The Lady of the Lake Chapter 8: Part 8

air, Although the holiest name was there, Had more of blasphemy than prayer. But when he shook above the crowd Its kindled points, he spoke aloud:-- 'Woe to the wretch who fails to rear At this dread sign the ready spear! For, as the flames this symbol sear, His home, the refuge of his fear, A kindred fate shall know; Far o'er its roof the volumed flame Clan-Alpine's vengeance shall proclaim, While maids and matrons on his name Shall call down wretchedness and shame, And infamy and woe.' Then rose the cry of females, shrill As goshawk's whistle on the hill, Denouncing misery and ill, Mingled with childhood's babbling trill Of curses stammered slow; Answering with imprecation dread, 'Sunk be his home in embers red! And cursed be the meanest shed That o'er shall hide the houseless head We doom to want and woe!' A sharp and shrieking echo gave, Coir-Uriskin, thy goblin cave! And the gray pass where birches wave On Beala-nam-bo. XI. Then deeper paused the priest anew, And hard his laboring breath he drew, While, with set teeth and clenched hand, And eyes that glowed like fiery brand, He meditated curse more dread, And deadlier, on the clansman's head Who, summoned to his chieftain's aid, The signal saw and disobeyed. The crosslet's points of sparkling wood He quenched among the bubbling blood. And, as again the sign he reared, Hollow and hoarse his voice was heard: 'When flits this Cross from man to man, Vich-Alpine's summons to his clan, Burst be the ear that fails to heed! Palsied the foot that shuns to speed! May ravens tear the careless eyes, Wolves make the coward heart their prize! As sinks that blood-stream in the earth, So may his heart's-blood drench his hearth! As dies in hissing gore the spark, Quench thou his light, Destruction dark! And be the grace to him denied, Bought by this sign to all beside! He ceased; no echo gave again The murmur of the deep Amen. XII. Then Roderick with impatient look From Brian's hand the symbol took: 'Speed, Malise, speed' he said, and gave The crosslet to his henchman brave. 'The muster-place be Lanrick mead-- Instant the time---speed, Malise, speed!' Like heath-bird, when the hawks pursue, A barge across Loch Katrine flew: High stood the henchman on the prow; So rapidly the barge-mall row, The bubbles, where they launched the boat, Were all unbroken and afloat, Dancing in foam and ripple still, When it had neared the mainland hill; And from the silver beach's side Still was the prow three fathom wide, When lightly bounded to the land The messenger of blood and brand. XIII. Speed, Malise, speed! the dun deer's hide On fleeter foot was never tied. Speed, Malise, speed! such cause of haste Thine active sinews never braced. Bend 'gainst the steepy hill thy breast, Burst down like torrent from its crest; With short and springing footstep pass The trembling bog and false morass; Across the brook like roebuck bound, And thread the brake like questing hound; The crag is high, the scaur is deep, Yet shrink not from the desperate leap: Parched are thy burning lips and brow, Yet by the fountain pause not now; Herald of battle, fate, and fear, Stretch onward in thy fleet career! The wounded hind thou track'st not now, Pursuest not maid through greenwood bough, Nor priest thou now thy flying pace With rivals in the mountain race; But danger, death, and warrior deed Are in thy course--speed, Malise, speed! XIV. Fast as the fatal symbol flies, In arms the huts and hamlets rise; From winding glen, from upland brown, They poured each hardy tenant down. Nor slacked the messenger his pace; He showed the sign, he named the place, And, pressing forward like the wind, Left clamor and surprise behind. The fisherman forsook the strand, The swarthy smith took dirk and brand; With changed cheer, the mower blithe Left in the half-cut swath his scythe; The herds without a keeper strayed, The plough was in mid-furrow staved, The falconer tossed his hawk away, The hunter left the stag at hay; Prompt at the signal of alarms, Each son of Alpine rushed to arms; So swept the tumult and affray Along the margin of Achray. Alas, thou lovely lake! that e'er Thy banks should echo sounds of fear! The rocks, the bosky thickets, sleep So stilly on thy bosom deep, The lark's blithe carol from the cloud Seems for the scene too gayly loud. XV. Speed, Malise, speed! The lake is past, Duncraggan's huts appear at last, And peep, like moss-grown rocks, half seen Half hidden in the copse so green; There mayst thou rest, thy labor done, Their lord shall speed the signal on.-- As stoops the hawk upon his prey, The henchman shot him down the way. What woful accents load the gale? The funeral yell, the female wail! A gallant hunter's sport is o'er, A valiant warrior fights no more. Who, in the battle or the chase, At Roderick's side shall fill his place!