675 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,
 680 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:
 685 "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?
 690 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,
 695 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:
 700 "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
 705 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.
 710 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,
 715 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.
 720 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,
 725 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,
 730 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!"
 735 "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."
 740 "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,
 745 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."
 755 "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
 760 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.
 765 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,
 770 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;
 775 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,
 780 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,
 785 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,
 790 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;
 795 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,
 5 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

10 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,
 15 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,
 20 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,
 25 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.
 30 '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,
 35 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;
 40 Ever the hollow path twined on,
 Beneath steep bank and threatening stone;
 An hundred men might hold the post
 With hardihood against a host.
 The rugged mountain's scanty cloak
 45 Was dwarfish shrubs of birch and oak,
 With shingles bare, and cliffs between,note
 And patches bright of bracken green,
 And heather black, that waved so high,
 It held the copse in rivalry.
 50 But where the lake slept deep and still,
 Dank osiers fringed the swamp and hill;
 And oft both path and hill were torn,
 Where wintry torrents down had borne,
 And heaped upon the cumbered land
 55 Its wreck of gravel, rocks and sand.
 So toilsome was the road to trace,
 The guide, abating of his pace,
 Led slowly through the pass's jaws,
 And asked Fitz-James, by what strange cause
 60 He sought these wilds, traversed by few,
 Without a pass from Roderick Dhu.

IV

"Brave Gael, my pass, in danger tried,
 Hangs in my belt, and by my side;
 Yet, sooth to tell," the Saxon said,
 65 "I dreamt not now to claim its aid.
 When here, but three days since, I came,
 Bewildered in pursuit of game,
 All seemed as peaceful and as still
 As the mist slumbering on yon hill;
 70 Thy dangerous Chief was then afar,
 Nor soon expected back from war.
 Thus said, at least, my mountain-guide,
 Though deep perchance the villian lied."
 "Yet why a second venture try?"
 75 "A warrior thou, and ask me why!
 Moves our free course by such fixed cause
 As gives the poor mechanic laws?
 Enough, I sought to drive away
 The lazy hours of peaceful day;
 80 Slight cause will then suffice to guide
 A Knight's free footsteps far and wide—
 A falcon flown, a greyhound strayed,
 The merry glance of mountain maid;
 Or, if a path be dangerous known,
 85 The danger's self is lure alone."

V

"Thy secret keep, I urge thee not;—
 Yet, ere again ye sought this spot,
 Say, heard ye nought of Lowland war,
 Against Clan-Alpine, raised by Mar?"
 90 "No, by my word—of bands prepared
 To guard King James's sports I heard;
 Nor doubt I aught, but, when they hear
 This muster of the mountaineer,
 Their pennons will abroad be flung,
 95 Which else in Doune had peaceful hung."
 "Free be they flung!—for we were loath
 Their silken folds should feast the moth.
 Free be they flung!—as free shall wave
 Clan-Alpine's pine in banner brave.
 100 But, Stranger, peaceful since you came,
 Bewildered in the mountain game,
 Whence the bold boast by which you show
 Vich-Alpine's vowed and mortal foe?"
 "Warrior, but yester-morn, I knew
 105 Naught of thy Chieftain, Roderick Dhu,
 Save as an outlawed desperate man,
 The chief of a rebellious clan,
 Who, in the Regent's court and sight,
 With ruffian dagger stabbed a knight;
 110 Yet this alone might from his part
 Sever each true and loyal heart."

