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 |  |
3. PART THIRD.
Whoe'er in future time shall stray
O'er these wild valleys west away,
Where first, by many a trackless strand,
The Caledonian held command;
Where ancient Lorn, from northern shores
Of Clyde to where Glen-Connel roars,
Presents in frowning majesty
Her thousand headlands to the sea:
Oh, traveller! whomsoe'er thou art,
Turn not aside, with timid heart,
At Connel's tide, but journey on
To the old site of Beregon;
I pledge my word, whether thou lovest
The poet's tale, or disapprovest,
So short, so easy is the way,
The scene shall well thy pains repay.
There shalt thou view, on rock sublime,
The ruins gray of early time,
Where frowning o'er the foamy flood,
The mighty halls of Selma stood;
And mark a valley stretching wide,
Inwall'd by cliffs on either side,
By curving shore, where billows broke,
And triple wall from rock to rock:
Low in that strait, from bay to bay,
The ancient Beregonium lay.
O'er these wild valleys west away,
Where first, by many a trackless strand,
The Caledonian held command;
Where ancient Lorn, from northern shores
Of Clyde to where Glen-Connel roars,
Presents in frowning majesty
Her thousand headlands to the sea:
Oh, traveller! whomsoe'er thou art,
Turn not aside, with timid heart,
At Connel's tide, but journey on
To the old site of Beregon;
I pledge my word, whether thou lovest
The poet's tale, or disapprovest,
So short, so easy is the way,
The scene shall well thy pains repay.
There shalt thou view, on rock sublime,
The ruins gray of early time,
Where frowning o'er the foamy flood,
The mighty halls of Selma stood;
And mark a valley stretching wide,
Inwall'd by cliffs on either side,
By curving shore, where billows broke,
And triple wall from rock to rock:
205
The ancient Beregonium lay.
Old Beregon! what soul so tame
Of Scot that warms not at thy name?
Or where the bard, of northern clime,
That loves not songs of Selma's time?
Yes, while so many legends tell,
Of deeds and woes that there befell,
These ruins shall be dear to fame,
And brook the loved, the sacred name.
Of Scot that warms not at thy name?
Or where the bard, of northern clime,
That loves not songs of Selma's time?
Yes, while so many legends tell,
Of deeds and woes that there befell,
These ruins shall be dear to fame,
And brook the loved, the sacred name.
Nay, look around, on green-sea wave,
On cliff, and shelve, which breakers lave:
On stately towers and ruins gray,
On moat, on island, glen, and bay;
On cataract and shaggy mound,
On mighty mountains far around
Jura's fair bosom, form'd and full;
The dark and shapeless groups of Mull;
Others far north, in haze that sink,
Proud Nevis, on Lochaber's brink,
And blue Cruachan, bold and riven,
In everlasting coil with heaven:—
View all the scene, and view it well,
Consult thy memory, and tell
If on the earth exists the same,
Or one so well deserves the name.
On cliff, and shelve, which breakers lave:
On stately towers and ruins gray,
On moat, on island, glen, and bay;
On cataract and shaggy mound,
On mighty mountains far around
Jura's fair bosom, form'd and full;
The dark and shapeless groups of Mull;
Others far north, in haze that sink,
Proud Nevis, on Lochaber's brink,
And blue Cruachan, bold and riven,
In everlasting coil with heaven:—
View all the scene, and view it well,
Consult thy memory, and tell
If on the earth exists the same,
Or one so well deserves the name.
Thou still may'st see, on looking round,
That, saving from the northern bound,
Where stretch'd the suburbs to the muir,
The city stood from foes secure.
North on Bornean height was placed
King Eric's camp, o'er heathery waste;
And on Barvulen ridge behind,
Rock'd his pavilion to the wind,
Where royal banners, floating high
Like meteors, stream'd along the sky.
That, saving from the northern bound,
Where stretch'd the suburbs to the muir,
The city stood from foes secure.
North on Bornean height was placed
King Eric's camp, o'er heathery waste;
And on Barvulen ridge behind,
Rock'd his pavilion to the wind,
Where royal banners, floating high
Like meteors, stream'd along the sky.
Within the palace he had been,
And converse held with Scotland's queen;
And the north tower, of strong defence,
Was given him for his residence.
There over-night he would not stay,
But there he sojourn'd day by day;
For, sooth to say, as well he might,
King Eric was in woeful plight;
For ne'er was heart of rosy maid,
Nor amorous youth, nor dotard, laid
So wholly under love's arrest,
As was King Eric's noble breast.
And converse held with Scotland's queen;
And the north tower, of strong defence,
Was given him for his residence.
There over-night he would not stay,
But there he sojourn'd day by day;
For, sooth to say, as well he might,
King Eric was in woeful plight;
For ne'er was heart of rosy maid,
Nor amorous youth, nor dotard, laid
So wholly under love's arrest,
As was King Eric's noble breast.
Queen Hynde was his perpetual theme,
His hourly thought, his nightly dream;
And no discourse could chance to be
Of war, or peace, or policy,
In which, with fondness archly seen,
He introduced not Albyn's queen.
It was a theme beloved so well,
He long'd and loved on it to dwell.
His hourly thought, his nightly dream;
And no discourse could chance to be
Of war, or peace, or policy,
In which, with fondness archly seen,
He introduced not Albyn's queen.
It was a theme beloved so well,
He long'd and loved on it to dwell.
She met him, but his presence thence
She shunn'd, as not to give offence;
She had no thought, no pride, no aim,
But what her country's rights became;
And in the converse them between,
Such majesty was in her mien,
Such dignity with sweetness mix'd,
The soul of Eric was transfix'd:
From former, ruder joys estranged,
His very nature seem'd exchanged.
She shunn'd, as not to give offence;
She had no thought, no pride, no aim,
But what her country's rights became;
And in the converse them between,
Such majesty was in her mien,
Such dignity with sweetness mix'd,
The soul of Eric was transfix'd:
From former, ruder joys estranged,
His very nature seem'd exchanged.
The comeliest youth of northern name,
Prince Haco, mark'd the growing flame,
And wild impatience fired his mind,
To see that fair, that wondrous Hynde,
That thus could raise in warrior's core,
Feelings unknown, unfelt before.
Oft watch'd he round the tower alone,
But word or intercourse was none,
Till, feigning tale of import high,
He gain'd admittance artfully.
Hynde to Columba's aisle had gone,
An hour with him to spend alone,
Just as the prince was introduced
As messenger of secret trust.
Prince Haco, mark'd the growing flame,
And wild impatience fired his mind,
To see that fair, that wondrous Hynde,
That thus could raise in warrior's core,
Feelings unknown, unfelt before.
Oft watch'd he round the tower alone,
But word or intercourse was none,
Till, feigning tale of import high,
He gain'd admittance artfully.
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An hour with him to spend alone,
Just as the prince was introduced
As messenger of secret trust.
By wayward chance it happ'd just then,
That frolicsome and restless Wene,
In all the royal robes of state
Array'd, on throne of ivory sate,
Aping a queen with such a face,
Such majesty, and proud grimace,
That all the noble maids around
With laughter sunk upon the ground.
One personated haughty Mar,
One Norway's boist'rous brand of war,
One Allan Bane, one Coulan Brande,
And one the Lord of Sutherland;
And each address'd the suit to Wene
In wooer terms, as Scotland's queen.
That frolicsome and restless Wene,
In all the royal robes of state
Array'd, on throne of ivory sate,
Aping a queen with such a face,
Such majesty, and proud grimace,
That all the noble maids around
With laughter sunk upon the ground.
One personated haughty Mar,
One Norway's boist'rous brand of war,
One Allan Bane, one Coulan Brande,
And one the Lord of Sutherland;
And each address'd the suit to Wene
In wooer terms, as Scotland's queen.
To one the imp, with simpering grin,
Turn'd up her nose, and tiny chin;
Her scarf of tissued gold flung by,
And raised her shapely arm on high,
Saying, in act, most gracefully,
“Have done, good friend! I'll none of thee.”
Another she apart would eye,
With piercing glance, or ogle sly;
Another flatter—then again
Turn to King Eric of the main;
And all the patriot queen display,
In dignified and generous way.
Turn'd up her nose, and tiny chin;
Her scarf of tissued gold flung by,
And raised her shapely arm on high,
Saying, in act, most gracefully,
“Have done, good friend! I'll none of thee.”
Another she apart would eye,
With piercing glance, or ogle sly;
Another flatter—then again
Turn to King Eric of the main;
And all the patriot queen display,
In dignified and generous way.
While this high game was at the height,
And all were wrapt in wild delight,
A gentle rap was at the door;
“Come in,” said Wene; and on the floor
A bowing page these words address'd,
“A messenger in speechless haste
From royal Eric craves thine ear.”
“'Tis well,” said Wene; “let him appear
Before our throne.” These words she said
So like the queen, the page obey'd.
Each maid look'd to the throne on high
With dimpling cheek and pregnant eye,
And scarce from laughter could refrain
At the effrontery of Wene;
But dreading sore that such a jest
Would lead to scorn and wrath at least
And all were wrapt in wild delight,
A gentle rap was at the door;
“Come in,” said Wene; and on the floor
A bowing page these words address'd,
“A messenger in speechless haste
From royal Eric craves thine ear.”
“'Tis well,” said Wene; “let him appear
Before our throne.” These words she said
So like the queen, the page obey'd.
Each maid look'd to the throne on high
With dimpling cheek and pregnant eye,
And scarce from laughter could refrain
At the effrontery of Wene;
But dreading sore that such a jest
Would lead to scorn and wrath at least
No time was now these fears to state,
To reason, or expostulate;
For, momently, in royal hall,
Prince Haco bow'd amid them all.
His courtly form so tall and fair,
His flowing curls of flaxen hair,
His amorous look, and princely gear,
Soon made him general favourite there.
To reason, or expostulate;
For, momently, in royal hall,
Prince Haco bow'd amid them all.
His courtly form so tall and fair,
His flowing curls of flaxen hair,
His amorous look, and princely gear,
Soon made him general favourite there.
“Pardon, illustrious queen,” he cried,
“Flower of the world, and Albyn's pride,
For this intrusion on your court:
I tidings bring of strange report;
Haco's my name, King Eric's heir,
My message suits your private ear.”
“Flower of the world, and Albyn's pride,
For this intrusion on your court:
I tidings bring of strange report;
Haco's my name, King Eric's heir,
My message suits your private ear.”
With sovereign air, and motion dumb,
Wene pointed with her queenly thumb
Unto the door—then, in a tone
Soft yet majestic, cried, “Begone,
We wish with him to be alone;
Shortly your counsels we may crave;
To Scotland's weal we are the slave.”
Forth stepp'd the dames with curtsey low;
To each the prince return'd a bow;
But as the hindmost disappear'd,
A tittering sound of mirth he heard,
And in his brilliant eye was blent
Shame, anger, and astonishment.
Wene pointed with her queenly thumb
Unto the door—then, in a tone
Soft yet majestic, cried, “Begone,
We wish with him to be alone;
Shortly your counsels we may crave;
To Scotland's weal we are the slave.”
Forth stepp'd the dames with curtsey low;
To each the prince return'd a bow;
But as the hindmost disappear'd,
A tittering sound of mirth he heard,
And in his brilliant eye was blent
Shame, anger, and astonishment.
“Regard not, prince, a court-dame's fleer;
To you they mean no scoff or jeer;
'Tis at their mistress and their queen,
And she must bear't,” said wicked Wene.
“Prince, when misfortune's at the door,
It looses tongues were mute before.
They jeer that thus their queen should be
In hall alone with prince like thee;
Nor is it meet—but I must bow
To things unfitting virgin now.”
To you they mean no scoff or jeer;
'Tis at their mistress and their queen,
And she must bear't,” said wicked Wene.
“Prince, when misfortune's at the door,
It looses tongues were mute before.
They jeer that thus their queen should be
In hall alone with prince like thee;
Nor is it meet—but I must bow
To things unfitting virgin now.”
“And, sooth,” said Haco, “much I fear
The queen will turn on me the jeer,
When she shall hear, as now she must,
My message of important trust.
Forgive thy servant, I intreat,
'Tis love that brings me to thy feet;
To see thy face, thy words to hear,
Was the intent that brought me here.”
The queen will turn on me the jeer,
When she shall hear, as now she must,
My message of important trust.
Forgive thy servant, I intreat,
'Tis love that brings me to thy feet;
To see thy face, thy words to hear,
Was the intent that brought me here.”
“Love!” said the urchin, with a frown
Such as from eye was never thrown—
“Love dar'st thou name to Albyn's queen,
Whose face before thou hast not seen?
