palmer did no sign of fear bewray,
But raised a fire with well-accustomed hand,
Smiled at the thunder's break and startling bray,
The chilly hail-shower and the whizzing brand,
In wild turmoil that vollied o'er the land.
Then he would mutter prayer or rite of sin;
Then prattle to the child in language bland;
While the fond mother groaned in heart within,
Lest at the turn of night the fiends her babe might win.
But raised a fire with well-accustomed hand,
Smiled at the thunder's break and startling bray,
The chilly hail-shower and the whizzing brand,
In wild turmoil that vollied o'er the land.
Then he would mutter prayer or rite of sin;
Then prattle to the child in language bland;
While the fond mother groaned in heart within,
Lest at the turn of night the fiends her babe might win.
The palmer, for his helpless partners, made
A bed of flowery heath and rushes green;
Then o'er the twain his mantle kindly spread,
And bade them sleep secure, though lodged so mean;
For near that lowly couch, by them unseen,
There stood a form familiar to his eye,
Whose look was marked with dignity serene,
To ward the freakish fays that lingered nigh,
Who seemed on evil bent—he saw not, knew not why.
A bed of flowery heath and rushes green;
Then o'er the twain his mantle kindly spread,
And bade them sleep secure, though lodged so mean;
For near that lowly couch, by them unseen,
There stood a form familiar to his eye,
Whose look was marked with dignity serene,
To ward the freakish fays that lingered nigh,
Who seemed on evil bent—he saw not, knew not why.
The palmer watched beside the hissing flame,
The mother clasped her child in silence deep;
That speech of mystery thrilled her ardent frame,
For why?—she knew the fays their wake did keep
To reave her child if she should yield to sleep!
No sleep she knew—if woman's word is aught—
But, venturing o'er her coverlet to peep,
Whether through glamour or bewildered thought,
She there beheld a scene with awful wonder fraught.
The mother clasped her child in silence deep;
That speech of mystery thrilled her ardent frame,
For why?—she knew the fays their wake did keep
To reave her child if she should yield to sleep!
No sleep she knew—if woman's word is aught—
But, venturing o'er her coverlet to peep,
Whether through glamour or bewildered thought,
She there beheld a scene with awful wonder fraught.
From every crevice of the wall there looked
Small elvish faces of malignity;
And oh, their gleaming eyes could ill be brooked,
All bent upon the babe that slumbered by!
Ready they seemed upon their prey to fly,
And oft they sprung, or stole with wary tread;
But o'er the couch a form of majesty
Stood all serene, whose eye the spirits fled,
Waring the golden wand she waved around the bed.
Small elvish faces of malignity;
And oh, their gleaming eyes could ill be brooked,
All bent upon the babe that slumbered by!
Ready they seemed upon their prey to fly,
And oft they sprung, or stole with wary tread;
But o'er the couch a form of majesty
Stood all serene, whose eye the spirits fled,
Waring the golden wand she waved around the bed.
The palmer saw—and, as the damsel thought,
Joyed that the assailing spirits were outdone:
Still waxed their number, still they fiercer fought,
Till the last lingering sand of night was run;
Till the red star the gate of heaven had won,
And woke the dreaming eagle's lordly bay,
And heath-cock's larum on the moorland dun;
Then did they shrink, and vanish from the fray,
Far from the eye of Morn, on downward paths away.
Joyed that the assailing spirits were outdone:
Still waxed their number, still they fiercer fought,
Till the last lingering sand of night was run;
Till the red star the gate of heaven had won,
And woke the dreaming eagle's lordly bay,
And heath-cock's larum on the moorland dun;
Then did they shrink, and vanish from the fray,
Far from the eye of Morn, on downward paths away.
Spent was the night, and the old reverend sire
Had never closed his eyes, but watched and wept,
Muttering low vespers o'er his feeble fire,
Or, all intent, a watchful silence kept.
Now o'er his silver beard the round tear dripped,
Aside his cowl with hurried hand he flung,
Wiped his high brow, and cheek with sorrow stepped,
Then, with an upcast eye and tremulous tongue,
Unto the God of Life this matin hymn he sung.
Had never closed his eyes, but watched and wept,
Muttering low vespers o'er his feeble fire,
Or, all intent, a watchful silence kept.
Now o'er his silver beard the round tear dripped,
Aside his cowl with hurried hand he flung,
Wiped his high brow, and cheek with sorrow stepped,
Then, with an upcast eye and tremulous tongue,
Unto the God of Life this matin hymn he sung.
The Palmer's Morning Hymn.
Lauded be thy name for ever,Thou, of life the guard and giver!
Thou canst guard thy creatures sleeping,
Heal the heart long broke with weeping,
Rule the ouphes and elves at will,
That vex the air or haunt the hill,
And all the fury subject keep
Of boiling cloud and chafed deep:
I have seen, and well I know it;
Thou hast done, and thou wilt do it.
God of stillness and of motion,
Of the rainbow and the ocean,
Of the mountain, rock, and river,
Blessed be thy name for ever!
I have seen thy wondrous might,
Through the shadows of this night;
Thou, who slumber'st not nor sleepest,
Blest are they thou kindly keepest;
Spirits from the ocean under,
Liquid flame, and levelled thunder,
Need not waken nor alarm them—
All combined they cannot harm them.
God of evening's yellow ray,
God of yonder dawning day
That rises from the distant sea
Like breathings of eternity;
Thine the flaming sphere of light,
Thine the darkness of the night,
Thine are all the gems of even,
God of angels, God of heaven.
God of life that fade shall never,
Glory to thy name for ever!
Through the shadows of this night;
Thou, who slumber'st not nor sleepest,
Blest are they thou kindly keepest;
Spirits from the ocean under,
Liquid flame, and levelled thunder,
Need not waken nor alarm them—
All combined they cannot harm them.
