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the strength of the garrisot, within, nor of the works without. All we learn is, that major Philipson endured a siege of eight months with great gallantry, till his brother, the colonel, raised a party and relieved him.

observed a glove hanging up, and was informed by that major Philipson was at his brother's use on the sexton that it was meant as a challenge to any the island in Windermere, resolved, if possible one who should take it down. Mr. Gilpin order to seize and punish a man who had made himself ed the sexton to reach it him: but upon his utterly so particularly obnoxious. How it was conducted, refusing to touch it, he took it down himself, and my authority does not inform us-whether be got put it in his breast. When the people were assem-together the navigation of the lake, and blockaded bled, he went into the pulpit, and, before he con- the place by sea, or whether he landed and carried cluded his sermon, took occasion to rebuke them on his approaches in form Neither do we learn severely for these inhuman challenges. I hear,' saith he, that one among you hath hanged up a glove, even in this sacred place, threatening to fight any one who taketh it down: see, I have taken it down;' and pulling out the glove, he held it up to the congregation, and then showed them how un- "It was now the major's turn to make reprisals. suitable such savage practices were to the profes- He put himself, therefore, at the head of a little sion of christianity, using such persuasives to mu- troop of horse, and rode to Kendal. Here, being tual love as he thought would most affect them."-informed that colonel Briggs was at prayers, (for Life of Bernard Gilpin, Lond. 1753, 8vo. p. 177. it was on a Sunday morning, he stationed his men 2. A horseman armed, at headlong speed.-P. 227. properly in the avenues, and himself, armed, rode This and what follows is taken from a real directly into the church. It probably was not a achievement of major Robert Philipson, called, regular church, but some large place of meeting. from his desperate and adventurous courage, Robin It is said he intended to seize the colonel and carthe Devil; which, as being very inaccurately noticed ry him off; but as this seems to have been totally in this note upon the first edition, shall be now impracticable, it is rather probable that his ingiven in a more authentic form. The chief place tention was to kill him on the spot, and in the of his retreat was not Lord's Island in Derwent-midst of the confusion to escape. Whatever his water, but Curwen's Island in the lake of Win-intention was, it was frustrated, for Briggs happendermere.ed to be elsewhere.

"This island formerly belonged to the Philip- "The congregation, as might be expected, was sous, a family of note in Westmoreland. During thrown into great confusion on seeing an armed the civil wars, two of them, an elder and a young-man on horseback make his appearance among er brother, served the king. The former, who was them; and the major, taking advantage of their as the proprietor of it, commanded a regiment; the tonishment, turned his horse round, and rode quietlatter was a major. ly out. But having given an alarm, he was presently assaulted as he left the assembly, and being seized, his girths were cut, and he was unhorsed.

"The major, whose name was Robert, was a man of great spirit and enterprize; and for his many feats of personal bravery had obtained, among the Oliverians of those parts, the appellation of Robin the Devil.

"After the war had subsided, and the direful effects of public opposition had ceased, revenge and malice long kept alive the animosity of individuals. Colonel Briggs, a steady friend to usurpation, resided at this time at Kendal, and, under the double character of a leading magistrate (for he was a justice of peace) and an active commander, held the country in awe. This person, having heard

"At this instant his party made a furious attack on the assailants, and the major killed with his own hand the man who had seized him, clapped the saddle, ungirthed as it was, upon his horse, and vaulting into it, rode full speed through the streets of Kendal, calling his men to follow him; and with his whole party made a safe retreat to his asylum in the lake. The action marked the man. Many knew him: and they who did not, knew as well from the exploit that it could be nobody but Robin the Devil."

The Lord of the Esles:

A POEM.

ADVERTISEMENT.

Abbotsford, 10th December, 1814.

THE LORD OF THE ISLES.

