Lady of the Lake

by Walter Scott

Murdoch, move first—but silently;

  Whistle or whoop, and thou shalt die!"

  Jealous and sullen on they fared,

  Each silent, each upon his guard.

  XXI

  Now wound the path its dizzy ledge

  Around a precipice's edge,

  When lo! a wasted female form,

  Blighted by wrath of sun and storm,

  In tattered weeds and wild array,

  Stood on a cliff beside the way,

  And glancing round her restless eye,

  Upon the wood, the rock, the sky,

  Seemed naught to mark, yet all to spy.

  Her brow was wreathed with gaudy broom;

  With gesture wild she waved a plume

  Of feathers which the eagles fling

  To crag and cliff from dusky wing;

  Such spoils her desperate step had sought,

  Where scarce was footing for the goat.

  The tartan plaid she first descried,

  And shrieked till all the rocks replied;

  As loud she laughed when near they drew,

  For then the Lowland garb she knew;

  And then her hands she wildly wrung,

  And then she wept, and then she sung—

  She sung!—the voice, in better time,

  Perchance to harp or lute might chime;

  And now, though strained and roughened, still

  Rung wildly sweet to dale and hill.

  XXII

  SONG

  They bid me sleep, they bid me pray,

  They say my brain is warped and wrung—

  I cannot sleep on Highland brae,

  I cannot pray in Highland tongue.

  But were I now where Allan glides,

  Or heard my native Devan's tides,

  So sweetly would I rest, and pray

  That Heaven would close my wintry day!

  'Twas thus my hair they bade me braid,

  They made me to the church repair;

  It was my bridal morn they said,

  And my true love would meet me there.

  But woe betide the cruel guile

  That drowned in blood the morning smile!

  And woe betide the fairy dream!

  I only waked to sob and scream.

  XXIII

  "Who is this maid? what means her lay?

  She hovers o'er the hollow way,

  And flutters wide her mantle gray,

  As the lone heron spreads his wing,

  By twilight, o'er a haunted spring."

  "'Tis Blanche of Devan," Murdoch said,

  "A crazed and captive Lowland maid,

  Ta'en on the morn she was a bride,

  When Roderick forayed Devan side.

  The gay bridegroom resistance made,

  And felt our Chief's unconquered blade.

  I marvel she is now at large,

  But oft she 'scapes from Maudlin's charge.

  Hence, brain-sick fool!"—he raised his bow.

  "Now, if thou strik'st her but one blow,

  I'll pitch thee from the cliff as far

  As ever peasant pitched a bar!"—

  "Thanks, champion, thanks!" the maniac cried,

  And pressed her to Fitz-James's side.

  "See the gray pennons I prepare,

  To seek my true-love through the air!

  I will not lend that savage groom,

  To break his fall, one downy plume!

  No! Deep amid disjointed stones,

  The wolves shall batten on his bones,

  And then shall his detested plaid,

  By bush and brier in mid air stayed,

  Wave forth a banner fair and free,

  Meet signal for their revelry."

  XXIV

  "Hush thee, poor maiden, and be still!"

  "Oh! thou look'st kindly and I will.

  Mine eye has dried and wasted been,

  But still it loves the Lincoln green;

  And, though mine ear is all unstrung,

  Still, still it loves the Lowland tongue.

  "For O my sweet William was forester true,

  He stole poor Blanche's heart away!

  His coat it was all of the greenwood hue,

  And so blithely he trilled the Lowland lay!

  "It was not that I meant to tell....

  But thou art wise and guessest well."

  Then, in a low and broken tone,

  And hurried note, the song went on.

  Still on the Clansman, fearfully,

  She fixed her apprehensive eye;

  Then turned it on the Knight, and then

  Her look glanced wildly o'er the glen.

  XXV

  "The toils are pitched, and the stakes are set,

  Ever sing merrily, merrily;

  The bows they bend, and the knives they whet,

  Hunters live so cheerily.

  "It was a stag, a stag of ten,

  Bearing its branches sturdily;

  He came stately down the glen,

  Ever sing hardily, hardily.

  "It was there he met with a wounded doe,

  She was bleeding deathfully;

  She warned him of the toils below,

  Oh, so faithfully, faithfully!

  "He had an eye, and he could heed,

  Ever sing warily, warily;

  He had a foot, and he could speed—

  Hunters watch so narrowly."

  XXVI

  Fitz-James's mind was passion-tossed,

  When Ellen's hints and fears were lost;

  But Murdoch's shout suspicion wrought,

  And Blanche's song conviction brought.

  Not like a stag that spies the snare,

  But lion of the hunt aware,

  He waved at once his blade on high,

  "Disclose thy treachery, or die!"

