The Lady of the Lake Chapter 16: Part 16

All up in arms;--the Douglas too, They mourned him pent within the hold, 'Where stout Earl William was of old.'-- And there his word the speaker stayed, And finger on his lip he laid, Or pointed to his dagger blade. But jaded horsemen from the west At evening to the Castle pressed, And busy talkers said they bore Tidings of fight on Katrine's shore; At noon the deadly fray begun, And lasted till the set of sun. Thus giddy rumor shook the town, Till closed the Night her pennons brown. CANTO SIXTH. The Guard-room. I. The sun, awakening, through the smoky air Of the dark city casts a sullen glance, Rousing each caitiff to his task of care, Of sinful man the sad inheritance; Summoning revellers from the lagging dance, Scaring the prowling robber to his den; Gilding on battled tower the warder's lance, And warning student pale to leave his pen, And yield his drowsy eyes to the kind nurse of men. What various scenes, and O, what scenes of woe, Are witnessed by that red and struggling beam! The fevered patient, from his pallet low, Through crowded hospital beholds it stream; The ruined maiden trembles at its gleam, The debtor wakes to thought of gyve and jail, 'The love-lore wretch starts from tormenting dream: The wakeful mother, by the glimmering pale, Trims her sick infant's couch, and soothes his feeble wail. II. At dawn the towers of Stirling rang With soldier-step and weapon-clang, While drums with rolling note foretell Relief to weary sentinel. Through narrow loop and casement barred, The sunbeams sought the Court of Guard, And, struggling with the smoky air, Deadened the torches' yellow glare. In comfortless alliance shone The lights through arch of blackened stone, And showed wild shapes in garb of war, Faces deformed with beard and scar, All haggard from the midnight watch, And fevered with the stern debauch; For the oak table's massive board, Flooded with wine, with fragments stored, And beakers drained, and cups o'erthrown, Showed in what sport the night had flown. Some, weary, snored on floor and bench; Some labored still their thirst to quench; Some, chilled with watching, spread their hands O'er the huge chimney's dying brands, While round them, or beside them flung, At every step their harness rung. III. These drew not for their fields the sword, Like tenants of a feudal lord, Nor owned the patriarchal claim Of Chieftain in their leader's name; Adventurers they, from far who roved, To live by battle which they loved. There the Italian's clouded face, The swarthy Spaniard's there you trace; The mountain-loving Switzer there More freely breathed in mountain-air; The Fleming there despised the soil That paid so ill the labourer's toil; Their rolls showed French and German name; And merry England's exiles came, To share, with ill-concealed disdain, Of Scotland's pay the scanty gain. All brave in arms, well trained to wield The heavy halberd, brand, and shield; In camps licentious, wild, and bold; In pillage fierce and uncontrolled; And now, by holytide and feast, From rules of discipline released. IV. 'They held debate of bloody fray, Fought 'twixt Loch Katrine and Achray. Fierce was their speech, and mid their words 'Their hands oft grappled to their swords; Nor sunk their tone to spare the ear Of wounded comrades groaning near, Whose mangled limbs and bodies gored Bore token of the mountain sword, Though, neighbouring to the Court of Guard, Their prayers and feverish wails were heard,-- Sad burden to the ruffian joke, And savage oath by fury spoke!-- At length up started John of Brent, A yeoman from the banks of Trent; A stranger to respect or fear, In peace a chaser of the deer, In host a hardy mutineer, But still the boldest of the crew When deed of danger was to do. He grieved that day their games cut short, And marred the dicer's brawling sport, And shouted loud, 'Renew the bowl! And, while a merry catch I troll, Let each the buxom chorus bear, Like brethren of the brand and spear.' V. Soldier's Song. Our vicar still preaches that Peter and Poule Laid a swinging long curse on the bonny brown bowl, That there 's wrath and despair in the jolly black-jack, And the seven deadly sins in a flagon of sack; Yet whoop, Barnaby! off with thy liquor, Drink upsees out, and a fig for the vicar! Our vicar he calls it damnation to sip The ripe ruddy dew of a woman's dear lip, Says that Beelzebub lurks in her kerchief so sly, And Apollyon shoots darts from her merry black eye; Yet whoop, Jack! kiss Gillian the quicker, Till she bloom like a rose, and a fig for the vicar! Our vicar thus preaches,--and why should he not? For the dues of his cure are the placket and pot; And 'tis right of his office poor laymen to lurch Who infringe the domains of our good Mother Church. Yet whoop, bully-boys! off with your liquor, Sweet Marjorie 's the word and a fig for the vicar! VI. The warder's challenge, heard without, Stayed in mid-roar the merry shout. A soldier to the portal went,-- 'Here is old Bertram, sirs, of Ghent; And--beat for jubilee the drum!