Lady of the Lake

And moralize on the decay
Of Scottish strength in modern day.

XXIV

The vale with loud applauses rang, 
The Ladies' Rock sent back the clang.

The King, with look unmoved, bestowed
A purse well-filled with pieces broad.

Indignant smiled the Douglas proud,
And threw the gold among the crowd, 
Who now, with anxious wonder, scan,
And sharper glance, the dark gray man;

Till whispers rose among the throng,
That heart so free, and hand so strong,
Must to the Douglas blood belong. 

The old men marked and shook the head,
To see his hair with silver spread,
And winked aside, and told each son,
Of feats upon the English done,
Ere Douglas of the stalwart hand 
Was exiled from his native land.

The women praised his stately form,
Though wrecked by many a winter's storm;
The youth with awe and wonder saw
His strength surpassing Nature's law. 

Thus judged, as is their wont, the crowd,
Till murmur rose to clamors loud.
But not a glance from that proud ring
Of peers who circled round the King,
With Douglas held communion kind, 
Or called the banished man to mind;

No, not from those who, at the chase,
Once held his side the honored place,
Begirt his board, and, in the field,
Found safety underneath his shield; 
For he, whom royal eyes disown,
When was his form to courtiers known!

XXV

The Monarch saw the gambols flag,
And bade let loose a gallant stag,
Whose pride, the holiday to crown, 
Two favorite greyhounds should pull down,
That venison free, and Bordeaux wine,
Might serve the archery to dine.

But Lufra—whom from Douglas' side
Nor bribe nor threat could e'er divide, 
The fleetest hound in all the North—
Brave Lufra saw and darted forth.

She left the royal hounds mid-way,
And dashing on the antlered prey,
Sunk her sharp muzzle in his flank, 
And deep the flowing life-blood drank.

The King's stout huntsman saw the sport
By strange intruder broken short,
Came up, and with his leash unbound,
In anger struck the noble hound. 

The Douglas had endured, that morn,
The King's cold look, the nobles' scorn,
And last, and worst to spirit proud,
Had borne the pity of the crowd;