The Lady of the Lake | Page 7

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.
Impatient of the silent horn,
Now on the gale her voice was borne:--

'Father!' she cried; the rocks around
Loved to prolong the gentle
sound.
Awhile she paused, no answer came;--
'Malcolm, was shine
the blast?' the name
Less resolutely uttered fell,
The echoes could
not catch the swell.
'A stranger I,' the Huntsman said,
Advancing
from the hazel shade.
The maid, alarmed, with hasty oar
Pushed her
light shallop from the shore,
And when a space was gained between,

Closer she drew her bosom's screen;--
So forth the startled swan
would swing,
So turn to prune his ruffled wing.
Then safe, though
fluttered and amazed,
She paused, and on the stranger gazed.
Not
his the form, nor his the eye,
That youthful maidens wont to fly.
XXI.
On his bold visage middle age
Had slightly pressed its signet sage,

Yet had not quenched the open truth
And fiery vehemence of youth;

Forward and frolic glee was there,
The will to do, the soul to dare,

The sparkling glance, soon blown to fire,
Of hasty love or
headlong ire.
His limbs were cast in manly could

For hardy sports
or contest bold;
And though in peaceful garb arrayed,
And
weaponless except his blade,
His stately mien as well implied
A
high-born heart, a martial pride,
As if a baron's crest he wore,
And
sheathed in armor bode the shore.
Slighting the petty need he showed,


He told of his benighted road;
His ready speech flowed fair and
free,
In phrase of gentlest courtesy,
Yet seemed that tone and
gesture bland
Less used to sue than to command.
XXII.
Awhile the maid the stranger eyed,
And, reassured, at length replied,

That Highland halls were open still
To wildered wanderers of the
hill.
'Nor think you unexpected come
To yon lone isle, our desert
home;
Before the heath had lost the dew,
This morn, a couch was
pulled for you;
On yonder mountain's purple head
Have ptarmigan
and heath-cock bled,
And our broad nets have swept the mere,
To
furnish forth your evening cheer.'--
'Now, by the rood, my lovely
maid,
Your courtesy has erred,' he said;
'No right have I to claim,
misplaced,
The welcome of expected guest.
A wanderer, here by
fortune toss,
My way, my friends, my courser lost,
I ne'er before,
believe me, fair,
Have ever drawn your mountain air,
Till on this
lake's romantic strand
I found a fey in fairy land!'--
XXIII.
'I well believe,' the maid replied,
As her light skiff approached the
side,--
'I well believe, that ne'er before
Your foot has trod Loch
Katrine's shore
But yet, as far as yesternight,
Old Allan-bane
foretold your plight,--
A gray -haired sire, whose eye intent
Was on
the visioned future bent.
He saw your steed, a dappled gray,
Lie
dead beneath the birchen way;
Painted exact your form and mien,

Your hunting-suit of Lincoln green,
That tasselled horn so gayly gilt,

That falchion's crooked blade and hilt,

That cap with heron
plumage trim,
And yon two hounds so dark and grim.
He bade that
all should ready be
To grace a guest of fair degree;
But light I held
his prophecy,
And deemed it was my father's horn
Whose echoes
o'er the lake were borne.'

XXIV.
The stranger smiled: -- 'Since to your home
A destined errant-knight I
come,
Announced by prophet sooth and old,
Doomed, doubtless,
for achievement bold,
I 'll lightly front each high emprise
For one
kind glance of those bright eyes.
Permit me first the task to guide

Your fairy frigate o'er the tide.'
The maid, with smile suppressed and
sly,
The toil unwonted saw him try;
For seldom, sure, if e'er before,

His noble hand had grasped an oar:
Yet with main strength his
strokes he drew,
And o'er the lake the shallop flew;
With heads
erect and whimpering cry,
The hounds behind their passage ply.

Nor frequent does the bright oar break
The darkening mirror of the
lake,
Until the rocky isle they reach,
And moor their shallop on the
beach.
XXV.
The stranger viewed the shore around;
'T was all so close with
copsewood bound,
Nor track nor pathway might declare
That
human foot frequented there,
Until the mountain maiden showed
A
clambering unsuspected road,
That winded through the tangled screen,

And opened on a narrow green,
Where weeping birch and willow
round
With their long fibres swept the ground.
Here, for retreat in
dangerous hour,
Some chief had framed a rustic bower.
XXVI.
It was a lodge of ample size,
But strange of structure and device;
Of
such materials as around
The workman's hand had readiest found.

Lopped of their boughs, their hoar trunks bared,
And by the hatchet
rudely squared,
To give the walls their destined height,
The sturdy
oak and ash unite;
While moss