<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=519709" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Lord of the Isles: Canto IV.</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I.<br>Stranger! if e'er thine ardent step hath traced<br>The northern realms of ancient Caledon,<br>Where the proud Queen of Wilderness hath placed,<br>By lake and cataract, her lonely throne;<br>Sublime but sad delight thy soul hath known,<br>Gazing on pathless glen and mountain high,<br>Listing where from the cliffs the torrents thrown<br>Mingle their echoes with the eagle's cry,<br>And with the sounding lake, and with the moaning sky.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yes! 'twas sublime, but sad. - The loneliness<br>Loaded thy heart, the desert tired thine eye;<br>And strange and awful fears began to press<br>Thy bosom with a stern solemnity.<br>Then hast thou wish'd some woodman's cottage nigh,<br>Something that show'd of life, though low and mean;<br>Glad sight, its curling wreath of smoke to spy,<br>Glad sound, its cock's blithe carol would have been,<br>Or children whooping wild beneath the willows green.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Such are the scenes, where savage grandeur wakes<br>An awful thrill that softens into sighs;<br>Such feelings rouse them by dim Rannoch's lakes,<br>In dark Glencoe such gloomy raptures rise:<br>Or farther, where, beneath the northern skies,<br>Chides wild Loch-Eribol his caverns hoar-<br>But, be the minstrel judge, they yield the prize<br>Of desert dignity to that dread shore,<br>That sees grim Coolin rise, and hears Coriskin roar.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">II.<br>Through such wild scenes the champion pass'd,<br>When bold halloo and bugle blast<br>Upon the breeze came loud and fast.<br>'There,' said the Bruce, 'rung Edward's horn!<br>What can have caused such brief return?<br>And see, brave Ronald,- see him dart<br>O'er stock and stone like hunted hart,<br>Precipitate, as is the use,<br>In war or sport, or Edward Bruce.<br>- He marks us, and his eager cry<br>Will tell his news ere he be nigh.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">III.<br>Loud Edward shouts, 'What make ye here,<br>Warring upon the mountain-deer,<br>When Scotland wants her King?<br>A bark from Lennox cross'd our track,<br>With her in speed I hurried back,<br>These joyful news to bring -<br>The Stuart stirs in Teviotdale,<br>And Douglas wakes his native vale;<br>Thy storm-toss'd fleet hath won its way<br>With little loss to Brodick-Bay,<br>And Lennox, with a gallant band,<br>Waits but thy coming and command<br>To waft them o'er to Carrick strand.<br>There are blithe news! - but mark the close!<br>Edward, the deadliest of our foes,<br>As with his host he northward pass'd,<br>Hath on the borders breathed his last.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">IV.<br>Still stood the Bruce - his steady cheek<br>Was little wont his joy to speak,<br>But then his colour rose:-<br>'Now, Scotland! shortly shalt thou see,<br>With God's high will, thy children free,<br>And vengeance on thy foes!<br>Yet to no sense of selfish wrongs,<br>Bear witness with me, Heaven, belongs<br>My joy o'er Edward's bier;<br>I took my knighthood at his hand,<br>And lordship held of him, and land,<br>And well may vouch it here,<br>That, blot the story from his page,<br>Of Scotland ruin'd in his rage,<br>You read a monarch brave and sage, <br>And to his people dear.'-<br>'Let London's burghers mourn her Lord,<br>And Croydon monks his praise record,'<br>The eager Edward said;<br>'Eternal as his own, my hate <br>Surmounts the bounds of mortal fate,<br>And dies not with the dead<br>Such hate was his on Solway's strand,<br>That pointed yet to Scotland's land,<br>As his last accents pray'd<br>Disgrace and curse upon his heir,<br>If he one Scottish head should spare,<br>Till stretch'd upon the bloody lair<br>Each rebel corpse was laid!<br>Such hate was his, when his last breath<br>Renounced the peaceful house of death,<br>And bade his bones to Scotland's coast<br>Be borne by his remorseless host,<br>As if his dead and stony eye<br>Could still enjoy her misery!