The Abbey of Capuchins was only separated from the Convent by the Garden and Cemetery. The Monks had been invited to assist at the Pilgrimage. They now arrived, marching two by two with lighted Torches in their hands, and chaunting Hymns in honour of St. Clare. Father Pablos was at their head, the Abbot having excused himself from attending. The people made way for the holy Train, and the Friars placed themselves in ranks on either side of the great Gates. A few minutes sufficed to arrange the order of the Procession. This being settled, the Convent doors were thrown open, and again the female Chorus sounded in full melody. First appeared a Band of Choristers: As soon as they had passed, the Monks fell in two by two, and followed with steps slow and measured. Next came the Novices; They bore no Tapers, as did the Professed, but moved on with eyes bent downwards, and seemed to be occupied by telling their Beads. To them succeeded a young and lovely Girl, who represented St. Lucia: She held a golden bason in which were two eyes: Her own were covered by a velvet bandage, and She was conducted by another Nun habited as an Angel. She was followed by St. Catherine, a palm-branch in one hand, a flaming Sword in the other: She was robed in white, and her brow was ornamented with a sparkling Diadem. After her appeared St. Genevieve, surrounded by a number of Imps, who putting themselves into grotesque attitudes, drawing her by the robe, and sporting round her with antic gestures, endeavoured to distract her attention from the Book, on which her eyes were constantly fixed. These merry Devils greatly entertained the Spectators, who testified their pleasure by repeated bursts of Laughter. The Prioress had been careful to select a Nun whose disposition was naturally solemn and saturnine. She had every reason to be satisfied with her choice: The drolleries of the Imps were entirely thrown away, and St. Genevieve moved on without discomposing a muscle.
Each of these Saints was separated from the Other by a band of Choristers, exalting her praise in their Hymns, but declaring her to be very much inferior to St. Clare, the Convent’s avowed Patroness. These having passed, a long train of Nuns appeared, bearing like the Choristers each a burning Taper. Next came the reliques of St. Clare, inclosed in vases equally precious for their materials and workmanship: But they attracted not Lorenzo’s attention. The Nun who bore the heart occupied him entirely. According to Theodore’s description, He doubted not her being the Mother St. Ursula. She seemed to look round with anxiety. As He stood foremost in the rank by which the procession past, her eye caught Lorenzo’s. A flush of joy overspread her till then pallid cheek. She turned to her Companion eagerly.
“We are safe!” He heard her whisper; “’tis her Brother!”
His heart being now at ease, Lorenzo gazed with tranquillity upon the remainder of the show. Now appeared its most brilliant ornament. It was a Machine fashioned like a throne, rich with jewels and dazzling with light. It rolled onwards upon concealed wheels, and was guided by several lovely Children, dressed as Seraphs. The summit was covered with silver clouds, upon which reclined the most beautiful form that eyes ever witnessed. It was a Damsel representing St. Clare: Her dress was of inestimable price, and round her head a wreath of Diamonds formed an artificial glory: But all these ornaments yielded to the lustre of her charms. As She advanced, a murmur of delight ran through the Crowd. Even Lorenzo confessed secretly, that He never beheld more perfect beauty, and had not his heart been Antonia’s, it must have fallen a sacrifice to this enchanting Girl. As it was, He considered her only as a fine Statue: She obtained from him no tribute save cold admiration, and when She had passed him, He thought of her no more.
“Who is She?” asked a By-stander in Lorenzo’s hearing.
“One whose beauty you must often have heard celebrated. Her name is Virginia de Villa-Franca: She is a Pensioner of St. Clare’s Convent, a Relation of the Prioress, and has been selected with justice as the ornament of the Procession.”
The Throne moved onwards. It was followed by the Prioress herself: She marched at the head of the remaining Nuns with a devout and sanctified air, and closed the procession. She moved on slowly: Her eyes were raised to heaven: Her countenance calm and tranquil seemed abstracted from all sublunary things, and no feature betrayed her secret pride at displaying the pomp and opulence of her Convent. She passed along, accompanied by the prayers and benedictions of the Populace: But how great was the general confusion and surprize, when Don Ramirez starting forward, challenged her as his Prisoner.
For a moment amazement held the Domina silent and immoveable: But no sooner did She recover herself, thanthan She exclaim################//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
The Abbey of Capuchins was only separated from the Convent by the Garden and Cemetery. The Monks had been invited to assist at the Pilgrimage. They now arrived, marching two by two with lighted Torches in their hands, and chaunting Hymns in honour of St. Clare. Father Pablos was at their head, the Abbot having excused himself from attending. The people made way for the holy Train, and the Friars placed themselves in ranks on either side of the great Gates. A few minutes sufficed to arrange the order of the Procession. This being settled, the Convent doors were thrown open, and again the female Chorus sounded in full melody. First appeared a Band of Choristers: As soon as they had passed, the Monks fell in two by two, and followed with steps slow and measured. Next came the Novices; They bore no Tapers, as did the Professed, but moved on with eyes bent downwards, and seemed to be occupied by telling their Beads. To them succeeded a young and lovely Girl, who represented St. Lucia: She held a golden bason in which were two eyes: Her own were covered by a velvet bandage, and She was conducted by another Nun habited as an Angel. She was followed by St. Catherine, a palm-branch in one hand, a flaming Sword in the other: She was robed in white, and her brow was ornamented with a sparkling Diadem. After her appeared St. Genevieve, surrounded by a number of Imps, who putting themselves into grotesque attitudes, drawing her by the robe, and sporting round her with antic gestures, endeavoured to distract her attention from the Book, on which her eyes were constantly fixed. These merry Devils greatly entertained the Spectators, who testified their pleasure by repeated bursts of Laughter. The Prioress had been careful to select a Nun whose disposition was naturally solemn and saturnine. She had every reason to be satisfied with her choice: The drolleries of the Imps were entirely thrown away, and St. Genevieve moved on without discomposing a muscle.
Each of these Saints was separated from the Other by a band of Choristers, exalting her praise in their Hymns, but declaring her to be very much inferior to St. Clare, the Convent’s avowed Patroness. These having passed, a long train of Nuns appeared, bearing like the Choristers each a burning Taper. Next came the reliques of St. Clare, inclosed in vases equally precious for their materials and workmanship: But they attracted not Lorenzo’s attention. The Nun who bore the heart occupied him entirely. According to Theodore’s description, He doubted not her being the Mother St. Ursula. She seemed to look round with anxiety. As He stood foremost in the rank by which the procession past, her eye caught Lorenzo’s. A flush of joy overspread her till then pallid cheek. She turned to her Companion eagerly.
“We are safe!” He heard her whisper; “’tis her Brother!”
His heart being now at ease, Lorenzo gazed with tranquillity upon the remainder of the show. Now appeared its most brilliant ornament. It was a Machine fashioned like a throne, rich with jewels and dazzling with light. It rolled onwards upon concealed wheels, and was guided by several lovely Children, dressed as Seraphs. The summit was covered with silver clouds, upon which reclined the most beautiful form that eyes ever witnessed. It was a Damsel representing St. Clare: Her dress was of inestimable price, and round her head a wreath of Diamonds formed an artificial glory: But all these ornaments yielded to the lustre of her charms. As She advanced, a murmur of delight ran through the Crowd. Even Lorenzo confessed secretly, that He never beheld more perfect beauty, and had not his heart been Antonia’s, it must have fallen a sacrifice to this enchanting Girl. As it was, He considered her only as a fine Statue: She obtained from him no tribute save cold admiration, and when She had passed him, He thought of her no more.
“Who is She?” asked a By-stander in Lorenzo’s hearing.
“One whose beauty you must often have heard celebrated. Her name is Virginia de Villa-Franca: She is a Pensioner of St. Clare’s Convent, a Relation of the Prioress, and has been selected with justice as the ornament of the Procession.”
The Throne moved onwards. It was followed by the Prioress herself: She marched at the head of the remaining Nuns with a devout and sanctified air, and closed the procession. She moved on slowly: Her eyes were raised to heaven: Her countenance calm and tranquil seemed abstracted from all sublunary things, and no feature betrayed her secret pride at displaying the pomp and opulence of her Convent. She passed along, accompanied by the prayers and benedictions of the Populace: But how great was the general confusion and surprize, when Don Ramirez starting forward, challenged her as his Prisoner.
For a moment amazement held the Domina silent and immoveable: But no sooner did She recover herself, than She exclaimed against sacrilege and impiety, and called the People to rescue a Daughter of the Church. They were eagerly preparing to obey her; when Don Ramirez, protected by the Archers from their rage, commanded them to forbear, and threatened them with the severest vengeance of the Inquisition. At that dreaded word every arm fell, every sword shrunk back into its scabbard. The Prioress herself turned pale, and trembled. The general silence convinced her that She had nothing to hope but from innocence, and She besought Don Ramirez in a faultering voice, to inform her of what crime She was accused.
“That you shall know in time,” replied He; “But first I must secure the Mother St. Ursula.”
“The Mother St. Ursula?” repeated the Domina faintly.
At this moment casting her eyes round, She saw near her Lorenzo and the Duke, who had followed Don Ramirez.
“Ah! great God!” She cried, clasping her hands together with a frantic air; “I am betrayed!”
“Betrayed?” replied St. Ursula, who now arrived conducted by some of the Archers, and followed by the Nun her Companion in the procession: “Not betrayed, but discovered. In me recognise your Accuser: You know not how well I am instructed in your guilt!—Segnor!” She continued, turning to Don Ramirez; “I commit myself to your custody. I charge the Prioress of St. Clare with murder, and stake my life for the justice of my accusation.”
A general cry of surprize was uttered by the whole Audience, and an explanation was demanded loudly. The trembling Nuns, terrified at the noise and universal confusion, had dispersed, and fled different ways. Some regained the Convent; Others sought refuge in the dwellings of their Relations; and Many, only sensible of their present danger, and anxious to escape from the tumult, ran through the Streets, and wandered, they knew not whither. The lovely Virginia was one of the first to fly: And in order that She might be better seen and heard, the People desired that St. Ursula should harangue them from the vacant Throne. The Nun complied; She ascended the glittering Machine, and then addressed the surrounding multitude as follows.
“However strange and unseemly may appear my conduct, when considered to be adopted by a Female and a Nun, necessity will justify it most fully. A secret, an horrible secret weighs heavy upon my soul: No rest can be mine till I have revealed it to the world, and satisfied that innocent blood which calls from the Grave for vengeance. Much have I dared to gain this opportunity of lightening my conscience. Had I failed in my attempt to reveal the crime, had the Domina but suspected that the mystery was none to me, my ruin was inevitable. Angels who watch unceasingly over those who deserve their favour, have enabled me to escape detection: I am now at liberty to relate a Tale, whose circumstances will freeze every honest soul with horror. Mine is the task to rend the veil from Hypocrisy, and show misguided Parents to what dangers the Woman is exposed, who falls under the sway of a monastic Tyrant.
“Among the Votaries of St. Clare, none was more lovely, none more gentle, than Agnes de Medina. I knew her well; She entrusted to me every secret of her heart; I was her Friend and Confident, and I loved her with sincere affection. Nor was I singular in my attachment. Her piety unfeigned, her willingness to oblige, and her angelic disposition, rendered her the Darling of all that was estimable in the Convent. The Prioress herself, proud, scrupulous and forbidding, could not refuse Agnes that tribute of approbation which She bestowed upon no one else. Every one has some fault: Alas! Agnes had her weakness! She violated the laws of our order, and incurred the inveterate hate of the unforgiving Domina. St. Clare’s rules are severe: But grown antiquated and neglected, many of late years have either been forgotten, or changed by universal consent into milder punishments. The penance, adjudged to the crime of Agnes, was most cruel, most inhuman! The law had been long exploded: Alas! It still existed, and the revengeful Prioress now determined to revive it.
This law decreed that the Offender should be plunged into a private dungeon, expressly constituted to hide from the world for ever the Victim of Cruelty and tyrannic superstition. In this dreadful abode She was to lead a perpetual solitude, deprived of all society, and believed to be dead by those whom affection might have prompted to attempt her rescue. Thus was She to languish out the remainder of her days, with no other food than bread and water, and no other comfort than the free indulgence of her tears.”
The indignation created by this account was so violent, as for some moments to interrupt St. Ursula’s narrative. When the disturbance ceased, and silence again prevailed through the Assembly, She continued her discourse, while at every word the Domina’s countenance betrayed her increasing terrors.
“A council of the twelve elder nuns was called: I was of the number. The Prioress in exaggerated colours described the offence of Agnes, and scrupled not to propose the revival of this almost forgotten law. To the shame of our sex be it spoken, that either so absolute was the Domina’s will in the Convent, or so much had disappointment, solitude, and self-denial hardened their hearts and soured their tempers that this barbarous proposal was assented to by nine voices out of the twelve. I was not one of the nine. Frequent opportunities had convinced me of the virtues of Agnes, and I loved and pitied her most sincerely. The Mothers Bertha and Cornelia joined my party: We made the strongest opposition possible, and the Superior found herself compelled to change her intention. In spite of the majority in her favour, She feared to break with us openly. She knew that supported by the Medina family, our forces would be too strong for her to cope with: And She also knew that after being once imprisoned and supposed dead, should Agnes be discovered, her ruin would be inevitable. She therefore gave up her design, though which much reluctance. She demanded some days to reflect upon a mode of punishment which might be agreeable to the whole Community; and She promised, that as soon as her resolution was fixed, the same Council should be again summoned. Two days passed away: On the Evening of the Third it was announced that on the next day Agnes should be examined; and that according to her behaviour on that occasion, her punishment should be either strengthened or mitigated.
“On the night preceding this examination, I stole to the Cell of Agnes at an hour when I supposed the other Nuns to be buried in sleep. I comforted her to the best of my power: I bad her take courage, told her to rely upon the support of her friends, and taught her certain signs, by which I might instruct her to answer the Domina’s questions by an assent or negative. Conscious that her Enemy would strive to confuse, embarrass, and daunt her, I feared her being ensnared into some confession prejudicial to her interests. Being anxious to keep my visit secret, I stayed with Agnes but a short time. I bad her not let her spirits be cast down; I mingled my tears with those which streamed down her cheek, embraced her fondly, and was on the point of retiring, when I heard the sound of steps approaching the Cell. I started back. A Curtain which veiled a large Crucifix offered me a retreat, and I hastened to place myself behind it. The door opened. The Prioress entered, followed by four other Nuns. They advanced towards the bed of Agnes. The Superior reproached her with her errors in the bitterest terms: She told her that She was a disgrace to the Convent, that She was resolved to deliver the world and herself from such a Monster, and commanded her to drink the contents of a Goblet now presented to her by one of the Nuns. Aware of the fatal properties of the liquor, and trembling to find herself upon the brink of Eternity, the unhappy Girl strove to excite the Domina’s pity by the most affecting prayers.
She sued for life in terms which might have melted the heart of a Fiend: She promised to submit patiently to any punishment, to shame, imprisonment, and torture, might She but be permitted to live! Oh! might She but live another month, or week, or day! Her merciless Enemy listened to her complaints unmoved: She told her that at first She meant to have spared her life, and that if She had altered her intention, She had to thank the opposition of her Friends. She continued to insist upon her swallowing the poison: She bad her recommend herself to the Almighty’s mercy, not to hers, and assured her that in an hour She would be numbered with the Dead. Perceiving that it was vain to implore this unfeeling Woman, She attempted to spring from her bed, and call for assistance: She hoped, if She could not escape the fate announced to her, at least to have witnesses of the violence committed. The Prioress guessed her design. She seized her forcibly by the arm, and pushed her back upon her pillow. At the same time drawing a dagger, and placing it at the breast of the unfortunate Agnes, She protested that if She uttered a single cry, or hesitated a single moment to drink the poison, She would pierce her heart that instant. Already half-dead with fear, She could make no further resistance. The Nun approached with the fatal Goblet. The Domina obliged her to take it, and swallow the contents. She drank, and the horrid deed was accomplished. The Nuns then seated themselves round the Bed. They answered her groans with reproaches; They interrupted with sarcasms the prayers in which She recommended her parting soul to mercy: They threatened her with heaven’s vengeance and eternal perdition: They bad her despair of pardon, and strowed with yet sharper thorns Death’s painful pillow. Such were the sufferings of this young Unfortunate, till released by fate from the malice of her Tormentors. She expired in horror of the past, in fears for the future; and her agonies were such as must have amply gratified the hate and vengeance of her Enemies. As soon as her Victim ceased to breathe, the Domina retired, and was followed by her Accomplices.
“It was now that I ventured from my concealment. I dared not to assist my unhappy Friend, aware that without preserving her, I should only have brought on myself the same destruction. Shocked and terrified beyond expression at this horrid scene, scarcely had I sufficient strength to regain my Cell. As I reached the door of that of Agnes, I ventured to look towards the bed, on which lay her lifeless body, once so lovely and so sweet! I breathed a prayer for her departed Spirit, and vowed to revenge her death by the shame and punishment of her Assassins. With danger and difficulty have I kept my oath. I unwarily dropped some words at the funeral of Agnes, while thrown off my guard by excessive grief, which alarmed the guilty conscience of the Prioress. My every action was observed; My every step was traced. I was constantly surrounded by the Superior’s spies. It was long before I could find the means of conveying to the unhappy Girl’s Relations an intimation of my secret. It was given out that Agnes had expired suddenly: This account was credited not only by her Friends in Madrid, but even by those within the Convent. The poison had left no marks upon her body: No one suspected the true cause of her death, and it remained unknown to all, save the Assassins and Myself.
“I have no more to say: for what I have already said, I will answer with my life. I repeat that the Prioress is a Murderess; that she has driven from the world, perhaps from heaven, an Unfortunate whose offence was light and venial; that She has abused the power intrusted to her hands, and has been a Tyrant, a Barbarian, and an Hypocrite. I also accuse the four Nuns, Violante, Camilla, Alix, and Mariana, as being her Accomplices, and equally criminal.”
Here St. Ursula ended her narrative. It created horror and surprize throughout: But when She related the inhuman murder of Agnes, the indignation of the Mob was so audibly testified, that it was scarcely possible to hear the conclusion. This confusion increased with every moment: At length a multitude of voices exclaimed that the Prioress should be given up to their fury. To this Don Ramirez refused to consent positively. Even Lorenzo bad the People remember that She had undergone no trial, and advised them to leave her punishment to the Inquisition. All representations were fruitless: The disturbance grew still more violent, and the Populace more exasperated. In vain did Ramirez attempt to convey his Prisoner out of the Throng. Wherever He turned, a band of Rioters barred his passage, and demanded her being delivered over to them more loudly than before. Ramirez ordered his Attendants to cut their way through the multitude: Oppressed by numbers, it was impossible for them to draw their swords. He threatened the Mob with the vengeance of the Inquisition: But in this moment of popular phrenzy even this dreadful name had lost its effect. Though regret for his Sister made him look upon the Prioress with abhorrence, Lorenzo could not help pitying a Woman in a situation so terrible: But in spite of all his exertions, and those of the Duke, of Don Ramirez, and the Archers, the People continued to press onwards. They forced a passage through the Guards who protected their destined Victim, dragged her from her shelter, and proceeded to take upon her a most summary and cruel vengeance. Wild with terror, and scarcely knowing what She said, the wretched Woman shrieked for a moment’s mercy: She protested that She was innocent of the death of Agnes, and could clear herself from the suspicion beyond the power of doubt. The Rioters heeded nothing but the gratification of their barbarous vengeance. They refused to listen to her: They showed her every sort of insult, loaded her with mud and filth, and called her by the most opprobrious appellations. They tore her one from another, and each new Tormentor was more savage than the former. They stifled with howls and execrations her shrill cries for mercy; and dragged her through the Streets, spurning her, trampling her, and treating her with every species of cruelty which hate or vindictive fury could invent. At length a Flint, aimed by some well-directing hand, struck her full upon the temple. She sank upon the ground bathed in blood, and in a few minutes terminated her miserable existence. Yet though She no longer felt their insults, the Rioters still exercised their impotent rage upon her lifeless body. They beat it, trod upon it, and ill-used it, till it became no more than a mass of flesh, unsightly, shapeless, and disgusting.
This excited such general curiosity that the Sisters forgot both their real and imaginary dangers. Lorenzo proceeded to raise the Grate, in which the Nuns assisted him to the utmost of their strength. The attempt was accomplished with little difficulty. A deep abyss now presented itself before them, whose thick obscurity the eye strove in vain to pierce. The rays of the Lamp were too feeble to be of much assistance. Nothing was discernible, save a flight of rough unshapen steps which sank into the yawning Gulph and were soon lost in darkness. The groans were heard no more; But All believed them to have ascended from this Cavern. As He bent over it, Lorenzo fancied that He distinguished something bright twinkling through the gloom. He gazed attentively upon the spot where it showed itself, and was convinced that He saw a small spark of light, now visible, now disappearing. He communicated this circumstance to the Nuns: They also perceived the spark; But when He declared his intention to descend into the Cave, they united to oppose his resolution. All their remonstrances could not prevail on him to alter it. None of them had courage enough to accompany him; neither could He think of depriving them of the Lamp. Alone therefore, and in darkness, He prepared to pursue his design, while the Nuns were contented to offer up prayers for his success and safety.
The steps were so narrow and uneven, that to descend them was like walking down the side of a precipice. The obscurity by which He was surrounded rendered his footing insecure. He was obliged to proceed with great caution, lest He should miss the steps and fall into the Gulph below him. This He was several times on the point of doing. However, He arrived sooner upon solid ground than He had expected: He now found that the thick darkness and impenetrable mists which reigned through the Cavern had deceived him into the belief of its being much more profound than it proved upon inspection. He reached the foot of the Stairs unhurt: He now stopped, and looked round for the spark which had before caught his attention. He sought it in vain: All was dark and gloomy. He listened for the groans; But his ear caught no sound, except the distant murmur of the Nuns above, as in low voices they repeated their Ave-Marias. He stood irresolute to which side He should address his steps. At all events He determined to proceed: He did so, but slowly, fearing lest instead of approaching, He should be retiring from the object of his search. The groans seemed to announce one in pain, or at least in sorrow, and He hoped to have the power of relieving the Mourner’s calamities. A plaintive tone, sounding at no great distance, at length reached his hearing; He bent his course joyfully towards it. It became more audible as He advanced; and He soon beheld again the spark of light, which a low projecting Wall had hitherto concealed from him.
It proceeded from a small lamp which was placed upon an heap of stones, and whose faint and melancholy rays served rather to point out, than dispell the horrors of a narrow gloomy dungeon formed in one side of the Cavern; It also showed several other recesses of similar construction, but whose depth was buried in obscurity. Coldly played the light upon the damp walls, whose dew-stained surface gave back a feeble reflection. A thick and pestilential fog clouded the height of the vaulted dungeon. As Lorenzo advanced, He felt a piercing chillness spread itself through his veins. The frequent groans still engaged him to move forwards. He turned towards them, and by the Lamp’s glimmering beams beheld in a corner of this loathsome abode, a Creature stretched upon a bed of straw, so wretched, so emaciated, so pale, that He doubted to think her Woman. She was half-naked: Her long dishevelled hair fell in disorder over her face, and almost entirely concealed it. One wasted Arm hung listlessly upon a tattered rug which covered her convulsed and shivering limbs: The Other was wrapped round a small bundle, and held it closely to her bosom. A large Rosary lay near her: Opposite to her was a Crucifix, on which She bent her sunk eyes fixedly, and by her side stood a Basket and a small Earthen Pitcher.
Lorenzo stopped: He was petrified with horror. He gazed upon the miserable Object with disgust and pity. He trembled at the spectacle; He grew sick at heart: His strength failed him, and his limbs were unable to support his weight. He was obliged to lean against the low Wall which was near him, unable to go forward, or to address the Sufferer. She cast her eyes towards the Staircase: The Wall concealed Lorenzo, and She observed him not.
“No one comes!” She at length murmured.
As She spoke, her voice was hollow, and rattled in her throat: She sighed bitterly.
“No one comes!” She repeated; “No! They have forgotten me! They will come no more!”
She paused for a moment: Then continued mournfully.
“Two days! Two long, long days, and yet no food! And yet no hope, no comfort! Foolish Woman! How can I wish to lengthen a life so wretched! Yet such a death! O! God! To perish by such a death! To linger out such ages in torture! Till now, I knew not what it was to hunger! Hark! No. No one comes! They will come no more!”
She was silent. She shivered, and drew the rug over her naked shoulders.
“I am very cold! I am still unused to the damps of this dungeon!
’Tis strange: But no matter. Colder shall I soon be, and yet not feel it—I shall be cold, cold as Thou art!”
She looked at the bundle which lay upon her breast. She bent over it, and kissed it: Then drew back hastily, and shuddered with disgust.
“It was once so sweet! It would have been so lovely, so like him! I have lost it for ever! How a few days have changed it! I should not know it again myself! Yet it is dear to me! God! how dear! I will forget what it is: I will only remember what it was, and love it as well, as when it was so sweet! so lovely! so like him! I thought that I had wept away all my tears, but here is one still lingering.”
She wiped her eyes with a tress of her hair. She put out her hand for the Pitcher, and reached it with difficulty. She cast into it a look of hopeless enquiry. She sighed, and replaced it upon the ground.
“Quite a void! Not a drop! Not one drop left to cool my scorched-up burning palate! Now would I give treasures for a draught of water! And they are God’s Servants, who make me suffer thus! They think themselves holy, while they torture me like Fiends! They are cruel and unfeeling; And ’tis they who bid me repent; And ’tis they, who threaten me with eternal perdition! Saviour, Saviour! You think not so!”
She again fixed her eyes upon the Crucifix, took her Rosary, and while She told her beads, the quick motion of her lips declared her to be praying with fervency.
While He listened to her melancholy accents, Lorenzo’s sensibility became yet more violently affected. The first sight of such misery had given a sensible shock to his feelings: But that being past, He now advanced towards the Captive. She heard his steps, and uttering a cry of joy, dropped the Rosary.
“Hark! Hark! Hark!” She cried: “Some one comes!”
She strove to raise herself, but her strength was unequal to the attempt: She fell back, and as She sank again upon the bed of straw, Lorenzo heard the rattling of heavy chains. He still approached, while the Prisoner thus continued.
“Is it you, Camilla? You are come then at last? Oh! it was time! I thought that you had forsaken me; that I was doomed to perish of hunger. Give me to drink, Camilla, for pity’s sake! I am faint with long fasting, and grown so weak that I cannot raise myself from the ground. Good Camilla, give me to drink, lest I expire before you!”
Fearing that surprize in her enfeebled state might be fatal, Lorenzo was at a loss how to address her.
“It is not Camilla,” said He at length, speaking in a slow and gentle voice.
“Who is it then?” replied the Sufferer: “Alix, perhaps, or Violante. My eyes are grown so dim and feeble that I cannot distinguish your features. But whichever it is, if your breast is sensible of the least compassion, if you are not more cruel than Wolves and Tigers, take pity on my sufferings. You know that I am dying for want of sustenance. This is the third day, since these lips have received nourishment. Do you bring me food? Or come you only to announce my death, and learn how long I have yet to exist in agony?”
“You mistake my business,” replied Lorenzo; “I am no Emissary of the cruel Prioress. I pity your sorrows, and come hither to relieve them.”
“To relieve them?” repeated the Captive; “Said you, to relieve them?”
At the same time starting from the ground, and supporting herself upon her hands, She gazed upon the Stranger earnestly.
“Great God! It is no illusion! A Man! Speak! Who are you? What brings you hither? Come you to save me, to restore me to liberty, to life and light? Oh! speak, speak quickly, lest I encourage an hope whose disappointment will destroy me.”
“Be calm!” replied Lorenzo in a voice soothing and compassionate; “The Domina of whose cruelty you complain, has already paid the forfeit of her offences: You have nothing more to fear from her.
A few minutes will restore you to liberty, and the embraces of your Friends from whom you have been secluded. You may rely upon my protection. Give me your hand, and be not fearful. Let me conduct you where you may receive those attentions which your feeble state requires.”
“Oh! Yes! Yes! Yes!” cried the Prisoner with an exulting shriek; “There is a God then, and a just one! Joy! Joy! I shall once more breath the fresh air, and view the light of the glorious sunbeams! I will go with you! Stranger, I will go with you! Oh! Heaven will bless you for pitying an Unfortunate! But this too must go with me,” She added pointing to the small bundle which She still clasped to her bosom; “I cannot part with this. I will bear it away: It shall convince the world how dreadful are the abodes so falsely termed religious. Good Stranger, lend me your hand to rise: I am faint with want, and sorrow, and sickness, and my forces have quite forsaken me! So, that is well!”
As Lorenzo stooped to raise her, the beams of the Lamp struck full upon his face.
“Almighty God!” She exclaimed; “Is it possible! That look! Those features! Oh! Yes, it is, it is .....”
She extended her arms to throw them round him; But her enfeebled frame was unable to sustain the emotions which agitated her bosom. She fainted, and again sank upon the bed of straw.
Lorenzo was surprized at her last exclamation. He thought that He had before heard such accents as her hollow voice had just formed, but where He could not remember. He saw that in her dangerous situation immediate physical aid was absolutely necessary, and He hastened to convey her from the dungeon. He was at first prevented from doing so by a strong chain fastened round the prisoner’s body, and fixing her to the neighbouring Wall. However, his natural strength being aided by anxiety to relieve the Unfortunate, He soon forced out the Staple to which one end of the Chain was attached. Then taking the Captive in his arms, He bent his course towards the Staircase. The rays of the Lamp above, as well as the murmur of female voices, guided his steps. He gained the Stairs, and in a few minutes after arrived at the iron-grate.
The nuns during his absence had been terribly tormented by curiosity and apprehension: They were equally surprized and delighted on seeing him suddenly emerge from the Cave. Every heart was filled with compassion for the miserable Creature whom He bore in his arms. While the Nuns, and Virginia in particular, employed themselves in striving to recall her to her senses, Lorenzo related in few words the manner of his finding her. He then observed to them that by this time the tumult must have been quelled, and that He could now conduct them to their Friends without danger. All were eager to quit the Sepulchre: Still to prevent all possibility of ill-usage, they besought Lorenzo to venture out first alone, and examine whether the Coast was clear. With this request He complied. Helena offered to conduct him to the Staircase, and they were on the point of departing, when a strong light flashed from several passages upon the adjacent walls. At the same time Steps were heard of people approaching hastily, and whose number seemed to be considerable. The Nuns were greatly alarmed at this circumstance: They supposed their retreat to be discovered, and the Rioters to be advancing in pursuit of them. Hastily quitting the Prisoner who remained insensible, they crowded round Lorenzo, and claimed his promise to protect them. Virginia alone forgot her own danger by striving to relieve the sorrows of Another. She supported the Sufferer’s head upon her knees, bathing her temples with rose-water, chafing her cold hands, and sprinkling her face with tears which were drawn from her by compassion. The Strangers approaching nearer, Lorenzo was enabled to dispel the fears of the Suppliants. His name, pronounced by a number of voices among which He distinguished the Duke’s, pealed along the Vaults, and convinced him that He was the object of their search. He communicated this intelligence to the Nuns, who received it with rapture. A few moments after confirmed his idea. Don Ramirez, as well as the Duke, appeared, followed by Attendants with Torches. They had been seeking him through the Vaults, in order to let him know that the Mob was dispersed, and the riot entirely over. Lorenzo recounted briefly his adventure in the Cavern, and explained how much the Unknown was in want of medical assistance. He besought the Duke to take charge of her, as well as of the Nuns and Pensioners.
