Then through the dell his horn resounds,
 From vain pursuit to call the hounds.
 170 Back limped, with slow and crippled pace,
 The sulky leaders of the chase;
 Close to their master's side they pressed,
 With drooping tail and humbled crest;
 But still the dingle's hollow throat
 175 Prolonged the swelling bugle-note.
 The owlets started from their dream,
 The eagles answered with their scream,
 Round and around the sounds were cast,note
 Till echo seemed an answering blast;
 180 And on the Hunter hied his way,
 To join some comrades of the day;
 Yet often paused, so strange the road,
 So wondrous were the scenes it showed.

XI

The western waves of ebbing day
 185 Rolled o'er the glen their level way;
 Each purple peak, each flinty spire,
 Was bathed in floods of living fire.
 But not a setting beam could glow
 Within the dark ravines below,
 190 Where twined the path in shadow hid,
 Round many a rocky pyramid,
 Shooting abruptly from the dell
 Its thunder-splintered pinnacle;
 Round many an insulated mass,
 195 The native bulwarks of the pass,
 Huge as the tower which builders vainnote
 Presumptuous piled on Shinar's plain.
 The rocky summits, split and rent,
 Formed turret, dome, or battlement,
 200 Or seemed fantastically set
 With cupola or minaret,
 Wild crests as pagod ever decked,
 Or mosque of Eastern architect.
 Nor were these earth-born castles bare,
 205 Nor lacked they many a banner fair;
 For, from their shivered brows displayed,
 Far o'er the unfathomable glade,
 All twinkling with the dewdrops sheen,note
 The brier-rose fell in streamers green,
 210 And creeping shrubs, of thousand dyes,
 Waved in the west-wind's summer sighs.

XII

Boon nature scattered, free and wild,
 Each plant or flower, the mountain's child.
 Here eglantine embalmed the air,
 215 Hawthorn and hazel mingled there;
 The primrose pale and violet flower,
 Found in each cliff a narrow bower;
 Fox-glove and night-shade, side by side,
 Emblems of punishment and pride,
 220 Grouped their dark hues with every stain
 The weather-beaten crags retain.
 With boughs that quaked at every breath,
 Grey birch and aspen wept beneath;
 Aloft, the ash and warrior oak
 225 Cast anchor in the rifted rock;
 And, higher yet, the pine-tree hung
 His shattered trunk, and frequent flung,note
 Where seemed the cliffs to meet on high,
 His bows athwart the narrowed sky.
 230 Highest of all, where white peaks glanced,
 Where glist'ning streamers waved and danced,
 The wanderer's eye could barely view
 The summer heaven's delicious blue;
 So wondrous wild, the whole might seem
 235 The scenery of a fairy dream.

XIII

Onward, amid the copse 'gan peep
 A narrow inlet, still and deep,
 Affording scarce such breadth of brim
 As served the wild duck's brood to swim.
 240 Lost for a space, through thickets veering,
 But broader when again appearing,
 Tall rocks and tufted knolls their face
 Could on the dark-blue mirror trace;
 And farther as the Hunter strayed,
 245 Still broader sweep its channels made.
 The shaggy mounds no longer stood,
 Emerging from entangled wood,
 But, wave-encircled, seemed to float,
 Like castle girdled with its moat;
 250 Yet broader floods extending still
 Divide them from their parent hill,
 Till each, retiring, claims to be
 An islet in an inland sea.

XIV

And now, to issue from the glen,
 255 No pathway meets the wanderer's ken,
 Unless he climb, with footing nice,note
 A far projecting precipice.
 The broom's tough roots his ladder made,
 The hazel saplings lent their aid;
 260 And thus an airy point he won,
 Where, gleaming with the setting sun,
 One burnished sheet of living gold,
 Loch Katrine lay beneath him rolled,
 In all her length far winding lay,
 265 With promontory, creek, and bay,
 And island that, empurpled bright,
 Floated amid the livelier light,
 And mountains, that like giants stand,
 To sentinel enchanted land.
 270 High on the south, huge Benvenue
 Down on the lake in masses threw
 Crags, knolls, and mounds, confusedly hurled,
 The fragments of an earlier world;
 A wildering forest feathered o'er
 275 His ruined sides and summit hoar,
 While on the north, through middle air,
 Ben-an heaved high his forehead bare.

