The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd :: :: University of Virginia Library

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]

Hogg, James (1770-1835)

[section]

THE QUEEN'S WAKE.

[Shepherd of Ettrick! as of yore]

THE MOUNTAIN BARD.

MADOR OF THE MOOR.

THE PILGRIMS OF THE SUN.

PART SECOND.

POETICAL TALES AND BALLADS.

POEMS DESCRIPTIVE AND SENTIMENTAL.

SACRED MELODIES.

MISCELLANEOUS SONGS.

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196

2. PART SECOND.

When Hynde return'd to her royal hall,
With Saint Columba she withdrew,
Who told her much that would befall;
For of the future much he knew.

He solved the eagle, and the oak,
The hawk, and maiden of the sea
(Of whom the hoary vision spoke),
To chiefs defined by heraldry.

But who would fight, or who would fly,
Or who their sovereign would betray,
Or what the roebuck could imply,
With all his gifts he could not say.

But there was trouble and suspense,
For, though they knew that woe would come,
The seer could not divine from whence—
If from abroad, or rise at home.

Much sorrow woman's bosom bears,
Which oft she braves with courage high;
But to that ardent soul of hers,
Suspense is utter misery.

Hynde could not hunt, she could not play,
She could not revel in the ring;
She could not fast, she could not pray,
Nor yet disclose her languishing.

One day, as in her topmost tower,
Upon her lattice she reclined,
Her eyes to mountain, sea, and shore,
Roving all restless as her mind;

She spied a hind stand at her gate,
With face of mystery and despair;
But when he came before her seat,
He told her, with a troubled air,

That fairies were to Morven come,
In thousand thousands there to dwell;
That the wild correi was their home,
Watch'd by a grisly sentinel:

That with his eyes he had them seen
In countless myriads on the hill;
Clad in their downy robes of green,
Rising and vanishing at will.

When Hynde had heard the story wild,
And saw the teller quake amain,
She look'd unto the man and smiled,
And bade him say his tale again.

Again the wondrous tale was said,
But nothing could of that be made,
It was so unallied and odd.
Again she cast her eyes abroad,
And spied on green Barcaldine lea
A horseman posting furiouslye;
His steed, outspent, was clotted o'er,
His neck with foam, his sides with gore;
Though great his speed, at every strain
He seem'd to eye the verdant plain
With look most haggard and aghast,
As if for spot to breathe his last;
Yet still he strain'd, leaving behind
A stream of smoke upon the wind.

The rider waved his bonnet high,
And cried aloud, as he drew nigh,
“Open your gates, and let me on—
Throw wide the gates of Beregon!
Clear—clear the way, and let me fly;
The messenger of wonder I!”

Down dropt his steed the gate before,
His breath was spent, his efforts o'er,
While the rude herald of dismay
Cursed him, and urged on foot his way.
He saw the queen at casement high,
And “Tidings!” bawl'd with tremulous cry.

The queen grew red—the queen grew wan,
From lattice to the door she ran;
Then back—then hurried down the stair,
To meet that vehement messenger;
But when his sounding step drew nigh,
She fled back to her turret high,
And, 'mid her maids, with feverish mind,
Listen'd the brown and breathless hind,
Whose habit and whose mien bespoke
A maniac from confinement broke;
But when his accents met the ear,
They show'd him fervent and sincere.

“Which is the Queen of fair Scotland?
Pardon—I need not make demand.
Oh haste, my liege, and raise afar
The beacon and the flag of war;
Warn all your chiefs t'attend you here,
For high your peril is, and near.
Let this be done without delay;
And then I have a tale to say!”

The flag of blood was raised anon,
The war-blast from the tower was blown;
The battle-whoop aloud began,
The henchmen rode, the pages ran,
The beacon which from Uock shone,
Was answered soon on Bede-na-boan,
And that from every mountain hoar,
From Melforvony to Ben-More,
Uttering afar, o'er frith and flood,
The voice of battle and of blood.

When this the peasant saw prevail,
He proffer'd to the queen his tale;
Showing the while he had a sense
Of his own mighty consequence.

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Three times he drank his thirst t'allay,
Pledging the dames in courteous way;
Thrice forth his seemly leg did show,
And sleek'd the brown hair down his brow;
Then thus, in hurried, earnest way,
Began his wondrous tale to say:—

“Last eve upon the height I stood,
Where Ardnamurchan bays the flood;
The northern breeze sang on the tree,
Wrinkling the dark and purple sea;
Yet not a cloudlet was in view,
For heaven was deepening into blue.

