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 thou shalt 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 kern2 ye slew?
Homage to name-to Roderick Dhu!3
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, 5 begono
Yet think not that by thee alone,
Proud chief, can courtesy be shown;
Though not from copse, or heath, 7 or cairn,8
1 Stirling, the royal castle was at Stirling. 2 Kern, a foot soldier of the ancient Irish militia. 8 Roderick Dhu means Black Roderick. 4 This braid, not the tress of some fair lady, but a lock taken from a poor woman, whose husband Roderick had brutally murdered. Ruth, mercy, pity, tenderness. Copse, a place overgrown with short wood. Heath, a low shrub, or place overgrown with low shrubs. Cairn, a heap of stones.
Start at my whistle1 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 falchion2 drew,
Each on the ground his scabbard3 threw,
Each looked 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 targe5 he threw,
Whose brazen studs and tough bull-hide
Had death so often dashed aside;
For, trained abroad his arms to wield,
Fitz-James's blade was sword and shield.
He practised every pass and ward,
To thrust, to strike, to feint, to guard;
While less expert, though stronger far,
The Gael maintained unequal war.
Three times in closing strife they stood,
And thrice the Saxon blade drank blood;
No stinted draught, no scanty tide;
The gushing flood the tartans7 dyed.
Fierce Roderick felt the fatal drain,
And showered his blows like wintry rain:
And, as firm rock or castle roof,
Against the winter shower is proof,
'Start at my whistle. Roderick had led Fitz-James into a part where five hundred of his men were concealed, but who started into view at a whistle from the chief. 2 Falchion, weapon, see p. 63. 3 Scabbard, sheath, sword-case. 4 Dubious, doubtful, uncertain. 5 Targe, a round target of light wood, covered with strong leather, and studded with brass or iron. 6 Feint, to make a pretence of striking one part while really intending to thrust at another. 7 Tartans, the plaids worn by the Highlanders of Scotland.
The foe, invulnerable1 still,
Foiled his wild rage by ready skill;
Till, at advantage ta'en, his brand
Forced Roderick's weapon from his hand,
And backward borne upon the lea,
Brought the proud chieftain to his knee.
"Now, yield thee, or by Him who made
The world, thy heart's blood dyes my blade!"
"Thy threats, thy mercy, I defy!
Let recreant? yield who fears to die."
Like adder darting from his coil,
Like wolf that dashes through the toil,
Like mountain-cat who guards her young,
Full at Fitz-James's throat he sprung;
Received, but recked3 not of a wound,
And locked his arms his foeman round.
Now, gallant Saxon, hold thine own!
No maiden's hand is round thee thrown!
That desperate grasp thy frame might feel
Through bars of brass and triple steel!
They tug, they strain! Down, down they go,
The Gael above, Fitz-James below;
The chieftain's gripe his throat compressed,
His knee was planted on his breast;
His clotted locks he backward threw,
Across his brow his hand he drew,
From blood and mist1 to clear his sight,
Then gleamed aloft his dagger bright!
But hate and fury ill supplied
The stream of life's exhausted tide,
And all too late the advantage came,
To turn the odds of deadly game;
For, while the dagger gleamed on high,
Reeled soul and sense, reeled brain and eye.
1 Invulnerable, not to be wounded. 2 Recreant, a mean-spirited person. Recked, cared. Mist. Roderick's sight was becoming dim from wounds and less of blood.
Down came the blow! bnt in the heath
The erring1 blade found bloodless sheath.
The struggling foe may now unclasp
The fainting chief's relaxing grasp;
Unwounded from the dreadful close,
But breathless all, Fitz-James arose.
MY NATIVE LAND.-Scott.
BREATHES there the man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
This is my own, my native land!
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned,
As home his footsteps he hath turned,
From wandering on a foreign strand !4
If such there breathe, go, mark him well;
For him no minstrel raptures swell;
High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth, as wish can claim;
Despite those titles, power, and pelf,
The wretch concentred5 all in self,
Living shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust, from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonoured, and unsung
GUARD THE TONGUE.
Ir thou wishest to be wise,
Keep these words before thine eyes:-
What thou speak'st, and how, beware!
Of whom-to whom-when-and where.
Erring, straying from the mark. Relaxing, unloosing. Fitz-James arose. The reader may be interested in knowing that Roderick died in prison, from the wounds received in this encounter. 4 Strand, shore. 5 Concentred, limited, bounded. 6 Doubly dying, dying bodily, and forgotten by all. 7 Unsung, nothing written in his memory; no one laments his death.
Down stepped Lord Ronald from his tower:
"O Lady Clare, you shame your worth!
Why come you dressed like a village maid,
That are the flower of the earth?
"If I come dressed like a village maid,
I am but as my fortunes are;
I am a beggar born," she said,
"And not the Lady Clare."
"Play me no tricks," said Lord Ronald,
"For I am yours in word and deed ;-
Play me no tricks," said Lord Ronald;
"Your riddle is hard to read.1 "
Oh, and proudly stood she up!
Her heart within her did not fail;
She looked into Lord Ronald's eyes,
And told him all her nurse's tale.
He laughed a laugh of merry scorn;
He turned and kissed her where she stood:
"If you are not the heiress born,
And I," said he, "the next in blood
"If you are not the heiress born,
And I," said he, "the lawful heir,
We two will wed to-morrow morn,
And you shall still be Lady Clare."
THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD.—Mrs. Hemans.
THEY grew in beauty, side by side,
They filled one home with glee ;-
Their graves are severed3 far and wide,
By mount, and stream, and sea.
Your riddle, etc., What you say is difficult to understand Household, a family. 3 Severed, separated, divided, parted.
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