<br>Such hate was his - dark, deadly, long:<br>Mine, - as enduring, deep, and strong!'-</div><div style="margin:10px 0">V.<br>'Let women, Edward, war with words,<br>With curses monks, but men with swords:<br>Nor doubt of living foes, to sate<br>Deepest revenge and deadliest hate.<br>Now, to the sea! Behold the beach,<br>And see the galleys' pendants stretch<br>Their fluttering length down favouring gale<br>Aboard, aboard! and hoist the sail.<br>Hold we our way for Arran first,<br>Where meet in arms our friends dispersed;<br>Lennox the loyal, De la Haye,<br>And Boyd the bold in battle fray.<br>I long the hardy band to head,<br>And see once more my standard spread.-<br>Does noble Ronald share our course,<br>Or stay to raise his island force?'-<br>'Come weal, come woe, by Bruce's side,'<br>Replied the Chief, 'will Ronald bide.<br>And since two galleys yonder ride,<br>Be mine, so please my liege, dismiss'd<br>To wake the arms the clans of Uist,<br>And all who hear the Minche's roar,<br>On the Long Island's lonely shore.<br>The nearer Isles, with slight delay,<br>Ourselves may summon in our way;<br>And soon on Arran's shore shall meet,<br>With Torquil's aid, a gallant fleet,<br>If aught avails their Chieftain's hest<br>Among the islemen of the west.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">VI.<br>Thus was their venturous council said.<br>But, ere their sails the galleys spread,<br>Coriskin dark and Coolin high<br>Echoed the dirge's doleful cry.<br>Along that sable lake pass'd slow,-<br>Fit scene for such a sight of woe,-<br>The sorrowing islesmen, as they bore<br>The murder'd Allan to the shore.<br>At every pause, with dismal shout,<br>Their coronach of grief rung out, <br>And ever, when they moved again,<br>The pipes resumed their clamorous strain,<br>And, with the pibroch's shrilling wail,<br>Mourn'd the young heir of Donagaile.<br>Round and around, from cliff and cave,<br>His answer stern old Coolin gave,<br>Till high upon his misty side<br>Languish'd the mournful notes, and died.<br>For never sounds, by mortal made,<br>Attain'd his high and haggard head,<br>That echoes but the tempest's moan,<br>Or the deep thunder's rending groan.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">VII.<br>Merrily, merrily bounds the bark,<br>She bounds before the gale,<br>The mountain breeze from Ben-na-darch<br>Is joyous in her sail!<br>With fluttering sound like laughter hoarse,<br>The cords and canvas strain,<br>The waves, divided by her force,<br>In rippling eddies chased her course,<br>As if they laugh'd again.<br>Not down the breeze more blithely flew,<br>Skimming the wave, the light sea-mew,<br>Than the gay galley bore<br>Her course upon that favouring wind, <br>And Coolin's crest has sunk behind,<br>And Slapin's cavern'd shore.<br>'Twas then that warlike signals wake<br>Dunscaith's dark towers and Eisord's lake,<br>And soon, from Cavilgarrigh's head,<br>Thick wreaths of eddying smoke were spread;<br>A summons these of war and wrath<br>To the brave clans of Sleat and Strath,<br>And, ready at the sight,<br>Each warrior to his weapons sprung,<br>And targe upon his shoulder flung,<br>Impatient for the fight.<br>Mac-Kinnon's chief, in warfare grey,<br>Had charge to muster their array,<br>And guide their barks to Brodick-Bay.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">VIII.<br>Signal of Ronald's high command,<br>A beacon gleam'd o'er sea and land,<br>From Canna's tower, that, steep and gray,<br>Like falcon-nest o'erhangs the bay.<br>Seek not the giddy crag to climb,<br>To view the turret scathed by time;<br>It is a task of doubt and fear<br>To aught but goat or mountain-deer.<br>But rest thee on the silver beach,<br>And let the aged herdsman teach<br>His tale of former day;<br>His cur's wild clamour he shall chide,<br>And for thy seat by ocean's side,<br>His varied plaid display;<br>Then tell, how with their Chieftain came,<br>In ancient times, a foreign dame<br>To yonder turret grey.