XXI.
“‘Revenge! revenge!’ the Saxons cried—
The Gael’s 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 brook’d 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 deafen’d ear
The minstrel melody can hear;
His face grows sharp,—his hands are clench’d,
As if some pang his heartstrings wrench’d;
Set are his teeth, his fading eye
Is sternly fix’d on vacancy;
Thus, motionless, and moanless, drew
His parting breath, stout Roderick Dhu!—
Old Allan-Bane look’d on aghast,
While grim and still his spirit pass’d:
But when he saw that life was fled,
He pour’d his wailing o’er the dead.