God of evening's yellow ray,
God of yonder dawning day
That rises from the distant sea
Like breathings of eternity;
Thine the flaming sphere of light,
Thine the darkness of the night,
Thine are all the gems of even,
God of angels, God of heaven.
God of life that fade shall never,
Glory to thy name for ever!
That little song of rapt devotion fell
Upon a feeling heart, to nature true,
So soothing sweet, 'twas like the distant swell
Of seraph hymn along the vales of blue,
When first they ope to sainted spirit's view,
That through the wilds of space hath journeyed far,
Hoping, yet trembling as he onward flew,
Lest God the emerald gates of heaven might bar,
Till rests the joyous shade on some sweet peaceful star.
Upon a feeling heart, to nature true,
So soothing sweet, 'twas like the distant swell
120
When first they ope to sainted spirit's view,
That through the wilds of space hath journeyed far,
Hoping, yet trembling as he onward flew,
Lest God the emerald gates of heaven might bar,
Till rests the joyous shade on some sweet peaceful star.
Till then she knew not that the wondrous sage
Was conversant with heaven, or fiends of hell;
Till then she knew not that his reverend age
Cared of the Almighty or his love to tell.
Sweet and untroubled as the dews that fell
Her morning slumbers were—the palmer lay
Stretched on the unyielding stone, accustomed well
To penance dire, and spirits' wild deray:
There slept they all in peace till high uprose the day.
Was conversant with heaven, or fiends of hell;
Till then she knew not that his reverend age
Cared of the Almighty or his love to tell.
Sweet and untroubled as the dews that fell
Her morning slumbers were—the palmer lay
Stretched on the unyielding stone, accustomed well
To penance dire, and spirits' wild deray:
There slept they all in peace till high uprose the day.
They journeyed on by Almond's silver stream,
That wimpled down a green untrodden wild;
By turns their hapless stories were the theme,
And aye the listener bore the pleased child.
The attentive sage nor chided nor reviled,
When simple tale of maiden love she said;
Meek his reproof, and, flowed in words so mild,
It tended much her constancy to aid,
And cheer her guileless heart from truth that never strayed.
That wimpled down a green untrodden wild;
By turns their hapless stories were the theme,
And aye the listener bore the pleased child.
The attentive sage nor chided nor reviled,
When simple tale of maiden love she said;
Meek his reproof, and, flowed in words so mild,
It tended much her constancy to aid,
And cheer her guileless heart from truth that never strayed.
“Fair dame,” he said, “thou may'st have done amiss,
And thou art brought to poverty and woe;
What now remains, but quietly to kiss
The lash that hangs o'er virtue's overthrow?
Be virtue still thy meed, thy trust, and know
It thee befits from murmur to refrain;
No plaint of thy just wounds be heard to flow,
The hand that gave will bind them up again.
List my distracting tale, and blame thy fortune then!
And thou art brought to poverty and woe;
What now remains, but quietly to kiss
The lash that hangs o'er virtue's overthrow?
Be virtue still thy meed, thy trust, and know
It thee befits from murmur to refrain;
No plaint of thy just wounds be heard to flow,
The hand that gave will bind them up again.
List my distracting tale, and blame thy fortune then!
“I was the lord of Stormont's fertile bound,
Of Isla's vale, and Eroch's woodland glade:
I loved—I sighed—my warmest hopes were crowned—
Oh, deed of shame! I vowed, and I betrayed!
The proud Matilda, now no longer maid,
Disdained my base unfaithful heart to move;
She knew not to solicit, nor upbraid,
But did a deed, the last of lawless love;
Ah! it hath seared my soul, that peace no more shall prove!
Of Isla's vale, and Eroch's woodland glade:
I loved—I sighed—my warmest hopes were crowned—
Oh, deed of shame! I vowed, and I betrayed!
The proud Matilda, now no longer maid,
Disdained my base unfaithful heart to move;
She knew not to solicit, nor upbraid,
But did a deed, the last of lawless love;
Ah! it hath seared my soul, that peace no more shall prove!
“I knew not all, yet marvelled much to see
That scarce a circling year had rolled away,
Ere she appeared the gayest maid to be
That graced the hall, or gambolled at the play.
With Methven's lord was fixed her bridal day:
Proud of her triumph, I—the chiefest guest—
Led her to church—Ah! never such array
Did woman's form of vanity invest,
Bright as the orient ray, or streamer of the west.
That scarce a circling year had rolled away,
Ere she appeared the gayest maid to be
That graced the hall, or gambolled at the play.
With Methven's lord was fixed her bridal day:
Proud of her triumph, I—the chiefest guest—
Led her to church—Ah! never such array
Did woman's form of vanity invest,
Bright as the orient ray, or streamer of the west.
“Scarce had we stepped the foremost of the train,
Within the church-yard's low and crumbling wall,
When, sweet as sunbeam gleaming through the rain,
We saw a shining row of children small.
Fair were their forms, and fair their robes withal;
But oh! each radiant and unmoving eye
Was fixed on us!—forget I never shall
How well they seemed my very soul to spy,
And hers—the sparkling bride, that moved so graceful by.
Within the church-yard's low and crumbling wall,
When, sweet as sunbeam gleaming through the rain,
We saw a shining row of children small.
Fair were their forms, and fair their robes withal;
But oh! each radiant and unmoving eye
Was fixed on us!—forget I never shall
How well they seemed my very soul to spy,
And hers—the sparkling bride, that moved so graceful by.
“Proud of their note, or charmed with the sight,
She turned aside with step of dignity:
All still and motionless, they stood upright,
Save one sweet babe that slightly bent the knee,
With such a smile of mild benignity,
These eyes shall ne'er such face again behold!
His flaxen curls like filmy silk did flee;
His tiny form seemed cast in heavenly mould;
His cheek like blossom pale, in April morning cold.
