 | The Rhyme of The Lady of The Rock and How it Grew |  |
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THE RHYME OF THE LADY OF THE ROCK.
FITTE THE FIRST.
Rose-red for the banner of love,
And a blush for the cheek of the bride;
To the valleys and hills of fair Loch Fyne
The word went far and wide:
They will marry this day, and marry to death,
Our flower of ladies, Elizabeth.
And a blush for the cheek of the bride;
To the valleys and hills of fair Loch Fyne
The word went far and wide:
They will marry this day, and marry to death,
Our flower of ladies, Elizabeth.
On through the valleys and down from the hills,
As the gathering cry of the clan
Had called them forth, through the moithering mist
The lieges rode or ran
To meet at the foot of the runic cross,
And wring out the heart of their wrong and loss.
As the gathering cry of the clan
Had called them forth, through the moithering mist
The lieges rode or ran
To meet at the foot of the runic cross,
And wring out the heart of their wrong and loss.
And there met them here and there on the breeze,
Faint as a word of shame,
The sound of a bell, but they knew not well,
As dubiously it came,
Or whether it chimed, or whether it tolled,
But they thought a knell had been more bold.
Faint as a word of shame,
The sound of a bell, but they knew not well,
As dubiously it came,
Or whether it chimed, or whether it tolled,
But they thought a knell had been more bold.
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And they questioned the wind as it rose and fell
Above and about Loch Fyne—
The wind that lashed at the shrinking wave,
And harried the grove of pine—
Is your cry as the cry of her love on the rack,
Or only our lady's coronach?
Above and about Loch Fyne—
The wind that lashed at the shrinking wave,
And harried the grove of pine—
Is your cry as the cry of her love on the rack,
Or only our lady's coronach?
But when they had come to the cross, and thence
Peered over the castle wall,
And beheld the rout that was thronging the court,
And the train that swarmed out of the hall—
With the banners that flaunted beside the door,
And the dog and the ship that the banners bore—
Peered over the castle wall,
And beheld the rout that was thronging the court,
And the train that swarmed out of the hall—
With the banners that flaunted beside the door,
And the dog and the ship that the banners bore—
And saw by the fiery beard and eyes,
And the motions cold and dull,
That the man who was leading the bartered bride
Was Maclean of Duart in Mull,—
Then they knew they had married to worse than death
Their flower of ladies, Elizabeth.
And the motions cold and dull,
That the man who was leading the bartered bride
Was Maclean of Duart in Mull,—
Then they knew they had married to worse than death
Their flower of ladies, Elizabeth.
Rose-red is the banner of love,
But this bride is pale, snow-pale,
And she grows snow-cold as he helps her to horse,
As the touch of the groom were bale;
But she proudly follows the lead of fate,
Nor once looks back when she passes the gate.
But this bride is pale, snow-pale,
And she grows snow-cold as he helps her to horse,
As the touch of the groom were bale;
But she proudly follows the lead of fate,
Nor once looks back when she passes the gate.
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Some tuneless souls will meet, and make
No answering music here,
But keep in our low, reverberate air,
The peace of the outer sphere,
And passing, mix with the silent dead
And leave the word of our life unsaid.
No answering music here,
But keep in our low, reverberate air,
The peace of the outer sphere,
And passing, mix with the silent dead
And leave the word of our life unsaid.
But not Glenara's falls at “spate,”
With their lusty voice for praise,
And not the vocal heart of spring
That beats in its covert ways—
Not stream, or merle, or 'plaining dove
Went ever so near to utter love
With their lusty voice for praise,
And not the vocal heart of spring
That beats in its covert ways—
Not stream, or merle, or 'plaining dove
Went ever so near to utter love
As twain who under the “marriage-tree”
Once heard their voices all,
And sent a confluent answer back
To the cuckoo's double call,—
A sudden note so piercing sweet,
It drowned the waterfall,—
Till with the primrose she grew pale,
He, wakeful with the nightingale.
Once heard their voices all,
And sent a confluent answer back
To the cuckoo's double call,—
A sudden note so piercing sweet,
It drowned the waterfall,—
Till with the primrose she grew pale,
He, wakeful with the nightingale.
For all as wise as their hearts had been
To know and to claim their own,
They saw how oft by the felon world
Love's dues are overthrown:
The world that knows not thine or mine,
But snatches a treasure from off a shrine.
To know and to claim their own,
They saw how oft by the felon world
Love's dues are overthrown:
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But snatches a treasure from off a shrine.
And so it fell that the deep Argyle
Had a bargain he would make,
And his sister must be the seal of it,
Should it burn her heart or break.
Thus he married her to the slow, the dull,
Red-bearded tyrant, the chief of Mull.
Had a bargain he would make,
And his sister must be the seal of it,
Should it burn her heart or break.
Thus he married her to the slow, the dull,
Red-bearded tyrant, the chief of Mull.
The clansmen saw her where she came
In the hold of the red Maclean,
Who once had ridden more free than free
With love at her bridle-rein,
And passing left them for lingering trace
The smile that had flowered on every face.
In the hold of the red Maclean,
Who once had ridden more free than free
With love at her bridle-rein,
And passing left them for lingering trace
The smile that had flowered on every face.
They let her go with never a word—
Was never a word to say;
MacCallum Môr was lord of all,
And his will must have its way;
Though the heart of the speechless bride was wrath
As the torrent roaring beside her path.
Was never a word to say;
MacCallum Môr was lord of all,
And his will must have its way;
Though the heart of the speechless bride was wrath
As the torrent roaring beside her path.
But when to Cladich ferry they came,
And the chief had called a halt,
While his shaggy train on bite and sup
Were making swift assault,
She lighted down, and knelt beside
An image of the Crucified.
And the chief had called a halt,
While his shaggy train on bite and sup
Were making swift assault,
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An image of the Crucified.
There, overborne with the stroke of fate,
As droopingly she sunk,
She had not known how near her heart
There knelt a cowlèd monk,
Till he took her hand and whispered low,
And she felt it riven with joy and woe.
As droopingly she sunk,
She had not known how near her heart
There knelt a cowlèd monk,
Till he took her hand and whispered low,
And she felt it riven with joy and woe.
Here was the voice in all the world,
For her the only voice—
The hand whose touch in face of death
Had made her sense rejoice;
And for these hearts with love so rife,
One moment but of common life!
For her the only voice—
The hand whose touch in face of death
Had made her sense rejoice;
And for these hearts with love so rife,
One moment but of common life!
“Up, love, and fly!” For one heart-beat
Love had and held his own:
They mingled breath, they mingled tears—
A word and he had flown,
Had carried her over ford and dyke
From Campbells and Macleans alike.
Love had and held his own:
They mingled breath, they mingled tears—
A word and he had flown,
Had carried her over ford and dyke
From Campbells and Macleans alike.
She strove with him, she clasped the cross:
“Let pine,” she said, “or die,
But never from this fore-front of fate
Tempt me to fail or fly;
It has not been laid upon any man,
But on me to suffer and save the clan.
“Let pine,” she said, “or die,
But never from this fore-front of fate
Tempt me to fail or fly;
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But on me to suffer and save the clan.
“MacCallum Môr has spared to meet
Maclean as in open fight,
So awake or asleep in his island keep
I must face him day or night;
For a true Argyle is but one thing sure:
The will and the word of MacCallum Môr.”
Maclean as in open fight,
So awake or asleep in his island keep
I must face him day or night;
For a true Argyle is but one thing sure:
The will and the word of MacCallum Môr.”
They looked to right, they looked to left:
O fair and cruel world!
Where tender firstlings of the spring
On gusts of March are hurled,
The wild wind bent the pine-tops tall,
It rent the folded leaves, and small;—
The mocking sun laughed down on all.
O fair and cruel world!
Where tender firstlings of the spring
On gusts of March are hurled,
The wild wind bent the pine-tops tall,
It rent the folded leaves, and small;—
The mocking sun laughed down on all.
They looked to left, they looked to right,
And lo, through the cloven mist,
Loch Awe, that laughed to the laughing sun,
As stormily they kissed.
“Cold sun,” she said, “and bitter bliss,
Dear love, be witness: never kiss
Of man shall mar the print of this!”
And lo, through the cloven mist,
Loch Awe, that laughed to the laughing sun,
As stormily they kissed.
“Cold sun,” she said, “and bitter bliss,
Dear love, be witness: never kiss
Of man shall mar the print of this!”
A heavy freight bore down that day
The Cladich ferry-boat,
And one that saw it had leifer seen
It founder, I think, than float.
“Better a bride so foully wed
Were bedded here in the lake,” he said.
The Cladich ferry-boat,
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It founder, I think, than float.
“Better a bride so foully wed
Were bedded here in the lake,” he said.
But the lake would none of them, bride or groom,
Or scurvy train, and tossed,
'Twixt Cladich ferry and Brander Pass,
The boat that crossed and crossed;
And the eyes that hung on the throat of the pass
Saw, blocking the way of love, the mass
Or scurvy train, and tossed,
'Twixt Cladich ferry and Brander Pass,
The boat that crossed and crossed;
And the eyes that hung on the throat of the pass
Saw, blocking the way of love, the mass
Of dark Ben Cruachan, or ere they turned
In wrath from the path of men;
And the way-worn bride, by forest and flood,
Through moss and reedy fen,
Went, forced on her way in the teeth of the wind
By the men of Mull who were trooping behind.
In wrath from the path of men;
And the way-worn bride, by forest and flood,
Through moss and reedy fen,
Went, forced on her way in the teeth of the wind
By the men of Mull who were trooping behind.
They cross the Sound; the dim isle seems
Adrift in the wind and rain,
As cold in the shadow of Castle Duart
Its sodden shore they gain,
But the iron click of the stanchioned gate
Rings home like the closing jaws of Fate.
Adrift in the wind and rain,
As cold in the shadow of Castle Duart
Its sodden shore they gain,
But the iron click of the stanchioned gate
Rings home like the closing jaws of Fate.
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Her bower-maidens had busked the bride,
The feast was long and loud,
But she scarce had sat at the board more still
Had she sat there in her shroud.
And her courage failing for wearihead:
“'Tis a far cry to Loch Awe,” she said.
The feast was long and loud,
But she scarce had sat at the board more still
Had she sat there in her shroud.
And her courage failing for wearihead:
“'Tis a far cry to Loch Awe,” she said.
FITTE THE SECOND.
The wassail had reached its stormy height,
The feast was over in hall,
When there came and stood at the lady's side
A gloomy seneschal;
As he pointed the way to a turret near
She knew that it led to the bride chambère.
The feast was over in hall,
When there came and stood at the lady's side
A gloomy seneschal;
As he pointed the way to a turret near
She knew that it led to the bride chambère.
And she that was rose of fair Argyle—
A white rose she was then!—
Stood up and waited no second sign,
But bowed to the roystering men,
And passed with her bower-maids out of the hall
I' the lead of the wordless seneschal.
A white rose she was then!—
Stood up and waited no second sign,
But bowed to the roystering men,
And passed with her bower-maids out of the hall
I' the lead of the wordless seneschal.
Then some who noted her proud and pale
Bent laughing over the board:
“She is white as a widow's callant,” they said,
“Who should whet a maiden-sword.”
And in sooth the Lady Elizabeth
Had blithelier followed the feet of Death
Than the form which, fronting the torch's glare,
Cast a giant shade on the turret stair.
Bent laughing over the board:
“She is white as a widow's callant,” they said,
“Who should whet a maiden-sword.”
And in sooth the Lady Elizabeth
Had blithelier followed the feet of Death
Than the form which, fronting the torch's glare,
Cast a giant shade on the turret stair.
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And when she stood in her bridal bower,
She turned to her maidens twain:
“No hand but this of mine may dress
The bride of the red Maclean;
So lend me but your prayers this night,
And fare ye well till the fair daylight.”
She turned to her maidens twain:
“No hand but this of mine may dress
The bride of the red Maclean;
So lend me but your prayers this night,
And fare ye well till the fair daylight.”
She cast her garments one by one,
Alone as she stood there;
She was to sight no summer flower
But a woman deadly fair,
When forth she drew the golden comb
And loosed the golden hair
Which sheathed her body to her knee,—
A ringed and burnished panoply.
Alone as she stood there;
She was to sight no summer flower
But a woman deadly fair,
When forth she drew the golden comb
And loosed the golden hair
Which sheathed her body to her knee,—
A ringed and burnished panoply.
Then, as a swimmer, with her arms
The amber flood she spurned
To either side, and in her hand
She took a gem that burned—
That rose and fell upon her heart
As a thing that bore in its life a part.
The amber flood she spurned
To either side, and in her hand
She took a gem that burned—
That rose and fell upon her heart
As a thing that bore in its life a part.
'Twas a golden dragon in jewelled mail
That lay betwixt breast and breast
Over that gentle lady's heart,
Couched as a lance in rest;
And that cunning sample of goldsmith's work,
It was the handle of a dirk.
That lay betwixt breast and breast
Over that gentle lady's heart,
Couched as a lance in rest;
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It was the handle of a dirk.
She drew it forth of its leathern sheath,
And she felt its steely edge,
Then gave some drops of her quick young blood
To its point, as if in pledge,
Ere she wound her hair in a silken thong,
And the dirk in that golden chain and strong.
And she felt its steely edge,
Then gave some drops of her quick young blood
To its point, as if in pledge,
Ere she wound her hair in a silken thong,
And the dirk in that golden chain and strong.
She laid the dragon again to sleep
In its balmy place of rest:
O God, that a home so soft and fair
Should harbour such a guest!
Then her winsome self she re-arrayed,
And fell on her trembling knees and prayed.
In its balmy place of rest:
O God, that a home so soft and fair
Should harbour such a guest!
Then her winsome self she re-arrayed,
And fell on her trembling knees and prayed.
She muttered many an Ave then,
And told off many a bead,
Till her passion sealed her lips, for words
But mocked so sore a need;
Then she stopped and listened beside the breeze,
And only waited upon her knees.
And told off many a bead,
Till her passion sealed her lips, for words
But mocked so sore a need;
Then she stopped and listened beside the breeze,
And only waited upon her knees.
And as she listened, the distant sound
Of wassail ceased, and all
Her soul rushed armed into her ears
At sound of a dull foot-fall
Which wound its way to the topmost tower
Where was the lady's bridal bower.
Of wassail ceased, and all
Her soul rushed armed into her ears
At sound of a dull foot-fall
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Where was the lady's bridal bower.
The wind was piping through lock and loop,
But of nothing was she 'ware,
There was no sound in all the world
But that foot upon the stair;—
And as she listened, and heard it rise,
Her soul rushed armed into her eyes.
But of nothing was she 'ware,
There was no sound in all the world
But that foot upon the stair;—
And as she listened, and heard it rise,
Her soul rushed armed into her eyes.
She stood up white in her snowy pall,
A breathing image of death,
The torch-light crowning her radiant hair,
Her sombre face beneath.
“As I am a virgin pure this night,
So keep me, God, through dark to light;
As I am a child of the deep Argyle,
Souls of my fathers! teach me wile.”
A breathing image of death,
The torch-light crowning her radiant hair,
Her sombre face beneath.
“As I am a virgin pure this night,
So keep me, God, through dark to light;
As I am a child of the deep Argyle,
Souls of my fathers! teach me wile.”
The iron door on its hinges turned
And closed on the married twain,
And redder yet from his deep carouse
There stood the red Maclean;
And their four eyes met, and no word was said
Till his glance fell off on the vacant bed.
And closed on the married twain,
And redder yet from his deep carouse
There stood the red Maclean;
And their four eyes met, and no word was said
Till his glance fell off on the vacant bed.
Then she: “I have prayed of Mary's grace
That she would us assoil
For that this day with lips forsworn
We sought to cut the coil
Of mortal hate that has ever lain
Betwixt the Argyle and Maclean.”
That she would us assoil
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We sought to cut the coil
Of mortal hate that has ever lain
Betwixt the Argyle and Maclean.”
Then low he laughed: “To kneel and pray,
Lady, beseemeth thee,
But to make of our false oath a true
Is the task that fitteth me;
My word, before the morrow's sun,
You shall avouch the work well done.”
Lady, beseemeth thee,
But to make of our false oath a true
Is the task that fitteth me;
My word, before the morrow's sun,
You shall avouch the work well done.”
He moved a step to where she stood,
And she recoiled a pace;
His wandering eyes again were set
In wonder on her face.
They paused, they made a mutual stand;
His breath fell hot upon her hand.
And she recoiled a pace;
His wandering eyes again were set
In wonder on her face.
They paused, they made a mutual stand;
His breath fell hot upon her hand.
“You are a lord of the Isles,” quoth she,
“And the Islemen's mood is light,
But I am a child of the firm mainland,
And I change not in a night.
There is nought of me that a man may win,
And I think not to overlay sin with sin.
“And the Islemen's mood is light,
But I am a child of the firm mainland,
And I change not in a night.
There is nought of me that a man may win,
And I think not to overlay sin with sin.
“Now nothing could hap that would make us twain
But false as woman and man,
Yet by grace of God we may still be true
Each to our name and clan,
And each to each in a sidelong way
True to the bond we have sealed this day.
But false as woman and man,
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Each to our name and clan,
And each to each in a sidelong way
True to the bond we have sealed this day.
“You asked for a gage of my feudal chief,
But of me nor word nor smile;
You sought but to better the strength you had
With the strength of the deep Argyle;
You shall have your due and no more of me
Than a contract's seal and warrantry.”
But of me nor word nor smile;
You sought but to better the strength you had
With the strength of the deep Argyle;
You shall have your due and no more of me
Than a contract's seal and warrantry.”
He laughed in his beard: “Ay, many have tried,
But all have tried in vain,
To mete with a measure that was not his
The due of the red Maclean;
Still with iron hand he has held his right,
But never so close as he will this night.”
But all have tried in vain,
To mete with a measure that was not his
The due of the red Maclean;
Still with iron hand he has held his right,
But never so close as he will this night.”
She set herself as a hind at bay,
She straightened her back to the wall;
“I that am come as a hostage here,
Would you use me as a thrall?”
“Not so,” quoth he, “but by limb and life,
I'll use you as my wedded wife.”
She straightened her back to the wall;
“I that am come as a hostage here,
Would you use me as a thrall?”
“Not so,” quoth he, “but by limb and life,
I'll use you as my wedded wife.”
“I am an earl's daughter,” she said,
“And my oath is worth a knight's,
And I swear by the health of my mother's soul,
That the kiss which first alights
On me as we two lie in bed,
Shall have the force to strike me dead.”
“And my oath is worth a knight's,
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That the kiss which first alights
On me as we two lie in bed,
Shall have the force to strike me dead.”
“You are an earl's daughter,” he said,
“And a maid without a stain;
But as you are here in Castle Duart,
And I am the red Maclean,
That oath shall no more be your screen
Than if you were the veriest quean.”
“And a maid without a stain;
But as you are here in Castle Duart,
And I am the red Maclean,
That oath shall no more be your screen
Than if you were the veriest quean.”
She shrunk as into the granite wall,
She parried his rude embrace;
His fierce eyes glowed like the autumn fern,
His breath was hot on her face;
Her heart seemed knocking against the stone,
It beat as it would burst her zone.
She parried his rude embrace;
His fierce eyes glowed like the autumn fern,
His breath was hot on her face;
Her heart seemed knocking against the stone,
It beat as it would burst her zone.
She cried a cry, but it fell still-born,
It died in her throat for fear,
Though the meaning ablaze in the dauntless gaze
Of her flame-blue eyes was clear;
And it was that the Lady Elizabeth
Was ready to give as to take of death.
It died in her throat for fear,
Though the meaning ablaze in the dauntless gaze
Of her flame-blue eyes was clear;
And it was that the Lady Elizabeth
Was ready to give as to take of death.
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Her hand bore hard on her heaving breast,
And he knew whereto it clung,
And saw how her eyes on the turn of his,
Two deadly warders, hung;
Then his caitiff soul succumbed to hers,
He let her go, and sprung
Back with the cry of a ravening beast
Baulked on the eve of a gory feast.
And he knew whereto it clung,
And saw how her eyes on the turn of his,
Two deadly warders, hung;
Then his caitiff soul succumbed to hers,
He let her go, and sprung
Back with the cry of a ravening beast
Baulked on the eve of a gory feast.
Twice already that tyrant chief
Had seen th' accusing steel
Cleaving the way to his savage heart
In a victim's last appeal;
And he hated more the better he knew
The flash of that lightning cold and blue.
Had seen th' accusing steel
Cleaving the way to his savage heart
In a victim's last appeal;
And he hated more the better he knew
The flash of that lightning cold and blue.
He glanced at the dagger's golden string,
And his sodden wit grew clear;
“Wear to, wear to, I will stalk this maid,
As we stalk the Highland deer.”
The fumes of wassail that left his brain
Had left it free to fear;
“She is yet too wild,” he said, “and deep
To be taken waking or asleep.”
And his sodden wit grew clear;
“Wear to, wear to, I will stalk this maid,
As we stalk the Highland deer.”
The fumes of wassail that left his brain
Had left it free to fear;
“She is yet too wild,” he said, “and deep
To be taken waking or asleep.”
He spoke her fair: “You have journeyed far,
By mountain and by flood,
And to you of all that life hath dear,
Sleep only seemeth good;
So you shall taste untroubled rest
This night as 'twere a stranger guest.”
By mountain and by flood,
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Sleep only seemeth good;
So you shall taste untroubled rest
This night as 'twere a stranger guest.”
Her left hand sheathed the shining dirk,
She gave to him her right:
“Now lay your sword betwixt us two
As you are a belted knight.
Then God be watch and ward,” she said,
And stretched herself by the sword in bed.
She gave to him her right:
“Now lay your sword betwixt us two
As you are a belted knight.
Then God be watch and ward,” she said,
And stretched herself by the sword in bed.
And hourly, as the night wore on,
She lay in the deepening gloom,
Her two hands folded upon her breast
Like a statue on a tomb;
But she seemed to feel the dirk beneath
Her fingers tingling in its sheath.
She lay in the deepening gloom,
Her two hands folded upon her breast
Like a statue on a tomb;
But she seemed to feel the dirk beneath
Her fingers tingling in its sheath.
And the moon came softly out of a cloud
I' the midmost of the night,
And through the loop-hole gazed at her,
She lying still and white
Beside the castle's lord, who slept
While she her wary vigil kept.
I' the midmost of the night,
And through the loop-hole gazed at her,
She lying still and white
Beside the castle's lord, who slept
While she her wary vigil kept.
But when the morning's face rose pale
O'er the shoulder of Cruachan-ben,
She stole from out the bride chambère,
A joyful woman then;
And alone in face of the risen sun
She dared to weep: the day was won!
O'er the shoulder of Cruachan-ben,
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A joyful woman then;
And alone in face of the risen sun
She dared to weep: the day was won!
FITTE THE THIRD.
When the morning board with the rests of the feast
Was set, and the martial kin—
The vassals in chief of the castle's lord—
Still heavy with sleep dropped in,
They found a smiling chatelaine
Threading her keys on a silver chain.
Was set, and the martial kin—
The vassals in chief of the castle's lord—
Still heavy with sleep dropped in,
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Threading her keys on a silver chain.
And still when her lord, like a thunder-cloud
Full-charged, came louring down,
With her own white hand she served to him
The prime of the venison;
So tending him in the downward eyes,
It 'hoved him nor to speak or rise.
Full-charged, came louring down,
With her own white hand she served to him
The prime of the venison;
So tending him in the downward eyes,
It 'hoved him nor to speak or rise.
Thus every morning she was meek
As a loving wife might be,
And full of service and soothfastness
As a lady of high degree:
In house and hall a guiding power,
A gracious presence in lady's bower.
As a loving wife might be,
And full of service and soothfastness
As a lady of high degree:
In house and hall a guiding power,
A gracious presence in lady's bower.
At eventide she graced the feast
With a face of merry cheer,
And her voice to the harp when the harp went round,
As the laverock's note was clear:
So “she singeth in the night, they say,
As a bird that singeth in the day.”
With a face of merry cheer,
And her voice to the harp when the harp went round,
As the laverock's note was clear:
So “she singeth in the night, they say,
As a bird that singeth in the day.”
And seeing her so amenable
And lovely in daylight hour,
Her lord would follow as time might serve
For dalliance in lady's bower,
Where sitting apart on the window stone
They parleyed together as if alone.
And lovely in daylight hour,
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For dalliance in lady's bower,
Where sitting apart on the window stone
They parleyed together as if alone.
And once, she making the shuttle fly,
Her maidens spinning near,
He seized her fluttering hands, and laughed:
“They are captives, white with fear.”
“Nay, call them rather,” she laughed back,
“Pale victims, faithful on the rack.”
Her maidens spinning near,
He seized her fluttering hands, and laughed:
“They are captives, white with fear.”
“Nay, call them rather,” she laughed back,
“Pale victims, faithful on the rack.”
And seeing her frail, as she was fair,
He measured with thievish eye
The length of the dirk which clove her breast,
And thought where the hilt might lie;
But he saw no way through her silken suit,
Which clipt her close as the rind the fruit.
He measured with thievish eye
The length of the dirk which clove her breast,
And thought where the hilt might lie;
But he saw no way through her silken suit,
Which clipt her close as the rind the fruit.
And seeing her fair, as she was frail,
In the sting of a new-born need,
His tuneless voice for once rang true,
His fierce tongue learnt to plead.
Then her daylight face was in eclipse,
The shadow of night on her eyes and lips,
In the sting of a new-born need,
His tuneless voice for once rang true,
His fierce tongue learnt to plead.
Then her daylight face was in eclipse,
The shadow of night on her eyes and lips,
As she answered him: “While the stars endure
You will get no more of me
Than what you hold at my brother's hand,
For a gift is of the free:
That hour which made us two handfast,
The time to win as to woo, was past.”
You will get no more of me
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For a gift is of the free:
That hour which made us two handfast,
The time to win as to woo, was past.”
“You are haggard, dame, as a hawk,” he said,
As he gave her hands reprieve,
“But we tame the wildest tercelet
That ever we let live.”
Then he rose and left the bower in wrath,
And the stones cried out upon his path.
As he gave her hands reprieve,
“But we tame the wildest tercelet
That ever we let live.”
Then he rose and left the bower in wrath,
And the stones cried out upon his path.
“Craft is the strength of Argyle; she knows
Our heads are under one hood,
But that hood shall be cover for mine alone,
If ever meseemeth good;
The sleuth-hound in vain, if he failed of that,
Had been held in leash with the mountain cat.
Our heads are under one hood,
But that hood shall be cover for mine alone,
If ever meseemeth good;
The sleuth-hound in vain, if he failed of that,
Had been held in leash with the mountain cat.
“Now is better than then; good brother Argyle,
New love is like new wine;
I will put to the proof this brotherly shield,
Before it is worn too fine,
And see when my hand has done a thing,
How you make it good in the eye of the king.”
New love is like new wine;
I will put to the proof this brotherly shield,
Before it is worn too fine,
And see when my hand has done a thing,
How you make it good in the eye of the king.”
He called aloud to his namesmen all,
As they loitered about the court;
“Come, rouse ye, men, for a bloody raid,
And I warrant ye good sport;
The better that we by night shall stoop,
And seize our prey in a silent swoop.
As they loitered about the court;
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And I warrant ye good sport;
The better that we by night shall stoop,
And seize our prey in a silent swoop.
“And some of your band must go by land,
And some shall come by sea;
And those shall ride with Malcolm Môr,
And these shall sail with me;
Our meeting-place Glengarry Bay:
The boats, there needs no more to say.”
And some shall come by sea;
And those shall ride with Malcolm Môr,
And these shall sail with me;
Our meeting-place Glengarry Bay:
The boats, there needs no more to say.”
Then some to horse, and some to ship,
Some sailed, some rode or ran;
While shrill at their head the pipers played
The gathering of the clan;
The work was death, the road was rough,
They knew no more, it was enough.
Some sailed, some rode or ran;
While shrill at their head the pipers played
The gathering of the clan;
The work was death, the road was rough,
They knew no more, it was enough.
But when they came to Loch-na-kiel,
Nor pipe nor voice was heard,
You might have caught, as you brushed the ling,
The cry of a brooding bird,
And a league or ever you reached the shore,
Have steered by the dull Atlantic roar.
Nor pipe nor voice was heard,
You might have caught, as you brushed the ling,
The cry of a brooding bird,
And a league or ever you reached the shore,
Have steered by the dull Atlantic roar.
Then warily they at Glengarry Bay
Make sign to the waiting boat,
And the word goes round whereto they are bound,
As they silently get afloat;
And they steal upon Cairnburg's island keep,
Where it lies in the cradling surf asleep.
Make sign to the waiting boat,
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As they silently get afloat;
And they steal upon Cairnburg's island keep,
Where it lies in the cradling surf asleep.
Then little they heard of the scared sea-bird
Or the near Atlantic roar,
For the fierce war-clang of the crossing swords
As led by Malcolm Môr.
They stormed the keep, and its keepers slew,
Or laid in irons before;
Maclean with his merry men sailed in,
Safe to conquer, and bold to win.
Or the near Atlantic roar,
For the fierce war-clang of the crossing swords
As led by Malcolm Môr.
They stormed the keep, and its keepers slew,
Or laid in irons before;
Maclean with his merry men sailed in,
Safe to conquer, and bold to win.
He passed the body of Cairnburg's lord
With its gaping wounds and red,
And he spurned it from him with his foot—
He did not fear the dead;
Then he filled a horn and gave a toast,
“We'll drink,” quoth he, “to our silent host.”
With its gaping wounds and red,
And he spurned it from him with his foot—
He did not fear the dead;
Then he filled a horn and gave a toast,
“We'll drink,” quoth he, “to our silent host.”
The thirsty crews swarmed up, they left
The dead men and the bound,
And, drunk with blood, in wassail deep
Their reeling senses drowned.
The captive's groans, the victor's glee,
The lashing of the ruthless sea,
Made up the wild world's harmony.
The dead men and the bound,
And, drunk with blood, in wassail deep
Their reeling senses drowned.
The captive's groans, the victor's glee,
The lashing of the ruthless sea,
Made up the wild world's harmony.
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O loving God, whom all men loved
When hating most their kind,
They lifted bloody hands in prayer,
Now all are stricken blind,—
And we never more may see the sun
Till all men's eyes and hearts are one!
When hating most their kind,
They lifted bloody hands in prayer,
Now all are stricken blind,—
And we never more may see the sun
Till all men's eyes and hearts are one!
The red Maclean set his signet seal
On the castle's garnered store,
Then he filled his pouch with its gold, and gave
The keys to Malcolm Môr,
Whom he left in charge, bold man and true,
While himself took ship with his jolly crew.
On the castle's garnered store,
Then he filled his pouch with its gold, and gave
The keys to Malcolm Môr,
Whom he left in charge, bold man and true,
While himself took ship with his jolly crew.
And he thought: “To this frost-bound maid of mine
When I come red-handed in,
Will the ice of her virgin pride break up,
Shall I come as I came, to win?”
But the spirits that wrought for him by day
Were nought at night; and she held her way.
When I come red-handed in,
Will the ice of her virgin pride break up,
Shall I come as I came, to win?”
But the spirits that wrought for him by day
Were nought at night; and she held her way.
Then he fell in longing by day and night
As the sick man longs for health;
And he longed for her by night and day
As the beggar longs for wealth,
As one who hung over the pit of hell
Might clutch at a star-beam ere he fell.
As the sick man longs for health;
And he longed for her by night and day
As the beggar longs for wealth,
As one who hung over the pit of hell
Might clutch at a star-beam ere he fell.
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And his stricken thought turned round on himself,
And his dim low-lying soul
Caught a shadowy glimpse of a fairer way,
As he deemed, to a fairer goal;
So a heavier stone on his heart was flung,
Which helped but to sink him where he hung.
And his dim low-lying soul
Caught a shadowy glimpse of a fairer way,
As he deemed, to a fairer goal;
So a heavier stone on his heart was flung,
Which helped but to sink him where he hung.
He dreamed of tortures of rare device
As to give his passion ease,
And once in his dire extremity
He sued her upon his knees;
But alone, without her Campbell shield,
Who knows to die, needs not to yield.
As to give his passion ease,
And once in his dire extremity
He sued her upon his knees;
But alone, without her Campbell shield,
Who knows to die, needs not to yield.
For bulwark and for last defence
She had the strength of steel:
The sword betwixt them was a sign,
The dagger was a seal;
And each fine hair that wound about
The dagger's hilt, a watchful scout.
She had the strength of steel:
The sword betwixt them was a sign,
The dagger was a seal;
And each fine hair that wound about
The dagger's hilt, a watchful scout.
But sitting alone on the window stone,
Though still was the summer air,
She heard a whispering on the sea,
A moaning she knew not where;
Then she looked to the hills where the two winds meet,
And saw them wrestle together, and beat
Each against each, and pant and smoke
Like beasts that fret in unequal yoke.
Though still was the summer air,
She heard a whispering on the sea,
A moaning she knew not where;
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And saw them wrestle together, and beat
Each against each, and pant and smoke
Like beasts that fret in unequal yoke.
And she said: “O love that I knew so fair,
Whoever had thought of thee
That thy summery breath could raise the storm,
And the wreck—whose shall it be?
Were the end but death, would it now were here,
And a white fringed pall on my maiden bier.”
Whoever had thought of thee
That thy summery breath could raise the storm,
And the wreck—whose shall it be?
Were the end but death, would it now were here,
And a white fringed pall on my maiden bier.”
FITTE THE FOURTH.
As the red Maclean went to and fro
'Twixt Duart and Cairnburg tower,
One day he chanced to spy a rose;
It seemed a single flower
With an open eye, but in some close part
The bud was shaping a double heart.
'Twixt Duart and Cairnburg tower,
One day he chanced to spy a rose;
It seemed a single flower
With an open eye, but in some close part
The bud was shaping a double heart.
And this flower grew up so fresh and fair
On land that was held in fief,
The Treshnish Isles, which her father owned
Of Maclean, a vassal chief,
And this fair maid, having a vassal soul,
Of her beauty paid the tyrant toll.
On land that was held in fief,
The Treshnish Isles, which her father owned
Of Maclean, a vassal chief,
And this fair maid, having a vassal soul,
Of her beauty paid the tyrant toll.
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And his gallèd spirit found ease in her
From the bond of the proud Argyle,
And his famished pride rose up full-fed,
And rampant beneath her smile,
That he laughed his laugh: “I will take this flower
And plant as a thorn in my lady's bower.”
From the bond of the proud Argyle,
And his famished pride rose up full-fed,
And rampant beneath her smile,
That he laughed his laugh: “I will take this flower
And plant as a thorn in my lady's bower.”
So he took the maiden with him in croup,
And to Castle Duart they came,
Where my lady looked her through and through,
Without or pity or blame:
“Would God,” she thought, “this flower would twine
And stablish herself in this place of mine!”
And to Castle Duart they came,
Where my lady looked her through and through,
Without or pity or blame:
“Would God,” she thought, “this flower would twine
And stablish herself in this place of mine!”
So she let it be, and it wound and wound,
It was so soft and young,
So lithe as the green shoots felt their way,
But they hardened where they clung,
Till they bent the stake the way they chose;
For this plant it was a climbing rose.
It was so soft and young,
So lithe as the green shoots felt their way,
But they hardened where they clung,
Till they bent the stake the way they chose;
For this plant it was a climbing rose.
And the red Maclean, the chief of the clan,
To her was the chief of men,
And she thought in her pride, “Could I win to his side,
As the mists upon Cruachan-ben,
My matron coif would be borne so high
It would shine the first in the great world's eye.”
To her was the chief of men,
And she thought in her pride, “Could I win to his side,
As the mists upon Cruachan-ben,
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It would shine the first in the great world's eye.”
Now Maclean in the strength of others is waxed
So proud that nought avails,
But the ships that traverse the Sound of Mull
Must lower their topmost sails,
When of Duart they come within gun-shot—
Still the woman who called him lord, bent not.
So proud that nought avails,
But the ships that traverse the Sound of Mull
Must lower their topmost sails,
When of Duart they come within gun-shot—
Still the woman who called him lord, bent not.
She looked from the seeming single flower
That twined until, none knew how,
The tender shoot that had clasped a twig,
Had all but bent a bough,
To her baffled lord, for his changed desire
Had held her safe in its counter-fire.
That twined until, none knew how,
The tender shoot that had clasped a twig,
Had all but bent a bough,
To her baffled lord, for his changed desire
Had held her safe in its counter-fire.
And he who noted her morning face
Grow clearer and yet more clear,
Beheld her the only untamed thing
Of all that came him near;
And his longing was as the thirst for blood,
His hate was the hate of fear;
And the fear and longing so grew and grew,
That together they rove his heart in two.
Grow clearer and yet more clear,
Beheld her the only untamed thing
Of all that came him near;
And his longing was as the thirst for blood,
His hate was the hate of fear;
And the fear and longing so grew and grew,
That together they rove his heart in two.
And still he saw her the bond that bound
Clan Campbell to his name,
And knew the issue between them, one
That for very pride and shame,
In his strong walls filled with his vassal kin,
His hand unholpen must lose or win.
Clan Campbell to his name,
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That for very pride and shame,
In his strong walls filled with his vassal kin,
His hand unholpen must lose or win.
The round world spinning about the sun
Appeareth a two-fold arc;
It nothing knoweth of high or low,
But only of light and dark:
That many, dreaming they climb a height,
Are boring deep in the pitchy night.
Appeareth a two-fold arc;
It nothing knoweth of high or low,
But only of light and dark:
That many, dreaming they climb a height,
Are boring deep in the pitchy night.
So the wilding rose it crept and crept,
It was so soft and fair,
That it wound till it reached the chamber door
At the top of the turret stair;
As its sweetness weighted the air within,
She thought, “One night he will tirl the pin.
It was so soft and fair,
That it wound till it reached the chamber door
At the top of the turret stair;
As its sweetness weighted the air within,
She thought, “One night he will tirl the pin.
“He will open and put my lady forth,
And will set me by his side.”
And so it fell; and my lady rose
And past in her virgin pride
From out of the chamber adown the stair
With a foot as light as a bird o' the air.
And will set me by his side.”
And so it fell; and my lady rose
And past in her virgin pride
From out of the chamber adown the stair
With a foot as light as a bird o' the air.
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Then the fierce Maclean, when as chatelaine
She greeted him from her place,
And he caught the tenser tone of her voice,
The light on her morning face,
Was hounded as by the devils in hell
To quench the spirit he could not quell.
She greeted him from her place,
And he caught the tenser tone of her voice,
The light on her morning face,
Was hounded as by the devils in hell
To quench the spirit he could not quell.
And his limmer, striking deeper root,
Still darkly wound her way,
For she hated, who only reigned at night,
The woman who ruled by day;
And at Castle Duart the fiends full fain
Went up and down betwixt these twain.
Still darkly wound her way,
For she hated, who only reigned at night,
The woman who ruled by day;
And at Castle Duart the fiends full fain
Went up and down betwixt these twain.
Then the limmer made an image of wax,
Alike in every part
To my lady's self, and when all was done,
She stuck it through the heart:
“Dwindle and dwine in shade and shine,”
She said, “till all of thine be mine.”
Alike in every part
To my lady's self, and when all was done,
She stuck it through the heart:
“Dwindle and dwine in shade and shine,”
She said, “till all of thine be mine.”
And ever beside the waxen shape
In the gloaming of the day,
With folded hands she crooned the curse
As a troubled soul might pray:
“Dwindle and dwine in shade and shine,
Till all be mine that now is thine.”
In the gloaming of the day,
With folded hands she crooned the curse
As a troubled soul might pray:
“Dwindle and dwine in shade and shine,
Till all be mine that now is thine.”
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In an evil hour the baffled chief
Looked in as she crooned the spell;
He plucked the shroud from the waxen shape:
“You have wrought this passing well;
My lady's face, and the smile thereof;
Here hate hath done the work of love.
Looked in as she crooned the spell;
He plucked the shroud from the waxen shape:
“You have wrought this passing well;
My lady's face, and the smile thereof;
Here hate hath done the work of love.
“My lady's face as she lives—not so;
My lady's face,” he said,
“Not as she lives to flout us two,
But as—she might lie dead.”
Then each glanced up as in vague surprise,
And shrunk at the light in the other's eyes.
My lady's face,” he said,
“Not as she lives to flout us two,
But as—she might lie dead.”
Then each glanced up as in vague surprise,
And shrunk at the light in the other's eyes.
For the wish that was quick in the woman's breast
Had mothered the thought of the man,
And he said: “Ay, harry this heart of wax,
And the woman you would ban
Shall feel the sting in her heart of stone.”
But his laugh rang hollow, and died a groan.
Had mothered the thought of the man,
And he said: “Ay, harry this heart of wax,
And the woman you would ban
Shall feel the sting in her heart of stone.”
But his laugh rang hollow, and died a groan.
He seized the knife, he struck it anew
And turned in the wounded wax:
“Take heed of this bloodless beauty,” he said,
“That thereof nothing lacks;
We will keep this saint as in a shrine;
She may be worth your life and mine.”
And turned in the wounded wax:
“Take heed of this bloodless beauty,” he said,
“That thereof nothing lacks;
We will keep this saint as in a shrine;
She may be worth your life and mine.”
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He led his limmer forth, and turned
The key ere he went his gait:
“If hate can do the work of love,
So love the work of hate.”
Then his fierce heart surged in its beaten pride
As the great waves surged in the high spring-tide.
The key ere he went his gait:
“If hate can do the work of love,
So love the work of hate.”
Then his fierce heart surged in its beaten pride
As the great waves surged in the high spring-tide.
FITTE THE FIFTH.
My lady sat in her bower, and span
From a newly plenished creel;
She loved the wild sea noise that drowned
The droning of her wheel,
Nor feared to hear the low winds race
Through the tall spear-grass to their meeting-place.
From a newly plenished creel;
She loved the wild sea noise that drowned
The droning of her wheel,
Nor feared to hear the low winds race
Through the tall spear-grass to their meeting-place.
But the restless wind awoke her heart
Where her love was laid asleep,
And it rose up wild like a startled child,
It waked like a child to weep;—
O world forlorn in the wan grey weather,
And young heart weeping and wailing together!
Where her love was laid asleep,
And it rose up wild like a startled child,
It waked like a child to weep;—
O world forlorn in the wan grey weather,
And young heart weeping and wailing together!
For the wrestling wind recalled a time
When the grey wan world was green,
When the sun was high, her lost love nigh,
And the sting of love so keen
In the stroke that cleft her heart in twain,
She knew not if it were joy or pain.
When the grey wan world was green,
When the sun was high, her lost love nigh,
And the sting of love so keen
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She knew not if it were joy or pain.
The wind, the waves, the droning wheel,—
No new sound thrilled the air,
But her flesh made motion that some strange thing,
Some loathly to life, stood there.
She stopped her wheel, the fine thread broke;
It was her lord, he laughed, he spoke:
“Would'st give your thought in my thought's stead,
You'd win by the exchange,” he said.
No new sound thrilled the air,
But her flesh made motion that some strange thing,
Some loathly to life, stood there.
She stopped her wheel, the fine thread broke;
It was her lord, he laughed, he spoke:
“Would'st give your thought in my thought's stead,
You'd win by the exchange,” he said.
She turned from him, she locked her hands
And laid them athwart her breast;
She feared belike his questing gaze
From sanctuary might wrest
A name she knew the faintest breath
Betraying, would betray to death.
And laid them athwart her breast;
She feared belike his questing gaze
From sanctuary might wrest
A name she knew the faintest breath
Betraying, would betray to death.
“Put by your wheel and spin no more,
Come, lady, and come with me;
You ever have loved the singing wind,
You love the dancing sea;
My biorlin is on the shore,
Leave flax and fancies, spin no more.”
Come, lady, and come with me;
You ever have loved the singing wind,
You love the dancing sea;
My biorlin is on the shore,
Leave flax and fancies, spin no more.”
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His voice was soft, his words were smooth,
His eye had a feline glow,
You seemed to see it burn more bright
That the light was waxing low.
