The Scottish Chiefs | Page 2

innocent joys.
Wallace threw aside the wedding garment for the cuirass and the sword.
But he was not permitted long to use either-Scotland submitted to her
enemies; and he had no alternative but to bow to her oppressors, or to
become an exile from man, amid the deep glens of his country.
The tower of Ellerslie was henceforth the lonely abode of himself and
his bride. The neighboring nobles avoided him, because the principles
he declared were a tacit reproach on their proceedings; and in the
course of a short time, as he forbore to seek them, they even forgot that
he was in existence. Indeed, all occasions of mixing with society he
now rejected. The hunting-spear with which he had delighted to follow
the flying roebuck from glade to glade, the arrows with which he used
to bring down the heavy ptarmigan or the towering eagle, all were laid
aside. Scottish liberty was no more; and Wallace would have blushed to
have shown himself to the free-born deer of his native hills, in
communion of sports with the spoilers of his country. Had he pursued
his once favorite exercises, he must have mingled with the English,
now garrisoned in every town, and who passed their hours of leisure in
the chase.
Being resigned to bury his youth-since its strength could no longer be
serviceable to his country-books, his harp, and the sweet converse of
his tender Marion, became the occupations of his days. Ellerslie was
his hermitage; and there, closed from the world, with an angel his
companion, he might have forgotten Edward was lord in Scotland, had
not that which was without his little paradise made a way to its gates,
and showed him the slavery of the nobles and the wretchedness of the
people. In these cases, his generous hand gave succor where it could
not bring redress. Those whom the lawless plunderer had driven from
their houses or stripped of their covering, found shelter, clothing, and
food at the house of Sir William Wallace.
Ellerslie was the refuge of the friendless, and the comfort of the
unhappy. Wherever Lady Wallace moved-whether looking out from her
window on the accidental passenger, or taking her morning or

moonlight walks through the glen, leaning on the arm of her
husband-she had the rapture of hearing his steps greeted and followed
by the blessings of the poor destitute, and the prayers of them who were
ready to perish. It was then that this happy woman would raise her
husband's hands to her lips, and in silent adoration, thank God for
blessing her with a being made so truly in his own image.
Several months of this blissful and uninterrupted solitude had elapsed,
when Lady Wallace saw a chieftain at her gate. He inquired for its
master-requested a private conference-and retired with him into a
remote room. They remained together for an hour. Wallace then came
forth, and ordering his horse, with four followers, to be in readiness,
said he meant to accompany his guest to Douglas Castle. When he
embraced his wife at parting, he told her that as Douglas was only a
few miles distant, he should be at home again before the moon rose.
She passed the tedious hours of his absence with tranquillity, till the
appointed signal of his return appeared from behind the summits of the
opposite mountains. So bright were its beams, that Marion did not need
any other light to show her the stealing sands of her hour-glass, as they
numbered the prolonged hours of her husband's stay. She dismissed her
servants to their rest; all, excepting Halbert, the gray-haired harper of
Wallace; and he, like herself, was too unaccustomed to the absence of
his master to find sleep visit his eyes while Ellerslie was bereft of its
joy and its guard.
As the night advanced, Lady Wallace sat in the window of her
bed-chamber, which looked toward the west. She watched the winding
pathway that led from Lanark down the opposite heights, eager to catch
a glimpse of the waving plumes of her husband when he should emerge
from behind the hill, and pass under the thicket which overhung the
road. How often, as a cloud obscured for an instant the moon's light,
and threw a transitory shade across the path, did her heart bound with
the thought that her watching was at an end! It was he whom she had
seen start from the abrupt rock! They were the folds of his tartan that
darkened the white cliff! But the moon again rolled through her train of
clouds and threw her light around. Where then was her Wallace? Alas!

it was only a shadow she had seen! the hill was still lonely, and he
whom she sought was yet far away! Overcome with watching,