She turned aside with step of dignity:
All still and motionless, they stood upright,
Save one sweet babe that slightly bent the knee,
With such a smile of mild benignity,
These eyes shall ne'er such face again behold!
His flaxen curls like filmy silk did flee;
His tiny form seemed cast in heavenly mould;
His cheek like blossom pale, in April morning cold.
“‘Sweet babe,’ she simpered, with affected mien,
‘Thou art a lovely boy; if thou wert mine,
I'd deck thee in the gold and diamonds sheen,
And daily bathe thee in the rosy wine;
The musk-rose and the balmy eglantine
Around thy soft and silken couch should play:
How fondly would these arms around thee twine!
Asleep or waking, I would watch thee aye,
Caress thee all the night, and love thee all the day.’
‘Thou art a lovely boy; if thou wert mine,
I'd deck thee in the gold and diamonds sheen,
And daily bathe thee in the rosy wine;
The musk-rose and the balmy eglantine
Around thy soft and silken couch should play:
How fondly would these arms around thee twine!
Asleep or waking, I would watch thee aye,
Caress thee all the night, and love thee all the day.’
“‘O lady of the proud unfeeling soul,
'Tis not three little months since I was thine;
And thou did'st deck me in the grave-cloth foul,
And bathe me in the blood—that blood was mine!
Instead of damask rose and eglantine,
The reptile's brood plays round my guiltless core:
Ah! could'st thou deem there was no eye divine,
And that the deed would sleep for evermore?
Did'st thou ne'er see this pale, this pleading look before?’
'Tis not three little months since I was thine;
And thou did'st deck me in the grave-cloth foul,
And bathe me in the blood—that blood was mine!
Instead of damask rose and eglantine,
The reptile's brood plays round my guiltless core:
Ah! could'st thou deem there was no eye divine,
And that the deed would sleep for evermore?
Did'st thou ne'er see this pale, this pleading look before?’
“That moment I beheld, beneath mine eye,
A smiling babe, with hands and eyes upraised;
A pale and frantic mother trembled nigh—
She kneeled—she seized its arm!—the knife was raised—
‘Hold, hold!’ I cried; yet motionless I gazed,
And saw—O God of heaven! I see it now:
I see the eye-beam sink in deadly haze;
The quivering lip, the bent and gelid brow—
Oh, I shall see that sight in being yet to know!
A smiling babe, with hands and eyes upraised;
A pale and frantic mother trembled nigh—
She kneeled—she seized its arm!—the knife was raised—
‘Hold, hold!’ I cried; yet motionless I gazed,
And saw—O God of heaven! I see it now:
I see the eye-beam sink in deadly haze;
The quivering lip, the bent and gelid brow—
Oh, I shall see that sight in being yet to know!
“To wild disorder turned the bridal hall;
Oh, still at me her frenzied looks she threw!
All in amazement fled the festival,
The sufferer to the wild at midnight flew.
Thou found'st me underneath a lonely yew;
There I have prayed, and oft must pray again.
There ravens fed, and red the daisies grew,
Yet they were white! without a dye or stain,
The slender scattered bones there bleached in the rain.
Oh, still at me her frenzied looks she threw!
All in amazement fled the festival,
The sufferer to the wild at midnight flew.
Thou found'st me underneath a lonely yew;
There I have prayed, and oft must pray again.
There ravens fed, and red the daisies grew,
Yet they were white! without a dye or stain,
The slender scattered bones there bleached in the rain.
121
“Fair dame, thy crime is purity to mine;
I must go pray, for I am haunted still:
In heaven is mercy.—I may not repine,
But bow submissive, since it is the will
Of Him, who cares and feels for human ill.
They deem me mad, and laugh my woes to scorn,
And name me crazy Connel of the hill:
My heart is broke, my brain with watching worn;
I must go pray to God, for I am racked and torn!”
I must go pray, for I am haunted still:
In heaven is mercy.—I may not repine,
But bow submissive, since it is the will
Of Him, who cares and feels for human ill.
They deem me mad, and laugh my woes to scorn,
And name me crazy Connel of the hill:
My heart is broke, my brain with watching worn;
I must go pray to God, for I am racked and torn!”
He kneeled beside the gray stone on the heath,
And loud his orisons of dread began;
Such words were never framed of human breath,
Such tones of vehemence never poured by man!
Madly through veiled mysteries he ran,
With voice of howling and unvisioned eye;
Then would the tears drop o'er his cheek so wan,
And he would calmly plead, with throb and sigh,
And name his Saviour's name with deep humility.
And loud his orisons of dread began;
Such words were never framed of human breath,
Such tones of vehemence never poured by man!
Madly through veiled mysteries he ran,
With voice of howling and unvisioned eye;
Then would the tears drop o'er his cheek so wan,
And he would calmly plead, with throb and sigh,
And name his Saviour's name with deep humility.
Three days they journeyed on through moor and dale,
Till faded far the hills of Tay behind;
Still he was gentle as the southern gale,
Mild as the lamb, compassionate and kind;
But oh, far wilder than the winter wind
Whene'er a world of spirits was the theme!
Then he would name unbodied things of mind,
That paced the air, or skimmed along the stream:
His life seemed all a waste, a wild and troubled dream.
Till faded far the hills of Tay behind;
Still he was gentle as the southern gale,
Mild as the lamb, compassionate and kind;
But oh, far wilder than the winter wind
Whene'er a world of spirits was the theme!
Then he would name unbodied things of mind,
That paced the air, or skimmed along the stream:
His life seemed all a waste, a wild and troubled dream.
Still had the crime of innocence betrayed,
Which terminated not with shame alone,
Oppressed his heart and on his reason preyed;
In tears of blood that crime he did bemoan.