Such theme we list not to discuss;
We must not yet be toy'd with thus.”
Such as from eye was never thrown—
“Love dar'st thou name to Albyn's queen,
Whose face before thou hast not seen?
Such theme we list not to discuss;
We must not yet be toy'd with thus.”
“Forgive my youth, angelic dame,
And glowing heart of moulded flame;
Thou shalt not need one word to check,
Nor hear aught but with due respect;
I've set my head upon a die,
To pay this homage to thine eye;
For of thy form of matchless grace,
Thy cherub eye, and lovely face,
So much I heard, that heavenly bliss
Seem'd less to me than hour like this;
But all was short that I heard told,
To beauty that I now behold.”
And glowing heart of moulded flame;
Thou shalt not need one word to check,
Nor hear aught but with due respect;
I've set my head upon a die,
To pay this homage to thine eye;
For of thy form of matchless grace,
Thy cherub eye, and lovely face,
So much I heard, that heavenly bliss
Seem'd less to me than hour like this;
But all was short that I heard told,
To beauty that I now behold.”
I've said before, and must repeat,
That Wene had beauty, archness, wit;
No young man on her face could look
Who felt not pang he ill could brook;
He loved, or in his bosom strove
With something similar to love;
And when she tried her witching skill,
Her eye with certainty could kill.
Now, in the royal robes array'd,
With gold and jewels overlaid,
She seem'd a being of romance,
A thing of perfect elegance;
And Haco, trembling, scarcely trow'd
Before an earthly maid he bow'd—
Such dignity, in mien and eye,
A man beholds in majesty!
That Wene had beauty, archness, wit;
No young man on her face could look
Who felt not pang he ill could brook;
207
With something similar to love;
And when she tried her witching skill,
Her eye with certainty could kill.
Now, in the royal robes array'd,
With gold and jewels overlaid,
She seem'd a being of romance,
A thing of perfect elegance;
And Haco, trembling, scarcely trow'd
Before an earthly maid he bow'd—
Such dignity, in mien and eye,
A man beholds in majesty!
O titled rank, long be it thine
From common gaze remote to shine!
And long be nursed thy speech refined
From scrutiny of vulgar mind!
That thing, in robes of state attired,
The closer seen, the less admired,
Kept at a distance, still may draw
The homage of respect and awe:
Therefore most humbly do I sue,
In name of rank and reverence due,
Subordination, manners prim,
And all that keeps a land in trim,
To keep thy sphere, whate'er it be,
From scar of scoundrel scrutiny.
This thing did Wene, for honour's sake,
Upholding rank she chanced to take;
And Wene knew more, as you'll espy,
Of men and things than you or I.
From common gaze remote to shine!
And long be nursed thy speech refined
From scrutiny of vulgar mind!
That thing, in robes of state attired,
The closer seen, the less admired,
Kept at a distance, still may draw
The homage of respect and awe:
Therefore most humbly do I sue,
In name of rank and reverence due,
Subordination, manners prim,
And all that keeps a land in trim,
To keep thy sphere, whate'er it be,
From scar of scoundrel scrutiny.
This thing did Wene, for honour's sake,
Upholding rank she chanced to take;
And Wene knew more, as you'll espy,
Of men and things than you or I.
As Haco spoke, the elf the while
Lighted her visage with a smile,
And gave him look that thrill'd each vein;
For who could stand the eye of Wene?
The prince took heart, and blushing said,
“Here, at thy feet, O royal maid,
One moment list th' unwelcome theme,
And hear thy servant's simple scheme.”
Lighted her visage with a smile,
And gave him look that thrill'd each vein;
For who could stand the eye of Wene?
The prince took heart, and blushing said,
“Here, at thy feet, O royal maid,
One moment list th' unwelcome theme,
And hear thy servant's simple scheme.”
“Not at our feet,” Queen Wene replied,
With voice and air most dignified;
“A prince thou art—a foe, 'tis true—
Yet—rise—that honour is thy due.
No good from this can we divine;
But let us hear that scheme of thine.”
With voice and air most dignified;
“A prince thou art—a foe, 'tis true—
Yet—rise—that honour is thy due.
No good from this can we divine;
But let us hear that scheme of thine.”
“Oh say not foe!—If in this heart
One atom acted foeman's part,
I'd dig it from its latent goal,
The sanguine fountain of the soul!
What I will do, thou yet shalt see,
For peace, for Scotland, and for thee.
My uncle Eric loves thee more
Than ever king did queen before;
I know it—but he's old—whilst thou
Hast all that loved and living glow
Which youth on virgins can bestow.
Now, since I've seen thee, and approve,
And feel to see thee is to love,
Might Haco but thy heart engage,
No deadly wars the Norse might wage,
For, take my word, if here they stay,
War there must be, do as you may;
In spite of truce or treaties made,
Their breaking forth is but delay'd.
As certain as the wind must blow
Cold o'er their polar wastes of snow,
So, where the chiefs of Scania are,
Must there be ravage, waste, and war.
One atom acted foeman's part,
I'd dig it from its latent goal,
The sanguine fountain of the soul!
What I will do, thou yet shalt see,
For peace, for Scotland, and for thee.
My uncle Eric loves thee more
Than ever king did queen before;
I know it—but he's old—whilst thou
Hast all that loved and living glow
Which youth on virgins can bestow.
Now, since I've seen thee, and approve,
And feel to see thee is to love,
Might Haco but thy heart engage,
No deadly wars the Norse might wage,
For, take my word, if here they stay,
War there must be, do as you may;
In spite of truce or treaties made,
Their breaking forth is but delay'd.
As certain as the wind must blow
Cold o'er their polar wastes of snow,
So, where the chiefs of Scania are,
Must there be ravage, waste, and war.
“This to prevent, and Scotland free,
Might you transfer your troth to me,
Here might we reign on stable throne,
In old imperial Beregon;
And to your Albyn's present bound
Unite our islands all around.
And when the time comes, as it may,
That Scandinavia owns my sway,
O'er these thy towers shall wave unfurl'd
The ensigns of the northern world.
And Scotia's free, unyielding land,
To all these regions give command.
These things I deem'd, O beauteous Hynde,
Worthy the counsel of your mind.
To do them all I pledge my troth—
No son of Odin breaks his oath.”
Might you transfer your troth to me,
Here might we reign on stable throne,
In old imperial Beregon;
And to your Albyn's present bound
Unite our islands all around.
And when the time comes, as it may,
That Scandinavia owns my sway,
O'er these thy towers shall wave unfurl'd
The ensigns of the northern world.
And Scotia's free, unyielding land,
To all these regions give command.
These things I deem'd, O beauteous Hynde,
Worthy the counsel of your mind.
To do them all I pledge my troth—
No son of Odin breaks his oath.”
“Prince,” said Queen Wene, “you pledge too high;
Even sanguine maid may not rely
On such great privilege and command,
And 'vantage to her native land;
But yet the eye would be severe,
And heart, that judged you insincere.
Yet all the answer I can deign,
As 'tis—(to those o'er whom I reign,
The slave and vassal, subject still
To what they feel and what they will)—
Is this, to thank you, and take leave.
This hand in friendship please receive;
And, as thou lovest my peace and bliss,
Venture no more on scheme like this.”
Even sanguine maid may not rely
On such great privilege and command,
And 'vantage to her native land;
But yet the eye would be severe,
And heart, that judged you insincere.
Yet all the answer I can deign,
As 'tis—(to those o'er whom I reign,
The slave and vassal, subject still
To what they feel and what they will)—
Is this, to thank you, and take leave.
This hand in friendship please receive;
And, as thou lovest my peace and bliss,
Venture no more on scheme like this.”
Haco kneel'd down in rapture bland,
And took the elfin's queenly hand,
Impress'd it with a kiss sincere,
And wet the bracelet with a tear;
Whilst Wene, with all her shrewd address,
Could scarce her merriment suppress.
The prince upraised his humid eye,
And noting well her aspect sly,
Turn'd half away with mimic flush.
With dimple and with fairy blush;
Fled all at once his humble air,
And but the lover nought was there.
Light as the bound of roebuck young,
To footstool of the throne he sprung;
Put one arm round the royal neck;
The other, with all due respect,
Her jewell'd bosom did unfold
The gentle form and arms to hold;
And then did lips in silence tell
Where lover's lip delights to dwell.
Full oft can maid, with frowning brows,
Reprove the act she well allows,
Though dear, as now, th' impassioned scene—
And action was the soul of Wene!
And took the elfin's queenly hand,
Impress'd it with a kiss sincere,
And wet the bracelet with a tear;
Whilst Wene, with all her shrewd address,
Could scarce her merriment suppress.
The prince upraised his humid eye,
And noting well her aspect sly,
Turn'd half away with mimic flush.
With dimple and with fairy blush;
Fled all at once his humble air,
And but the lover nought was there.
Light as the bound of roebuck young,
To footstool of the throne he sprung;
Put one arm round the royal neck;
The other, with all due respect,
Her jewell'd bosom did unfold
The gentle form and arms to hold;
208
Where lover's lip delights to dwell.
Full oft can maid, with frowning brows,
Reprove the act she well allows,
Though dear, as now, th' impassioned scene—
And action was the soul of Wene!
Prince Haco's youthful heart o'erflow'd,
And turn'd to wax that liquid glow'd;
And that fond kiss a seal has set
Of female form and coronet
On it, so deep, that from its core
That form was ne'er erased more;
For every thought his mind pursued,
The dear, the treacherous form renew'd.
And turn'd to wax that liquid glow'd;
And that fond kiss a seal has set
Of female form and coronet
On it, so deep, that from its core
That form was ne'er erased more;
For every thought his mind pursued,
The dear, the treacherous form renew'd.
True, though Queen Wene her squire beloved
With sharp and cutting words reproved,
Yet in her radiant eye was seen
No proud offence nor pointed spleen;
And as he left her throne supreme,
His ardent spirit to inflame,
She cast that look of matchless art,
That never fail'd on young man's heart,
And said, with sigh, “Hard is my lot!
Had I my will—as I have not!”—
Then bent she down her brow sublime,
And wiped her cheek of beauty's prime.
With sharp and cutting words reproved,
Yet in her radiant eye was seen
No proud offence nor pointed spleen;
And as he left her throne supreme,
His ardent spirit to inflame,
She cast that look of matchless art,
That never fail'd on young man's heart,
And said, with sigh, “Hard is my lot!
Had I my will—as I have not!”—
Then bent she down her brow sublime,
And wiped her cheek of beauty's prime.
The winding stair had steps a score—
Prince Haco made them only four;
And when he reach'd the outer gate,
That led from Selma's halls of state,
Adown the steep, from rock to stone,
Light as a kid, he bounded on,
And won the street of Beregon;
Pleased to the soul with his address,
His courage, and his bold success.
Prince Haco made them only four;
And when he reach'd the outer gate,
That led from Selma's halls of state,
Adown the steep, from rock to stone,
Light as a kid, he bounded on,
And won the street of Beregon;
Pleased to the soul with his address,
His courage, and his bold success.
Vain simple youth! thy bosom's queen,
The lovely and mischievous Wene,
On tassell'd footstool of the throne,
In powerless laughter hath sunk down;
And, prince, 'tis all at thy expense—
Thy ardour, truth, and impudence.
The lovely and mischievous Wene,
On tassell'd footstool of the throne,
In powerless laughter hath sunk down;
And, prince, 'tis all at thy expense—
Thy ardour, truth, and impudence.
Loth would Dunedin's daughter be,
T'admit such license, Wene, like thee;
Even though a prince or general came,
Or poet, a much greater name;
For I have seen the mincing thing,
As dancing round the gleesome ring,
A gap leave in our saraband,
And shrink from poet's gloveless hand;
As if the touch of sun-burned palm
Could discompose the level calm
Of virgin blood or sacred core,
Or make the guiltless so no more.
T'admit such license, Wene, like thee;
Even though a prince or general came,
Or poet, a much greater name;
For I have seen the mincing thing,
As dancing round the gleesome ring,
A gap leave in our saraband,
And shrink from poet's gloveless hand;
As if the touch of sun-burned palm
Could discompose the level calm
Of virgin blood or sacred core,
Or make the guiltless so no more.
Oh shame—oh shame!—that such a blot
Should e'er attach to lovely Scot!
Oft have I mark'd the rueful flaw,
And blush'd at what I heard and saw.
No book, however pure each thought,
Though by divine or matron wrote,
Dar'st thou essay aloud to read,
Till every page is duly weigh'd.