“As for me,” said He, “Other cares demand my attention. While you with one half of the Archers convey these Ladies to their respective homes, I wish the other half to be left with me. I will examine the Cavern below, and pervade the most secret recesses of the Sepulchre. I cannot rest till convinced that yonder wretched Victim was the only one confined by Superstition in these vaults.”
The Duke applauded his intention. Don Ramirez offered to assist him in his enquiry, and his proposal was accepted with gratitude.
The Nuns having made their acknowledgments to Lorenzo, committed themselves to the care of his Uncle, and were conducted from the Sepulchre. Virginia requested that the Unknown might be given to her in charge, and promised to let Lorenzo know whenever She was sufficiently recovered to accept his visits. In truth, She made this promise more from consideration for herself than for
'Fair dreams are these,' the maiden cried,-- Light was her accent, yet she sighed,-- 'Yet is this mossy rock to me Worth splendid chair and canopy; Nor would my footstep spring more gay In courtly dance than blithe strathspey, Nor half so pleased mine ear incline To royal minstrel's lay as thine. And then for suitors proud and high, To bend before my conquering eye,-- Thou, flattering bard! thyself wilt say, That grim Sir Roderick owns its sway. The Saxon scourge, Clan-Alpine's pride, The terror of Loch Lomond's side, Would, at my suit, thou know'st, delay A Lennox foray--for a day.'--
XII..
The ancient bard her glee repressed: 'Ill hast thou chosen theme for jest! For who, through all this western wild, Named Black Sir Roderick e'er, and smiled? In Holy-Rood a knight he slew; I saw, when back the dirk he drew, Courtiers give place before the stride Of the undaunted homicide; And since, though outlawed, hath his hand Full sternly kept his mountain land.
Who else dared give--ah! woe the day, That I such hated truth should say!-- The Douglas, like a stricken deer, Disowned by every noble peer, Even the rude refuge we have here? Alas, this wild marauding Chief Alone might hazard our relief, And now thy maiden charms expand, Looks for his guerdon in thy hand; Full soon may dispensation sought, To back his suit, from Rome be brought. Then, though an exile on the hill, Thy father, as the Douglas, still Be held in reverence and fear; And though to Roderick thou'rt so dear That thou mightst guide with silken thread. Slave of thy will, this chieftain dread, Yet, O loved maid, thy mirth restrain! Thy hand is on a lion's mane.'--
XIII.
Minstrel,' the maid replied, and high Her father's soul glanced from her eye, 'My debts to Roderick's house I know: All that a mother could bestow To Lady Margaret's care I owe, Since first an orphan in the wild She sorrowed o'er her sister's child; To her brave chieftain son, from ire Of Scotland's king who shrouds my sire, A deeper, holier debt is owed; And, could I pay it with my blood, Allan! Sir Roderick should command My blood, my life,--but not my hand. Rather will Ellen Douglas dwell A votaress in Maronnan's cell; Rather through realms beyond the sea, Seeking the world's cold charity Where ne'er was spoke a Scottish word, And ne'er the name of Douglas heard An outcast pilgrim will she rove, Than wed the man she cannot love.
XIV.
'Thou shak'st, good friend, thy tresses gray,-- That pleading look, what can it say But what I own?--I grant him brave, But wild as Bracklinn's thundering wave; And generous,--save vindictive mood Or jealous transport chafe his blood: I grant him true to friendly band, As his claymore is to his hand; But O! that very blade of steel More mercy for a foe would feel: I grant him liberal, to fling Among his clan the wealth they bring, When back by lake and glen they wind, And in the Lowland leave behind, Where once some pleasant hamlet stood, A mass of ashes slaked with blood. The hand that for my father fought I honor, as his daughter ought; But can I clasp it reeking red From peasants slaughtered in their shed? No! wildly while his virtues gleam, They make his passions darker seem, And flash along his spirit high, Like lightning o'er the midnight sky. While yet a child,--and children know, Instinctive taught, the friend and foe,-- I shuddered at his brow of gloom, His shadowy plaid and sable plume; A maiden grown, I ill could bear His haughty mien and lordly air: But, if thou join'st a suitor's claim, In serious mood, to Roderick's name. I thrill with anguish! or, if e'er A Douglas knew the word, with fear. To change such odious theme were best,-- What think'st thou of our stranger guest? '--
XV.
'What think I of him?--woe the while That brought such wanderer to our isle! Thy father's battle-brand, of yore For Tine-man forged by fairy lore, What time he leagued, no longer foes His Border spears with Hotspur's bows, Did, self-unscabbarded, foreshow The footstep of a secret foe. If courtly spy hath harbored here, What may we for the Douglas fear? What for this island, deemed of old Clan-Alpine's last and surest hold? If neither spy nor foe, I pray What yet may jealous Roderick say?-- Nay, wave not thy disdainful head! Bethink thee of the discord dread That kindled when at Beltane game Thou least the dance with Malcolm Graeme; Still, though thy sire the peace renewed Smoulders in Roderick's breast the feud: Beware!--But hark! what sounds are these? My dull ears catch no faltering breeze No weeping birch nor aspens wake, Nor breath is dimpling in the lake; Still is the canna's hoary beard, Yet, by my minstrel faith, I heard-- And hark again! some pipe of war Sends the hold pibroch from afar.'
XVI.
Far up the lengthened lake were spied Four darkening specks upon the tide, That, slow enlarging on the view, Four manned and massed barges grew, And, bearing downwards from Glengyle, Steered full upon the lonely isle; The point of Brianchoil they passed, And, to the windward as they cast, Against the sun they gave to shine The bold Sir Roderick's bannered Pine. Nearer and nearer as they bear, Spears, pikes, and axes flash in air. Now might you see the tartars brave, And plaids and plumage dance and wave: Now see the bonnets sink and rise, As his tough oar the rower plies; See, flashing at each sturdy stroke, The wave ascending into smoke; See the proud pipers on the bow, And mark the gaudy streamers flow From their loud chanters down, and sweep The furrowed bosom of the deep, As, rushing through the lake amain, They plied the ancient Highland strain.
XVII.
Ever, as on they bore, more loud And louder rung the pibroch proud. At first the sounds, by distance tame, Mellowed along the waters came, And, lingering long by cape and bay, Wailed every harsher note away, Then bursting bolder on the ear, The clan's shrill Gathering they could hear, Those thrilling sounds that call the might Of old Clan-Alpine to the fight. Thick beat the rapid notes, as when The mustering hundreds shake the glen, And hurrying at the signal dread, 'Fine battered earth returns their tread. Then prelude light, of livelier tone, Expressed their merry marching on, Ere peal of closing battle rose, With mingled outcry, shrieks, and blows; And mimic din of stroke and ward, As broadsword upon target jarred; And groaning pause, ere yet again, Condensed, the battle yelled amain: The rapid charge, the rallying shout, Retreat borne headlong into rout, And bursts of triumph, to declare Clan-Alpine's congest--all were there. Nor ended thus the strain, but slow Sunk in a moan prolonged and low, And changed the conquering clarion swell For wild lament o'er those that fell.
XVIII.
The war-pipes ceased, but lake and hill Were busy with their echoes still; And, when they slept, a vocal strain Bade their hoarse chorus wake again, While loud a hundred clansmen raise Their voices in their Chieftain's praise. Each boatman, bending to his oar, With measured sweep the burden bore, In such wild cadence as the breeze Makes through December's leafless trees. The chorus first could Allan know, 'Roderick Vich Alpine, ho! fro!' And near, and nearer as they rowed, Distinct the martial ditty flowed.
XIX.
Boat Song
Hail to the Chief who in triumph advances! Honored and blessed be the ever-green Pine! Long may the tree, in his banner that glances, Flourish, the shelter and grace of our line! Heaven send it happy dew, Earth lend it sap anew, Gayly to bourgeon and broadly to grow, While every Highland glen Sends our shout back again, 'Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!'
Ours is no sapling, chance-sown by the fountain, Blooming at Beltane, in winter to fade; When the whirlwind has stripped every leaf on the mountain, The more shall Clan-Alpine exult in her shade. Moored in the rifted rock, Proof to the tempest's shock, Firmer he roots him the ruder it blow; Menteith and Breadalbane, then, Echo his praise again, 'Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!'
XX.
Proudly our pibroch has thrilled in Glen Fruin, And Bannochar's groans to our slogan replied; Glen Luss and Ross-dhu, they are smoking in ruin, And the best of Loch Lomond lie dead on her side. Widow and Saxon maid Long shall lament our raid, Think of Clan-Alpine with fear and with woe; Lennox and Leven-glen Shake when they hear again, 'Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!'
Row, vassals, row, for the pride of the Highlands! Stretch to your oars for the ever-green Pine! O that the rosebud that graces yon islands Were wreathed in a garland around him to twine! O that some seedling gem, Worthy such noble stem, Honored and blessed in their shadow might grow! Loud should Clan-Alpine then Ring from her deepmost glen, Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!'
XXI.
With all her joyful female band Had Lady Margaret sought the strand. Loose on the breeze their tresses flew, And high their snowy arms they threw, As echoing back with shrill acclaim, And chorus wild, the Chieftain's name; While, prompt to please, with mother's art The darling passion of his heart, The Dame called Ellen to the strand, To greet her kinsman ere he land: 'Come, loiterer, come! a Douglas thou, And shun to wreathe a victor's brow?' Reluctantly and slow, the maid The unwelcome summoning obeyed, And when a distant bugle rung, In the mid-path aside she sprung:-- 'List, Allan-bane! From mainland cast I hear my father's signal blast. Be ours,' she cried, 'the skiff to guide, And waft him from the mountain-side.' Then, like a sunbeam, swift and bright, She darted to her shallop light, And, eagerly while Roderick scanned, For her dear form, his mother's band, The islet far behind her lay, And she had landed in the bay.
XXII.
Some feelings are to mortals given With less of earth in them than heaven; And if there be a human tear From passion's dross refined and clear, A tear so limpid and so meek It would not stain an angel's cheek, 'Tis that which pious fathers shed Upon a duteous daughter's head! And as the Douglas to his breast His darling Ellen closely pressed, Such holy drops her tresses steeped, Though 't was an hero's eye that weeped. Nor while on Ellen's faltering tongue Her filial welcomes crowded hung, Marked she that fear--affection's proof-- Still held a graceful youth aloof; No! not till Douglas named his name, Although the youth was Malcolm Graeme.
XXIII.
Allan, with wistful look the while, Marked Roderick landing on the isle; His master piteously he eyed, Then gazed upon the Chieftain's pride, Then dashed with hasty hand away From his dimmed eye the gathering spray; And Douglas, as his hand he laid On Malcolm's shoulder, kindly said: 'Canst thou, young friend, no meaning spy In my poor follower's glistening eye? I 'll tell thee:--he recalls the day When in my praise he led the lay O'er the arched gate of Bothwell proud, While many a minstrel answered loud, When Percy's Norman pennon, won In bloody field, before me shone, And twice ten knights, the least a name As mighty as yon Chief may claim, Gracing my pomp, behind me came. Yet trust me, Malcolm, not so proud Was I of all that marshalled crowd, Though the waned crescent owned my might, And in my train trooped lord and knight, Though Blantyre hymned her holiest lays, And Bothwell's bards flung back my praise, As when this old man's silent tear, And this poor maid's affection dear, A welcome give more kind and true Than aught my better fortunes knew. Forgive, my friend, a father's boast,-- O. it out-beggars all I lost!'
XXIV.
Delightful praise!--like summer rose, That brighter in the dew-drop glows, The bashful maiden's cheek appeared, For Douglas spoke, and Malcolm heard. The flush of shame-faced joy to hide, The hounds, the hawk, her cares divide; The loved caresses of the maid The dogs with crouch and whimper paid; And, at her whistle, on her hand The falcon took his favorite stand, Closed his dark wing, relaxed his eye, Nor, though unhooded, sought to fly. And, trust, while in such guise she stood, Like fabled Goddess of the wood, That if a father's partial thought O'erweighed her worth and beauty aught, Well might the lover's judgment fail To balance with a juster scale; For with each secret glance he stole, The fond enthusiast sent his soul.
XXV.
Of stature fair, and slender frame, But firmly knit, was Malcolm Graeme. The belted plaid and tartan hose Did ne'er more graceful limbs disclose; His flaxen hair, of sunny hue, Curled closely round his bonnet blue. Trained to the chase, his eagle eye The ptarmigan in snow could spy; Each pass, by mountain, lake, and heath, He knew, through Lennox and Menteith; Vain was the bound of dark-brown doe When Malcolm bent his sounding bow, And scarce that doe, though winged with fear, Outstripped in speed the mountaineer: Right up Ben Lomond could he press, And not a sob his toil confess. His form accorded with a mind Lively and ardent, frank and kind; A blither heart, till Ellen came Did never love nor sorrow tame; It danced as lightsome in his breast As played the feather on his crest. Yet friends, who nearest knew the youth His scorn of wrong, his zeal for truth And bards, who saw his features bold When kindled by the tales of old Said, were that youth to manhood grown, Not long should Roderick Dhu's renown Be foremost voiced by mountain fame, But quail to that of Malcolm Graeme.
XXVI.
Now back they wend their watery way, And, 'O my sire!' did Ellen say, 'Why urge thy chase so far astray? And why so late returned? And why '-- The rest was in her speaking eye. 'My child, the chase I follow far, 'Tis mimicry of noble war; And with that gallant pastime reft Were all of Douglas I have left. I met young Malcolm as I strayed Far eastward, in Glenfinlas' shade Nor strayed I safe, for all around Hunters and horsemen scoured the ground. This youth, though still a royal ward, Risked life and land to be my guard, And through the passes of the wood Guided my steps, not unpursued; And Roderick shall his welcome make, Despite old spleen, for Douglas' sake. Then must he seek Strath-Endrick glen Nor peril aught for me again.'
XXVII.
Sir Roderick, who to meet them came, Reddened at sight of Malcolm Graeme, Yet, not in action, word, or eye, Failed aught in hospitality. In talk and sport they whiled away The morning of that summer day; But at high noon a courier light Held secret parley with the knight, Whose moody aspect soon declared That evil were the news he heard. Deep thought seemed toiling in his head; Yet was the evening banquet made Ere he assembled round the flame His mother, Douglas, and the Graeme, And Ellen too; then cast around His eyes, then fixed them on the ground, As studying phrase that might avail Best to convey unpleasant tale. Long with his dagger's hilt he played, Then raised his haughty brow, and said:--
XXVIII.
'Short be my speech;--nor time affords, Nor my plain temper, glozing words. Kinsman and father,--if such name Douglas vouchsafe to Roderick's claim; Mine honored mother;--Ellen,--why, My cousin, turn away thine eye?-- And Graeme, in whom I hope to know Full soon a noble friend or foe, When age shall give thee thy command, And leading in thy native land,-- List all!--The King's vindictive pride Boasts to have tamed the Border-side, Where chiefs, with hound and trawl; who came To share their monarch's sylvan game, Themselves in bloody toils were snared, And when the banquet they prepared, And wide their loyal portals flung, O'er their own gateway struggling hung. Loud cries their blood from Meggat's mead, From Yarrow braes and banks of Tweed, Where the lone streams of Ettrick glide, And from the silver Teviot's side; The dales, where martial clans did ride, Are now one sheep-walk, waste and wide. This tyrant of the Scottish throne, So faithless and so ruthless known, Now hither comes; his end the same, The same pretext of sylvan game. What grace for Highland Chiefs, judge ye By fate of Border chivalry. Yet more; amid Glenfinlas' green, Douglas, thy stately form was seen. This by espial sure I know: Your counsel in the streight I show.'
XXIX.
Ellen and Margaret fearfully Sought comfort in each other's eye, Then turned their ghastly look, each one, This to her sire, that to her son. The hasty color went and came In the bold cheek of Malcolm Graeme, But from his glance it well appeared 'T was but for Ellen that he feared; While, sorrowful, but undismayed, The Douglas thus his counsel said: 'Brave Roderick, though the tempest roar, It may but thunder and pass o'er; Nor will I here remain an hour, To draw the lightning on thy bower; For well thou know'st, at this gray head The royal bolt were fiercest sped. For thee, who, at thy King's command, Canst aid him with a gallant band, Submission, homage, humbled pride, Shall turn the Monarch's wrath aside. Poor remnants of the Bleeding Heart, Ellen and I will seek apart The refuge of some forest cell, There, like the hunted quarry, dwell, Till on the mountain and the moor The stern pursuit be passed and o'er,'--
XXX.
'No, by mine honor,' Roderick said, 'So help me Heaven, and my good blade! No, never! Blasted be yon Pine, My father's ancient crest and mine, If from its shade in danger part The lineage of the Bleeding Heart! Hear my blunt speech: grant me this maid To wife, thy counsel to mine aid; To Douglas, leagued with Roderick Dhu, Will friends and allies flock enow; Like cause of doubt, distrust, and grief, Will bind to us each Western Chief When the loud pipes my bridal tell, The Links of Forth shall hear the knell, The guards shall start in Stirling's porch; And when I light the nuptial torch, A thousand villages in flames Shall scare the slumbers of King James!-- Nay, Ellen, blench not thus away, And, mother, cease these signs, I pray; I meant not all my heat might say.-- Small need of inroad or of fight, When the sage Douglas may unite Each mountain clan in friendly band, To guard the passes of their land, Till the foiled King from pathless glen Shall bootless turn him home again.'
XXXI.
There are who have, at midnight hour, In slumber scaled a dizzy tower, And, on the verge that beetled o'er The ocean tide's incessant roar, Dreamed calmly out their dangerous dream, Till wakened by the morning beam; When, dazzled by the eastern glow, Such startler cast his glance below, And saw unmeasured depth around, And heard unintermitted sound, And thought the battled fence so frail, It waved like cobweb in the gale; Amid his senses' giddy wheel, Did he not desperate impulse feel, Headlong to plunge himself below, And meet the worst his fears foreshow?-- Thus Ellen, dizzy and astound, As sudden ruin yawned around, By crossing terrors wildly tossed, Still for the Douglas fearing most, Could scarce the desperate thought withstand, To buy his safety with her hand.
XXXII.
Such purpose dread could Malcolm spy In Ellen's quivering lip and eye, And eager rose to speak,--but ere His tongue could hurry forth his fear, Had Douglas marked the hectic strife, Where death seemed combating with life; For to her cheek, in feverish flood, One instant rushed the throbbing blood, Then ebbing back, with sudden sway, Left its domain as wan as clay. 'Roderick, enough! enough!' he cried, 'My daughter cannot be thy bride; Not that the blush to wooer dear, Nor paleness that of maiden fear. It may not be,--forgive her, Chief, Nor hazard aught for our relief. Against his sovereign, Douglas ne'er Will level a rebellious spear. 'T was I that taught his youthful hand To rein a steed and wield a brand; I see him yet, the princely boy! Not Ellen more my pride and joy; I love him still, despite my wrongs By hasty wrath and slanderous tongues. O. seek the grace you well may find, Without a cause to mine combined!'
XXXIII.
For continuity only — this is the END of the previous section, already translated. Do NOT translate it again and do NOT repeat it in your output. Match its names, terminology and register: --- to heaven: Her countenance calm and tranquil seemed abstracted from all sublunary things, and no feature betrayed her secret pride at displaying the pomp and opulence of her Convent. She passed along, accompanied by the prayers and benedictions of the Populace: But how great was the general confusion and surprize, when Don Ramirez starting forward, challenged her as his Prisoner. For a moment amazement held the Domina silent and immoveable: But no sooner did She recover herself, thanthan She exclaim################////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////// ---
heaven: Her countenance calm and tranquil seemed abstracted from all sublunary things, and no feature betrayed her secret pride at displaying the pomp and opulence of her Convent. She passed along, accompanied by the prayers and benedictions of the Populace: But how great was the general confusion and surprize, when Don Ramirez starting forward, challenged her as his Prisoner. For a moment amazement held the Domina silent and immoveable: But no sooner did She recover herself, than She exclaimed in a voice of thunder, “What means this insult? Who dares to lay hands on the Prioress of St. Clare? Don Ramirez, you know me not! I am no Novice, to be terrified by your frowns, or awed by your authority. I am the Prioress of St. Clare, and claim to be treated as becomes my sacred profession and exalted rank. I demand to be conducted to the Palace of the Inquisitor, and insist upon being heard in my own defence. I am no Criminal, to be dragged through the streets like a Malefactor, and exposed to the insults of the Populace. Release me instantly, or I will appeal to the Grand Inquisitor himself, and make you answer for this unwarrantable proceeding.”
Don Ramirez, however, was not to be intimidated by her menaces, or moved by her entreaties. He had received positive orders from the Grand Inquisitor to apprehend the Prioress, and he was determined to execute them to the letter. He therefore calmly replied, “Madam, I am acting under the express commands of the Grand Inquisitor, and I must insist upon your accompanying me to his Palace. I have no doubt that you will be heard in your own defence, and that justice will be done you. But in the mean time, I must request you to favour me with your company.”
The Prioress, finding that her threats and expostulations were of no avail, was obliged to submit to her fate. She was conducted by Don Ramirez and his attendants to the Palace of the Inquisitor, amidst the murmurs and lamentations of her Nuns, and the astonishment and indignation of the Populace. As she passed along, she cast a look of defiance and contempt upon the Spectators, and seemed to glory in her disgrace, as a testimony of her zeal and attachment to her Order.
On arriving at the Palace, she was immediately introduced into the presence of the Grand Inquisitor, who received her with a cold and severe aspect. He began to examine her upon the charges which had been brought against her, and to interrogate her concerning her conduct and opinions. The Prioress, however, was not to be daunted by his sternness and austerity. She replied to his questions with firmness and confidence, and denied all the accusations which had been alleged against her. She asserted her innocence and integrity, and challenged her Accusers to produce any proof of her guiltilt.
The Grand Inquisitor, however, was not satisfied with her denials and protestations. He had received information from various quarters, which convinced him of her guilt, and he was determined to bring her to punishment. He therefore ordered her to be confined in a separate apartment, and to be kept under strict surveillance, until the time of her trial should arrive. The Prioress was then conducted to her prison, where she was left to reflect upon her past conduct, and to prepare herself for her approaching doom.
In the mean time, the Grand Inquisitor proceeded to examine the other Prisoners, who had been apprehended upon the same charges as the Prioress. Among them was Don Christoval de la Marca, who was accused of having favoured the opinions of the Lutherans, and of having held correspondence with the Heretics of Germany. He was a young Nobleman of distinguished family, and of great talents and learning. He had travelled in various parts of Europe, and had become acquainted with the principles and doctrines of the Refonners. He had been induced to adopt some of their opinions, and to express them in his conversations and writings. He had also been suspected of having held a secret correspondence with some of the leading Heretics of Germany, and of having received from them books and pamphlets, which were considered as dangerous and pernicious.
Don Christoval was brought before the Grand Inquisitor, and examined upon these charges. He denied them with indignation, and asserted his loyalty and attachment to the Catholic faith. He acknowledged that he had travelled in Germany, and had become acquainted with some of the Refonners; but he protested that he had never adopted their opinions, or held any correspondence with them. He declared that he was a true and faithful son of the Church, and that he abhorred and detested all Heretics and Schismatics.
The Grand Inquisitor, however, was not satisfied with his denials and protestations. He had received information from various quarters, which convinced him of his guilt, and he was determined to bring him to punishment. He therefore ordered him to be confined in a separate apartment, and to be kept under strict surveillance, until the time of his trial should arrive. Don Christoval was then conducted to his prison, where he was left to reflect upon his past conduct, and to prepare himself for his approaching doom.
The next Prisoner who was brought before the Grand Inquisitor, was a young Girl of about eighteen years of age, named Agnes de Medina. She was accused of having been seduced by the Monk Ambrosio, and of having consented to his criminal proposals. She was a beautiful and accomplished Girl, and had been educated in the Convent of St. Clare, under the direction of the Prioress. She had been distinguished for her piety and virtue, and had been considered as a model of perfection and innocence.
Agnes was brought before the Grand Inquisitor, and examined upon the charges which had been brought against her. She denied them with tears and entreaties, and asserted her innocence and purity. She declared that she had never been seduced by the Monk Ambrosio, or consented to his criminal proposals. She protested that she was a true and faithful daughter of the Church, and that she abhor red and de tested all Heretics and Schismatics.
The Grand Inquisitor, however, was not satisfied with her denials and protestations. He had received information from various quarters, which convinced him of her guilt, and he was determined to bring her to punishment. He therefore ordered her to be confined in a separate apartment, and to be kept under strict surveillance, until the time of her trial should arrive. Agnes was then conducted to her prison, where she was left to reflect upon her past conduct, and to prepare herself for her approaching doom.
The last Prisoner who was brought before the Grand Inquisitor, was a young Man of about twenty years of age, named Lorenzo de Medina. He was accused of having favoured the opinions of the Lutherans, and of having held correspondence with the Heretics of Germany. He was a young NobleMan of distinguished family, and of great talents and learning. He had travelled in various parts of Europe, and had become acquainted with the principles and doctrines of the Refonners. He had been induced to adopt some of their opinions, and to express them in his conversations and writings. He had also been suspected of having held a secret correspondence with some of the leading Heretics of Germany, and of having received from them books and pamphlets, which were considered as dangerous and pernicious.
Lorenzo was brought before the Grand Inquisitor, and examined upon these charges. He denied them with indignation, and asserted his loyalty and attachment to the Catholic faith. He acknowledged that he had travelled in Germany, and had become acquainted with some of the Refonners; but he protested that he had never adopted their opinions, or held any correspondence with them. He declared that he was a true and faithful son of the Church, and that he abhor red and de tested all Heretics and Schismatics.
The Grand Inquisitor, however, was not satisfied with his denials and protestations. He had received information from various quarters, which convinced him of his guilt, and he was determined to bring him to punishment. He therefore ordered him to be confined in a separate apartment, and to be kept under strict surveillance, until the time of his trial should arrive. Lorenzo was then conducted to his prison, where he was left to reflect upon his past conduct, and to prepare himself for his approaching doom.
Thus were the four Prisoners confined in separate apartments, and kept under strict surveillance, until the time of their trial should arrive. They were all accused of the most heinous crimes, and were all doomed to the most dreadful punishment. They were all young, and accomplished, and promising; and they were all cut off in the flower of their age, and in the midst of their prospects and hopes. They were all victims of the tyranny and superstition of the times, and were all sacrificed to the cruelty and ignorance of their Judges.
The trial of the Prisoners was fixed for the following day, and the Grand Inquisitor was determined to proceed with the utmost rigour and severity. He was convinced of their guilt, and he was resolved to bring them to punishment. He had received information from various quarters, which confirmed his suspicions, and he was persuaded that they were all Heretics and Schismatics, and enemies of the Church and State.
The day of the trial arrived, and the Prisoners were brought before the Grand Inquisitor, and examined upon the charges which had been brought against them. They all denied them with tears and entreaties, and asserted their innocence and purity. They declared that they were true and faithful sons and daughters of the Church, and that they abhor red and de tested all Heretics and Schismatics.
The Grand Inquisitor, however, was not satisfied with their denials and protestations. He had received information from various quarters, which convinced him of their guilt, and he was determined to bring them to punishment. He therefore pronounced sentence of death upon them all, and ordered them to be executed upon the following day.
The sentence was received with horror and consternation by the Prisoners, and by all who heard it. They were all young, and accomplished, and promising; and and they were all cut off in the flower of their age, and in the midst of their prospects and hopes. They were all victims of the tyranny and superstition of the times, and were all sacrificed to the cruelty and ignorance of their Judges.
The day of the execution arrived, and the Prisoners were led forth to the place of of execution. They were all pale and dejected, and seemed to be overwhelmed with grief and despair. They were conducted to the Stake, where they were tied, and the fagots were piled around them. The Grand Inquisitor then addressed them in a severe and menacing tone, and exhorted them to repent of their sins, and to implore the mercy of heaven.
The Prisoners, however, were not to be intimidated by his threats, or moved by his exhortations. They denied their guilt with firmness and confidence, and asserted their innocence and purity. They declared that they were true and faithful sons and daughters of the Church, and that they abhor red and de tested all Heretics and Schismatics. They then lifted up their eyes to heaven, and implored the mercy and protection of the Almighty.
The Grand Inquisitor, seeing that they were not to be moved by his threats or exhortations, gave the signal for the execution. The fagots were instantly set on fire, and the flames soon enveloped the Prisoners in their deadly embrace. They struggled and writhed in the agonies of death, and their cries and groans were heard amidst the crackling of the flames, and the roaring of the multitude.
At length, the flames had done their work, and the Prisoners were consumed to ashes. The Grand Inquisitor then addressed the multitude, and exhorted them to take warning from the fate of the Heretics, and to abhor and detest all their opinions and doctrines. He then pronounced a malediction upon their memories, and ordered their bodies to be cast into the river, that they might be swept away by the currents, and never more be seen or heard of.
Thus perished the four Prisoners, who had been accused of the most heinous crimes, and who had been doomed to the most dreadful punishment. They were all young, and accomplished, and promising; and they were all cut off in the flower of their age, and in the midst of their prospects and hopes. They were all victims of the tyranny and superstition of the times, and were all sacrificed to the cruelty and ignorance of their Judges. Their names were blotted out from the book of life, and their memories were accursed and de tested by all who heard of their fate. But their souls were received into heaven, where they now rest in peace and happiness, and where they will remain for ever and ever.
Angus, the heir of Duncan's line, Sprung forth and seized the fatal sign. In haste the stripling to his side His father's dirk and broadsword tied; But when he saw his mother's eye Watch him in speechless agony, Back to her opened arms he flew Pressed on her lips a fond adieu,-- 'Alas' she sobbed,--'and yet be gone, And speed thee forth, like Duncan's son!' One look he cast upon the bier, Dashed from his eye the gathering tear, Breathed deep to clear his laboring breast, And tossed aloft his bonnet crest, Then, like the high-bred colt when, freed, First he essays his fire and speed, He vanished, and o'er moor and moss Sped forward with the Fiery Cross. Suspended was the widow's tear While yet his footsteps she could hear; And when she marked the henchman's eye Wet with unwonted sympathy, 'Kinsman,' she said, 'his race is run That should have sped thine errand on. The oak teas fallen?--the sapling bough Is all Duncraggan's shelter now Yet trust I well, his duty done, The orphan's God will guard my son.-- And you, in many a danger true At Duncan's hest your blades that drew, To arms, and guard that orphan's head! Let babes and women wail the dead.' Then weapon-clang and martial call Resounded through the funeral hall, While from the walls the attendant band Snatched sword and targe with hurried hand; And short and flitting energy Glanced from the mourner's sunken eye, As if the sounds to warrior dear Might rouse her Duncan from his bier. But faded soon that borrowed force; Grief claimed his right, and tears their course.
XIX.
Benledi saw the Cross of Fire, It glanced like lightning up Strath-Ire. O'er dale and hill the summons flew, Nor rest nor pause young Angus knew; The tear that gathered in his eye He deft the mountain-breeze to dry; Until, where Teith's young waters roll Betwixt him and a wooded knoll That graced the sable strath with green, The chapel of Saint Bride was seen. Swoln was the stream, remote the bridge, But Angus paused not on the edge; Though the clerk waves danced dizzily, Though reeled his sympathetic eye, He dashed amid the torrent's roar: His right hand high the crosslet bore, His left the pole-axe grasped, to guide And stay his footing in the tide. He stumbled twice,--the foam splashed high, With hoarser swell the stream raced by; And had he fallen,--forever there, Farewell Duncraggan's orphan heir! But still, as if in parting life, Firmer he grasped the Cross of strife, Until the opposing bank he gained, And up the chapel pathway strained. A blithesome rout that morning-tide Had sought the chapel of Saint Bride. Her troth Tombea's Mary gave To Norman, heir of Armandave, And, issuing from the Gothic arch, The bridal now resumed their march. In rude but glad procession came Bonneted sire and coif-clad dame; And plaided youth, with jest and jeer Which snooded maiden would not hear: And children, that, unwitting why, Lent the gay shout their shrilly cry; And minstrels, that in measures vied Before the young and bonny bride, Whose downcast eye and cheek disclose The tear and blush of morning rose. With virgin step and bashful hand She held the kerchief's snowy band. The gallant bridegroom by her side Beheld his prize with victor's pride. And the glad mother in her ear Was closely whispering word of cheer.