Though mazed were all his thoughts, yet to atone
For that to Heaven which reckless he had done,
O'er maiden innocence to watch anon
He ceased not, wearied not, till life was run.
Oh, be his tale a warning youthful vice to shun!
Which terminated not with shame alone,
Oppressed his heart and on his reason preyed;
In tears of blood that crime he did bemoan.
Though mazed were all his thoughts, yet to atone
For that to Heaven which reckless he had done,
O'er maiden innocence to watch anon
He ceased not, wearied not, till life was run.
Oh, be his tale a warning youthful vice to shun!
When nigh the verge of southern vale they came,
And green Strathallan opened to their view,
He blest the child and mother in the name
Of heaven's Eternal King, with reverence due;
Then turning round, with maddened strides withdrew
Back to his desert solitude again,
To watch the moon, and pray beneath his yew,
Controlling spirits on their mountain reign,
Till death brought unity, for ever to remain.
And green Strathallan opened to their view,
He blest the child and mother in the name
Of heaven's Eternal King, with reverence due;
Then turning round, with maddened strides withdrew
Back to his desert solitude again,
To watch the moon, and pray beneath his yew,
Controlling spirits on their mountain reign,
Till death brought unity, for ever to remain.
CANTO FIFTH. The Christening.
ARGUMENT.
I gat thee in my father's bowerWi' muckle shame and sin,
An' brought thee up in good greenwood
Aneath the heavy rain.
Oft hae I by thy cradle sat,
An' fondly seen thee sleep—
Gae rowe my young son in the silk,
An' lay my lady as white as the milk.
An' lay my lady as white as the milk.
Old Strevline, thou stand'st beauteous on the height,
Amid thy peaceful vales of every dye,
Amid bewildered waves of silvery light
That maze the mind and toil the raptured eye.
Thy distant mountains, spiring to the sky,
Seem blended with the mansions of the blest;
How proudly rise their gilded points on high
Above the morning cloud and man's behest,
Like thrones of angels hung upon the welkin's breast!
Amid thy peaceful vales of every dye,
Amid bewildered waves of silvery light
That maze the mind and toil the raptured eye.
Thy distant mountains, spiring to the sky,
Seem blended with the mansions of the blest;
How proudly rise their gilded points on high
Above the morning cloud and man's behest,
Like thrones of angels hung upon the welkin's breast!
For these I love thee; but I love thee more
For the gray relics of thy martial towers,
Thy mouldering palaces and ramparts hoar,
Throned on the granite pile that grimly lowers,
Memorial of the times, when hostile powers
So often proved thy steadfast patriot worth:
May every honour wait thy future hours,
And glad the children of thy kindred Forth!
I love thy very name, old bulwark of the North.
For the gray relics of thy martial towers,
Thy mouldering palaces and ramparts hoar,
Throned on the granite pile that grimly lowers,
Memorial of the times, when hostile powers
So often proved thy steadfast patriot worth:
May every honour wait thy future hours,
And glad the children of thy kindred Forth!
I love thy very name, old bulwark of the North.
Alas! the winding Forth and golden vale
Caught not the eye of her who sought thy gate;
Her spirits sank, her heart began to fail;
Weeping she came, nor could her tale relate.
Mador she named, and, trembling for her fate,
Watched the tall porter's dark unmeaning stare,
Who jested rudely of her hapless state,
And bade her to some distant country fare,
For such a name as that no Scot did ever bear.
Caught not the eye of her who sought thy gate;
Her spirits sank, her heart began to fail;
Weeping she came, nor could her tale relate.
Mador she named, and, trembling for her fate,
Watched the tall porter's dark unmeaning stare,
Who jested rudely of her hapless state,
And bade her to some distant country fare,
For such a name as that no Scot did ever bear.
Humbly she begged to pass the porch within,
That of the nobles she a view might gain,
And her inquiries cautiously begin;
But all her urgent prayers and tears were vain.
Harsh she was told, “no longer to remain,
For knights and lords would soon be passing by,
And they would be offended at such stain
Upon their knighthood and their honours high:
That such as she seemed made for mischief purposely.”
That of the nobles she a view might gain,
And her inquiries cautiously begin;
But all her urgent prayers and tears were vain.
Harsh she was told, “no longer to remain,
For knights and lords would soon be passing by,
And they would be offended at such stain
Upon their knighthood and their honours high:
That such as she seemed made for mischief purposely.”
No beam of anger rayed her glistening eye,
It sunk like star within the rubied west;
Or like the tinted dew-bell, seen to lie
Upon the rose-leaf tremblingly at rest,
Then softly sinks upon its opening breast—
So sunk her eye, while firmly she replied,
“Since no appeal, nor plea of the distressed,
To Scotland's court may come, whate'er betide,
Thou shalt not drive me hence till I am satisfied.”
It sunk like star within the rubied west;
Or like the tinted dew-bell, seen to lie
Upon the rose-leaf tremblingly at rest,
Then softly sinks upon its opening breast—
So sunk her eye, while firmly she replied,
“Since no appeal, nor plea of the distressed,
To Scotland's court may come, whate'er betide,
Thou shalt not drive me hence till I am satisfied.”
122
Oh, many an eve she wandered round the rock,
In hopes her faithless minstrel to espy;
And many a time to dame and townsman spoke,
With blush obtrusive, and with question shy;
But nor by name, by garb, by minstrelsy,
Nor strict discernment, could she Mador find:
Her fond and ardent hopes began to die;
In cheerless apathy with all mankind,
She only wished to leave the world and shame behind.
In hopes her faithless minstrel to espy;
And many a time to dame and townsman spoke,
With blush obtrusive, and with question shy;
But nor by name, by garb, by minstrelsy,
Nor strict discernment, could she Mador find:
Her fond and ardent hopes began to die;
In cheerless apathy with all mankind,
She only wished to leave the world and shame behind.
