We nor ally nor brother know,
In Bruce's friend, or England's foe.”
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 Jona's piles,
And wisely deems it best to dwell
A vot'ress in the holy cell,
Until these feuds, so fierce and fell,
The Abbot reconciles."__
As, impotent of ire, the hall
Echoed to Lorn's impatient call,
"My horse, my mantle, and my train!
Let none who honours Lorn remain !"
Courteous, but stern, a bold request
To Bruce de Argentine addressed-
"Lord Earl," he said," I cannot choose
But yield such title to the Bruce,
Though name and earldom both are gone,
Since he braced rebel's armour on-
But, Earl or Serf-rude phrase was thine
Of late, and launched at Argentine;
Such as compels me to demand
Redress of honour 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."
"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 honoured pledge you gave
In every battle-field shall wave
Upon my helmet-crest;
Believe, that if my hasty tongue
Hath done thine honour 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."—
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.
But soon up-roused, the monarch cried
To Edward slumbering by his side,
"Awake, or sleep for aye!
E'en 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! 'tis 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,
E'en 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,
E'en 1"-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.
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 burly fare
That Clifford makes, whose lordly call
Now echoes through my father's hall.
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