And each equivocation eyed,
And conn'd, and all constructions tried;
And then thou skipp'st whole pages o'er,
Of Galt, of Byron, and of Moore.
This have I seen, and grieved anew
At thy constructions so untrue.
Should e'er attach to lovely Scot!
Oft have I mark'd the rueful flaw,
And blush'd at what I heard and saw.
No book, however pure each thought,
Though by divine or matron wrote,
Dar'st thou essay aloud to read,
Till every page is duly weigh'd.
And each equivocation eyed,
And conn'd, and all constructions tried;
And then thou skipp'st whole pages o'er,
Of Galt, of Byron, and of Moore.
This have I seen, and grieved anew
At thy constructions so untrue.
Would'st thou this cherish'd frippery weigh
In reason's scale, 'tis plain as day,
That fishing, hunting on the scent
For what thou know'st was never meant,
Of all indelicacies framed
By heart impure, or folly named,
Is sure the worst, the most confess'd.
Oh, such discoveries well attest
To what research the thoughts are led,
In what a school the mind was bred!
In reason's scale, 'tis plain as day,
That fishing, hunting on the scent
For what thou know'st was never meant,
Of all indelicacies framed
By heart impure, or folly named,
Is sure the worst, the most confess'd.
Oh, such discoveries well attest
To what research the thoughts are led,
In what a school the mind was bred!
In Selma's halls much laughter grew,
And many queries Wene forth drew;
But not one word would she unfold,
Till to the queen the whole she told,
Who smiled, half in delight and pain,
At the unbridled freaks of Wene.
From that day forth, right carefully,
She shunn'd the glance of Haco's eye;
No more as queen he her could see,
And less she did not choose to be;
But some supposed her thoughts were given
To him at least as much as heaven;
While he, most blest illustrious wight,
Was crazed, was drunken with delight.
A queen's own lover! Yes, forsooth—
And such a queen!—O happy youth!
His step grew lighter than the wind,
Aye when he thought of beauteous Hynde;
And often to himself he talk'd,
Smiling and swaggering as he walk'd—
“Well done, Prince Haco! Say who can,
Thou hast not quit thee like a man!”
And many queries Wene forth drew;
But not one word would she unfold,
Till to the queen the whole she told,
Who smiled, half in delight and pain,
At the unbridled freaks of Wene.
From that day forth, right carefully,
She shunn'd the glance of Haco's eye;
No more as queen he her could see,
And less she did not choose to be;
But some supposed her thoughts were given
To him at least as much as heaven;
While he, most blest illustrious wight,
Was crazed, was drunken with delight.
A queen's own lover! Yes, forsooth—
And such a queen!—O happy youth!
His step grew lighter than the wind,
Aye when he thought of beauteous Hynde;
And often to himself he talk'd,
Smiling and swaggering as he walk'd—
“Well done, Prince Haco! Say who can,
Thou hast not quit thee like a man!”
Now every day and every hour
Brought new supplies of Scottish power.
Lochaber's thane came down the coast,
With full seven hundred in his host;
And on the eve of that same day,
Came all the motley tribes of Spey,
Led by a chief of eastern fame,
Mordun Moravius by name.
And from the Dee's wild branching flood,
The rapid Mar, of royal blood,
Brought his grim files, to battle bred,
Against the Pict and Saxon led,
Till for high deeds they were renown'd
The bravest troops on British ground.
Brought new supplies of Scottish power.
Lochaber's thane came down the coast,
With full seven hundred in his host;
And on the eve of that same day,
Came all the motley tribes of Spey,
Led by a chief of eastern fame,
Mordun Moravius by name.
And from the Dee's wild branching flood,
The rapid Mar, of royal blood,
Brought his grim files, to battle bred,
Against the Pict and Saxon led,
Till for high deeds they were renown'd
The bravest troops on British ground.
Then came old Diarmid of Argyle,
With men from many a southern isle.
Round whose domains the waters flow,
From far Cantire to dark Loch-Ow;
Two thousand men, a hardy train,
Rose from these margins of the main.
With men from many a southern isle.
209
From far Cantire to dark Loch-Ow;
Two thousand men, a hardy train,
Rose from these margins of the main.
Then Donald Gorm, the Lord of Skye,
Came down attended gallantly,
With pagan standards broad unfurl'd,
The remnants of a heathen world.
And last, but steadiest of the band,
The loyal Lord of Sutherland
Came with his clans from frith and glen;
And Harold with his Caithness men.
These then the names of highest worth,
That ruled the land from south to north.
Came down attended gallantly,
With pagan standards broad unfurl'd,
The remnants of a heathen world.
And last, but steadiest of the band,
The loyal Lord of Sutherland
Came with his clans from frith and glen;
And Harold with his Caithness men.
These then the names of highest worth,
That ruled the land from south to north.
But, long ere this, the holy seer
Had fail'd at council to appear;
Matins were said, and vespers sung,
In royal hall, by old and young;
But Columba was gone, yet how,
Or when, or whence, they did not know;
While sadness, solemn and resign'd,
Sat on the brow of lovely Hynde.
Had fail'd at council to appear;
Matins were said, and vespers sung,
In royal hall, by old and young;
But Columba was gone, yet how,
Or when, or whence, they did not know;
While sadness, solemn and resign'd,
Sat on the brow of lovely Hynde.
In council there was deep surmise
Why he had gone in secret guise;
Some blamed him for a coward's part,
And some of deep and monkish art;
And all the chiefs arrived of late,
Convened in fiery fierce debate,
Arraign'd his counsels to the last,
The armistice—all that had pass'd.
What shame, they said, to risk with foe
Their queen and country at a blow!
As who could answer for his might,
Or skill, or courage, in the fight?
While the high stakes for which he stood
Sufficient were to chill the blood,
The highest soul the most to alarm,
And wrest the nerve from hero's arm.
In short, one feeling there prevail'd,
A wayward one, to be bewail'd;
It was, that, maugre dangers deep,
That shameful truce they would not keep.
Why he had gone in secret guise;
Some blamed him for a coward's part,
And some of deep and monkish art;
And all the chiefs arrived of late,
Convened in fiery fierce debate,
Arraign'd his counsels to the last,
The armistice—all that had pass'd.
What shame, they said, to risk with foe
Their queen and country at a blow!
As who could answer for his might,
Or skill, or courage, in the fight?
While the high stakes for which he stood
Sufficient were to chill the blood,
The highest soul the most to alarm,
And wrest the nerve from hero's arm.
In short, one feeling there prevail'd,
A wayward one, to be bewail'd;
It was, that, maugre dangers deep,
That shameful truce they would not keep.
“List me, my lords,” said rapid Mar,
That whirlwind in the field of war,
And at the council-board the same,
A very wreath of mounting flame;
While all too many fierce, austere,
Congenial souls of his were there—
“List me. Who was it made the vow
To keep this peace?—Was't I or you?—
Or who this foolish combat set?
Who but a peevish anchoret,
Who knew not of our high command,
Or the resources of the land.
The queen, you say, in council high
Approved the truce: I that deny.
Who is there that our queen should sway
To such a deed when we're away?
We are the land, we'll let them know—
The people and the sovereign too.
Arouse, then, lords, and let us rush
On these rude bears their force to crush;
O'erwhelm them in their bloated den,
That loathsome stye of living men,
And leave them neither root, nor stem,
Nor tongue to howl their requiem!”
That whirlwind in the field of war,
And at the council-board the same,
A very wreath of mounting flame;
While all too many fierce, austere,
Congenial souls of his were there—
“List me. Who was it made the vow
To keep this peace?—Was't I or you?—
Or who this foolish combat set?
Who but a peevish anchoret,
Who knew not of our high command,
Or the resources of the land.
The queen, you say, in council high
Approved the truce: I that deny.
Who is there that our queen should sway
To such a deed when we're away?
We are the land, we'll let them know—
The people and the sovereign too.
Arouse, then, lords, and let us rush
On these rude bears their force to crush;
O'erwhelm them in their bloated den,
That loathsome stye of living men,
And leave them neither root, nor stem,
Nor tongue to howl their requiem!”
“Here is the sword and warrior form
Shall lead the fray!” cried Donald Gorm.
Shall lead the fray!” cried Donald Gorm.
Then rose old Diarmid of Argyle,
With brow severe and placid smile;
Upraised his hand amid the rage,
The wild commotion to assuage,
And thus began:—“My lords, I deem
This truce was made in great extreme,
When none were nigh the foe to check,
Or crown or city to protect;
And, by its breach would we not draw
Disgrace on Albyn's throne and law?
Would it not be more courteous plan,
To fight their champions, man to man?
And if the issue falls aright,
As fall it must to Scottish might,
Then all is well. But should the Norse
Put Albyn's heroes to the worse,
Then be the vigour of our host
Strain'd to the height, else all is lost;
For ne'er to proud presumptuous foe
Must we our queen and crown forego.
I say not how we shall proceed,
Each day's events must rule the deed;
But in one point we'll all agree,
Of foreign thraldom to be free.
I thank you, chiefs, for this regard,
And pray no gasconade be heard,
Till once the important lists be set,
And champions hand to hand have met;
And then, let that eventful day
Our future deeds and counsels sway.”
With brow severe and placid smile;
Upraised his hand amid the rage,
The wild commotion to assuage,
And thus began:—“My lords, I deem
This truce was made in great extreme,
When none were nigh the foe to check,
Or crown or city to protect;
And, by its breach would we not draw
Disgrace on Albyn's throne and law?
Would it not be more courteous plan,
To fight their champions, man to man?
And if the issue falls aright,
As fall it must to Scottish might,
Then all is well. But should the Norse
Put Albyn's heroes to the worse,
Then be the vigour of our host
Strain'd to the height, else all is lost;
For ne'er to proud presumptuous foe
Must we our queen and crown forego.
I say not how we shall proceed,
Each day's events must rule the deed;
But in one point we'll all agree,
Of foreign thraldom to be free.
I thank you, chiefs, for this regard,
And pray no gasconade be heard,
Till once the important lists be set,
And champions hand to hand have met;
And then, let that eventful day
Our future deeds and counsels sway.”
Assent ensued, but some there were
Who look'd with discontented air.
The chief of these, the Lord of Skye,
Bit his proud lip, and bent his eye,
And muttered some impatient say
Of the intolerance of delay.
With right or wrong, he long'd for blows
With Albyn's fierce invading foes,
Who long, on prey and havoc keen,
To him had pesterous neighbours been;
But voices bore it, and the while
The suffrages were for Argyle.
Who look'd with discontented air.
The chief of these, the Lord of Skye,
Bit his proud lip, and bent his eye,
And muttered some impatient say
Of the intolerance of delay.
With right or wrong, he long'd for blows
With Albyn's fierce invading foes,
Who long, on prey and havoc keen,
To him had pesterous neighbours been;
But voices bore it, and the while
The suffrages were for Argyle.
That ancient chief again address'd
His stern compeers, and warmly press'd
Of peace the strong necessity,
Mix'd with their foes as they would be;
And further said, “I grieve to hear
Dishonour cast on Albyn's seer;
A man, the most upright and true,
That e'er our sinful nation knew;
Whose warmest prayers, and highest zeal,
Are all for Scotland's worth and weal.
Where he has gone, I can't divine,
But for his truth the pledge be mine.
Of word and honour, that the saint
On scheme for our behoof is bent.
Either on secret mission sped
To Christian prince for timely aid,
Or else in fasting day and night
Before his God, in piteous plight;
For all our sins imploring Heaven
That they in mercy be forgiven;
And that this land, within whose bound,
The Cross of Christ a rest hath found,
May 'scape this overwhelming snare,
And still be God's peculiar care.
His stern compeers, and warmly press'd
Of peace the strong necessity,
Mix'd with their foes as they would be;
And further said, “I grieve to hear
Dishonour cast on Albyn's seer;
210
That e'er our sinful nation knew;
Whose warmest prayers, and highest zeal,
Are all for Scotland's worth and weal.
Where he has gone, I can't divine,
But for his truth the pledge be mine.
Of word and honour, that the saint
On scheme for our behoof is bent.
Either on secret mission sped
To Christian prince for timely aid,
Or else in fasting day and night
Before his God, in piteous plight;
For all our sins imploring Heaven
That they in mercy be forgiven;
And that this land, within whose bound,
The Cross of Christ a rest hath found,
May 'scape this overwhelming snare,
And still be God's peculiar care.
“Nor deem this naught. In olden time,
In writings holy and sublime,
Strong instances stand on record
Of times unnumber'd, when the Lord,
At the request of prophets, rent
The floors of heaven and succour sent.