XV

From the steep promontory gazed
 The stranger, raptured and amazed,
 280 And, "What a scene were here," he cried,
 "For princely pomp, or churchman's pride!
 On this bold brow, a lordly tower;
 In that soft vale, a lady's bower;
 On yonder meadow, far away,
 285 The turrets of a cloister gray;
 How blithely might the bugle-horn
 Chide, on the lake, the lingering morn!
 How sweet, at eve, the lover's lute
 Chime, when the groves were still and mute!
 290 And when the midnight moon should lave
 Her forehead in the silver wave,
 How solemn on the ear would come
 The holy matin's distant hum,
 While the deep peal's commanding tone
 295 Should wake, in yonder islet lone,
 A sainted hermit from his cell,
 To drop a bead with every knell—
 And bugle, lute, and bell, and all,
 Should each bewildered stranger call
 300 To friendly feast, and lighted hall.

XVI

"Blithe were it then to wander here!
 But now—beshrew yon nimble deer—
 Like that same hermit's, thin and spare,
 The copse must give my evening fare;
 305 Some mossy bank my couch must be,
 Some rustling oak my canopy.
 Yet pass we that; the war and chase
 Give little choice of resting-place—
 A summer night, in greenwood spent,
 310 Were but tomorrow's merriment:
 But hosts may in these wilds abound,
 Such as are better missed than found;
 To meet with Highland plunderers here,note
 Were worse than loss of steed or deer.
 315 I am alone; my bugle-strain
 May call some straggler of the train;
 Or, fall the worst that may betide,
 Ere now this falchion has been tried."

XVII

But scarce again his horn he wound,
 320 When lo! forth starting at the sound,
 From underneath an aged oak,
 That slanted from the islet rock,
 A damsel guider of its way,
 A little skiff shot to the bay,
 325 That round the promontory steep
 Led its deep line in graceful sweep,
 Eddying, in almost viewless wave,
 The weeping willow-twig to lave,
 And kiss, with whispering sound and slow,
 330 The beach of pebbles bright as snow.
 The boat had touched the silver strand,
 Just as the Hunter left his stand,
 And stood concealed amid the brake,
 To view this Lady of the Lake.
 335 The maiden paused, as if again
 She thought to catch the distant strain.
 With head upraised, and look intent,
 And eye and ear attentive bent,
 And locks flung back, and lips apart,
 340 Like monument of Grecian art,
 In listening mood, she seemed to stand,
 The guardian Naiad of the strand.

XVIII

And ne'er did Grecian chisel trace
 A Nymph, a Naiad, or a Grace
 345 Of finer form or lovelier face!
 What though the sun, with ardent frown,
 Had slightly tinged her cheek with brown—
 The sportive toil, which, short and light,
 Had dyed her glowing hue so bright,
 350 Served too in hastier swell to show
 Short glimpses of a breast of snow.
 What though no rule of courtly grace
 To measured mood had trained her pace,—
 A foot more light, a step more true,
 355 Ne'er from the heath-flower dashed the dew;
 E'en the slight harebell raised its head,
 Elastic from her airy tread.
 What though upon her speech there hung
 The accents of the mountain tongue—
 360 Those silver sounds, so soft, so dear,
 The listener held his breath to hear!

XIX

A chieftain's daughter seemed the maid;
 Her satin snood, her silken plaid,note
 Her golden brooch such birth betrayed.
 365 And seldom was a snood amid
 Such wild luxuriant ringlets hid,
 Whose glossy black to shame might bring
 The plumage of the raven's wing;
 And seldom o'er a breast so fair,
 370 Mantled a plaid with modest care,
 And never brooch the folds combined
 Above a heart more good and kind.
 Her kindness and her worth to spy,
 You need but gaze on Ellen's eye;
 375 Not Katrine, in her mirror blue,
 Gives back the shaggy banks more true,
 Than every free-born glance confessed
 The guileless movements of her breast;
 Whether joy danced in her dark eye,
 380 Or woe or pity claimed a sigh,
 Or filial love was glowing there,
 Or meek devotion poured a prayer,
 Or tale of injury called forth
 The indignant spirit of the North.
 385 One only passion unrevealed,
 With maiden pride the maid concealed,
 Yet not less purely felt the flame—
 Oh! need I tell that passion's name!

XX

Impatient of the silent horn,
 390 Now on the gale her voice was borne:
 "Father!" she cried; the rocks around
 Loved to prolong the gentle sound.
 A while she paused, no answer came—
 "Malcolm, was thine the blast?" the name
 395 Less resolutely uttered fell,
 The echoes could not catch the swell.
 "A stranger I," the Huntsman said,
 Advancing from the hazel shade.
 The maid, alarmed, with hasty oar,
 400 Pushed her light shallop from the shore,
 And when a space was gained between,
 Closer she drew her bosom's screen—
 So forth the startled swan would swing,
 So turn to prune his ruffled wing.
 405 Then safe, though fluttered and amazed,
 She paused, and on the stranger gazed.
 Not his the form, nor his the eye,
 That youthful maidens wont to fly.