XXI.
Who meets them at the churchyard gate? The messenger of fear and fate! Haste in his hurried accent lies, And grief is swimming in his eyes. All dripping from the recent flood, Panting and travel-soiled he stood, The fatal sign of fire and sword Held forth, and spoke the appointed word: 'The muster-place is Lanrick mead; Speed forth the signal! Norman, speed!' And must he change so soon the hand Just linked to his by holy band, For the fell Cross of blood and brand? And must the day so blithe that rose, And promised rapture in the close, Before its setting hour, divide The bridegroom from the plighted bride? O fatal doom'--it must! it must! Clan-Alpine's cause, her Chieftain's trust, Her summons dread, brook no delay; Stretch to the race,--away! away!
XXII.
Yet slow he laid his plaid aside, And lingering eyed his lovely bride, Until he saw the starting tear Speak woe he might not stop to cheer: Then, trusting not a second look, In haste he sped hind up the brook, Nor backward glanced till on the heath Where Lubnaig's lake supplies the Teith,-- What in the racer's bosom stirred? The sickening pang of hope deferred, And memory with a torturing train Of all his morning visions vain. Mingled with love's impatience, came The manly thirst for martial fame; The stormy joy of mountaineers Ere yet they rush upon the spears; And zeal for Clan and Chieftain burning, And hope, from well-fought field returning, With war's red honors on his crest, To clasp his Mary to his breast. Stung by such thoughts, o'er bank and brae, Like fire from flint he glanced away, While high resolve and feeling strong Burst into voluntary song.
XXIII.
Song.
The heath this night must be my bed, The bracken curtain for my head, My lullaby the warder's tread, Far, far, from love and thee, Mary; To-morrow eve, more stilly laid, My couch may be my bloody plaid, My vesper song thy wail, sweet maid! It will not waken me, Mary!
I may not, dare not, fancy now The grief that clouds thy lovely brow, I dare not think upon thy vow, And all it promised me, Mary. No fond regret must Norman know; When bursts Clan-Alpine on the foe, His heart must be like bended bow, His foot like arrow free, Mary.
A time will come with feeling fraught, For, if I fall in battle fought, Thy hapless lover's dying thought Shall be a thought on thee, Mary. And if returned from conquered foes, How blithely will the evening close, How sweet the linnet sing repose, To my young bride and me, Mary!
XXIV.
Not faster o'er thy heathery braes Balquidder, speeds the midnight blaze, Rushing in conflagration strong Thy deep ravines and dells along, Wrapping thy cliffs in purple glow, And reddening the dark lakes below; Nor faster speeds it, nor so far, As o'er thy heaths the voice of war. The signal roused to martial coil The sullen margin of Loch Voil, Waked still Loch Doine, and to the source Alarmed, Balvaig, thy swampy course; Thence southward turned its rapid road Adown Strath-Gartney's valley broad Till rose in arms each man might claim A portion in Clan-Alpine's name, From the gray sire, whose trembling hand Could hardly buckle on his brand, To the raw boy, whose shaft and bow Were yet scarce terror to the crow. Each valley, each sequestered glen, Mustered its little horde of men That met as torrents from the height In Highland dales their streams unite Still gathering, as they pour along, A voice more loud, a tide more strong, Till at the rendezvous they stood By hundreds prompt for blows and blood, Each trained to arms since life began, Owning no tie but to his clan, No oath but by his chieftain's hand, No law but Roderick Dhu's command.
XXV.
That summer morn had Roderick Dhu Surveyed the skirts of Benvenue, And sent his scouts o'er hill and heath, To view the frontiers of Menteith. All backward came with news of truce; Still lay each martial Graeme and Bruce, In Rednock courts no horsemen wait, No banner waved on Cardross gate, On Duchray's towers no beacon shone, Nor scared the herons from Loch Con; All seemed at peace.--Now wot ye wily The Chieftain with such anxious eye, Ere to the muster he repair, This western frontier scanned with care?-- In Benvenue's most darksome cleft, A fair though cruel pledge was left; For Douglas, to his promise true, That morning from the isle withdrew, And in a deep sequestered dell Had sought a low and lonely cell. By many a bard in Celtic tongue Has Coir-nan-Uriskin been sung A softer name the Saxons gave, And called the grot the Goblin Cave.
XXVI.
It was a wild and strange retreat, As e'er was trod by outlaw's feet. The dell, upon the mountain's crest, Yawned like a gash on warrior's breast; Its trench had stayed full many a rock, Hurled by primeval earthquake shock From Benvenue's gray summit wild, And here, in random ruin piled, They frowned incumbent o'er the spot And formed the rugged sylvan "rot. The oak and birch with mingled shade At noontide there a twilight made, Unless when short and sudden shone Some straggling beam on cliff or stone, With such a glimpse as prophet's eye Gains on thy depth, Futurity. No murmur waked the solemn still, Save tinkling of a fountain rill; But when the wind chafed with the lake, A sullen sound would upward break, With dashing hollow voice, that spoke The incessant war of wave and rock. Suspended cliffs with hideous sway Seemed nodding o'er the cavern gray. From such a den the wolf had sprung, In such the wild-cat leaves her young; Yet Douglas and his daughter fair Sought for a space their safety there. Gray Superstition's whisper dread Debarred the spot to vulgar tread; For there, she said, did fays resort, And satyrs hold their sylvan court, By moonlight tread their mystic maze, And blast the rash beholder's gaze.
XXVII.
Now eve, with western shadows long, Floated on Katrine bright and strong, When Roderick with a chosen few Repassed the heights of Benvenue. Above the Goblin Cave they go, Through the wild pass of Beal-nam-bo; The prompt retainers speed before, To launch the shallop from the shore, For 'cross Loch Katrine lies his way To view the passes of Achray, And place his clansmen in array. Yet lags the Chief in musing mind, Unwonted sight, his men behind. A single page, to bear his sword, Alone attended on his lord; The rest their way through thickets break, And soon await him by the lake. It was a fair and gallant sight To view them from the neighboring height, By the low-levelled sunbeam's light! For strength and stature, from the clan Each warrior was a chosen man, As even afar might well be seen, By their proud step and martial mien. Their feathers dance, their tartars float, Their targets gleam, as by the boat A wild and warlike group they stand, That well became such mountain-strand.
XXVI
Their Chief with step reluctant still Was lingering on the craggy hill, Hard by where turned apart the road To Douglas's obscure abode. It was but with that dawning morn That Roderick Dhu had proudly sworn To drown his love in war's wild roar, And think of Ellen Douglas more; But he who stems a stream with sand, And fetters flame with flaxen band, Has yet a harder task to prove,-- By firm resolve to conquer love! Eve finds the Chief, like restless ghost, Still hovering near his treasure lost; For though his haughty heart deny A parting meeting to his eye Still fondly strains his anxious ear The accents of her voice to hear, And inly did he curse the breeze That waked to sound the rustling trees. But hark! what mingles in the strain? It is the harp of Allan-bane, That wakes its measure slow and high, Attuned to sacred minstrelsy. What melting voice attends the strings? 'Tis Ellen, or an angel, sings.
XXIX.
Hymn to the Virgin.
Ave. Maria! maiden mild! Listen to a maiden's prayer! Thou canst hear though from the wild, Thou canst save amid despair. Safe may we sleep beneath thy care, Though banished, outcast, and reviled-- Maiden! hear a maiden's prayer; Mother, hear a suppliant child! Ave Maria!
Ave Maria! undefiled! The flinty couch we now must share Shall seem with down of eider piled, If thy protection hover there. The murky cavern's heavy air Shall breathe of balm if thou hast smiled; Then, Maiden! hear a maiden's prayer, Mother, list a suppliant child! Ave Maria!
Ave. Maria! stainless styled! Foul demons of the earth and air, From this their wonted haunt exiled, Shall flee before thy presence fair. We bow us to our lot of care, Beneath thy guidance reconciled: Hear for a maid a maiden's prayer, And for a father hear a child! Ave Maria!
XXX.
Died on the harp the closing hymn,-- Unmoved in attitude and limb, As listening still, Clan-Alpine's lord Stood leaning on his heavy sword, Until the page with humble sign Twice pointed to the sun's decline. Then while his plaid he round him cast, 'It is the last time--'tis the last,' He muttered thrice,--'the last time e'er That angel-voice shall Roderick hear'' It was a goading thought,--his stride Hied hastier down the mountain-side; Sullen he flung him in the boat An instant 'cross the lake it shot. They landed in that silvery bay, And eastward held their hasty way Till, with the latest beams of light, The band arrived on Lanrick height' Where mustered in the vale below Clan-Alpine's men in martial show.
XXXI.
A various scene the clansmen made: Some sat, some stood, some slowly strayed: But most, with mantles folded round, Were couched to rest upon the ground, Scarce to be known by curious eye From the deep heather where they lie, So well was matched the tartan screen With heath-bell dark and brackens green; Unless where, here and there, a blade Or lance's point a glimmer made, Like glow-worm twinkling through the shade. But when, advancing through the gloom, They saw the Chieftain's eagle plume, Their shout of welcome, shrill and wide, Shook the steep mountain's steady side. Thrice it arose, and lake and fell Three times returned the martial yell; It died upon Bochastle's plain, And Silence claimed her evening reign.
CANTO FOURTH.
The Prophecy.
I.
The rose is fairest when 't is budding new, And hope is brightest when it dawns from fears; The rose is sweetest washed with morning dew And love is loveliest when embalmed in tears. O wilding rose, whom fancy thus endears, I bid your blossoms in my bonnet wave, Emblem of hope and love through future years!' Thus spoke young Norman, heir of Armandave, What time the sun arose on Vennachar's broad wave.
II.
Such fond conceit, half said, half sung, Love prompted to the bridegroom's tongue. All while he stripped the wild-rose spray, His axe and bow beside him lay, For on a pass 'twixt lake and wood A wakeful sentinel he stood. Hark!--on the rock a footstep rung, And instant to his arms he sprung. 'Stand, or thou diest!--What, Malise?--soon Art thou returned from Braes of Doune. By thy keen step and glance I know, Thou bring'st us tidings of the foe.'-- For while the Fiery Cross tried on, On distant scout had Malise gone.-- 'Where sleeps the Chief?' the henchman said. 'Apart, in yonder misty glade; To his lone couch I'll be your guide.'-- Then called a slumberer by his side, And stirred him with his slackened bow,-- 'Up, up, Glentarkin! rouse thee, ho! We seek the Chieftain; on the track Keep eagle watch till I come back.'
III.
Together up the pass they sped: 'What of the foeman?' Norman said.-- 'Varying reports from near and far; This certain,--that a band of war Has for two days been ready boune, At prompt command to march from Doune; King James the while, with princely powers, Holds revelry in Stirling towers. Soon will this dark and gathering cloud Speak on our glens in thunder loud. Inured to bide such bitter bout, The warrior's plaid may bear it out; But, Norman, how wilt thou provide A shelter for thy bonny bride?''-- 'What! know ye not that Roderick's care To the lone isle hath caused repair Each maid and matron of the clan, And every child and aged man Unfit for arms; and given his charge, Nor skiff nor shallop, boat nor barge, Upon these lakes shall float at large, But all beside the islet moor, That such dear pledge may rest secure?'--
IV.
''T is well advised,--the Chieftain's plan Bespeaks the father of his clan. But wherefore sleeps Sir Roderick Dhu Apart from all his followers true?' 'It is because last evening-tide Brian an augury hath tried, Of that dread kind which must not be Unless in dread extremity, The Taghairm called; by which, afar, Our sires foresaw the events of war. Duncraggan's milk-white bull they slew,'--
Malise.
'Ah! well the gallant brute I knew! The choicest of the prey we had When swept our merrymen Gallangad. His hide was snow, his horns were dark, His red eye glowed like fiery spark; So fierce, so tameless, and so fleet, Sore did he cumber our retreat, And kept our stoutest kerns in awe, Even at the pass of Beal 'maha. But steep and flinty was the road, And sharp the hurrying pikeman's goad, And when we came to Dennan's Row A child might scathless stroke his brow.'
V.
Norman.
'That bull was slain; his reeking hide They stretched the cataract beside, Whose waters their wild tumult toss Adown the black and craggy boss Of that huge cliff whose ample verge Tradition calls the Hero's Targe. Couched on a shelf beneath its brink, Close where the thundering torrents sink, Rocking beneath their headlong sway, And drizzled by the ceaseless spray, Midst groan of rock and roar of stream, The wizard waits prophetic dream. Nor distant rests the Chief;--but hush! See, gliding slow through mist and bush, The hermit gains yon rock, and stands To gaze upon our slumbering bands. Seems he not, Malise, dike a ghost, That hovers o'er a slaughtered host? Or raven on the blasted oak, That, watching while the deer is broke, His morsel claims with sullen croak?'
Malise.
'Peace! peace! to other than to me Thy words were evil augury; But still I hold Sir Roderick's blade Clan-Alpine's omen and her aid, Not aught that, gleaned from heaven or hell, Yon fiend-begotten Monk can tell. The Chieftain joins him, see--and now Together they descend the brow.'
VI.
And, as they came, with Alpine's Lord The Hermit Monk held solemn word:--. 'Roderick! it is a fearful strife, For man endowed with mortal life Whose shroud of sentient clay can still Feel feverish pang and fainting chill, Whose eye can stare in stony trance Whose hair can rouse like warrior's lance, 'Tis hard for such to view, unfurled, The curtain of the future world. Yet, witness every quaking limb, My sunken pulse, mine eyeballs dim, My soul with harrowing anguish torn, This for my Chieftain have I borne!-- The shapes that sought my fearful couch A human tongue may ne'er avouch; No mortal man--save he, who, bred Between the living and the dead, Is gifted beyond nature's law Had e'er survived to say he saw. At length the fateful answer came In characters of living flame! Not spoke in word, nor blazed in scroll, But borne and branded on my soul:-- WHICH SPILLS THE FOREMOST FOEMAN'S LIFE, THAT PARTY CONQUERS IN THE STRIFE.'
VII.
'Thanks, Brian, for thy zeal and care! Good is thine augury, and fair. Clan-Alpine ne'er in battle stood But first our broadswords tasted blood. A surer victim still I know, Self-offered to the auspicious blow: A spy has sought my land this morn,-- No eve shall witness his return! My followers guard each pass's mouth, To east, to westward, and to south; Red Murdoch, bribed to be his guide, Has charge to lead his steps aside, Till in deep path or dingle brown He light on those shall bring him clown. But see, who comes his news to show! Malise! what tidings of the foe?'
VIII.
For continuity only — this is the END of the previous section, already translated. Do NOT translate it again and do NOT repeat it in your output. Match its names, terminology and register: --- the midst of their prospects and hopes. They were all victims of the tyranny and superstition of the times, and were all sacrificed to the cruelty and ignorance of their Judges. Their names were blotted out from the book of life, and their memories were accursed and de tested by all who heard of their fate. But their souls were received into heaven, where they now rest in peace and happiness, and where they will remain for ever and ever. ---
midst of their prospects and hopes. They were all victims of the tyranny and superstition of the times, and were all sacrificed to the cruelty and ignorance of their Judges. Their names were blotted out from the book of life, and their memories were accursed and de tested by all who heard of their fate. But their souls were received into heaven, where they now rest in peace and happiness, and where they will remain for ever and ever.
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 favour 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 farther 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 wrapt 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 drenched 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 dar'st 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 Who say thou cam'st 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 mayst 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 honour 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 honour's laws; To assail a wearied man were shame, And stranger is a holy name; Guidance and rest, and 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 try, 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 as 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 hank and threatening stone; A hundred men might hold the post With hardihood against a host. The rugged mountain's scanty cloak Was dwarfish shrubs of birch and oak With shingles bare, and cliffs between And patches bright of bracken green, And heather black, that waved so high, It held the copse in rivalry. 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 torrent down had borne And heaped upon the cumbered land 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 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, '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; Thy dangerous Chief was then afar, Nor soon expected back from war. Thus said, at least, my mountain-guide, Though deep perchance the villain lied.' 'Yet why a second venture try?' '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; 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, 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 naught of Lowland war, Against Clan-Alpine, raised by Mar?' '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, 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. 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 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; 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, 'And heardst thou why he drew his blade? Heardst 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? 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 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, 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, 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, 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, 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, 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, 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? Ay, 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, 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.
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: 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. Nor yet for this, even as a spy, Hadst thou, unheard, been doomed to die, Save to fulfil an augury.' 'Well, let it pass; nor will I now Fresh cause of enmity avow 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, I come with banner, brand, and bow, As leader seeks his mortal foe. For love-lore swain in lady's bower Ne'er panted for the appointed hour As I, until before me stand 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, From crag to crag the signal flew. 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, The bracken bush sends forth the dart, The rushes and the willow-wand Are bristling into axe and brand, And every tuft of broom gives life To plaided warrior armed for strife. 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, 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, 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 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, 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 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 foeman worthy of their steel. 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, 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,-- 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,-- The next, all unreflected, shone 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. 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 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. 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 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, 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 The vanished guardians of the ground, And stir'd from copse and heather deep Fancy saw spear and broadsword peep, And in the plover's shrilly strain The signal whistle heard again. 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, 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, Sweeps through the plain, and ceaseless mines On Bochastle the mouldering lines, Where Rome, the Empress of the world, Of yore her eagle wings unfurled. And here his course the Chieftain stayed, 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, 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. 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, 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: 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 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. 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, 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, 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, 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 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.' '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, rush, begone!-- 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 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 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, 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. He practised 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 And thrice the Saxon blade drank blood; No stinted draught, no scanty tide, The gushing flood the tartars dyed. Fierce Roderick felt the fatal drain, And showered his blows like wintry rain; 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 Forced Roderick's weapon from his hand, And backward borne upon the lea, Brought the proud Chieftain to his knee.
XVI.
For continuity only — this is the END of the previous section, already translated. Do NOT translate it again and do NOT repeat it in your output. Match its names, terminology and register: --- the midst of their prospects and hopes. They were all victims of the tyranny and superstition of the times, and were all sacrificed to the cruelty and ignorance of their Judges. Their names were blotted out from the book of life, and their memories were accursed and de tested by all who heard of their fate. But their souls were received into heaven, where they now rest in peace and happiness, and where they will remain for ever and ever. ---
Angus, the heir of Duncan's line, Sprung forth and seized the fatal sign. In haste the stripling to his side His father's dirk and broadsword tied; But when he saw his mother's eye Watch him in speechless agony, Back to her opened arms he flew Pressed on her lips a fond adieu,-- 'Alas' she sobbed,--'and yet be gone, And speed thee forth, like Duncan's son!' One look he cast upon the bier, Dashed from his eye the gathering tear, Breathed deep to clear his laboring breast, And tossed aloft his bonnet crest, Then, like the high-bred colt when, freed, First he essays his fire and speed, He vanished, and o'er moor and moss Sped forward with the Fiery Cross. Suspended was the widow's tear While yet his footsteps she could hear; And when she marked the henchman's eye Wet with unwonted sympathy, 'Kinsman,' she said, 'his race is run That should have sped thine errand on. The oak teas fallen?--the sapling bough Is all Duncraggan's shelter now Yet trust I well, his duty done, The orphan's God will guard my son.-- And you, in many a danger true At Duncan's hest your blades that drew, To arms, and guard that orphan's head! Let babes and women wail the dead.' Then weapon-clang and martial call Resounded through the funeral hall, While from the walls the attendant band Snatched sword and targe with hurried hand; And short and flitting energy Glanced from the mourner's sunken eye, As if the sounds to warrior dear Might rouse her Duncan from his bier. But faded soon that borrowed force; Grief claimed his right, and tears their course.
XIX.
Benledi saw the Cross of Fire, It glanced like lightning up Strath-Ire. O'er dale and hill the summons flew, Nor rest nor pause young Angus knew; The tear that gathered in his eye He deft the mountain-breeze to dry; Until, where Teith's young waters roll Betwixt him and a wooded knoll That graced the sable strath with green, The chapel of Saint Bride was seen. Swoln was the stream, remote the bridge, But Angus paused not on the edge; Though the clerk waves danced dizzily, Though reeled his sympathetic eye, He dashed amid the torrent's roar: His right hand high the crosslet bore, His left the pole-axe grasped, to guide And stay his footing in the tide. He stumbled twice,--the foam splashed high, With hoarser swell the stream raced by; And had he fallen,--forever there, Farewell Duncraggan's orphan heir! But still, as if in parting life, Firmer he grasped the Cross of strife, Until the opposing bank he gained, And up the chapel pathway strained. A blithesome rout that morning-tide Had sought the chapel of Saint Bride. Her troth Tombea's Mary gave To Norman, heir of Armandave, And, issuing from the Gothic arch, The bridal now resumed their march. In rude but glad procession came Bonneted sire and coif-clad dame; And plaided youth, with jest and jeer Which snooded maiden would not hear: And children, that, unwitting why, Lent the gay shout their shrilly cry; And minstrels, that in measures vied Before the young and bonny bride, Whose downcast eye and cheek disclose The tear and blush of morning rose. With virgin step and bashful hand She held the kerchief's snowy band. The gallant bridegroom by her side Beheld his prize with victor's pride. And the glad mother in her ear Was closely whispering word of cheer.
XXI.
Who meets them at the churchyard gate? The messenger of fear and fate! Haste in his hurried accent lies, And grief is swimming in his eyes. All dripping from the recent flood, Panting and travel-soiled he stood, The fatal sign of fire and sword Held forth, and spoke the appointed word: 'The muster-place is Lanrick mead; Speed forth the signal! Norman, speed!' And must he change so soon the hand Just linked to his by holy band, For the fell Cross of blood and brand? And must the day so blithe that rose, And promised rapture in the close, Before its setting hour, divide The bridegroom from the plighted bride? O fatal doom'--it must! it must! Clan-Alpine's cause, her Chieftain's trust, Her summons dread, brook no delay; Stretch to the race,--away! away!
XXII.
Yet slow he laid his plaid aside, And lingering eyed his lovely bride, Until he saw the starting tear Speak woe he might not stop to cheer: Then, trusting not a second look, In haste he sped hind up the brook, Nor backward glanced till on the heath Where Lubnaig's lake supplies the Teith,-- What in the racer's bosom stirred? The sickening pang of hope deferred, And memory with a torturing train Of all his morning visions vain. Mingled with love's impatience, came The manly thirst for martial fame; The stormy joy of mountaineers Ere yet they rush upon the spears; And zeal for Clan and Chieftain burning, And hope, from well-fought field returning, With war's red honors on his crest, To clasp his Mary to his breast. Stung by such thoughts, o'er bank and brae, Like fire from flint he glanced away, While high resolve and feeling strong Burst into voluntary song.
XXIII.
Song.
The heath this night must be my bed, The bracken curtain for my head, My lullaby the warder's tread, Far, far, from love and thee, Mary; To-morrow eve, more stilly laid, My couch may be my bloody plaid, My vesper song thy wail, sweet maid! It will not waken me, Mary!
I may not, dare not, fancy now The grief that clouds thy lovely brow, I dare not think upon thy vow, And all it promised me, Mary. No fond regret must Norman know; When bursts Clan-Alpine on the foe, His heart must be like bended bow, His foot like arrow free, Mary.
A time will come with feeling fraught, For, if I fall in battle fought, Thy hapless lover's dying thought Shall be a thought on thee, Mary. And if returned from conquered foes, How blithely will the evening close, How sweet the linnet sing repose, To my young bride and me, Mary!
XXIV.
Not faster o'er thy heathery braes Balquidder, speeds the midnight blaze, Rushing in conflagration strong Thy deep ravines and dells along, Wrapping thy cliffs in purple glow, And reddening the dark lakes below; Nor faster speeds it, nor so far, As o'er thy heaths the voice of war. The signal roused to martial coil The sullen margin of Loch Voil, Waked still Loch Doine, and to the source Alarmed, Balvaig, thy swampy course; Thence southward turned its rapid road Adown Strath-Gartney's valley broad Till rose in arms each man might claim A portion in Clan-Alpine's name, From the gray sire, whose trembling hand Could hardly buckle on his brand, To the raw boy, whose shaft and bow Were yet scarce terror to the crow. Each valley, each sequestered glen, Mustered its little horde of men That met as torrents from the height In Highland dales their streams unite Still gathering, as they pour along, A voice more loud, a tide more strong, Till at the rendezvous they stood By hundreds prompt for blows and blood, Each trained to arms since life began, Owning no tie but to his clan, No oath but by his chieftain's hand, No law but Roderick Dhu's command.
XXV.
That summer morn had Roderick Dhu Surveyed the skirts of Benvenue, And sent his scouts o'er hill and heath, To view the frontiers of Menteith. All backward came with news of truce; Still lay each martial Graeme and Bruce, In Rednock courts no horsemen wait, No banner waved on Cardross gate, On Duchray's towers no beacon shone, Nor scared the herons from Loch Con; All seemed at peace.--Now wot ye wily The Chieftain with such anxious eye, Ere to the muster he repair, This western frontier scanned with care?-- In Benvenue's most darksome cleft, A fair though cruel pledge was left; For Douglas, to his promise true, That morning from the isle withdrew, And in a deep sequestered dell Had sought a low and lonely cell. By many a bard in Celtic tongue Has Coir-nan-Uriskin been sung A softer name the Saxons gave, And called the grot the Goblin Cave.
XXVI.
It was a wild and strange retreat, As e'er was trod by outlaw's feet. The dell, upon the mountain's crest, Yawned like a gash on warrior's breast; Its trench had stayed full many a rock, Hurled by primeval earthquake shock From Benvenue's gray summit wild, And here, in random ruin piled, They frowned incumbent o'er the spot And formed the rugged sylvan "rot. The oak and birch with mingled shade At noontide there a twilight made, Unless when short and sudden shone Some straggling beam on cliff or stone, With such a glimpse as prophet's eye Gains on thy depth, Futurity. No murmur waked the solemn still, Save tinkling of a fountain rill; But when the wind chafed with the lake, A sullen sound would upward break, With dashing hollow voice, that spoke The incessant war of wave and rock. Suspended cliffs with hideous sway Seemed nodding o'er the cavern gray. From such a den the wolf had sprung, In such the wild-cat leaves her young; Yet Douglas and his daughter fair Sought for a space their safety there. Gray Superstition's whisper dread Debarred the spot to vulgar tread; For there, she said, did fays resort, And satyrs hold their sylvan court, By moonlight tread their mystic maze, And blast the rash beholder's gaze.
XXVII.
Now eve, with western shadows long, Floated on Katrine bright and strong, When Roderick with a chosen few Repassed the heights of Benvenue. Above the Goblin Cave they go, Through the wild pass of Beal-nam-bo; The prompt retainers speed before, To launch the shallop from the shore, For 'cross Loch Katrine lies his way To view the passes of Achray, And place his clansmen in array. Yet lags the Chief in musing mind, Unwonted sight, his men behind. A single page, to bear his sword, Alone attended on his lord; The rest their way through thickets break, And soon await him by the lake. It was a fair and gallant sight To view them from the neighboring height, By the low-levelled sunbeam's light! For strength and stature, from the clan Each warrior was a chosen man, As even afar might well be seen, By their proud step and martial mien. Their feathers dance, their tartars float, Their targets gleam, as by the boat A wild and warlike group they stand, That well became such mountain-strand.
XXVI
Their Chief with step reluctant still Was lingering on the craggy hill, Hard by where turned apart the road To Douglas's obscure abode. It was but with that dawning morn That Roderick Dhu had proudly sworn To drown his love in war's wild roar, Nor think of Ellen Douglas more; But he who stems a stream with sand, And fetters flame with flaxen band, Has yet a harder task to prove,-- By firm resolve to conquer love! Eve finds the Chief, like restless ghost, Still hovering near his treasure lost; For though his haughty heart deny A parting meeting to his eye Still fondly strains his anxious ear The accents of her voice to hear, And inly did he curse the breeze That waked to sound the rustling trees. But hark! what mingles in the strain? It is the harp of Allan-bane, That wakes its measure slow and high, Attuned to sacred minstrelsy. What melting voice attends the strings? 'Tis Ellen, or an angel, sings.
XXIX.
Hymn to the Virgin.
Ave. Maria! maiden mild! Listen to a maiden's prayer! Thou canst hear though from the wild, Thou canst save amid despair. Safe may we sleep beneath thy care, Though banished, outcast, and reviled-- Maiden! hear a maiden's prayer; Mother, hear a suppliant child! Ave Maria!
Ave Maria! undefiled! The flinty couch we now must share Shall seem with down of eider piled, If thy protection hover there. The murky cavern's heavy air Shall breathe of balm if thou hast smiled; Then, Maiden! hear a maiden's prayer, Mother, list a suppliant child! Ave Maria!
Ave. Maria! stainless styled! Foul demons of the earth and air, From this their wonted haunt exiled, Shall flee before thy presence fair. We bow us to our lot of care, Beneath thy guidance reconciled: Hear for a maid a maiden's prayer, And for a father hear a child! Ave Maria!
XXX.
Died on the harp the closing hymn,-- Unmoved in attitude and limb, As listening still, Clan-Alpine's lord Stood leaning on his heavy sword, Until the page with humble sign Twice pointed to the sun's decline. Then while his plaid he round him cast, 'It is the last time--'tis the last,' He muttered thrice,--'the last time e'er That angel-voice shall Roderick hear'' It was a goading thought,--his stride Hied hastier down the mountain-side; Sullen he flung him in the boat An instant 'cross the lake it shot. They landed in that silvery bay, And eastward held their hasty way Till, with the latest beams of light, The band arrived on Lanrick height' Where mustered in the vale below Clan-Alpine's men in martial show.
XXXI.
A various scene the clansmen made: Some sat, some stood, some slowly strayed: But most, with mantles folded round, Were couched to rest upon the ground, Scarce to be known by curious eye From the deep heather where they lie, So well was matched the tartan screen With heath-bell dark and brackens green; Unless where, here and there, a blade Or lance's point a glimmer made, Like glow-worm twinkling through the shade. But when, advancing through the gloom, They saw the Chieftain's eagle plume, Their shout of welcome, shrill and wide, Shook the steep mountain's steady side. Thrice it arose, and lake and fell Three times returned the martial yell; It died upon Bochastle's plain, And Silence claimed her evening reign.
CANTO FOURTH.
The Prophecy.
I.
The sun, awakening, through the smoky air Of the dark city casts a sullen glance, Rousing each caitiff to his task of care, Of sinful man the sad inheritance; Summoning revellers from the lagging dance, Scaring the prowling robber to his den; Gilding on battled tower the warder's lance, And warning student pale to leave his pen, And yield his drowsy eyes to the kind nurse of men.
What various scenes, and O, what scenes of woe, Are witnessed by that red and struggling beam! The fevered patient, from his pallet low, Through crowded hospital beholds it stream; The ruined maiden trembles at its gleam, The debtor wakes to thought of gyve and jail, 'The love-lore wretch starts from tormenting dream: The wakeful mother, by the glimmering pale, Trims her sick infant's couch, and soothes his feeble wail.