In writings holy and sublime,
Strong instances stand on record
Of times unnumber'd, when the Lord,
At the request of prophets, rent
The floors of heaven and succour sent.
“There stands one record, never lost,
Of captain of the Lord's own host,
Who pray'd on Gilgal's plain by night
Against the invading Amorite;
And lo! the heaven's dark breast distended,
And from its hideous folds descended
Hailstones of such enormous frame,
Like broken pillars down they came,
Or fragments, splinter'd and uneven,
Of rocks shook from the hills of heaven.
Upon the Amorite's marshall'd power
Was cast down this appalling shower,
Till thousands of their proud array
Deform'd and shatter'd corses lay.
Of captain of the Lord's own host,
Who pray'd on Gilgal's plain by night
Against the invading Amorite;
And lo! the heaven's dark breast distended,
And from its hideous folds descended
Hailstones of such enormous frame,
Like broken pillars down they came,
Or fragments, splinter'd and uneven,
Of rocks shook from the hills of heaven.
Upon the Amorite's marshall'd power
Was cast down this appalling shower,
Till thousands of their proud array
Deform'd and shatter'd corses lay.
“Sill God's dread work was but begun:
At man's behest he stay'd the sun;
Arrested, fix'd in heaven, he shone,
And the moon paused o'er Ajalon;
Until the arm of man had done
What arm of angel had begun.
Then let no sinner, old or young,
Against a prophet wag his tongue,
Lest vengeance on his head befall,
And bring down wrath upon us all.
At man's behest he stay'd the sun;
Arrested, fix'd in heaven, he shone,
And the moon paused o'er Ajalon;
Until the arm of man had done
What arm of angel had begun.
Then let no sinner, old or young,
Against a prophet wag his tongue,
Lest vengeance on his head befall,
And bring down wrath upon us all.
“At holy Samuel's sacrifice,
Fierce lightnings issued from the skies,
In streams so rapid and so dire,
The firmament seem'd all on fire:
And then such thunders roll'd abroad,
As ne'er burst from the throne of God;
Till Mizpah hill, in terrors wild,
Rock'd like the cradle of a child,
Then yawn'd, and swallow'd quick to hell
The enemies of Israel.
The remnant turn'd, and fled away,
In utter horror and dismay;
Without a blow they were cut down,
And all their country overthrown.—
There is but one thing on the earth
I hold as unexcell'd in worth;
It is (and who its scope may scan?)
The prayer of a righteous man.
And firmly as I trust in this
That I've a spirit made for bliss,
I do, that this divine of ours
Is trusted by the heavenly powers.”
Fierce lightnings issued from the skies,
In streams so rapid and so dire,
The firmament seem'd all on fire:
And then such thunders roll'd abroad,
As ne'er burst from the throne of God;
Till Mizpah hill, in terrors wild,
Rock'd like the cradle of a child,
Then yawn'd, and swallow'd quick to hell
The enemies of Israel.
The remnant turn'd, and fled away,
In utter horror and dismay;
Without a blow they were cut down,
And all their country overthrown.—
There is but one thing on the earth
I hold as unexcell'd in worth;
It is (and who its scope may scan?)
The prayer of a righteous man.
And firmly as I trust in this
That I've a spirit made for bliss,
I do, that this divine of ours
Is trusted by the heavenly powers.”
The Lord of Skye sprung from his chair,
And waving both his arms in air,
Thus said, in loud impassion'd twang:
“What boots this starch'd and stale harangue?
Has this old driveller of the Isle
Made canting monk of old Argyle?
If so, I boldly would suggest
To shun their counsel as a pest.
Who deems the cheifs of Albyn's reign
Of dogged churl can bear the chain,
Or stoop their lineage to disgrace?
Let bedesman keep to bedesman's place;
Stick to his bedework and his beads,
His crosiers and his canting creeds;
For should he more, or say I wis,
That Donald Gorm is that or this,
Or small or great, or weak or strong,
Or meek or proud, or right or wrong,
By the dread soul of Selma's king,
The dotard from the rock I'll fling!”—
The nobles answer'd with a smile,
And sided all with old Argyle.
And waving both his arms in air,
Thus said, in loud impassion'd twang:
“What boots this starch'd and stale harangue?
Has this old driveller of the Isle
Made canting monk of old Argyle?
If so, I boldly would suggest
To shun their counsel as a pest.
Who deems the cheifs of Albyn's reign
Of dogged churl can bear the chain,
Or stoop their lineage to disgrace?
Let bedesman keep to bedesman's place;
Stick to his bedework and his beads,
His crosiers and his canting creeds;
For should he more, or say I wis,
That Donald Gorm is that or this,
Or small or great, or weak or strong,
Or meek or proud, or right or wrong,
By the dread soul of Selma's king,
The dotard from the rock I'll fling!”—
The nobles answer'd with a smile,
And sided all with old Argyle.
“But where is good Columba gone?
Why has he left the tottering throne
In time of trial and of woe?”
I hear thee ask, and thou must know,
Fair maiden, patroness of mine,
As far as I, of his design.
Why has he left the tottering throne
In time of trial and of woe?”
I hear thee ask, and thou must know,
Fair maiden, patroness of mine,
As far as I, of his design.
That very night the truce was made,
After the saint his prayers had said,
In lonely cell his couch he chose,
Not for the slumbers of repose,
But that no worldly listening ear
His communings with God might hear;
And there he hymns to Jesus sung,
Till utterance died upon his tongue,
And sleep her genial unguent shed
Soft round the good man's hoary head.
Then all his visions were of bliss,
In other climes and worlds than this.
After the saint his prayers had said,
In lonely cell his couch he chose,
Not for the slumbers of repose,
But that no worldly listening ear
His communings with God might hear;
And there he hymns to Jesus sung,
Till utterance died upon his tongue,
And sleep her genial unguent shed
Soft round the good man's hoary head.
Then all his visions were of bliss,
In other climes and worlds than this.
That night to him a vision came,
Like form of elemental flame,
That seem'd some messenger of grace,
But yet it wore a human face,
With lineaments the saint had seen,
But in what land he could not ween.
“Dost thou remember me?” it said.
Columba raised his reverend head,
And sore his memory did strain
At recollection, but in vain:
But the bright shadow, he could see,
Some semblage bore of royalty.
Like form of elemental flame,
That seem'd some messenger of grace,
But yet it wore a human face,
With lineaments the saint had seen,
But in what land he could not ween.
211
Columba raised his reverend head,
And sore his memory did strain
At recollection, but in vain:
But the bright shadow, he could see,
Some semblage bore of royalty.
The phantom form of lambent flame
Waited a while, then nigher came,
And said, with deep and hollow moan,
In sorrow's most subduing tone—
“Woe's me, that thou remember'st not
Thy early friend! and hast forgot
That once to him thou vow'dst a vow,
'Twas for a child—Where is he now?
The first of Albyn's race supreme
Thou didst baptize in Jesus' name—
Where is he now? thou must him find;
For he of all the human kind
Is rightful heir, and he alone,
To Caledonia's ancient throne,
In which 'tis destined he must reign,
Else it is lost to Albyn's line.
Think of my words; the time is now;
Sacred and solemn was the vow.
If he appears not on this coast,
The nation's liberty is lost.”
Waited a while, then nigher came,
And said, with deep and hollow moan,
In sorrow's most subduing tone—
“Woe's me, that thou remember'st not
Thy early friend! and hast forgot
That once to him thou vow'dst a vow,
'Twas for a child—Where is he now?
The first of Albyn's race supreme
Thou didst baptize in Jesus' name—
Where is he now? thou must him find;
For he of all the human kind
Is rightful heir, and he alone,
To Caledonia's ancient throne,
In which 'tis destined he must reign,
Else it is lost to Albyn's line.
Think of my words; the time is now;
Sacred and solemn was the vow.
If he appears not on this coast,
The nation's liberty is lost.”
“Yes, I remember word and time,”
Columba said, in tone sublime;
“And sacred vow I made to thee,
And straight perform'd that vow shall be.
My early friend; and art thou come,
From thy far-off, eternal home,
To warn me of the times to be,
And of thy people's destiny?
I'll treasure up thy words and go,
And do what arm of flesh can do,
To bring that prince back to the land
Where he is destined to command.
To keep that vow I'll not decline;
But say, my friend, what fate is thine?
Where hast thou sojourn'd since thy death—
In heaven above, or hell beneath?
Oft have I dared of God to crave
Some tidings from beyond the grave;
Now they are come. For love of Heaven,
Be this unto thy servant given.
Tell me of all that thou hast seen
In heaven, or hell, or place between!”
Columba said, in tone sublime;
“And sacred vow I made to thee,
And straight perform'd that vow shall be.
My early friend; and art thou come,
From thy far-off, eternal home,
To warn me of the times to be,
And of thy people's destiny?
I'll treasure up thy words and go,
And do what arm of flesh can do,
To bring that prince back to the land
Where he is destined to command.
To keep that vow I'll not decline;
But say, my friend, what fate is thine?
Where hast thou sojourn'd since thy death—
In heaven above, or hell beneath?
Oft have I dared of God to crave
Some tidings from beyond the grave;
Now they are come. For love of Heaven,
Be this unto thy servant given.
Tell me of all that thou hast seen
In heaven, or hell, or place between!”
“No!” said the spirit, raising high
His brow sublime with kindling eye,
And shaking locks that stream'd as bright
As the first rays of morning light—
“No!—Who to mortal thing would send
Tidings he cannot comprehend?
Till once the bourn of death is pass'd,
A veil o'er all beyond is cast,
That future things conceal'd may lie,
Hid from the glance of sinful eye;
For mortal tongue may never name,
Nor human soul presume to frame,
The scenes beyond the grave that lie
In shadows of eternity.
Concealment suits thy being best;
Then oh, in darkness let them rest!
When thou and I shall meet again,
Whether in land of living pain,
Or in the vales above the sky,
Then thou shalt know as much as I.”
His brow sublime with kindling eye,
And shaking locks that stream'd as bright
As the first rays of morning light—
“No!—Who to mortal thing would send
Tidings he cannot comprehend?
Till once the bourn of death is pass'd,
A veil o'er all beyond is cast,
That future things conceal'd may lie,
Hid from the glance of sinful eye;
For mortal tongue may never name,
Nor human soul presume to frame,
The scenes beyond the grave that lie
In shadows of eternity.
Concealment suits thy being best;
Then oh, in darkness let them rest!
When thou and I shall meet again,
Whether in land of living pain,
Or in the vales above the sky,
Then thou shalt know as much as I.”
Columba, listening, paused in dread;
He look'd again, the form was fled!
'Twas that of Christian Conran gone,
Who once had sat on Albyn's throne.
A king of mighty name was he,
And famed for grace and piety.
He died. His brother seized his crown;
Eugene, a king of great renown.
And left it, as before defined,
Unto his daughter, lovely Hynde.
When Conran died, Columba then
Bore his young son across the main,
As he had sworn, with pious breath,
To Conran on his bed of death;
And gave the infant to the hand
Of Colmar, King of Erin's land.
He look'd again, the form was fled!
'Twas that of Christian Conran gone,
Who once had sat on Albyn's throne.
A king of mighty name was he,
And famed for grace and piety.
He died. His brother seized his crown;
Eugene, a king of great renown.
And left it, as before defined,
Unto his daughter, lovely Hynde.
When Conran died, Columba then
Bore his young son across the main,
As he had sworn, with pious breath,
To Conran on his bed of death;
And gave the infant to the hand
Of Colmar, King of Erin's land.
That king, who ruled a people wild,
Was grandsire to the comely child;
And train'd that stem of royal name
To everything a prince became;
With fix'd resolve, at his own death,
To him his kingdom to bequeath.
Thus both the realms contented were,
With laws, with government, and heir;
And good Columba thought no more
Of vow that exile to restore;
For peace he cherish'd—peace alone—
'Mong all who bow'd at Jesus' throne.
Was grandsire to the comely child;
And train'd that stem of royal name
To everything a prince became;
With fix'd resolve, at his own death,
To him his kingdom to bequeath.
Thus both the realms contented were,
With laws, with government, and heir;
And good Columba thought no more
Of vow that exile to restore;
For peace he cherish'd—peace alone—
'Mong all who bow'd at Jesus' throne.
But now this message from the dead
New light upon the future shed.
It was a dream; but it was truth;
A vow had issued from his mouth,
A sacred vow, that child to guard,
And use his influence revered,
Again to bring him to his own
And father's long descended crown.
New light upon the future shed.