“I thought I saw, without the bay,
Just in the line where Cana lay,
Somewhat that did the ocean shroud;
It seem'd a living, moving cloud;
I turn'd mine eyes from off the sea,
Deeming it was some phantasy;
But still, when turning round again,
I saw that vision of the main.
Nay, once I thought white foam arose,
Rolling before unnumber'd prows.

“While thus I stood in deep surprise,
The vision vanish'd from my eyes.
But whether it melted into air,
Or sunk beneath, or linger'd there,
I could not tell, for fall of night
Shaded the spectre fleet from sight;
And, though to fear not much inclined,
A kind of terror seized my mind.
All reasoning but increased my dread,
I rose at midnight from my bed,
And heard a din upon the ocean,
As if the world had been in motion;
Voices repress'd along the shores,
And lashes from a thousand oars.

“I heard them—yet confess I must,
I scarcely could my senses trust,
But deem'd some trouble sway'd my blood,
Or on enchanted ground I stood;
For all was calm at break of day,
Nor ship nor boat was in the bay.
Along the shore and heathy hill
No whisper moved, save from the rill;
Yet I could note the roaming deer
Turn from that mountain's side in fear;
No snowy flocks were straggling there,
The kid had left its wonted lair,
And the dull heifer paused to gaze
And ruminate in deep amaze.

“From what I saw at even-tide,
I deem'd that something there did hide;
If so, I knew all was not well,
But how, or why, I could not tell.
So I resolved my life to stake,
For my fair queen and country's sake.

“I clothed me in this fool's array,
I launch'd my shallop in the bay;
I cross'd Loch-Sunart to the east,
And stray'd along the mountain's breast,
Jabbering and singing as I went,
Like idiot mean and indigent.

“At first one warrior cross'd my way,
Resting his lance to make me stay;
A man he was of rugged mien,
Such arms or robes I ne'er had seen.
My hands were clasp'd my back behind,
My eyes wide open to the wind;
I did not once these hands divide,
But with my elbow turn'd aside
His lance, with wide, unalter'd stare,
As if such man had not been there.
Rough words he spoke in unknown tongue,
But still I jabber'd and I sung,
And onward pass'd, resolved to spy
The mystery out, though doom'd to die.
The warrior smiled, and laid him down;
I saunter'd, sung, and wander'd on.

“At length an armed file I spied,
Hid in the heath all side by side!
I made no motion of surprise,
But trudged, and sung, in idiot wise;
Then stretch'd me down amid the throng,
And pull'd the grass, and croon'd my song.
They seem'd amused, and smiled to see
My deep, unmoved stupidity.
My ears on all their accents hung,
But all was in an unknown tongue.

“I next went to a rising ground,
Where I could see all round and round,
And utter'd such a horrid yell,
That rocks and hills rang out the knell.
But never since I view'd the day,
Saw I such vision of dismay!
Thousands of warriors, grim and swarth,
Upraised their heads out of the earth;
Then softly, like a fairy scene,
They crept into the earth again;
Each brake was lined, above the strand,
With warriors of a foreign land.

“This brought me many an angry look,
And chastisement, and stern rebuke;
I bore them all full patiently,
And 'scaped to bring the word to thee.
O'er Morven hills I ran with speed,
I swam the Coran on my steed,
And I have ridden the Appin o'er
As never mortal rode before.
This is my tale, I vouch it true;
Much it imports, my liege, to you;
The foe is strong, the danger nigh:
My steed I've lost! and here am I.”

“If that be truth,” Queen Hynde replied,
“A truth in nothing falsified,

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Of thy lost steed have no regard,
For ample shall be thy reward,
In gifted lands and honours high,
For thou hast acted gallantly:
If false, then of thyself take heed,
The highest tree shall be thy meed.
To prove thee honest as thou seem'st,
Say all thou saw'st, and all thou deem'st.”

“I've braved the Briton on the field,
I've met the Roman shield to shield;
Of many a foe I've seen the face;
But such a rough and warlike race
As they who lie on Morven's shore,
In sooth, I ne'er beheld before.