CANTO I.

and of archdeacon Barbour, a correct edition of The scene of this poem lies, at first, in the cas-whose Metrical History of Robert Bruce will soon, tle of Artornish, on the coast of Argyleshire; and trust, appear under the care of my learned friend, afterwards in the islands of Skye and Arran, and the Rev. Dr. Jamieson.+ upon the coast of Ayrshire. Finally, it is laid near Stirling. The story opens in the spring of the year 1307, when Bruce, who had been driven out of Scotland by the English, and the barons who adhered to that foreign interest, returned from the Island of Rachrin on the coast of Ireland, again to assert his claims to the Scottish crown. Many of the personages and incidents introduced are of historical celebrity. The authorities used are chiefly those of the venerable lord Hailes, as well entitled to be called the restorer of Scottish history, as Bruce the restorer of Scottish monarchy,

AUTUMN departs-but still his mantle's fold
Rests on the groves of noble Somerville,
Beneath a shroud of russet dropped with gold,
Tweed and his tributaries mingle still;
Hoarser the wind, and deeper sounds the rill
Yet lingering notes of Sylvan music swell,

* Dr. Burn's History of Westmoreland.
Now published.

The deep-toned cushat, and the redbreast shrill; And yet some tints of summer splendour tell When the broad sun sinks down on Ettrick's western fell.

Autumn departs-from Gala's fields no more

Come rural sounds our kindred banks to cheer; Blent with the stream, and gale that wafts it o'er, No more the distant reaper's mirth we hear. The last blith shout hath died upon our ear,

And harvest-home hath hushed the clanging wain,

On the waste hill no forms of life appear,

Save where, sad laggard of the autumnal train, Some age-struck wanderer gleans few ears of scattered grain.

Deem'st thou these saddened scenes have pleasure still?

Lovest thou through autumn's fading realms to stray,

To see the heath-flower withered on the hill,
To listen to the wood's expiring lay,
To note the red leaf shivering on the spray,

To mark the last bright tints the mountain stain, On the waste fields to trace the gleaner's way, And moralize on moral joy and pain?

O! if such scenes thou lovest, scorn not the minstrel strain!

No! do not scorn, although its hoarser note

Scarce with the cushat's homely song can vie, Though faint its beauties as the tints remote That gleam through mist in autumn's evening sky,

And few as leaves that tremble, sear and dry, When wild November hath his bugle wound; Nor mock my toil-a lonely gleaner I,

Through fields time-wasted, on sad inquest bound,

Where happier bards of yore have richer harvest found.

So shalt thou list, and haply not unmoved,
To a wild tale of Albyn's warrior day;
In distant lands, by the rough west reproved,
Still live some reliques of the ancient lay.
For, when on Coolin's hills the lights decay,
With such the seer of Skye the eve beguiles;
'Tis known amid the pathless wastes of Reay,
In Harries known, and in Iona's piles,

Where rest from mortal coil the mighty of the
Isles.

1.

"WAKE, maid of Lorn!" the minstrels sung.
Thy rugged halls, Artornish! rung,!
And the dark seas, thy towers that lave,
Heaved on the beach a softer wave,
As mid the tuneful choir to keep

The diapason of the deep.

Lulled were the winds on Inninmore,
And green Loch-Alline's woodland shore,
As if wild woods and waves had pleasure
In listing to the lovely measure.
And ne'er to symphony more sweet
Gave mountain echoes answer meet,
Since, met from mainland and from isle
Ross, Arran, Ilay, and Argyle,
Each minstrel's tributary lay
Paid homage to the festal day.
Dull and dishonoured were the bard,
Worthless of guerdon and regard,
Deaf to the hope of minstrel fame,
Or lady's smiles, his noblest aim,

Who on that morn's resistless call Was silent in Artornish hall.

II.

"Wake, maid of Lorn!" 'twas thus they sung,
And yet more proud the descant rung,
"Wake, maid of Lorn! high right is ours,
To charm dull sleep from beauty's bowers;
Earth, ocean, air, have nought so shy
But owns the power of minstrelsy.
In Lettermore the timid deer

Will pause, the harp's wild chime to hear;
Rude Heiskar's seal through surges dark
Will long pursue the minstrel's bark;2
To list his notes, the eagle proud
Will poise him on Ben Cailliach's cloud;
Then let not maiden's ear disdain,
The summons of the minstrel train,
But, while our harps wild music make,
Edith of Lorn, awake, awake!