It was a dream; but it was truth;
A vow had issued from his mouth,
A sacred vow, that child to guard,
And use his influence revered,
Again to bring him to his own
And father's long descended crown.
Columba rose at midnight deep,
And roused his followers from their sleep;
Sailors and monks, a motley corps,
And straight they hasten'd to the shore,
Upheaved the anchor silently,
Unfurl'd the sails, and put to sea.—
“For Erin straight,” Columba cried;
“At Colmar's court, whate'er betide,
I needs must be without delay;
No time be lost!—speed we away!”
His word was law; the vessel flew
Across the waters, waving blue,
With her dark sails, and darker train,
Like mournful meteor of the main.
Albyn's apostle's fervent prayer
With Heaven prevail'd, the winds were fair;
These, with the tides, and billows prone,
Seem'd all combined to bear her on.
With swiftness of the soaring swan,
She foam'd, she murmur'd, and she ran,
Till safe within Temora bay,
Like thing outworn, she leaning lay.
And roused his followers from their sleep;
Sailors and monks, a motley corps,
And straight they hasten'd to the shore,
Upheaved the anchor silently,
Unfurl'd the sails, and put to sea.—
“For Erin straight,” Columba cried;
“At Colmar's court, whate'er betide,
I needs must be without delay;
No time be lost!—speed we away!”
His word was law; the vessel flew
Across the waters, waving blue,
212
Like mournful meteor of the main.
Albyn's apostle's fervent prayer
With Heaven prevail'd, the winds were fair;
These, with the tides, and billows prone,
Seem'd all combined to bear her on.
With swiftness of the soaring swan,
She foam'd, she murmur'd, and she ran,
Till safe within Temora bay,
Like thing outworn, she leaning lay.
King Colmar, at an early hour,
Was looking from his topmost tower,
And saw the bark before the gale,
Speeding her course with oar and sail.—
“This visit bodes no good,” said he.
“What brings these truant monks to me?
Either they come for some supply
To their new-founded sanctuary,
Or warlike force, to cross the main,
And prop their young usurper's reign.
They shall have neither, by yon sun!
Small good to Erin have they done;
For though this father bears a name
Of sanctitude and reverend fame
I've always found that horde a pest,
An ulcer, and a hornet's nest.
Their cause is lost ere they appear;
I'm quite in mood their suit to hear.”—
Was looking from his topmost tower,
And saw the bark before the gale,
Speeding her course with oar and sail.—
“This visit bodes no good,” said he.
“What brings these truant monks to me?
Either they come for some supply
To their new-founded sanctuary,
Or warlike force, to cross the main,
And prop their young usurper's reign.
They shall have neither, by yon sun!
Small good to Erin have they done;
For though this father bears a name
Of sanctitude and reverend fame
I've always found that horde a pest,
An ulcer, and a hornet's nest.
Their cause is lost ere they appear;
I'm quite in mood their suit to hear.”—
Columba came—his message said—
Old Colmar smiled, and shook his head.
“The prince,” said he, “is far from this,
Fighting my enemies and his.
But as well might you ask of me
My crown and kingdom seriously.
Whom have I now my foes to quell?
Or tame my subjects that rebel?
Or who at last my crown to wear,
But he, my kinsman and my heir?”
Old Colmar smiled, and shook his head.
“The prince,” said he, “is far from this,
Fighting my enemies and his.
But as well might you ask of me
My crown and kingdom seriously.
Whom have I now my foes to quell?
Or tame my subjects that rebel?
Or who at last my crown to wear,
But he, my kinsman and my heir?”
“Oh, King of Erin, hear me speak,
And see the tears on my wan cheek,
I seek the prince, his own to gain;
In Albyn his the right to reign.
And well thou know'st I made a vow,
Ere I consign'd the child to you,
All my poor influence to strain
To bring him to his own domain.
Now, such the crisis on our coast,
There's not one instant to be lost.
The powerful Eric of the north
Has drawn his heathen myriads forth.
Who, at this moment, lie around
Old Beregonium's sacred ground.
He beat our warriors on the coast,
And braves them as a nerveless host,
Threatening their force to overgo,
And lay the towers of Selma low,
Unless he's granted, without frown,
To wed their queen and wear their crown.
A transient truce is sign'd and seal'd,
Till adverse champions on the field
Shall meet, and strive in mortal game,
Each for his own and country's fame;
And whosoe'er the victory gains
Wins Albyn's queen and her domains.”
And see the tears on my wan cheek,
I seek the prince, his own to gain;
In Albyn his the right to reign.
And well thou know'st I made a vow,
Ere I consign'd the child to you,
All my poor influence to strain
To bring him to his own domain.
Now, such the crisis on our coast,
There's not one instant to be lost.
The powerful Eric of the north
Has drawn his heathen myriads forth.
Who, at this moment, lie around
Old Beregonium's sacred ground.
He beat our warriors on the coast,
And braves them as a nerveless host,
Threatening their force to overgo,
And lay the towers of Selma low,
Unless he's granted, without frown,
To wed their queen and wear their crown.
A transient truce is sign'd and seal'd,
Till adverse champions on the field
Shall meet, and strive in mortal game,
Each for his own and country's fame;
And whosoe'er the victory gains
Wins Albyn's queen and her domains.”
Old Colmar paused, and turn'd him round,
His dim eye fix'd upon the ground;
And thrice he stroked his bearded chin,
While voices murmur'd him within.
His face was like a winter eve,
When clouds arise and billows heave,
And hinds look to the western skies,
Uncertain where the storm shall rise;
Or whether, mixing with the main,
It may not all subside again.
His dim eye fix'd upon the ground;
And thrice he stroked his bearded chin,
While voices murmur'd him within.
His face was like a winter eve,
When clouds arise and billows heave,
And hinds look to the western skies,
Uncertain where the storm shall rise;
Or whether, mixing with the main,
It may not all subside again.
So stood the king, with ardour fraught,
The model of suspense and thought;
Then cross'd his arms upon his breast,
And thus the yearning sire address'd:
“Now, by my father's sword and shield,
If this be true thou hast reveal'd,
The prize hath in its scope a charm
That well befits a hero's arm.
There was a day, but it is past,
When this arm had not been the last
In such a high and martial play;
Though it had led my steps away
Through flood and fire, o'er shore and main,
To wastes beneath the polar wain,
Or lands that warrior never won,
Beyond the rising of the sun.
Gods! how the high and glorious theme
Lights this old heart with living flame!
The model of suspense and thought;
Then cross'd his arms upon his breast,
And thus the yearning sire address'd:
“Now, by my father's sword and shield,
If this be true thou hast reveal'd,
The prize hath in its scope a charm
That well befits a hero's arm.
There was a day, but it is past,
When this arm had not been the last
In such a high and martial play;
Though it had led my steps away
Through flood and fire, o'er shore and main,
To wastes beneath the polar wain,
Or lands that warrior never won,
Beyond the rising of the sun.
Gods! how the high and glorious theme
Lights this old heart with living flame!
“For some few days remain with me,
And as thou lists thy cheer shall be.
Of wine and feasting have thy fill;
But if perchance it be thy will
To fast and pray, by Heaven, I'll not
Baulk such devotion—not a jot!
With prince and nobles of my court
I must have speech of high import,
Of your demand, and then expect
An answer downright and direct.”
And as thou lists thy cheer shall be.
Of wine and feasting have thy fill;
But if perchance it be thy will
To fast and pray, by Heaven, I'll not
Baulk such devotion—not a jot!
With prince and nobles of my court
I must have speech of high import,
Of your demand, and then expect
An answer downright and direct.”
“O sovereign liege, great is the need
For answer most direct indeed;
Else, ere we reach the Scottish shore,
The eventful combat may be o'er;
And I had message from the grave
That he alone our land could save.”
For answer most direct indeed;
Else, ere we reach the Scottish shore,
The eventful combat may be o'er;
And I had message from the grave
That he alone our land could save.”
“What! From the grave?—Pray thee, relate
How, where, and why this fact so late;
Came there a voice direct from God?
Or came it oozing through the sod,
Where purple flow'rets weep and bloom
Above the warrior's bloody tomb?
Say, was it so? For if it came
From grave of monk, 'tis scarce the same.”
How, where, and why this fact so late;
Came there a voice direct from God?
Or came it oozing through the sod,
Where purple flow'rets weep and bloom
Above the warrior's bloody tomb?
213
From grave of monk, 'tis scarce the same.”
“'Twas in a dream the spirit spoke.”
“Ha! In a dream?—'Tis all a joke!
I've had such dreams—such visions seen;
But what an idiot I had been
If I had dared on them rely!
But hadst thou seen, as oft have I,
Thy father's soul rise in his shroud,
From out the waste, like livid cloud,
In awful guise, without control
To wax and wane, and writhe and roll;
Approaching thee like giant grim,
With locks of mist and eyeballs dim;
And while the hairs crept on thy head,
And all thy frame shook like a reed,
If thou hadst heard a language run
Into thy soul, as I have done,
Then had I deem'd thy message sent
By some great power beneficent,
That rules around, above, below,
One whom I dread, but do not know.
But, as it is, it goes for nought;
I hope I hold it as I ought.”
I've had such dreams—such visions seen;
But what an idiot I had been
If I had dared on them rely!
But hadst thou seen, as oft have I,
Thy father's soul rise in his shroud,
From out the waste, like livid cloud,
In awful guise, without control
To wax and wane, and writhe and roll;
Approaching thee like giant grim,
With locks of mist and eyeballs dim;
And while the hairs crept on thy head,
And all thy frame shook like a reed,
If thou hadst heard a language run
Into thy soul, as I have done,
Then had I deem'd thy message sent
By some great power beneficent,
That rules around, above, below,
One whom I dread, but do not know.
But, as it is, it goes for nought;
I hope I hold it as I ought.”
King Colmar turn'd him round, and left
The seer well nigh of hope bereft,
Grieving with tears for Albyn's fate,
Her destiny, and perilous state.
But leave we him, by rock and wood,
To kneel, and pray, and kiss the rood,
And follow Colmar to his hall,
Where stood the prince and nobles all.
The seer well nigh of hope bereft,
Grieving with tears for Albyn's fate,
Her destiny, and perilous state.
But leave we him, by rock and wood,
To kneel, and pray, and kiss the rood,
And follow Colmar to his hall,
Where stood the prince and nobles all.
He told them all full sullenly.
Prince Eiden danced in youthful glee,
And shouted till the armour rung
Against the wall, and sounding swung.
“Come, let us go! Come, my Cuithone,
And, Parlan, put your armour on;
If men on earth can beat us three,
Mightier than mortals they must be.
My heart is burning in my breast
To meet King Eric in the list:
Yes, brand to brand, and face to face,
Down goes the boast of Odin's race!
Come, let us haste, the time is near,
For sake of all to warriors dear!”
Prince Eiden danced in youthful glee,
And shouted till the armour rung
Against the wall, and sounding swung.
“Come, let us go! Come, my Cuithone,
And, Parlan, put your armour on;
If men on earth can beat us three,
Mightier than mortals they must be.
My heart is burning in my breast
To meet King Eric in the list:
Yes, brand to brand, and face to face,
Down goes the boast of Odin's race!
Come, let us haste, the time is near,
For sake of all to warriors dear!”
King Colmar's lip, with anger dumb,
Stiffen'd beneath his toothless gum;
And his white eye-brows scowl'd as deep
As snow-cloud o'er the wintry steep,
As up he strode to Eiden's eye,
Shaking his palsied hand on high.
“Thou babbler's brood of bounce and bang!
Thou lion's cub without the fang!
Think'st thou thy weetless warrior rage
Can be endured by sober age,
Well versed in deep affairs of state,
And by experience made sedate?
I tell thee, prince, in speech downright,
One foot thou goest not from my sight,
On such a raffle—made for fools,
The lowest of ambition's tools.
Stiffen'd beneath his toothless gum;
And his white eye-brows scowl'd as deep
As snow-cloud o'er the wintry steep,
As up he strode to Eiden's eye,
Shaking his palsied hand on high.
“Thou babbler's brood of bounce and bang!
Thou lion's cub without the fang!
Think'st thou thy weetless warrior rage
Can be endured by sober age,
Well versed in deep affairs of state,
And by experience made sedate?
I tell thee, prince, in speech downright,
One foot thou goest not from my sight,
On such a raffle—made for fools,
The lowest of ambition's tools.
“Dost thou not see 'tis all intrigue,
A cursed and formidable league,
To wile thee hence, and take thy life,
On wild pretence of warrior strife?
There is no lord in Caledon
Who does not hope to fill thy throne,
And from high interest's sure to be
Thy sworn and mortal enemy.