Loath to depart and seek a cheerless home,
Down at the base of Strevline's rock she lay;
She wished her head laid in the peaceful tomb;
She kissed her boy, but word she could not say.
She turned her eyes to heaven in act to pray—
Oh, hold those lips, unused to give offence!
That prayer will rise in wild impassioned way;
How have thy woes arisen, and from whence?
Oh search, before thou dar'st accuse Omnipotence!
Down at the base of Strevline's rock she lay;
She wished her head laid in the peaceful tomb;
She kissed her boy, but word she could not say.
She turned her eyes to heaven in act to pray—
Oh, hold those lips, unused to give offence!
That prayer will rise in wild impassioned way;
How have thy woes arisen, and from whence?
Oh search, before thou dar'st accuse Omnipotence!
The worthy Abbot of Dunfermline came;
He marked her beauty, and he heard her weep.
Silent he paused, and eyed her lovely frame;
For churchmen aye observant eye do keep
On female beauty: though devotion deep,
And homilies behove the holy mood,
From rostrum still in wily guise they peep—
For why?—by them 'tis wisely understood,
That to admire the chief of all Heaven's works is good.
He marked her beauty, and he heard her weep.
Silent he paused, and eyed her lovely frame;
For churchmen aye observant eye do keep
On female beauty: though devotion deep,
And homilies behove the holy mood,
From rostrum still in wily guise they peep—
For why?—by them 'tis wisely understood,
That to admire the chief of all Heaven's works is good.
The abbot ne'er had looked on face so meek;
The pleasure that it gave was mixed with pain:
He saw her lift her full blue eyes to speak;
She only sighed and cast them down again,
Then viewed her babe, while tears fell down like rain,
Wiped her young cheek, and back her ringlets threw:
The abbot's honest bosom heaved amain;
A look so lovely ne'er had met his view—
'Twas like a forest rose, wet with untimely dew.
The pleasure that it gave was mixed with pain:
He saw her lift her full blue eyes to speak;
She only sighed and cast them down again,
Then viewed her babe, while tears fell down like rain,
Wiped her young cheek, and back her ringlets threw:
The abbot's honest bosom heaved amain;
A look so lovely ne'er had met his view—
'Twas like a forest rose, wet with untimely dew.
Question respectful, and sincere reply,
Brought on a long and earnest conference.
The tale was told of Mador's perfidy
Which thou hast heard—but still, on some pretence
Of treacherous memory, or lost incidence,
The abbot caused her tell it o'er and o'er;
Then did he stand in long and deep suspense,
As bent some dubious mystery to explore;
As one who little said, but thought and knew much more.
Brought on a long and earnest conference.
The tale was told of Mador's perfidy
Which thou hast heard—but still, on some pretence
Of treacherous memory, or lost incidence,
The abbot caused her tell it o'er and o'er;
Then did he stand in long and deep suspense,
As bent some dubious mystery to explore;
As one who little said, but thought and knew much more.
Still did his eye oppress the gentle dame;
Not on her face, but arm, it seemed to stay;
She weened her boy did this attention claim,
And set his cap, and donned his overlay,
Then watched the abbot's eye—but not that way
It seemed to bend—a trivial ring she wore,
Of silver framed, neglected, old, and gray,
Warped with the unknown mysteries of yore;—
Twas on that ancient ring his eye directly bore.
Not on her face, but arm, it seemed to stay;
She weened her boy did this attention claim,
And set his cap, and donned his overlay,
Then watched the abbot's eye—but not that way
It seemed to bend—a trivial ring she wore,
Of silver framed, neglected, old, and gray,
Warped with the unknown mysteries of yore;—
Twas on that ancient ring his eye directly bore.
“Fair dame,” he said, “did thy betrayer leave
No token of his faith, nor pledge of love?
Did he, like knight, no ring or bracelet give,
Which he was bound to challenge or approve?”
Her thought-bewildered eyes began to move
Now to the ring, now to the abbot's face;
Faint recollections o'er their lustre wove
A still, a doubtful, melancholy grace—
'Twas like an April sky, which dubious shades embrace.
No token of his faith, nor pledge of love?
Did he, like knight, no ring or bracelet give,
Which he was bound to challenge or approve?”
Her thought-bewildered eyes began to move
Now to the ring, now to the abbot's face;
Faint recollections o'er their lustre wove
A still, a doubtful, melancholy grace—
'Twas like an April sky, which dubious shades embrace.
She spread her fair hand trembling in the air—
“Save that old ring, no other pledge have I;
He gave't in moment of distracting care,
When from my arms and danger forced to fly:
Something he said, but of what tendency,
Or what effect, remembrance ne'er could frame.
From the device I nothing may imply;
Nor mark it bears, unless the moulder's name—
Small its avail to me, nor other pledge I claim.”
“Save that old ring, no other pledge have I;
He gave't in moment of distracting care,
When from my arms and danger forced to fly:
Something he said, but of what tendency,
Or what effect, remembrance ne'er could frame.
From the device I nothing may imply;
Nor mark it bears, unless the moulder's name—
Small its avail to me, nor other pledge I claim.”
A glow of anger flushed the abbot's face;
He knew the old dis-valued ring full well;
And much its owner wished he to disgrace,
For he was generous, but shrewdly fell.
“I'll find him out,” he said, “by search or spell,
If in fair Scotland he holds rank or place—
Remain thou here till I our sovereign tell.”
Then up the hill he strode with hurried pace,
And left the lovely dame in sad uncertain case.
He knew the old dis-valued ring full well;
And much its owner wished he to disgrace,
For he was generous, but shrewdly fell.
“I'll find him out,” he said, “by search or spell,
If in fair Scotland he holds rank or place—
Remain thou here till I our sovereign tell.”
Then up the hill he strode with hurried pace,
And left the lovely dame in sad uncertain case.
