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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| 1. | CANTO FIRST. The Hunting.
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 | The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd |  |
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;
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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;
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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;
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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.
| The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd | |