I

Hast thou not marked when o'er thy startled head
Sudden and deep the thunder-peal has rolled,
How, when its echoes fell, a silence dead
Sunk on the wood, the meadow, and the wold?
The rye-grass shakes not on the sod-built fold,
The rustling aspen's leaves are mute and still,
The wall-flower waves not on the rained hold,
Till, murmuring distant first, then near and shrill,
The savage whirlwind wakes and sweeps the groaning hill.

II

Artornish! such a silence sunk
Upon thy halls, when that gray monk
His prophet-speech had spoke;
And his obedient brethren's sail
Was stretched to meet the southern gale
Before a whisper woke.
Then murmuring sounds of doubt and fear,
Close poured in many an anxious ear,
The solemn stillness broke;
And still they gazed with eager guess
Where in an oriel's deep recess
The Island Prince seemed bent to press
What Lorn, by his impatient cheer
And gesture fierce, scarce deigned to hear.

III

Starting at length with frowning look,
His hand he clenched, his head he shook,
And sternly flung apart:
" And deem'st thou me so mean of mood
As to forget the mortal feud,
And clasp the hand with blood imbrued
From my dear kinsman's heart?
Is this thy rede? — a due return
For ancient league and friendship sworn!
But well our mountain proverb shows
The faith of Islesmen ebbs and flows.
Be it even so — believe ere long
He that now bears shall wreak the wrong. —
Call Edith — call the Maid of Lorn!
My sister, slaves! — for further scorn,
Be sure nor she nor I will stay. —
Away, De Argentine, away! —
We nor ally nor brother know
In Bruce's friend or England's foe."

IV

But who the chieftain's rage can tell
When, sought from lowest dungeon cell
To highest tower the castle round,
No Lady Edith was there found!
He shouted, " Falsehood! — treachery! —
Revenge and blood! — a lordly meed
To him that will avenge the deed!
A baron's lands!" — His frantic mood
Was scarcely by the news withstood
That Morag shared his sister's flight,
And that in hurry of the night,
'Scaped noteless and without remark,
Two strangers sought the abbot's bark. —
" Man every galley! — fly — pursue!
The priest his treachery shall rue!
Ay, and the time shall quickly come
When we shall hear the thanks that Rome
Will pay his feigned prophecy!"
Such was fierce Lorn's indignant cry;
And Cormac Doil in haste obeyed,
Hoisted his sail, his anchor weighed —
For, glad of each pretext for spoil,
A pirate sworn was Cormac Doil.
But others, lingering, spoke apart,
" The maid has given her maiden heart
To Ronald of the Isles,
And, fearful lest her brother's word
Bestow her on that English lord,
She seeks Iona's piles,
And wisely deems it best to dwell
A votaress in the holy cell
Until these feuds so fierce and fell
The abbot reconciles."

V

As, impotent of ire, the hall
Echoed to Lorn's impatient call —
" My horse, my mantle, and my train!
Let none who honors Lorn remain!" —
Courteous but stern, a bold request
To Bruce De Argentine expressed:
" Lord Earl," he said, " I cannot chuse
But yield such title to the Bruce,
Though name and earldom both are gone
Since he braced rebel's armor on —
But, earl or serf — rude phrase was thine
Of late, and launched at Argentine;
Such as compels me to demand
Redress of honor at thy hand.
We need not to each other tell
That both can wield their weapons well;
Then do me but the soldier grace
This glove upon thy helm to place
Where we may meet in fight;
And I will say, as still I 've said,
Though by ambition far misled,
Thou art a noble knight."

VI

" And I," the princely Bruce replied,
" Might term it stain on knighthood's pride
That the bright sword of Argentine
Should in a tyrant's quarrel shine;
But, for your brave request,
Be sure the honored pledge you gave
In every battle-field shall wave
Upon my helmet-crest;
Believe that if my hasty tongue
Hath done thine honor causeless wrong,
It shall be well redressed.
Not dearer to my soul was glove
Bestowed in youth by lady's love
Than this which thou hast given!
Thus then my noble foe I greet;
Health and high fortune till we meet,
And then — what pleases Heaven."

