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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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Scene II.
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Scene II.

—A wood.
Enter Lu.
Lu.
Another day is past, and it has been
To me a day of such delight, and pain,
And new sensations mingled, as I never
Deemed consonant with being. I have seen
The peerless maid of this romantic glen;
Have watched her every motion, word, and look,
With lover, and alone. Such beauty, truth,
And purity of soul, I did not ween
This sinful world contained! I love her so,
That I would yield this incorporeal frame,
This state of mental energy, attained
By seven years' penance, and again assume
My former state of gross humanity,
Rather than lose that virgin's fellowship,
Her confidence, and love. I watched her steps,
Led by that treacherous, that decoying fiend,
That demon in the guise of man, and heard
His smooth deceitful tale. I took the form
Of redbreast, and I hopped upon the spray
Close to her cheek, and sung my plaintive note;
And she called me “sweet robin,” and I saw
A kindness in her looks. “Sir knight,” said she,
“List to that robin's note. Methinks he says,
‘Beware, young simple Lula.’” “On my faith,”
The knight replied, “'tis very like these words!”
“I wish I were that robin's mate,” said she,
“To fly away with him o'er many lands,
And live in innocence!” And then I sung
“Would that you were, sweet Lula.” Her blue eyes
Turned doubtfully up to the sky, when this
She heard sung by a bird; her lovely face
Was stamped with sweet amazement and deep thought.
Then I became a coney, and I stole
From out the brake, and hitched around their seat,
Mounching the herbs, and raised up my long ears
As listening in dismay, and looked full wise,
Making my cloven lip and wiry beard
Move with grimace. Back to the thicket then
Amain I scudded, and as quick returned,
And cowered, and mounched the grass—she laughed at me,
And praised my antic tricks, but little weened
I was a fairy lover, and far less
A mortal prince rid of his mortal nature.
I must retire and take some other form,
For here my loved and beauteous Lula comes,
Led by the wretch that wooes her to her fate.

[Exit.
Enter Lula and Knight.
Lula.
Where do you lead me, knight? I may not go
Farther into the glen: have you not heard
How it is haunted?

Knight.
Fear not, gentle Lula;
No spirit may do harm to innocence
And beauty such as thine. Come, let us stray
Deeper into this dell, and watch the rise
Of the full moon. See how her radiant verge
Streams through the broken cliffs of yon far hill,
Like fragments of a moon. The queen of heaven
Smiles from her lattice. Has it not a cast
Of sweet sublimity that scene, my Lula?

Lula.
It has—oh, I could list and look for ever,
And muse upon these goings on of nature!

Knight.
'Tis a fit scene for love. Will you not hear
The man that loves you to distraction, breathe
The vows of constancy and endless love?

Lula.
Nay, then I'm gone; I loathe the very name
Of love, and every baneful consequence
That follows in its train. Why talk to me
Of love, when Emma's lost? Emma, who loved you
With fondness never equalled! Tell me, knight,
Where think you Emma's gone?

Knight.
How can I know?
Woe's me, poor Emma! She is fled, I fear,
With false deceiver, or some base-born hind—
Let us not think of her.

Lula.
Yet you grow pale
At mention of her name—I honour you
For this. 'Tis true she loved you! What is here?
There's blood upon your basnet, knight! Your hilt
And arm are stained with it. What blood is this?

Knight.
It is the blood of my white steed, which I
Slew in a rage, that now I sore repent.


347

Lula.
Your steed is whole and standing in his stall;
I saw him; ask your groom.

Knight.
It was my hound,
My milk-white hound—Woe's me that she is slain!

Lula.
Your hound is well, and hunting through the wood.

Knight.
It was a deer that held the hound at bay,
'Twas that I meant.

Lula.
You have not slain a deer
For months and days, nor is it hunting time;
You rave, or do not think of what you say.
But here's our gentle robin come again,
To cheer us with his homely note. O knight,
Let us return. Hear what the robin sings!