-- A maid and minstrel with him come.' Bertram, a Fleming, gray and scarred, Was entering now the Court of Guard, A harper with him, and, in plaid All muffled close, a mountain maid, Who backward shrunk to 'scape the view Of the loose scene and boisterous crew. 'What news?' they roared:--' I only know, From noon till eve we fought with foe, As wild and as untamable As the rude mountains where they dwell; On both sides store of blood is lost, Nor much success can either boast.'-- 'But whence thy captives, friend? such spoil As theirs must needs reward thy toil. Old dost thou wax, and wars grow sharp; Thou now hast glee-maiden and harp! Get thee an ape, and trudge the land, The leader of a juggler band.' VII. 'No, comrade;--no such fortune mine. After the fight these sought our line, That aged harper and the girl, And, having audience of the Earl, Mar bade I should purvey them steed, And bring them hitherward with speed. Forbear your mirth and rude alarm, For none shall do them shame or harm.-- 'Hear ye his boast?' cried John of Brent, Ever to strife and jangling bent; 'Shall he strike doe beside our lodge, And yet the jealous niggard grudge To pay the forester his fee? I'll have my share howe'er it be, Despite of Moray, Mar, or thee.' Bertram his forward step withstood; And, burning in his vengeful mood, Old Allan, though unfit for strife, Laid hand upon his dagger-knife; But Ellen boldly stepped between, And dropped at once the tartan screen:-- So, from his morning cloud, appears The sun of May through summer tears. The savage soldiery, amazed, As on descended angel gazed; Even hardy Brent, abashed and tamed, Stood half admiring, half ashamed. VIII. Boldly she spoke: 'Soldiers, attend! My father was the soldier's friend, Cheered him in camps, in marches led, And with him in the battle bled. Not from the valiant or the strong Should exile's daughter suffer wrong.' Answered De Brent, most forward still In every feat or good or ill: 'I shame me of the part I played; And thou an outlaw's child, poor maid! An outlaw I by forest laws, And merry Needwood knows the cause. Poor Rose,--if Rose be living now,'-- He wiped his iron eye and brow,-- 'Must bear such age, I think, as thou.-- Hear ye, my mates! I go to call The Captain of our watch to hall: There lies my halberd on the floor; And he that steps my halberd o'er, To do the maid injurious part, My shaft shall quiver in his heart! Beware loose speech, or jesting rough; Ye all know John de Brent. Enough.' IX. Their Captain came, a gallant young,-- Of Tullibardine's house he sprung,-- Nor wore he yet the spurs of knight; Gay was his mien, his humor light And, though by courtesy controlled, Forward his speech, his bearing bold. The high-born maiden ill could brook The scanning of his curious look And dauntless eye:--and yet, in sooth Young Lewis was a generous youth; But Ellen's lovely face and mien Ill suited to the garb and scene, Might lightly bear construction strange, And give loose fancy scope to range. 'Welcome to Stirling towers, fair maid! Come ye to seek a champion's aid, On palfrey white, with harper hoar, Like errant damosel of yore? Does thy high quest a knight require, Or may the venture suit a squire?' Her dark eye flashed;--she paused and sighed:-- 'O what have I to do with pride!-- Through scenes of sorrow, shame, and strife, A suppliant for a father's life, I crave an audience of the King. Behold, to back my suit, a ring, The royal pledge of grateful claims, Given by the Monarch to Fitz-James.' X. The signet-ring young Lewis took With deep respect and altered look, And said: 'This ring our duties own; And pardon, if to worth unknown, In semblance mean obscurely veiled, Lady, in aught my folly failed. Soon as the day flings wide his gates, The King shall know what suitor waits. Please you meanwhile in fitting bower Repose you till his waking hour. Female attendance shall obey Your hest, for service or array. Permit I marshal you the way.' But, ere she followed, with the grace And open bounty of her race, She bade her slender purse be shared Among the soldiers of the guard. The rest with thanks their guerdon took, But Brent, with shy and awkward look, On the reluctant maiden's hold Forced bluntly back the proffered gold:-- 'Forgive a haughty English heart, And O, forget its ruder part! The vacant purse shall be my share, Which in my barrel-cap I'll bear, Perchance, in jeopardy of war, Where gayer crests may keep afar.' With thanks--'twas all she could--the maid His rugged courtesy repaid. XI. When Ellen forth with Lewis went, Allan made suit to John of Brent:-- 'My lady safe, O let your grace Give me to see my master's face! His minstrel I,--to share his doom Bound from the cradle to the tomb. Tenth in descent, since first my sires Waked for his noble house their Iyres, Nor one of all the race was known But prized its weal above their own. With the Chief's birth begins our care; Our harp must soothe the infant heir, Teach the youth tales of fight, and grace His earliest feat of field or chase; In peace, in war, our rank we keep, We cheer his board, we soothe his sleep, Nor leave him till we pour our