-- Within the hall, where torch's ray Supplies the excluded beams of day, Lies Duncan on his lowly bier, And o'er him streams his widow's tear. His stripling son stands mournful by, His youngest weeps, but knows not why; The village maids and matrons round The dismal coronach resound. XVI. Coronach. He is gone on the mountain, He is lost to the forest, Like a summer-dried fountain, When our need was the sorest. The font, reappearing, From the rain-drops shall borrow, But to us comes no cheering, To Duncan no morrow! The hand of the reaper Takes the ears that are hoary, But the voice of the weeper Wails manhood in glory. The autumn winds rushing Waft the leaves that are searest, But our flower was in flushing, When blighting was nearest. Fleet foot on the correi, Sage counsel in cumber, Red hand in the foray, How sound is thy slumber! Like the dew on the mountain, Like the foam on the river, Like the bubble on the fountain, Thou art gone, and forever! XVII. See Stumah, who, the bier beside His master's corpse with wonder eyed, Poor Stumah! whom his least halloo Could send like lightning o'er the dew, Bristles his crest, and points his ears, As if some stranger step he hears. 'T is not a mourner's muffled tread, Who comes to sorrow o'er the dead, But headlong haste or deadly fear Urge the precipitate career. All stand aghast:--unheeding all, The henchman bursts into the hall; Before the dead man's bier he stood, Held forth the Cross besmeared with blood; 'The muster-place is Lanrick mead; Speed forth the signal! clansmen, speed!' XVIII, Angus, the heir of Duncan's line, Sprung forth and seized the fatal sign. In haste the stripling to his side His father's dirk and broadsword tied; But when he saw his mother's eye Watch him in speechless agony, Back to her opened arms he flew Pressed on her lips a fond adieu,-- 'Alas' she sobbed,--'and yet be gone, And speed thee forth, like Duncan's son!' One look he cast upon the bier, Dashed from his eye the gathering tear, Breathed deep to clear his laboring breast, And tossed aloft his bonnet crest, Then, like the high-bred colt when, freed, First he essays his fire and speed, He vanished, and o'er moor and moss Sped forward with the Fiery Cross. Suspended was the widow's tear While yet his footsteps she could hear; And when she marked the henchman's eye Wet with unwonted sympathy, 'Kinsman,' she said, 'his race is run That should have sped thine errand on. The oak teas fallen?--the sapling bough Is all Duncraggan's shelter now Yet trust I well, his duty done, The orphan's God will guard my son.-- And you, in many a danger true At Duncan's hest your blades that drew, To arms, and guard that orphan's head! Let babes and women wail the dead.' Then weapon-clang and martial call Resounded through the funeral hall, While from the walls the attendant band Snatched sword and targe with hurried hand; And short and flitting energy Glanced from the mourner's sunken eye, As if the sounds to warrior dear Might rouse her Duncan from his bier. But faded soon that borrowed force; Grief claimed his right, and tears their course. XIX. Benledi saw the Cross of Fire, It glanced like lightning up Strath-Ire. O'er dale and hill the summons flew, Nor rest nor pause young Angus knew; The tear that gathered in his eye He deft the mountain-breeze to dry; Until, where Teith's young waters roll Betwixt him and a wooded knoll That graced the sable strath with green, The chapel of Saint Bride was seen. Swoln was the stream, remote the bridge, But Angus paused not on the edge; Though the clerk waves danced dizzily, Though reeled his sympathetic eye, He dashed amid the torrent's roar: His right hand high the crosslet bore, His left the pole-axe grasped, to guide And stay his footing in the tide. He stumbled twice,--the foam splashed high, With hoarser swell the stream raced by; And had he fallen,--forever there, Farewell Duncraggan's orphan heir! But still, as if in parting life, Firmer he grasped the Cross of strife, Until the opposing bank he gained, And up the chapel pathway strained. A blithesome rout that morning-tide Had sought the chapel of Saint Bride. Her troth Tombea's Mary gave To Norman, heir of Armandave, And, issuing from the Gothic arch, The bridal now resumed their march. In rude but glad procession came Bonneted sire and coif-clad dame; And plaided youth, with jest and jeer Which snooded maiden would not hear: And children, that, unwitting why, Lent the gay shout their shrilly cry; And minstrels, that in measures vied Before the young and bonny bride, Whose downcast eye and cheek disclose The tear and blush of morning rose. With virgin step and bashful hand She held the kerchief's snowy band. The gallant bridegroom by her side Beheld his prize with victor's pride. And the glad mother in her ear Was closely whispering word of cheer. XXI. Who meets them at the churchyard gate? The messenger of fear and fate! Haste in his hurried accent lies, And grief is swimming in his eyes. All dripping from the recent flood, Panting and travel-soiled he stood, The fatal sign of fire and sword Held forth, and spoke the appointed word: 'The muster-place is Lanrick mead; Speed forth the signal! Norman, speed!' And must he change so soon the hand Just linked to his by holy band, For the fell Cross of blood and brand? And must the day so blithe that rose, And promised rapture in the close, Before its setting hour, divide The bridegroom from the plighted bride? O fatal doom'--it