<br>Stern was her Lord's suspicious mind,<br>Who in so rude a jail confined<br>So soft and fair a thrall!<br>And oft, when moon on ocean slept,<br>That lovely lady sate and wept<br>Upon the castle-wall,<br>And turn'd her eye to southern climes,<br>And thought perchance of happier times,<br>And touch'd her lute by fits, and sung<br>Wild ditties in her native tongue.<br>And still, when on the cliff and bay<br>Placid and pale the moonbeams play,<br>And every breeze is mute,<br>Upon the lone Hebridean's ear<br>Steals a strange pleasure mix'd with fear,<br>While from that cliff he seems to hear<br>The murmur of a lute,<br>And sounds, as of a captive lone,<br>That mourns her woes in tongue unknown.-<br>Strange is the tale - but all too long<br>Already hath it staid the song -<br>Yet who may pass them by,<br>That crag and tower in ruins grey,<br>Nor to their hapless tenant pay<br>The tribute of a sigh!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">IX.<br>Merrily, merrily bounds the bark<br>O'er the broad ocean driven,<br>Her path by Ronin's mountains dark<br>The steerman's hand hath given.<br>And Ronin's mountains dark have sent<br>Their hunters to the shore,<br>And each his ashen bow unbent,<br>And gave his pastime o'er,<br>And at the Island Lord's command,<br>For hunting spear took warrior's brand.<br>On Scooreigg next a warning light<br>Summon'd her warriors to the fight;<br>A numerous race, ere stern MacLeod<br>O'er their bleak shores in vengeance strode,<br>When all in vain the ocean-cave<br>Its refuge to his victims gave.<br>The Chief, relentless in his wrath,<br>With blazing heath blockades the path;<br>In dense and stifling volumes roll'd,<br>The vapour fill'd the cavern'd hold!<br>The warrior-threat, the infant's plain,<br>The mother's screams, were heard in vain;<br>The vengeful Chief maintains his fires,<br>Till in the vault a tribe expires!<br>The bones which strew that cavern's gloom,<br>Too well attest their dismal doom.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">X.<br>Merrily, merrily goes the bark<br>On a breeze from the northward free,<br>So shoots through the morning sky the lark<br>Or the swan through the summer sea.<br>The shores of Mull on the eastward lay,<br>And Ulva dark, and Colonsay,<br>And all the group of islets gay<br>That guard famed Staffa round.<br>Then all unknown its columns rose,<br>Where dark and undisturb'd repose<br>The cormorant had found,<br>And the shy seal had quiet home,<br>And welter'd in that wondrous dome,<br>Where, as to shame the temples deck'd<br>By skill of earthly architect,<br>Nature herself, it seem'd, would raise<br>A Minister to her Maker's praise!<br>Not for a meaner use ascend<br>Her columns, or her arches bend;<br>Nor of a theme less solemn tells<br>That mighty surge that ebbs and swells,<br>And still, between each awful pause,<br>From the high vault an answer draws,<br>In varied tone prolong'd and high,<br>That mocks the organ's melody.<br>Nor doth its entrance front in vain<br>To old Iona's holy fane,<br>That Nature's voice might seem to say,<br>'Well hast thou done, frail Child of clay!<br>Thy humble powers that stately shrine<br>Task'd high and hard - but witness mine!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XI.<br>Merrily, merrily goes the bark - <br>Before the gale she bounds;<br>So darts the dolphin from the shark,<br>Or the deer before the hounds.<br>They left Loch-Tua on their lee,<br>And they waken'd the men of the wild Tiree,<br>And the Chief of the sandy Coll;<br>They paused not at Columba's isle,<br>Though peal'd the bells from the holy pile<br>With long and measured toll;<br>No time for matin or for mass,<br>And the sounds of the holy summons pass<br>Away in the billows' roll.<br>Lochbuie's fierce and warlike Lord<br>Their signal saw, and grasp'd his sword,<br>And verdant Ilay call'd her host,<br>And the clans of Jura's rugged coast<br>Lord Ronald's call obey,<br>And Scarba's isle, whose tortured shore<br>Still rings to Corrievreken's roar,<br>And lonely Colonsay;<br>-Scenes sung by him who sings no more<br>His bright and brief career is o'er,<br>And mute his tuneful strains;<br>Quench'd is his lamp of varied lore,<br>That loved the light of song to pour; <br>A distant and a deadly shore<br>Has Leyden's cold remains!