Romantic Ballads and Poems of Phantasy | ||
THE SON OF ALLAN.
Allan, son of Allan, Chief of the Colquhouns, had wooed and won Adair, daughter of Malcolm McDiarmid; but on the day the nuptials were to have taken place she was carried off in willing flight by MacDonald of the Isles. Allan pursued with twenty of Lord Malcolm's men, but arrived on the lonely Argyll sea-board only an hour too late, MacDonald having just sailed in triumph to his western isles. Allan for a time lost his reason, but in the autumn again regained his former vigour, and it was shortly after this time, in the first month of the New Year, that a message came at last from MacDonald offering to privily meet the man he had wronged, and fight out their quarrel alone.
The ballad opens on the eve of this duel. Allan, nigh upon the appointed meeting-place on a lonely hill-side, waits the fixt hour at the hut of one known as the Witch of Dunmore. She foresees the fatal result of the duel to her clansman as well as to his foe, and strives to dissuade him from the combat—recalling her past experiences to him and mentioning signs and portents, hoping thus to convince him of the truth of her vision.
The icy moon through the fierce frost shines,
The steel-blue stars are baleful signs,
Son of Allan!”
“The wind may blow to its last faint breath,
Ere I turn aside from the shadow of death!”
Hath blown the ripe grain into chaff—
Son of Allan!”
“Your curse may come and your curse may go—
My soul must dree some other woe!”
I lay forgot, accurst, alone—
But I saw the scroll of your life as my own,
Son of Allan!”
“God knows if Hell or Heaven's my life,
To-night is hoarse with the sound of strife!”
When the missel-thrush sang on the flowering thorn—
O better if you had ne'er been born,
Son of Allan!”
“I would that God had strangled my soul—
But living, to-night I seek one goal!”
And your horse's hooves the flag-flowers spurn—
O turn now, if ever you turn,
Son of Allan!”
“The fierce tides ebb from the ruthless shore,
But I turn not now till one thing's o'er!”
Where the moor-hen clucks and the plovers scream,
And ride with your eyes in a far-off dream,
Son of Allan!”
“Long weeks ago I dreamt, and now
The awakening nears my fever'd brow!”
And seek Dunallan's grassy ways,
With a golden glory on your face,
Son of Allan!”
“A thousand years ago I sought
My love's cruel death, and knew it not!”
And leave your horse by the castle wall,
And loudly for the henchman call,
Son of Allan!”
“No more on men or maids I call—
I or he this night shall fall!”
And I saw you kiss the golden hair
And the sweet red lips of Lady Adair,
Son of Allan!”
“I kissed her lips—each kiss a coal
That burns and flames within my soul!”
How speed the maids with the bridal gear?’
And then you whispered in her ear,
Son of Allan!”
“I whispered then—but one shall know
No whispers soon when he lies low!”
Where the sword-scarred pennons waved in gloom,
With a golden dish for every plume,
Son of Allan!”
“White plumes may flaunt, white plumes may wave!
White swords shall this night carve a grave!”
And joy shine bright in your bonnie blue eye
As ‘Lady Adair’ was your toasting cry,
Son of Allan!”
“I hear no more the wine-cups clash,—
I hear the gurgling red blood splash!”
For his daughter fair,—and I saw a bowed
Old henchman quake 'mid the servile crowd,
Son of Allan!”
“Let traitors sweat with sudden fright!
God's wrath disturbs the world to-night!”
His words fell swift, and stinging, and strange,—
Lord Malcolm's smile had an awful change,
Son of Allan!”
“God's smile was lost in a deep dark frown—
But one of twain shall this night fall down!”
And thy lips grow blue like black-ice hail,
With eyes on fire with the soul's fierce bale,
Son of Allan!”
“Pale, pale I was with my soul's dread,—
But one this night shall lie full red!”
MacDonald has swooped with the falcon's force,
But we'll catch them both ere they end their course,
Son of Allan!’”
“The hawk may swoop, and the dove may fly,
But the hawk for the dove this night shall die!”
With twenty men by thy side that day,
And thy face was like the gloaming grey,
Son of Allan!”
“Long, long ago the sun shone bright,—
But since that day black mirk o' night!”
Till dawn awakened each sinless lark,
And the hills re-echoed the sheep-dog's bark,
Son of Allan!”
“Ah! long ago sweet morns were fair,—
Now blood seems dropping every where!”
And the cuckoo called farewell to June,
And the blackbird sang a blithe glad tune,
Son of Allan!”
“Ah! once I knew that sweet bird's sang—
I hear naught now but steel's harsh clang!
I heard Lord Malcolm's savage yell,
And saw thy face in the shadow of hell,
Son of Allan!”
“Hope died upon that cursëd strand—
But to-night we meet, each sword in hand!”
And MacDonald had sailed an hour before:
Thy bride to his isles the chieftain bore,
Son of Allan!”
“My bride! my bride! no bride have I—
But a bridegroom this night shall fall and die!”
And they made for thee a pine-branch bed—
And thus-wise with thee home they sped,
Son of Allan!”
“O would to God I had met him where
He kissed and fondled his Lady Adair!”
Like fire through all thy tortured frame,
And ever shrill'dst thou one fair name,
Son of Allan!”
“Of false, false heart of Lady Adair,
Whose corpse behold you cold and bare?”
Did thine eyes lose their empty gaze—
Then Reason came in one sharp blaze,
Son of Allan!”
“O madness comes and madness goes,
But the slain corpse no madness knows!”
He bade you rest no more content
With dreams of anguish impotent,
Son of Allan!”
“No dreams I dream! one thing I know,
This night a soul to hell doth go!”
He rides to grant your final boon—
And neither shall see Spring wed to June,
Son of Allan!”
“Sweet Junes may bloom, and Junes may blow,
But a soul this night shall taste of woe!”
And he smiles as he thinks of his laughing wife,
And his blood leaps hard as a steed's for strife,
Son of Allan!”
“Aye! loud she may laugh, and loud may he,
But his eyes shall gladden no more at the sea!”
Last night I dreamt I saw o'erhead
A darkness fold thee, and leave thee dead,
Son of Allan!”
“The mirk you saw is light to what
Will gather when he and I have fought!”
“I see in vision the man who falls:
A cloud of blood my sight appals,
Son of Allan!”
“I wait no more for thy blind words—
No words this night but gleaming swords!”
The icy moon through the fierce frost shines,
The steel-blue stars are baleful signs,
Son of Allan!”
“The wind may blow to its last faint breath—
Cross swords, cross swords, for life or death!”
Lord Allan see, thy wraith is there—
The stars gleam through its shadow-hair,
O son of Allan!”
O dripping sword, spring, lunge, and sweep!
O thirsting sword, drink deep, drink deep!”
Romantic Ballads and Poems of Phantasy | ||