VII

Thus parted they — for now, with sound
Like waves rolled back from rocky ground,
The friends of Lorn retire;
Each mainland chieftain with his train
Draws to his mountain towers again,
Pondering how mortal schemes prove vain
And mortal hopes expire.
But through the castle double guard
By Ronald's charge kept wakeful ward,
Wicket and gate were trebly barred
By beam and bolt and chain;
Then of the guests in courteous sort
He prayed excuse for mirth broke short,
And bade them in Artornish fort
In confidence remain.
Now torch and menial tendance led
Chieftain and knight to bower and bed,
And beads were told and Aves said,
And soon they sunk away
Into such sleep as wont to shed
Oblivion on the weary head
After a toilsome day.

VIII

But soon uproused, the monarch cried
To Edward slumbering by his side,
" Awake, or sleep for aye!
Even now there jarred a secret door —
A taper-light gleams on the floor —
Up, Edward! up, I say!
Some one glides in like midnight ghost —
Nay, strike not! 't is our noble host."
Advancing then his taper's flame,
Ronald stept forth, and with him came
Dunvegan's chief — each bent the knee
To Bruce in sign of fealty
And proffered him his sword,
And hailed him in a monarch's style
As king of mainland and of isle
And Scotland's rightful lord.
And O," said Ronald, " Owned of Heaven!
Say, is my erring youth forgiven,
By falsehood's arts from duty driven,
Who rebel falchion drew,
Yet ever to thy deeds of fame,
Even while I strove against thy claim,
Paid homage just and true?" —
" Alas! dear youth, the unhappy time,"
Answered the Bruce, " must bear the crime
Since, guiltier far than you,
Even I" — he paused; for Falkirk's woes
Upon his conscious soul arose.
The chieftain to his breast he pressed,
And in a sigh concealed the rest.

IX

They proffered aid by arms and might
To repossess him in his right;
But well their counsels must be weighed
Ere banners raised and musters made,
For English hire and Lorn's intrigues
Bound many chiefs in southern leagues.
In answer Bruce his purpose bold
To his new vassals frankly told:
" The winter worn in exile o'er,
I longed for Carrick's kindred shore.
I thought upon my native Ayr
And longed to see the barly fare
That Clifford makes, whose lordly call
Now echoes through my father's hall.
But first my course to Arran led
Where valiant Lennox gathers head,
And on the sea by tempest tossed,
Our barks dispersed, our purpose crossed,
Mine own, a hostile sail to shun,
Far from her destined course had run,
When that wise will which masters ours
Compelled us to your friendly towers."

X

Then Torquil spoke: " The time craves speed!
We must not linger in our deed,
But instant pray our sovereign liege
To shun the perils of a siege.
The vengeful Lorn with all his powers
Lies but too near Artornish towers,
And England's light-armed vessels ride
Not distant far the waves of Clyde,
Prompt at these tidings to unmoor,
And sweep each strait and guard each shore.
Then, till this fresh alarm pass by,
Secret and safe my liege must lie
In the far bounds of friendly Skye,
Torquil thy pilot and thy guide." —
" Not so, brave chieftain," Ronald cried;
" Myself will on my sovereign wait,
And raise in arms the men of Sleate,
Whilst thou, renowned where chiefs debate,
Shalt sway their souls by council sage
And awe them by thy locks of age." —
" And if my words in weight shall fail,
This ponderous sword shall turn the scale."

XI

" The scheme," said Bruce, " contents me well;
Meantime, 't were best that Isabel
For safety with my bark and crew
Again to friendly Erin drew.
There Edward too shall with her wend,
In need to cheer her and defend
And muster up each scattered friend."
Here seemed it as Lord Ronald's ear
Would other counsel gladlier hear;
But, all achieved as soon as planned,
Both barks, in secret armed and manned,
From out the haven bore;
On different voyage forth they ply,
This for the coast of winged Skye
And that for Erin's shore.

XII

With Bruce and Ronald bides the tale. —
To favoring winds they gave the sail
Till Mull's dark headlands scarce they knew
And Ardnamurchan's hills were blue.
But then the squalls blew close and hard,
And, fain to strike the galley's yard
And take them to the oar,
With these rude seas in weary plight
They strove the livelong day and night,
Nor till the dawning had a sight
Of Skye's romantic shore.
Where Coolin stoops him to the west,
They saw upon his shivered crest
The sun's arising gleam;
But such the labor and delay,
Ere they were moored in Seavigh bay —
For calmer heaven compelled to stay —
He shot a western beam.
Then Ronald said, " If true mine eye,
These are the savage wilds that lie
North of Strathnardill and Dunskye;
No human foot comes here,
And, since these adverse breezes blow,
If my good liege love hunter's bow,
What hinders that on land we go
And strike a mountain-deer?
Allan, my page, shall with us wend;
A bow full deftly can he bend,
And, if we meet a herd, may send
A shaft shall mend our cheer."
Then each took bow and bolts in hand,
Their row-boat launched and leapt to land,
And left their skiff and train,
Where a wild stream with headlong shock
Came brawling down its bed of rock
To mingle with the main.