XXI

On his bold visage middle age
 410 Had slightly pressed its signet sage,
 Yet had not quenched the open truth
 And fiery vehemence of youth;
 Forward and frolic glee was there,
 The will to do, the soul to dare,
 415 The sparkling glance, soon blown to fire,
 Of hasty love, or headlong ire.
 His limbs were cast in manly mold,
 For hardy sports or contest bold;
 And though in peaceful garb arrayed,
 420 And weaponless, except his blade,
 His stately mien as well implied
 A high-born heart, a martial pride,
 As if a Baron's crest he wore,
 And sheathed in armor trod the shore.
 425 Slighting the petty need he showed,
 He told of his benighted road;
 His ready speech flowed fair and free,
 In phrase of gentlest courtesy;
 Yet seemed that tone, and gesture bland,
 430 Less used to sue than to command.

XXII

A while the maid the stranger eyed,
 And, reassured, at length replied,
 That Highland halls were open still
 To wildered wanderers of the hill.
 435 "Nor think you unexpected come
 To yon lone isle, our desert home;
 Before the heath had lost the dew,
 This morn, a couch was pulled for you;note
 On yonder mountain's purple head
 440 Have ptarmigan and heath-cock bled,note
 And our broad nets have swept the mere,
 To furnish forth your evening cheer."
 "Now, by the rood, my lovely maid,
 Your courtesy has erred," he said;
 445 "No right have I to claim, misplaced,
 The welcome of expected guest.
 A wanderer here, by fortune tost,
 My way, my friends, my courser lost,
 I ne'er before, believe me, fair,
 450 Have ever drawn your mountain air,
 Till on this lake's romantic strand,
 I found a fay in fairy land!"

XXIII

"I well believe," the maid replied,
 As her light skiff approached the side,
 455 "I well believe, that ne'er before
 Your foot has trod Loch Katrine's shore;
 But yet, as far as yesternight,
 Old Allan-bane foretold your plight,
 A gray-haired sire, whose eye intent
 460 Was on the visioned future bent.note
 He saw your steed, a dappled gray,
 Lie dead beneath the birchen way;
 Painted exact your form and mien,
 Your hunting suit of Lincoln green,
 465 That tasselled horn so gaily gilt,
 That falchion's crooked blade and hilt,
 That cap with heron plumage trim,
 And yon two hounds so dark and grim.
 He bade that all should ready be,
 470 To grace a guest of fair degree;
 But light I held his prophecy,
 And deemed it was my father's horn,
 Whose echoes o'er the lake were borne."

XXIV

The stranger smiled: "Since to your home
 475 A destined errant-knight I come,
 Announced by prophet sooth and old,
 Doomed, doubtless, for achievement bold,
 I'll lightly front each high emprise,
 For one kind glance of those bright eyes.
 480 Permit me, first, the task to guide
 Your fairy frigate o'er the tide."
 The maid with smile suppressed and sly,
 The toil unwonted saw him try;
 For seldom sure, if e'er before,
 485 His noble hand had grasped an oar.
 Yet with main strength his strokes he drew,
 And o'er the lake the shallop flew;
 With heads erect, and whimpering cry,
 The hounds behind their passage ply.
 490 Nor frequent does the bright oar break
 The dark'ning mirror of the lake,
 Until the rocky isle they reach,
 And moor their shallop on the beach.

XXV

The stranger viewed the shore around,
 495 'Twas all so close with copsewood bound,
 Nor track nor pathway might declare
 That human foot frequented there,
 Until the mountain-maiden showed
 A clambering, unsuspected road,
 500 That winded through the tangled screen,
 And opened on a narrow green,
 Where weeping birch and willow round
 With their long fibres swept the ground.
 Here, for retreat in dangerous hour,note
 505 Some chief had framed a rustic bower.