VI

Wrathful at such arraignment foul,
 Dark lowered the clansman's sable scowl.
 A space he paused, then sternly said,
 115 "And heard'st thou why he drew his blade?
 Heard'st thou that shameful word and blow
 Brought Roderick's vengeance on his foe?
 What recked the Chieftain if he stood
 On Highland heath, or Holy-Rood?
 120 He rights such wrong where it is given,
 If it were in the court of heaven."
 "Still was it outrage—yet, 'tis true,
 Not then claimed sovereignty his due;
 While Albany, with feeble hand,note
 125 Held borrowed truncheon of command,
 The young King, mewed in Stirling tower,
 Was stranger to respect and power.
 But then, thy Chieftain's robber life!
 Winning mean prey by causeless strife,
 130 Wrenching from ruined Lowland swain
 His herds and harvest reared in vain—
 Methinks a soul, like thine, should scorn
 The spoils from such foul foray borne."

VII

The Gael beheld him grim the while,
 135 And answered with disdainful smile—
 "Saxon, from yonder mountain high,
 I marked thee send delighted eye
 Far to the south and east, where lay,
 Extended in succession gay,
 140 Deep waving fields and pastures green,
 With gentle slopes and groves between;
 These fertile plains, that softened vale,
 Were once the birthright of the Gael;
 The stranger came with iron hand,
 145 And from our fathers reft the land.
 Where dwell we now! See, rudely swell
 Crag over crag, and fell o'er fell.
 Ask we this savage hill we tread
 For fattened steer or household bread;
 150 Ask we for flocks these shingles dry,
 And well the mountain might reply,
 'To you, as to your sires of yore,
 Belong the target and claymore!
 I give you shelter in my breast,
 155 Your own good blades must win the rest.'
 Pent in this fortress of the North,
 Think'st thou we will not sally forth,
 To spoil the spoiler as we may,
 And from the robber rend the prey?
 160 Aye, by my soul! While on yon plain
 The Saxon rears one shock of grain;
 While, of ten thousand herds, there strays
 But one along yon river's maze,
 The Gael, of plain and river heir,
 165 Shall, with strong hand, redeem his share.
 Where live the mountain Chiefs who hold
 That plundering Lowland field and fold
 Is aught but retribution true?
 Seek other cause 'gainst Roderick Dhu."

VIII

170 Answered Fitz-James, "And if I sought,
 Think'st thou no other could be brought?
 What deem ye of my path waylaid?
 My life given o'er to ambuscade?"
 "As of a meed to rashness due:
 175 Hadst thou sent warning fair and true—
 I seek my hound, or falcon strayed,
 I seek, good faith, a Highland maid—
 Free hadst thou been to come and go;
 But secret path marks secret foe.
 180 Nor yet, for this, even as a spy,
 Hadst thou, unheard, been doomed to die.
 Save to fulfill an augury."
 "Well, let it pass; nor will I now
 Fresh cause of enmity avow,
 185 To chafe thy mood and cloud thy brow.
 Enough, I am by promise tied
 To match me with this man of pride:
 Twice have I sought Clan-Alpine's glen
 In peace; but when I come again,
 190 I come with banner, brand, and bow,
 As leader seeks his mortal foe.
 For love-lorn swain, in lady's bower,
 Ne'er panted for the appointed hour,
 As I, until before me stand
 195 This rebel Chieftain and his band!"

IX

"Have, then, thy wish!" He whistled shrill,
 And he was answered from the hill;
 Wild as the scream of the curlew,note
 From crag to crag the signal flew.
 200 Instant, through copse and heath, arose
 Bonnets and spears and bended bows;
 On right, on left, above, below,
 Sprung up at once the lurking foe;
 From shingles gray their lances start,
 205 The bracken bush sends forth the dart,
 The rushes and the willow-wand
 Are bristling into ax and brand,
 And every tuft of broom gives life
 To plaided warrior armed for strife.
 210 That whistle garrisoned the glen
 At once with full five hundred men,
 As if the yawning hill to heaven
 A subterranean host had given.
 Watching their leader's beck and will,
 215 All silent there they stood, and still.
 Like the loose crags whose threatening mass
 Lay tottering o'er the hollow pass,
 As if an infant's touch could urge
 Their headlong passage down the verge,
 220 With step and weapon forward flung,
 Upon the mountain-side they hung.
 The Mountaineer cast glance of pride
 Along Benledi's living side,
 Then fixed his eye and sable brow
 225 Full on Fitz-James—"How say'st thou now?
 These are Clan-Alpine's warriors true;
 And, Saxon—I am Roderick Dhu!"