III.

"O wake, while dawn, with dewy shine,
Wakes nature's charms to vic with thine!
She bids the mottled thrush rejoice
To mate thy melody of voice;
The dew that on the violet lies
Mocks the dark lustre of thine eyes;
But, Edith, wake, and all we see
Of sweet and fair shall yield to thee!"-
"She comes not yet," gray Ferrand cried;
"Brethren, let softer spell be tried,
Those notes prolonged, that soothing theme,
Which best may mix with beauty's dream,
And whisper, with their silvery tone,
The hope she loves, yet fears to own.
He spoke, and on the harp-strings died
The strains of flattery and of pride;
More soft, more low, more tender fel.
The lay of love he bade them tell.

IV.

"Wake, maid of Lorn! the moments fly,
Which yet that maiden-name allow;
Wake, maiden, wake! the hour is nigh,
When love shall claim a plighted vow.
By fear, thy bosom's fluttering guest,
By hope, that soon shall fears remove,
We bid thee break the bonds of rest,
And wake thee at the call of love!
"Wake, Edith, wake! in yonder bay
Lies many a galley gayly manned,
We hear the merry pibrochs play,

We see the streamers' silken band.
What chieftain's praise these pibrochs swell,
What crest is on these banners wove,
The harp, the minstrel, dare not tell-
The riddle must be read by love."
V.

Retired her maiden train among,
Edith of Lorn received the song,

But tamed the minstrel's pride had been
That had her cold demeanour seen;

For not upon her cheek awoke

The glow of pride when flattery spoke,
Nor could their tenderest numbers bring
One sigh responsive to the string.
As vainly had her maidens vied
In skill to deck the princely bride.
Her locks, in dark-brown length arrayed,
Cathleen of Ulne, 'twas thine to braid;
Young Eva with meet reverence drew
On the light foot the silken shoe,

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While on the ancle's slender round
Those strings of pearl fair Bertha wound,
That, bleached Lochryan's depths within,
Seemed dusky still on Edith's skin.
But Einion, of experience old,
Had weightiest task-the mantle's fold
In many an artful plait she tied,
To show the form it seemed to hide,
Till on the floor descending rolled
Its waves of crimson blent with gold.
VI.

O! lives there now so cold a maid,
Who thus in beauty's pomp arrayed,
In beauty's proudest pitch of power,
And conquest won-the bridal hour-
With every charm that wins the heart,
By nature given, enhanced by art,
Could yet the fair reflection view,
In the bright mirror pictured true,
And not one dimple on her cheek
A tell-tale consciousness bespeak?-
Lives still such maid?-Fair damsels, say,
For further vouches not my lay,
Save that such lived in Britain's isle,
When Lorn's bright Edith scorned to smile.

VII.

But Morag, to whose fostering care
Proud Lorn had given his daughter fair,
Morag, who saw a mother's aid
By all a daughter's love repaid,
(Strict was that bond-most kind of all-
Inviolate in highland hall-)
Gray Morag sate a space apart
In Edith's eyes to read her heart.
In vain the attendants' fond appeal
To Morag's skill, to Morag's zeal;
She marked her child receive their care,
Cold as the image sculptured fair,
(Form of some sainted patroness,)
Which cloistered maids combine to dress;
She marked-and knew her nursling's heart
In the vain pomp took little part.
Wistful a while she gazed-then pressed
The maiden to her anxious breast
In finished loveliness-and led
To where a turret's airy head,
Slender and steep, and battled round,
O'erlooked, dark Mull! thy mighty sound,3
Where thwarting tides, with mingled roar,
Part thy swarth hills from Morven's shore.

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VIII.