“If there are nations north away,
As I have heard old minstrels say,
Who live by land, or live by sea,
As suits the time or casualty;
Who o'er the wave, on summer tide,
Along the wastes of ocean glide,
Or in the deep indented bay,
Like pellochs, dive to pick their prey;
And when the seasons 'gin to turn,
Amid the forests far sojourn,
Hunting the great deer to and fro,
Or burrowing, 'neath eternal snow,
Deep in the bowels of the ground,
With their unlovesome mates around
Howling the songs of other spheres,
And feasting on lank wolves and bears—
If such there are, a countless host
Of such now lies on Scotland's coast:
For all their robes are from the wood,
Or seal-skin of the northern flood;
Their beards are long, their arms unclean,
Their food the hateful haberdine.

“Further, I saw that to the sea
Their eyes reverted constantly;
There still they look'd, as if aware
That all their hopes were anchor'd there;
And thence, I judge, from Barra's shore,
This night will bring as many more;
And that, before the break of day,
Their fleet may ride in Creran bay.

“Nay, more, I dread that to their side
Some Scots have turn'd, and been their guide;
For not in all our western bound
Could such a landing-place be found;
Such solitude in bay and hill,
So deep, so lonely, and so still.

“One passenger, while I was there,
Came up the shore with lightsome air;
He sung, he whistled, and he ran;
I deem'd him one of Moidart's clan.
But as he pass'd, with luckless eye,
He saw the beach all trodden lie;
He mark'd the footsteps and stood still,
Look'd to the sea, and to the hill,
Still lingering on the tainted brink,
As if he wist not what to think.

“A chief arose with ill intent
Out of the brake, and to him went;
And with one stroke and little din
Clove the poor traveller to the chin,
Then hid him in the clustering brake.
Oh how my heart began to quake!
I thought of death, and 'gan to con
The prayer that would be soonest done.
I 'scaped them all though sore beset;
In artifice I ne'er was beat.
None else could thus have caution'd you,
Though I, who should not say it, do.”

Oh when that hind aside had laid
His fool's attire, and was array'd
In belted plaid and broad claymore,
And robes which once a chieftain wore;
And came, with martial cap in hand,
Before the nobles of the land,
It would have joy'd your heart to've seen
His face of wisdom and his mien,
And aye he stretch'd with careful fold
His philabeg of tassell'd gold,
And tried with both hands to sleek down
His locks all weatherbeat and brown;
Then quite bewilder'd every sense,
With words of great magnificence.
The motley clown I do not blame,
Few are his paths that lead to fame;
One gain'd, let him that path pursue,
For great and glorious is the view.

High on a rock the palace stood,
Looking afar o'er vale and flood,
Amid a mighty citadel,
To force of man impregnable.
Seven towers it had of ample space,
Which still the stranger well may trace.
Much famed in legendary lore,
'Twas Selma in the days of yore;
But east and north the city lay,
On ridge and vale, from bay to bay,
And many a stately building shone
Within the ancient Beregon;
And many a fair and comely breast
Heaved in that jewel of the west;
While round it cliffs and walls arose
Impassable to friends and foes.

The Caledonians lay at ease,
Beleaguer'd by their hills and seas;
They knew no force by land could won
Their old imperial Beregon;
But hostile navies were their dread,
To which a thousand bays were spread,
Round every peopled vale and hill,
Where they might ravage at their will;
And never news so fraught with fear
Had met the Caledonian's ear.

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Benderiloch and Appin men,
From Etive bay to Cona glen,
Led by old Connal of Lismore,
Appear'd the first on Creran shore.
Gillion of Lorn, at close of eve,
Cross'd over Connel's boisterous wave,
With seven score yeomen in his train,
Well baited on the battle-plain.
All these, with other armed men,
Knight, squire, and serf, and citizen,
Assembled were at evening fall,
Scarcely a thousand men in all.
But where the watch to keep o'er night;
Or where the danger would alight;
What foe was nigh, or what would be,
All was in dim uncertainty.

On every height and headland steep,
Wardens were placed the watch to keep,
By shores of Appin and of Lorn,
With pipe, and call, and bugle-horn,
In various notes to give alarms
To warriors resting on their arms.

The autumn eve closed on the hill;
The north was breathing brisk and chill;
The stars were sprinkled o'er the night,
With goggling and uncertain light,
As if eventful watch to keep,
Over these reavers of the deep.
What with the roar of Connel's stream;
The cormorant's awakening scream;
The constant whistling of the gale;
The dead-lights glimmering in the dale;
The shadowy mountains, bored and riven,
That seem'd to gap the eastern heaven;
It was by sages truly hight
An ominous and awful night!