A cursed and formidable league,
To wile thee hence, and take thy life,
On wild pretence of warrior strife?
There is no lord in Caledon
Who does not hope to fill thy throne,
And from high interest's sure to be
Thy sworn and mortal enemy.
“Then go not to that fatal strand,
Nor leave thy old protector's hand,
Who has no hope but in thy sway,
Nor comfort when thou art away.
Were it to fight our common foe,
As Prince of Erin thou should'st go,
With such an army in thy rear,
That force or guile I should not fear.
But to this game of fools to go,
And combat with thou know'st not who,—
I make a vow was never broke,
A promise that I'll not revoke,
By the great Spirit I adore,
One foot thou mov'st not from this shore!”
Nor leave thy old protector's hand,
Who has no hope but in thy sway,
Nor comfort when thou art away.
Were it to fight our common foe,
As Prince of Erin thou should'st go,
With such an army in thy rear,
That force or guile I should not fear.
But to this game of fools to go,
And combat with thou know'st not who,—
I make a vow was never broke,
A promise that I'll not revoke,
By the great Spirit I adore,
One foot thou mov'st not from this shore!”
The prince a low obeisance made,
But his fair face was flush'd with red,
Which Colmar saw, and still his ire
The hotter blazed like spreading fire;
And sore he threaten'd, in his rage,
To chain the prince in iron cage,
Rather than suffer him to roam
Blustering about another home,
And raving of a thing so low—
A war of pedantry and show.
But his fair face was flush'd with red,
Which Colmar saw, and still his ire
The hotter blazed like spreading fire;
And sore he threaten'd, in his rage,
To chain the prince in iron cage,
Rather than suffer him to roam
Blustering about another home,
And raving of a thing so low—
A war of pedantry and show.
Straight to the seer then Colmar went,
Part of his jealousy to vent;
And neither sanctity of name,
Nor mien revered, could ward the same.
He told him roundly he was sent,
On base intrigue, to circumvent
The prince's progress to the throne,
And cut him off by guile alone.
Then talk'd, in haughtiness and wrath,
Of renegades from ancient faith,
Who, maugre all their humble airs,
Were ne'er to trust in state affairs.
Part of his jealousy to vent;
And neither sanctity of name,
Nor mien revered, could ward the same.
He told him roundly he was sent,
On base intrigue, to circumvent
The prince's progress to the throne,
And cut him off by guile alone.
Then talk'd, in haughtiness and wrath,
Of renegades from ancient faith,
Who, maugre all their humble airs,
Were ne'er to trust in state affairs.
Columba smiled, and with an eye,
That shone through tears, said fervently.
“O sire, withhold the rash resolve,
And vow, which thou canst not dissolve,
Say not thy Saviour to aggrieve.
In him dost thou not yet believe?”
That shone through tears, said fervently.
“O sire, withhold the rash resolve,
And vow, which thou canst not dissolve,
Say not thy Saviour to aggrieve.
In him dost thou not yet believe?”
“No, not one jot!” King Colmar said:
“I worship, as my fathers did,
The King of heaven omnipotent,
And yon bright sun, his vicegerent;
And when he hides his face from me,
I kneel beneath the green oak tree.
But thou hast made the prince a fool,
By the weak tenets of thy school;
All founded on a woman's words,
Which ill with sovereignty accords.
I'll none of them! And, once for all,
Leave thou my shore, lest worse befall;
Nor ask thou that which is not fit—
To see the prince I'll not permit;
And if thou art not under way
Before the noontide of the day,
Perhaps a bed and sleep thou'lt find
Ill suiting thy ambitious mind.”
“I worship, as my fathers did,
214
And yon bright sun, his vicegerent;
And when he hides his face from me,
I kneel beneath the green oak tree.
But thou hast made the prince a fool,
By the weak tenets of thy school;
All founded on a woman's words,
Which ill with sovereignty accords.
I'll none of them! And, once for all,
Leave thou my shore, lest worse befall;
Nor ask thou that which is not fit—
To see the prince I'll not permit;
And if thou art not under way
Before the noontide of the day,
Perhaps a bed and sleep thou'lt find
Ill suiting thy ambitious mind.”
Columba for forgiveness pray'd
On the old heathen's hoary head;
Then fled his fierce and angry glance,
Groaning in heart for the mischance,
That thus of hope his soul bereft,
And Albyn to destruction left.
On the old heathen's hoary head;
Then fled his fierce and angry glance,
Groaning in heart for the mischance,
That thus of hope his soul bereft,
And Albyn to destruction left.
The sable bark went out to sea,
Lashing and leaning to the lee;
But northward when she turn'd her prow,
She met the tide in adverse flow;
And the north breeze, in boastful sough,
Told them, in language plain enough,
That all their force of sail and oar
Would fail in making Albyn's shore.
Lashing and leaning to the lee;
But northward when she turn'd her prow,
She met the tide in adverse flow;
And the north breeze, in boastful sough,
Told them, in language plain enough,
That all their force of sail and oar
Would fail in making Albyn's shore.
To brave the king they had no mind,
But northward toil'd against the wind
Till midnight; then, at change of tide,
To a small creek they turn'd aside.
Of sailor monks there were but few;
And the dull lazy rower crew
Declared no farther they could wend,
Though that should prove their journey's end.
But northward toil'd against the wind
Till midnight; then, at change of tide,
To a small creek they turn'd aside.
Of sailor monks there were but few;
And the dull lazy rower crew
Declared no farther they could wend,
Though that should prove their journey's end.
Unless in time of utmost need,
Columba held it high misdeed
To weary Heaven with earnest suit.
But danger now, and want to boot,
Obliged him humbly to apply
To his kind Maker, presently
Help to afford, by tide or wind,
Or by the hand of human kind.
Columba held it high misdeed
To weary Heaven with earnest suit.
But danger now, and want to boot,
Obliged him humbly to apply
To his kind Maker, presently
Help to afford, by tide or wind,
Or by the hand of human kind.
The creek was all retired and bare,
Nor hamlet, hall, nor cot was there;
Yet one approaching they could see,
Ere the good man rose from his knee.
Down from the cliff the being strode,
Like angel sent direct from God,
To guide the father and his train
Back to their home amid the main.
Nor hamlet, hall, nor cot was there;
Yet one approaching they could see,
Ere the good man rose from his knee.
Down from the cliff the being strode,
Like angel sent direct from God,
To guide the father and his train
Back to their home amid the main.
The sun had just begun to flame
Above the coast of Cunninghame,
When this strange guest with caution drew
Toward our cowl'd and motley crew.
His step was firm, his stature tall;
Cunning, and strength, combined with all
The rudeness of the savage kerne,
Kythed in his hideous face altern.
His feet were sandall'd, and his coat
Made of the hide of mountain goat.
His dark locks, matted and unshorn,
Had ne'er been comb'd since he was born.
A russet plaid hung to his knee;
In sooth, a fearful wight was he!
Above the coast of Cunninghame,
When this strange guest with caution drew
Toward our cowl'd and motley crew.
His step was firm, his stature tall;
Cunning, and strength, combined with all
The rudeness of the savage kerne,
Kythed in his hideous face altern.
His feet were sandall'd, and his coat
Made of the hide of mountain goat.
His dark locks, matted and unshorn,
Had ne'er been comb'd since he was born.
A russet plaid hung to his knee;
In sooth, a fearful wight was he!
Few were his words, when words were said;
But, ah! his looks compensement made—
Where terror, wonder, fierceness, rose,
By turns, on youthful face morose.
The monks at times upon him smiled,
Then trembled at his gestures wild.
But, ah! his looks compensement made—
Where terror, wonder, fierceness, rose,
By turns, on youthful face morose.
The monks at times upon him smiled,
Then trembled at his gestures wild.
Columba wist not what to do—
To ask his aid, or let him go.
He saw his followers ill inclined
Towards the rude uncourtly hind;
And some even whisper'd in his ear,
He was some fiend of other sphere.
Still, being at the moment given,
While aid had been implored from Heaven,
The sire conceived, that duty press'd
Some further knowledge of his guest.
To ask his aid, or let him go.
He saw his followers ill inclined
Towards the rude uncourtly hind;
And some even whisper'd in his ear,
He was some fiend of other sphere.
Still, being at the moment given,
While aid had been implored from Heaven,
The sire conceived, that duty press'd
Some further knowledge of his guest.
He call'd him in before his face.
The youth advanced with giant pace;
While his elf locks, of dew to dry,
He wildly shook above his eye,
Folded his rude plaid o'er his knee,
Look'd at his leg of symmetry,
Next at his sword, that trail'd behind—
An oaken club without the rind—
Then stood in half averted way,
To listen what the sire would say.
The youth advanced with giant pace;
While his elf locks, of dew to dry,
He wildly shook above his eye,
Folded his rude plaid o'er his knee,
Look'd at his leg of symmetry,
Next at his sword, that trail'd behind—
An oaken club without the rind—
Then stood in half averted way,
To listen what the sire would say.
He told his name, his age, his wit,
And all for which his strength was fit;
But in such terms, the sire was moved
To mirth, which ill his frame behoved.
MacUiston was the varlet's name;
He could not say from whence he came,
But he was born beyond the sea,
And there again he long'd to be.
“What sea?” was ask'd. He look'd askance;
And oh what pride was in his glance,
As he return'd, in giggling tone,
“Who ever heard of sea but one?”—
Oh, he could row, and he could sail,
And guide the rudder in the gale;
And he could make the vessel glide,
Wriggling against the wind and tide.
By his own tale, he was such man
As ne'er from jib to rudder ran;
But all their proffers of reward
He scorn'd, and held of no regard,
Till once they mention'd warrior brand,
When they arrived on Scotia's strand.
Then kindled the barbarian's eye,
He flew on board with rapturous cry;
And from his side his club he flung,
That in the fold of mantle swung,
Like sheathed sword; then, with a shock,
He wrench'd the hawser from the rock;
And ere the monkish crew had time
The Virgin's sacred name to chime,
The bark had rock'd upon her keel,
And from the beach began to heel.
And all for which his strength was fit;
But in such terms, the sire was moved
To mirth, which ill his frame behoved.
MacUiston was the varlet's name;
He could not say from whence he came,
But he was born beyond the sea,
And there again he long'd to be.
“What sea?” was ask'd. He look'd askance;
And oh what pride was in his glance,
As he return'd, in giggling tone,
“Who ever heard of sea but one?”—
Oh, he could row, and he could sail,
And guide the rudder in the gale;
And he could make the vessel glide,
Wriggling against the wind and tide.
By his own tale, he was such man
As ne'er from jib to rudder ran;
But all their proffers of reward
He scorn'd, and held of no regard,
215
When they arrived on Scotia's strand.
Then kindled the barbarian's eye,
He flew on board with rapturous cry;
And from his side his club he flung,
That in the fold of mantle swung,
Like sheathed sword; then, with a shock,
He wrench'd the hawser from the rock;
And ere the monkish crew had time
The Virgin's sacred name to chime,
The bark had rock'd upon her keel,
And from the beach began to heel.
“Do this!—Do that!” the savage roar'd,
And, heaving high his oaken sword,
He threaten'd sore, with growl and frown,
Whoe'er refused, to cleave him down.
The crew at first began to wink,
And from their posts essay'd to shrink;
But blows from tall MacUiston's tree
Made them apply most strenuously.
Close by the helm his post he took;
All shrunk from his offended look:
Whene'er he deign'd to sing or speak,
A smile would dimple rower's cheek,
But yet so gruffly and so grim,
It show'd how much they dreaded him;
For lazier train no leader knew
Than good Columba's sailor crew.
And, heaving high his oaken sword,
He threaten'd sore, with growl and frown,
Whoe'er refused, to cleave him down.
The crew at first began to wink,
And from their posts essay'd to shrink;
But blows from tall MacUiston's tree
Made them apply most strenuously.
Close by the helm his post he took;
All shrunk from his offended look:
Whene'er he deign'd to sing or speak,
A smile would dimple rower's cheek,
But yet so gruffly and so grim,
It show'd how much they dreaded him;
For lazier train no leader knew
Than good Columba's sailor crew.
MacUiston by the helm stood fast,
And oft upon the sky he cast
A troubled look, and then again
Would fix it on the heaving main;
Then shake his black and matted hair,
And sing aloud some savage air.
And oft upon the sky he cast
A troubled look, and then again
Would fix it on the heaving main;
Then shake his black and matted hair,
And sing aloud some savage air.