He smiled, repeating as before:
“Leave flax and fancies, spin no more.”
His eye had a feline glow,
You seemed to see it burn more bright
That the light was waxing low.
He smiled, repeating as before:
“Leave flax and fancies, spin no more.”
She left her wheel, she left her bower,
She followed the false Maclean,
The piper piped them to the shore,
He piped a doleful strain:
The pibroch of Macrimmon Môr:
“The way you go you'll come no more.”
She followed the false Maclean,
The piper piped them to the shore,
He piped a doleful strain:
The pibroch of Macrimmon Môr:
“The way you go you'll come no more.”
The chieftain's foster-brethren twain
Hung on to the shallop's side,
That shook in the breeze as a courser shakes
Ere he steadies himself in his stride;
The lady barely brooked their help,
In her strength of youth and pride;
They back the boat through the blown sea-scurf
And board her all in the boiling surf.
Hung on to the shallop's side,
That shook in the breeze as a courser shakes
Ere he steadies himself in his stride;
The lady barely brooked their help,
In her strength of youth and pride;
They back the boat through the blown sea-scurf
And board her all in the boiling surf.
The helm was ta'en of the red Maclean,
The oars by Donald Dhu,
And Shamesh, he of the bloody hands—
And they were a grisly crew;
But my lady's spirit rose bold and free
'Twixt the singing wind and the dancing sea.
The oars by Donald Dhu,
And Shamesh, he of the bloody hands—
And they were a grisly crew;
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'Twixt the singing wind and the dancing sea.
O youth, what art thou for gallant stuff?
Well known to the fiend Despair,
Of him you haply will take of Death
But never will doff to Care;
A gleam of sun, a breath of brine,
Will mount your pulses as brisk new wine.
Well known to the fiend Despair,
Of him you haply will take of Death
But never will doff to Care;
A gleam of sun, a breath of brine,
Will mount your pulses as brisk new wine.
The good boat breasted the creaming waves,
She rose in the teeth of the breeze,
She charged again as a fiery steed
When stricken aback by the seas.
The mountains seemed to soar and dive;
The dim world heaved as yet alive.
She rose in the teeth of the breeze,
She charged again as a fiery steed
When stricken aback by the seas.
The mountains seemed to soar and dive;
The dim world heaved as yet alive.
The Norse-built keep of Castle Duart,
That one while, gaunt and bare,
Looked glowering from its stony height,
Melted as smoke in air;
As faint from that dissolving shore
The pibroch wailed, “You'll come no more.”
That one while, gaunt and bare,
Looked glowering from its stony height,
Melted as smoke in air;
As faint from that dissolving shore
The pibroch wailed, “You'll come no more.”
But where the two winds meet, the drift
Had loosed a lurid cloud
Which floated up as the sun went down—
In fashion as a shroud,
Or liker to a woman drowned,
With arms outspread, and hair unbound.
Had loosed a lurid cloud
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In fashion as a shroud,
Or liker to a woman drowned,
With arms outspread, and hair unbound.
As the rowers caught in the lady's eyes
A shadow of vague affright,
They turned about on their labouring oars,
To question the waning light;
And deep in the downdraught of one thought
A moment those four souls were caught.
A shadow of vague affright,
They turned about on their labouring oars,
To question the waning light;
And deep in the downdraught of one thought
A moment those four souls were caught.
Then looked at her with wolfish eyes
And fierce, the red Maclean;
Then looked at her with conscious eyes
And keen, those gillies twain;
Their meeting glances quelled her breath,
They seemed to smite, and deal her death.
And fierce, the red Maclean;
Then looked at her with conscious eyes
And keen, those gillies twain;
Their meeting glances quelled her breath,
They seemed to smite, and deal her death.
The pibroch's note was heard no more,
The pallid mist had spread
O'er all the world a winding-sheet
For all the world seemed dead;
The wind and the waves upon its track
Shrieking the lost world's coronach.
The pallid mist had spread
O'er all the world a winding-sheet
For all the world seemed dead;
The wind and the waves upon its track
Shrieking the lost world's coronach.
But broadening over their bows they see
A line of angry foam
That hard on a bare, nigh-sunken rock
With maddened haste beats home;
And all the woe that was no more,
The dead world's woe, was in its roar.
A line of angry foam
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With maddened haste beats home;
And all the woe that was no more,
The dead world's woe, was in its roar.
The lady heard, and she rose up pale,
In the quivering boat upright;
It was but the blind young blood that rose,
Alas! what hope in flight,
What hope of any help might be
Betwixt the dead world and the sea?
In the quivering boat upright;
It was but the blind young blood that rose,
Alas! what hope in flight,
What hope of any help might be
Betwixt the dead world and the sea?
And looking ahead where the breakers struck
The black, low-lying shore,
'Twas a man's hoarse voice that smote her ear—
Smote through the deafening roar:
“There one in love with death,” it said,
“Might have white sheets for a marriage-bed.”
The black, low-lying shore,
'Twas a man's hoarse voice that smote her ear—
Smote through the deafening roar:
“There one in love with death,” it said,
“Might have white sheets for a marriage-bed.”
Then not for tumult of wind or wave
That lady's heart beat high,
It swung with the dead, dull weight of lead,
It struck as for danger nigh
A wild alarum, whereat each sense
Doubled the force of its frail defence.
That lady's heart beat high,
It swung with the dead, dull weight of lead,
It struck as for danger nigh
A wild alarum, whereat each sense
Doubled the force of its frail defence.
And, served by the drift of the landward seas,
The boat makes straight for the rock;
She shoots the waves, and in the trough
Lies stunned as if with the shock;
Then rights herself as fearing more
The helmsman than the deadly shore.
The boat makes straight for the rock;
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Lies stunned as if with the shock;
Then rights herself as fearing more
The helmsman than the deadly shore.
Dumb 'mid the thunder of wind and surge,
That savage helmsman steers,
The world in lapsing from out their sight
Is clamouring at their ears;
But through the tumult they can feel
The shingles grind a quivering keel.
That savage helmsman steers,
The world in lapsing from out their sight
Is clamouring at their ears;
But through the tumult they can feel
The shingles grind a quivering keel.
And swept ashore on a towardly wave,
They haul the good boat in,
And without a word the brethren fall
To work in the wildering din:
Some deadlier task, and still to come,
Would seem to hold those brethren dumb.
They haul the good boat in,
And without a word the brethren fall
To work in the wildering din:
Some deadlier task, and still to come,
Would seem to hold those brethren dumb.
Then swift as strokes of the stormy sea,
More rude than the raging wind,
The lady is 'ware of two sudden arms
That seize her body and bind,
And knows from its beating that dull way
The heart her dagger had kept at bay.
More rude than the raging wind,
The lady is 'ware of two sudden arms
That seize her body and bind,
And knows from its beating that dull way
The heart her dagger had kept at bay.
The red Maclean! none other than he,
He has her in hand at last,
And oh, ye smouldering fires of hell!
This time he holds her fast;
The teeth of the dragon beneath her vest
Are buried deep in her bleeding breast.
He has her in hand at last,
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This time he holds her fast;
The teeth of the dragon beneath her vest
Are buried deep in her bleeding breast.
He stood with his bride on that trampled shore—
They two, and they alone—
And with brackish kisses he pressed and pressed
As one who would make his own
Her shuddering lips; then he cast her down
As a man might cast a stone,
And the rock that was all that was left of the world
Seemed sinking with that light weight so hurled.
They two, and they alone—
And with brackish kisses he pressed and pressed
As one who would make his own
Her shuddering lips; then he cast her down
As a man might cast a stone,
And the rock that was all that was left of the world
Seemed sinking with that light weight so hurled.
He turned where the tattered fringe of the sea
Lighted the falling night;
That face, that face on the brown sea-ware
Had shown so ghastly white!
He dares the foaming wrath of the surge,
He boards his boat as in flight,
He shouts: “Haste, brothers, make for the large!”
The waves are roaring a countercharge.
Lighted the falling night;
That face, that face on the brown sea-ware
Had shown so ghastly white!
He dares the foaming wrath of the surge,
He boards his boat as in flight,
He shouts: “Haste, brothers, make for the large!”
The waves are roaring a countercharge.
The foster-brothers they heave their hearts
Loud beating against the prow,
But in face of the countervailing sea
The labour of man is slow;
And somewhat white hangs on to the boat,
Forbearing the shallop to get afloat:
Loud beating against the prow,
But in face of the countervailing sea
The labour of man is slow;
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Forbearing the shallop to get afloat:
Ah! what but the swift young blood again,
Uprisen as with a cry—
The voice of its still-aspiring life
“Not yet is it time to die,”
Has sent my lady in this wild way
With grappling hands to plead and to pray?
Uprisen as with a cry—
The voice of its still-aspiring life
“Not yet is it time to die,”
Has sent my lady in this wild way
With grappling hands to plead and to pray?
He struck her off, the caitiff Maclean—
The very breakers had fled
To let her kneel—but there be lost men
And damned or ere they be dead.