XIII

Awhile their route they silent made,
As men who stalk for mountain-deer,
Till the good Bruce to Ronald said, —
" Saint Mary! what a scene is here!
I 've traversed many a mountain-strand,
Abroad and in my native land,
And it has been my lot to tread
Where safety more than pleasure led;
Thus, many a waste I 've wandered o'er,
Clomb many a crag, crossed many a moor,
But, by my halidome,
A scene so rude, so wild as this,
Yet so sublime in barrenness,
Ne'er did my wandering footsteps press
Where'er I happed to roam."

XIV

No marvel thus the monarch spake;
For rarely human eye has known
A scene so stern as that dread lake
With its dark ledge of barren stone.
Seems that primeval earthquake's sway
Hath rent a strange and shattered way
Through the rude bosom of the hill,
And that each naked precipice,
Sable ravine, and dark abyss,
Tells of the outrage still.
The wildest glen but this can show
Some touch of Nature's genial glow;
On high Benmore green mosses grow,
And heath-bells bud in deep Glencroe,
And copse on Cruchan-Ben;
But here, — above, around, below,
On mountain or in glen,
Nor tree, nor shrub, nor plant, nor flower,
Nor aught of vegetative power,
The weary eye may ken.
For all is rocks at random thrown,
Black waves, bare crags, and banks of stone,
As if were here denied
The summer sun, the spring's sweet dew,
That clothe with many a varied hue
The bleakest mountain-side.

XV

And wilder, forward as they wound,
Were the proud cliffs and lake profound.
Huge terraces of granite black
Afforded rude and cumbered track;
For from the mountain hoar,
Hurled headlong in some night of fear,
When yelled the wolf and fled the deer,
Loose crags had toppled o'er;
And some, chance-poised and balanced, lay
So that a stripling arm might sway
A mass no host could raise,
In Nature's rage at random thrown
Yet trembling like the Druid's stone
On its precarious base.
The evening mists with ceaseless change
Now clothed the mountains' lofty range,
Now left their foreheads bare,
And round the skirts their mantle furled,
Or on the sable waters curled;
Or on the eddying breezes whirled,
Dispersed in middle air.
And oft condensed at once they lower
When, brief and fierce, the mountain shower
Pours like a torrent down,
And when return the sun's glad beams,
Whitened with foam a thousand streams
Leap from the mountain's crown.

XVI

" This lake," said Bruce, " whose barriers drear
Are precipices sharp and sheer,
Yielding no track for goat or deer
Save the black shelves we tread,
How term you its dark waves? and how
Yon northern mountain's pathless brow,
And yonder peak of dread
That to the evening sun uplifts
The griesly gulfs and slaty rifts
Which seam its shivered head?" —
" Coriskin call the dark lake's name,
Coolin the ridge, as bards proclaim,
From old Cuchullin, chief of fame.
But bards, familiar in our isles
Rather with Nature's frowns than smiles,
Full oft their careless humors please
By sportive names from scenes like these.
I would old Torquil were to show
His Maidens with their breasts of snow,
Or that my noble liege were nigh
To hear his Nurse sing lullaby! —
The Maids — tall cliffs with breakers white,
The Nurse — a torrent's roaring might —
Or that your eye could see the mood
Of Corryvrekin's whirlpool rude,
When dons the Hag her whitened hood —
'T is thus our islesmen's fancy frames
For scenes so stern fantastic names."