II.
At dawn the towers of Stirling rang With soldier-step and weapon-clang, While drums with rolling note foretell Relief to weary sentinel. Through narrow loop and casement barred, The sunbeams sought the Court of Guard, And, struggling with the smoky air, Deadened the torches' yellow glare. In comfortless alliance shone The lights through arch of blackened stone, And showed wild shapes in garb of war, Faces deformed with beard and scar, All haggard from the midnight watch, And fevered with the stern debauch; For the oak table's massive board, Flooded with wine, with fragments stored, And beakers drained, and cups o'erthrown, Showed in what sport the night had flown. Some, weary, snored on floor and bench; Some labored still their thirst to quench; Some, chilled with watching, spread their hands O'er the huge chimney's dying brands, While round them, or beside them flung, At every step their harness rung.
III.
For continuity only — this is the END of the previous section, already translated. Do NOT translate it again and do NOT repeat it in your output. Match its names, terminology and register: --- the midst of their prospects and hopes. They were all victims of the tyranny and superstition of the times, and were all sacrificed to the cruelty and ignorance of their Judges. Their names were blotted out from the book of life, and their memories were accursed and de tested by all who heard of their fate. But their souls were received into heaven, where they now rest in peace and happiness, and where they will remain for ever and ever. ---
midst of their prospects and hopes. They were all victims of the tyranny and superstition of the times, and were all sacrificed to the cruelty and ignorance of their Judges. Their names were blotted out from the book of life, and their memories were accursed and de tested by all who heard of their fate. But their souls were received into heaven, where they now rest in peace and happiness, and where they will remain for ever and ever.
The Lady of the Lake
Von Sir Walter Scott, Bart.
Herausgegeben mit Anmerkungen von William J. Rolfe,
ehemals Schulleiter der High School, Cambridge, Mass.
Boston
1883
Vorwort
Als ich Mr. Osgoods wunderschöne illustrierte Ausgabe von „The Lady of the Lake“ zum ersten Mal sah, bat ich ihn, mir die Verwendung einiger der Illustrationen in einer preiswerteren, annotierten Ausgabe für Schul- und Hausgebrauch zu gestatten; das vorliegende Buch ist das Ergebnis.
Der Text des Gedichts bereitete mir unerwartete Schwierigkeiten. Als ich vor einigen Jahren einige von Grays Gedichten herausgab, stellte ich fest, dass sie über einen Zeitraum von mehr als einem halbes Jahrhundert nicht korrekt gedruckt worden waren; aber im Fall von Scott ging ich davon aus, dass der Text von Blacks sogenannter „Author's Edition“ als zuverlässig angesehen werden konnte. Fast von Anfang an entdeckte ich jedoch offensichtliche Druckfehler in einer der vielen Formen, in denen diese Ausgabe veröffentlicht wurde, und eine Untersuchung anderer zeigte, dass sie in ihrer Art genauso schlecht waren. Die „Shilling“- Ausgabe war nicht schlechter als die kostspielige illustrierte Ausgabe von 1853, die ihre eigene Auswahl an Fehlern hatte. Keine zwei Ausgaben, die ich erhalten konnte, stimmten genau in ihren Lesarten überein. Ich versuchte vergeblich, ein Exemplar der editio princeps (1810) in Cambridge und Boston zu finden, erhielt aber eines über einen Londoner Buchhändler. Ich verglich es zeilenweise mit der Edinburgh-Ausgabe von 1821 (aus der Harvard-Bibliothek), mit Lockharts erster Ausgabe, der „Globe“-Ausgabe und etwa einem Dutzend anderer englischer und amerikanischer Ausgaben. Ich fand viele Druckfehler und Korruptionen in allen außer der Ausgabe von 1821 und einige sogar in dieser. So schrieb Scott in i. 217 „Found in each cliff a narrow bower“, und es ist so in der Erstausgabe gedruckt; aber in jeder anderen, die ich gesehen habe, erscheint „cliff“ anstelle von clift, zum offensichtlichen Nachteil der Passage. In ii. 685 hat jede Ausgabe, die ich seit der von 1821 gesehen habe, „I meant not all my heart might say“, was schlimmer als Unsinn ist, da die korrekte Lesart „my heat“ lautet. In vi. 396 wurde das schottische „boune“ (obwohl es zweimal in anderen Teilen des Gedichts vorkommt) in allen Ausgaben seit 1821 durch „bound“ ersetzt; und acht Zeilen darunter wurde das alte Wort „barded“ zu „barbed“. Dutzende ähnlicher Korruptionen sind in meinen Anmerkungen vermerkt und müssen hier nicht zitiert werden.
Ich habe die Lesart der Erstausgabe wiederhergestellt, außer in Fällen, in denen ich keinen Zweifel habe, dass die spätere Lesart die eigene Korrektur oder Änderung des Dichters ist. Es gibt offensichtliche Druckfehler in der Erstausgabe, die Scott selbst übersehen hat (siehe ii. 115, 217, Vi. 527 usw.), und es ist manchmal schwierig zu entscheiden, ob eine spätere Lesart – eine Änderung von Plural zu Singular oder eine ähnliche triviale Veränderung – ein Druckfehler oder die Korrektur eines früheren Druckfehlers durch den Autor ist. Ich habe das Beste getan, was ich mit den mir zur Verfügung stehenden Mitteln konnte, um diese Fragen zu klären, und bin zumindest sicher, dass der Text, wie ich ihn gebe, der Realität näher kommt als in jeder Ausgabe seit 1821. Da alle verschiedenen Lesarten in den Anmerkungen aufgezeichnet sind, kann der Leser, der meine Wahl nicht billigt, die jenige wählen, die er vorzieht.
Ich habe alle Anmerkungen von Scott beibehalten (einige wurden etwas gekürzt) und alle, die von Lockhart hinzugefügt wurden. [1] Meine eigenen habe ich so knapp wie möglich gehalten. Es gibt natürlich viele von ihnen, die viele meiner Leser nicht benötigen werden, aber ich denke, es gibt keine, die nicht für einige von ihnen von Nutzen oder zumindest von Interesse sein könnten; und ich hoffe, dass niemand sie um Hilfe bittet, ohne sie zu finden.
Scott verwendet viele elisabethanische Wörter und Konstruktionen, und ich habe viele „Parallelstellen“ aus Shakespeare und seinen Zeitgenossen zitiert. Ich glaube, ich habe in nur einer einzigen Instanz (in iii. 17) auf meine Shakespeare-Ausgabe verwiesen, aber Lehrer und andere, die diese Ausgabe besitzen, finden in den Anmerkungen zu den zitierten Stellen viele zusätzliche Illustrationen.
Während ich die Fehler früherer Herausgeber korrigierte, habe ich möglicherweise einige meiner eigenen übersehen. Ich bin bereits dem aufmerksamen Korrektor der University Press für die Entdeckung gelegentlicher Fehler in Zitaten oder Verweisen dankbar; und ich werde sehr dankbar sein, wenn meine Leser eine Aufzeichnung von anderen entdecken, die sie entdecken mögen.
Cambridge, 23. Juni 1883.
ARGUMENT.
Der Schauplatz des folgenden Gedichts liegt hauptsächlich in der Nähe von Loch Katrine in den westlichen Highlands von Perthshire. Die Handlungszeit umfasst sechs Tage, und die Geschehnisse jedes Tages bilden einen Canto.
DIE LADY VOM SEE.
ERSTER GESANG.
Die Jagd.
Harp of the North! that mouldering long hast hung On the witch-elm that shades Saint Fillan's spring And down the fitful breeze thy numbers flung, Till envious ivy did around thee cling, Muffling with verdant ringlet every string,-- O Minstrel Harp, still must thine accents sleep? Mid rustling leaves and fountains murmuring, Still must thy sweeter sounds their silence keep, Nor bid a warrior smile, nor teach a maid to weep?
Nicht so, in alten Tagen von Caledon, [10] War deine Stimme stumm im festlichen Kreis, Wenn Lieder von verlorener Liebe oder errungenem Ruhm Den Ängstlichen Mut machten und den Stolzen demütigten. Bei jeder passenden Pause wurde deine laute Heroische Melodie gehört! Edle Damen und stolze Häuptlinge hörten aufmerksam zu; Denn deine Minne war immer der tapfere Ritter, Und deine Liebe das schöne Mädchen.
O, wach noch einmal auf! Wie grob auch immer die Hand Die deine zauberhaften Saiten berührt; O, wach noch einmal auf! Auch wenn meine Fähigkeiten Nur ein schwacher Widerhall deiner früheren Lieder sind: Obwohl schwach und bald verhallend, und in keiner Weise Deinem edlen Stil würdig, Doch wenn ein Herz durch deine Klänge höher schlägt, So war der Zauber nicht umsonst. Dann schweige nicht länger! Wach auf, du zauberhafte Harfe!
I.
Der Hirsch hatte am Abend aus dem Bach getrunken, Wo der Mond über Monans Bach tanzte, Und hatte sein Nachtlager in den einsamen Wäldern von Glenartney aufgeschlagen; Aber als die Sonne ihr Banner über Benvoirlich erhob, Ertönte das tiefe Bellen der Hunde, Und von fern hörte man das Horn und das Hufgetrappel der Pferde.
II.
Als hörte er den Wächter rufen: „Zu den Waffen! Der Feind stürmt die Mauer!“, Sprang der König der Wildnis aus seinem Lager auf. Aber bevor er seine Flucht antrat, Schüttelte er den Tau von seinem Fell, Wie ein stolzer Anführer, der sich zum Kampf erhebt. Einen Moment blickte er talabwärts, Einen Moment schnupperte er den Wind, Einen Moment lauschte er dem Ruf, Der immer lauter wurde; Dann, als die ersten Jäger in Sicht kamen, Sprang er mit einem Satz über den Bach, Und rannte über die Heide von Uam-Var.
III.
Die Hunde bellten bei seinem Anblick, Die Berge und Täler hallten wider; Zu vielen lauten Geräuschen auf einmal Gaben die erwachenden Berge Antwort. Hundert Hunde bellten laut und tief, Hundert Pferde galoppierten vorbei, Ihre Hörner erklangen, Hundert Stimmen schrien durcheinander; Mit Rufen und Zurufen und wildem Hallo Kann Benvoirlich seine Ruhe nicht finden. Fern von dem Lärm floh der Hirsch, Tief in seinem Versteck kauert das Reh, Der Falke auf seinem Felsen hoch oben Blickt mit Verwunderung auf die Jagd; Weit über sein Sichtfeld hinaus Hat der Sturm die Heide heimgesucht. Schwach und immer schwächer wird das sterbende Getöse, Es hallt in den Tälern und Schluchten wider, Und Stille senkt sich über die wilde Heide Und die mächtigen Berge.
IV.
Weniger laut war das Geräusch der Jagd In den Höhen von Uam-Var, Als die mutigen Jäger den steilen Berg hinaufstiegen; Denn bevor sie den Gipfel erreichten, Stand die Sonne hoch am Himmel, Und viele der Jäger mussten anhalten, Um ihre erschöpften Pferde zu verschnaufen. Nur wenige der Hunde waren noch in der Nähe, Denn die steile Jagd hatte ihre Kräfte auf die Probe gestellt.
V.
Der edle Hirsch stand nun auf dem Berg, Von dem aus man die Reiche von Menteith sehen kann. Mit ängstlichem Blick sah er sich um Nach dem Fluss Lochard oder Aberfoyle. Aber näher war der Wald von Loch Achray, Und die felsigen Hänge von Benvenue. Neue Kraft gab ihm die Hoffnung, Mit fliegenden Hufen rannte er über die Heide, Und ließ die müden Jäger hinter sich.
VI.
Es wäre langwierig zu erzählen, welche Pferde aufgaben, Als die Jagd durch Cambusmore zog; Welche Zügel in Verzweiflung straff gezogen wurden, Als Benledi sich vor ihnen erhob; Wer auf der Heide von Bochastle zurückblieb, Oder wer es wagte, den Fluss Teith zu durchqueren, Denn zweimal an diesem Tag Schwamm der mutige Hirsch stolz über den Fluss. Nur wenige der Jäger, die ihm folgten, Erreichten den See von Vennachar; Und als sie die Brücke von Turk überquerten, Ritt der vorderste Jäger allein.
VII.
Allein, aber mit unbeugsamen Willen, Trieb dieser Jäger die Peitsche und die Sporen ein; Denn jetzt, erschöpft und müde von der Jagd, War der edle Hirsch in Sichtweite. Zwei schwarze Hunde von der Rasse des heiligen Hubertus, Unübertroffen in Mut, Ausdauer und Geschwindigkeit, Folgten den Spuren des Hirsches, Und waren kurz davor, ihn zu fangen; Denn nur eine Lanzenlänge von seinem Hinterteil entfernt, Verfolgten die treuen Hunde ihre Beute; Und weder konnte der Hirsch seinen Vorsprung vergrößern, Noch die Hunde ihn einholen. So rannten sie am Ufer des Sees entlang, Zwischen dem Abgrund und dem dichten Wald, Bis der Hirsch in den Tiefen des Trosachs-Waldes Ein sicheres Versteck fand. Dort, während er sich in den dichten Büschen niederließ, Hörte er die vergebens bellenden Hunde, Die wütend durch die enge Schlucht rannten.
VIII.
Der Jäger folgte den Hunden, Um sie im Namen des Hirsches zu ermutigen. Aber als er in der Schlucht stolperte, Stürzte sein erschöpftes Pferd. Vergeblich versuchte der Jäger, Das Pferd mit Sporen und Zügeln aufzurichten; Denn das gute Pferd, dessen Kräfte erschöpft waren, Streckte sich auf dem Boden aus und stand nicht mehr auf. Traurig und reumütig sah der Jäger, Wie die Fliegen sich auf dem Pferd niederliesen. „Ich dachte nicht, als ich dich an den Ufern der Seine sattelte, Dass die Adler von Schottland dein Fleisch fressen würden! Wehe der Jagd, wehe dem Tag, Der dein Leben gekostet hat, mein treues Pferd!“
IX.
Dann blies er in sein Horn, Um die Hunde von der vergebens Jagd abzuberufen. Langsam und humpelnd kamen sie zurück, Mit hängenden Schwänzen und gesenkten Köpfen; Aber das Echo der Berge Verlängerte den Klang des Hornsignals. Die Eulen erwachten aus ihrem Schlaf, Die Adler antworteten mit ihrem Schrei, Die Klänge hallten von Berg zu Berg, Bis es schien, als würde ein zweites Horn erklingen; Und der Jäger machte sich auf den Weg, Um sich mit seinen Gefährten zu treffen, Oft innehaltend, so seltsam war der Weg, So wunderbar die Landschaft, die er sah.
X.
Der Abend sank über die Berge, Und die Sonne tauchte die Landschaft in ein rotes Licht. Aber in den dunklen Tälern unten War es schon Nacht. Der Weg führte durch eine enge Schlucht, Um viele felsige Gipfel herum, Die wie riesige Türme aus der Erde ragten, Oder wie fantastische Pagoden und Moscheen. Und keine dieser erdgeborenen Burgen war ohne Banner; Denn von ihren zerklüfteten Gipfeln hingen Lange Sträußer von Heidekraut, Die im Wind des Abends wehten.
XI.
Die Natur hatte die Landschaft mit Wildblumen geschmückt. Hier duftete die Heide, dort die Haselnuss; Die zarte Primel und die Veilchen Fanden in jedem Felsen ein Zuhause; Fingerhut und Nachtschatten, Symbole von Strafe und Stolz, Wuchsen in den Farben der Felsen; Die Birke und die Esche weinten, Die Eiche und die Hasel strahlten, Und hoch oben ragte die Kiefer, Ihre Zweige gegen den Himmel streckend. Am höchsten von allen, wo die weißen Gipfel leuchteten, Sah man den blauen Himmel, So wunderbar wild war die ganze Landschaft, Dass sie wie ein Traum erschien.
XII.
Nun öffnete sich ein schmaler Wasserlauf, Der sich durch das Dickicht schlängelte, Aber als er wieder auftauchte, War er breiter und tiefer geworden. Hohe Felsen und bewaldete Hügel Spiegelten sich in seinem dunklen Wasser, Und je weiter der Jäger ging, Desto breiter wurde der Strom. Die schroffen Felsen schienen zu schweben, Wie Burgen, die von einem Graben umgeben sind; Und immer breiter wurde der Strom, Bis jede Felseninsel Wie ein Schiff in einem Binnenmeer aussah.
XIII.
Und nun, um aus der Schlucht zu kommen, Musste der Wanderer einen steilen Felsen erklimmen. Er hielt sich an den starken Wurzeln der Heide fest, Und kletterte langsam den Abhang hinauf. Als er den Gipfel erreichte, Sah er den Loch Katrine unter sich liegen, Mit all seinen Buchten und Inseln, Und den Bergen, die wie Riesen die Zauberlandschaft bewachten. Hoch im Süden ragte der Benvenue, Mit zerklüfteten Felsen und dichten Wäldern, Und im Norden erhob sich der Ben-an, Sein kahler Gipfel ragte in die Höhe.
XIV.
Von diesem hohen Gipfel aus Sah der Wanderer das Tal unter sich liegen, Und dachte, was für ein wunderbarer Ort dies wäre, Für einen Palast oder ein Kloster. „Dort oben auf diesem Felsen,“ sagte er, „Könnte ein mächtiger Turm stehen, Und in diesem Tal könnte eine Dame wohnen; Und auf dieser Wiese könnte ein Kloster stehen, Mit seinen grauen Türmen. Wie fröhlich würde das Jagdhorn klingen, Wenn es den Morgen weckte! Wie süß würde die Liebesarie klingen, Wenn die Nacht still wäre! Und wenn der Mond in der Mitternacht Sein Licht auf den See werfen würde, Wie feierlich würde das Gebet der Mönche klingen, Wenn es aus der einsamen Insel erklingen würde! Und das Jagdhorn, die Laute und das Gebet, Würden jeden Wanderer zu einem freundlichen Empfang einladen.“
XV.
„Was für ein Ort wäre dies für einen Prinzen oder einen Bischof! Auf diesem Felsen könnte ein prächtiger Turm stehen, Und in diesem Tal könnte eine Dame wohnen. Wie fröhlich würde das Jagdhorn klingen, Wenn es den Morgen weckte! Wie süß würde die Liebesarie klingen, Wenn die Nacht still wäre! Und wenn der Mond in der Mitternacht Sein Licht auf den See werfen würde, Wie feierlich würde das Gebet der Mönche klingen, Wenn es aus der einsamen Insel erklingen würde! Und das Jagdhorn, die Laute und das Gebet, Würden jeden Wanderer zu einem freundlichen Empfang einladen.“
XVI.
„Aber jetzt, verdammt sei dieser Hirsch, Bin ich hungrig und durstig, Und muss mich mit Beeren und Wurzeln ernähren, Und auf dem harten Boden schlafen. Aber das ist nichts, Denn morgen wird die Jagd wieder beginnen. Aber hier in diesen Wäldern Gibt es Plünderer, die man besser meidet; Denn sollte ich auf Highland-Räuber treffen, Wäre das schlimmer als der Verlust des Hirsches. Ich bin allein, Und mein Horn könnte einen verirrten Jäger rufen; Oder, sollte das Schlimmste eintreten, Habe ich immer noch mein Schwert.“
XVII.
Aber kaum hatte er in sein Horn geblasen, Als er eine Dame in einem Boot sah, Die langsam über den See glitt. Sie steuerte ihr Boot mit Geschick, Und sang ein Lied, während sie ruderte. Ihre Stimme war so süß, Dass der Jäger stehen blieb und lauschte. Ihr Boot glitt sanft über das Wasser, Und berührte die Seerosen, Die wie Sterne auf dem See leuchteten. Ihr Haar war wie die Nacht, Ihre Augen wie die Sterne, Ihre Wangen wie die Rosen, Die in der Morgensonne blühen. Ihr Lächeln war so süß, Dass der Jäger sich verliebte.
XVIII.
Noch nie hatte ein griechischer Bildhauer Eine Nymphe, eine Najade oder eine Grazie Von so vollkommener Schönheit geschaffen! Ihr Teint war gebräunt von der Sonne, Aber ihre Wangen glühten vor Gesundheit. Ihre Augen funkelten vor Freude, Ihre Lippen waren rot vor Leben, Ihr Haar war wie die Nacht, Ihre Stimme wie Musik. Sie war die Tochter eines Chiefs, Ihr Kleid war aus Seide, Ihr Gürtel aus Gold, Ihr Blick war voller Güte.
XIX.
Ein Häuptlingstochter schien das Maid; Ihr silken snood, ihr silken plaid, Ihr golden brooch, such birth betrayed. 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 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; 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, 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. One only passion unrevealed With maiden pride the maid concealed, Yet not less purely felt the flame;-- O, need I tell that passion's name?
XX.
Der Jäger war beeindruckt von ihrer Schönheit, Und fragte sie nach dem Weg. Sie lächelte und antwortete, Dass sie ihn zu ihrem Vater führen würde. „Aber warum trägst du einen Pflasterverband über deinem Auge?“, fragte sie. „Das ist eine lange Geschichte“, antwortete er, „Die ich dir erzählen werde, wenn wir ankommen.“ Dann half er ihr, an Land zu gehen, Und sie gingen zusammen zum Schloss.
XXI.
Harp of the North! that mouldering long hast hung On the witch-elm that shades Saint Fillan's spring And down the fitful breeze thy numbers flung, Till envious ivy did around thee cling, Muffling with verdant ringlet every string,-- O Minstrel Harp, still must thine accents sleep? Mid rustling leaves and fountains murmuring, Still must thy sweeter sounds their silence keep, Nor bid a warrior smile, nor teach a maid to weep?
Nicht so, in alten Tagen von Caledon, [10] War deine Stimme stumm im festlichen Kreis, Wenn Lieder von verlorener Liebe oder errungenem Ruhm Den Ängstlichen Mut machten und den Stolzen demütigten. Bei jeder passenden Pause wurde deine laute Heroische Melodie gehört! Edle Damen und stolze Häuptlinge hörten aufmerksam zu; Denn deine Minne war immer der tapfere Ritter, Und deine Liebe das schöne Mädchen.
O, wach noch einmal auf! Wie grob auch immer die Hand Die deine zauberhaften Saiten berührt; O, wach noch einmal auf! Auch wenn meine Fähigkeiten Nur ein schwacher Widerhall deiner früheren Lieder sind: Obwohl schwach und bald verhallend, und in keiner Weise Deinem edlen Stil würdig, Doch wenn ein Herz durch deine Klänge höher schlägt, So war der Zauber nicht umsonst. Dann schweige nicht länger! Wach auf, du zauberhafte Harfe!
I.
Der Hirsch hatte am Abend aus dem Bach getrunken, Wo der Mond über Monans Bach tanzte, Und hatte sein Nachtlager in den einsamen Wäldern von Glenartney aufgeschlagen; Aber als die Sonne ihr Banner über Benvoirlich erhob, Ertönte das tiefe Bellen der Hunde, Und von fern hörte man das Horn und das Hufgetrappel der Pferde.
II.
Als hörte er den Wächter rufen: „Zu den Waffen! Der Feind stürmt die Mauer!“, Sprang der König der Wildnis aus seinem Lager auf. Aber bevor er seine Flucht antrat, Schüttelte er den Tau von seinem Fell, Wie ein stolzer Anführer, der sich zum Kampf erhebt. Einen Moment blickte er talabwärts, Einen Moment schnupperte er den Wind, Einen Moment lauschte er dem Ruf, Der immer lauter wurde; Dann, als die ersten Jäger in Sicht kamen, Sprang er mit einem Satz über den Bach, Und rannte über die Heide von Uam-Var.
III.
Die Hunde bellten bei seinem Anblick, Die Berge und Täler hallten wider; Zu vielen lauten Geräuschen auf einmal Gaben die erwachenden Berge Antwort. Hundert Hunde bellten laut und tief, Hundert Pferde galoppierten vorbei, Ihre Hörner erklangen, Hundert Stimmen schrien durcheinander; Mit Rufen und Zurufen und wildem Hallo Kann Benvoirlich seine Ruhe nicht finden. Fern von dem Lärm floh der Hirsch, Tief in seinem Versteck kauert das Reh, Der Falke auf seinem Felsen hoch oben Blickt mit Verwunderung auf die Jagd; Weit über sein Sichtfeld hinaus Hat der Sturm die Heide heimgesucht. Schwach und immer schwächer wird das sterbende Getöse, Es hallt in den Tälern und Schluchten wider, Und Stille senkt sich über die wilde Heide Und die mächtigen Berge.
IV.
Weniger laut war das Geräusch der Jagd In den Höhen von Uam-Var, Als die mutigen Jäger den steilen Berg hinaufstiegen; Denn bevor sie den Gipfel erreichten, Stand die Sonne hoch am Himmel, Und viele der Jäger mussten anhalten, Um ihre erschöpften Pferde zu verschnaufen. Nur wenige der Hunde waren noch in der Nähe, Denn die steile Jagd hatte ihre Kräfte auf die Probe gestellt.
V.
Der edle Hirsch stand nun auf dem Berg, Von dem aus man die Reiche von Menteith sehen kann. Mit ängstlichem Blick sah er sich um Nach dem Fluss Lochard oder Aberfoyle. Aber näher war der Wald von Loch Achray, Und die felsigen Hänge von Benvenue. Neue Kraft gab ihm die Hoffnung, Mit fliegenden Hufen rannte er über die Heide, Und ließ die müden Jäger hinter sich.
VI.
Es wäre langwierig zu erzählen, welche Pferde aufgaben, Als die Jagd durch Cambusmore zog; Welche Zügel in Verzweiflung straff gezogen wurden, Als Benledi sich vor ihnen erhob; Wer auf der Heide von Bochastle zurückblieb, Oder wer es wagte, den Fluss Teith zu durchqueren, Denn zweimal an diesem Tag Schwamm der mutige Hirsch stolz über den Fluss. Nur wenige der Jäger, die ihm folgten, Erreichten den See von Vennachar; Und als sie die Brücke von Turk überquerten, Ritt der vorderste Jäger allein.
VII.
Allein, aber mit unbeugsamen Willen, Trieb dieser Jäger die Peitsche und die Sporen ein; Denn jetzt, erschöpft und müde von der Jagd, War der edle Hirsch in Sichtweite. Zwei schwarze Hunde von der Rasse des heiligen Hubertus, Unübertroffen in Mut, Ausdauer und Geschwindigkeit, Folgten den Spuren des Hirsches, Und waren kurz davor, ihn zu fangen; Denn nur eine Lanzenlänge von seinem Hinterteil entfernt, Verfolgten die treuen Hunde ihre Beute; Und weder konnte der Hirsch seinen Vorsprung vergrößern, Noch die Hunde ihn einholen. So rannten sie am Ufer des Sees entlang, Zwischen dem Abgrund und dem dichten Wald, Bis der Hirsch in den Tiefen des Trosachs-Waldes Ein sicheres Versteck fand. Dort, während er sich in den dichten Büschen niederließ, Hörte er die vergebens bellenden Hunde, Die wütend durch die enge Schlucht rannten.
VIII.
Der Jäger folgte den Hunden, Um sie im Namen des Hirsches zu ermutigen. Aber als er in der Schlucht stolperte, Stürzte sein erschöpftes Pferd. Vergeblich versuchte der Jäger, Das Pferd mit Sporen und Zügeln aufzurichten; Denn das gute Pferd, dessen Kräfte erschöpft waren, Streckte sich auf dem Boden aus und stand nicht mehr auf. Traurig und reumütig sah der Jäger, Wie die Fliegen sich auf dem Pferd niederließen. „Ich dachte nicht, als ich dich an den Ufern der Seine sattelte, Dass die Adler von Schottland dein Fleisch fressen würden! Wehe der Jagd, wehe dem Tag, Der dein Leben gekostet hat, mein treues Pferd!“
IX.
Dann blies er in sein Horn, Um die Hunde von der vergebens Jagd abzuberufen. Langsam und humpelnd kamen sie zurück, Mit hängenden Schwänzen und gesenkten Köpfen; Aber das Echo der Berge Verlängerte den Klang des Hornsignals. Die Eulen erwachten aus ihrem Schlaf, Die Adler antworteten mit ihrem Schrei, Die Klänge hallten von Berg zu Berg, Bis es schien, als würde ein zweites Horn erklingen; Und der Jäger machte sich auf den Weg, Um sich mit seinen Gefährten zu treffen, Oft innehaltend, so seltsam war der Weg, So wunderbar die Landschaft, die er sah.
X.
Der Abend sank über die Berge, Und die Sonne tauchte die Landschaft in ein rotes Licht. Aber in den dunklen Tälern unten War es schon Nacht. Der Weg führte durch eine enge Schlucht, Um viele felsige Gipfel herum, Die wie riesige Türme aus der Erde ragten, Oder wie fantastische Pagoden und Moscheen. Und keine dieser erdgeborenen Burgen war ohne Banner; Denn von ihren zerklüfteten Gipfeln hingen Lange Sträußer von Heidekraut, Die im Wind des Abends wehten.
XI.
Die Natur hatte die Landschaft mit Wildblumen geschmückt. Hier duftete die Heide, dort die Haselnuss; Die zarte Primel und die Veilchen Fanden in jedem Felsen ein Zuhause; Fingerhut und Nachtschatten, Symbole von Strafe und Stolz, Wuchsen in den Farben der Felsen; Die Birke und die Esche weinten, Die Eiche und die Hasel strahlten, Und hoch oben ragte die Kiefer, Ihre Zweige gegen den Himmel streckend. Am höchsten von allen, wo die weißen Gipfel leuchteten, Sah man den blauen Himmel, So wunderbar wild war die ganze Landschaft, Dass sie wie ein Traum erschien.
XII.
Nun öffnete sich ein schmaler Wasserlauf, Der sich durch das Dickicht schlängelte, Aber als er wieder auftauchte, War er breiter und tiefer geworden. Hohe Felsen und bewaldete Hügel Spiegelten sich in seinem dunklen Wasser, Und je weiter der Jäger ging, Desto breiter wurde der Strom. Die schroffen Felsen schienen zu schweben, Wie Burgen, die von einem Graben umgeben sind; Und immer breiter wurde der Strom, Bis jede Felseninsel Wie ein Schiff in einem Binnenmeer aussah.
XIII.
Und nun, um aus der Schlucht zu kommen, Musste der Wanderer einen steilen Felsen erklimmen. Er hielt sich an den starken Wurzeln der Heide fest, Und kletterte langsam den Abhang hinauf. Als er den Gipfel erreichte, Sah er den Loch Katrine unter sich liegen, Mit all seinen Buchten und Inseln, Und den Bergen, die wie Riesen die Zauberlandschaft bewachten. Hoch im Süden ragte der Benvenue, Mit zerklüfteten Felsen und dichten Wäldern, Und im Norden erhob sich der Ben-an, Sein kahler Gipfel ragte in die Höhe.
XIV.
Von diesem hohen Gipfel aus Sah der Wanderer das Tal unter sich liegen, Und dachte, was für ein wunderbarer Ort dies wäre, Für einen Palast oder ein Kloster. „Dort oben auf diesem Felsen,“ sagte er, „Könnte ein mächtiger Turm stehen, Und in diesem Tal könnte eine Dame wohnen; Und auf dieser Wiese könnte ein Kloster stehen, Mit seinen grauen Türmen. Wie fröhlich würde das Jagdhorn klingen, Wenn es den Morgen weckte! Wie süß würde die Liebesarie klingen, Wenn die Nacht still wäre! Und wenn der Mond in der Mitternacht Sein Licht auf den See werfen würde, Wie feierlich würde das Gebet der Mönche klingen, Wenn es aus der einsamen Insel erklingen würde! Und das Jagdhorn, die Laute und das Gebet, Würden jeden Wanderer zu einem freundlichen Empfang einladen.“
XV.
