The uncouth trophies of the hall. Mid those the stranger fixed his eye, Where that huge falchion hung on high, And thoughts on thoughts, a countless throng, Rushed, chasing countless thoughts along. Until, the giddy whirl to cure, He rose, and sought the moonshine pure.
XXXV
The wild-rose, eglantine, and broom, Wasted around their rich perfume: The birch-trees swept in fragrant balm, The aspens slept beneath the calm; The silver light, with quivering glance, Played on the water's still expanse— Wild were the heart whose passion's sway Could rage beneath the sober ray! He felt its calm, that warrior guest, While thus he communed with his breast: 'Why is it, at each turn I trace Some memory of that exiled race? Can I not mountain-maiden spy, But she must bear the Douglas eye? Can I not view a Highland brand, But it must match the Douglas hand? Can I not frame a fevered dream, But still the Douglas is the theme? I'll dream no more—by manly mind Not even in sleep is will resigned. My midnight orisons said o'er, I'll turn to rest, and dream no more.' His midnight orisons he told, A prayer with every bead of gold, Consigned to heaven his cares and woes, And sunk in undisturbed repose, Until the heath-cock shrilly crew, And morning dawned on Benvenue.
CANTO SECOND
THE ISLAND
I
At morn the blackcock trims his jetty wing, 'Tis morning prompts the linnet's blithest lay, All Nature's children feel the matin spring Of life reviving, with reviving day; And while yon little bark glides down the bay, Wafting the stranger on his way again, Morn's genial influence roused a minstrel gray, And sweetly o'er the lake was heard thy strain, Mixed with the sounding harp, O white-haired Allan-bane!
II
SONG'Not faster yonder rowers' might Flings from their oars the spray,