  Forth at full speed the Clansman flew,

  But in his race his bow he drew.

  The shaft just grazed Fitz-James's crest,

  And thrilled in Blanche's faded breast.

  Murdoch of Alpine! prove thy speed,

  For ne'er had Alpine's son such need!

  With heart of fire, and foot of wind,

  The fierce avenger is behind!

  Fate judges of the rapid strife—

  The forfeit death—the prize is life!

  Thy kindred ambush lies before,

  Close couched upon the heathery moor;

  Them couldst thou reach!—it may not be—

  Thine ambushed kin thou ne'er shalt see,

  The fiery Saxon gains on thee!

  Resistless speeds the deadly thrust,

  As lightning strikes the pine to dust;

  With foot and hand Fitz-James must strain,

  Ere he can win his blade again.

  Bent o'er the fallen, with falcon eye,

  He grimly smiled to see him die;

  Then slower wended back his way,

  Where the poor maiden bleeding lay.

  XXVII

  She sat beneath a birchen-tree,

  Her elbow resting on her knee;

  She had withdrawn the fatal shaft,

  And gazed on it, and feebly laughed;

  Her wreath of broom and feathers gray,

  Daggled with blood, beside her lay.

  The Knight to staunch the life-stream tried—

  "Stranger, it is in vain!" she cried.

  "This hour of death has given me more

  Of reason's power than years before;

  For, as these ebbing veins decay,

  My frenzied visions fade away.

  A helpless injured wretch I die,

  And something tells me in thine eye,

  That thou wert mine avenger born.

  Seest thou this tress?—Oh! still I've worn

  This little tress of yellow hair,

  Through danger, frenzy, and despair!

  It once was bright and clear as thine,

  But blood and tears have dimmed its shine.

>   I will not tell thee when 'twas shred,

  Nor from what guiltless victim's head—

  My brain would turn!—but it shall wave

  Like plumage on thy helmet brave,

  Till sun and wind shall bleach the stain,

  And thou wilt bring it me again.

  I waver still—O God! more bright

  Let reason beam her parting light!—

  Oh! by thy knighthood's honored sign,

  And for thy life preserved by mine,

  When thou shalt see a darksome man,

  Who boasts him Chief of Alpine's Clan,

  With tartans broad and shadowy plume

  And hand of blood, and brow of gloom,

  Be thy heart bold, thy weapon strong,

  And wreak poor Blanche of Devan's wrong!—

  They watch for thee by pass and fell....

  Avoid the path.... O God!... farewell."

  XXVIII

  A kindly heart had brave Fitz-James;

  Fast poured his eyes at pity's claims,

  And now, with mingled grief and ire,

  He saw the murdered maid expire.

  "God, in my need, be my relief,

  As I wreak this on yonder Chief!"

  A lock from Blanche's tresses fair

  He blended with her bridegroom's hair;

  The mingled braid in blood he dyed.

  And placed it on his bonnet-side:

  "By Him whose word is truth!

  I swear No other favor will I wear,

  Till this sad token I imbrue In the

  best blood of Roderick Dhu!

  —But hark! what means yon faint halloo?

  The chase is up—but they shall know,

  The stag at bay's a dangerous foe."

  Barred from the known but guarded way,

  Through copse and cliffs Fitz-James must stray,

  And oft must change his desperate track,

  By stream and precipice turned back.

  Heartless, fatigued, and faint, at length,

  From lack of food and loss of strength,

  He couched him in a thicket hoar,

  And thought his toils and perils o'er:

  "Of all my rash adventures past,

  This frantic feat must prove the last!

  Who e'er so mad but might have guessed,

  That all this Highland hornet's nest

  Would muster up in swarms so soon

  As e'er they heard of bands at Doune?

  Like bloodhounds now they search me out—

  Hark, to the whistle and the shout!—

  If further through the wilds I go,

  I only fall upon the foe.

  I'll couch me here till evening gray,

  Then darkling try my dangerous way."

  XXIX

  The shades of eve come slowly down,

  The woods are wrapped in deeper brown,

  The owl awakens from her dell,

  The fox is heard upon the fell;

  Enough remains of glimmering light

  To guide the wanderer's steps aright,

  Yet not enough from far to show

  His figure to the watchful foe.

  With cautious step, and ear awake,

  He climbs the crag and threads the brake;

  And not the summer solstice, there,

  Tempered the midnight mountain air,

  But every breeze, that swept the wold,

  Benumbed his drenchéd limbs with cold.

  In dread, in danger, and alone,

  Famished and chilled, through ways unknown,

  Tangled and steep, he journeyed on;

  Till, as a rock's huge point he turned,

  A watch-fire close before him burned.