Daughter," she said, "these seas behold, Round twice an hundred islands rolled, From Hirt, that hears their northern roar, To the green llay's fertile shore;4 Or mainland turn, where many a tower Owns thy bold brother's feudal power, Each on its own dark cape reclined, And listening to its own wild wind, From where Mingarry, sternly placed, O'erawes the woodland and the waste,5 To where Dunstaffnage hears the raging Of Connal with his rocks engaging. Think'st thou, amid this ample round, A single brow but thine has frowned, To sadden this auspicious morn, That bids the daughter of high Lorn Impledge her spousal faith to wed The heir of mighty Somerled:6 Ronald, from many a hero sprung, The fair, the valiant, and the young,

LORD OF THE ISLES, whose lofty name
A thousand bards have given to fame,
The mate of monarchs, and allied
On equal terms with England's pride.-
From chieftain's tower to bondsman's cot,
Who hears the tale, and triumphs not?
The damsel dons her best attire,
The shepherd lights his beltane fire,
Joy, joy! each warder's horn hath sung,
Joy, joy! each matin bell hath rung;
The holy priest says grateful mass,
Loud shouts each hardy galla-glass,
No mountain den holds outcast boor
Of heart so dull, of soul so poor,
But he hath flung his task aside,
And claimed this morn for holy-tide;
Yet, empress of this joyful day,
Edith is sad while all are gay."
IX.

Proud Edith's soul came to her eye,
Resentment checked the struggling sigh,
Her hurrying hand indignant dried
The burning tears of injured pride-
"Morag, forbear! or lend thy praise
To swell yon hireling harper's lays;
Make to yon maids thy boast of power,
That they may waste a wondering hour,
Telling of banners proudly borne,
Of pealing bell and bugle-horn,
Or, theme more dear, of robes of price,
Crownlets and gauds of rare device.
But thou, experienced as thou art,

Think'st thou with these to cheat the heart
That, bound in strong affection's chain,
Looks for return, and looks in vain?
No! sum thine Edith's wretched lot
In these brief words-he loves her not!

X.

"Debate it not-too long I strove
To call his cold observance love,
All blinded by the league that styled
Edith of Lorn,-while, yet a child,
She tripped the heath by Morag's side,-
The brave lord Ronald's destined bride.
Ere yet I saw him, while afar

His broadsword blazed in Scotland's war,
Trained to believe our fates the same,
My bosom throbbed when Ronald's name
Came gracing fame's heroic tale,
Like perfume on the summer gale.
What pilgrim sought our halls, nor told
Of Ronald's deeds in battle bold?
Who touched the harp to heroes' praise,
But his achievements swelled the lays?
E'en Morag-not a tale of fame

Was hers, but closed with Ronald's name.
He came! and all that had been told
Of his high worth seemed poor and cold,
Tame, lifeless, void of energy,
Unjust to Ronald and to me!

XI.

"Since then, what thought had Edith's heart,
And gave not plighted love its part!-
And what requital? cold delay-
Excuse that shunned the spousal day.-
It dawns, and Ronald is not here!-
Hunts he Bentalla's nimble deer,
Or loiters he in secret dell

To bid some lighter love farewell,
And swear, that though he may nat scorn
A daughter of the house of Lorn,8

Yet, when these formal rites are o'er, Again they meet, to part no more?"

XII.

-"Hush, daughter, hush! thy doubts remove,
More nobly think of Ronald's love.
Look, where beneath the castle gray
His fleet unmoor from Aros-bay!
Seest not each galley's topmast bend,
As on the yards the sails ascend?
Hiding the dark blue land they rise,
Like the white clouds on April skies;
The shouting vassals man the oars,
Behind them sink Mull's mountain shores,
Onward their merry course they keep,
Through whistling breeze and foaming deep.
And mark the headmost, seaward cast,
Stoop to the freshening gale her mast,
As if she veiled its bannered pride,
To greet afar her prince's bride!
Thy Ronald comes, and while in speed
His galley mates the flying steed,

He chides her sloth!"-Fair Edith sighed,
Blushed, sadly smiled, and thus replied:-

XIII.