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XII.<br>Ever the breeze blows merrily,<br>But the galley ploughs no more the sea.<br>Lest, rounding wild Cantyre, they meet<br>The southern foeman's watchful fleet,<br>They held unwonted way;-<br>Up Tarbat's western lake they bore,<br>Then dragg'd their bark the isthmus o'er,<br>As far as Kilmaconnel's shore,<br>Upon the eastern bay.<br>It was a wondrous sight to see<br>Topmast and pennon glitter free,<br>High raised above the greenwood tree,<br>As on dry land the galley moves,<br>By cliff and copse and alder groves.<br>Deep import from that selcouth sign,<br>Did many a mountain Seer divine,<br>For ancient legends told the Gael,<br>That when a royal bark should sail<br>O'er Kilmaconnel moss,<br>Old Albyn should in fight prevail,<br>And every foe should faint and quail<br>Before her silver Cross.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XIII.<br>Now launch'd once more, the inland sea<br>They furrow with fair augury,<br>And steer for Arran's isle;<br>The sun, ere yet he sunk behind<br>Ben-Ghoil, 'the Mountain of the Wind,'<br>Gave his grim peaks a greeting kind,<br>And bade Loch Ranza smile. <br>Thither their destined course they drew;<br>It seem'd the isle her monarch knew,<br>So brilliant was the landward view,<br>The ocean so serene;<br>Each puny wave in diamonds roll'd<br>O'er the calm deep, where hues of gold<br>With azure strove and green.<br>The hill, the yale, the tree, the tower,<br>Glow'd with the tints of evening's hour,<br>The beech was silver sheen,<br>The wind breathed soft as lover's sigh,<br>And, oft renew'd, seem'd oft to die,<br>With breathless pause between.<br>O who, with speech of war and woes,<br>Would wish to break the soft repose<br>Of such enchanting scene!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XIV.<br>Is it of war Lord Ronald speaks?<br>The blush that dyes his manly cheeks,<br>The timid look, and downcast eye,<br>And faltering voice the theme deny.<br>And good King Robert's brow express'd,<br>He ponder'd o'er some high request<br>As doubtful to approve;<br>Yet in his eye and lip the while,<br>Dwelt the half-pitying glance and smile,<br>Which manhood's graver mood beguile, <br>When lover's talk of love.<br>Anxious his suit Lord Ronald pled;<br>- 'And for my bride betrothed,' he said,<br>'My Liege has heard the rumour spread<br>Of Edith from Artornish fled.<br>Too hard her fate - I claim no right<br>To blame her for her hasty flight;<br>Be joy and happiness her lot!-<br>But she hath fled the bridal-knot,<br>And Lorn recall'd his promised plight,<br>In the assembled chieftains' sight.-<br>When, to fulfil our fathers' band,<br>I proffer'd all I could - my hand - <br>I was repulsed with scorn;<br>Mine honour I should ill assert,<br>And worse the feelings of my heart,<br>If I should play a suitor's part<br>Again, to pleasure Lorn.'-</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XV.<br>'Young Lord,' the Royal Bruce replied,<br>'That question must the Church decide;<br>Yet seems it hard, since rumours state<br>Edith takes Clifford for her mate,<br>The very tie, which she hath broke,<br>To thee should still be binding yoke.<br>But, for my sister Isabel -<br>The mood of woman who can tell?<br>I guess the Champion of the Rock, <br>Victorious in the tourney shock,<br>That knight unknown, to whom the prize<br>She dealt, - had favour in her eyes;<br>But since our brother Nigel's fate,<br>Our ruin'd house and hapless state,<br>From worldly joy and hope estranged,<br>Much is the hapless mourner changed.<br>Perchance,' here smiled the noble King,<br>'This tale may other musings bring.<br>Soon shall we know - yon mountains hide<br>The little convent of Saint Bride;<br>There, sent by Edward, she must stay,<br>Till fate shall give more prosperous day;<br>And thither will I bear thy suit, <br>Nor will thine advocate be mute.