„Was für ein Ort wäre dies für einen Prinzen oder einen Bischof! Auf diesem Felsen könnte ein prächtiger Turm stehen, Und in diesem Tal könnte eine Dame wohnen. Wie fröhlich würde das Jagdhorn klingen, Wenn es den Morgen weckte! Wie süß würde die Liebesarie klingen, Wenn die Nacht still wäre! Und wenn der Mond in der Mitternacht Sein Licht auf den See werfen würde, Wie feierlich würde das Gebet der Mönche klingen, Wenn es aus der einsamen Insel erklingen würde! Und das Jagdhorn, die Laute und das Gebet, Würden jeden Wanderer zu einem freundlichen Empfang einladen.“
XVI.
„Aber jetzt, verdammt sei dieser Hirsch, Bin ich hungrig und durstig, Und muss mich mit Beeren und Wurzeln ernähren, Und auf dem harten Boden schlafen. Aber das ist nichts, Denn morgen wird die Jagd wieder beginnen. Aber hier in diesen Wäldern Gibt es Plünderer, die man besser meidet; Denn sollte ich auf Highland-Räuber treffen, Wäre das schlimmer als der Verlust des Hirsches. Ich bin allein, Und mein Horn könnte einen verirrten Jäger rufen; Oder, sollte das Schlimmste eintreten, Habe ich immer noch mein Schwert.“
XVII.
Aber kaum hatte er in sein Horn geblasen, Als er eine Dame in einem Boot sah, Die langsam über den See glitt. Sie steuerte ihr Boot mit Geschick, Und sang ein Lied, während sie ruderte. Ihre Stimme war so süß, Dass der Jäger stehen blieb und lauschte. Ihr Boot glitt sanft über das Wasser, Und berührte die Seerosen, Die wie Sterne auf dem See leuchteten. Ihr Haar war wie die Nacht, Ihre Augen wie die Sterne, Ihre Wangen wie die Rosen, Die in der Morgensonne blühen. Ihr Lächeln war so süß, Dass der Jäger sich verliebte.
XVIII.
Noch nie hatte ein griechischer Bildhauer Eine Nymphe, eine Najade oder eine Grazie Von so vollkommener Schönheit geschaffen! Ihr Teint war gebräunt von der Sonne, Aber ihre Wangen glühten vor Gesundheit. Ihre Augen funkelten vor Freude, Ihre Lippen waren rot vor Leben, Ihr Haar war wie die Nacht, Ihre Stimme wie Musik. Sie war die Tochter eines Chiefs, Ihr Kleid war aus Seide, Ihr Gürtel aus Gold, Ihr Blick war voller Güte.
XIX.
Ein Häuptlingstochter schien das Maid; Ihr silken snood, ihr silken plaid, Ihr golden brooch, such birth betrayed. 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 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; 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, 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. One only passion unrevealed With maiden pride the maid concealed, Yet not less purely felt the flame;-- O, need I tell that passion's name?
XX.
Der Jäger war beeindruckt von ihrer Schönheit, Und fragte sie nach dem Weg. Sie lächelte und antwortete, Dass sie ihn zu ihrem Vater führen würde. „Aber warum trägst du einen Pflasterverband über deinem Auge?“, fragte sie. „Das ist eine lange Geschichte“, antwortete er, „Die ich dir erzählen werde, wenn wir ankommen.“ Dann half er ihr, an Land zu gehen, Und sie gingen zusammen zum Schloss.
Harp of the North! that mouldering long hast hung On the witch-elm that shades Saint Fillan's spring And down the fitful breeze thy numbers flung, Till envious ivy did around thee cling, Muffling with verdant ringlet every string,-- O Minstrel Harp, still must thine accents sleep? Mid rustling leaves and fountains murmuring, Still must thy sweeter sounds their silence keep, Nor bid a warrior smile, nor teach a maid to weep?
Nicht so, in alten Tagen von Caledon, [10] War deine Stimme stumm im festlichen Kreis, Wenn Lieder von verlorener Liebe oder errungenem Ruhm Den Ängstlichen Mut machten und den Stolzen demütigten. Bei jeder passenden Pause wurde deine laute Heroische Melodie gehört! Edle Damen und stolze Häuptlinge hörten aufmerksam zu; Denn deine Minne war immer der tapfere Ritter, Und deine Liebe das schöne Mädchen.
O, wach noch einmal auf! Wie grob auch immer die Hand Die deine zauberhaften Saiten berührt; O, wach noch einmal auf! Auch wenn meine Fähigkeiten Nur ein schwacher Widerhall deiner früheren Lieder sind: Obwohl schwach und bald verhallend, und in keiner Weise Deinem edlen Stil würdig, Doch wenn ein Herz durch deine Klänge höher schlägt, So war der Zauber nicht umsonst. Dann schweige nicht länger! Wach auf, du zauberhafte Harfe!
I.
Der Hirsch hatte am Abend aus dem Bach getrunken, Wo der Mond über Monans Bach tanzte, Und hatte sein Nachtlager in den einsamen Wäldern von Glenartney aufgeschlagen; Aber als die Sonne ihr Banner über Benvoirlich erhob, Ertönte das tiefe Bellen der Hunde, Und von fern hörte man das Horn und das Hufgetrappel der Pferde.
II.
Als hörte er den Wächter rufen: „Zu den Waffen! Der Feind stürmt die Mauer!“, Sprang der König der Wildnis aus seinem Lager auf. Aber bevor er seine Flucht antrat, Schüttelte er den Tau von seinem Fell, Wie ein stolzer Anführer, der sich zum Kampf erhebt. Einen Moment blickte er talabwärts, Einen Moment schnupperte er den Wind, Einen Moment lauschte er dem Ruf, Der immer lauter wurde; Dann, als die ersten Jäger in Sicht kamen, Sprang er mit einem Satz über den Bach, Und rannte über die Heide von Uam-Var.
III.
Die Hunde bellten bei seinem Anblick, Die Berge und Täler hallten wider; Zu vielen lauten Geräuschen auf einmal Gaben die erwachenden Berge Antwort. Hundert Hunde bellten laut und tief, Hundert Pferde galoppierten vorbei, Ihre Hörner erklangen, Hundert Stimmen schrien durcheinander; Mit Rufen und Zurufen und wildem Hallo Kann Benvoirlich seine Ruhe nicht finden. Fern von dem Lärm floh der Hirsch, Tief in seinem Versteck kauert das Reh, Der Falke auf seinem Felsen hoch oben Blickt mit Verwunderung auf die Jagd; Weit über sein Sichtfeld hinaus Hat der Sturm die Heide heimgesucht. Schwach und immer schwächer wird das sterbende Getöse, Es hallt in den Tälern und Schluchten wider, Und Stille senkt sich über die wilde Heide Und die mächtigen Berge.
IV.
Weniger laut war das Geräusch der Jagd In den Höhen von Uam-Var, Als die mutigen Jäger den steilen Berg hinaufstiegen; Denn bevor sie den Gipfel erreichten, Stand die Sonne hoch am Himmel, Und viele der Jäger mussten anhalten, Um ihre erschöpften Pferde zu verschnaufen. Nur wenige der Hunde waren noch in der Nähe, Denn die steile Jagd hatte ihre Kräfte auf die Probe gestellt.
V.
Der edle Hirsch stand nun auf dem Berg, Von dem aus man die Reiche von Menteith sehen kann. Mit ängstlichem Blick sah er sich um Nach dem Fluss Lochard oder Aberfoyle. Aber näher war der Wald von Loch Achray, Und die felsigen Hänge von Benvenue. Neue Kraft gab ihm die Hoffnung, Mit fliegenden Hufen rannte er über die Heide, Und ließ die müden Jäger hinter sich.
VI.
Es wäre langwierig zu erzählen, welche Pferde aufgaben, Als die Jagd durch Cambusmore zog; Welche Zügel in Verzweiflung straff gezogen wurden, Als Benledi sich vor ihnen erhob; Wer auf der Heide von Bochastle zurückblieb, Oder wer es wagte, den Fluss Teith zu durchqueren, Denn zweimal an diesem Tag Schwamm der mutige Hirsch stolz über den Fluss. Nur wenige der Jäger, die ihm folgten, Erreichten den See von Vennachar; Und als sie die Brücke von Turk überquerten, Ritt der vorderste Jäger allein.
VII.
Allein, aber mit unbeugsamen Willen, Trieb dieser Jäger die Peitsche und die Sporen ein; Denn jetzt, erschöpft und müde von der Jagd, War der edle Hirsch in Sichtweite. Zwei schwarze Hunde von der Rasse des heiligen Hubertus, Unübertroffen in Mut, Ausdauer und Geschwindigkeit, Folgten den Spuren des Hirsches, Und waren kurz davor, ihn zu fangen; Denn nur eine Lanzenlänge von seinem Hinterteil entfernt, Verfolgten die treuen Hunde ihre Beute; Und weder konnte der Hirsch seinen Vorsprung vergrößern, Noch die Hunde ihn einholen. So rannten sie am Ufer des Sees entlang, Zwischen dem Abgrund und dem dichten Wald, Bis der Hirsch in den Tiefen des Trosachs-Waldes Ein sicheres Versteck fand. Dort, während er sich in den dichten Büschen niederließ, Hörte er die vergebens bellenden Hunde, Die wütend durch die enge Schlucht rannten.
VIII.
Der Jäger folgte den Hunden, Um sie im Namen des Hirsches zu ermutigen. Aber als er in der Schlucht stolperte, Stürzte sein erschöpftes Pferd. Vergeblich versuchte der Jäger, Das Pferd mit Sporen und Zügeln aufzurichten; Denn das gute Pferd, dessen Kräfte erschöpft waren, Streckte sich auf dem Boden aus und stand nicht mehr auf. Traurig und reumütig sah der Jäger, Wie die Fliegen sich auf dem Pferd niederließen. „Ich dachte nicht, als ich dich an den Ufern der Seine sattelte, Dass die Adler von Schottland dein Fleisch fressen würden! Wehe der Jagd, wehe dem Tag, Der dein Leben gekostet hat, mein treues Pferd!“
IX.
Dann blies er in sein Horn, Um die Hunde von der vergebens Jagd abzuberufen. Langsam und humpelnd kamen sie zurück, Mit hängenden Schwänzen und gesenkten Köpfen; Aber das Echo der Berge Verlängerte den Klang des Hornsignals. Die Eulen erwachten aus ihrem Schlaf, Die Adler antworteten mit ihrem Schrei, Die Klänge hallten von Berg zu Berg, Bis es schien, als würde ein zweites Horn erklingen; Und der Jäger machte sich auf den Weg, Um sich mit seinen Gefährten zu treffen, Oft innehaltend, so seltsam war der Weg, So wunderbar die Landschaft, die er sah.
X.
Der Abend sank über die Berge, Und die Sonne tauchte die Landschaft in ein rotes Licht. Aber in den dunklen Tälern unten War es schon Nacht. Der Weg führte durch eine enge Schlucht, Um viele felsige Gipfel herum, Die wie riesige Türme aus der Erde ragten, Oder wie fantastische Pagoden und Moscheen. Und keine dieser erdgeborenen Burgen war ohne Banner; Denn von ihren zerklüfteten Gipfeln hingen Lange Sträußer von Heidekraut, Die im Wind des Abends wehten.
XI.
Die Natur hatte die Landschaft mit Wildblumen geschmückt. Hier duftete die Heide, dort die Haselnuss; Die zarte Primel und die Veilchen Fanden in jedem Felsen ein Zuhause; Fingerhut und Nachtschatten, Symbole von Strafe und Stolz, Wuchsen in den Farben der Felsen; Die Birke und die Esche weinten, Die Eiche und die Hasel strahlten, Und hoch oben ragte die Kiefer, Ihre Zweige gegen den Himmel streckend. Am höchsten von allen, wo die weißen Gipfel leuchteten, Sah man den blauen Himmel, So wunderbar wild war die ganze Landschaft, Dass sie wie ein Traum erschien.
XII.
Nun öffnete sich ein schmaler Wasserlauf, Der sich durch das Dickicht schlängelte, Aber als er wieder auftauchte, War er breiter und tiefer geworden. Hohe Felsen und bewaldete Hügel Spiegelten sich in seinem dunklen Wasser, Und je weiter der Jäger ging, Desto breiter wurde der Strom. Die schroffen Felsen schienen zu schweben, Wie Burgen, die von einem Graben umgeben sind; Und immer breiter wurde der Strom, Bis jede Felseninsel Wie ein Schiff in einem Binnenmeer aussah.
XIII.
Und nun, um aus der Schlucht zu kommen, Musste der Wanderer einen steilen Felsen erklimmen. Er hielt sich an den starken Wurzeln der Heide fest, Und kletterte langsam den Abhang hinauf. Als er den Gipfel erreichte, Sah er den Loch Katrine unter sich liegen, Mit all seinen Buchten und Inseln, Und den Bergen, die wie Riesen die Zauberlandschaft bewachten. Hoch im Süden ragte der Benvenue, Mit zerklüfteten Felsen und dichten Wäldern, Und im Norden erhob sich der Ben-an, Sein kahler Gipfel ragte in die Höhe.
XIV.
Von diesem hohen Gipfel aus Sah der Wanderer das Tal unter sich liegen, Und dachte, was für ein wunderbarer Ort dies wäre, Für einen Palast oder ein Kloster. „Dort oben auf diesem Felsen,“ sagte er, „Könnte ein mächtiger Turm stehen, Und in diesem Tal könnte eine Dame wohnen; Und auf dieser Wiese könnte ein Kloster stehen, Mit seinen grauen Türmen. Wie fröhlich würde das Jagdhorn klingen, Wenn es den Morgen weckte! Wie süß würde die Liebesarie klingen, Wenn die Nacht still wäre! Und wenn der Mond in der Mitternacht Sein Licht auf den See werfen würde, Wie feierlich würde das Gebet der Mönche klingen, Wenn es aus der einsamen Insel erklingen würde! Und das Jagdhorn, die Laute und das Gebet, Würden jeden Wanderer zu einem freundlichen Empfang einladen.“
XV.
„Was für ein Ort wäre dies für einen Prinzen oder einen Bischof! Auf diesem Felsen könnte ein prächtiger Turm stehen, Und in diesem Tal könnte eine Dame wohnen. Wie fröhlich würde das Jagdhorn klingen, Wenn es den Morgen weckte! Wie süß würde die Liebesarie klingen, Wenn die Nacht still wäre! Und wenn der Mond in der Mitternacht Sein Licht auf den See werfen würde, Wie feierlich würde das Gebet der Mönche klingen, Wenn es aus der einsamen Insel erklingen würde! Und das Jagdhorn, die Laute und das Gebet, Würden jeden Wanderer zu einem freundlichen Empfang einladen.“
XVI.
„Aber jetzt, verdammt sei dieser Hirsch, Bin ich hungrig und durstig, Und muss mich mit Beeren und Wurzeln ernähren, Und auf dem harten Boden schlafen. Aber das ist nichts, Denn morgen wird die Jagd wieder beginnen. Aber hier in diesen Wäldern Gibt es Plünderer, die man besser meidet; Denn sollte ich auf Highland-Räuber treffen, Wäre das schlimmer als der Verlust des Hirsches. Ich bin allein, Und mein Horn könnte einen verirrten Jäger rufen; Oder, sollte das Schlimmste eintreten, Habe ich immer noch mein Schwert.“
XVII.
Aber kaum hatte er in sein Horn geblasen, Als er eine Dame in einem Boot sah, Die langsam über den See glitt. Sie steuerte ihr Boot mit Geschick, Und sang ein Lied, während sie ruderte. Ihre Stimme war so süß, Dass der Jäger stehen blieb und lauschte. Ihr Boot glitt sanft über das Wasser, Und berührte die Seerosen, Die wie Sterne auf dem See leuchteten. Ihr Haar war wie die Nacht, Ihre Augen wie die Sterne, Ihre Wangen wie die Rosen, Die in der Morgensonne blühen. Ihr Lächeln war so süß, Dass der Jäger sich verliebte.
XVIII.
Noch nie hatte ein griechischer Bildhauer Eine Nymphe, eine Najade oder eine Grazie Von so vollkommener Schönheit geschaffen! Ihr Teint war gebräunt von der Sonne, Aber ihre Wangen glühten vor Gesundheit. Ihre Augen funkelten vor Freude, Ihre Lippen waren rot vor Leben, Ihr Haar war wie die Nacht, Ihre Stimme wie Musik. Sie war die Tochter eines Chiefs, Ihr Kleid war aus Seide, Ihr Gürtel aus Gold, Ihr Blick war voller Güte.
XIX.
Ein Häuptlingstochter schien das Maid; Ihr silken snood, ihr silken plaid, Ihr golden brooch, such birth betrayed. 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 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; 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, 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. One only passion unrevealed With maiden pride the maid concealed, Yet not less purely felt the flame;-- O, need I tell that passion's name?
XX.
Der Jäger war beeindruckt von ihrer Schönheit, Und fragte sie nach dem Weg. Sie lächelte und antwortete, Dass sie ihn zu ihrem Vater führen würde. „Aber warum trägst du einen Pflasterverband über deinem Auge?“, fragte sie. „Das ist eine lange Geschichte“, antwortete er, „Die ich dir erzählen werde, wenn wir ankommen.“ Dann half er ihr, an Land zu gehen, Und sie gingen zusammen zum Schloss.
Yet not less purely felt the flame;-- O, need I tell that passion's name? XX. Der Jäger war beeindruckt von ihrer Schönheit, Und fragte sie nach dem Weg. Sie lächelte und antwortete, Dass sie ihn zu ihrem Vater führen würde. „Aber warum trägst du einen Pflasterverband über deinem Auge?“, fragte sie. „Das ist eine lange Geschichte“, antwortete er, „Die ich dir erzählen werde, wenn wir ankommen.“ Dann half er ihr, an Land zu gehen, Und sie gingen zusammen zum Schloss.
Yet not less purely felt the flame;-- O, need I tell that passion's name? XX. Der Jäger war beeindruckt von ihrer Schönheit, Und fragte sie nach dem Weg. Sie lächelte und antwortete, Dass sie ihn zu ihrem Vater führen würde. „Aber warum trägst du einen Pflasterverband über deinem Auge?“, fragte sie. „Das ist eine lange Geschichte“, antwortete er, „Die ich dir erzählen werde, wenn wir ankommen.“ Dann half er ihr, an Land zu gehen, Und sie gingen zusammen zum Schloss.
"The Lennox, as the district is called which encircles the lower extremity of Loch Lomond, was peculiarly exposed to the incursions of the mountaineers, who inhabited the inaccessible fastnesses at the upper end of the lake, and the neighboring district of Loch Katrine. These were often marked by circumstances of great ferocity, of which the noted conflict of Glen Fruin is a celebrated instance. This was a clan-battle, in which the Macgregors, headed by Allaster Macgregor, chief of the clan, encountered the sept of Colquhouns, commanded by Sir Humphry Colquhoun of Luss. It is on all hands allowed that the action was desperately fought, and that the Colquhouns were defeated with slaughter, leaving two hundred of their name dead upon the field. But popular tradition has added other horrors to the tale. It is said that Sir Humphry Colquhoun, who was on horseback, escaped to the Castle of Benechra, or Bannochar, and was next day dragged out and murdered by the victorious Macgregors in cold blood. Buchanan of Auchmar, however, speaks of his slaughter as a subsequent event, and as perpetrated by the Macfarlanes. Again, it is reported that the Macgregors murdered a number of youths, whom report of the intended battle had brought to be spectators, and whom the Colquhouns, anxious for their safety, had shut up in a barn to be out of danger. One account of the Macgregors denies this circumstance entirely; another ascribes it to the savage and bloodthirsty disposition of a single individual, the bastard brother of the Laird of Macgregor, who amused himself with this second massacre of the innocents, in express disobedience to the chief, by whom he was left their guardian during the pursuit of the Colquhouns. It is added that Macgregor bitterly lamented this atrocious action, and prophesied the ruin which it must bring upon their ancient clan. ...
"The consequences of the battle of Glen Fruin were very calamitous to the family of Macgregor, who had already been considered as an unruly clan. The widows of the slain Colquhouns, sixty, it is said, in number, appeared in doleful procession before the king at Stirling, each riding upon a white palfrey, and bearing in her hand the bloody shirt of her husband displayed upon a pike. James VI. was so much moved by the complaints of this 'choir of mourning dames,' that he let loose his vengeance against the Macgregors without either bounds or moderation. The very name of the clan was proscribed, and those by whom it had been borne were given up to sword and fire, and absolutely hunted down by bloodhounds like wild beasts. Argyll and the Campbells, on the one hand, Montrose, with the Grahames and Buchanans, on the other, are said to have been the chief instruments in suppressing this devoted clan. The Laird of Macgregor surrendered to the former, on condition that he would take him out of Scottish ground. But, to use Birrel's expression, he kept 'a Highlandman's promise;' and, although he fulfilled his word to the letter, by carrying him as far as Berwick, he afterwards brought him back to Edinburgh, where he was executed with eighteen of his clan (Birrel's Diary, 2d Oct. 1903). The clan Gregor being thus driven to utter despair, seem to have renounced the laws from the benefit of which they were excluded, and their depredations produced new acts of council, confirming the severity of their proscription, which had only the effect of rendering them still more united and desperate. It is a most extraordinary proof of the ardent and invincible spirit of clanship, that notwithstanding the repeated proscriptions providently ordained by the legislature, 'for the timeous preventing the disorders and oppression that may fall out by the said name and clan of Macgregors, and their followers,' they were, in 1715 and 1745, a potent clan, and continue to subsist as a distinct and numerous race."
426. Leven-glen. The valley of the Leven, which connects Loch Lomond with the Clyde.
431. The rosebud. That is, Ellen. "Note how this song connects Allan's forebodings with Roderick's subsequent offer" (Taylor).
444. And chorus wild, etc. The MS. has "The chorus to the chieftain's fame."
476. Weeped. The form is used for the rhyme. Cf. note on i. 500 above.
477. Nor while, etc. The MS. reads:
"Nor while on Ellen's faltering tongue Her filial greetings eager hung, Marked not that awe (affection's proof) Still held yon gentle youth aloof; No! not till Douglas named his name, Although the youth was Malcolm Graeme. Then with flushed cheek and downcast eye, Their greeting was confused and shy."
495. Bothwell. See on 141 above.
497. Percy's Norman pennon. Taken in the raid which led to the battle of Otterburn, in Northumberland, in the year 1388, and which forms the theme of the ballads of Chevy Chase.
501. My pomp. My triumphal procession; the original meaning of pomp.
504. Crescent. The badge of the Buccleuch family (Miss Yonge).
506. Blantyre. A priory, the ruins of which are still to be seen on a height above the Clyde, opposite Bothwell Castle.
521. The dogs, etc. The MS. has "The dogs with whimpering notes repaid."
525. Unhooded. The falcon was carried on the wrist, with its head covered, or hooded, until the prey was seen, when it was unhooded for flight. Cf. vi. 665 below.
526. Trust. Believe me.
527. Like fabled Goddess. The MS. has "Like fabled huntress;" referring of course to Diana.
534. Stature fair. The reading of the 1st ed. and that of 1821; "stature tall" in most of the other eds.
541. The ptarmigan. A white bird.
543. Menteith. See on i. 89 above.
548. Ben Lomond. This is much the highest (3192 feet) of the mountains on the shores of Loch Lomond. The following lines on the ascent were scratched upon the window-pane of the old inn at Tarbet a hundred years or more ago:
"Trust not at first a quick adventurous pace; Six miles its top points gradual from its base; Up the high rise with panting haste I past, And gained the long laborious steep at last; More prudent thou--when once you pass the deep, With cautious steps and slow ascend the steep."
549. Not a sob. That is, without panting, or getting out of breath, like the degenerate modern tourist.
574. Glenfinlas. A wooded valley between Ben-an and Benledi, the entrance to which is between Lochs Achray and Vennachar. It is the scene of Scott's ballad, Glenfinlas, or Lord Ronald's Coronach. A mile from the entrance are the falls of the Hero's Targe. See iv. 84 below.
577. Still a royal ward. Still under age, with the king for guardian.
583. Strath-Endrick. A valley to the southeast of Loch Lomond, drained by Endrick Water.
584. Peril aught. Incur any peril. Milton uses the verb intransitively in Reason of Church Government, ii. 3: "it may peril to stain itself."
587. Not in action. The 1st ed. has "nor in action."
594. News. Now generally used as a singular; but in old writers both as singular and as plural. Cf. Shakespeare, K. John, iii. 4. 164: "at that news he dies;" and Id. v. 7. 65: "these dead news," etc.
601. As. As if. See on 56 above.
606. Glozing. That glosses over the truth, not plain and outspoken. Sometimes it means to flatter, or deceive with smooth words; as in Spenser, F. Q. iii. 8. 14:
"For he could well his glozing speeches frame To such vaine uses that him best became;"
Smith, Sermons (A. D. 1609): "Every smooth tale is not to be believed; and every glosing tongue is not to be trusted;" Milton, P. L. iii. 93: "his glozing lies;" Id. ix. 549: "So glozed the Tempter;" Comus, 161: "well-placed words of glozing courtesy," etc.
615. The King's vindictive pride, etc. Scott says here: "In 1529, James made a convention at Edinburgh, for the purpose of considering the best mode of quelling the Border robbers, who, during the license of his minority, and the troubles which followed, had committed many exorbitances. Accordingly he assembled a flying army of ten thousand men, consisting of his principal nobility and their followers, who were directed to bring their hawks and dogs with them, that the monarch might refresh himself with sport during the intervals of military execution. With this array he swept through Ettrick Forest, where he hanged over the gate of his own castle Piers Cockburn of Henderland, who had prepared, according to tradition, a feast for his reception. He caused Adam Scott of Tushiclaw also to be executed, who was distinguished by the title of King of the Border. But the most noted victim of justice during that expedition was John Armstrong of Gilnockie, famous in Scottish song, who, confiding in his own supposed innocence, met the King, with a retinue of thirty-six persons, all of whom were hanged at Carlenrig, near the source of the Teviot. The effect of this severity was such, that, as the vulgar expressed it, 'the rush-bush kept the cow,' and 'thereafter was great peace and rest a long time, wherethrough the King had great profit; for he had ten thousand sheep going in the Ettrick Forest in keeping by Andrew Bell, who made the king as good count of them as they had gone in the bounds of Fife' (Pitscottie's History, p. 153)."
623. Meggat's mead. The Meggat, or Megget, is a mountain stream flowing into the Yarrow, a branch of the Etrrick, which is itself a branch of the Tweed. The Teviot is also a branch of the Tweed.
627. The dales, etc. The MS. has "The dales where clans were wont to bide."
634. By fate of Border chivalry. Scott says: "James was, in fact, equally attentive to restrain rapine and feudal oppression in every part of his dominions. 'The King past to the isles, and there held justice courts, and punished both thief and traitor according to their demerit. And also he caused great men to show their holdings, wherethrough he found many of the said lands in non-entry; the which he confiscate and brought home to his own use, and afterwards annexed them to the crown, as ye shall hear. Syne brought many of the great men of the isles captive with him, such as Mudyart, M'Connel, M'Loyd of the Lewes, M'Neil, M'Lane, M'Intosh, John Mudyart, M'Kay, M'Kenzie, with many other that I cannot rehearse at this time. Some of them he put in ward and some in court, and some he took pledges for good rule in time coming. So he brought the isles, both north and south, in good rule and peace; wherefore he had great profit, service, and obedience of people a long time hereafter; and as long as he had the heads of the country in subjection, they lived in great peace and rest, and there was great riches and policy by the King's justice' (Pitscottie, p. 152)."
638. Your counsel. That is, give me your counsel. Streight = strait.
659. The Bleeding Heart. See on 200 above.
662. Quarry. See on i. 127 above.
672. To wife. For wife. Cf. Shakespeare, Temp. ii. 1. 75: "such a paragon to their queen;" Rich. II. iv. 1. 306: "I have a king here to my flatterer," etc. See also Matt. iii. 9, Luke, iii. 8, etc.
674. Enow. The old plural of enough; as in Shakespeare, Hen. V. iv. 1. 240: "we have French quarrels enow," etc.
678. The Links of Forth. The windings of the Forth between Stirling and Alloa.
679. Stirling's porch. The gate of Stirling Castle.
683. Blench. Start, shrink.
685. Heat. Misprinted "heart" in many eds.
690. From pathless glen. The MS. has "from hill and glen."
692. There are who have. For the ellipsis, cf. Shakespeare, Temp. ii. 1. 262: "There be that can rule Naples," etc. See also iii. 10 below.
694. That beetled o'er. Cf. Hamlet, i. 2. 68:
"the dreadful summit of the cliff That beetles o'er his base into the sea."
696. Their dangerous dream. The MS. has "their desperate dream."
702. Battled. Battlemented; as in vi. 7 below.
703. It waved. That it waved; an ellipsis very common in Elizabethan and earlier English. Cf. 789 below.
708. Astound. Astounded. This contraction of the participle (here used for the sake of the rhyme) was formerly not uncommon in verbs ending in d and t. Thus in Shakespeare we find the participles bloat (Ham. iii. 4. 182), enshield (M. for M. ii. 4. 80), taint (1 Hen. VI. v. 3. 183), etc. Astound (= dark, black) in Hamlet, i. 2. 68 ("thy nighted colour") is an adjective formed from the noun night.
710. Crossing. Conflicting.
716. Ere. The 1st ed. misprints "e'er."
731. Level. Aim; formerly a technical term. Cf. 2 Hen. IV. iii. 2. 286: "The foeman may with as great aim level at the edge of a penknife," etc.
747. Nighted. Benighted. It is to be regarded as a contraction of that word; like lated for belated in Macbeth, iii. 3. 6, etc. Nighted (= dark, black) in Hamlet, i. 2. 68 ("thy nighted colour") is an adjective formed from the noun night.
757. Checkered shroud. Tartain plaid. The original meaning of shroud (see Wb.) was garment.
763. Parting. Departing. See on 94 above.
768. So deep, etc. According to Lockhart, the MS. reads:
"The deep-toned anguish of despair Flushed, in fierce jealousy, to air;"
but we suspect that "Flushed" should be "Flashed."
774. So lately. At the "Beltane game" (319 above).
781. Thus as they strove, etc. The MS. reads:
"Thus, as they strove, each better hand Grasped for the dagger or the brand."
786. I hold, etc. Scott has the following note on the last page of the 1st ed.: "The author has to apologize for the inadvertent appropriation of a whole line from the tragedy of Douglas: 'I hold the first who strikes my foe.'"
789. His daughter's hand, etc. For the ellipsis of that, see on 703 above. Deemed is often misprinted "doomed."
791. Sullen and slowly, etc. The MS. reads:
"Sullen and slow the rivals bold Loosed at his hest their desperate hold, But either still on other glared," etc.