X

Fitz-James was brave. Though to his heart
 The life-blood thrilled with sudden start,
 230 He manned himself with dauntless air,
 Returned the Chief his haughty stare,
 His back against a rock he bore,
 And firmly placed his foot before:
 "Come one, come all! this rock shall fly
 235 From its firm base as soon as I."
 Sir Roderick marked—and in his eyes
 Respect was mingled with surprise,
 And the stern joy which warriors feel
 In foemen worthy of their steel.
 240 Short space he stood—then waved his hand;
 Down sunk the disappearing band;
 Each warrior vanished where he stood,
 In broom or bracken, heath or wood;
 Sunk brand and spear and bended bow,
 245 In osiers pale and copses low;
 It seemed as if their mother Earth
 Had swallowed up her warlike birth.
 The wind's last breath had tossed in air,
 Pennon, and plaid, and plumage fair;
 250 The next but swept a lone hill-side,
 Where heath and fern were waving wide.
 The sun's last glance was glinted back,
 From spear and glaive, from targe and jack,note
 The next, all unreflected, shone
 255 On bracken green, and cold gray stone.

XI

Fitz-James looked round—yet scarce believed
 The witness that his sight received;
 Such apparition well might seem
 Delusion of a dreadful dream.
 260 Sir Roderick in suspense he eyed,
 And to his look the Chief replied,
 "Fear naught—nay, that I need not say—
 But—doubt not aught from mine array.
 Thou art my guest—I pledged my word
 265 As far as Coilantogle ford;
 Nor would I call a clansman's brand
 For aid against one valiant hand,
 Though on our strife lay every vale
 Rent by the Saxon from the Gael.
 270 So move we on—I only meant
 To show the reed on which you leant,
 Deeming this path you might pursue
 Without a pass from Roderick Dhu."
 They moved—I said Fitz-James was brave,
 275 As ever knight that belted glaive;
 Yet dare not say, that now his blood
 Kept on its wont and tempered flood,
 As, following Roderick's stride, he drew
 That seeming lonesome pathway through,
 280 Which yet, by fearful proof, was rife
 With lances, that, to take his life,
 Waited but signal from a guide,
 So late dishonored and defied.
 Ever, by stealth, his eye sought round
 285 The vanished guardians of the ground,
 And still, from copse and heather deep,
 Fancy saw spear and broadsword peep,
 And in the plover's shrilly strain,
 The signal whistle heard again.
 290 Nor breathed he free till far behind
 The pass was left; for then they wind
 Along a wide and level green,
 Where neither tree nor tuft was seen,
 Nor rush nor bush of broom was near,
 295 To hide a bonnet or a spear.

XII

The Chief in silence strode before,
 And reached that torrent's sounding shore,
 Which, daughter of three mighty lakes,
 From Vennachar in silver breaks,
 300 Sweeps through the plain, and ceaseless mines
 On Bochastle the moldering lines,note
 Where Rome, the Empress of the world,
 Of yore her eagle wings unfurled.
 And here his course the Chieftain stayed,
 305 Threw down his target and his plaid,
 And to the Lowland warrior said—
 "Bold Saxon! to his promise just,
 Vich-Alpine has discharged his trust.
 This murderous Chief, this ruthless man,
 310 This head of a rebellious clan,
 Hath led thee safe, through watch and ward,
 Far past Clan-Alpine's outmost guard.
 Now, man to man, and steel to steel.
 A Chieftain's vengeance thou shalt feel.
 315 See, here, all vantageless I stand,
 Armed, like thyself, with single brand;
 For this is Coilantogle ford,
 And thou must keep thee with thy sword."

