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.

XXIII.

’Who is this maid? what means her lay? 
She hovers o’er the hollow way,
And flutters wide her mantle gray,
As the lone heron spreads his wing,
By twilight, o’er a haunted spring.’ 
‘’Tis Blanche of Devan,’ Murdoch said,
’A crazed and captive Lowland maid,
Ta’en on the morn she was a bride,
When Roderick forayed Devan-side. 
The gay bridegroom resistance made,
And felt our Chief’s unconquered blade. 
I marvel she is now at large,
But oft she ’scapes from Maudlin’s charge.—­
Hence, brain-sick fool!’—­He raised his bow:—­
’Now, if thou strik’st her but one blow,
I’ll pitch thee from the cliff as far
As ever peasant pitched a bar!’
‘Thanks, champion, thanks’ the Maniac cried,
And pressed her to Fitz-James’s side. 
’See the gray pennons I prepare,
To seek my true love through the air! 
I will not lend that savage groom,
To break his fall, one downy plume! 
No!—­deep amid disjointed stones,
The wolves shall batten on his bones,
And then shall his detested plaid,
By bush and brier in mid-air stayed,
Wave forth a banner fail and free,
Meet signal for their revelry.’

XXIV

‘Hush thee, poor maiden, and be still!’
’O! thou look’st kindly, and I will. 
Mine eye has dried and wasted been,
But still it loves the Lincoln green;
And, though mine ear is all unstrung,
Still, still it loves the Lowland tongue.

’For O my sweet William was forester true,
     He stole poor Blanche’s heart away! 
His coat it was all of the greenwood hue,
     And so blithely he trilled the Lowland lay!

’It was not that I meant to tell . . . 
But thou art wise and guessest well.’ 
Then, in a low and broken tone,
And hurried note, the song went on. 
Still on the Clansman fearfully
She fixed her apprehensive eye,
Then turned it on the Knight, and then
Her look glanced wildly o’er the glen.

XXV.

’The toils are pitched, and the stakes are set,—­
     Ever sing merrily, merrily;
The bows they bend, and the knives they whet,
     Hunters live so cheerily.

It was a stag, a stag of ten,
     Bearing its branches sturdily;
He came stately down the glen,—­
     Ever sing hardily, hardily.

’It was there he met with a wounded doe,
     She was bleeding deathfully;
She warned him of the toils below,
     O. so faithfully, faithfully!

’He had an eye, and he could heed,—­
     Ever sing warily, warily;
He had a foot, and he could speed,—­
     Hunters watch so narrowly.’

XXVI.

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