795. Brands. A pet word with Scott. Note how often it has been used already in the poem.
798. As faltered. See on 601 above.
801. Pity 't were, etc. Scott says here: "Hardihood was in every respect so essential to the character of a Highlander, that the reproach of effeminacy was the most bitter which could be thrown upon him. Yet it was sometimes hazarded on what we might presume to think slight grounds. It is reported of old Sir Ewen Cameron of Lochiel, when upwards of seventy, that he was surprised by night on a hunting or military expedition. He wrapped him in his plaid, and lay contentedly down upon the snow, with which the ground happened to be covered. Among his attendants, who were preparing to take their rest in the same manner, he observed that one of his grandsons, for his better accommodation, had rolled a large snow-ball, and placed it below his head. The wrath of the ancient chief was awakened by a symptom of what he conceived to be degenerate luxury. 'Out upon thee,' said he, kicking the frozen bolster from the head which it supported, 'art thou so effeminate as to need a pillow?' The officer of engineers, whose curious Letters from the Highlands have been more than once quoted, tells a similar story of Macdonald of Keppoch, and subjoins the following remarks: 'This and many other stories are romantick; but there is one thing, that at first thought might seem very romantick, of which I have been credibly assured, that when the Highlanders are constrained to lie among the hills, in cold dry weather, they sometimes soak the plaid in some river or burn (i.e. brook), and then holding up a corner of it a little above their heads, they turn themselves round and round, till they are enveloped by the whole mantle. They then lay themselves down on the heath, upon the leeward side of some hill, where the wet and the warmth of their bodies make a steam, like that of a boiling kettle. The wet, they say, keeps them warm by thickening the stuff, and keeping the wind from penetrating. I must confess I should have been apt to question this fact, had I not frequently seen them wet from morning to night, and, even at the beginning of the rain, not so much as stir a few yards to shelter, but continue in it without necessity, till they were, as we say, wet through and through. And that is soon effected by the looseness and spunginess of the plaiding; but the bonnet is frequently taken off, and wrung like a dishclout, and then put on again. They have been accustomed from their infancy to be often wet, and to take the water like spaniels, and this is become a second nature, and can scarcely be called a hardship to them, insomuch that I used to say, they seemed to be of the duck kind, and to love water as well. Though I never saw this preparation for sleep in windy weather, yet, setting out early in a morning from one of the huts, I have seen the marks of their lodging, where the ground has been free from rime or snow, which remained all round the spot where they had lain. And that is soon effected by the looseness and spunginess of the plaiding; but the bonnet is frequently taken off, and wrung like a dishclout, and then put on again. They have been accustomed from their infancy to be often wet, and to take the water like spaniels, and this is become a second nature, and can scarcely be called a hardship to them, insomuch that I used to say, they seemed to be of the duck kind, and to love water as well. Though I never saw this preparation for sleep in windy weather, yet, setting out early in a morning from one of the huts, I have seen the marks of their lodging, where the ground has been free from rime or snow, which remained all round the spot where they had lain' (Letters from Scotland, Lond. 1754, 8vo, ii. p. 108)."
809. His henchman. Scott quotes again the Letters from Scotland (ii. 159): "This officer is a sort of secretary, and is to be ready, upon all occasions, to venture his life in defence of his master; and at drinking-bouts he stands behind his seat, at his haunch, from whence his title is derived, and watches the conversation, to see if any one offends his patron. An English officer being in company with a certain chieftain, and several other Highland gentlemen, near Killichumen, had an argument with the great man; and both being well warmed with usky [whisky], at last the dispute grew very hot. A youth who was henchman, not understanding one word of English, imagined his chief was insulted, and thereupon drew his pistol from his side, and snapped it at the officer's head; but the pistol missed fire, otherwise it is more than probable he might have suffered death from the hand of that little vermin. But it is very disagreeable to an Englishman over a bottle with the Highlanders, to see every one of them have his gilly, that is, his servant, standing behind him all the while, let what will be the subject of conversation. An English officer being in company with a certain chieftain, and several other Highland gentlemen, near Killichumen, had an argument with the great man; and both being well warmed with usky [whisky], at last the dispute grew very hot. A youth who was henchman, not understanding one word of English, imagined his chief was insulted, and thereupon drew his pistol from his side, and snapped it at the officer's head; but the pistol missed fire, otherwise it is more than probable he might have suffered death from the hand of that little vermin. But it is very disagreeable to an Englishman over a bottle with the Highlanders, to see every one of them have his gilly, that is, his servant, standing behind him all the while, let what will be the subject of conversation."
829. On the morn. Modifying should circle, not the nearer verb had sworn.
831. The Fiery Cross. See on iii. 18 below.
846. Point. Point out, appoint. Cf. Shakespeare, Sonn. 14. 6:
"Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell, Pointing to each his thunder, rain, and wind."
The word in this and similar passages is generally printed "'point" by modern editors, but it is not a contraction of appoint.
860. Then plunged, etc. The MS. has "He spoke, and plunged into the tide."
862. Steered him. See on i. 142 above.
865, 866. Darkening... gave. In the 1st ed. these lines are joined to what precedes, as they evidently should be; in all the more recent eds. they are joined to what follows.
Canto Third.
3. Store. See on i. 548 above.
5. That be. in old English, besides the present tense am, etc., there was also this form be, from the Anglo-Saxon beon. The 2d person singular was beest. The 1st and 3d person plural be is often found in Shakespeare and the Bible.
10. Yet live there still, etc. See on ii. 692 above.
15. What time. Cf. ii. 307 above.
17. The gathering sound. The sound, or signal, for the gathering. The phrase illustrates the difference between the participle and the verbal noun (or whatever it may be called) in -ing. Cf. "a laboring man" and "a laboring day" (Julius Caesar, i. 1. 4); and see our ed. of J. C. p. 126.
For continuity only — this is the END of the previous section, already translated. Do NOT translate it again and do NOT repeat it in your output. Match its names, terminology and register: --- Yet not less purely felt the flame;-- O, need I tell that passion's name? XX. Der Jäger war beeindruckt von ihrer Schönheit, Und fragte sie nach dem Weg. Sie lächelte und antwortete, Dass sie ihn zu ihrem Vater führen würde. „Aber warum trägst du einen Pflasterverband über deinem Auge?“, fragte sie. „Das ist eine lange Geschichte“, antwortete er, „Die ich dir erzählen werde, wenn wir ankommen.“ Dann half er ihr, an Land zu gehen, Und sie gingen zusammen zum Schloss. ---
18. The Fiery Cross. Scott says here: "When a chieftain designed to summon his clan, upon any sudden or important emergency, he slew a goat, and making a cross of any light wood, seared its extremities in the fire, and extinguished them in the blood of the animal. This was called the Fiery Cross, also Crean Tarigh, or the Cross of Shame, because disobedience to what the symbol implied, inferred infamy. It was delivered to a swift and trusty messenger, who ran full speed with it to the next hamlet, where he presented it to the principal person, with a single word, implying the place of rendezvous. He who received the symbol was bound to send it forward, with equal despatch, to the next village; and thus it passed with incredible celerity through all the district which owed allegiance to the chief, and also among his allies and neighbours, if the danger was common to them. At sight of the Fiery Cross, every man, from sixteen years old to sixty, capable of bearing arms, was obliged instantly to repair, in his best arms and accoutrements, to the place of rendezvous. He who failed to appear suffered the extremities of fire and sword, which were emblematically denounced to the disobedient by the bloody and burnt marks upon this warlike signal. During the civil war of 1745-6, the Fiery Cross often made its circuit; and upon one occasion it passed through the whole district of Breadalbane, a tract of thirty-two miles, in three hours. The late Alexander Stewart, Esq., of Invernahyle, described to me his having sent round the Fiery Cross through the district of Appine, during the same commotion. The coast was threatened by a descent from two English trigates, and the flower of the young men were with the army of Prince Charles Edward, then in England; yet the summons was so effectual that even old age and childhood obeyed it; and a force was collected in a few hours, so numerous and so enthusiastic, that all attempt at the intended diversion upon the country of the absent warriors was in prudence abandoned, as desperate."
19. The Summer dawn's reflected hue, etc. Mr. Ruskin says (Modern Painters, iii. 278): "And thus Nature becomes dear to Scott in a threefold way: dear to him, first, as containing those remains or memories of the past, which he cannot find in cities, and giving hope of Praetorian mound or knight's grave in every green slope and shade of its desolate places; dear, secondly, in its moorland liberty, which has for him just as high a charm as the fenced garden had for the mediaeval;... and dear to him, finally, in that perfect beauty, denied alike in cities and in men, for which every modern heart had begun at last to thirst, and Scott's, in its freshness and power, of all men's most earnestly.
"And in this love of beauty, observe that the love of colour is a leading element, his healthy mind being incapable of losing, under any modern false teaching, its joy in brilliancy of hue. ... In general, if he does not mean to say much about things, the one character which he will give is colour, using it with the most perfect mastery and faithfulness."
After giving many illustrations of Scott's use of colour in his poetry, Ruskin quotes the present passage, which he says is "still more interesting, because it has no form in it at all except in one word (chalice), but wholly composes its imagery either of colour, or of that delicate half-believed life which we have seen to be so important an element in modern landscape."
"Two more considerations," he adds, "are, however, suggested by the above passage. The first, that the love of natural history, excited by the continual attention now given to all wild landscape, heightens reciprocally the interest of that landscape, and becomes an important element in Scott's description, leading him to finish, down to the minutest speckling of breast, and slightest shade of attributed emotion, the portraiture of birds and animals; in strange opposition to Homer's slightly named 'sea-crows, who have care of the works of the sea,' and Dante's singing-birds, of undefined species. Compare carefully the 2d and 3d stanzas of Rokeby.
"The second point I have to note is Scott's habit of drawing a slight moral from every scene,... and that this slight moral is almost always melancholy. Here he has stopped short without entirely expressing it:
"The mountain-shadows.. ..................... lie Like future joys to Fancy's eye.'
His completed thought would be, that these future joys, like the mountain-shadows, were never to be attained. It occurs fully uttered in many other places. He seems to have been constantly rebuking his own worldly pride and vanity, but never purposefully:
'The foam-globes on her eddies ride, Thick as the schemes of human pride That down life's current drive amain, As frail, as frothy, and as vain.'"
Ruskin adds, among other illustrations, the reference to "foxglove and nightshade" in i. 218, 219 above.
28. Like future joys, etc. This passage, quoted by Ruskin above, also illustrates what is comparatively rare in figurative language--taking the immaterial to exemplify the material. The latter is constantly used to symbolize or elucidate the former; but one would have to search long in our modern poetry to find a dozen instances where, as here, the relation is reversed. Cf. 639 below. We have another example in the second passage quoted by Ruskin. Cf. also Tennyson's
"thousand wreaths of dangling water-smoke, That like a broken purpose waste in air;"
and Shelly's
"Our boat is asleep on Serchio's stream; Its sails are folded like thoughts in a dream."
30. Reared. The 1st ed. has "oped."
32. After this line the MS. has the couplet,
"Invisible in fleecy cloud, The lark sent down her matins loud,"
which reappears in altered form below.
33. Gray mist. The MS. has "light mist."
38. Good-morrow gave, etc. Cf. Byron, Childe Harold:
"and the bills Of summer-birds sing welcome as ye pass."
39. Cushat dove. Ring-dove.
46. His impatient blade. Note the "transferred epithet." It is not the blade that is impatient.
47. Beneath a rock, etc. The MS. reads:
"Hard by, his vassals' early care The mystic ritual prepare."
50. Antiquity. The men of old; "the abstract for the concrete."
59. With her broad shadow, etc. Cf. Longfellow, Maidenhood:
"Seest thou shadows sailing by, As the dove, with startled eye, Sees the falcon's shadow fly?"
62. Rowan. The mountain-ash.
71. That monk, of savage form and face. Scott says here: "The state of religion in the middle ages afforded considerable facilities for those whose mode of life excluded them from regular worship, to secure, nevertheless, the ghostly assistance of confessors, perfectly willing to adapt the nature of their doctrine to the necessities and peculiar circumstances of their flock. Robin Hood, it is well known, had his celebrated domestic chaplain Friar Tuck. And that same curtal friar was probably matched in manners and appearance by the ghostly fathers of the Tynedale robbers, who are thus described in an excommunication fulminated against their patrons by Richard Fox, Bishop of Durham, tempore Henrici VIII.: 'We have further understood, that there are many chaplains in the said territories of Tynedale and Redesdale, who are public and open maintainers of concubinage, irregular, suspended, excommunicated, and interdicted persons, and withal so utterly ignorant of letters, that it has been found by those who objected this to them, that there were some who, having celebrated mass for ten years, were still unable to read the sacramental service. We have also understood there are persons among them who, although not ordained, do take upon them the offices of priesthood, and, in contempt of God, celebrate the divine and sacred rites, and administer the sacraments, not only in sacred and dedicated places, but in those which are prophane and interdicted, and most wretchedly ruinous, they themselves being attired in ragged, torn, and most filthy vestments, altogether unfit to be used in divine, or even in temporal offices. The which said chaplains do administer sacraments and sacramental rites to the aforesaid manifest and infamous thieves, robbers, depredators, receivers of stolen goods, and plunderers, and that without restitution, or intention to restore, as evinced by the act; and do also openly admit them to the rites of ecclesiastical sepulchre, without exacting security for restitution, although they are prohibited from doing so by the sacred canons, as well as by the institutes of the saints and fathers. All which infers the heavy peril of their own souls, and is a pericious example to the other believers in Christ, as well as no slight, but an aggravated injury, to the numbers despoiled and plundered of their goods, gear, herds, and chattels.'"
74. Benharrow. A mountain near the head of Loch Lomond.
77. Brook. See on i. 566 above.
81. The hallowed creed. The Christian creed, as distinguished from heathen lore. The MS. has "While the blest creed," etc.
85. Bound. That is, of his haunts.
87. Glen or strath. A glen is the deep and narrow valley of a small stream, a strath the broader one of a river.
89. He prayed, etc. The MS. reads:
"He prayed, with many a cross between, And terror took devotion's mien."
91. Of Brian's birth, etc. Scott says that the legend which follows is not of his invention, and goes on to show that it is taken with slight variation from "the geographical collections made by the Laird of Macfarlane."
102. Bucklered. Served as a buckler to, shielded.
114. Snood. Cf. i. 363 above. Scott has the following note here: "The snood, or riband, with which as Scottish lass braided her hair, had an emblematical signification, and applied to her maiden character. It was exchanged for the curch, toy, or coif, when she passed, by marriage, into the matron state. But if the damsel was so unfortunate as to lose pretensions to the name of maiden, without gaining a right to that of matron, she was neither permitted to use the snood, nor advanced to the graver dignity of the curch. In old Scottish songs there occur many sly allusions to such misfortune; as in the old words to the popular tune of 'Ower the muir amang the heather:'
'Down amang the broom, the broom, Down amang the broom, my dearie, The lassie lost her silken snood, That gard her greet till she was wearie.'"
120. Or... or. For either... or, as often in poetry.
131. Till, frantic, etc. The MS. reads:
"Till, driven to frenzy, he believed The legend of his birth received."
136. The cloister. Here personified as feminine.
138. Sable-lettered. "Black-letter;" the technical term for the "old English" form of letter, used in the earliest English manuscripts and books.
142. Cabala. Mysteries. For the original meaning of the word, see Wb.
144. Curious. Inquisitive, prying into hidden things.
148. Hid him. See on i. 142 above.
149. The desert gave him, etc. Scott says here: "In adopting the legend concerning the birth of the Founder of the Church of Kilmallie, the author has endeavored to trace the effects which such a belief was likely to produce, in a barbarous age, on the person to whom it related. It seems likely that he must have become a fanatic or an impostor, or that mixture of both which forms a more frequent character than either of them, as existing separately. In truth, mad persons are frequently more anxious to impress upon others a faith in their visions, than they are themselves confirmed in their reality; as, on the other hand, it is difficult for the most cool-headed impostor long to personate an enthusiast, without in some degree believing what he is so eager to have believed. It was a natural attribute of such a character as the supposed hermit, that he should credit the numerous superstitions with which the minds of ordinary Highlanders are almost always imbued. A few of these are slightly alluded to in this stanza. The River Demon, or River-horse, for it is that form which he commonly assumes, is the Kelpy of the Lowlands, an evil and malicious spirit, delighting to forebode and to witness calamity. He frequents most Highland lakes and rivers; and one of his most memorable exploits was performed upon the banks of Loch Vennachar, in the very district which forms the scene of our action: it consisted in the destruction of a funeral procession, with all its attendants. The 'noontide hag,' called in Gaelic Glas-lich, a tall, emaciated, gigantic female figure, is supposed in particular to haunt the district of Knoidart. A goblin dressed in antique armor, and having one hand covered with blood, called, from that circumstance, Lham-dearg, or Red-hand, is a tenant of the forests of Glenmore and Rothiemurcus. Other spirits of the desert, all frightful in shape and malignant in disposition, are believed to frequent different mountains and glens of the Highlands, where any unusual appearance, produced by mist, or the strange lights that are sometimes thrown upon particular objects, never fails to present an apparition to the imagination of the solitary and melancholy mountaineer."
161. Mankind. Accented on the first syllable; as it is almost invariably in Shakespeare, except in Timon of Athens, where the modern accent prevails. Milton uses either accent, as suits the measure. We find both in P. L. viii. 358: "Above mankind, or aught than mankind higher."
166. Alpine's. Some eds. misprint "Alpine;" also "horsemen" in 172 below.
168. The fatal Ben-Shie's boding scream. The MS. reads:
"The fatal Ben-Shie's dismal scream, And seen her wrinkled form, the sign Of woe and death to Alpine's line."
Scott has the following note here: "Most great families in the Highlands were supposed to have a tutelar, or rather a domestic, spirit, attached to them, who took an interest in their prosperity, and intimated, by its wailings, any approaching disaster. That of Grant of Grant was called May Moullach, and appeared in the form of a girl, who had her arm covered with hair. Grant of Rothiemurcus had an attendant called Bodach-an-dun, or the Ghost of the Hill; and many other examples might be mentioned. The Ben-Shie implies the female fairy whose lamentations were often supposed to precede the death of a chieftain of particular families. When she is visible, it is in the form of an old woman, with a blue mantle and streaming hair. A superstition of the same kind is, I believe, universally received by the inferior ranks of the native Irish.
"The death of the head of a Highland family is also sometimes supposed to be announced by a chain of lights of different colours, called Dr'eug, or death of the Druid. The direction which it takes marks the place of the funeral." [See the Essay on Fairy Superstitions in Scott's Border Minstrelsy.]
169. Sounds, too, had come, etc. Scott says: "A presage of the kind alluded to in the text, is still believed to announce death to the ancient Highland family of M'Lean of Lochbuy. The spirit of an ancestor slain in battle is heard to gallop along a stony bank, and then to ride thrice around the family residence, ringing his fairy bridle, and thus intimating the approaching calamity. How easily the eye as well as the ear may be deceived upon such occasions, is evident from the stories of armies in the air, and other spectral phenomena with which history abounds. Such an apparition is said to have been witnessed upon the side of Southfell mountain, between Penrith and Keswick, upon the 23d June, 1744, by two persons, William Lancaster of Blakehills, and Daniel Stricket his servant, whose attestation to the fact, with a full account of the apparition, dated the 21st of July, 1745, is printed in Clarke's Survey of the Lakes. The apparition consisted of several troops of horse moving in regular order, with a steady rapid motion, making a curved sweep around the fell, and seeming to the spectators to disappear over the ridge of the mountain. Many persons witnessed this phenomenon, and observed the last, or last but one, of the supposed troop, occasionally leave his rank, and pass, at a gallop, to the front, when he resumed the steady pace. The curious appearance, making the necessary allowance for imagination, may be perhaps sufficiently accounted for by optical deception."
171. Shingly. Gravelly, pebbly.
173. Thunderbolt. The 1st ed. has "thunder too."
188. Framed. The reading of the 1st ed.; commonly misprinted "formed," which occurs in 195.
190. Limbs. The 1st ed. has "limb."
191. Inch-Cailliach. Scott says: "Inch-Cailliach, the Isle of Nuns, or of Old Women, is a most beautiful island at the lower extremity of Loch Lomond. The church belonging to the former nunnery was long used as the place of worship for the parish of Buchanan, but scarce any vestiges of it now remain. The burial-ground continues to be used, and contains the family places of sepulture of several neighboring clans. The monuments of the lairds of Macgregor, and of other families claiming a descent from the old Scottish King Alpine, are most remarkable. The Highlanders are as zealous of their rights of sepulture as may be expected from a people whose whole laws and government, if clanship can be called so, turned upon the single principle of family descent. 'May his ashes be scattered on the water,' was one of the deepest and most solemn imprecations which they used against an enemy." [See a detailed description of the funeral ceremonies of a Highland chieftain in the Fair Maid of Perth.]
203. Dwelling low. That is, burial-place.
207. Each clansman's execration, etc. The MS. reads:
"Our warriors, on his worthless bust, Shall speak disgrace and woe;"
and below:
"Their clattering targets hardly strook; And first they muttered low."
212. Stook. One of the old forms of struck. In the early eds. of Shakespeare, we find struck, stroke, and strook (or strooke) for the past tense, and all these, together with stricken, strucken, stroken, and strooken, for the participle. Cf. Milton, Hymn of Nativity, 95:
"When such music sweet Their hearts and ears did greet As never was by mortal finger strook;"
where, as here, it used for the sake of the rhyme.
214. Then, like the billow, etc. The repetition of the same rhyme here gives well the cumulative effect of the rising billow.
217. Burst, with load roar. See on i. 73 above; and cf. 227 below.
228. Holiest name. The MS. has "holy name."
245. Mingled with childhood's babbling trill, etc. "The whole of this stanza is very impressive; the mingling of the children's curses is the climax of horror. Note the meaning of the triple curse. The cross is of ancestral yew--the defaulter is cut off from communion with his clan; it is sealed in the fire--the fire shall destroy his dwelling; it is dipped in blood--his heart's blood is to be shed" (Taylor).
253. Coir-Uriskin. See on 622 below.
255. Beala-nam-bo. "The pass of the cattle," on the other side of Benvenue from the Goblin's Cave; "a magnificent glade, overhung with birch-trees, by which the cattle, taken in forays, were conveyed within the protection of the Trosachs" (Black).
279. This sign. That is, the cross. To all, which we should not expect with bought, was apparently suggested by the antithetical to him in the preceding line; but if all the editions did not read bought, we might suspect that Scott wrote brought.
281. The murmur, etc. The MS. has "The slowly muttered deep Amen."
286. The muster-place, etc. The MS. reads "Murlagan is the spot decreed."
Lanrick Mead is a meadow at the northwestern end of Loch Vennachar.
For continuity only — this is the END of the previous section, already translated. Do NOT translate it again and do NOT repeat it in your output. Match its names, terminology and register: --- not less purely felt the flame;-- O, need I tell that passion's name? XX. Der Jäger war beeindruckt von ihrer Schönheit, Und fragte sie nach dem Weg. Sie lächelte und antwortete, Dass sie ihn zu ihrem Vater führen würde. „Aber warum trägst du einen Pflasterverband über deinem Auge?“, fragte sie. „Das ist eine lange Geschichte“, antwortete er, „Die ich dir erzählen werde, wenn wir ankommen.“ Dann half er ihr, an Land zu gehen, Und sie gingen zusammen zum Schloss. ---
"Revenge! revenge!" the Saxons cried, The Gaels' exulting shout replied. Despite the elemental rage, Again they hurried to engage; But, ere they closed in desperate fight, Bloody with spurring came a knight, Sprung from his horse, and from a crag Waved 'twixt the hosts a milk-white flag. Clarion and trumpet by his side Rung forth a truce-note high and wide, While, in the Monarch's name, afar A herald's voice forbade the war, For Bothwell's lord and Roderick bold Were both, he said, in captive hold.'-- But here the lay made sudden stand, The harp escaped the Minstrel's hand! Oft had he stolen a glance, to spy How Roderick brooked his minstrelsy: At first, the Chieftain, to the chime, With lifted hand kept feeble time; That motion ceased,--yet feeling strong Varied his look as changed the song; At length, no more his deafened ear The minstrel melody can hear; His face grows sharp,--his hands are clenched' As if some pang his heart-strings wrenched; Set are his teeth, his fading eye Is sternly fixed on vacancy; Thus, motionless and moanless, drew His parting breath stout Roderick Dhu!-- Old Allan-bane looked on aghast, While grim and still his spirit passed; But when he saw that life was fled, He poured his wailing o'er the dead.
Lament.
'And art thou cold and lowly laid, Thy foeman's dread, thy people's aid, Breadalbane's boast, Clan-Alpine's shade! For thee shall none a requiem say?-- For thee, who loved the minstrel's lay, For thee, of Bothwell's house the stay, The shelter of her exiled line, E'en in this prison-house of thine, I'll wail for Alpine's honored Pine!
'What groans shall yonder valleys fill! What shrieks of grief shall rend yon hill! What tears of burning rage shall thrill, When mourns thy tribe thy battles done, Thy fall before the race was won, Thy sword ungirt ere set of sun! There breathes not clansman of thy line, But would have given his life for thine. O, woe for Alpine's honoured Pine!
'Sad was thy lot on mortal stage!-- The captive thrush may brook the cage, The prisoned eagle dies for rage. Brave spirit, do not scorn my strain! And, when its notes awake again, Even she, so long beloved in vain, Shall with my harp her voice combine, And mix her woe and tears with mine, To wail Clan-Alpine's honoured Pine.'
Ellen the while, with bursting heart, Remained in lordly bower apart, Where played, with many-coloured gleams, Through storied pane the rising beams. In vain on gilded roof they fall, And lightened up a tapestried wall, And for her use a menial train A rich collation spread in vain. The banquet proud, the chamber gay, Scarce drew one curious glance astray; Or if she looked, 't was but to say, With better omen dawned the day In that lone isle, where waved on high The dun-deer's hide for canopy; Where oft her noble father shared The simple meal her care prepared, While Lufra, crouching by her side, Her station claimed with jealous pride, And Douglas, bent on woodland game, Spoke of the chase to Malcolm Graeme, Whose answer, oft at random made, The wandering of his thoughts betrayed. Those who such simple joys have known Are taught to prize them when they 're gone. But sudden, see, she lifts her head; The window seeks with cautious tread. What distant music has the power To win her in this woful hour? 'T was from a turret that o'erhung Her latticed bower, the strain was sung.
Lay of the Imprisoned Huntsman.
'My hawk is tired of perch and hood, My idle greyhound loathes his food, My horse is weary of his stall, And I am sick of captive thrall. I wish I were as I have been, Hunting the hart in forest green, With bended bow and bloodhound free, For that's the life is meet for me.
I hate to learn the ebb of time From yon dull steeple's drowsy chime, Or mark it as the sunbeams crawl, Inch after inch, along the wall. The lark was wont my matins ring, The sable rook my vespers sing; These towers, although a king's they be, Have not a hall of joy for me.
No more at dawning morn I rise, And sun myself in Ellen's eyes, Drive the fleet deer the forest through, And homeward wend with evening dew; A blithesome welcome blithely meet, And lay my trophies at her feet, While fled the eve on wing of glee,-- That life is lost to love and me!'
The heart-sick lay was hardly said, The listener had not turned her head, It trickled still, the starting tear, When light a footstep struck her ear, And Snowdoun's graceful Knight was near. She turned the hastier, lest again The prisoner should renew his strain. 'O welcome, brave Fitz-James!' she said; 'How may an almost orphan maid Pay the deep debt--' 'O say not so! To me no gratitude you owe. Not mine, alas! the boon to give, And bid thy noble father live; I can but be thy guide, sweet maid, With Scotland's King thy suit to aid. No tyrant he, though ire and pride May lay his better mood aside. Come, Ellen, come! 'tis more than time, He holds his court at morning prime.' With heating heart, and bosom wrung, As to a brother's arm she clung. Gently he dried the falling tear, And gently whispered hope and cheer; Her faltering steps half led, half stayed, Through gallery fair and high arcade, Till at his touch its wings of pride A portal arch unfolded wide.
Within 't was brilliant all and light, A thronging scene of figures bright; It glowed on Ellen's dazzled sight, As when the setting sun has given Ten thousand hues to summer even, And from their tissue fancy frames Aerial knights and fairy dames. Still by Fitz-James her footing staid; A few faint steps she forward made, Then slow her drooping head she raised, And fearful round the presence gazed; For him she sought who owned this state, The dreaded Prince whose will was fate!-- She gazed on many a princely port Might well have ruled a royal court; On many a splendid garb she gazed,-- Then turned bewildered and amazed, For all stood bare; and in the room Fitz-James alone wore cap and plume. To him each lady's look was lent, On him each courtier's eye was bent; Midst furs and silks and jewels sheen, He stood, in simple Lincoln green, The centre of the glittering ring,-- And Snowdoun's Knight is Scotland's King!
As wreath of snow on mountain-breast Slides from the rock that gave it rest, Poor Ellen glided from her stay, And at the Monarch's feet she lay; No word her choking voice commands,-- She showed the ring,--she clasped her hands. O, not a moment could he brook, The generous Prince, that suppliant look! Gently he raised her,--and, the while, Checked with a glance the circle's smile; Graceful, but grave, her brow he kissed, And bade her terrors be dismissed:-- 'Yes, fair; the wandering poor Fitz-James The fealty of Scotland claims. To him thy woes, thy wishes, bring; He will redeem his signet ring. Ask naught for Douglas;--yester even, His Prince and he have much forgiven; Wrong hath he had from slanderous tongue, I, from his rebel kinsmen, wrong. We would not, to the vulgar crowd, Yield what they craved with clamor loud; Calmly we heard and judged his cause, Our council aided and our laws. I stanched thy father's death-feud stern With stout De Vaux and gray Glencairn; And Bothwell's Lord henceforth we own The friend and bulwark of our throne.-- But, lovely infidel, how now? What clouds thy misbelieving brow? Lord James of Douglas, lend thine aid; Thou must confirm this doubting maid.'
Then forth the noble Douglas sprung, And on his neck his daughter hung. The Monarch drank, that happy hour, The sweetest, holiest draught of Power,-- When it can say with godlike voice, Arise, sad Virtue, and rejoice! Yet would not James the general eye On nature's raptures long should pry; He stepped between--' Nay, Douglas, nay, Steal not my proselyte away! The riddle 'tis my right to read, That brought this happy chance to speed. Yes, Ellen, when disguised I stray In life's more low but happier way, 'Tis under name which veils my power Nor falsely veils,--for Stirling's tower Of yore the name of Snowdoun claims, And Normans call me James Fitz-James. Thus watch I o'er insulted laws, Thus learn to right the injured cause.' Then, in a tone apart and low,-- 'Ah, little traitress! none must know What idle dream, what lighter thought What vanity full dearly bought, Joined to thine eye's dark witchcraft, drew My spell-bound steps to Benvenue In dangerous hour, and all but gave Thy Monarch's life to mountain glaive!' Aloud he spoke: 'Thou still dost hold That little talisman of gold, Pledge of my faith, Fitz-James's ring,-- What seeks fair Ellen of the King?'
Full well the conscious maiden guessed He probed the weakness of her breast; But with that consciousness there came A lightening of her fears for Graeme, And more she deemed the Monarch's ire Kindled 'gainst him who for her sire Rebellious broadsword boldly drew; And, to her generous feeling true, She craved the grace of Roderick Dhu. 'Forbear thy suit;--the King of kings Alone can stay life's parting wings. I know his heart, I know his hand, Have shared his cheer, and proved his brand; My fairest earldom would I give To bid Clan-Alpine's Chieftain live!-- Hast thou no other boon to crave? No other captive friend to save?' Blushing, she turned her from the King, And to the Douglas gave the ring, As if she wished her sire to speak The suit that stained her glowing cheek. 'Nay, then, my pledge has lost its force, And stubborn justice holds her course. Malcolm, come forth!'--and, at the word, Down kneeled the Graeme to Scotland's Lord. 'For thee, rash youth, no suppliant sues, From thee may Vengeance claim her dues, Who, nurtured underneath our smile, Hast paid our care by treacherous wile, And sought amid thy faithful clan A refuge for an outlawed man, Dishonoring thus thy loyal name.-- Fetters and warder for the Graeme!' His chain of gold the King unstrung, The links o'er Malcolm's neck he flung, Then gently drew the glittering band, And laid the clasp on Ellen's hand.