“Kneel, woman, kneel,” said the red Maclean,
“And kneel as once I knelt—in vain!”
The very breakers had fled
To let her kneel—but there be lost men
And damned or ere they be dead.
“Kneel, woman, kneel,” said the red Maclean,
“And kneel as once I knelt—in vain!”
The sea in its sovereign strength returned
And took the maid to its breast,
Then arched itself—a triumphant wave—
And bore her high on its crest,
To lay the face so ghostly fair
Unharmed again on the brown sea-ware.
And took the maid to its breast,
Then arched itself—a triumphant wave—
And bore her high on its crest,
To lay the face so ghostly fair
Unharmed again on the brown sea-ware.
My lady rose in the strength of her pride,
She saw herself there alone—
She rose and blest the sundering sea,
The islet was all her own;
She rose and rose to its topmost ledge—
She made thereof a throne;—
She cried: “Maclean of Duart, farewell!
We're parted now as heaven and hell!”
She saw herself there alone—
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The islet was all her own;
She rose and rose to its topmost ledge—
She made thereof a throne;—
She cried: “Maclean of Duart, farewell!
We're parted now as heaven and hell!”
No blot on the shrouding mist, Maclean
With his whole dark world seemed dead,
All, even to very hate of him,
Gone like a knotless thread,
So that behind, as about, above,
Was nothing left her but Death and Love.
With his whole dark world seemed dead,
All, even to very hate of him,
Gone like a knotless thread,
So that behind, as about, above,
Was nothing left her but Death and Love.
Then she wept for ruth of her maiden truth:
“O Love, have I waked for thee
By day and night, but to face thee now
With this lothèd stain on me?
Come, ocean, and with your bitter brine
Sweeten these ravished lips of mine!”
“O Love, have I waked for thee
By day and night, but to face thee now
With this lothèd stain on me?
Come, ocean, and with your bitter brine
Sweeten these ravished lips of mine!”
The hydra heads of the western waves
Broke, parted to north and south,
They lipped the shore, commixed, and closed
As one vast, foaming mouth
That hungered for her evermore,
That all but slew her with its roar.
Broke, parted to north and south,
They lipped the shore, commixed, and closed
As one vast, foaming mouth
That hungered for her evermore,
That all but slew her with its roar.
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And still she called upon Love: “False Love,
To think thy summery breath
Should drive a soul that trusted thee
On this wild way of death!”
The foam-fringed rock was wearing small,
Scarce bigger now than a maiden's pall.
To think thy summery breath
Should drive a soul that trusted thee
On this wild way of death!”
The foam-fringed rock was wearing small,
Scarce bigger now than a maiden's pall.
The clamouring surges formed and fell,
Pressed nearer and yet more near,
Then plunged and quivered in pale recoil
Of pity, or eke of fear.
They broke, they wandered round her seat—
They went, they came, they licked her feet.
Pressed nearer and yet more near,
Then plunged and quivered in pale recoil
Of pity, or eke of fear.
They broke, they wandered round her seat—
They went, they came, they licked her feet.
And still she cried and still she clung:
“O treacherous sea, and slow,
Come take my life and make an end,
Since death will have it so!”
The mad sea melted at her commands,
Came back and kissed her clinging hands.
“O treacherous sea, and slow,
Come take my life and make an end,
Since death will have it so!”
The mad sea melted at her commands,
Came back and kissed her clinging hands.
The charging waves come on, fall off,
Rise, sheer as a wall, and steep—
O Christ, must the whole dead world go down,
Entombed in the charnel deep?
The strong tide lays her bosom bare,
She feels it dragging her tangled hair.
Rise, sheer as a wall, and steep—
O Christ, must the whole dead world go down,
Entombed in the charnel deep?
The strong tide lays her bosom bare,
She feels it dragging her tangled hair.
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Her hands have ceased to clasp and cling,
She has shaken her spirit free,
She will strive no more, she will make no moan,
She will go with the clamouring sea.
The waves ring only against the rock,
But it feels as yielding beneath the shock.
She has shaken her spirit free,
She will strive no more, she will make no moan,
She will go with the clamouring sea.
The waves ring only against the rock,
But it feels as yielding beneath the shock.
And still the breakers lift their crests,
“O maiden Mary,” she cries,
“Who will tell my lover my heart was true,
Who will right me in love's eyes?”
But the hydra heads have come and gone,
And in face of death she still lives on.
“O maiden Mary,” she cries,
“Who will tell my lover my heart was true,
Who will right me in love's eyes?”
But the hydra heads have come and gone,
And in face of death she still lives on.
But they come no more, dear God, so nigh
They come not again, they fall
And trample the rock beside her feet,
Fierce monsters, but held in thrall,
Tamed in their very pride's excess
To this turbulent show of humbleness.
They come not again, they fall
And trample the rock beside her feet,
Fierce monsters, but held in thrall,
Tamed in their very pride's excess
To this turbulent show of humbleness.
The battle-front of the daunted sea,
Though the waves still chop and churn,
Is in forced retreat, the wavering tide
Has trembled long on the turn;
Then one white wave came back and surged
About her—and her lips were purged.
Though the waves still chop and churn,
Is in forced retreat, the wavering tide
Has trembled long on the turn;
Then one white wave came back and surged
About her—and her lips were purged.
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And she lay there washed as for the grave,
And purer than virgin snow,
Her beauty seemed as a conquering power
In this its overthrow;
Her eyes were blinded, choked her breath,
Her ears were open gates of death.
And purer than virgin snow,
Her beauty seemed as a conquering power
In this its overthrow;
Her eyes were blinded, choked her breath,
Her ears were open gates of death.
A panic seized on the routed waves:
They fled to the sandy shelves,
They writhed, they foamed, they broke, they turned,
And foundered upon themselves;
But in that maiden was no stir;
Great Love had had his will of her.
They fled to the sandy shelves,
They writhed, they foamed, they broke, they turned,
And foundered upon themselves;
But in that maiden was no stir;
Great Love had had his will of her.
The terror deepened upon the sea,
The stillness grew on the wind;
They fled together, these fierce allies,
And left their spoil behind—
The one sole thing that glimmered white
And pure in all that world of night.
The stillness grew on the wind;
They fled together, these fierce allies,
And left their spoil behind—
The one sole thing that glimmered white
And pure in all that world of night.
FITTE THE SIXTH.
Two shapes passed over the sobbing sea
To land at Dunolly Bay;
One passed at sunrise, one at noon
Of the new-created day.
The first was a work of God undone;
The second, a devil's but ill begun.
To land at Dunolly Bay;
One passed at sunrise, one at noon
Of the new-created day.
The first was a work of God undone;
The second, a devil's but ill begun.
And both were silent as outer space,
Both white as the upper air;
As one mask lay to the rising sun,
And one to the noon-day bare,
Broke from the first a gasping breath,
Shone on the second the beads of death.
Both white as the upper air;
As one mask lay to the rising sun,
And one to the noon-day bare,
Broke from the first a gasping breath,
Shone on the second the beads of death.
So the first was laid on the yellow sands
To catch the coming of day,
And the second was covered up close as night
To hide from the noon away;
And light of life came into the first,
But the second sweltered, a thing accurst.
To catch the coming of day,
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To hide from the noon away;
And light of life came into the first,
But the second sweltered, a thing accurst.
Through the standing floods, by the lonely ways,
In the tracks which the sheep had worn,
By Shamesh, he of the bloody hands,
That spotless lady is borne;
But her sleeping sense of his care is fain,
And his bloody hands leave never a stain.
In the tracks which the sheep had worn,
By Shamesh, he of the bloody hands,
That spotless lady is borne;
But her sleeping sense of his care is fain,
And his bloody hands leave never a stain.
He had sighted her soul when it rose and sued
To his chief at her wild wide eyes;
And the sea and the shore through the livelong night
Had been ringing as with her cries;
And they drew him whether he would or no
With the cords of a man, and he had to go.
To his chief at her wild wide eyes;
And the sea and the shore through the livelong night
Had been ringing as with her cries;
And they drew him whether he would or no
With the cords of a man, and he had to go.
So he found her there where the sea had laid
And left her, but not a sound
There breathed from her body, as mournfully
The waves fell sobbing round;
Then a stainless lily, alive or dead,
He gathered her up in his hands, and fled.
And left her, but not a sound
There breathed from her body, as mournfully
The waves fell sobbing round;
Then a stainless lily, alive or dead,
He gathered her up in his hands, and fled.
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Then as bloody Shamesh was making the shore,
And laying that white ladye
In the sun's warm bed on the yellow sands,
Maclean was putting to sea
With the waxen shape that in hate of hell
His limmer had molten and made so well.
And laying that white ladye
In the sun's warm bed on the yellow sands,
Maclean was putting to sea
With the waxen shape that in hate of hell
His limmer had molten and made so well.
But or ever the seeming widower
Had come with the seeming dead
To Dunolly Bay, that first true twain
Were well on their journey sped,—
Ben Cruachan behind them, frowning above
And blocking the way of the foes of love.