At length he said, with careless joke,
And aye he stuttered as he spoke—
“My masters, we shall have a gale;
Stand by the beam, and reef the sail;
And he who fails, or handles slack,
Here's for the dastard vassal's back.
And aye he stuttered as he spoke—
“My masters, we shall have a gale;
Stand by the beam, and reef the sail;
And he who fails, or handles slack,
Here's for the dastard vassal's back.
“Where art thou gone, thou angry Sun?
What crime hath poor MacUiston done,
That thus thou hid'st thy radiant form
Behind the darkness of the storm,
And leav'st thy servant to the sway
Of tempest on his wilder'd way?
No friend in whom he can confide;
No little star his path to guide;
No parent dear to say adieu;
Such poor MacUiston never knew!
Nothing but weak and feeble men,
Some darksome slaves from downward den.
But if, oh Sun, thy will it be,
I'll sacrifice them all to thee,
If thou thy servant's life wilt save
From bursting cloud and breaking wave:
Or show thy glorious face above,
If these are objects of thy love.”
What crime hath poor MacUiston done,
That thus thou hid'st thy radiant form
Behind the darkness of the storm,
And leav'st thy servant to the sway
Of tempest on his wilder'd way?
No friend in whom he can confide;
No little star his path to guide;
No parent dear to say adieu;
Such poor MacUiston never knew!
Nothing but weak and feeble men,
Some darksome slaves from downward den.
But if, oh Sun, thy will it be,
I'll sacrifice them all to thee,
If thou thy servant's life wilt save
From bursting cloud and breaking wave:
Or show thy glorious face above,
If these are objects of thy love.”
By chance, the words were scarcely spoke,
When through the low'ring darkness broke
A ray of sunshine wanly bright,
A transient gleam of livid light—
Like the last smile from beauty's eye,
Resign'd, and laid in peace to die;
That farewell glance, of smile and shiver,
Ere darkness seals the orb for ever.
So pass'd the sunbeam o'er the deck:
The savage then, with due respect,
Kneel'd down, and bow'd his matted head;
Then look'd around with awful dread.
When through the low'ring darkness broke
A ray of sunshine wanly bright,
A transient gleam of livid light—
Like the last smile from beauty's eye,
Resign'd, and laid in peace to die;
That farewell glance, of smile and shiver,
Ere darkness seals the orb for ever.
So pass'd the sunbeam o'er the deck:
The savage then, with due respect,
Kneel'd down, and bow'd his matted head;
Then look'd around with awful dread.
“Now, friends,” he cried—“for friends we are—
For toil, or death, let all prepare.
See where the hurricane comes on
With violence dreadful and unknown:
The western world is in commotion;
See how the clouds oppress the ocean;
And ocean, into vengeance driven,
With foamy billow scourges heaven.
Our bark will prove before its swing
Like fern upon the whirlwind's wing.
Wake the old carle you call the seer,
And ask him whereto we shall steer;
For toward sunrise we must fly,
With stern right in the tempest's eye:
A weather shore we needs must make—
It is our last, our only stake.”
For toil, or death, let all prepare.
See where the hurricane comes on
With violence dreadful and unknown:
The western world is in commotion;
See how the clouds oppress the ocean;
And ocean, into vengeance driven,
With foamy billow scourges heaven.
Our bark will prove before its swing
Like fern upon the whirlwind's wing.
Wake the old carle you call the seer,
And ask him whereto we shall steer;
For toward sunrise we must fly,
With stern right in the tempest's eye:
A weather shore we needs must make—
It is our last, our only stake.”
They ran the holy man to warn,
And told him of the hideous kerne,
That pray'd to heathen deity,
And brought the storm along the sea;
And every monk, in language strong,
Declared the arch-fiend them among.
And told him of the hideous kerne,
That pray'd to heathen deity,
And brought the storm along the sea;
And every monk, in language strong,
Declared the arch-fiend them among.
Columba left his books and prayer,
With something of a timid air;
And moved his head above the deck,
Just as the masts began to creak.
He cast his eye before, behind;
Then cried, with troubled voice and mind,
“To Isla Sound! then we're at home”—
And pointed out the path of foam.
With something of a timid air;
And moved his head above the deck,
Just as the masts began to creak.
He cast his eye before, behind;
Then cried, with troubled voice and mind,
“To Isla Sound! then we're at home”—
And pointed out the path of foam.
“'Twould be as wise to gaze and ponder
Upon the sky, and point us yonder,”
The savage said; but here is land,
Which we might win, if you command.”—
To east by south he turn'd her prow:
The rattling hail, and pelting snow,
Just then in furious guise began;
Loud gusts along the ocean ran;
And every sob the tempest gave
Spoke language of a watery grave.
Upon the sky, and point us yonder,”
The savage said; but here is land,
Which we might win, if you command.”—
To east by south he turn'd her prow:
The rattling hail, and pelting snow,
Just then in furious guise began;
Loud gusts along the ocean ran;
And every sob the tempest gave
Spoke language of a watery grave.
“Stand by the beam, the main-sail under,”
MacUiston cried, in voice of thunder;
“Pull in—Let go—You dastard knaves,
Down with your beads into the waves!
If cross or bead I note again,
I'll hurl the holder in the main.
Oh King of heaven! such furious storm
Did ne'er the ocean's breast deform!”
MacUiston cried, in voice of thunder;
“Pull in—Let go—You dastard knaves,
Down with your beads into the waves!
If cross or bead I note again,
I'll hurl the holder in the main.
216
Did ne'er the ocean's breast deform!”
The bark flew on before the wind,
So like a thing of soul and mind,
It made the savage shout with glee,
“There goes the jewel of the sea!
Speed on! speed on, my bonny bark!
Behind the storm is rolling dark;
But if such glorious speed thou make,
Swift is the storm will thee o'ertake.
Oh, speed thou on, thou blessed thing,
Swift as the solan on the wing!
And if behind yon headland blue
Safely thou bear'st this fiend-like crew,
Then poor MacUiston, on his knee,
Shall offer sacrifice to thee;
For God's own blessed oak I know
His only emblem here below.”
So like a thing of soul and mind,
It made the savage shout with glee,
“There goes the jewel of the sea!
Speed on! speed on, my bonny bark!
Behind the storm is rolling dark;
But if such glorious speed thou make,
Swift is the storm will thee o'ertake.
Oh, speed thou on, thou blessed thing,
Swift as the solan on the wing!
And if behind yon headland blue
Safely thou bear'st this fiend-like crew,
Then poor MacUiston, on his knee,
Shall offer sacrifice to thee;
For God's own blessed oak I know
His only emblem here below.”
The monks quaked like the aspen slim,
And their dark looks grew deadly dim;
They deem'd each wave would them o'erwhelm.
With savage heathen at the helm,
Or fiend arrived from burning hell—
Their woeful plight what tongue could tell?
And their dark looks grew deadly dim;
They deem'd each wave would them o'erwhelm.
With savage heathen at the helm,
Or fiend arrived from burning hell—
Their woeful plight what tongue could tell?
Yet still the bark her speed did strain,
For better never plough'd the main;
Till at the last, amid the roar
Of waves behind, and waves before,
By cataract and swell o'erthrown,
Adown she went with clash and groan.
For better never plough'd the main;
Till at the last, amid the roar
Of waves behind, and waves before,
By cataract and swell o'erthrown,
Adown she went with clash and groan.
“Hold by the cords!” MacUiston yell'd.
(Gods! how the monks and rowers held!)
“To see the bottom of the main,
We but descend to rise again.”
Down went the bark with stern upright,
Down many fathoms from the light.
As sea-bird, mid the breakers toss'd,
Screaming and fluttering off the coast,
Dives from the surf of belch and foam,
To seek a milder, calmer home,
So sought the bark her downward way,
From meeting waves and mounting spray.
(Gods! how the monks and rowers held!)
“To see the bottom of the main,
We but descend to rise again.”
Down went the bark with stern upright,
Down many fathoms from the light.
As sea-bird, mid the breakers toss'd,
Screaming and fluttering off the coast,
Dives from the surf of belch and foam,
To seek a milder, calmer home,
So sought the bark her downward way,
From meeting waves and mounting spray.
“Hold by the cords!” MacUiston call'd;
The monks obey'd, full sore appall'd.
Here rose a groan, and there a scream;
As down they bore into the stream,
But these were stifled in the brine,
As dived the sable brigandine;
And all was silent, save the gull
That mounted from the stormy Mull.
The monks obey'd, full sore appall'd.
Here rose a groan, and there a scream;
As down they bore into the stream,
But these were stifled in the brine,
As dived the sable brigandine;
And all was silent, save the gull
That mounted from the stormy Mull.
'Twas but a trice of lash and lave,
Till, on the top of mountain wave
The bark appear'd with flapping sail,
And dripping monks, and rowers pale,
Hanging on ropes all here and there,
Deaf, blind, and blurting with despair.
Again they heard MacUiston's tongue,
As loud he hallo'd out and sung,
“Stand to your tackle manfully;
Hold fast, and leave the rest to me!”
Till, on the top of mountain wave
The bark appear'd with flapping sail,
And dripping monks, and rowers pale,
Hanging on ropes all here and there,
Deaf, blind, and blurting with despair.
Again they heard MacUiston's tongue,
As loud he hallo'd out and sung,
“Stand to your tackle manfully;
Hold fast, and leave the rest to me!”
Again the waves roll'd o'er the deck;
But, be it told with due respect,
At this dire moment, who should call
From ridge of wave and tossing fall,
But the good seer! Not seen till now;
Wash'd from his hold, they knew not how,
Blinded with cowl of many a fold,
And wildly capering as he roll'd.
MacUiston caught him by the frock,
And held him steadfast as a rock;
Yet not one moment quitted post,
Though fearfully 'mong breakers toss'd,
Nor once turn'd round his eye, to scan
The plight of that most holy man,
But sung and shouted o'er the swell,
With maniac laugh and demon yell.
But, be it told with due respect,
At this dire moment, who should call
From ridge of wave and tossing fall,
But the good seer! Not seen till now;
Wash'd from his hold, they knew not how,
Blinded with cowl of many a fold,
And wildly capering as he roll'd.
MacUiston caught him by the frock,
And held him steadfast as a rock;
Yet not one moment quitted post,
Though fearfully 'mong breakers toss'd,
Nor once turn'd round his eye, to scan
The plight of that most holy man,
But sung and shouted o'er the swell,
With maniac laugh and demon yell.
He saw what others saw at last,
That all the danger was o'erpast;
For this turmoil, this uproar dire,
Was at the point of Low Kintyre,
Where breaking waves, and stormy stir,
Still fright the coasting mariner.
Now were they breasting mountain steep,
Now plunging mid the foamy deep;
Anon they wheel'd from out the roar,
And swept along a weather shore,
Beneath the bank of brake and tree,
Upon a smooth and tranquil sea.
That all the danger was o'erpast;
For this turmoil, this uproar dire,
Was at the point of Low Kintyre,
Where breaking waves, and stormy stir,
Still fright the coasting mariner.
Now were they breasting mountain steep,
Now plunging mid the foamy deep;
Anon they wheel'd from out the roar,
And swept along a weather shore,
Beneath the bank of brake and tree,
Upon a smooth and tranquil sea.
Columba stared in dread amaze;
The pallid monks return'd the gaze.
For him whose tall and giant form
Seem'd late the demon of the storm,
They now ween'd angel in disguise,
Sent down, to save them, from the skies;
And knew not how their guest to greet,
Or if to worship at his feet.
The pallid monks return'd the gaze.
For him whose tall and giant form
Seem'd late the demon of the storm,
They now ween'd angel in disguise,
Sent down, to save them, from the skies;
And knew not how their guest to greet,
Or if to worship at his feet.
“Who art thou?” said Columba then,
“Thou best of angels or of men!
For if commission'd from above,
By the dear Saviour whom I love,
As guardian spirit of the sea,
I'll kneel, and pay my vows to thee.”
“Thou best of angels or of men!
For if commission'd from above,
By the dear Saviour whom I love,
As guardian spirit of the sea,
I'll kneel, and pay my vows to thee.”
The savage laugh'd with such good will,
That eagles answer'd on the hill,
Sail'd on the bosom of the cloud,
And neigh'd as fiercely and as loud.
That eagles answer'd on the hill,
Sail'd on the bosom of the cloud,
And neigh'd as fiercely and as loud.
“Ha! Worship me! That would be brave!
A homeless vagrant and a slave.
Worship the Sun, whose glorious road
Along'st the heaven was never trod;
Who frowns, and men are in distress;
Who smiles, and all is loveliness!