Harp of the North, farewell! The hills grow dark, On purple peaks a deeper shade descending; In twilight copse the glow-worm lights her spark, The deer, half seen, are to the covert wending. Resume thy wizard elm! the fountain lending, And the wild breeze, thy wilder minstrelsy; Thy numbers sweet with nature's vespers blending, With distant echo from the fold and lea, And herd-boy's evening pipe, and hum of housing bee.
Yet, once again, farewell, thou Minstrel Harp! Yet, once again, forgive my feeble sway, And little reck I of the censure sharp May idly cavil at an idle lay. Much have I owed thy strains on life's long way, Through secret woes the world has never known, When on the weary night dawned wearier day, And bitterer was the grief devoured alone.-- That I o'erlive such woes, Enchantress! is thine own.
Hark! as my lingering footsteps slow retire, Some Spirit of the Air has waked thy string! 'Tis now a seraph bold, with touch of fire, 'Tis now the brush of Fairy's frolic wing. Receding now, the dying numbers ring Fainter and fainter down the rugged dell; And now the mountain breezes scarcely bring A wandering witch-note of the distant spell-- And now, 'tis silent all!--Enchantress, fare thee well!
ABBREVIATIONS USED IN THE NOTES.
Cf. (confer), compare. F.Q., Spenser's Faerie Queene. Fol., following. Id. (idem), the same. Lockhart, J. G. Lockhart's edition of Scott's poems (various issues). P.L., Milton's Paradise Lost. Taylor, R. W. Taylor's edition of The Lady of the Lake (London, 1875). Wb., Webster's Dictionary (revised quarto edition of 1879). Worc., Worcester's Dictionary (quarto edition). The abbreviations of the names of Shakespeare's plays will be readily understood. The line-numbers are those of the "Globe" edition.
The references to Scott's Lay of the Last Minstrel are to canto and line; those to Marmion and other poems to canto and stanza.
NOTES.
Introduction.
The Lady of the Lake was first published in 1810, when Scott was thirty-nine, and it was dedicated to "the most noble John James, Marquis of Abercorn." Eight thousand copies were sold between June 2d and September 22d, 1810, and repeated editions were subsequently called for. In 1830, the following "Introduction" was prefixed to the poem by the author:--
After the success of Marmion, I felt inclined to exclaim with Ulysses in the Odyssey:
[Greek Letters] Odys. X. 5.
"One venturous game my hand has won to-day-- Another, gallants, yet remains to play."
The ancient manners, the habits and customs of the aboriginal race by whom the Highlands of Scotland were inhabited, had always appeared to me peculiarly adapted to poetry. The change in their manners, too, had taken place almost within my own time, or at least I had learned many particulars concerning the ancient state of the Highlands from the old men of the last generation. I had always thought the old Scottish Gael highly adapted for poetical composition. The feuds and political dissensions which, half a century earlier, would have rendered the richer and wealthier part of the kingdom indisposed to countenance a poem, the scene of which was laid in the Highlands, were now sunk in the generous compassion which the English, more than any other nation, feel for the misfortunes of an honourable foe. The Poems of Ossian had by their popularity sufficiently shown that, if writings on Highland subjects were qualified to interest the reader, mere national prejudices were, in the present day, very unlikely to interfere with their success.
I had also read a great deal, seen much, and heard more, of that romantic country where I was in the habit of spending some time every autumn; and the scenery of Lock Katrine was connected with the recollection of many a dear friend and merry expedition of former days. This poem, the action of which lay among scenes so beautiful and so deeply imprinted on my recollections, was a labour of love, and it was no less so to recall the manners and incidents introduced. The frequent custom of James IV., and particularly of James V., to walk through their kingdom in disguise, afforded me the hint of an incident which never fails to be interesting if managed with the slightest address or dexterity.
I may now confess, however, that the employment, though attended with great pleasure, was not without its doubts and anxieties. A lady, to whom I was nearly related, and with whom I lived, during her whole life, on the most brotherly terms of affection, was residing with me at the time when the work was in progress, and used to ask me, what I could possibly do to rise so early in the morning (that happening to be the most convenient to me for composition). At last I told her the subject of my meditations; and I can never forget the anxiety and affection expressed in her reply. "Do not be so rash," she said, "my dearest cousin. [2] You are already popular,--more so, perhaps, than you yourself will believe, or than even I, or other partial friends, can fairly allow to your merit. You stand high,--do not rashly attempt to climb higher, and incur the risk of a fall; for, depend upon it, a favourite will not be permitted even to stumble with impunity." I replied to this affectionate expostulation in the words of Montrose,--
"'He either fears his fate too much, Or his deserts are small, Who dares not put it to the touch To gain or lose it all.'
"If I fail," I said, for the dialogue is strong in my recollection, "it is a sign that I ought never to have succeeded, and I will write prose for life: you shall see no change in my temper, nor will I eat a single meal the worse. But if I succeed,
'Up with the bonnie blue bonnet, The dirk, and the feather, and a'!'"
Afterwards I showed my affectionate and anxious critic the first canto of the poem, which reconciled her to my imprudence. Nevertheless, although I answered thus confidently, with the obstinacy often said to be proper to those who bear my surname, I acknowledge that my confidence was considerably shaken by the warning of her excellent taste and unbiased friendship. Nor was I much comforted by her retraction of the unfavourable judgment, when I recollected how likely a natural partiality was to effect that change of opinion. In such cases, affection rises like a light on the canvas, improves any favourable tints which it formerly exhibited, and throws its defects into the shade.
I remember that about the same time a friend started in to "heeze up my hope," like the "sportsman with his cutty gun," in the old song. He was bred a farmer, but a man of powerful understanding, natural good taste, and warm poetical feeling, perfectly competent to supply the wants of an imperfect or irregular education. He was a passionate admirer of field-sports, which we often pursued together.
As this friend happened to dine with me at Ashestiel one day, I took the opportunity of reading to him the first canto of The Lady of the Lake, in order to ascertain the effect the poem was likely to produce upon a person who was but too favourable a representative of readers at large. It is of course to be supposed that I determined rather to guide my opinion by what my friend might appear to feel, than by what he might think fit to say. His reception of my recitation, or prelection, was rather singular. He placed his hand across his brow, and listened with great attention through the whole account of the stag-hunt, till the dogs threw themselves into the lake to follow their master, who embarks with Ellen Douglas. He then started up with a sudden exclamation, struck his hand on the table, and declared, in a voice of censure calculated for the occasion, that the dogs must have been totally ruined by being permitted to take the water after such a severe chase. I own I was much encouraged by the species of revery which had possessed so zealous a follower of the sports of the ancient Nimrod, who had been completely surprised out of all doubts of the reality of the tale. Another of his remarks gave me less pleasure. He detected the identity of the King with the wandering knight, Fitz-James, when he winds his bugle to summon his attendants. He was probably thinking of the lively, but somewhat licentious, old ballad, in which the denouement of a royal intrigue takes place as follows:
"He took a bugle frae his side, He blew both loud and shrill, And four and twenty belted knights Came skipping over the hill; Then he took out a little knife, Let a' his duddies fa', And he was the brawest gentleman That was amang them a'. And we'll go no more a roving," etc.
This discovery, as Mr. Pepys says of the rent in his camlet cloak, was but a trifle, yet it troubled me; and I was at a good deal of pains to efface any marks by which I thought my secret could be traced before the conclusion, when I relied on it with the same hope of producing effect, with which the Irish post-boy is said to reserve a "trot for the avenue."
I took uncommon pains to verify the accuracy of the local circumstances of this story. I recollect, in particular, that to ascertain whether I was telling a probable tale, I went into Perthshire, to see whether King James could actually have ridden from the banks of Loch Vennachar to Stirling Castle within the time supposed in the poem, and had the pleasure to satisfy myself that it was quite practicable.
For continuity only — this is the END of the previous section, already translated. Do NOT translate it again and do NOT repeat it in your output. Match its names, terminology and register: --- not less purely felt the flame;-- O, need I tell that passion's name? XX. Der Jäger war beeindruckt von ihrer Schönheit, Und fragte sie nach dem Weg. Sie lächelte und antwortete, Dass sie ihn zu ihrem Vater führen würde. „Aber warum trägst du einen Pflasterverband über deinem Auge?“, fragte sie. „Das ist eine lange Geschichte“, antwortete er, „Die ich dir erzählen werde, wenn wir ankommen.“ Dann half er ihr, an Land zu gehen, Und sie gingen zusammen zum Schloss. ---
"The Lennox, as the district is called which encircles the lower extremity of Loch Lomond, was peculiarly exposed to the incursions of the mountaineers, who inhabited the inaccessible fastnesses at the upper end of the lake, and the neighboring district of Loch Katrine. These were often marked by circumstances of great ferocity, of which the noted conflict of Glen Fruin is a celebrated instance. This was a clan-battle, in which the Macgregors, headed by Allaster Macgregor, chief of the clan, encountered the sept of Colquhouns, commanded by Sir Humphry Colquhoun of Luss. It is on all hands allowed that the action was desperately fought, and that the Colquhouns were defeated with slaughter, leaving two hundred of their name dead upon the field. But popular tradition has added other horrors to the tale. It is said that Sir Humphry Colquhoun, who was on horseback, escaped to the Castle of Benechra, or Bannochar, and was next day dragged out and murdered by the victorious Macgregors in cold blood. Buchanan of Auchmar, however, speaks of his slaughter as a subsequent event, and as perpetrated by the Macfarlanes. Again, it is reported that the Macgregors murdered a number of youths, whom report of the intended battle had brought to be spectators, and whom the Colquhouns, anxious for their safety, had shut up in a barn to be out of danger. One account of the Macgregors denies this circumstance entirely; another ascribes it to the savage and bloodthirsty disposition of a single individual, the bastard brother of the Laird of Macgregor, who amused himself with this second massacre of the innocents, in express disobedience to the chief, by whom he was left their guardian during the pursuit of the Colquhouns. It is added that Macgregor bitterly lamented this atrocious action, and prophesied the ruin which it must bring upon their ancient clan. ...
"The consequences of the battle of Glen Fruin were very calamitous to the family of Macgregor, who had already been considered as an unruly clan. The widows of the slain Colquhouns, sixty, it is said, in number, appeared in doleful procession before the king at Stirling, each riding upon a white palfrey, and bearing in her hand the bloody shirt of her husband displayed upon a pike. James VI. was so much moved by the complaints of this 'choir of mourning dames,' that he let loose his vengeance against the Macgregors without either bounds or moderation. The very name of the clan was proscribed, and those by whom it had been borne were given up to sword and fire, and absolutely hunted down by bloodhounds like wild beasts. Argyll and the Campbells, on the one hand, Montrose, with the Grahames and Buchanans, on the other, are said to have been the chief instruments in suppressing this devoted clan. The Laird of Macgregor surrendered to the former, on condition that he would take him out of Scottish ground. But, to use Birrel's expression, he kept 'a Highlandman's promise;' and, although he fulfilled his word to the letter, by carrying him as far as Berwick, he afterwards brought him back to Edinburgh, where he was executed with eighteen of his clan (Birrel's Diary, 2d Oct. 1903). The clan Gregor being thus driven to utter despair, seem to have renounced the laws from the benefit of which they were excluded, and their depredations produced new acts of council, confirming the severity of their proscription, which had only the effect of rendering them still more united and desperate. It is a most extraordinary proof of the ardent and invincible spirit of clanship, that notwithstanding the repeated proscriptions providently ordained by the legislature, 'for the timeous preventing the disorders and oppression that may fall out by the said name and clan of Macgregors, and their followers,' they were, in 1715 and 1745, a potent clan, and continue to subsist as a distinct and numerous race."
426. Leven-glen. The valley of the Leven, which connects Loch Lomond with the Clyde.
431. The rosebud. That is, Ellen. "Note how this song connects Allan's forebodings with Roderick's subsequent offer" (Taylor).
444. And chorus wild, etc. The MS. has "The chorus to the chieftain's fame."
476. Weeped. The form is used for the rhyme. Cf. note on i. 500 above.
477. Nor while, etc. The MS. reads:
"Nor while on Ellen's faltering tongue Her filial greetings eager hung, Marked not that awe (affection's proof) Still held yon gentle youth aloof; No! not till Douglas named his name, Although the youth was Malcolm Graeme. Then with flushed cheek and downcast eye, Their greeting was confused and shy."
495. Kerchief. Curch, which is etymologically the same word, and means a covering for the head. Some eds. print "'kerchief," as if the word were a contraction of handkerchief.
508. Muster-place. The 1st ed. has "mustering place;" and in 519 "brooks" for brook.
510. And must he, etc. The MS. reads: "And must he then exchange the hand."
528. Lugnaig's lake. Loch Lubnaig is about four miles long and a mile broad, hemmed in by steep, and rugged mountains. The view of Benledi from the lake is peculiarly grand and impressive.
530. The sickening pang, etc. Cf. The Lord of the Isles, vi. 1: "The heartsick faintness of the hope delayed." See Prov. xiii. 12.
531. And memory, etc. The MS. reads:
"And memory brought the torturing train Of all his morning visions vain; But mingled with impatience came The manly love of martial fame."
541. Brae. The brow or side of a hill.
545. The heath, etc. The metre of the song is the same as that of the poem, the only variation being in the order of the rhymes.
546. Bracken. Fern; "the Pteris aquilina" (Taylor).
553. Fancy now. The MS. has "image now."
561. A time will come, etc. The MS. reads:
"A time will come for love and faith, For should thy bridegroom yield his breath, 'T will cheer him in the hour of death, The boasted right to thee, Mary."
570. Balquidder. A village near the eastern end of Loch Voil, the burial-place of Rob Roy and the scene of many of his exploits. The Braes extend along the north side of the lake and of the Balvaig which flows into it.
Scott says here: "It may be necessary to inform the Southern reader that the heath on the Scottish moorlands is often set fire to, that the sheep may have the advantage of the young herbage produced, in room of the tough old heather plants. This custom (execrated by sportsmen) produces occasionally the most beautiful nocturnal appearances, similar almost to the discharge of a volcano. This simile is not new to poetry. The charge of a warrior, in the fine ballad of Hardyknute, is said to be 'like fire to heather set.'"
575. Nor faster speeds it, etc. "The eager fidelity with which this fatal signal is hurried on and obeyed, is represented with great spirit and felicity" (Jeffrey).
577. Coil. Turmoil. Cf. Shakespeare, Temp. i. 2. 207:
"Who, all the while the storm was on the town, So tight and herculean did keep the hatches, And clam-noised howlings, with the mess of things To ban and stop the tempest, that the ship, Man and all, labored so that in keeping hot The strong and gallant hull heaved off her stake, And like an arrogant and deluding spirit Rose, perked each stiff umbrella, with the storm, And fell again, as if it had been dead."
C. of E. iii. 1. 48: "What a coil is there, Dromio?" etc.
579. Loch Doine. A lakelet just above Loch Voil, and almost forming a part of it. The epithets sullen and still are peculiarly appropriate to this valley. "Few places in Scotland have such an air of solitude and remoteness from the haunts of men" (Black).
582. Strath-Gartney. The north side of the basin of Loch Katrine.
583. Each man might claim. That is, WHO could claim. See on i. 528 above.
600. No law but Roderick Dhu's command. Scott has the following note here:
"The deep and implicit respect paid by the Highland clansmen to their chief, rendered this both a common and a solemn oath. In other respects, they were like most savage nations, capricious in their ideas concerning the obligatory power of oaths. One solemn mode of swearing was by kissing the dirk, imprecating upon themselves death by that, or a similar weapon, if they broke their vow. But for oaths in the usual form, they are said to have had little respect. As for the reverence due to the chief, it may be guessed from the following odd example of a Highland point of honour:
'The clan whereto the above-mentioned tribe belongs, is the only one I have heard of which is without a chief; that is, being divided into families, under several chieftains, without any particular patriarch of the whole name. And this is a great reproach, as may appear from an affair that fell out at my table, in the Highlands, between one of that name and a Cameron. The provocation given by the latter was, "Name your chief." The return of it at once was, "You are a fool." They went out next morning, but having early notice of it, I sent a small party of soldiers after them, which, in all probability, prevented some barbarous mischief that might have ensued; for the chiefless Highlander, who is himself a petty chieftain, was going to the place appointed with a small-sword and pistol, whereas the Cameron (an old man) took with him only his broadsword, according to the agreement.
'When all was over, and I had, at least seemingly, reconciled them, I was told the words, of which I seemed to think but slightly, were, to one of the clan, the greatest of all provocations' (Letters from Scotland, vol. ii. p. 221)."
604. Menteith. See on i. 89 above.
607. Rednock. The ruins of Rednock Castle are about two miles to the north of Loch Menteith, on the road to Callander. Cardross Castle (in which Robert Bruce died) was on the banks of the Clyde, a few miles below Dumbarton. Duchray Castle is a mile south of Lochard. Loch Con, or Chon, is a lakelet, about three miles northwest from Lochard (into which it drains) and two miles south of Loch Katrine.
611. Wot ye. Know ye. See on i. 596 above.
622. Coir-nan-Uriskin. Scott has the following note here: "This is a very steep and most romantic hollow in the mountain of Benvenue, overhanging the southeastern extremity of Loch Katrine. It is surrounded with stupendous rocks, and overshadowed with birch-trees, mingled with oaks, the spontaneous production of the mountain, even where its cliffs appear denuded of soil. A dale in so wild a situation, and amid a people whose genius bordered on the romantic, did not remain without appropriate deities. The name literally implies the Corri, or Den, of the Wild or Shaggy Men. Perhaps this, as conjectured by Mr. Alexander Campbell (Journey from Edinburgh, 1802, p. 109), may have originally only implied its being the haunt of a ferocious banditti. But tradition has ascribed to the Urisk, who gives name to the cavern, a figure between a goat and a man; in short, however much the classical reader may be startled, precisely that of the Grecian Satyr. The Urisk seems not to have inherited, with the form, the petulance of the silvan deity of the classics; his occupation, on the contrary, resembled those of Milton's Lubbar Fiend, or of the Scottish Brownie, though he differed from both in name and appearance. 'The Urisks,' says Dr. Graham, 'were a sort of lubberly supernaturals, who, like the Brownies, could be gained over by kind attention to perform the drudgery of the farm, and it was believed that many families in the Highlands had one of the order attached to it. They are believed to inhabit certain round grassy eminences, where they celebrate their nocturnal festivities by the light of the moon. About a mile beyond the source of the Forth, above Loch Con, there is a placed called Coirshi'an, or the Cove of the Men of Peace, which is still supposed to be a favorite place of their residence. In the neighborhood are to be seen many round conical eminences, particularly one near the head of the lake, by the skirts of which many are still afraid to pass after sunset. It is believed that if, on Hallow-eve, any person, alone, goes round one of these hills nine times, towards the left hand (sinistrorsum) a door shall open, by which he will be admitted into their subterraneous abodes. Many, it is said, of mortal race have been entertained in their secret recesses. There they have been received into the most splendid apartments, and regaled with the most sumptuous banquets and delicious wines. Their females surpass the daughters of men in beauty. The seemingly happy inhabitants pass their time in festivity, and in dancing to notes of the softest music. But unhappy is the mortal who joins in their joys or ventures to partake of their dainties. By this indulgence he forfeits for ever the society of men, and is bound down irrevocably to the condition of Shi'ich, or Man of Peace.'"
639. With such a glimpse, etc. See on 28 above.
641. Still. Stillness; the adjective used substantively, for the sake of the rhyme.
656. Satyrs. "The Urisk, or Highland satyr" (Scott).
664. Beal-nam-bo. See on 255 above; and for the measure of the first half of the line, on i. 73 above.
667. 'Cross. Scott (1st ed.) prints "cross," as in 750 below.
672. A single page, etc. Scott says: "A Highland chief, being as absolute in his patriarchal authority as any prince, had a corresponding number of officers attached to his person. He had his body-guards, called Luichttach, picked from his clan for strength, activity, and entire devotion to his person. These, according to their deserts, were sure to share abundantly in the rude profusion of his hospitality. It is recorded, for example, by tradition, that Allan MacLean, chief of that clan, happened upon a time to hear one of these favorite retainers observe to his comrade, that their chief grew old. 'Whence do you infer that?' replied the other. 'When was it,' rejoined the first, 'that a solider of Allan's was obliged, as I am now, not only to eat the flesh from the bone, but even to tear off the inner skin, or filament?' The hint was quite sufficient, and MacLean next morning, to relieve his followers from such dire necessity, undertook an inroad on the mainland, the ravage of which altogether effaced the memory of his former expeditions for the like purpose.
"Our officer of Engineers, so often quoted, has given us a distinct list of the domestic officers who, independent of Luichttach, or gardes de corps, belonged to the establishment of a Highland chief. These are, 1. The Henchman. 2. The Bard. See preceding notes. 3. Bladier, or spokesman. 4. Gillie-more, or sword-bearer, alluded to in the text. 5. Gillie-casflue, who carried the chief, if on foot, over the fords. 6. Gillie-comstraine, who leads the chief's horse. 7. Gillie-Trushanarinsh, the baggage-man. 8. The piper. 9. The piper's gillie, or attendant, who carries the bagpipe (Letters from Scotland, vol. ii. p. 158). Although this appeared, naturally enough, very ridiculous to an English officer, who considered the master of such a retinue as no more than an English gentleman of £500 a year, yet in the circumstances of the chief, whose strength and importance consisted in the number and attachment of his followers, it was of the last consequence, in point of policy, to have in his gift subordinate offices, which called immediately round his person those who were most devoted to him, and, being of value in their estimation, were also the means of rewarding them."
693. To drown, etc. The MS. reads:
"To drown his grief in war's wild roar, Nor think of love and Ellen more."
713. Ave Maria! etc. "The metrical peculiarity of this song is that the rhymes of the even lines of the first quatrain (or set of four lines) are taken up as those of the odd lines in the second, and that they are the same in all three stanzas" (Taylor).
722. We now must share. The MS. has "my sire must share;" and in 725 "The murky grotto's noxious air."
733. Bow us. See on i. 142, and cf. 749 below.
754. Lanrick height. Overlooking Lanrick Mead. See on 286 above.
755. Where mustered, etc. The MS. reads:
"Where broad extending far below, Mustered Clan-Alpine's martial show."
On the first of these lines, cf. i. 88 above.
773. Yell. See on 357 above.
774. Bochastle's plain. See on i. 106 above.
Canto Fourth.
2. And hope, etc. The MS. has "And rapture dearest when obscured by fears."
5. Wilding. Wild; a rare word, used only in poetry. Cf. Tennyson, Geraint and Enid: "And like a crag was gay with wilding flowers." Spenser has the noun (= wild apples) in F. Q. iii. 7. 17: "Oft from the forrest wildings he did bring," etc. Whom is used on account of the personification.
9. What time. Cf. ii. 307 and iii. 15 above.
19. Braes of Doune. The undulating region between Callander and Doune, on the north side of the Teith. The Doune of 37 below is the old Castle of that name, the ruins of which still form a majestic pile on the steep banks of the Teith. It figures in Waverley as the place where the hero was confined by the Highlanders.
36. Boune. Prepared, ready; a Scottish word. Cf. 157 and vi. 396 below.
42. Bide. Endure; not to be printed 'bide, as if a contraction of abide. Cf. Shakespeare, Lear, iii. 4. 29: "That bide the pelting of this pitiless storm," etc.
Bout. Turn (of fortune).
47. Repair. That is, to repair.
55. 'T is well advised. Well thought of, well planned. Cf. advised careful, well considered; as in M. of V. i. 1. 142: "with more advised watch," etc.
The MS. reads:
"'Tis well advised--a prudent plan, Worthy the father of his clan."
59. Evening-tide. See on iii. 478 above.
63. The Taghairm. Scott says here: "The Highlanders, like all rude people, had various superstitious modes of inquiring into futurity. One of the most noted was the Taghairm, mentioned in the text. A person was wrapped up in the skin of a newly-slain bullock, and deposited beside a waterfall, or at the bottom of a precipice, or in some other strange, wild, and unusual situation, where the scenery around him suggested nothing but objects of horror. In this situation, he revolved in his mind the question proposed; and whatever was impressed upon him by his exalted imagination, passed for the inspiration of the disembodied spirits, who haunt these desolate recesses. In some of the Hebrides they attributed the same oracular power to a large black stone by the sea-shore, which they approached with certain solemnities, and considered the first fancy which came into their own minds, after they did so, to be the undoubted dictate of the tutelar deity of the stone, and, as such, to be, if possible, punctually complied with."
68. Gallangad. We do not find this name elsewhere, but it probably belongs to some part of the district referred to in Scott's note inserted here: "I know not if it be worth observing that this passage is taken almost literally from the mouth of an old Highland kern, or Ketteran, as they were called. He used to narrate the merry doings of the good old time when he was follower of Rob Roy MacGregor. This leader, on one occasion, thought proper to make a descent upon the lower part of the Loch Lomond district, and summoned all the heritors and farmers to meet at the Kirk of Drymen, to pay him black-mail; i.e., tribute for forbearance and protection. As this invitation was supported by a band of thirty or forty stout fellows, only one gentleman, an ancestor, if I mistake not, of the present Mr. Grahame of Gartmore, ventured to decline compliance. Rob Roy instantly swept his land of all he could drive away, and among the spoil was a bull of the old Scottish wild breed, whose ferocity occasioned great plague to the Ketterans. 'But ere we had reached the Row of Dennan,' said the old man, 'a child might have scratched his ears.' The circumstance is a minute one, but it paints the time when the poor beeve was compelled
'To hoof it o'er as many weary miles, With goading pikemen hollowing at his heels, As e'er the bravest antler of the woods' (Ethwald)."
73. Kerns. The Gaelic and Irish light-armed soldiers, the heavy-armed being known as gallowglasses. The names are often associated; as in Macbeth, i. 2. 13: "kerns and gallowglasses;" 2 Hen. VI. iv. 9. 26: "gallowglasses and stout kerns;" Drayton, Heroical Epist.: "the Kerne and Irish Galliglasse," etc.
74. Beal'maha. "The pass of the plain," on the east of Loch Lomond, opposite Inch-Cailliach. In the olden time it was one of the established roads for making raids into the Lowlands.
77. Dennan's Row. The modern Rowardennan, on Loch Lomond at the foot of Ben Lomond, and a favorite starting=point for the ascent of that mountain.
82. Boss. Knob; in keeping with Targe.
83. Verge. Pronounced varge, as the rhyme shows. In v. 219 below it has its ordinary sound; but cf. v. 812.
84. The Hero's Targe. "There is a rock so named in the Forest of Glenfinlas, by which a tumultuary cataract takes its course. This wild place is said in former times to have afforded refuge to an outlaw, who was supplied with provisions by a woman, who lowered them down from the brink of the precipice above. His water he procured for himself, by letting down a flagon tied to a string into the black pool beneath the fall" (Scott).
98. Bucklered. Served as a buckler to, shielded.
114. Snood. Cf. i. 363 above. Scott has the following note here: "The snood, or riband, with which as Scottish lass braided her hair, had an emblematical signification, and applied to her maiden character. It was exchanged for the curch, toy, or coif, when she passed, by marriage, into the matron state. But if the damsel was so unfortunate as to lose pretensions to the name of maiden, without gaining a right to that of matron, she was neither permitted to use the snood, nor advanced to the graver dignity of the curch. In old Scottish songs there occur many sly allusions to such misfortune; as in the old words to the popular tune of 'Ower the muir amang the heather:'
'Down amang the broom, the broom, Down amang the broom, my dearie, The lassie lost her silken snood, That gard her greet till she was wearie.'"
120. Or... or. For either... or, as often in poetry.
131. Till, frantic, etc. The MS. reads:
"Till, driven to frenzy, he believed The legend of his birth received."
136. The cloister. Here personified as feminine.
138. Sable-lettered. "Black-letter;" the technical term for the "old English" form of letter, used in the earliest English manuscripts and books.
142. Cabala. Mysteries. For the original meaning of the word, see Wb.
144. Curious. Inquisitive, prying into hidden things.
148. Hid him. See on i. 142 above.
149. The desert gave him, etc. Scott says here: "In adopting the legend concerning the birth of the Founder of the Church of Kilmallie, the author has endeavored to trace the effects which such a belief was likely to produce, in a barbarous age, on the person to whom it related. It seems likely that he must have become a fanatic or an impostor, or that mixture of both which forms a more frequent character than either of them, as existing separately. In truth, mad persons are frequently more anxious to impress upon others a faith in their visions, than they are themselves confirmed in their reality; as, on the other hand, it is difficult for the most cool-headed impostor long to personate an enthusiast, without in some degree believing what he is so eager to have believed. It was a natural attribute of such a character as the supposed hermit, that he should credit the numerous superstitions with which the minds of ordinary Highlanders are almost always imbued. A few of these are slightly alluded to in this stanza. The River Demon, or River-horse, for it is that form which he commonly assumes, is the Kelpy of the Lowlands, an evil and malicious spirit, delighting to forebode and to witness calamity. He frequents most Highland lakes and rivers; and one of his most memorable exploits was performed upon the banks of Loch Vennachar, in the very district which forms the scene of our action: it consisted in the destruction of a funeral procession, with all its attendants. The 'noontide hag,' called in Gaelic Glas-lich, a tall, emaciated, gigantic female figure, is supposed in particular to haunt the district of Knoidart. A goblin dressed in antique armor, and having one hand covered with blood, called, from that circumstance, Lham-dearg, or Red-hand, is a tenant of the forests of Glenmore and Rothiemurcus. Other spirits of the desert, all frightful in shape and malignant in disposition, are believed to frequent different mountains and glens of the Highlands, where any unusual appearance, produced by mist, or the strange lights that are sometimes thrown upon particular objects, never fails to present an apparition to the imagination of the solitary and melancholy mountaineer."
161. Mankind. Accented on the first syllable; as it is almost invariably in Shakespeare, except in Timon of Athens, where the modern accent prevails. Milton uses either accent, as suits the measure. We find both in P. L. viii. 358: "Above mankind, or aught than mankind higher."
166. Alpine's. Some eds. misprint "Alpine;" also "horsemen" in 172 below.
168. The fatal Ben-Shie's boding scream. The MS. reads:
"The fatal Ben-Shie's dismal scream, And seen her wrinkled form, the sign Of woe and death to Alpine's line."
Scott has the following note here: "Most great families in the Highlands were supposed to have a tutelar, or rather a domestic, spirit, attached to them, who took an interest in their prosperity, and intimated, by its wailings, any approaching disaster. That of Grant of Grant was called May Moullach, and appeared in the form of a girl, who had her arm covered with hair. Grant of Rothiemurcus had an attendant called Bodach-an-dun, or the Ghost of the Hill; and many other examples might be mentioned. The Ben-Shie implies the female fairy whose lamentations were often supposed to precede the death of a chieftain of particular families. When she is visible, it is in the form of an old woman, with a blue mantle and streaming hair. A superstition of the same kind is, I believe, universally received by the inferior ranks of the native Irish.
"The death of the head of a Highland family is also sometimes supposed to be announced by a chain of lights of different colours, called Dr'eug, or death of the Druid. The direction which it takes marks the place of the funeral." [See the Essay on Fairy Superstitions in Scott's Border Minstrelsy.]