Scarce was he gone, when on the path she saw,
That leads from vale of Strevline to the town,
A weary wight that toward her did draw,
With hanging hose, and plaid around him thrown;
His grizzled locks waved o'er his cheek so brown;
She thought his stoop and stride too well she knew:
His mournful eyes to earth were fixed down,
Save when a transient glance he upward threw
Where Scotland's palace rose, and her broad banners flew.
That leads from vale of Strevline to the town,
A weary wight that toward her did draw,
With hanging hose, and plaid around him thrown;
His grizzled locks waved o'er his cheek so brown;
She thought his stoop and stride too well she knew:
His mournful eyes to earth were fixed down,
Save when a transient glance he upward threw
Where Scotland's palace rose, and her broad banners flew.
She heard him mutter vow of fell revenge;
Closer to earth she clung, in fear and shame,
Resolved nor word nor look with him to change:
But all unbrookable, as nigh he came,
Her bosom yearned, her heart was in a flame:
Feebly she cried, “My father, turn this way!”
Up stretched the stranger's rough uncourtly frame—
'Twas old Kincraigy, from the banks of Tay,
Who stood like statue grim, in wild and doubtful way.
Closer to earth she clung, in fear and shame,
Resolved nor word nor look with him to change:
But all unbrookable, as nigh he came,
Her bosom yearned, her heart was in a flame:
Feebly she cried, “My father, turn this way!”
Up stretched the stranger's rough uncourtly frame—
'Twas old Kincraigy, from the banks of Tay,
Who stood like statue grim, in wild and doubtful way.
That painful greeting may not be defined;
Nature's own language flowed from either tongue;
Nor fell reproach, nor countenance unkind,
With freezing scowl above their soothings hung:
Both child and mother to his bosom clung;
He wiped her tears, and bade from grief refrain;
“Thou art my child, and thou hast suffered wrong—
How could'st thou leave me, prey to sharpest pain!
But I have found thee now, we ne'er shall part again!”
Nature's own language flowed from either tongue;
Nor fell reproach, nor countenance unkind,
With freezing scowl above their soothings hung:
Both child and mother to his bosom clung;
He wiped her tears, and bade from grief refrain;
“Thou art my child, and thou hast suffered wrong—
How could'st thou leave me, prey to sharpest pain!
But I have found thee now, we ne'er shall part again!”
123
Straight to the royal hall the abbot went,
Where sat the king, his dames, and nobles all;
Scarce did he beckon, scarce his brow he bent,
But raised his hand their sole regard to call,
And thus began, while silence swayed the hall:—
“My liege, I grieve such message here to bring;
But now there waits below your palace wall
The loveliest flower that ever graced the spring,
That ever mounted throne, or shone in courtly ring.
Where sat the king, his dames, and nobles all;
Scarce did he beckon, scarce his brow he bent,
But raised his hand their sole regard to call,
And thus began, while silence swayed the hall:—
“My liege, I grieve such message here to bring;
But now there waits below your palace wall
The loveliest flower that ever graced the spring,
That ever mounted throne, or shone in courtly ring.
“She bears a form of such delightful mould,
I weened before me sylvan goddess stood;
Such beauty these old eyes did ne'er behold:
Nay, smile not, dames—for, by the blessed rood,
What I aver I pledge me to make good.
She's Beauty's self portrayed, and to her breast
Is prest a lovely babe of playful mood.
She has been wronged, betrayed, and sore oppressed,
And, could a heart believe!—the traitor here is guest.”
I weened before me sylvan goddess stood;
Such beauty these old eyes did ne'er behold:
Nay, smile not, dames—for, by the blessed rood,
What I aver I pledge me to make good.
She's Beauty's self portrayed, and to her breast
Is prest a lovely babe of playful mood.
She has been wronged, betrayed, and sore oppressed,
And, could a heart believe!—the traitor here is guest.”
The king was wroth, and rose from off his throne,
Looked round for flush of guilt, then raised his hand:
“By this!” said he, “the knight that so hath done
Shall reparation make, or quit the land.
I hold not light the crime, and do command
A full relation; he who can betray
Such beauty with false vow, and promise bland,
As lieve will dupe his king in treacherous way—
The ruthless traitor's name, and hers, good abbot, say.”
Looked round for flush of guilt, then raised his hand:
“By this!” said he, “the knight that so hath done
Shall reparation make, or quit the land.
I hold not light the crime, and do command
A full relation; he who can betray
Such beauty with false vow, and promise bland,
As lieve will dupe his king in treacherous way—
The ruthless traitor's name, and hers, good abbot, say.”
“Thou art my generous king,” the abbot cried,
“And Heaven will bless thee for this just award!
This feeble arm of mine hath erst been tried,
And for the injured has a foeman dared:
And should the knight your mandate disregard—
'Tis old and nerveless now, and small its power,
But all his skill its vengeance shall not ward—
Beshrew his heart, but he shall rue the hour!
The knight is Mador hight, the dame fair Ila Moore.”
“And Heaven will bless thee for this just award!
This feeble arm of mine hath erst been tried,
And for the injured has a foeman dared:
And should the knight your mandate disregard—
'Tis old and nerveless now, and small its power,
But all his skill its vengeance shall not ward—
Beshrew his heart, but he shall rue the hour!
The knight is Mador hight, the dame fair Ila Moore.”
As e'er you saw the chambers of the west,
When summer suns had journeyed to the main,
Now sallow pale, now momently oppressed
With crimson flush, the prelude of the rain,
So looked the king; and stamped and scowled amain
To stay the abbot's speech, who deigned no heed,
But did, with sharpest acritude, arraign
The low deceit, the doer and the deed,
And lauded much the king for what he had decreed.