XXVI

It was a lodge of ample size,
 But strange of structure and device;
 Of such materials as around
 The workman's hand had readiest found.
 510 Lopped of their boughs, their hoar trunks bared,
 And by the hatchet rudely squared,
 To give the walls their destined height,
 The sturdy oak and ash unite;
 While moss and clay and leaves combined
 515 To fence each crevice from the wind.
 The lighter pine-trees overhead,
 Their slender length for rafters spread,
 And withered heath and rushes dry
 Supplied a russet canopy.
 520 Due westward, fronting to the green,
 A rural portico was seen,
 Aloft on native pillars borne,
 Of mountain fir with bark unshorn,
 Where Ellen's hand had taught to twine
 525 The ivy and Idaean vine,
 The clematis, the favored flower
 Which boasts the name of virgin-bower,
 And every hardy plant could bear
 Loch Katrine's keen and searching air.
 530 An instant in this porch she stayed
 And gaily to the stranger said,
 "On heaven and on thy lady call,
 And enter the enchanted hall!"

XXVII

"My hope, my heaven, my trust must be,
 535 My gentle guide, in following thee."
 He crossed the threshold—and a clang
 Of angry steel that instant rang.
 To his bold brow his spirit rushed,
 But soon for vain alarm he blushed,
 540 When on the floor he saw displayed,
 Cause of the din, a naked blade
 Dropped from the sheath, that careless flung
 Upon a stag's huge antlers swung;
 For all around, the walls to grace,
 545 Hung trophies of the fight or chase:
 A target there, a bugle here,note
 A battle-ax, a hunting spear,
 And broadswords, bows, and arrows store,
 With the tusked trophies of the boar.
 550 Here grins the wolf as when he died,
 And there the wild-cat's brindled hide
 The frontlet of the elk adorns,
 Or mantles o'er the bison's horns;
 Pennons and flags defaced and stained,
 555 That blackening streaks of blood retained,
 And deer-skins, dappled, dun, and white,
 With otter's fur and seal's unite,
 In rude and uncouth tapestry all,
 To garnish forth the silvan hall.

XXVIII

560 The wondering stranger round him gazed,
 And next the fallen weapon raised—
 Few were the arms whose sinewy strength,
 Sufficed to stretch it forth at length.
 And as the brand he poised and swayed,
 565 "I never knew but one," he said,
 "Whose stalwart arm might brook to wieldnote
A blade like this in battle-field."
 She sighed, then smiled and took the word:
 "You see the guardian champion's sword;
 570 As light it trembles in his hand,
 As in my grasp a hazel wand;
 My sire's tall form might grace the part
 Of Ferragus, or Ascabart;note
 But in the absent giant's hold
 575 Are women now, and menials old."

XXIX

The mistress of the mansion came,
 Mature of age, a graceful dame;
 Whose easy step and stately port
 Had well become a princely court,
 580 To whom, though more than kindred knew,note
 Young Ellen gave a mother's due.
 Meet welcome to her guest she made,
 And every courteous rite was paid,
 That hospitality could claim,
 585 Though all unasked his birth and name.
 Such then the reverence to a guest,
 That fellest foe might join the feast,
 And from his deadliest foeman's door
 Unquestioned turn, the banquet o'er.
 590 At length his rank the stranger names,
 "The Knight of Snowdoun, James Fitz-James;note
 Lord of a barren heritage,
 Which his brave sires, from age to age,
 By their good swords had held with toil;
 595 His sire had fallen in such turmoil,
 And he, God wot, was forced to stand
 Oft for his right with blade in hand.
 This morning, with Lord Moray's train
 He chased a stalwart stag in vain,
 600 Outstripped his comrades, missed the deer,
 Lost his good steed, and wandered here."

XXX

Fain would the Knight in turn require
 The name and state of Ellen's sire.
 Well showed the elder lady's mien,
 605 That courts and cities she had seen;
 Ellen, though more her looks displayed
 The simple grace of silvan maid,
 In speech and gesture, form and face,
 Showed she was come of gentle race.
 610 'Twere strange in ruder rank to find
 Such looks, such manners, and such mind.
 Each hint the Knight of Snowdoun gave,
 Dame Margaret heard with silence grave;
 Or Ellen, innocently gay,
 615 Turned all inquiry light away:
 "Weird women we—by dale and down
 We dwell, afar from tower and town.
 We stem the flood, we ride the blast,
 On wandering knights our spells we cast;
 620 While viewless minstrels touch the string,
 'Tis thus our charméd rimes we sing."
 She sung, and still a harp unseennote
 Filled up the symphony between.