XIII

The Saxon paused: "I ne'er delayed,
 320 When foeman bade me draw my blade;
 Nay more, brave Chief, I vowed thy death;
 Yet sure thy fair and generous faith,
 And my deep debt for life preserved,
 A better meed have well deserved.
 325 Can naught but blood our feud atone?
 Are there no means?" "No, Stranger, none!
 And hear—to fire thy flagging zeal—
 The Saxon cause rests on thy steel;
 For thus spoke Fate, by prophet bred
 330 Between the living and the dead;
 'Who spills the foremost foeman's life,
 His party conquers in the strife.'"
 "Then, by my word," the Saxon said,
 "The riddle is already read.
 335 Seek yonder brake beneath the cliff—
 There lies Red Murdoch, stark and stiff.
 Thus Fate hath solved her prophecy,
 Then yield to Fate, and not to me.
 To James, at Stirling, let us go,
 340 When, if thou wilt be still his foe,
 Or if the King shall not agree
 To grant thee grace and favor free,
 I plight mine honor, oath, and word,
 That, to thy native strengths restored,
 345 With each advantage shalt thou stand,
 That aids thee now to guard thy land."

XIV

Dark lightning flashed from Roderick's eye—
 "Soars thy presumption, then, so high,
 Because a wretched kern ye slew,
 350 Homage to name to Roderick Dhu?
 He yields not, he, to man nor Fate!
 Thou add'st but fuel to my hate;
 My clansman's blood demands revenge.
 Not yet prepared?—By heaven, I change
 355 My thought, and hold thy valor light
 As that of some vain carpet knight,
 Who ill deserved my courteous care,
 And whose best boast is but to wear
 A braid of his fair lady's hair."
 360 "I thank thee, Roderick, for the word!
 It nerves my heart, it steels my sword;
 For I have sworn this braid to stain
 In the best blood that warms thy vein.
 Now, truce, farewell! and ruth, begone!—
 365 Yet think not that by thee alone,
 Proud Chief! can courtesy be shown;
 Though not from copse, or heath, or cairn,
 Start at my whistle clansmen stern,
 Of this small horn one feeble blast
 370 Would fearful odds against thee cast.
 But fear not—doubt not—which thou wilt—
 We try this quarrel hilt to hilt."
 Then each at once his falchion drew,
 Each on the ground his scabbard threw,
 375 Each looked to sun, and stream, and plain,
 As what they ne'er might see again;
 Then foot, and point, and eye opposed,
 In dubious strife they darkly closed.

XV

Ill fared it then with Roderick Dhu,
 380 That on the field his targe he threw,
 Whose brazen studs and tough bull-hide
 Had death so often dashed aside;
 For, trained abroad his arms to wield,
 Fitz-James's blade was sword and shield.
 385 He practiced every pass and ward,
 To thrust, to strike, to feint, to guard;
 While less expert, though stronger far,
 The Gael maintained unequal war.
 Three times in closing strife they stood,
 390 And thrice the Saxon blade drank blood;
 No stinted draft, no scanty tide,
 The gushing flood the tartans dyed.
 Fierce Roderick felt the fatal drain,
 And showered his blows like wintry rain;
 395 And, as firm rock, or castle-roof,
 Against the winter shower is proof,
 The foe, invulnerable still,
 Foiled his wild rage by steady skill;
 Till, at advantage ta'en, his brand
 400 Forced Roderick's weapon from his hand,
 And backward borne upon the lea,
 Brought the proud Chieftain to his knee.