When summer suns had journeyed to the main,
Now sallow pale, now momently oppressed
With crimson flush, the prelude of the rain,
So looked the king; and stamped and scowled amain
To stay the abbot's speech, who deigned no heed,
But did, with sharpest acritude, arraign
The low deceit, the doer and the deed,
And lauded much the king for what he had decreed.
“I think I know the wight,” the king replied;
“He is abashed, and will not own it now;
But my adjudgment shall be ratified—
A king hath vowed, and must not break his vow.”
Then looked he round, with smooth deceitful brow,
As he the mark of conscious guilt had seen;
Then, with majestic air and motion slow,
Walked with the abbot forth into the green;
But all unknown the strain of converse them between.
“He is abashed, and will not own it now;
But my adjudgment shall be ratified—
A king hath vowed, and must not break his vow.”
Then looked he round, with smooth deceitful brow,
As he the mark of conscious guilt had seen;
Then, with majestic air and motion slow,
Walked with the abbot forth into the green;
But all unknown the strain of converse them between.
The abbot hasted to his lovely ward—
Judge of his false conjecture and alarms,
When he beheld this nymph of high regard
So fondly folded in a stranger's arms.
But oh, how much they added to her charms,
The filial tears adown her cheek that ran!
The kindest glow the human heart that warms
Played o'er the visage of the holy man;
While he, to sooth his guests, an artful tale began.
Judge of his false conjecture and alarms,
When he beheld this nymph of high regard
So fondly folded in a stranger's arms.
But oh, how much they added to her charms,
The filial tears adown her cheek that ran!
The kindest glow the human heart that warms
Played o'er the visage of the holy man;
While he, to sooth his guests, an artful tale began.
He led them to his home of peace the while,
Where all was rich, yet all in simple guise,
And strove with cheerful converse to beguile
Each latent fear and sorrowful surmise.
Well skilled to read in language of the eyes
What the still workings of the heart might be,
He bade her don those robes of courtly guise,
For they were hers, a gift bestowed free,
And ere the fall of night her minstrel she might see.
Where all was rich, yet all in simple guise,
And strove with cheerful converse to beguile
Each latent fear and sorrowful surmise.
Well skilled to read in language of the eyes
What the still workings of the heart might be,
He bade her don those robes of courtly guise,
For they were hers, a gift bestowed free,
And ere the fall of night her minstrel she might see.
When from the chamber she returned, arrayed
In braided silk and rich embroidery,
The abbot rose, confounded and dismayed,
And old Kincraigy nigh had bent his knee:
An earthly form she scarcely seemed to be;
Such dazzling beauty neither once had seen.
“Fair dame, a lady thou may'st shortly be,”
Said the good abbot, with enraptured mien,
“But Nature meant thee more, she formed thee for a queen!”
In braided silk and rich embroidery,
The abbot rose, confounded and dismayed,
And old Kincraigy nigh had bent his knee:
An earthly form she scarcely seemed to be;
Such dazzling beauty neither once had seen.
“Fair dame, a lady thou may'st shortly be,”
Said the good abbot, with enraptured mien,
“But Nature meant thee more, she formed thee for a queen!”
Scarce had she answer with a blush assayed,
Scarce raised th' astonished babe unto her breast,
When entered Mador with a look that said
His heart was generous and his mind oppressed:
His minstrel garb he wore, and purple crest.
Nought of his woodland flower he could espy,
But one who on a silken couch did rest,
That seemed some form of eastern deity:
The minstrel bowed full low, while wonder dimmed his eye.
Scarce raised th' astonished babe unto her breast,
When entered Mador with a look that said
His heart was generous and his mind oppressed:
His minstrel garb he wore, and purple crest.
Nought of his woodland flower he could espy,
But one who on a silken couch did rest,
That seemed some form of eastern deity:
The minstrel bowed full low, while wonder dimmed his eye.
The shifting hues that sported o'er her face
Were like the streamers of the rosy eve,
And to her beauty lent a nameless grace—
Those blushes could not Mador undeceive.
His fancy made no motion to believe
That e'er his Highland maid had half the charms,
Till the good abbot did his mind relieve,
In pity of a female's fond alarms:
“What, my first love!” he cried, and sprung into her arms.
Were like the streamers of the rosy eve,
And to her beauty lent a nameless grace—
Those blushes could not Mador undeceive.
His fancy made no motion to believe
That e'er his Highland maid had half the charms,
Till the good abbot did his mind relieve,
In pity of a female's fond alarms:
“What, my first love!” he cried, and sprung into her arms.
He kissed her lips, he kissed her burning cheek,
Caressed her young son in the fondest way;
A chain of gold was hung around her neck,
And diamond bracelets shed the sparkling ray;
Such kind and fond endearment did he pay,
The abbot scarce from weeping could refrain:
Nought good or bad could old Kincraigy say;
The farthest corner did his brow sustain,
And when they spoke to him he could not speak again.
Caressed her young son in the fondest way;
A chain of gold was hung around her neck,
And diamond bracelets shed the sparkling ray;
Such kind and fond endearment did he pay,
The abbot scarce from weeping could refrain:
Nought good or bad could old Kincraigy say;
The farthest corner did his brow sustain,
And when they spoke to him he could not speak again.
124
“Thou shalt be mine,” the generous minstrel said;
“If I had known my love's unhappy state,
Not all the land my presence should have staid:
Thou hast been injured, and my blame is great.
This night the holy abbot we'll entreat
To join our hands, then art thou doubly mine;
Then hie thee back to Tay, for I must wait
Our sovereign's will; but do not thou repine,
For all thy native hills, from Tay to Bran, are thine.
“If I had known my love's unhappy state,
Not all the land my presence should have staid:
Thou hast been injured, and my blame is great.
This night the holy abbot we'll entreat
To join our hands, then art thou doubly mine;
Then hie thee back to Tay, for I must wait
Our sovereign's will; but do not thou repine,
For all thy native hills, from Tay to Bran, are thine.
