'Twas here, at eve, we formed our fairy ring;
And Fancy fluttered on her wildest wing.
As o'er the dusky furniture I bend,
Each chair awakes the feelings of a friend. . . .
As through the garden's desert paths I rove, What fond illusions swarm in every grove ! How oft, when purple evening tinged west,
We watched the emmet to her grainy nest; Welcomed the wild-bee home on weary wing, Laden with sweets, the choicest of the spring! How oft inscribed, with Friendship's votive rhyme,
The bark now silvered by the touch of Time; Soared in the swing, half pleased and half afraid, Through sister elms that waved their summershade;
Or strewed with crumbs yon root-inwoven seat, To lure the redbreast from his lone retreat!
Childhood's loved group revisits every scene; The tangled wood-walk, and the tufted green! Indulgent Memory wakes, and lo, they live! Clothed with far softer lines than Light can give..
The School's lone porch, with reverend mosses grey,
Just tells the pensive pilgrim where it lay.
Mute is the bell that rung at peep of dawn,
Quickening my truant feet across the lawn;
Unheard the shout that rent the noon-tide air,
When the slow dial gave a pause to care.
Up springs, at every step, to claim a tear,
Some little friendship formed and cherished here ;
And not the lightest leaf, but trembling teems
With golden visions and romantic dreams! . . . .
Lulled in the countless chambers of the brain, Our thoughts are linked by many a hidden chain; Awake but one, and, lo! what myriads rise ! Each stamps its image as the other flies.
PRINCIPAL WRITINGS:- The Lay of the Last Minstrel; Marmion; The Lady of the Lake; The Lord of the Isles; Rokeby; The Waverley Novels.
The Combat.
(From "The Lady of the Lake.")
THE chief in silence strode before,
And reach'd that torrent's sounding shore,
Which, daughter of three mighty lakes,*
From Vennachar in silver breaks,
Sweeps through the plain, and ceaseless mines
On Bochastle the mouldering lines,
*THREE MIGHTY LAKES.-Katrine, Achray, Vennachar.
+ BOCHASTLE-A flat and extensive moor, on which are some intrenchments, thought to be Roman.
Where Rome, the Empress of the world.
Of yore her eagle-wings unfurl'd.
And here his course the Chieftain staid,
Threw down his target and his plaid,
And to the Lowland warrior said-
"Bold Saxon! to his promise just,
Vich Alpine has discharged his trust.
This murderous Chief, this ruthless man,
This head of a rebellious clan,
Hath led thee safe, through watch and ward,
ar past Clan-Alpine's outmost guard.
Now, man to man, and steel to steel,
A Chieftain's vengeance thou shalt feel.
See, here, all vantageless I stand,
Armed like thyself, with single brand :
For this is Coilantogle ford,
And thou must keep thee with thy sword."
The Saxon paused:-"I ne'er delayed,
When foeman bade me draw my blade;
Nay, more, brave Chief, I vowed thy death:
Yet sure thy fair and generous faith,
And my deep debt for life preserv'd
A better meed have well deserved.
Can nought but blood our feud atone?
Are there no means?" "No, Stranger, none:
And hear, to fire thy flagging zeal,—
The Saxon cause rests on thy steel;
*VICH ALPINE-i.e., the son of Alpine. Roderick's full name was "Roderick Vich Alpine Dhu." Dhu meaning black.
For thus spoke Fate, by prophet bred,
Between the living and the dead:
"Who spills the foremost foeman's life,
His party conquers in the strife.'”
"Then, by my word," the Saxon said,
"The riddle is already read.
Seek yonder brake beneath the cliff,-
There lies Red Murdoch, stark and stiff.
Thus Fate has solved her prophecy,
Then yield to Fate, and not to me.
To James, at Stirling, let us go,
When, if thou wilt be still his foe,
Or if the King shall not agree
To grant thee grace and favour free,
I plight mine honour, oath, and word,
That to thy native strengths restored,
With each advantage shalt thou stand,
That aids thee now to guard thy land."
Dark lightning flashed from Roderick's eye-
"Soars thy presumption then so high,
Because a wretched kern ye slew,
Homage to name to Roderick Dhu?
He yields not, he, to man nor Fate?
Thou add'st but fuel to my hate:-
:-
My clansman's blood demands revenge.
Not yet prepared?-By Heaven I change
My thought, and hold thy valour light
As that of some vain carpet knight,
Who ill deserved my courteous care,
And whose best boast is but to wear
A braid of his fair lady's hair."-
"I thank thee, Roderick, for the word;
It nerves my heart, it steels my sword;
For I have sworn this braid to stain
In the best blood that warms thy vein.
Now, truce, farewell! and, ruth, begone !—
Yet think not that by thee alone,
Proud Chief! can courtesy be shown;
Though not from copse, or heath, or cairn,
Start at my whistle clansmen stern,
Of this small horn one feeble blast
Would fearful odds against thee cast.
But fear not-doubt not—which thou wilt,
We try this quarrel hilt to hilt."-
Then each at once his falchion drew,
Each on the ground his scabbard threw,
Each look'd to sun, and stream, and plain,
As what they ne'er might see again;
Then foot, and point, and eye opposed,
In dubious strife they darkly closed.
Ill fared it then with Roderick Dhu,
That on the field his targe he threw,
Whose brazen studs and tough bull-hide
Had death so often dashed aside ;
For, train❜d abroad his arms to wield,
Fitz-James's* blade was sword and shield.
* FITZ-JAMES.-James V. of Scotland, who was fond of rambling about the country among his subjects, in disguise.
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