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XVI. <br>As thus they talk'd in earnest mood,<br>That speechless boy beside them stood.<br>He stoop'd his head against the mast,<br>And bitter sobs came thick and fast,<br>A grief that would not be repress'd,<br>But seem'd to burst his youthful breast.<br>His hands, against his forehead held,<br>As if by force his tears repell'd,<br>But through his fingers, long and slight,<br>Fast trill'd the drops of crystal bright.<br>Edward, who walk'd the deck apart,<br>First spied this conflict of the heart.<br>Thoughtless as brave, with bluntness kind<br>He sought to cheer the sorrower's mind;<br>By force the slender hand he drew<br>From those poor eyes that stream'd with dew,<br>As in his hold the stripling strove,-<br>('Twas a rough grasp, though meant in love),<br>Away his tears the warrior swept,<br>And bade shame on him that he wept.<br>'I would to heaven, thy helpless tongue<br>Could tell me who hath wrought thee wrong!<br>For, were he of our crew the best,<br>The insult went not undress'd.<br>Come, cheer thee; thou art now of age<br>To be a warrior's gallant page; <br>Thou shalt be mine! - a palfrey fair<br>O'er hill and holt my boy shall bear,<br>To hold my bow in hunting grove,<br>Or speed on errand to my love;<br>For well I wot thou wilt not tell<br>The temple where my wishes dwell.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XVII.<br>Bruce interposed, - 'Gay Edward, no, <br>This is no youth to hold thy bow,<br>To fill thy goblet, or to bear<br>Thy message light to lighter fair.<br>Thou art a patron all too wild<br>And thoughtless, for this orphan child.<br>See'st thou not how apart he steals,<br>Keeps lonely couch and lonely meals?<br>Fitter by far in yon calm cell<br>To tend our sister Isabel, <br>With Father Augustine to share<br>The peaceful change of convent prayer,<br>Than wander wild adventures through,<br>With such a reckless guide as you.'-<br>'Thanks, brother!' Edward answer'd gay,<br>'For the high laud thy words convey!<br>But we may learn some future day,<br>If thou or I can this poor boy <br>Protect the best, or best employ.<br>Meanwhile, our vessel nears the strand;<br>Launch we the boat, and seek the land.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XVIII.<br>To land King Robert lightly sprung,<br>And thrice aloud his bugle rung<br>With note prolong'd and varied strain,<br>Till bold Ben-Ghoil replied again.<br>Good Douglas then, and De la Haye,<br>Had in a glen a hart at bay,<br>And Lennox cheered the laggard hounds,<br>When waked that horn the greenwood bounds.<br>'It is the foe!' cried Boyd, who came <br>In breathless haste with eye of flame,-<br>'It is the foe! - Each valiant lord<br>Fling by his bow, and grasp his sword!'-<br>'Not so,' replied the good Lord James,<br>'That blast no English bugle claims,<br>Oft have I heard it fire the fight.<br>Dead were my heart, and deaf mine ear,<br>If Bruce should call, nor Douglas hear!<br>Each to Loch Ranza's margin spring;<br>That blast was winded by the King!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XIX.<br>Fast to their mates the tidings spread,<br>And fast to shore the warriors sped.<br>Bursting from glen and greenwood tree,<br>High waked their loyal jubilee!<br>Around the royal Bruce they crowd,<br>And clasp'd his hands, and wept aloud.<br>Veterans of early fields were there,<br>Whose helmets press'd their hoary hair,<br>Whose swords and axes bore a stain<br>From life-blood of the red-hair'd Dane;<br>And boys, whose hands scarce brook'd to wield<br>The heavy sword or bossy shield.<br>Men too were there, that bore the scars<br>Impress'd in Albyn's woeful wars,<br>At Falkirk's fierce and fatal fight,<br>Teyndrum's dread rout, and Methven's flight;<br>The might of Douglas there was seen,<br>There Lennox with his graceful mien;<br>Kirkpatrick, Closeburn's dreaded Knight;<br>The Lindsay, fiery, fierce, and light;<br>The Heir of murder'd De la Haye,<br>And Boyd the grave, and Seton gay.