Scott's Lady of the Lake

XXXIV

At length, with Ellen in a grove
He seem’d to walk, and speak of love;
She listen’d with a blush and sigh,
His suit was warm, his hopes were high.
He sought her yielded hand to clasp,
And a cold gauntlet[83 - A mailed glove used by warriors in the middle ages to protect their hands from wounds.] met his grasp:
The phantom’s sex was changed and gone,
Upon its head a helmet shone;
Slowly enlarged to giant size,
With darken’d cheek and threatening eyes,
The grisly visage, stern and hoar,
To Ellen still a likeness bore. —
He woke, and, panting with affright,
Recall’d the vision of the night.
The hearth’s decaying brands were red,
And deep and dusky luster shed,
Half showing, half concealing, all
The uncouth trophies of the hall.
’Mid those the stranger fix’d his eye
Where that huge falchion hung on high,
And thoughts on thoughts, a countless throng,
Rush’d, chasing countless thoughts along,
Until, the giddy whirl to cure,
He rose, and sought the moonshine pure.

XXXV

The wild rose, eglantine, and broom
Wasted around their rich perfume:
The birch trees wept in fragrant balm,
The aspens slept beneath the calm;
The silver light, with quivering glance,
Play’d on the water’s still expanse, —
Wild were the heart whose passion’s sway
Could rage beneath the sober ray!
He felt its calm, that warrior guest,
While thus he communed with his breast: —
“Why is it at each turn I trace
Some memory of that exiled race?
Can I not mountain maiden spy,
But she must bear the Douglas eye?
Can I not view a Highland brand,
But it must match the Douglas hand?
Can I not frame a fever’d dream,
But still the Douglas is the theme?
I’ll dream no more – by manly mind
Not even in sleep is will resign’d.
My midnight orisons said o’er,
I’ll turn to rest, and dream no more.”
His midnight orisons he told,[84 - Repeated.]
A prayer with every bead of gold,
Consign’d to Heaven his cares and woes,
And sunk in undisturb’d repose;
Until the heath cock shrilly crew,
And morning dawn’d on Benvenue.

CANTO SECOND

THE ISLAND

I

At morn the blackcock trims his jetty wing,
’Tis morning prompts the linnet’s[85 - A small European song bird.] blithest lay,
All Nature’s children feel the matin[86 - (Măt´in.) Pertaining to the morning.] spring
Of life reviving, with reviving day;
And while yon little bark glides down the bay,
Wafting the stranger on his way again,
Morn’s genial influence roused a minstrel gray,
And sweetly o’er the lake was heard thy strain,
Mix’d with the sounding harp, O white-hair’d Allan-Bane![87 - Highland chieftains often retained in their service a bard or minstrel, who was well versed not only in the genealogy and achievements of the particular clan or family to which he was attached, but in the more general history of Scotland as well.]

II

SONG

“Not faster yonder rowers’ might
Flings from their oars the spray,
Not faster yonder rippling bright,
That tracks the shallop’s course in light,
Melts in the lake away,
Than men from memory erase
The benefits of former days;
Then, stranger, go! good speed the while,
Nor think again of the lonely isle.

“High place to thee in royal court,
High place in battled[88 - Ranged in order of battle.] line,
Good hawk and hound for silvan sport,
Where beauty sees the brave resort,
The honor’d meed[89 - Recompense.] be thine!
True be thy sword, thy friend sincere,
Thy lady constant, kind, and dear,
And lost in love’s and friendship’s smile
Be memory of the lonely isle.

III