But if of better God you know,
In heaven above, or earth below,
Or seraph, saint, or demon grim,
Tell me, and I will worship him.”
A homeless vagrant and a slave.
Worship the Sun, whose glorious road
Along'st the heaven was never trod;
Who frowns, and men are in distress;
Who smiles, and all is loveliness!
217
In heaven above, or earth below,
Or seraph, saint, or demon grim,
Tell me, and I will worship him.”
The holy sire, to tears constrain'd,
The doctrine of the cross explain'd;
The fall—the covenant above,
And wonders of redeeming love.
MacUiston listen'd silently,
His dark locks trembling o'er his eye,
Then said, it was his good belief
That Jesus was a noble chief;
For none could more for vassal's good,
Than for their sakes to shed his blood;
And for that cause, it was his mind
To follow prince so brave and kind.
The doctrine of the cross explain'd;
The fall—the covenant above,
And wonders of redeeming love.
MacUiston listen'd silently,
His dark locks trembling o'er his eye,
Then said, it was his good belief
That Jesus was a noble chief;
For none could more for vassal's good,
Than for their sakes to shed his blood;
And for that cause, it was his mind
To follow prince so brave and kind.
“But yet the Sun of heaven,” said he,
“Has been benignant god to me.
'Twas he who rear'd the roe-deer's brood,
And the young bristler of the wood;
The sprightly fawn, with dappled sides,
And leveret in the fern that hides;
The kid, so playful and so spruce;
And all for poor MacUiston's use.
'Tis he that makes the well to spring,
The dew to fall, the bird to sing;
And gives the berry of the waste
Its ripeness, and its savoury taste.
Oft with the rook and crow I've striven
For that delicious gift of Heaven;
Not elsewhere knowing when I first
Could quench my hunger or my thirst.
“Has been benignant god to me.
'Twas he who rear'd the roe-deer's brood,
And the young bristler of the wood;
The sprightly fawn, with dappled sides,
And leveret in the fern that hides;
The kid, so playful and so spruce;
And all for poor MacUiston's use.
'Tis he that makes the well to spring,
The dew to fall, the bird to sing;
And gives the berry of the waste
Its ripeness, and its savoury taste.
Oft with the rook and crow I've striven
For that delicious gift of Heaven;
Not elsewhere knowing when I first
Could quench my hunger or my thirst.
“'Tis he that rears the racy pea,
And spreads the crowfoot on the lea,
And makes the holy acorn grow,
The highest gift to man below:
'Tis he that makes the summer's prime,
The rapid storm, and wreathy rime,
Makes seas to roll, and rivers run—
MacUiston still must love the sun!”
And spreads the crowfoot on the lea,
And makes the holy acorn grow,
The highest gift to man below:
'Tis he that makes the summer's prime,
The rapid storm, and wreathy rime,
Makes seas to roll, and rivers run—
MacUiston still must love the sun!”
Columba answer'd with a sigh
To that barbarian's language high;
And wonder'd at his strength of mind,
In such low rank of human kind,
That, like his frame, seem'd thing elate
Far o'er the peasant's lowly state;
Thence he resolved to win the youth
Unto the holy Christian truth.
When, in Dalrudhain's lonely bay,
They render'd thanks to God that day,
Than he, none show'd more humble frame,
Nor lowlier bow'd at Jesus' name.
To that barbarian's language high;
And wonder'd at his strength of mind,
In such low rank of human kind,
That, like his frame, seem'd thing elate
Far o'er the peasant's lowly state;
Thence he resolved to win the youth
Unto the holy Christian truth.
When, in Dalrudhain's lonely bay,
They render'd thanks to God that day,
Than he, none show'd more humble frame,
Nor lowlier bow'd at Jesus' name.
Loud and more loud the tempest blew;
On high the fleeting lightnings flew;
The rain and sleet pour'd down so fierce,
As if the concave universe
Had been upset, or roll'd awry,
And oceans tumbled from the sky;
The heaven was swathed in sheets of gray,
And thunders gallow'd far away.
On high the fleeting lightnings flew;
The rain and sleet pour'd down so fierce,
As if the concave universe
Had been upset, or roll'd awry,
And oceans tumbled from the sky;
The heaven was swathed in sheets of gray,
And thunders gallow'd far away.
The seer, impatient to proceed,
Knowing his virgin sovereign's need,
Bade up that narrow frith to wend
(Now call'd Loch-Fyne) unto its end,
Resolved to cross the mountains dark,
And leave the sailors with the bark.
For a long night and stormy day,
They sailed that long and narrow bay,
And the next day at dawn of morn,
Mounted the pathless wastes of Lorn.
Knowing his virgin sovereign's need,
Bade up that narrow frith to wend
(Now call'd Loch-Fyne) unto its end,
Resolved to cross the mountains dark,
And leave the sailors with the bark.
For a long night and stormy day,
They sailed that long and narrow bay,
And the next day at dawn of morn,
Mounted the pathless wastes of Lorn.
Columba and the savage rude
Enter'd alone that solitude;
For now he so admired the wight,
He scarce could bear him from his sight.
A dangerous path they had to scan,
For every petty torrent ran,
Pelting and foaming furiously,
As if to say, “Who dares come nigh?”
Then proved the kerne a trusty guide,
And many a time his strength was tried,
O'er rugged steep, and rapid river,
Bearing the old man safely ever.
Enter'd alone that solitude;
For now he so admired the wight,
He scarce could bear him from his sight.
A dangerous path they had to scan,
For every petty torrent ran,
Pelting and foaming furiously,
As if to say, “Who dares come nigh?”
Then proved the kerne a trusty guide,
And many a time his strength was tried,
O'er rugged steep, and rapid river,
Bearing the old man safely ever.
But when to Orchay's vale they came,
So mighty was that moorland stream,
'Twas like an ocean rolling on,
Resistless, dreadful, and alone;
Its path with desolation traced,
The valley all one watery waste,
One foamy wave, thundering and smoking,
And mighty pines rending and rocking.
So mighty was that moorland stream,
'Twas like an ocean rolling on,
Resistless, dreadful, and alone;
Its path with desolation traced,
The valley all one watery waste,
One foamy wave, thundering and smoking,
And mighty pines rending and rocking.
Columba gazed upon the scene,
So wild, terrific, and immane,
Until his lip grew pale as clay.
Said he, “I've journey'd many a day,
From hill of Zion, to the shore
Beyond which there is land no more;
But never look'd, in all my time,
On aught so marvellous and sublime.
That day the storm was at its height,
Was trial 'twixt the wrong and right;
The wrong has triumph'd, now I know,
And Albyn's rights are lying low;
Her chosen chiefs are fall'n and gone;
For it was destined, one alone
Could save the land that fateful day,
And he was kept by Heaven away.
Its will be done; for weal or woe,
We now must bend before the foe:
The Christian banner's in the toil,
The heathen riots in our spoil.
So wild, terrific, and immane,
Until his lip grew pale as clay.
Said he, “I've journey'd many a day,
From hill of Zion, to the shore
Beyond which there is land no more;
But never look'd, in all my time,
On aught so marvellous and sublime.
That day the storm was at its height,
Was trial 'twixt the wrong and right;
The wrong has triumph'd, now I know,
And Albyn's rights are lying low;
Her chosen chiefs are fall'n and gone;
For it was destined, one alone
Could save the land that fateful day,
And he was kept by Heaven away.
Its will be done; for weal or woe,
We now must bend before the foe:
The Christian banner's in the toil,
The heathen riots in our spoil.
“I may be wrong, as grant I may;
But it is plain, that on that day
The storm hath all unequall'd been,
Such as no living man hath seen.
These are the signs of sinful deed,
And those are tokens that I dread.
The demons of the fiery reign
Have been abroad in Christ's domain,
Roused, by some powerful heathen spell,
From out the lurid vales of hell,
The face of earth and heaven to mar,
And hurl the elements in war.
But it is plain, that on that day
The storm hath all unequall'd been,
Such as no living man hath seen.
218
And those are tokens that I dread.
The demons of the fiery reign
Have been abroad in Christ's domain,
Roused, by some powerful heathen spell,
From out the lurid vales of hell,
The face of earth and heaven to mar,
And hurl the elements in war.
“But—note me, youth—the time will come
That men shall stand, in terror dumb,
And see the Almighty's arm of power
Stretch'd forth in the avenging hour.
Yes, He will show to heaven and hell,
And all that in the earth do dwell,
From babe to prince upon the throne,
That He is God and He alone!”
That men shall stand, in terror dumb,
And see the Almighty's arm of power
Stretch'd forth in the avenging hour.
Yes, He will show to heaven and hell,
And all that in the earth do dwell,
From babe to prince upon the throne,
That He is God and He alone!”
But trust not all that prophets say;
The best may err and so may they.
Predictions are but ticklish gear,
Though spacious, logical, and clear;
Condensed, and penn'd in language strong:
Where once aright they're ten times wrong.
This sage experience hath me taught,
Whilst thou hast hooted, rail'd, and laugh'd.
Alack! the credit due to seers,
Too well is known to my compeers!
The best may err and so may they.
Predictions are but ticklish gear,
Though spacious, logical, and clear;
Condensed, and penn'd in language strong:
Where once aright they're ten times wrong.
This sage experience hath me taught,
Whilst thou hast hooted, rail'd, and laugh'd.
Alack! the credit due to seers,
Too well is known to my compeers!
Our travellers gain'd the farther shore
Of dark Loch-Ow, by dint of oar;
And there the tidings met their ear,
Of deeds of darkness and of weir,
Which made the holy father weep,
And the rude boor to laugh and leap,
And shout, with joy and clamour vast,
“MacUiston finds a home at last!
A vagrant outcast though he be,
This is the land he loves to see!”
Of dark Loch-Ow, by dint of oar;
And there the tidings met their ear,
Of deeds of darkness and of weir,
Which made the holy father weep,
And the rude boor to laugh and leap,
And shout, with joy and clamour vast,
“MacUiston finds a home at last!
A vagrant outcast though he be,
This is the land he loves to see!”
By Connel's tide they journey'd then,
And met whole multitudes of men;
Some fleeing to the forest land,
Some guarding firm, with sword in hand,
Each path and ford that lay between
Their fierce invaders and their queen.
For much had happ'd that I must tell,
And you must read if you do well.
And met whole multitudes of men;
Some fleeing to the forest land,
Some guarding firm, with sword in hand,
Each path and ford that lay between
Their fierce invaders and their queen.
For much had happ'd that I must tell,
And you must read if you do well.
A celebrated ancient city, the first capital and emporium of the Scots in Albion. Its castle, according to Boethius and Harrison's Chronologie, was founded by King Fergus, so early as 327 years before the birth of our Saviour, and 420 years after the building of Rome. Around that castle (the Selma of Ossian) the city had continued to extend for the space of several centuries, until at length the marble chair and the seat of government were removed to Dunstaffnage, on the southern side of the bay. The site of Beregonium is in that district of ancient Lorn now called Ardchattan, although Boethius includes it in the bounds of Loch-Quhaber. The castle, situated on the top of a huge insular rock, near to the head of a fine bay, and in the midst of a level plain, must, at that period, have been rendered impregnable, without any great effort in fortification. It is altogether a singular and romantic scene; and, being situated on the new road from Dalmallie to Fort-William, by Connel Ferry and Appin, it is well worthy the attention of the curious, and indeed of every tourist interested in the phenomena of nature. That this city, with its towers and palaces, was destroyed by fire from heaven, tradition, song, and history all agree; and if ever oral testimony from an age so distant was borne out by positive and undeniable proofs, it is in this case, so much out of the course of nature and providence. All that remains of this mighty citadel, with its seven towers, is one solid mass of pumice, burned and soldered together in an impervious heap, wholly distinct from the rock on which it is situated. The outer wall, as well as the forms of the towers, may still be traced, but all are melted down to trivial and irregular circles of this incrusted lava. And as there can be little doubt respecting the existence of this renowned castle and city, so it is manifest, to me at least, that no human operation could ever have effected so mighty and universal a transmutation as is there to be witnessed. —See Macculloch's Letters, Edinburgh Encyclopædia, &c.
In the place where the city stood, two streets, well paved, are still easy to be traced by a little digging; the one of these is called in Gaelic Market Street, and the other, Meal Street. In making the new road, a vaulted gangway was here discovered under ground; and about twenty-five years ago, a man, in digging fuel, found one of the large wooden pipes that had conveyed the water across the plain to the citadel. These few remains of the famous Beregonium have been preserved in the bowels of the earth; but nothing remains above ground, either of city or walls, but a few irregular lines of trivial cinder.
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