Knight.
Come let us dive into the dell, my Lula,
And see the moon lie bathing in the stream,
Deep in the centre of the wood; it is
A scene will charm you. Let us go, my love.

Lula.
I never farther leave my home at eve;
That glen is dangerous, for spirits there
Hold nightly rendezvous. Poor Emma loved
Thoughtful to stray in it—now, where, alas!
Is simple Emma? Knight, though I nought fear,
Strange fancies crowd on me. Ah, might it be
As I now deem! Do guardian spirits ever
Take form of beast or bird?

Knight.
So sages say;
But wherefore ask? Come, let us go, my love,
Down that sweet winding glen. You cannot fear
To walk that space with me? I know the scene
Hath that in't will delight you. You shall see
The moonbeam streaming o'er the shadowy hill,
To kiss the winding wave, and deck the trees
In golden foliage. You shall see the shades
Of hills, and trees, and rocks, lie stretched afar,
Bathing in liquid crystal, till you lose
Sense which is the true world, the stars and moon,
And which the elemental imagery.
Oh! I beseech you let us go, sweet Lula.

Lula.
Well, I will go, for when I hear you talk
Of nature, I am charmed—'tis so unlike
The converse of these simple cottagers;
But talk of that alone, and not of love,
Else I'll not list, nor answer deign to you.
Why am I plagued with language which I loathe? [Going, stops short.

Protect my senses, Heaven! Can it be!
Look at that bird, sir knight—is it not changed
In form and hue since last we looked at it?

Knight.
What is it?

Lula.
See! it grows and changes still;
Waylays and threatens us—I will not go
Farther upon that path for will of man.

Knight.
Then my resolve is fixed—Dame, you shall go,
Return home as you may.

Lula.
What do you mean?

Knight.
Only that you shall go into that glen,
Far as I list to lead you: if you prove
As coy when you return, my well-earned skill
In woman I give up. Nay, struggle not,
Nor pule, nor cry, for neither shall avail!

Lu enters, and by a wave of his hand lays the Knight flat on his back.
Lula.
O comely stranger, spare my helpless youth!
Protect and guard me! here I throw myself
Into your arms.

Lu.
And from all brutal force
And insult shall these arms protect thee, maid.

Lula.
Yes, I can trust you, there is in your look
And your embrace, that chastened dignity,
That calm pure sympathy, which I have longed
And pined so much to look on. Whence are you?
From what blest land or kingdom came you thus
To my deliverance?

Lu.
These lands were mine,
Far as the soaring eagle's eye can reach;
But I resigned them for a dynasty
Wild and ethereal. Could you love me, Lula?

Lula.
I know not: If your touch and looks were aye
As pure as they are now—methinks I could.

Lu.
Then I'll be aught for thee—I'll be again
The thing I was, that I may be caressed
And loved by you; though pain, and woe, and death,
And spirits' vengeance, on the issue wait.
Come with me, gentle maid; and while I lead you
Home to your cot, I will a tale unfold
Shall make your ears to tingle, and your thoughts
Wander into delirious mystery.

[Exeunt Lu and Lula. The Knight rises.
Knight.
What can this mean? How was I struck to earth,
And chained as by some spell? Curse on the stripling!
Who can he be, or whither did he come,
To brave me in this guise? 'Tis like a dream;
And yet I saw them go, arm linked in arm,
While I not moved a finger or a limb.
Might I believe that I some thing have seen
Not of this world, that with one wave of 's hand,
Could strike me motionless, then do I strive
In vain for the possession of the maid.
But here I swear above this craven sword,
That for the first time slept within its sheath
Beneath the eye of insult, not to brook
Life without Lula. Never shall I see
Another filch that precious morsel, placed

348

Thus in my reach! Arm, thou wast never wont
To lie in dull and nerveless apathy
When will called “Strike;” ah! couldst thou do it now
When the most delicate and luscious cup
That ever mocked Desire's pale parching lip
Was rudely dashed away? Blood and revenge
Be hence thy meed, or scornful Lula mine!