<br>Around their King regain'd they press'd, <br>Wept, shouted, clasp'd him to their breast,<br>And young and old, and serf and lord,<br>And he who ne'er unsheathed a sword,<br>And he in many a peril tried,<br>Alike resolved the brunt to bide,<br>And live or die by Bruce's side!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XX.<br>Oh, War, thou hast thy fierce delight,<br>Thy gleams of joy, intensely bright!<br>Such gleams, as from thy polish'd shield<br>Fly dazzling o'er the battle-field!<br>Such transports wake, severe and high,<br>Amid the pealing conquest-cry;<br>Scarce less, when, after battle lost,<br>Muster the remnants of a host, <br>And as each comrade's name they tell,<br>Who in the well-fought conflict fell,<br>Knitting stern brow o'er flashing eye,<br>Vow to avenge them or to die! - <br>Warriors! - and where are warriors found,<br>If not on martial Britain's ground?<br>And who, when waked with note of fire,<br>Love more than they the British lyre?-<br>Know ye not, - hearts to honour dear!<br>That joy, deep-thrilling, stern, severe,<br>At which the heartstrings vibrate high,<br>And wake the fountains of the eye?<br>And blame ye, then, the Bruce, if trace<br>Of tear is on his manly face,<br>When, scanty relics of the train<br>That hail'd at Scone his early reign,<br>This patriot band around him hung,<br>And to his knees and bosom clung?-<br>Blame ye the Bruce? - His brother blamed,<br>But shared the weakness, while ashamed,<br>With haughty laugh his head he turn'd,<br>And dash'd away the tear he scorn'd.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXI.<br>'Tis morning, and the Convent bell<br>Long time had ceased its matin knell,<br>Within thy walls, Saint Bride!<br>An aged Sister sought the cell<br>Assign'd to Lady Isabel,<br>And hurriedly she cried,<br>'Haste, gentle Lady, haste! - there waits<br>A noble stranger at the gates;<br>Saint Bride's poor vot'ress ne'er has seen<br>A Knight of such a princely mien;<br>His errand, as he bade me tell,<br>Is with the Lady Isabel.'<br>The princess rose, - for on her knee<br>Low bent she told her rosary,-<br>'Let him by thee his purpose teach;<br>I may not give a stranger speech.'-<br>'Saint Bride forfend, thou royal Maid!'<br>The portress cross'd herself, and said, -<br>'Not to be Prioress might I <br>Debate his will, his suit deny.'<br>'Has earthly show, then, simple fool,<br>Power o'er a sister of thy rule?<br>And art thou, like the worldly train,<br>Subdued by splendours light and vain?'-</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXII.<br>'No, Lady! in old eyes like mine,<br>Gauds have no glitter, gems no shine;<br>Nor grace his rank attendants vain,<br>One youthful page is all his train.<br>It is the form, the eye, the word,<br>The bearing of that stranger Lord;<br>His stature, manly, bold, and tall,<br>Built like a castle's battled wall,<br>Yet moulded in such just degrees,<br>His giant-strength seems lightsome ease.<br>Close as the tendrils of the vine<br>His locks upon his forehead twine,<br>Jet-black, save where some touch of grey<br>Has ta'en the youthful hue away.<br>Weather and war their rougher trace<br>Have left on that majestic face;-<br>But 'tis his dignity of eye!<br>There, if a suppliant, would I fly,<br>Secure, 'mid danger, wrongs, and grief,<br>Of sympathy, redress, relief-<br>That glance, if guilty, would I dread<br>More than the doom that spoke me dead!'-<br>'Enough, enough,' the Princess cried,<br>''Tis Scotland's hope, her joy, her pride!<br>To meaner front was ne'er assign'd<br>Such mastery o'er the common mind-<br>Bestow'd thy high designs to aid,<br>How long, O Heaven! how long delay'd!-<br>Haste, Mona, haste, to introduce<br>My darling brother, Royal Bruce!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXIII.<br>They met like friends who part in pain,<br>And meet in doubtful hope again.<br>But when subdued that fitful swell,<br>The Bruce survey'd the humble cell;-<br>'And this is thine, poor Isabel!