High beat the heart of many a maid,
And many an ear was open laid,
Deep list'ning, with suspended breath,
To hear the signal sound of death.
Each casual clang, and breathing boom,
And voice that wandered through the gloom,
Sent to the heart a thrilling knell.
And when the morrow's sentinel,
The cock, his midnight 'larum crew,
A thousand cheeks were changed of hue;
Ten thousand heads, stunn'd and amazed,
Were from green moss and pillow raised.

The midnight came, and pass'd away,
And silence hung o'er keep and bay;
Save that three watchers, on Loch-Linhe,
Above Glen Hendal's groves of pine—
Just in the midnight's deepest reign,
When Orion with his golden chain
Had measured from the moors of Tay
To keystone of the Milky Way,—
Heard a soft lay of sorrow given,
Somewhere from out the skirts of heaven,
Much like the funeral song of pain
Which minstrel pours o'er warrior slain;
And well the strains to sorrow true,
Of Ossian's airy harp they knew,
Which his rapt spirit from the sky,
Gave to the breeze that journey'd by;
As well they knew the omen drear
Boded of danger, death, and weir.

The first watch of the morning past,
Dark was the shade o'er nature cast;
And o'er the eyes that watch had kept,
The short and dreamy slumber crept;
When all at once, from sentinel,
Burst on the air the bugle's swell:
And never did note from bugle blown
Congeal so many hearts to stone!

If thou did'st e'er the affliction bear
Of having all thou valued'st here
Placed in a frail and feeble bark,
Exposed upon the ocean dark,
And when thy spirit yearn'd the most,
The word arrived that all was lost;
Then may'st thou guess the pains that stole
Cold on the Caledonian's soul.

Unto the first alarm that broke,
No answer came, save from the rock,
For all sat list'ning in suspense,
And doubting every mortal sense;
But soon repeated was the roar,
Longer and louder than before.

Then one o'erwhelming flood of sound
Burst over Scotland round and round;
Away, away, by mountain hoar,
By moated peel, by isle, and shore,
Far eastward to the break of morn,
And o'er the thousand glens of Lorn:
Slow down the links of Spey it flew,
On Lomond waked the slumbering mew,
Till down Cantire, with rolling sweep,
It died along the southern deep.

The matron said her holiest prayer;
The household dog rose from his lair,
Turned up his snout, and howl'd amain;
The fox and eagle join'd the strain;
The capercailzie scorn'd to flee,
But gallow'd on the forest tree;
The hill-wolf turn'd him to the wind,
And lick'd his bloody flew, and whined.
How shook the foemen at the noise!
They deem'd it was the land of voice.

By every mountain, lake, and glen,
By forest, frith, and shaking fen,

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Came rows of men in arms bedight,
Panting and hurrying through the night.
And aye as from the mountain's head,
Beside the bealfire blazing red,
The watcher's warning note was blown,
Faster they strode, and posted on.
Yet all those lines afar and near
Straight inward to one goal did steer,
As to the lake the streamlets run,
Or rays point to the morning sun;
Or like the lines of silvery foam
Around the ocean's awful tomb,
Where grim Lofodden's thirsty cave
Swallows adown the living wave;
Around, around the whirlpool's brink,
To that they point, and run, and sink.
So pour'd the warriors of the land,
Around their queen and throne to stand;
Too late they came! ere rose the sun,
The bloody fight was lost and won.

Where sounded first the watcher's horn,
Rush'd to the shore the men of Lorn;
And saw, as to the strand they press'd,
Upon the ocean's groaning breast,
As if the forest of Lismore
Came struggling on to Appin's shore.
So far that moving wood was spread,
The Sound so wholly covered,
That all along its level sheen
No image of a star was seen:
Such fleet no Scot had ever hail'd,
Nor e'er on Albyn's seas had sail'd.

Onward it came like moving wood,
Loaded and lipping with the flood,
Till every keel refused the oar,
And, stranded, lean'd on Appin shore:
Each warrior there had pledged his faith,
To win a home for life or death.