XVI

"Now, yield thee, or by Him who made
 The world, thy heart's blood dyes my blade!"—
 405 "Thy threats, thy mercy, I defy!
 Let recreant yield, who fears to die."
 —Like adder darting from his coil,
 Like wolf that dashes through the toil,
 Like mountain-cat who guards her young,note
 410 Full at Fitz-James's throat he sprung;
 Received, but recked not of a wound,
 And locked his arms his foeman round.
 Now, gallant Saxon, hold thine own!
 No maiden's hand is round thee thrown!
 415 That desperate grasp thy frame might feel,
 Through bars of brass and triple steel!—
 They tug, they strain! down, down they go,
 The Gael above, Fitz-James below.
 The Chieftain's gripe his throat compressed
 420 His knee was planted in his breast;
 His clotted locks he backward threw,
 Across his brow his hand he drew,
 From blood and mist to clear his sight,
 Then gleamed aloft his dagger bright!
 425 But hate and fury ill supplied
 The stream of life's exhausted tide,
 And all too late the advantage came,
 To turn the odds of deadly game;
 For, while the dagger gleamed on high,
 430 Reeled soul and sense, reeled brain and eye.
 Down came the blow! but in the heath
 The erring blade found bloodless sheath.
 The struggling foe may now unclasp
 The fainting Chief's relaxing grasp;
 435 Unwounded from the dreadful close,
 But breathless all, Fitz-James arose.

XVII

He faltered thanks to Heaven for life,
 Redeemed, unhoped, from desperate strife;
 Next on his foe his look he cast,
 440 Whose every gasp appeared his last;
 In Roderick's gore he dipped the braid—
 "Poor Blanche! thy wrongs are dearly paid;
 Yet with thy foe must die, or live,
 The praise that faith and valor give."
 445 With that he blew a bugle-note,
 Undid the collar from his throat,
 Unbonneted, and by the wave
 Sat down his brow and hands to lave.
 Then faint afar are heard the feet
 450 Of rushing steeds in gallop fleet;
 The sounds increase, and now are seen
 Four mounted squires in Lincoln green;
 Two who bear lance, and two who lead,
 By loosened rein, a saddled steed;
 455 Each onward held his headlong course,
 And by Fitz-James reined up his horse—
 With wonder viewed the bloody spot—
 "Exclaim not, gallants! question not.
 You, Herbert and Luffness, alight,
 460 And bind the wounds of yonder knight;
 Let the gray palfrey bear his weight,note
 We destined for a fairer freight,
 And bring him on to Stirling straight;
 I will before at better speed,
 465 To seek fresh horse and fitting weed.note
 The sun rides high—I must be boune,
 To see the archer-game at noon;
 But lightly Bayard clears the lea—
 De Vaux and Herries, follow me.

XVIII

470 "Stand, Bayard, stand!" The steed obeyed,
 With arching neck and bended head,
 And glancing eye and quivering ear
 As if he loved his lord to hear.
 No foot Fitz-James in stirrup stayed,
 475 No grasp upon the saddle laid,
 But wreathed his left hand in the mane,
 And lightly bounded from the plain,
 Turned on the horse his arméd heel,
 And stirred his courage with the steel.
 480 Bounded the fiery steed in air;
 The rider sat erect and fair;
 Then like a bolt from steel crossbow
 Forth launched, along the plain they go.
 They dashed that rapid torrent through,
 485 And up Carhonie's hill they flew;
 Still at the gallop pricked the Knight,
 His merrymen followed as they might.
 Along thy banks, swift Teith! they ride,
 And in the race they mock thy tide;
 490 Torry and Lendrick now are past,note
 And Deanstown lies behind them cast;
 They rise, the bannered towers of Doune,
 They sink in distant woodland soon;
 Blair-Drummond sees the hoofs strike fire,
 495 They sweep like breeze through Ochtertyre;
 They mark just glance and disappear
 The lofty brow of ancient Kier;
 They bathe their coursers' sweltering sides,
 Dark Forth! amid thy sluggish tides,
 500 And on the opposing shore take ground,
 With plash, with scramble, and with bound.
 Right-hand they leave thy cliffs, Craig-Forth!
 And soon the bulwark of the North,
 Gray Stirling, with her towers and town,
 505 Upon their fleet career looked down.

XIX