-<br>That pallet-couch, and naked wall,<br>For room of state, and bed of pall;<br>For costly robes and jewels rare,<br>A string of beads and zone of hair;<br>And for the trumpet's sprightly call<br>To sport or banquet, grove or hall,<br>The bell's grim voice divides thy care,<br>'Twixt hours of penitence and prayer!-<br>O ill for thee, my royal claim<br>From the First David's sainted name!<br>O woe for thee, that while he sought<br>His right, thy brother feebly fought!'-</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXIV.<br>'Now lay these vain regrets aside,<br>And be the unshaken Bruce!' she cried.<br>'For more I glory to have shared<br>The woes thy venturous spirit dared,<br>When raising first thy valiant band<br>In rescue of thy native land,<br>Than had fair Fortune set me down<br>The partner of an empire's crown.<br>And grieve not that on Pleasure's stream<br>No more I drive in giddy dream,<br>For Heaven the erring pilot knew,<br>And from the gulf the vessel drew,<br>Tried me with judgements stern and great,<br>My house's ruin, thy defeat,<br>Poor Nigel's death, till, tamed, I own,<br>My hopes are fix'd on Heaven alone;<br>Nor e'er shall earthly prospects win<br>My heart to this vain world of sin.'-</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXV.<br>'Nay, Isabel, for such stern choice,<br>First wilt thou wait thy brother's voice;<br>Then ponder if in convent scene <br>No softer thoughts might intervene-<br>Say they were of that unknown Knight,<br>Victor in Woodstock's tourney-fight -<br>Nay, if his name such blush you owe,<br>Victorious o'er a fairer foe!'<br>Truly his penetrating eye<br>Hath caught that blush's passing dye,-<br>Like the last beam of evening thrown<br>On a white cloud, - just seen and gone.<br>Soon with calm cheek and steady eye,<br>The Princess made composed reply: -<br>'I guess my brother's meaning well;<br>For not so silent is the cell,<br>But we have heard the islemen all<br>Arm in thy cause at Ronald's call,<br>And mine eye proves that Knight unknown<br>And the brave Island Lord are one.-<br>Had then his suit been earlier made,<br>In his own name, with thee to aid,<br>(But that his plighted faith forbade),<br>I know not…But thy page so near?-<br>This is no tale for menial's ear.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXVI.<br>Still stood that page, as far apart<br>As the small cell would space afford;<br>With dizzy eye and bursting heart,<br>He leant his weight on Bruce's sword,<br>The monarch's mantle too he bore,<br>And drew the fold his visage o'er.<br>'Fear not for him - in murderous strife,'<br>Said Bruce, 'his warning saved my life;<br>Full seldom parts he from my side,<br>And in his silence I confide,<br>Since he can tell no tale again. <br>He is a boy of gentle strain,<br>And I have purposed he shall dwell<br>In Augustine the chaplain's cell,<br>And wait on thee, my Isabel.-<br>Mind not his tears; I've seen them flow,<br>As in the thaw dissolves the snow.<br>'Tis a kind youth, but fanciful, <br>Unfit against the tide to pull,<br>And those that with the Bruce would sail,<br>Must learn to strive with stream and gale.<br>But forward, gentle Isabel-<br>My answer for Lord Ronald tell.'-</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXVII.<br>'This answer be to Ronald given -<br>The heart he asks is fix'd on heaven.<br>My love was like a summer flower,<br>That wither'd in the wintry hour<br>Born but of vanity and pride,<br>And with these sunny visions died.<br>If further press his suit - then say,<br>He should his plighted troth obey,<br>Troth plighted both with ring and word,<br>And sworn on crucifix and sword.-<br>Oh, shame thee, Robert! I have seen<br>Thou hast a woman's guardian been!<br>Even in extremity's dread hour,<br>When press'd on thee the Southern power,<br>And safety, to all human sight,<br>Was only found in rapid flight,<br>Thou heard'st a wretched female plain<br>In agony of travail-pain,<br>And thou didst bid thy little band<br>Upon the instant turn and stand,<br>And dare the worst the foe might do, <br>Rather than, like a knight untrue,<br>Leave to pursuers merciless<br>A woman in her last distress.-<br>And wilt thou now deny thine aid<br>To an oppress'd and injured maid,<br>Even plead for Ronald's perfidy,<br>And press his fickle faith on me?