Had come with the seeming dead
To Dunolly Bay, that first true twain
Were well on their journey sped,—
Ben Cruachan behind them, frowning above
And blocking the way of the foes of love.
Then they hail the ferry, and lightly go
Where heavily erst she came,
And the jubilant song of Glenara fall
Sets her frozen blood aflame,
And she lights at the gate, and she seems to win
Her way like a chartered ghost within.
Where heavily erst she came,
And the jubilant song of Glenara fall
Sets her frozen blood aflame,
And she lights at the gate, and she seems to win
Her way like a chartered ghost within.
And she glides to her place by the arras screen,
And faces her kinsmen all,
For a wandering breath that told of her death
Had called them together in hall:
“You must open your hearts as of yore to me,
For you get me back at the gift of the sea!”
And faces her kinsmen all,
For a wandering breath that told of her death
Had called them together in hall:
“You must open your hearts as of yore to me,
For you get me back at the gift of the sea!”
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They opened their hearts, and they lent their ears
To her tale, but on every dirk
A hand was locked in a fast embrace
And with promise of wilder work
Than ever had been in the age-long reign
Of hate 'twixt Clan Campbell and Clan Maclean.
To her tale, but on every dirk
A hand was locked in a fast embrace
And with promise of wilder work
Than ever had been in the age-long reign
Of hate 'twixt Clan Campbell and Clan Maclean.
Then the women swarmed round her and bore her away,
As a leaf on a stream at flood,
They shrieked wild curses, but eased their hearts
With tears, while they talked of blood;
And my lady who heard was resolving it all
In the call of the cuckoo, the song of the fall.
As a leaf on a stream at flood,
They shrieked wild curses, but eased their hearts
With tears, while they talked of blood;
And my lady who heard was resolving it all
In the call of the cuckoo, the song of the fall.
But when, brave and sweet, from her maiden bower
She issued again, they had done;
And the whole clan rose to the queen of the feast,
And she faced them, and saw but one,
Till her thought was drawn to that vanished shore
By the ghost of the dirge of Macrimmon Môr.
She issued again, they had done;
And the whole clan rose to the queen of the feast,
And she faced them, and saw but one,
Till her thought was drawn to that vanished shore
By the ghost of the dirge of Macrimmon Môr.
Faint as a travelling spirit of sound
It came and went on the breeze,
Now low in the valley, now high on the hill,
Now lost in the leaves of the trees;
But ever emerging, and ever more near,
As the men clutched their dirks and bent forward to hear,
For they knew of the thing that was like to appear.
It came and went on the breeze,
Now low in the valley, now high on the hill,
Now lost in the leaves of the trees;
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As the men clutched their dirks and bent forward to hear,
For they knew of the thing that was like to appear.
A lie will be loud in its own defence,
As a fearsome heart will be bold;
And in every clachan the thing went through,
The lie had been told and told,
And the dool of the lady lamented o'er
In the wild death-song of Macrimmon Môr.
As a fearsome heart will be bold;
And in every clachan the thing went through,
The lie had been told and told,
And the dool of the lady lamented o'er
In the wild death-song of Macrimmon Môr.
Now it wails, it shrieks, it is passing the cross,
It has entered the gate, and the beat
Grows loud and louder, the steady ground-tone
Of an army of tramping feet;
Then the great hall fills with a funeral train,
And in weeds of mourning the false Maclean
It has entered the gate, and the beat
Grows loud and louder, the steady ground-tone
Of an army of tramping feet;
Then the great hall fills with a funeral train,
And in weeds of mourning the false Maclean
Steps warily close to an open bier,
With one downward fiery eye
That has found a way through his folded plaid
Fast fixed on the waxen lie;
Then he lifts his hand and he stops the march
Of the train in the favouring gloom of an arch.
With one downward fiery eye
That has found a way through his folded plaid
Fast fixed on the waxen lie;
Then he lifts his hand and he stops the march
Of the train in the favouring gloom of an arch.
And one clan halts in the cavernous shade,
One stands in a bright half ring
By the torch-lit board, each man in his place,
But alert, and ready to spring
If damnable treason for once overbore
The bloodless craft of MacCallum Môr.
One stands in a bright half ring
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But alert, and ready to spring
If damnable treason for once overbore
The bloodless craft of MacCallum Môr.
Then from out of the darkness a hollow voice
Comes deep as the gloom and dull,
And the Campbells are fretting like hounds in leash,
While the tortuous lord of Mull
Pours the tale of his loss and his dole in their ears
While his false eyes verily shed false tears.
Comes deep as the gloom and dull,
And the Campbells are fretting like hounds in leash,
While the tortuous lord of Mull
Pours the tale of his loss and his dole in their ears
While his false eyes verily shed false tears.
“Abide, my brothers!” MacCallum Môr
Has taken his sister's hand,
And adown the hall in their Campbell pride
They pace together, and stand
In a halo of light by the open bier,
He waving a burning brand
In the false dead face which wears flat in the flare,
As the falser living shrinks back from the glare.
Has taken his sister's hand,
And adown the hall in their Campbell pride
They pace together, and stand
In a halo of light by the open bier,
He waving a burning brand
In the false dead face which wears flat in the flare,
As the falser living shrinks back from the glare.
But the lady has fronted the men of Argyle,
And though never a sign gave she,
Her heart on another's made silent call,
And the twain were suddenly three,
She holding in ward with her maiden might
The armed right hand of her own true knight.
And though never a sign gave she,
Her heart on another's made silent call,
And the twain were suddenly three,
She holding in ward with her maiden might
The armed right hand of her own true knight.
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The mourner has turned in his ghastly rear
From that deadlier image than death,—
And lo, on the topmost stair, as of life,
Sees the Lady Elizabeth,
And the radiant vision had all but slain,
As with effluent being, that caitiff Maclean.
From that deadlier image than death,—
And lo, on the topmost stair, as of life,
Sees the Lady Elizabeth,
And the radiant vision had all but slain,
As with effluent being, that caitiff Maclean.
His lieges are thronging in hall and court,
And many bold men and true,
But in view of that lady who dazzles their eyes
They cower and tremble too:
'Tis an unkenned sight, and a weird, to see
A spirit stand clear of its own bodie.
And many bold men and true,
But in view of that lady who dazzles their eyes
They cower and tremble too:
'Tis an unkenned sight, and a weird, to see
A spirit stand clear of its own bodie.
Now Maclean lies bleeding and overthrown
In his recreant haste to fly;
But MacCallum Môr had foreseen his gain
In the life of his false ally,
Though his fiercer namesmen had all but broke
From his cautious hold, when his sister spoke.
In his recreant haste to fly;
But MacCallum Môr had foreseen his gain
In the life of his false ally,
Though his fiercer namesmen had all but broke
From his cautious hold, when his sister spoke.
She spoke in her tolerant scorn: “This chief
Has suffered some wrong of me,
Which failing to right, he went near to avenge
In the strength of his fere the Sea.
I stand here victor: let no man dare
To take from the vanquished the life I spare!”
Has suffered some wrong of me,
Which failing to right, he went near to avenge
In the strength of his fere the Sea.
I stand here victor: let no man dare
To take from the vanquished the life I spare!”
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She seized the brand, and tossed it alive.
On the waxen shape where it lay,
And the light full-fed leaped up to the roof,
And the night was a brighter day.
Then the red Maclean, who, dabbled with gore,
And abject with terror, fled out of the door,
To his whilom lady became no more.
On the waxen shape where it lay,
And the light full-fed leaped up to the roof,
And the night was a brighter day.
Then the red Maclean, who, dabbled with gore,
And abject with terror, fled out of the door,
To his whilom lady became no more.
And she spoke again to her own true love,
None hearing but only he:
“Forgive that a traitor in love's despite
Once dared in sight of the sea—
But only once—high God He knows—
To touch the lips of me,
Sith the great white wave that broke from above
Hath made them meet now for death or for love.”
None hearing but only he:
“Forgive that a traitor in love's despite
Once dared in sight of the sea—
But only once—high God He knows—
To touch the lips of me,
Sith the great white wave that broke from above
Hath made them meet now for death or for love.”
Then she turned in her pride to her feudal lord,
Said, “Brother, now give me shrift;
I was offered to shame, I was offered to death;
As I hold at the sea's free gift
My life and love, I will hold them fast,
Or find me a grave with the true at last.”
Said, “Brother, now give me shrift;
I was offered to shame, I was offered to death;
As I hold at the sea's free gift
My life and love, I will hold them fast,
Or find me a grave with the true at last.”
But her brother has taken and joined their hands,
And so soothfast was the kiss—
So dear love's due to her lips so true—
She had like to have died of bliss;
Then over her cheek as she drooped her head,
Love's banner at last rose red, rose red.
And so soothfast was the kiss—
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She had like to have died of bliss;
Then over her cheek as she drooped her head,
Love's banner at last rose red, rose red.
THE END.
| The Rhyme of The Lady of The Rock and How it Grew | |