"Sweet thought, but vain!-No, Morag! mark,
Type of his course, yon lonely bark,
That oft hath shifted helm and sail,
To win its way against the gale.
Since peep of morn, my vacant eyes
Have viewed by fits the course she tries;
Now, though the darkening scud comes on,
And dawn's fair promises be gone,
And though the weary crew may see
Our sheltering haven on their lee,
Still closer to the rising wind

They strive her shivering sail to bind,
Still nearer to the shelves' dread verge
At every tack her course they urge,
As if they feared Artornish more

Than adverse winds and breakers' roar."-
XIV.

Sooth spoke the maid.-Amid the tide

The skiff she marked lay tossing sore,
And shifted oft her stooping side,

In weary tack from shore to shore.
Yet on her destined course no more
She gained, of forward way,
Than what a minstrel may compare
To the poor meed which peasants share,
Who toil the live-long day;
And such the risk her pilot braves,

That oft, before she wore,
Her bowsprit kissed the broken waves,
Where in white foam the ocean raves

Upon the shelving shore.

Yet, to their destined purpose true,
Undaunted toiled her hardy crew,
Nor looked where shelter lay,

Nor for Artornish castle drew,
Nor steered for Aros-bay.

XV.

Thus while they strove with wind and seas, Borne onward by the willing breeze,

Loid Ronald's fleet swept by,

Streamered with silk, and tricked with gold, Manned with the noble and the bold

Of island chivalry.

Around their prows the ocean roars, And chafes beneath their thousand oars, Yet bears them on their way;

So chafes the war-horse in his might, That fieldward bears some valiant knight, Champs till both bit and boss are white,

But, foaming, must obey.

On each gay deck they might behold
Lances of steel and crests of gold,
And hauberks with their burnished fold,
That shimmered fair and free;
And each proud galley, as she passed,
To the wild cadence of the blast
Gave wilder minstrelsy.

Full many a shrill triumphant note
Saline and Scallastle bade float

Their misty shores around;
And Morven's echoes answered well,
And Duart heard the distant swell
Come down the darksome sound.

XVI.

So bore they on with mirth and pride,
And if that labouring bark they spied,
'Twas with such idle eye

As nobles cast on lowly boor,
When, toiling in his task obscure,
They pass him careless by.

Let them sweep on with heedless eyes!
But, had they known what mighty prize
In that frail vessel lay,

The famished wolf, that prowls the wold, Had scatheless passed the unguarded fold, Ere, drifting by these galleys bold,

Unchallenged were her way!

And thou, lord Ronald, sweep thou on,
With mirth and pride and minstrel tone!
But had'st thou known who sailed so nigh,
Far other glance were in thine eye!
Far other flush were on thy brow,
That, shaded by the bonnet, now
Assumes but ill the blithsome cheer
Of bridegroom when the bride is near.
XVII.

Yes, sweep they on!-We will not leave,
For them that triumph, those who grieve.
With that armada gay

Be laughter loud and jocund shout,
And bards to cheer the wassail rout,

With tale, romance, and lay;
And of wild mirth each clamorous art,
Which, if it cannot cheer the heart,
May stupify and stun its smart,
For one loud busy day.

Yes, sweep they on!--But with that skiff
Abides the minstrel tale,

Where there was dread of surge and cliff
Labour that strained each sinew stiff,
And one sad maiden's wail.

XVIII.

All day with fruitless strife they toiled,
With eve the ebbing currents boiled

More fierce from streight and lake;
And midway through the channel met
Conflicting tides that foam and fret,
And high their mingled billows jet,
As spears, that, in the battle set,
Spring upward as they break.
Then too the lights of eve were past,
And louder sung the western blast
On rocks of Inninmore;

Rent was the sail, and strained the mast,
And many a leak was gaping fast,
And the pale steersman stood aghast,
And gave the conflict o'er.

XIX.
'Twas then that one, whose lofty look
Nor labour dulled, nor terror shook,

Thus to the leader spoke:
"Brother, how hopest thou to abide
The fury of this wildered tide,
Or how avoid the rock's rude side,
Until the day has broke?

Did'st thou not mark the vessel reel,
With quivering planks and groaning keel,
At the last billow's shock?