“I have some favour with our monarch's ear,
And he hath kindly granted my request;
If this our son his royal name may bear,
That his shall be an earldom of the best.
I have his signet, and his high behest
To turn the ruthless Albert to the door:
The royal bounds, that border to the west,
He grants thee too—these all are thine secure,
And every dame on Tay shall stoop to Ila Moore.
And he hath kindly granted my request;
If this our son his royal name may bear,
That his shall be an earldom of the best.
I have his signet, and his high behest
To turn the ruthless Albert to the door:
The royal bounds, that border to the west,
He grants thee too—these all are thine secure,
And every dame on Tay shall stoop to Ila Moore.
“Haply to distant land I now may roam,
But next when summer flowers the Highland lea
I will return, and seek my woodland home
Within the bowers of sweet Kinnaird with thee.
There is a lowly spot beneath the tree,
O'ershadowed by the cliff—thou knowest it well!
In that sweet solitude our cot shall be;
There first we loved, and there in love we'll dwell,
And long, long shall it stand, a minstrel's faith to tell.
But next when summer flowers the Highland lea
I will return, and seek my woodland home
Within the bowers of sweet Kinnaird with thee.
There is a lowly spot beneath the tree,
O'ershadowed by the cliff—thou knowest it well!
In that sweet solitude our cot shall be;
There first we loved, and there in love we'll dwell,
And long, long shall it stand, a minstrel's faith to tell.
“When summer eve hath wove her silken screen,
Her fairy net-work of the night and day;
Hath tipt with flame the cone of mountain green,
And dipt the red sun in the springs of Tay;
How sweet with thee above the cliff to stray,
And see the evening stretch her starry zone!
Or, shaded from the sun's meridian ray,
Lie stretched upon the lap of greenwood lone:
Oh, happier shalt thou be for sorrows undergone!”
Her fairy net-work of the night and day;
Hath tipt with flame the cone of mountain green,
And dipt the red sun in the springs of Tay;
How sweet with thee above the cliff to stray,
And see the evening stretch her starry zone!
Or, shaded from the sun's meridian ray,
Lie stretched upon the lap of greenwood lone:
Oh, happier shalt thou be for sorrows undergone!”
Their hands were joined—a mother's heart was blest;
Her son was christened by his sovereign's name;
In gold and scarlet the young imp was dressed,
A tiar on his head of curious frame.
But ne'er on earth was seen a minstrel's dame
Shine in such beauty and such rich array!
An hundred squires and fifty maidens came
Riding on palfreys, sporting all the way,
To guard this splendid dame home to her native Tay.
Her son was christened by his sovereign's name;
In gold and scarlet the young imp was dressed,
A tiar on his head of curious frame.
But ne'er on earth was seen a minstrel's dame
Shine in such beauty and such rich array!
An hundred squires and fifty maidens came
Riding on palfreys, sporting all the way,
To guard this splendid dame home to her native Tay.
Needs not to sing of after joys that fell,
Of years of glory and felicity;
Needs not on time and circumstance to dwell:—
All who have heard of maid of low degree,
Hight Ila Moore, upraised in dignity
And rank all other Scottish dames above,
May well conceive who Mador needs must be,
And trace the winding mysteries of his love;—
To such my tale is told, and such will it approve.
Of years of glory and felicity;
Needs not on time and circumstance to dwell:—
All who have heard of maid of low degree,
Hight Ila Moore, upraised in dignity
And rank all other Scottish dames above,
May well conceive who Mador needs must be,
And trace the winding mysteries of his love;—
To such my tale is told, and such will it approve.
CONCLUSION.
Return, my harp, unto the Border dale,
Thy native green hill, and thy fairy ring;
No more thy murmurs on the Grampian gale
May wake the hind in covert slumbering;
Nor must thy proud and far outstretched string
Presume to renovate the northern song,
Wakening the echoes Ossian taught to sing;
Their sleep of ages still they must prolong,
Till son inspired is born their native hills among.
Thy native green hill, and thy fairy ring;
No more thy murmurs on the Grampian gale
May wake the hind in covert slumbering;
Nor must thy proud and far outstretched string
Presume to renovate the northern song,
Wakening the echoes Ossian taught to sing;
Their sleep of ages still they must prolong,
Till son inspired is born their native hills among.
Loved was the voice that wooed from Yarrow bowers
Thy truant flight to that entrancing clime;
She weened thy melody and tuneful powers,
Mellowed by custom, and matured by time;
Or that the sounds and energies sublime,
That darkly dwell by cataract and steep,
Would rouse anew thy visionary chime,
Too long by southland breezes lulled asleep.
Oh may she well approve thy wild and wandering sweep!
Thy truant flight to that entrancing clime;
She weened thy melody and tuneful powers,
Mellowed by custom, and matured by time;
Or that the sounds and energies sublime,
That darkly dwell by cataract and steep,
Would rouse anew thy visionary chime,
Too long by southland breezes lulled asleep.
Oh may she well approve thy wild and wandering sweep!
Should her fair hand bestow the earliest bays;
Although proud learning lift the venomed eye,
Still shalt thou warble strains of other days,
Struck by some tuneful spirit lingering nigh;
Till those, who long have passed derisive by,
Shall list to hear thy tones when newly strung;
And Scottish maidens over thee shall sigh,
When I am all unnamed by human tongue,
And thy enchanted chords by other hands are rung!
Although proud learning lift the venomed eye,
Still shalt thou warble strains of other days,
Struck by some tuneful spirit lingering nigh;
Till those, who long have passed derisive by,
Shall list to hear thy tones when newly strung;
And Scottish maidens over thee shall sigh,
When I am all unnamed by human tongue,
And thy enchanted chords by other hands are rung!
| The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd | |