My purse, with bonnet-pieces store, To him will swim a bow-shot o'er, And loose a shallop from the shore. Lightly we'll tame the war-wolf then, Lords of his mate, and brood, and den.' Forth from the ranks a spearman sprung, On earth his casque and corselet rung, He plunged him in the wave; All saw the deed—the purpose knew, And to their clamors Benvenue A mingled echo gave; The Saxons shout, their mate to cheer, The helpless females scream for fear, And yells for rage the mountaineer. 'Twas then, as by the outcry riven, Poured down at once the lowering heaven; A whirlwind swept Loch Katrine's breast, Her billows reared their snowy crest. Well for the swimmer swelled they high, To mar the Highland marksman's eye; For round him showered, 'mid rain and hail, The vengeful arrows of the Gael. In vain—he nears the isle—and lo! His hand is on a shallop's bow. Just then a flash of lightning came, It tinged the waves and strand with flame; I marked Duncraggan's widowed dame, Behind an oak I saw her stand, A naked dirk gleamed in her hand; It darkened—but, amid the moan Of waves, I heard a dying groan; Another flash!—the spearman floats A weltering corse beside the boats, And the stern matron o'er him stood, Her hand and dagger streaming blood.
XXI
''Revenge! revenge!' the Saxons cried; The Gaels' exulting shout replied. Despite the elemental rage, Again they hurried to engage; But, ere they closed in desperate fight, Bloody with spurring came a knight, Sprung from his horse, and, from a crag, Waved 'twixt the hosts a milk-white flag. Clarion and trumpet by his side Rung forth a truce-note high and wide, While, in the Monarch's name, afar An herald's voice forbade the war, For Bothwell's lord, and Roderick bold, Were both, he said, in captive hold.' —But here the lay made sudden stand, The harp escaped the Minstrel's hand!— Oft had he stolen a glance, to spy How Roderick brooked his minstrelsy: At first, the Chieftain, to the chime, With lifted hand, kept feeble time; That motion ceased—yet feeling strong Varied his look as changed the song; At length, no more his deafened ear The minstrel melody can hear; His face grows sharp—his hands are clenched, As if some pang his heart-strings wrenched; Set are his teeth, his fading eye Is sternly fixed on vacancy; Thus, motionless, and moanless, drew His parting breath, stout Roderick Dhu! Old Allan-bane looked on aghast,