XVII

Answered the Bruce, " And musing mind
Might here a graver moral find.
These mighty cliffs that heave on high
Their naked brows to middle sky,
Indifferent to the sun or snow,
Where nought can fade and nought can blow
May they not mark a monarch's fate, —
Raised high mid storms of strife and state,
Beyond life's lowlier pleasures placed,
His soul a rock, his heart a waste?
O'er hope and love and fear aloft
High rears his crowned head — But soft!
Look, underneath yon jutting crag
Are hunters and a slaughtered stag.
Who may they be? But late you said
No steps these desert regions tread?" —

XVIII

" So said I — and believed in sooth,"
Ronald replied, " I spoke the truth.
Yet now I spy, by yonder stone,
Five men — they mark us and come on;
And by their badge on bonnet borne
I guess them of the land of Lorn,
Foes to my liege." — " So let it be;
I 've faced worse odds than five to three —
But the poor page can little aid;
Then be our battle thus arrayed,
If our free passage they contest;
Cope thou with two, I 'll match the rest." —
" Not so, my liege — for, by my life,
This sword shall meet the treble strife;
My strength, my skill in arms, more small,
And less the loss should Ronald fall.
But islesmen soon to soldiers grow,
Allan has sword as well as bow,
And were my monarch's order given,
Two shafts should make our number even." —
" No! not to save my life!" he said;
" Enough of blood rests on my head
Too rashly spilled — we soon shall know,
Whether they come as friend or foe."

XIX

Nigh came the strangers and more nigh; —
Still less they pleased the monarch's eye.
Men were they all of evil mien,
Down-looked, unwilling to be seen;
They moved with half-resolved pace,
And bent on earth each gloomy face.
The foremost two were fair arrayed
With brogue and bonnet, trews and plaid,
And bore the arms of mountaineers,
Daggers and broadswords, bows and spears.
The three that lagged small space behind
Seemed serfs of more degraded kind;
Goat-skins or deer-hides o'er them cast
Made a rude fence against the blast;
Their arms and feet and heads were bare,
Matted their beards, unshorn their hair;
For arms the caitiffs bore in hand
A club, an axe, a rusty brand.

XX

Onward still mute, they kept the track; —
" Tell who ye be, or else stand back,"
Said Bruce; " in deserts when they meet,
Men pass not as in peaceful street."
Still at his stern command they stood,
And proffered greeting brief and rude,
But acted courtesy so ill
As seemed of fear and not of will.
" Wanderers we are, as you may be;
Men hither driven by wind and sea,
Who, if you list to taste our cheer,
Will share with you this fallow deer." —
" If from the sea, where lies your bark?" —
" Ten fathom deep in ocean dark!
Wrecked yesternight: but we are men
Who little sense of peril ken.
The shades come down — the day is shut —
Will you go with us to our hut?" —
" Our vessel waits us in the bay;
Thanks for your proffer — have good-day." —
" Was that your galley, then, which rode
Not far from shore when evening glowed?" —
" It was." — " Then spare your needless pain,
There will she now be sought in vain.
We saw her from the mountain head
When, with Saint George's blazon red
A southern vessel bore in sight,
And yours raised sail and took to flight." —

XXI

" Now, by the rood, unwelcome news!"
Thus with Lord Ronald communed Bruce;
" Nor rests there light enough to show
If this their tale be true or no.
The men seem bred of churlish kind,
Yet mellow nuts have hardest rind;
We will go with them — food and fire
And sheltering roof our wants require.
Sure guard 'gainst treachery will we keep,
And watch by turns our comrades' sleep. —
Good fellows, thanks; your guests we 'll be,
And well will pay the courtesy.
Come, lead us where your lodging lies —
Nay, soft! we mix not companies. —
Show us the path o'er crag and stone,
And we will follow you; — lead on."

XXII

They reached the dreary cabin, made
Of sails against a rock displayed,
And there on entering found
A slender boy, whose form and mien
Ill suited with such savage scene,
In cap and cloak of velvet green,
Low seated on the ground.
His garb was such as minstrels wear,
Dark was his hue, and dark his hair,
His youthful cheek was marred by care,
His eyes in sorrow drowned.
" Whence this poor boy?" — As Ronald spoke,
The voice his trance of anguish broke;
As if awaked from ghastly dream,
He raised his head with start and scream,
And wildly gazed around;
Then to the wall his face he turned,
And his dark neck with blushes burned.

XXIII

" Whose is the boy?" again he said.
" By chance of war our captive made;
He may be yours, if you should hold
That music has more charms than gold;
For, though from earliest childhood mute,
The lad can deftly touch the lute,
And on the rote and viol play,
And well can drive the time away
For those who love such glee;
For me the favoring breeze, when loud
It pipes upon the galley's shroud,
Makes blither melody." —
" Hath he, then, sense of spoken sound?" —
" Ay; so his mother bade us know,
A crone in our late shipwreck drowned,
And hence the silly stripling's woe.
More of the youth I cannot say,
Our captive but since yesterday;
When wind and weather waxed so grim,
We little listed think of him. —
But why waste time in idle words?
Sit to your cheer — unbelt your swords."
Sudden the captive turned his head,
And one quick glance to Ronald sped.
It was a keen and warning look,
And well the chief the signal took.