The barks were moor'd all side by side,
Then plunged the warriors in the tide;—
“Now!” cried old Connal, in a tone
Of ecstasy—“on warriors, on!”—

And as the hail-cloud hanging swarth
Bursts with the thunder on the earth,
So rush'd on death our warriors brave,
With shout that deaden'd every wave.
The plunge of horses and the neigh,
The broken and uncertain bay
Where floundering warriors fought and fell;
The utter darkness, and the knell
Of battle still that louder grew,
The flashes from the swords that flew,
Form'd altogether such a scene
As warriors scarce shall view again!

In sooth, when first these warriors met,
When every sword to sword was set,
You would have ween'd some meteor's ray,
Or curve of flame, hung o'er the bay;
So flew the fire from weapons keen,
While all was noise and rage between,
But nothing save that fire was seen.

Where Lorn with his brave horsemen came,
The coast was firm, the beach the same;
But where the galleys lay, they knew
Abrupt and deep at once it grew.
Into the wave they rode amain,
The foe withstood them, but in vain;
They drove them backward in the strife,
To plunge amid their ships for life.
But too intrepid in their wrath,
And too intent on foemen's death,
Over the beach, into the deep,
They rush'd like flock of weetless sheep,
That headlong plunge, with flurried mind,
While dogs and shepherds whoop behind;
Or like the cumbrous herd that goes,
Of panting, thirsting buffaloes,
From deep Missouri's wave to drink,
Fast press they to the stayless brink,
Pushing the foremost from the shore,
Till thousands sink to rise no more:
So plunged our yeomen over head,
Till scarce a remnant turned and fled,
While rocked the galleys to and fro,
With struggling, parting life below.

This fault the Muse may scarce define,
A breach was made in Scotia's line;
The foe in thousands gain'd the strand,
And stretch'd in files to either hand,
So that the footmen were beset,
Who still the foe had backward beat:
For when they first met in the sea,
They scarcely fought unto the knee:
Now, all the waving crescent line,
Toil'd to the breasts in smoking brine,
Which round them thick and clammy grew,
A waveless tide of crimson hue;
But still they fought, though coil'd in gore,
With foes behind and foes before.
No son of Albyn held at ought
His life, or harbour'd once a thought
That on his coast might step a foe,
Who first not o'er his breast should go.

Their peril shrouded from their view
Amid the morning's murky hue,
Each warrior fought for country's sake,
As if his all had been at stake;
As if the safety of the land
Lay in the force of his right hand.
No groan of hero's death could tell,
As 'mid the thickening wave he fell;
Warriors on shivering warriors stood,
Choked in that tide of briny blood,

Oh, when the sun through morning
Look'd over Cana's cliffs sublime,

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Never on Appin's shore was spread
Such piles of blench'd and mangled dead!
The tide, receding, left a stain
Of crimson ever to remain,
(For since that day no tempest's shock
Can bleach the colour from the rock),
And left, in woeful guise the while,
Troops of pale warriors, rank and file,
Stretch'd on the strand, in lines uneven,
With their cold eye-balls fixed on heaven;
Their bodies swathed in bloody foam,
Their heads turned to their native home.

And every corse of Albyn's race,
Had marks of gloom in his dead face,
As still for life and force he gasp'd,
And still for fight his sword was grasp'd.
Each visage seemed to interchange
With others' grin of stern revenge;
But nigher view'd, it wore an air
Of gloom, of sorrow, and despair;
As the last feelings of the heart,
Had been a pang of grief to part
From Caledon when needed most,
And that his powerful aid was lost.

Columba, with his sovereign fair,
Had spent the latter hours in prayer,
E'er since the time the bugle rung,
And many a holy hymn they sung.
They never knew till break of day,
That Scotia's host had waned away;
They knew of battle on the coast,
But little ween'd that all was lost.
And when the morning's purple beam
On Beregon began to gleam,
Oh, what a scene for sovereign's eye
Was open'd slow and gradually!
The bay all fringed with glistening gore;
The human wreck along the shore;
A thousand masts from bark and barge,
Pointing to the horizon's verge;
For all around the Keila bay
The fleet was moor'd, and leaning lay;
And dreadful hosts of warriors grim
The plains beyond the gate bedim;
All crowding, gathering, bearing on
To hapless, hopeless Beregon.

Old Connal Bawn and wounded Lorn,
With handful of brave men outworn,
Borne, inch by inch, back from the strand,
Now took their last and latest stand
Within the porch, with full intent
To fall, or entrance there prevent.