-<br>So witness Heaven, as true I vow,<br>Had I those earthly feelings now,<br>Which could my former bosom move<br>Ere taught to set its hopes above,<br>I'd spurn each proffer he could bring,<br>Till at my feet he laid the ring,<br>The ring and spousal contract both,<br>And fair aquittal of his oath,<br>By her who brooks his perjured scorn,<br>The ill-requited Maid of Lorn!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXVIII.<br>With sudden impulse forward sprung<br>The page, and on her neck he hung;<br>Then, recollected instantly,<br>His head he stoop'd, and bent his knee,<br>Kiss'd twice the hand of Isabel,<br>Arose, and sudden left the cell.-<br>The Princess, loosen'd from his hold,<br>Blush'd angry at his bearing bold;<br>But good King Robert cried,<br>'Chafe not - by signs he speaks his mind,<br>He heard the plan my care design'd,<br>Nor could his transports hide.-<br>But, sister, now bethink thee well;<br>No easy choice the convent cell;<br>Trust, I shall play no tyrant part,<br>Either to force thy hand or heart,<br>Or suffer that Lord Ronald scorn, <br>Or wrong for thee, the Maid of Lorn.<br>But think, - not long the time has been,<br>That thou wert wont to sigh unseen,<br>And would'st the ditties best approve,<br>That told some lay of hapless love.<br>Now are thy wishes in thy power,<br>And thou art bent on cloister bower!<br>O! if our Edward knew the change,<br>How would his busy satire range,<br>With many a sarcasm varied still<br>On woman's wish, and woman's will!' -</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXIX.<br>'Brother, I well believe,' she said,<br>'Even so would Edward's part be play'd,<br>Kindly in heart, in word severe,<br>A foe to thought, and grief, and fear,<br>He holds his humour uncontroll'd;<br>But thou art of another mould.<br>Say then to Ronald, as I say,<br>Unless before my feet he lay<br>The ring which bound the faith he swore,<br>By Edith freely yielded o'er,<br>He moves his suit to me no more.<br>Nor do I promise, even if now<br>He stood absolved of spousal vow,<br>That I would change my purpose made,<br>To shelter me in holy shade.-<br>Brother, for little space, farewell!<br>To other duties warns the bell.'-</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXX.<br>'Lost to the world,' King Robert said,<br>When he had left the royal maid,<br>'Lost to the world by lot severe,<br>O what a gem lies buried here,<br>Nipp'd by misfortune's cruel frost,<br>The buds of fair affection lost!-<br>But what have I with love to do?<br>Far sterner cares my lot pursue.<br>-Pent in this isle we may not lie,<br>Nor would it long our wants supply.<br>Right opposite, the mainland towers<br>Of my own Turnberry court our powers -<br>-Might not my father's beadsman hoar,<br>Cuthbert, who dwells upon the shore,<br>Kindle a signal-flame, to show<br>The time propitious for the blow?<br>It shall be so - some friend shall bear<br>Our mandate with despatch and care;<br>-Edward shall find the messenger.<br>That fortress ours, the island fleet<br>May on the coast of Carrick meet.-<br>O Scotland! shall it e'er be mine<br>To wreak thy wrongs in battle-line,<br>To raise my victor-head, and see<br>Thy hills, thy dales, thy people free,-<br>That glance of bliss is all I crave,<br>Betwixt my labours and my grave!'<br>Then down the hill he slowly went,<br>Oft pausing on the steep descent,<br>And reach'd the spot where his bold train<br>Held rustic camp upon the plain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Sir+Walter+Scott">Sir Walter Scott</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=519709" data-title="The Lord of the Isles: Canto IV. de Sir Walter Scott" data-description="I. Stranger! if e'er thine ardent step hath traced The northern realms of ancient Caledon, Where the proud Queen of Wilderness hath placed, By lake and cataract, her lonely throne; Sublime but sad delight thy soul hath known, Gazing on pathless gl..."></div> </div> </div>

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