XXIV

" Kind host," he said, " our needs require
A separate board and separate fire;
For know that on a pilgrimage
Wend I, my comrade, and this page.
And, sworn to vigil and to fast
Long as this hallowed task shall last,
We never doff the plaid or sword,
Or feast us at a stranger's board,
And never share one common sleep,
But one must still his vigil keep.
Thus, for our separate use, good friend,
We 'll hold this hut's remoter end." —
" A churlish vow," the elder said,
" And hard, methinks, to be obeyed.
How say you, if, to wreak the scorn
That pays our kindness harsh return,
We should refuse to share our meal?" —
" Then say we that our swords are steel!
And our vow binds us not to fast
Where gold or force may buy repast." —
Their host's dark brow grew keen and fell,
His teeth are clenched, his features swell;
Yet sunk the felon's moody ire
Before Lord Ronald's glance of fire,
Nor could his craven courage brook
The monarch's calm and dauntless look.
With laugh constrained — " Let every man
Follow the fashion of his clan!
Each to his separate quarters keep,
And feed or fast, or wake or sleep."

XXV

Their fire at separate distance burns,
By turns they eat, keep guard by turns;
For evil seemed that old man's eye,
Dark and designing, fierce yet shy.
Still he avoided forward look,
But slow and circumspectly took
A circling, never-ceasing glance,
By doubt and cunning marked at once,
Which shot a mischief-boding ray
From under eyebrows shagged and gray.
The younger, too, who seemed his son,
Had that dark look the timid shun;
The half-clad serfs behind them sate,
And scowled a glare 'twixt fear and hate —
Till all, as darkness onward crept,
Couched down, and seemed to sleep or slept.
Nor he, that boy, whose powerless tongue
Must trust his eyes to wail his wrong,
A longer watch of sorrow made,
But stretched his limbs to slumber laid.

XXVI

Not in his dangerous host confides
The king, but wary watch provides.
Ronald keeps ward till midnight past,
Then wakes the king, young Allan last;
Thus ranked, to give the youthful page
The rest required by tender age.
What is Lord Ronald's wakeful thought
To chase the langnor toil had brought? —
For deem not that he deigned to throw
Much care upon such coward foe —
He thinks of lovely Isabel
When at her foeman's feet she fell,
Nor less when, placed in princely selle,
She glanced on him with favoring eyes
At Woodstock when he won the prize.
Nor, fair in joy, in sorrow fair,
In pride of place as mid despair,
Must she alone engross his care.
His thoughts to his betrothed bride,
To Edith, turn — O, how decide,
When here his love and heart are given,
And there his faith stands plight to Heaven!
No drowsy ward 't is his to keep,
For seldom lovers long for sleep.
Till sung his midnight hymn the owl,
Answered the dog-fox with his howl,
Then waked the king — at his request,
Lord Ronald stretched himself to rest.

XXVII

What spell was good King Robert's, say,
To drive the weary night away?
His was the patriot's burning thought
Of freedom's battle bravely fought,
Of castles stormed, of cities freed,
Of deep design and daring deed,
Of England's roses reft and torn,
And Scotland's cross in triumph worn,
Of rout and rally, war and truce, —
As heroes think, so thought the Bruce.
No marvel, mid such musings high
Sleep shunned the monarch's thoughtful eye.
Now over Coolin's eastern head
The grayish light begins to spread,
The otter to his cavern drew,
And clamored shrill the wakening mew;
Then watched the page — to needful rest
The king resigned his anxious breast.