Too plain it was that all was lost;
But what astounded Hynde the most,
Was the broad banner of the foe
High streaming on the morning's brow;
For on it flash'd, in dreadful wise,
A sable bull of monstrous size;
His horns, his colour, and his frame,
His furious mood, the very same
As that, remember'd still with awe,
Which in her hideous dream she saw.
That vision's close when she thought on,
Her heart grew cold, and turn'd to stone!

She saw a foresight had been given
To her of future things by Heaven;
But yet so shadowy and so dim,
On reason's surf it seem'd to swim,
And all the struggling of the mind
Its form and substance could not find.
But plain it was to every sense,
That some sublime intelligence,
Beyond the power of mind to scan,
Existed between God and man.

Distemper'd thoughts her bosom stirr'd,
Her father's words again recurr'd:
And ah! the thought that there could be
A thing of immortality—
A spirit that had pass'd away,
Of one in dust and death that lay—
Still by her side, to smile, or frown,
Converse, and mingle with her own,
Was one so deeply ponder'd on
That reason waver'd on her throne.

Message on message posting came,
Which so perplex'd the youthful dame,
That all her mind's exertion fled,
A stupor on her brain was shed.
Her royal city of command,
The great emporium of the land,
She saw exposed to foemen's ire,
To sword, to ravage, and to fire.
Her nobles gone to fetch supply;
One leader wounded mortally;
The other brave, but hard beset;
Herself, with holy anchoret,
Surrounded by a ruthless foe;—
Alas! what could the virgin do?
No human stay or succour near,
She look'd to heaven, and dropt a tear.

“My honour'd liege,” Columba said,
“Suffer your servant, thus array'd,
Forth to the foe in peace to fare,
And learn from whence and who they are;
Their purpose, and their dire intent,
And why on war with maiden bent.
We haply thus may stay the war,
Till Lennox come, and rapid Mar:
I'll wend unaided and alone,
For every tongue to me is known.”—
The queen approved the wise appeal,
And lauded high his honest zeal.

Forth stepp'd the sire the hosts between,
Bearing a bough of holly green;
The marshall'd foe his journey sped,
And to their king the seer was led.

202

A prince he seem'd of courage high,
Of mighty frame and lion eye,
With something generous in his face,
A shade of noble courteousness,
Mix'd with a stern and jealous part,
Th' effect of caution, not of heart;
And by him stood a prince most fair,
Haco, his sister's son and heir.

Before the king Columba stood,
Nor bowed he head nor lifted hood;
Erect he stood with tranquil grace,
Looking the monarch in the face,
Loth to avale, if it might be,
One jot of Scotland's dignity;
And still more loth to bring the blame
Of cringing on the Christian name:
Serene he stood, like one prepared
To answer, rather than be heard.

One surly glance the monarch threw,
But momently that glance withdrew,
For well his eye had learn'd to trace
The human soul from human face.
But such a face, and such an eye,
Of tranquil equanimity,
He had not view'd in all his reign
O'er Scania's stormy, wild domain,
'Mong all the dark and stern compeers
Of Odin's rueful worshippers.

“Who art thou that, in such array,
With cowled head and frock of gray,
Approachest on unbending knee
The face of sovereign majesty?”

“I wist not, king, to whom I came,
What rank he claim'd, or what his name,
Else I had render'd honours due,
For to th' awards of Heaven I bow;
And well I know, the mighty hand,
That rules the ocean and the land,
O'er mankind his peculiar care,
Places the sovereign powers that are;
If such thou art, I'll honours pay;
But first thy name and lineage say,
That thus thou comest in armour sheen,
Against a young and virgin queen.”

“As suits you, friend or foe I am,
Eric of Norway is my name:
My lineage is supreme and high,
Of Odin's race that rules the sky;
All Scandinavia owns my reign,
From Finmark to the northern main.
My errand is, I frankly own,
To win your queen, and wear your crown;
That all the northern world may be
One huge, resistless monarchy.
If young Queen Hynde, of fair renown,
Will yield to me herself and crown,
Our flag of war shall soon be furl'd;
I'll make her mistress of the world:
If not, to me it seems as nought,
I'll take her, and her land to boot.
I and my warriors value less
Your forces than one bitter mess;
I'll crush them like a moth, and must
Lay ancient Beregon in dust;
My soldiers' prey it needs must be,
Though I regret it grievously.