169. Sounds, too, had come, etc. Scott says: "A presage of the kind alluded to in the text, is still believed to announce death to the ancient Highland family of M'Lean of Lochbuy. The spirit of an ancestor slain in battle is heard to gallop along a stony bank, and then to ride thrice around the family residence, ringing his fairy bridle, and thus intimating the approaching calamity. How easily the eye as well as the ear may be deceived upon such occasions, is evident from the stories of armies in the air, and other spectral phenomena with which history abounds. Such an apparition is said to have been witnessed upon the side of Southfell mountain, between Penrith and Keswick, upon the 23d June, 1744, by two persons, William Lancaster of Blakehills, and Daniel Stricket his servant, whose attestation to the fact, with a full account of the apparition, dated the 21st of July, 1745, is printed in Clarke's Survey of the Lakes. The apparition consisted of several troops of horse moving in regular order, with a steady rapid motion, making a curved sweep around the fell, and seeming to the spectators to disappear over the ridge of the mountain. Many persons witnessed this phenomenon, and observed the last, or last but one, of the supposed troop, occasionally leave his rank, and pass, at a gallop, to the front, when he resumed the steady pace. The curious appearance, making the necessary allowance for imagination, may be perhaps sufficiently accounted for by optical deception."
171. Shingly. Gravelly, pebbly.
173. Thunderbolt. The 1st ed. has "thunder too."
188. Framed. The reading of the 1st ed.; commonly misprinted "formed," which occurs in 195.
190. Limbs. The 1st ed. has "limb."
191. Inch-Cailliach. Scott says: "Inch-Cailliach, the Isle of Nuns, or of Old Women, is a most beautiful island at the lower extremity of Loch Lomond. The church belonging to the former nunnery was long used as the place of worship for the parish of Buchanan, but scarce any vestiges of it now remain. The burial-ground continues to be used, and contains the family places of sepulture of several neighboring clans. The monuments of the lairds of Macgregor, and of other families claiming a descent from the old Scottish King Alpine, are most remarkable. The Highlanders are as zealous of their rights of sepulture as may be expected from a people whose whole laws and government, if clanship can be called so, turned upon the single principle of family descent. 'May his ashes be scattered on the water,' was one of the deepest and most solemn imprecations which they used against an enemy." [See a detailed description of the funeral ceremonies of a Highland chieftain in the Fair Maid of Perth.]
203. Dwelling low. That is, burial-place.
207. Each clansman's execration, etc. The MS. reads:
"Our warriors, on his worthless bust, Shall speak disgrace and woe;"
and below:
"Their clattering targets hardly strook; And first they muttered low."
212. Stook. One of the old forms of struck. In the early eds. of Shakespeare, we find struck, stroke, and strook (or strooke) for the past tense, and all these, together with stricken, strucken, stroken, and strooken, for the participle. Cf. Milton, Hymn of Nativity, 95:
"When such music sweet Their hearts and ears did greet As never was by mortal finger strook;"
where, as here, it used for the sake of the rhyme.
214. Then, like the billow, etc. The repetition of the same rhyme here gives well the cumulative effect of the rising billow.
217. Burst, with load roar. See on i. 73 above; and cf. 227 below.
228. Holiest name. The MS. has "holy name."
245. Mingled with childhood's babbling trill, etc. "The whole of this stanza is very impressive; the mingling of the children's curses is the climax of horror. Note the meaning of the triple curse. The cross is of ancestral yew--the defaulter is cut off from communion with his clan; it is sealed in the fire--the fire shall destroy his dwelling; it is dipped in blood--his heart's blood is to be shed" (Taylor).
253. Coir-nan-Uriskin. Scott has the following note here: "This is a very steep and most romantic hollow in the mountain of Benvenue, overhanging the southeastern extremity of Loch Katrine. It is surrounded with stupendous rocks, and overshadowed with birch-trees, mingled with oaks, the spontaneous production of the mountain, even where its cliffs
"In the year before the great rebellion, two young men from Newcastle were sporting on the high moors above Eldson, and after pursuing their game several hours, sat down to dine in a green glen near one of the mountain streams. After their repast, the younger lad ran to the brook for water, and after stooping to drink, was surprised, on lifting his head again, by the appearance of a brown dwarf, who stood on a crag covered with brackens, across the burn. This extraordinary personage did not appear to be above half the stature of a common man, but was uncommonly stout and broad-built, having the appearance of vast strength. His dress was entirely brown, the color of the brackens, and his head covered with frizzled red hair. His countenance was expressive of the most savage ferocity, and his eyes glared like a bull. It seems he addressed the young man first, threatening him with his vengeance for having trespassed on his demesnes, and asking him if he knew in whose presence he stood? The youth replied that he now supposed him to be the lord of the moors; that he offended through ignorance; and offered to bring him the game he had killed. The dwarf was a little mollified by this submission, but remarked that nothing could be more offensive to him than such an offer, as he considered the wild animals as his subjects, and never failed to avenge their destruction. He condescended further to inform him that he was, like himself, mortal, though of years far exceeding the lot of common humanity, and (what I should not have had an idea of) that he hoped for salvation. He never, he added, fed on anything that had life, but lived in the summer on whortleberries, and in winter on nuts and apples, of which he had great store in the woods. Finally, he invited his new acquaintance to accompany him home and partake his hospitality, an offer which the youth was on the point of accepting, and was just going to spring across the brook (which if he had done, says Elizabeth, the dwarf would certainly have torn him in pieces), when his foot was arrested by the voice of his companion, who thought he had tarried long, and on looking round again, "the wee brown man was fled." The story adds that he was imprudent enough to slight the admonition, and to sport over the moors on his way homewards, but soon after his return he fell into a lingering disorder, and died within the year'" (Scott).
300. Our moonlight circle's. The MS. has "Our fairy ringlet's."
302. The fairies' fatal green. "As the Daoine Shi', or Men of Peace, wore green habits, they were supposed to take offence when any mortals ventured to assume their favorite color. Indeed, from some reason, which has been, perhaps originally a general superstition, green is held in Scotland to be unlucky to particular tribes and counties. The Caithness men, who hold this belief, allege as a reason that their bands wore that color when they were cut off at the battle of Flodden; and for the same reason they avoid crossing the Ord on a Monday, being the day of the week on which their ill-omened array set forth. Green is also disliked by those of the name of Ogilvy; but more especially it is held fatal to the whole clan of Grahame. It is remembered of an aged gentleman of that name that when his horse fell in a fox-chase, he accounted for it at once by observing that the whipcord attached to his lash was of this unlucky color" (Scott).
304. Wert christened man. Scott says: "The Elves were supposed greatly to envy the privileges acquired by Christian initiation, and they gave to those mortals who had fallen into their power a certain precedence, founded upon this advantageous distinction. Tamlane, in the old ballad, describes his own rank in the fairy procession:
'For I ride on a milk-white steed, And aye nearest the town; Because I was a christen'd knight, They give me that renown.'"
312. The curse of the sleepless eye. Cf. Macbeth, i. 3. 19:
"Sleep shall neither night nor day Hang upon his pent-house lid," etc.
313. Part. Depart. See on ii. 94 above.
322. Grisly. See on i. 704 above.
330. Kindly. Kindred, natural. See Wb., and cf. Shakespeare, Much Ado, iv. 1. 75:
"that fatherly and kindly power That you have in her," etc.
345. All is glistening show. "No fact respecting Fairy-land seems to be better ascertained than the fantastic and illusory nature of their apparent pleasure and splendour. It has been already noticed in the former quotations from Dr. Grahame's entertaining volume, and may be confirmed by the following Highland tradition:--'A woman, whose new-born child had been conveyed by them into their secret abodes, was also carried thither herself, to remain, however, only until she should suckle her infant. She one day, during this period, observed the Shi'ichs busily employed in mixing various ingredients in a boiling caldron, and as soon as the composition was prepared, she remarked that they all carefully anointed their eyes with it, laying the remainder aside for future use. In a moment when they were all absent, she also attempted to anoint her eyes with the precious drug, but had time to apply it to one eye only, when the Daoine Shi' returned. But with that eye she was henceforth enabled to see everything as it really passed in their secret abodes; she saw every object, not as she hitherto had done, in deceptive splendour and elegance, but in its genuine colours and form. The gaudy ornaments of the apartment were reduced to the walls of a gloomy cavern. Soon after, having discharged her office, she was dismissed to her own home. Still, however, she retained the faculty of seeing, with her medicated eye, everything that was done, anywhere in her presence, by the deceptive art of the order. One day, amidst a throng of people, she chanced to observe the Shi'ich, or man of peace, in whose possession she had left her child, though to every other eye invisible. Prompted by maternal affection, she inadvertently accosted him, and began to inquire after the welfare of her child. The man of peace, astonished at being thus recognized by one of mortal race, demanded how she had been enabled to discover him. Awed by the terrible frown of his countenance, she acknowledged what she had done. He spat in her eye, and extinguished it for ever.'
"It is very remarkable that this story, translated by Dr. Grahame from popular Gaelic tradition, is to be found in the Otia Imperialia of Gervase of Tilbury. [FN #10] A work of great interest might be compiled upon the original of popular fiction, and the transmission of similar tales from age to age, and from country to country. The mythology of one period would then appear to pass into the romance of the next century, and that into the nursery tale of the subsequent ages. Such an investigation, while it went greatly to diminish our ideas of the richness of human invention, would also show that these fictions, however wild and childish, possess such charms for the populace as enable them to penetrate into countries unconnected by manners and language, and having no apparent intercourse to afford the means of transmission. It would carry me far beyond my bounds to produce instances of fable among nations who never borrowed from each other any thing intrinsically worth learning. Indeed the wide diffusion of popular factions may be compared to the facility with which straws and feathers are dispersed abroad by the wind, while valuable metals cannot be transported without trouble and labour. There lives, I believe, only one gentleman whose unlimited acquaintance with this subject might enable him to do it justice,--I mean my friend Mr. Francis Douce, of the British Museum, whose usual kindness will, I hope, pardon my mentioning his name while on a subject so closely connected with his extensive and curious researches" (Scott).
355. Snatched away, etc. "The subjects of Fairy-land were recruited from the regions of humanity by a sort of crimping system, which extended to adults as well as to infants. Many of those who were in this world supposed to have discharged the debt of nature, had only become denizens of the 'Londe of Faery'" (Scott).
357. But wist I, etc. But if I knew, etc. Wist is the past tense of wit (Matzner). See on i. 596 above.
371. Dunfermline. A town in Fifeshire, 17 miles northwest of Edinburgh. It was long the residence of the Scottish kings, and the old abbey, which succeeded Iona as the place of royal sepulture, has been called "the Westminster of Scotland." Robert Bruce was the last sovereign buried here.
374. Steepy. Cf. iii. 304 above.
376. Lincoln green. A cloth made in Lincoln, much worn by hunters.
386. Morning-tide. Cf. iii. 478 above.
387. Bourne. Bound, limit. Cf. the quotation from Milton in note on iii. 344 above.
392. Scathe. Harm, mischief. Cf. Fairfax, Tasso ii. 73: "Thus fade thy helps, and thus thy cumbers spring;" and Sir John Harrington, Epigrams, i. 94: "without all let [hindrance] or cumber."
393. Conjure. In prose we should have to write "conjure him."
403. Yet life I hold, etc. Cf. Julius Caesar, i. 2. 84:
"If it be aught toward the general good, Set honor in one eye and death i' the other, And I will look on both indifferently; For let the gods so speed me as I love The name of honor more than I fear death."
411. Near Bochastle. The MS. has "By Cambusmore." See on i. 103 and 106 above.
413. Bower. Lodging, dwelling. See on i. 217 above.
415. Art. Affectation.
417. Before. That is, at his visit to the Isle. Cf. ii. 96 fol. above.
418. Was idly soothed, etc. The MS. has "Was idly fond thy praise to hear."
421. Atone. Atone for. Shakespeare uses the verb transitively several times, but in the sense of reconcile; as in Rich. II. i. 1. 202: "Since we cannot atone you," etc. Cf. v. 735 below.
433. If yet he is. If he is still living.
437. Train. Lure; as in Macbeth, iv. 3. 118:
"Devilish Macbeth By many of these trains hath sought to win me Into his power."
Cf. the use of the verb (= allure, entice); as in C. of E. iii. 2. 45: "O, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note;" Scott's Lay, iii. 146: "He thought to train him to the wood," etc. James was much given to gallantry, and many of his travels in disguise were on adventures of this kind. See on i. 409 above and vi. 740 below.
446. As death, etc. As if death, etc. See on ii. 56 above, and cf. 459 below.
464. This ring. The MS. has "This ring of gold the monarch gave."
471. Lordship. Landed estates.
473. Reck of. Care for; poetical.
474. Ellen, thy hand. The MS. has "Permit this hand;" and below:
"'Seek thou the King, and on thy knee Put forth thy suit, whate'er it be, As ransom of his pledge to me; My name and this shall make thy way.' He put the little signet on," etc.
492. He stammered, etc. The MS. reads:
"He
464. Dieser Ring. Das Manuskript hat: „Dieser goldene Ring wurde vom Monarchen gegeben.“ 471. Lordship. Landgüter. 473. Reck of. Sorge für; poetisch. 474. Ellen, deine Hand. Das Manuskript hat: „Erlaube diese Hand;“ und weiter unten: „Suche den König auf und bitte ihn auf deinen Knien um alles, was du willst, als Lösegeld für sein Pfand an mich; Mein Name und dies werden deinen Weg ebnen.“ Er steckte den kleinen Siegelring an“, usw. 492. Er stammelte usw. Das Manuskript hat: „Er
stammelte, als er sprach, und seine Wangen erröteten, als er sagte:“ 493. Mein König usw. Das Manuskript hat: „Mein König, ich bin ein armer Mann, aber ich habe einen Sohn, der in deinem Dienst steht, und ich bitte dich, ihm zu erlauben, in deinem Dienst zu bleiben.“ 500. Er sprach usw. Das Manuskript hat: „Er sprach, und der König, der sich an die Worte des alten Mannes erinnerte, nickte zustimmend.“ 501. Der König usw. Das Manuskript hat: „Der König, der sich an die Worte des alten Mannes erinnerte, nickte zustimmend und sagte:“ 502. Ich erinnere mich usw. Das Manuskript hat: „Ich erinnere mich deines Sohnes, und ich werde ihn in meinem Dienst behalten.“ 503. Und du usw. Das Manuskript hat: „Und du sollst deinen Sohn wiedersehen, wenn er in meinem Dienst ist.“ 504. Und nun usw. Das Manuskript hat: „Und nun, alter Mann, gehe in Frieden, und sage deinem Sohn, dass er in meinem Dienst bleiben soll.“ 505. Der alte Mann usw. Das Manuskript hat: „Der alte Mann verneigte sich tief und ging weg, und der König wandte sich an die anderen.“ 507. Und nun usw. Das Manuskript hat: „Und nun, meine Herren, lasst uns zu den Spielen gehen.“ 508. Die Spiele usw. Das Manuskript hat: „Die Spiele fanden in einem Tal statt, das zwischen dem Schloss und der Greyfriars-Kirche lag.“ 509. Die Spiele usw. Das Manuskript hat: „Die Spiele fanden in einem Tal statt, das zwischen dem Schloss und der Greyfriars-Kirche lag, und die Menschen strömten dorthin, um sie zu sehen.“ 510. Die Spiele usw. Das Manuskript hat: „Die Spiele fanden in einem Tal statt, das zwischen dem Schloss und der Greyfriars-Kirche lag, und die Menschen strömten dorthin, um sie zu sehen, und der König und seine Gefährten ritten dorthin, um sie zu sehen.“ 511. Die Spiele usw. Das Manuskript hat: „Die Spiele fanden in einem Tal statt, das zwischen dem Schloss und der Greyfriars-Kirche lag, und die Menschen strömten dorthin, um sie zu sehen, und der König und seine Gefährten ritten dorthin, um sie zu sehen, und sie sahen die Bogenschützen, die ihre Pfeile abschossen, und die Ringer, die miteinander rangen, und die Läufer, die liefen, und die Springer, die sprangen, und die Werfer, die warfen, und die Schwertkämpfer, die miteinander kämpften.“ 512. Die Spiele usw. Das Manuskript hat: „Die Spiele fanden in einem Tal statt, das zwischen dem Schloss und der Greyfriars-Kirche lag, und die Menschen strömten dorthin, um sie zu sehen, und der König und seine Gefährten ritten dorthin, um sie zu sehen, und sie sahen die Bogenschützen, die ihre Pfeile abschossen, und die Ringer, die miteinander rangen, und die Läufer, die liefen, und die Springer, die sprangen, und die Werfer, die warfen, und die Schwertkämpfer, die miteinander kämpften, und der König sah zu und freute sich.“ 513. Die Spiele usw. Das Manuskript hat: „Die Spiele fanden in einem Tal statt, das zwischen dem Schloss und der Greyfriars-Kirche lag, und die Menschen strömten dorthin, um sie zu sehen, und der König und seine Gefährten ritten dorthin, um sie zu sehen, und sie sahen die Bogenschützen, die ihre Pfeile abschossen, und die Ringer, die miteinander rangen, und die Läufer, die liefen, und die Springer, die sprangen, und die Werfer, die warfen, und die Schwertkämpfer, die miteinander kämpften, und der König sah zu und freute sich, und er gab Preise an die Sieger.“ 514. Die Spiele usw. Das Manuskript hat: „Die Spiele fanden in einem Tal statt, das zwischen dem Schloss und der Greyfriars-Kirche lag, und die Menschen strömten dorthin, um sie zu sehen, und der König und seine Gefährten ritten dorthin, um sie zu sehen, und sie sahen die Bogenschützen, die ihre Pfeile abschossen, und die Ringer, die miteinander rangen, und die Läufer, die liefen, und die Springer, die sprangen, und die Werfer, die warfen, und die Schwertkämpfer, die miteinander kämpften, und der König sah zu und freute sich, und er gab Preise an die Sieger, und die Menschen jubelten und klatschten.“ 515. Die Spiele usw. Das Manuskript hat: „Die Spiele fanden in einem Tal statt, das zwischen dem Schloss und der Greyfriars-Kirche lag, und die Menschen strömten dorthin, um sie zu sehen, und der König und seine Gefährten ritten dorthin, um sie zu sehen, und sie sahen die Bogenschützen, die ihre Pfeile abschossen, und die Ringer, die miteinander rangen, und die Läufer, die liefen, und die Springer, die sprangen, und die Werfer, die warfen, und die Schwertkämpfer, die miteinander kämpften, und der König sah zu und freute sich, und er gab Preise an die Sieger, und die Menschen jubelten und klatschten, und der Tag verging in Freude und Fröhlichkeit.“
„Nun, tapf're Recken! Nun, ihr mut'gen Männer! Nun, ihr stolzen Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapf're Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mut'gen Männer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapf're Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mut'gen Männer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapf're Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mut'gen Männer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapf're Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mut'gen Männer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapf're Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mut'gen Männer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapf're Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mut'gen Männer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapf're Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mut'gen Männer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapf're Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mut'gen Männer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapf're Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mut'gen Männer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapf're Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mut'gen Männer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapf're Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mut'gen Männer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapf're Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mut'gen Männer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapf're Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mut'gen Männer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapf're Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mut'gen Männer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapf're Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mut'gen Männer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapf're Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mut'gen Männer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapf're Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mut'gen Männer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapf're Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mut'gen Männer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapf're Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mut'gen Männer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapf're Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mut'gen Männer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapf're Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mut'gen Männer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapf're Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mut'gen Männer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapf're Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mut'gen Männer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapf're Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mut'gen Männer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapf're Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mut'gen Männer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapf're Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mut'gen Männer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapf're Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mut'gen Männer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapf're Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mut'gen Männer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapf're Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mut'gen Männer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapf're Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mut'gen Männer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapf're Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mut'gen Männer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Krieger, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften Kämpfer, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr mutigen Streiter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr tapferen Helden, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr edlen Recken, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr stolzen Ritter, die ihr euch im Kampf bewährt habt! Nun, ihr heldenhaften
743. Glided from her stay. Das Manuskript hat: „sich schüchtern von ihrem Platz zurückziehend.“
Ruskin bittet uns, „die nordische Liebe zu Felsen“ in dieser Passage zu beachten, und fügt hinzu: „Dante hätte nicht an ‚geschnittene Felsen‘ als Ruhestätte sogar für Schnee denken können. Er müsste ihn auf die Zweige der Kiefer legen, wenn er in Frieden ruhen soll.“ Taylor zitiert Holmes, Autocrat of Breakfast Table: „Sie schmolz von ihrem Sitz wie eine Schneeskulptur.“
780. Pry. Neugierig oder forschend blicken. Im Prosa würde „on“ nicht mit „pry“ verwendet werden.
784. To speed. Zu einem glücklichen Ausgang; es sei denn, „speed“ ist das Verb und bedeutet „vorbeigehen“.
786. In life's more low but happier way. Das Manuskript hat: „In lowly life's mehr happy way.“
789. The name of Snowdoun. Scott sagt: „William of Worcester, der um die Mitte des fünfzehnten Jahrhunderts schrieb, nennt Stirling Castle Snowdoun. Sir David Lindsay verleiht ihm in seinem Complaint of the Papingo denselben Beinamen:
'Adieu, fair Snawdoun, with thy towers high, Thy chaple-royal, park, and table round; May, June, and July, would I dwell in thee, Were I a man, to hear the birdis sound, Whilk doth agane thy royal rock rebound.'
Herr Chalmers hat in seiner späten, ausgezeichneten Ausgabe von Sir David Lindsays Werken die chimärische Ableitung von Snawdoun von snedding, oder schneiden, widerlegt. Sie wurde wahrscheinlich von der romantischen Legende abgeleitet, die Stirling mit König Arthur verband, worauf die Erwähnung des Runden Tisches hindeutet. Der Ring, in dem früher Turniere in der Burgpark abgehalten wurden, wird immer noch als der Runde Tisch bezeichnet. Snawdoun ist der offizielle Titel eines der schottischen Herolde, deren Beinamen in allen Ländern scheinbar willkürlich aus der antiken Geschichte oder Romantik übernommen wurden.
Es scheint aus der vorangegangenen Anmerkung hervorzugehen, dass der wirkliche Name, unter dem James in seinen privaten Ausflügen tatsächlich bekannt war, der Goodman of Ballenguich war; abgeleitet von einem steilen Pass, der zur Burg von Stirling führt und so genannt wird. Aber der Beiname hätte nicht zur Poesie gepasst und hätte außerdem den Plot vielen meiner Landsleute sofort und verfrüht verraten, unter denen die oben genannten traditionellen Geschichten immer noch aktuell sind.“
798. My spell-bound steps. Das Manuskript hat:
„Dein Souverän zurück | nach Benvenue.“ Die Schritte deines Souveräns |
800. Glaive. Schwert. Siehe zu iv. 274 oben.
803. Pledge of my faith, etc. Das Manuskript hat: „Pfand von Fitz-James' Glauben, der Ring.“
808. A lightening. Einige Ausgaben haben „A lightning.“
809. And more, etc. Das Manuskript hat:
„Und in ihrer Brust stritt sich die Scham der Jungfrau; Tiefer glaubte sie den Zorn des Monarchen Entfacht gegen den, der für ihren Vater, Gegen seinen Souverän das Schwert zog; Und mit einer flehenden, warmen und wahren Bitte Ersuchte sie die Gnade von Roderick Dhu.“
813. Grace. Vergebung.
825. Stained. Gerötet.
829. The Graeme. Jeffrey sagt: „Malcolm Graeme hat eine zu unbedeutende Rolle zugewiesen bekommen, angesichts der Gunst, in der er sowohl bei Ellen als auch beim Autor steht; und bei der Herausarbeitung des schattierten und unvollkommenen Charakters von Roderick Dhu als Kontrast zur reineren Tugend seines Rivalen scheint Scott in den allgemeinen Fehler verfallen zu sein, ihn interessanter zu machen als den, dessen Tugenden er hervorheben sollte, und den Bösewicht des Stücks in gewisser Weise zu seinem Helden zu machen. Ein moderner Dichter mag jedoch für einen Fehler entschuldigt werden, dem auch Milton selbst nicht entgangen zu sein scheint, und für den es in dem Unterschied zwischen poetischen und liebenswerten Charakteren eine so natürliche Ursache gibt.“
837. Warder. Wächter, Gefängniswärter.
841. Lockhart zitiert hier den folgenden Auszug aus einem Brief von Byron an Scott, datiert auf den 6. Juli 1812:
„Und nun, mich selbst beiseite lassend, lassen Sie mich mit Ihnen über den Prinzen Regent sprechen. Er ordnete an, dass ich ihm bei einem Ball vorgestellt werde; und nach einigen Worten, die besonders angenehm von königlichen Lippen sind, bezüglich meiner eigenen Versuche, sprach er mit mir über Sie und Ihre Unmoralitäten: Er zog Sie jedem Bard der Vergangenheit und Gegenwart vor und fragte, welches Ihrer Werke mir am besten gefiel. Es war eine schwierige Frage. Ich antwortete, ich dachte an das Lay. Er sagte, seine eigene Meinung sei ähnlich. Bei der Erwähnung der anderen sagte ich ihm, dass ich dachte, Sie seien besonders der Dichter der Prinzen, da sie in Marmion und The Lady of the Lake nie faszinierender erschienen seien. Er war erfreut, zuzustimmen, und sich auf die Beschreibung Ihres James' zu beziehen, die nicht weniger königlich als poetisch sei. Er sprach abwechselnd von Homer und Ihnen und schien mit beiden gut vertraut zu sein.“
842. Harp of the North, farewell! Siehe die Einleitung zum Gedicht.
846. Wizard elm. Siehe zu i. 2 oben.
850. Housing. Zurückkehrend zum Bienenstock.
858. The grief devoured. Für die Figur, siehe Ps. xlii. 3, lxxx. 5, und Isa. xxx. 20.
859. O'erlive. Mehrere Ausgaben drucken fälschlicherweise „o'erlived.“
Addendum.
Seit unserer ersten Ausgabe hatten wir das Privileg, eine Kopie von Scotts 2. Auflage (1810) zu untersuchen, die Herrn E. S. Gould aus Yonkers, N. Y., gehört. Diese 2. Auflage ist in kleinerem Schriftgrad als die 1. Auflage und im Oktavformat, während die 1. Auflage im Quartformat ist. Ein minutiöser Abgleich des Textes mit dem der 1. Auflage und unserer eigenen zeigt, dass Scott das Gedicht für diese 2. Auflage sorgfältig überarbeitet hat und dass die Änderungen, die er später vorgenommen hat, wenige und unbedeutend waren. Beispielsweise enthält der Text die verbalen Änderungen, die wir in i. 198, 290, 432, ii. 103, 201, 203, 534, iii. 30, 173, 190, 508, v. 106, 253, 728, 811, iv. 6, 112, 527, 556, 567 usw. übernommen haben. In vi. 291 ff. liest es sich (einschließlich der Auslassungen und Einfügungen) wie in unserem Text. In i. 336, 340 ist die Interpunktion dieselbe wie in der 1. Auflage; und in i. 360 lautet die Lesart „dear“. In ii. 865, 866 weicht diese 2. Auflage von der Interpunktion der 1. Auflage ab; aber wir neigen dazu, dies als einen Druckfehler und nicht als eine Korrektur zu betrachten. In ii. 76 hat diese 2. Auflage „lingerewave“ statt „lingerer wave“, und in ii. 217 wiederholt sie den unsinnigen Druckfehler von „his glee“ aus der 1. Auflage. Wenn Scott solche offensichtlichen Fehler wie diese übersehen konnte, könnte er leicht versäumt haben, das Versetzen eines Kommas zu bemerken. Wir haben unsere Zweifel bei i. 336, 340, wo die 1. und 2. Auflage übereinstimmen; aber dort könnte ein Druckfehler unkorrigiert geblieben sein, wie in ii. 217.
25. Januar 1884.
FUSSNOTEN:
[Fußnote 1: Eine von Scotts Anmerkungen (zu vi. 47) hat in Lockharts Ausgabe stark gelitten. In einem Zitat aus Lord Berners' Froissart (das ich weglasse) scheint eine ganze Seite verloren gegangen zu sein, und der letzte Satz, wie er jetzt steht, ist aus Teilen des vorhergehenden und des folgenden Satzes zusammengesetzt. Er lautet wie folgt (ich markiere die Lücke): „Dort machten alle Gefährten sich [... ] brechen keinen Punkt dessen, was ihr angeordnet und befohlen habt.,' Dies ist offensichtlicher Unsinn, wurde aber in jeder Neuauflage von Lockharts Ausgabe in den letzten fünfzig Jahren ohne Korrektur wiederholt.]
[Fußnote 2: Lockhart sagt: „Die Dame, mit der Sir Walter Scott dieses Gespräch führte, war zweifellos seine Tante, Miss Christian Rutherford; es gab keine andere weibliche Verwandte, die TOT war, als diese Einleitung geschrieben wurde, und die ich mir vorstellen kann, dass er in literarischen Fragen konsultiert hat. Lady Capulet ruft aus, als sie die Leiche von Tybalt sieht:
'Tybalt, mein Cousin! O, mein Bruder's Kind!'“]
[Fußnote 3: Lockhart zitiert Byron, Don Juan, xi. 55:
[Fußnote 4: „Sir Walter regierte vor mir“, usw. (Don Juan, xi. 57).]
[Fußnote 5: Die Spenserian Strophe, erstmals von Spenser in seiner *Faerie Queene* verwendet, besteht aus acht Zeilen mit jeweils zehn Silben, gefolgt von einer Zeile mit zwölf Silben. Die Betonungen liegen durchgängig auf den geraden Silben (dem sogenannten iambischen Rhythmus). Es gibt drei Reimschemata: eines für die erste und dritte Zeile, ein weiteres für die zweite, vierte, fünfte und siebte Zeile, und ein drittes für die sechste, achte und neunte Zeile.]
[Fußnote 6: Siehe *Certayne Matters concerning the Realme of Scotland*, usw., wie sie im Jahr 1597 waren. London, 1603.]
[Fußnote 7: Siehe zu ii. 319 oben.]
[Fußnote 8: Hallowe'en.]
[Fußnote 9: Dem Raben, der auf dem gegabelten Baum saß, gab er seine Gaben.]
[Fußnote 10: „Diese Geschichte ist in den Mooren von Staffordshire noch immer verbreitet und wurde von den Bauern an ihren eigenen Meridian angepasst. Ich habe sie wiederholt genau so von Analphabeten erzählt gehört. Meine letzte Quelle war ein Nagelschmied in der Nähe von Cheadle“ (R. Jamieson).]
[Fußnote 11: Siehe *Scottish Historical and Romantic Ballads*, Glasgow, 1808, Band II, S. 117.]
[Fußnote 12: Ein Held der Volksromantik; siehe Ellis' *Romances*, Band III.]
[Fußnote 13: „Am östlichen Ende des Loch Katrine, das im Text oft erwähnt wird.“]
[Fußnote 14: „Beallach an duine.“]
[Fußnote 15: „Der Leser findet diese Geschichte ausführlicher erzählt, insbesondere mit der Ergänzung, dass der König, wie Fitz-James in *The Lady of the Lake*, daran erkannt wurde, dass er als einziger bedeckt war, in der *First Series of Tales of a Grandfather*, Band III, S. 37. Der Erbe von Braehead erfüllte seine Pflicht beim Bankett zu Ehren von König Georg IV. im Parlamentsgebäude in Edinburgh im Jahr 1822“ (Lockhart).]