Yet how of better counsel tell,
Though here thou seest poor Isabel

Half dead with want and fear;
For look on sea, or look on land,
Or yon dark sky, on every hand
Despair and death are near.
For her alone I grieve-on me
Danger sits light by land and sea,
I follow where thou wilt;
Either to bide the tempest's lour,
Or wend to yon unfriendly tower,
Or rush amid their naval power,
With war-cry wake their wassail-hour,
And die with hand on hilt.”—

XX.

That elder leader's calm reply
In steady voice was given,
"In man's most dark extremity

Oft succour dawns from heaven.
Edward, trim thou the shattered sail,
The helm be mine, and down the gale
Let our free course be driven;
So shall we 'scape the western bay,
The hostile fleet, the unequal fray,
So safely hold our vessel's way,
Beneath the castle wall;

For if a hope of safety rest,
"Tis on the sacred name of guest,
Who seeks for shelter, storm distressed,
Within a chieftain's hall.

If not-it best beseems our worth,
Our name, our right, our lofty birth,
By noble hands to fall."-

XXI.

The helm, to his strong arm consigned,
Gave the reefed sail to meet the wind,

And on her altered way,

Fierce bounding, forward sprung the ship, Like greyhound starting from the slip,

To seize his flying prey.

Awaked before the rushing prow,
The mimic fires of ocean glow,

Those lightnings of the wave;9
Wild sparkles crest the broken tides,
And, flashing round, the vessel's sides
With elvish lustre lave,
While, far behind, their livid light
To the dark billows of the night
A gloomy splendour gave.
It seems as if old ocean shakes
From his dark brow the livid flakes

In envious pageantry,

To match the meteor light that streaks
Grim Hecla's midnight sky.

XXII.

Nor lacked they steadier light to keep Their course upon the darkened deep:Artornish, on her frowning steep,

Twixt cloud and ocean hung, Ganced with a thousand lights of glee,

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Thus guided, on their course they bore,
Until they neared the mainland shore,
When frequent on the hollow blast
Wild shouts of merriment were cast,
And wind and wave and seabird's cry
With wassail sounds in concert vie
Like funeral shrieks with revelry,

Or like the battle-shout

By peasants heard from cliffs on high,
When triumph, rage, and agony,
Madden the fight and rout.

Now nearer yet, through mist and storm,
Dimly arose the castle's form,

And deepened shadow made,
Far lengthened on the main below,
Where, dancing in reflected glow,
An hundred torches played,
Spangling the wave with lights as vain
As pleasures in this vale of pain,
That dazzle as they fade.

XXIV.
Beneath the castle's sheltering lee,
They staid their course in quiet sea.
Hewn in the rock, a passage there
Sought the dark fortress by a stair

So straight, so high, so steep,
With peasant's staff one valiant hand
Might well the dizzy pass have manned,
'Gainst hundreds armed with spear and brand
And plunged them in the deep. 10
His bugle then the helmsman wound;
Loud answered every echo round,

From turret, rock, and bay,
The postern's hinges crash and groan,
And soon the warder's cresset shone
On those rude steps of slippery stone,
To light the upward way.

"Thrice welcome, holy sire!" he said;
"Full long the spousal train have staid,
And, vexed at thy delay,

Feared lest, amidst these wildering seas,
The darksome night and freshening breeze
Had driven thy bark astray."-

XXV.

"Warder," the younger stranger said, "Thine erring guess some mirth had made In mirthful hour; but nights like these, When the rough winds wake western seas, Brook not of glee. We crave some aid And needful shelter for this maid,

Until the break of day;

For, to ourselves, the deck's rude plank
Is easy as the mossy bank

That's breathed upon by May;

And for our storm-tossed skiff we seek
Short shelter in this leeward creek,
Prompt when the dawn the east shall streak
Again to bear away."-

Answered the warder," In what name
Assert ye hospitable claim?

Whence come, or whither bound?
Hath Erin seen your parting sails,
Or come ye on Norweyan gales?

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