“Go, tell your queen I proffer her
My hand, my love, my crown to wear;
And would she save her land from scathe,
Her warriors and her chiefs from death,
Her maids from brunt of rude desire,
Her capital from sword and fire,
Let her be sure her choice to make
Of that perforce she needs must take.
Eric of Norway is not wont
Of deeds he cannot do to vaunt.”

“Forsooth, King Eric, I must say,
Such wooer comes not every day,
So frank to ask, and free to give,
So downright, and so positive;
So brief a courtship ne'er was known
Within the bounds of Caledon.
How it may end I little wot,
But the beginning has been hot;
And hence I pray that God may keep
Such northern wooers north the deep.

“However, I shall well agree,
I not dislike your policy;
For should your high designs succeed,
The holy faith it needs must spread.
As ghostly counsellor, and guide,
And messenger of Heaven beside,
I may not, and I will not, cease
To cultivate eternal peace.
But should—as 'tis my firm belief,
Her troth be pledged to Scottish chief,
What then remains?—She can't revoke;
A sovereign's word may not be broke.”

“Let arms decide the right,” said he;
“The sword be judge 'twixt him and me.”—
This said he in so stern a tone,
The saint stood mute, reply was none.
“Whoe'er thou art,” the king rejoin'd,
“As vicar of the royal Hynde,
I thee respect, and make appeal
If I not fair and frankly deal.
My sovereignty I lay aside,
From subject wight to win my bride;
If vanquish'd I request no more,
I yield her to the conquerer;
Better one man than thousands die:
Thou hast my answer, homeward hie.
If not ere noon assent returns,
You yield perforce, your city burns;
I'll leave nor pile nor standing stone
In all your boasted Beregon.”

203

“Most gallant sovereign, I implore
One other word and then no more:
What if my queen have pledged her troth,
By royal word or solemn oath,
To sundry chiefs, in their degrees
Bound to particular services;
And he that most avails the land,
To share her throne, and win her hand?—
I pledge no word that this I know,
But, sooth, I deem and judge it so.”

“Then bring them all,” King Eric cried—
“Bring one, bring two upon your side;
Princes or peasants let them be—
Bring ten—it is the same to me!
Men to your men I will produce,
If Hynde from 'mong the victors choose.”

“In thee, King Eric, I perceive
A noble foe or friend we have:
Forthwith before my queen I'll lay
Your gallant suit, for yea or nay.”

Much was the stir when this was known
In palace of old Beregon.
Sore they demurred, yet it did seem
A respite in a great extreme—
A respite from a deadening blow
By an o'erpowering reckless foe.
Proud Gaul of Ross, and lordly Mar,
And Donald Gorm, were distant far;
For Sutherland they look'd in vain
From verges of the northern main;
Lochorn was nigh, and Allan Bane,
Lochaber's fair and goodly thane,
But all uncertain was their power:
Argyle was look'd for every hour,
And when he came to aid the war,
They knew that neither he, nor Mar,
Nor any Scottish chief, would bear
King Eric's brag in deeds of weir.
They ween'd that warriors there were none
Could match the chiefs of Caledon;
Yet such a stake as queen and crown
On such a die was never known.

While thus they sat in counsel slow,
And wist not how or what to do—
While fears were high and feelings strong,
While words were few and pauses long—
Queen Hynde, from off her royal seat,
Thus spoke in words and mood elate:—

“My ancient friends, full well I see
Your kind concern and fears for me;
No more your risk, no more your stake,
Than Albyn chooses that to make.
I'm a mere woman—and my crown,
With your support, is great, I own;
Without it, 'tis but sordid dust—
Let Eric take us, if he must!
Though both are won, and I constrain'd,
The soul of Albyn is not chain'd;
By hard constraint whate'er I do,
Be to your independence true.

“I'm great or small at your behest—
A queen, a trifle, or a jest;
I rule because you will it so,
No more can mighty Eric do.
I take his offer—three to three
His claim shall straight decided be;
From out the number that subdues,
My husband and my lord I choose.

“Were there a dread—as there is none—
That chosen chiefs of Caledon
Can e'er to barbarous foemen yield,
Or fainting quit the combat field,
Then let King Eric take his all—
His queen and kingdom nominal!

