The Lady of the Lake [45]
I were as I have been, Hunting the hart in forest green, With bended bow and bloodhound free, For that's the life is meet for me.
I hate to learn the ebb of time From yon dull steeple's drowsy chime, Or mark it as the sunbeams crawl, Inch after inch, along the wall. The lark was wont my matins ring, The sable rook my vespers sing; These towers, although a king's they be, Have not a hall of joy for me.
No more at dawning morn I rise, And sun myself in Ellen's eyes, Drive the fleet deer the forest through, And homeward wend with evening dew; A blithesome welcome blithely meet, And lay my trophies at her feet, While fled the eve on wing of glee,-- That life is lost to love and me!'
XXV.
The heart-sick lay was hardly said, The listener had not turned her head, It trickled still, the starting tear, When light a footstep struck her ear, And Snowdoun's graceful Knight was near. She turned the hastier, lest again The prisoner should renew his strain. 'O welcome, brave Fitz-James!' she said; 'How may an almost orphan maid Pay the deep debt--' 'O say not so! To me no gratitude you owe. Not mine, alas! the boon to give, And bid thy noble father live; I can but be thy guide, sweet maid, With Scotland's King thy suit to aid. No tyrant he, though ire and pride May lay his better mood aside. Come, Ellen, come! 'tis more than time, He holds his court at morning prime.' With heating heart, and bosom wrung, As to a brother's arm she clung. Gently he dried the falling tear, And gently whispered hope and cheer; Her faltering steps half led, half stayed, Through gallery fair and high arcade, Till at his touch its wings of pride A portal arch unfolded wide.
XXVI.
Within 't was brilliant all and light, A thronging scene of figures bright; It glowed on Ellen's dazzled sight, As when the setting sun has given Ten thousand hues to summer even, And from their tissue fancy frames Aerial knights and fairy dames. Still by Fitz-James her footing staid; A few faint steps she forward made, Then slow her drooping head she raised, And fearful round the presence gazed; For him she sought who owned this state, The dreaded Prince whose will was fate!-- She gazed on many a princely port Might well have ruled a royal court; On many a splendid garb she gazed,-- Then turned bewildered and amazed, For all stood bare; and in the room Fitz-James alone wore cap and plume. To him each lady's look was lent, On him each courtier's eye was bent; Midst furs and silks and jewels sheen, He stood, in simple Lincoln green, The centre of the glittering ring,-- And Snowdoun's Knight is Scotland's King!
XXVII.
As wreath of snow on mountain-breast Slides from the rock that gave it rest, Poor Ellen glided from her stay, And at the Monarch's feet she lay; No word her choking voice commands,-- She showed the ring,--she clasped her hands. O, not a moment could he brook, The generous Prince, that suppliant look! Gently he raised her,--and, the while, Checked with a glance the circle's smile; Graceful, but grave, her brow he kissed, And bade her terrors be dismissed:-- 'Yes, fair; the wandering poor Fitz-James The fealty of Scotland claims. To him thy woes, thy wishes, bring; He will redeem his signet ring. Ask naught for Douglas;--yester even, His Prince and he have much forgiven; Wrong hath he had from slanderous tongue, I, from his rebel kinsmen, wrong. We would not, to the vulgar crowd, Yield what they craved with clamor loud; Calmly we heard and judged his cause, Our council aided and our laws. I stanched thy father's death-feud stern With stout De Vaux and gray Glencairn; And Bothwell's Lord henceforth we own The friend and bulwark of our throne.-- But, lovely infidel, how now? What clouds thy misbelieving brow? Lord James of Douglas, lend shine aid; Thou must confirm this doubting maid.'
XXVIII.
Then forth the noble Douglas sprung, And on his neck his daughter hung. The Monarch drank, that happy hour, The sweetest, holiest draught of Power,-- When it can say with godlike voice, Arise, sad Virtue, and rejoice! Yet would not James the general
I hate to learn the ebb of time From yon dull steeple's drowsy chime, Or mark it as the sunbeams crawl, Inch after inch, along the wall. The lark was wont my matins ring, The sable rook my vespers sing; These towers, although a king's they be, Have not a hall of joy for me.
No more at dawning morn I rise, And sun myself in Ellen's eyes, Drive the fleet deer the forest through, And homeward wend with evening dew; A blithesome welcome blithely meet, And lay my trophies at her feet, While fled the eve on wing of glee,-- That life is lost to love and me!'
XXV.
The heart-sick lay was hardly said, The listener had not turned her head, It trickled still, the starting tear, When light a footstep struck her ear, And Snowdoun's graceful Knight was near. She turned the hastier, lest again The prisoner should renew his strain. 'O welcome, brave Fitz-James!' she said; 'How may an almost orphan maid Pay the deep debt--' 'O say not so! To me no gratitude you owe. Not mine, alas! the boon to give, And bid thy noble father live; I can but be thy guide, sweet maid, With Scotland's King thy suit to aid. No tyrant he, though ire and pride May lay his better mood aside. Come, Ellen, come! 'tis more than time, He holds his court at morning prime.' With heating heart, and bosom wrung, As to a brother's arm she clung. Gently he dried the falling tear, And gently whispered hope and cheer; Her faltering steps half led, half stayed, Through gallery fair and high arcade, Till at his touch its wings of pride A portal arch unfolded wide.
XXVI.
Within 't was brilliant all and light, A thronging scene of figures bright; It glowed on Ellen's dazzled sight, As when the setting sun has given Ten thousand hues to summer even, And from their tissue fancy frames Aerial knights and fairy dames. Still by Fitz-James her footing staid; A few faint steps she forward made, Then slow her drooping head she raised, And fearful round the presence gazed; For him she sought who owned this state, The dreaded Prince whose will was fate!-- She gazed on many a princely port Might well have ruled a royal court; On many a splendid garb she gazed,-- Then turned bewildered and amazed, For all stood bare; and in the room Fitz-James alone wore cap and plume. To him each lady's look was lent, On him each courtier's eye was bent; Midst furs and silks and jewels sheen, He stood, in simple Lincoln green, The centre of the glittering ring,-- And Snowdoun's Knight is Scotland's King!
XXVII.
As wreath of snow on mountain-breast Slides from the rock that gave it rest, Poor Ellen glided from her stay, And at the Monarch's feet she lay; No word her choking voice commands,-- She showed the ring,--she clasped her hands. O, not a moment could he brook, The generous Prince, that suppliant look! Gently he raised her,--and, the while, Checked with a glance the circle's smile; Graceful, but grave, her brow he kissed, And bade her terrors be dismissed:-- 'Yes, fair; the wandering poor Fitz-James The fealty of Scotland claims. To him thy woes, thy wishes, bring; He will redeem his signet ring. Ask naught for Douglas;--yester even, His Prince and he have much forgiven; Wrong hath he had from slanderous tongue, I, from his rebel kinsmen, wrong. We would not, to the vulgar crowd, Yield what they craved with clamor loud; Calmly we heard and judged his cause, Our council aided and our laws. I stanched thy father's death-feud stern With stout De Vaux and gray Glencairn; And Bothwell's Lord henceforth we own The friend and bulwark of our throne.-- But, lovely infidel, how now? What clouds thy misbelieving brow? Lord James of Douglas, lend shine aid; Thou must confirm this doubting maid.'
XXVIII.
Then forth the noble Douglas sprung, And on his neck his daughter hung. The Monarch drank, that happy hour, The sweetest, holiest draught of Power,-- When it can say with godlike voice, Arise, sad Virtue, and rejoice! Yet would not James the general