  XXX

  Beside its embers red and clear,

  Basked, in his plaid, a mountaineer;

  And up he sprung with sword in hand—

  "Thy name and purpose! Saxon, stand!"

  "A stranger." "What dost thou require?"

  "Rest and a guide, and food and fire.

  My life's beset, my path is lost,

  The gale has chilled my limbs with frost."

  "Art thou a friend to Roderick?" "No."

  "Thou darest not call thyself a foe?"

  "I dare! to him and all the band

  He brings to aid his murderous hand."

  "Bold words!—but, though the beast of game

  The privilege of chase may claim,

  Though space and law the stag we lend,

  Ere hound we slip, or bow we bend,

  Who ever recked, where, how, or when,

  The prowling fox was trapped or slain?

  Thus treacherous scouts—yet sure they lie,

  750 Who say thou camest a secret spy!"

  "They do, by heaven!—Come Roderick Dhu,

  And of his clan the boldest two,

  And let me but till morning rest,

  I write the falsehood on their crest."

  "If by the blaze I mark aright,

  Thou bear'st the belt and spur of Knight."

  "Then by these tokens may'st thou know

  Each proud oppressor's mortal foe."

  "Enough, enough; sit down and share

  A soldier's couch, a soldier's fare."

  XXXI

  He gave him of his Highland cheer,

  The hardened flesh of mountain deer;

  Dry fuel on the fire he laid,

  And bade the Saxon share his plaid.

  He tended him like welcome guest,

  Then thus his further speech addressed:

  "Stranger, I am to Roderick Dhu

  A clansman born, a kinsman true;

  Each word against his honor spoke,

  Demands of me avenging stroke;

  Yet more—upon thy fate, 'tis said,

  A mighty augury is laid.

  It rests with me to wind my horn—

  Thou art with numbers overborne;

  It rests with me, here, brand to brand,

  Worn as thou art, to bid thee stand;

  But, not for clan, nor kindred's cause,

  Will I depart from honor's laws;

  To assail a wearied man were shame,

  And stranger is a holy name;

  Guidance and rest, food and fire,

  In vain he never must require.

  Then rest thee here till dawn of day;

  Myself will guide thee on the way,

  O'er stock and stone, through watch and ward,

  Till past Clan-Alpine's outmost guard,

  As far as Coilantogle's ford;

  From thence thy warrant is thy sword."

  "I take thy courtesy, by heaven,

  As freely as 'tis nobly given!"

  "Well, rest thee; for the bittern's cry

  Sings us the lake's wild lullaby."

  With that he shook the gathered heath,

  And spread his plaid upon the wreath;

  And the brave foemen, side by side,

  Lay peaceful down like brothers tried,

  And slept until the dawning beam

  Purpled the mountain and the stream.

  CANTO FIFTH

  THE COMBAT

  I

  Fair as the earliest beam of eastern light,

  When first, by the bewildered pilgrim spied,

  It smiles upon the dreary brow of night,

  And silvers o'er the torrent's foaming tide,

  And lights the fearful path on mountain side;

  Fair as that beam, although the fairest far,

  Giving to horror grace, to danger pride,

  Shine martial Faith, and Courtesy's bright star,

  Through all the wreckful storms that cloud the brow of War.

  II

  That early beam, so fair and sheen,

  Was twinkling through the hazel screen,

  When rousing at its glimmer red,

  The warriors left their lowly bed,

  Looked out upon the dappled sky,

  Muttered
their soldier matins by,

  And then awaked their fire, to steal,

  As short and rude, their soldier meal.

  That o'er, the Gael around him threw

  His graceful plaid of varied hue,

  And, true to promise, led the way,

  By thicket green and mountain gray.

  A wildering path—they winded now

  Along the precipice's brow,

  Commanding the rich scenes beneath,

  The windings of the Forth and Teith,

  And all the vales between that lie,

  Till Stirling's turrets melt in sky;

  Then, sunk in copse, their farthest glance

  Gained not the length of horseman's lance.

  'Twas oft so steep, the foot was fain

  Assistance from the hand to gain;

  So tangled oft, that, bursting through,

  Each hawthorn shed her showers of dew—

  That diamond dew, so pure and clear,

  It rivals all but Beauty's tear!

  III

  At length they came where, stern and steep,

  The hill sinks down upon the deep.

  Here Vennachar in silver flows,

  There, ridge on ridge, Benledi rose;

  Ever the hollow path twined on,

  Beneath steep bank and threatening stone;

  An hundred men might hold the post

  With hardihood against a host.