“Whereas, should we this pause forego,
And baulk a proud and powerful foe,
Our wealth and crown ere falls the night
Must yield to his resistless might.
I take his offer without dread;
Be this proviso only made,
That, as a queen and crown may go
From nation by a single blow,
Whoever wins, on yonder plain
In seven days thence shall fight again:
That day shall all decisive be—
The victor's gain, my crown and me.
But in the interim, I shall claim,
In whose soever power I am,
Such honours, deference, and esteem,
As may a virgin queen beseem.”

Consent was full, applause was high,
For why, no better meed was nigh.
Columba and old Connal went
Forth to King Eric's royal tent,
Which now a wonder rose to view,
Spangled with furs of every hue.
The clause was joyfully approved,
For Eric blood and battery loved.
The day was set, the hour, the field,
The brief agreement sign'd and seal'd,
And all the Norse to music's tone
Enter'd the gates of Beregon.
Friendly they were, and madly gay,
And, sooth, such revel and deray,
Such wassailing and noiance vast,
Had not been seen for ages past.
The maids of Beregon were pleased,
For they were flatter'd, woo'd, and teazed;
And well 'tis known that woman's mind
Is still to noise and stir inclined;
She would be mark'd, and woo'd withal,
Rather to ill than not at all.

Ah! loveliest of the lovely throng!
Why darts that frown my page along?
If I from courtesy have swerved,
I may be blamed, and may deserve't;

204

I oft have been, and oft will be—
It may not, shall not, be by thee.

Why should I tell of that I rue,
Or sing, deluded flowers, of you?
Of seven fair sisters in a bower,
Each lovelier than the opening flower;
Chaste as the snow of winter storms,
Or stream that bathed their lovely forms;
And they were pure as they were fair—
So deem'd we all—and so they were.
The spoilers came—their toils were few!
How can I sing of that I rue?

Oh, I have thought, and thought again,
And still the memory gives me pain!
Nor can I deem that beauty's glow,
The liquid eye, and radiant brow,
The smile that, like the morning dew,
Sheds gladness on the gazer's view—
The graceful form, the gliding tread,
Too light to bruise the daisy's head—
The downy locks, with roses twined,
Or wanton waving in the wind—
The mantling blush so sweetly spread,
Changing the pale rose to the red—
All but a gloss in kindness given
To woman's youth by pitying Heaven
For glories lost by primal sin,
To veil unsanctitude within!

O that such thoughts I could consign
To darkness distant and condign!
If broods the soul on such alloy,
Then where is mine and nature's joy?
Still let me love thee as thou art,
Though passions rankle at thy heart;
Though chroniclers point thee for ill,
I'll ween thee pure and gentle still.
I'll say, when thousand faults combine,
My sex has dross as well as thine;
And in my last and utmost need,
I'll fly to Calvin's sweeping creed,
And say of crimes of deepest hue,
They were predestined thee to do
Ere thou wast born: though thine the ill,
What is our lot we must fulfil!

Nay, rather than to thousands yield,
Or fly defeated from the field,
I'll quit this jointered age and thee—
This age of bond and bankruptcy—
With all its sordid thirst of gold,
And conjure up the times of old;
Raising from ancient days a queen,
And maids that were, or might have been,
That I may mould them as I will,
And love thee, froward trifler, still.
Only—though light I hold thy jeer—
None of thy pruding let me hear!
I know thee well—too well to feign,
And have my way, as thou hast thine.
If bards and maids must disagree,
Woe to the fair!—and woe to me!

I've sung of wake and roundelay,
In beauteous Mary's early day;
Of charms that could all hearts command;
Of maiden borne to fairy land;
Of worlds of love and virgins bright;
Of pilgrims to the land of light.
And I have sung to those who know
Of maiden's guilt and failings too;
And all in love to paint to thee
The charms of perfect purity.

Now I've call'd forth a patriot queen
Of generous soul and courtly mien;
And I've upraised a wayward elf
With faults and foibles like thyself;
And these as women thou shalt see,
More as they are than they should be.
Then wrangle not with one whose skill
Is short and laggard to his will;
Who yet can hope, and brow the heaven,
Of God and man to be forgiven
For every strain he dared essay,
For every line of every lay,
That would to purity impart
One stain, or wound the virtuous heart.

To gallow, in old English, is to cow, terrify: but in Scotch it is to make a loud, broken, or discordant noise; and in this sense it is always used here. Gallow and gollow are synonymous, and peculiar to various districts.