The Lady of the Lake eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 227 pages of information about The Lady of the Lake.
Has yet a harder task to prove,—­
By firm resolve to conquer love! 
Eve finds the Chief, like restless ghost,
Still hovering near his treasure lost;
For though his haughty heart deny
A parting meeting to his eye
Still fondly strains his anxious ear
The accents of her voice to hear,
And inly did he curse the breeze
That waked to sound the rustling trees. 
But hark! what mingles in the strain? 
It is the harp of Allan-bane,
That wakes its measure slow and high,
Attuned to sacred minstrelsy. 
What melting voice attends the strings? 
’Tis Ellen, or an angel, sings.

XXIX.

Hymn to the Virgin.

Ave.  Maria! maiden mild! 
     Listen to a maiden’s prayer! 
Thou canst hear though from the wild,
     Thou canst save amid despair. 
Safe may we sleep beneath thy care,
     Though banished, outcast, and reviled—­
Maiden! hear a maiden’s prayer;
     Mother, hear a suppliant child! 
                                         Ave Maria!

Ave Maria! undefiled! 
     The flinty couch we now must share
Shall seem with down of eider piled,
     If thy protection hover there. 
The murky cavern’s heavy air
     Shall breathe of balm if thou hast smiled;
Then, Maiden! hear a maiden’s prayer,
     Mother, list a suppliant child! 
                                         Ave Maria!

Ave.  Maria! stainless styled! 
     Foul demons of the earth and air,
From this their wonted haunt exiled,
     Shall flee before thy presence fair. 
We bow us to our lot of care,
     Beneath thy guidance reconciled: 
Hear for a maid a maiden’s prayer,
     And for a father hear a child! 
                                         Ave Maria!

XXX.

Died on the harp the closing hymn,—­
Unmoved in attitude and limb,
As listening still, Clan-Alpine’s lord
Stood leaning on his heavy sword,
Until the page with humble sign
Twice pointed to the sun’s decline. 
Then while his plaid he round him cast,
‘It is the last time—­’tis the last,’
He muttered thrice,—­’the last time e’er
That angel-voice shall Roderick hear’’
It was a goading thought,—­his stride
Hied hastier down the mountain-side;
Sullen he flung him in the boat
An instant ’cross the lake it shot. 
They landed in that silvery bay,
And eastward held their hasty way
Till, with the latest beams of light,
The band arrived on Lanrick height’
Where mustered in the vale below
Clan-Alpine’s men in martial show.

XXXI.

Copyrights
Project Gutenberg
The Lady of the Lake from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
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