The chorus first could Allen know,
"Rodcrigh Vich Alpine, ho! iero!"
And near, and nearer, as they rowed,
Distinct the martial ditty flowed.

XIX.

BOAT SONG.

Hail to the chief who in triumph advances!
Honoured 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 agen,
"Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!"12
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 agen,

"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. 13

Widow and Saxon maid
Long shall lament our aid,

Think of Clan-Alpine with fear and with wo;
Lennox and Leven-glen

Shake when they hear agen, "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 rose-bud that graces yon islands Were wreathed in a garland around him to twine!

O that some seedling gem,

Worthy such noble stem,

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
Such holy drops her tresses steeped,
His darling Ellen closely pressed,
Nor while on Ellen's faltering tongue
Though 'twas a hero's eye that weeped.
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 Græme.
XXIII.

Allan, with wistful look the while,
His master piteously he eyed,
Marked Roderick landing on the isle;
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 recals 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.

Loud should Clan-Alpine then' Ring from her deepmost glen, "Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!"

XXI.

With all her joyful female band,
Had lany 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 wreath 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:-
"Last, Allan-bane! from main land cast,
I hear my father's signal blast.

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 favourite 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'er weighed 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 tall, and slender frame,
But firmly knit, was Malcolm Græme.
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,
Out-stripped 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 Græme.
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 agen."-

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, E'er he assembled round the flame, His mother, Douglas, and the Græme, 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 honoured mother;-Ellen-why, My cousin, turn away thine eye? And Græme; 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,14 Where chiefs, with hound and hawk 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. 15 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 colour went and came In the bold cheek of Malcolm Græme: But from his glance it well appeared, "Twas 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 past and o'er."

XXX.

"No, by mine honour," Roderick said, "So help me, heaven, and my good blade! No, never! blasted be yon pine, My fathers' 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 heart 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 agen.

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 bear,
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 erossing terrors wildly tossed,
Still for the Douglas fearing most,

Could scarce the desperate thought withstand,
To buy his safety with her hand.

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.
Twas 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.

Twice through the hall the chieftain strode;
The waving of his tartans broad,
And darkened brow, where wounded pride
With ire and disappointment vied,
Seemed, by the torch's gloomy light,
Like the ill demon of the night,
Stooping his pinions' shadowy sway
Upon the 'nighted pilgrim's way:
But, unrequited love! thy dart
Plunged deepest its envenomed smart,
And Roderick, with thine anguish stung,
At length the hand of Douglas wrung,
While eyes, that mocked at tears before,
With bitter drops were running o'er.
The death pangs of long-cherished hope
Scarce in that ample breast had scope,
But, struggling with his spirit proud,
Convulsive heaved its chequered shroud,
While every sob-so mute were all-
Was heard distinctly through the hall.
The son's despair, the mother's look,
Ill might the gentle Ellen brook;
She rose, and to her side there came,
To aid her parting steps, the Græme.
XXXIV.

Then Roderick from the Douglas broke-
As flashes flame through sable smoke,
Kindling its wreaths, long, dark, and low,
To one broad blaze of ruddy glow,
So the deep anguish of despair
Burst, in fierce jealousy, to air.-
With stalwart grasp his hand he laid
On Malcolm's breast and belted plaid:
"Back, beardless boy!" he sternly said,
"Back, minion! hold'st thou thus at naught
The lesson I so lately taught?

This roof, the Douglas, and that maid,
Thank thou for punishment delayed."
Eager as greyhound on his game,
Fiercely with Roderick grappled Græme.
"Perish my name, if aught afford
Its chieftain safety, save his sword!"
Thus as they strove, their desperate hand
Griped to the dagger or the brand,
And death had been-but Douglas rose,
And thrust between the struggling foes
His giant strength:-" Chieftains, forego!
I hold the first who strikes, my foe.-
Madmen, forbear your frantic jar!
What! is the Douglas fallen so far,
His daughter's hand is deemed the spoil
Of such dishonourable broil!"
Sullen and slowly they unclasp,

As struck with shame, their desperate grasp, And each upon his rival glared,

With foot advanced, and blade half bared.