XXXI

SONG

"Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er,
 625 Sleep the sleep that knows no breaking;
 Dream of battled fields no more,
 Days of danger, nights of waking.
 In our isle's enchanted hall,
 Hands unseen thy couch are strewing,
 630 Fairy strains of music fall,
 Every sense in slumber dewing.
 Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er,
 Dream of fighting fields no more;
 Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking,
 635 Morn of toil, nor night of waking.
"No rude sound shall reach thine ear,
 Armor's clang, or war-steed champing,
 Trump nor pibroch summon herenote
 Mustering clan, or squadron tramping.
 640 Yet the lark's shrill fife may come
 At the day-break from the fallow,
 And the bittern sound his drum,note
 Booming from the sedgy shallow.
 Ruder sounds shall none be near,
 645 Guards nor warders challenge here,
 Here's no war-steed's neigh and champing,
 Shouting clans or squadrons stamping."

XXXII

She paused—then, blushing, led the lay
 To grace the stranger of the day.
 650 Her mellow notes awhile prolong
 The cadence of the flowing song,
 Till to her lips in measured frame
 The minstrel verse spontaneous came.

SONG—(Continued)

"Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done,
 655 While our slumbrous spells assail ye,
 Dream not, with the rising sun,
 Bugles here shall sound reveillé.note
 Sleep! the deer is in his den;
 Sleep! thy hounds are by thee lying;
 660 Sleep! nor dream in yonder glen,
 How thy gallant steed lay dying.
 Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done,
 Think not of the rising sun,
 For at dawning to assail ye,
 665 Here no bugles sound reveillé."

XXXIII

The hall was cleared—the stranger's bed
 Was there of mountain heather spread,
 Where oft a hundred guests had lain,
 And dreamed their forest sports again.
 670 But vainly did the heath-flower shed
 Its moorland fragrance round his head;
 Not Ellen's spell had lulled to rest
 The fever of his troubled breast.
 In broken dreams the image rose
 675 Of varied perils, pains, and woes:
 His steed now flounders in the brake,
 Now sinks his barge upon the lake;
 Now leader of a broken host,
 His standard falls, his honor's lost.
 680 Then—from my couch may heavenly might
 Chase that worst phantom of the night!
 Again returned the scenes of youth,
 Of confident undoubting truth;
 Again his soul he interchanged
 685 With friends whose hearts were long estranged.
 They come, in dim procession led,
 The cold, the faithless, and the dead;
 As warm each hand, each brow as gay,
 As if they parted yesterday.
 690 And doubt distracts him at the view—
 O were his senses false or true?
 Dreamed he of death, or broken vow,
 Or is it all a vision now?

XXXIV

At length, with Ellen in a grove
 695 He seemed to walk, and speak of love;
 She listened with a blush and sigh,
 His suit was warm, his hopes were high.
 He sought her yielded hand to clasp,
 And a cold gauntlet met his grasp;
 700 The phantom's sex was changed and gone,
 Upon its head a helmet shone;
 Slowly enlarged to giant size,
 With darkened cheek and threatening eyes,
 The grisly visage, stern and hoar,
 705 To Ellen still a likeness bore.
 He woke, and, panting with affright,
 Recalled the vision of the night.
 The hearth's decaying brands were red.
 And deep and dusky luster shed,
 710 Half showing, half concealing, all
 The uncouth trophies of the hall.
 Mid those the stranger fixed his eye,
 Where that huge falchion hung on high,
 And thoughts on thoughts, a countless throng,
 715 Rushed, chasing countless thoughts along.
 Until, the giddy whirl to cure,
 He rose, and sought the moonshine pure.

XXXV

The wild-rose, eglantine, and broom,
 Wasted around their rich perfume:
 720 The birch-trees swept in fragrant balm,
 The aspens slept beneath the calm;
 The silver light, with quivering glance,
 Played on the water's still expanse—
 Wild were the heart whose passion's sway
 725 Could rage beneath the sober ray!
 He felt its calm, that warrior guest,
 While thus he communed with his breast:
 "Why is it, at each turn I trace
 Some memory of that exiled race?
 730 Can I not mountain-maiden spy,
 But she must bear the Douglas eye?
 Can I not view a Highland brand,
 But it must match the Douglas hand?
 Can I not frame a fevered dream,
 735 But still the Douglas is the theme?
 I'll dream no more—by manly mind
 Not even in sleep is will resigned.
 My midnight orisons said o'er,
 I'll turn to rest, and dream no more."
 740 His midnight orisons he told,
 A prayer with every bead of gold,
 Consigned to heaven his cares and woes,
 And sunk in undisturbed repose,
 Until the heath-cock shrilly crew,
 745 And morning dawned on Benvenue.

CANTO SECOND

THE ISLAND

I