XXVIII

To Allan's eyes was harder task
The weary watch their safeties ask.
He trimmed the fire and gave to shine
With bickering light the splintered pine;
Then gazed awhile where silent laid
Their hosts were shrouded by the plaid.
But little fear waked in his mind,
For he was bred of martial kind,
And, if to manhood he arrive,
May match the boldest knight alive.
Then thought he of his mother's tower,
His little sister's greenwood bower,
How there the Easter-gambols pass,
And of Dan Joseph's lengthened mass.
But still before his weary eye
In rays prolonged the blazes die —
Again he roused him — on the lake
Looked forth where now the twilight-flake
Of pale cold dawn began to wake.
On Coolin's cliffs the mist lay furled,
The morning breeze the lake had curled,
The short dark waves, heaved to the land,
With ceaseless plash kissed cliff or sand; —
It was a slumbrous sound — he turned
To tales at which his youth had burned,
Of pilgrim's path by demon crossed,
Of sprightly elf or yelling ghost,
Of the wild witch's baneful cot,
And mermaid's alabaster grot,
Who bathes her limbs in sunless well
Deep in Strathaird's enchanted cell.
Thither in fancy rapt he flies,
And on his sight the vaults arise;
That hut's dark walls he sees no more,
His foot is on the marble floor,
And o'er his head the dazzling spars
Gleam like a firmament of stars! —
Hark! hears he not the sea-nymph speak
Her anger in that thrilling shriek! —
No! all too late, with Allan's dream
Mingled the captive's warning scream.
As from the ground he strives to start,
A ruffian's dagger finds his heart!
Upwards he casts his dizzy eyes —
Murmurs his master's name — and dies!

XXIX

Not so awoke the king! his hand
Snatched from the flame a knotted brand,
The nearest weapon of his wrath;
With this he crossed the murderer's path
And venged young Allan well!
The spattered brain and bubbling blood
Hissed on the half-extinguished wood,
The miscreant gasped and fell!
Nor rose in peace the Island Lord;
One caitiff died upon his sword,
And one beneath his grasp lies prone
In mortal grapple overthrown.
But while Lord Ronald's dagger drank
The life-blood from his panting flank,
The father-ruffian of the band
Behind him rears a coward hand! —
O for a moment's aid,
Till Bruce, who deals no double blow,
Dash to the earth another foe,
Above his comrade laid! —
And it is gained — the captive sprung
On the raised arm and closely clung,
And, ere he shook him loose,
The mastered felon pressed the ground,
And gasped beneath a mortal wound,
While o'er him stands the Bruce.

XXX

" Miscreant! while lasts thy flitting spark,
Give me to know the purpose dark
That armed thy hand with murderous knife
Against offenceless stranger's life?" —
" No stranger thou!" with accent fell,
Murmured the wretch; " I know thee well,
And know thee for the foeman sworn
Of my high chief, the mighty Lorn." —
" Speak yet again, and speak the truth
For thy soul's sake! — from whence this youth?
His country, birth, and name declare,
And thus one evil deed repair." —
" Vex me no more! — my blood runs cold —
No more I know than I have told.
We found him in a bark we sought
With different purpose — and I thought" —
Fate cut him short; in blood and broil,
As he had lived, died Cormac Doil.

XXXI

Then resting on his bloody blade,
The valiant Bruce to Ronald said,
" Now shame upon us both! — that boy
Lifts his mute face to heaven
And clasps his hands, to testify
His gratitude to God on high
For strange deliverance given.
His speechless gesture thanks hath paid,
Which our free tongues have left unsaid!"
He raised the youth with kindly word,
But marked him shudder at the sword:
He cleansed it from its hue of death,
And plunged the weapon in its sheath.
" Alas, poor child! unfitting part
Fate doomed when with so soft a heart
And form so slight as thine
She made thee first a pirate's slave,
Then in his stead a patron gave
Of wayward lot like mine;
A landless prince, whose wandering life
Is but one scene of blood and strife —
Yet scant of friends the Bruce shall be,
But he 'll find resting-place for thee. —
Come, noble Ronald! o'er the dead
Enough thy generous grief is paid,
And well has Allan's fate been wroke;
Come, wend we hence — the day has broke.
Seek we our bark — I trust the tale
Was false that she had hoisted sail."

XXXII

Yet, ere they left that charnel-cell,
The Island Lord bade sad farewell
To Allan: " Who shall tell this tale,"
He said, " in halls of Donagaile?
O, who his widowed mother tell
That, ere his bloom, her fairest fell? —
Rest thee, poor youth! and trust my care
For mass and knell and funeral prayer;
While o'er those caitiffs where they lie
The wolf shall snarl, the raven cry!"
And now the eastern mountain's head
On the dark lake threw lustre red;
Bright gleams of gold and purple streak
Ravine and precipice and peak —
So earthly power at distance shows;
Reveals his splendor, hides his woes.
O'er sheets of granite, dark and broad,
Rent and unequal, lay the road.
In sad discourse the warriors wind,
And the mute captive moves behind.