Lady of the Lake

by Walter Scott

  The welcome of expected guest.

  A wanderer here, by fortune tost,

  My way, my friends, my courser lost,

  I ne'er before, believe me, fair,

  Have ever drawn your mountain air,

  Till on this lake's romantic strand,

  I found a fay in fairy land!"

  XXIII

  "I well believe," the maid replied,

  As her light skiff approached the side,

  "I well believe, that ne'er before

  Your foot has trod Loch Katrine's shore;

  But yet, as far as yesternight,

  Old Allan-bane foretold your plight,

  A gray-haired sire, whose eye intent

  Was on the visioned future bent.

  He saw your steed, a dappled gray,

  Lie dead beneath the birchen way;

  Painted exact your form and mien,

  Your hunting suit of Lincoln green,

  That tasselled horn so gaily gilt,

  That falchion's crooked blade and hilt,

  That cap with heron plumage trim,

  And yon two hounds so dark and grim.

  He bade that all should ready be,

  To grace a guest of fair degree;

  But light I held his prophecy,

  And deemed it was my father's horn,

  Whose echoes o'er the lake were borne."

  XXIV

  The stranger smiled:

  "Since to your home

  A destined errant-knight I come,

  Announced by prophet sooth and old,

  Doomed, doubtless, for achievement bold,

  I'll lightly front each high emprise,

  For one kind glance of those bright eyes.

  Permit me, first, the task to guide

  Your fairy frigate o'er the tide."

  The maid with smile suppressed and sly,

  The toil unwonted saw him try;

  For seldom sure, if e'er before,

  His noble hand had grasped an oar.

  Yet with main strength his strokes he drew,

  And o'er the lake the shallop flew;

  With heads erect, and whimpering cry,

  The hounds behind their passage ply.

  Nor frequent does the bright oar break

  The dark'ning mirror of the lake,

  Until the rocky isle they reach,

  And moor their shallop on the beach.

  XXV

  The stranger viewed the shore around,

  'Twas all so close with copsewood bound,

  Nor track nor pathway might declare

  That human foot frequented there,

  Until the mountain-maiden showed

  A clambering, unsuspected road,

  That winded through the tangled screen,

  And opened on a narrow green,

  Where weeping birch and willow round

  With their long fibres swept the ground.

  Here, for retreat in dangerous hour,

  Some chief had framed a rustic bower.

  XXVI

  It was a lodge of ample size,

  But strange of structure and device;

  Of such materials as around

  The workman's hand had readiest found.

  Lopped of their boughs, their hoar trunks bared,

  And by the hatchet rudely squared,

  To give the walls their destined height,

  The sturdy oak and ash unite;

  While moss and clay and leaves combined

  To fence each crevice from the wind.

  The lighter pine-trees overhead,

  Their slender length for rafters spread,

  And withered heath and rushes dry

  Supplied a russet canopy.

  Due westward, fronting to the green,

  A rural portico was seen,

  Aloft on native pillars borne,

  Of mountain fir with bark unshorn,

  Where Ellen's hand had taught to twine

  The ivy and Idaean vine,

  The clematis, the favored flower

  Which boasts the name of virgin-bower,

  And every hardy plant could bear

  Loch Katrine's keen and searching air.

  An instant in this porch she stayed

  And gaily to the stranger said,

  "On heaven and on thy lady call,

  And enter the enchanted hall!"

  XXVII

  "My hope, my heaven, my trust must be,

  My gentle guide, in following thee."

  He crossed the threshold—and a clang

  Of angry steel that instant rang.

  To his bold brow his spirit rushed,

  But soon for vain alarm he blushed,

  When on the floor he saw displayed,

  Cause of the din, a naked blade

  Dropped from the sheath,

  that careless flung

  Upon a stag's huge antlers swung;

  For all around, the walls to grace,

  Hung trophies of the fight or chase:

  A target there, a bugle here,

  A battle-ax, a hunting spear,

  And broadswords, bows, and arrows store,

  With the tusked trophies of the boar.

  Here grins the wolf as when he died,

  And there the wild-cat's brindled hide

  The frontlet of the elk adorns,

  Or mantles o'er the bison's horns;

  Pennons and flags defaced and stained,

  hat blackening streaks of blood retained,

  And deer-skins, dappled, dun, and white,

  With otter's fur and seal's unite,

  In rude and uncouth tapestry all,

  To garnish forth the silvan hall.

  XXVIII

  The wondering stranger round him gazed,

  And next the fallen weapon raised—

  Few were the arms whose sinewy strength,

  Sufficed to stretch it forth at length.

  And as the brand he poised and swayed,

  "I never knew but one," he said,

  "Whose stalwart arm might brook to wield

  A blade like this in battle-field."

  She sighed, then smiled and took the word:

  "You see the guardian champion's sword;

  As light it trembles in his hand,

  As in my grasp a hazel wand;

  My sire's tall form might grace the part

  Of Ferragus, or Ascabart;

  But in the absent giant's hold

  Are women now, and menials old."

  XXIX

  The mistress of the mansion came,

  Mature of age, a graceful dame;

  Whose easy step and stately port

  Had well become a princely court,

  To whom, though more than kindred knew,

  Young Ellen gave a mother's due.

  Meet welcome to her guest she made,

  And every courteous rite was paid,

  That hospitality could claim,

  Though all unasked his birth and name.

  Such then the reverence to a guest,

  That fellest foe might join the feast,

  And from his deadliest foeman's door

  Unquestioned turn, the banquet o'er.

  At length his rank the stranger names,

  "The Knight of Snowdoun, James Fitz-James;

  Lord of a barren heritage,

  Which his brave sires, from age to age,

  By their good swords had held with toil;

  His sire had fallen in such turmoil,

  And he, God wot, was forced to stand

  Oft for his right with blade in hand.

  This morning, with Lord Moray's train

  He chased a stalwart stag in vain,

  Outstripped his comrades, missed the deer,

  Lost his good steed, and wandered here."

  XXX

  Fain would the Knight in turn require

  The name and state of Ellen's sire.

  Well showed the elder lady's mien,

 
That courts and cities she had seen;

  Ellen, though more her looks displayed

  The simple grace of silvan maid,

  In speech and gesture, form and face,

  Showed she was come of gentle race.

  'Twere strange in ruder rank to find

  Such looks, such manners, and such mind.

  Each hint the Knight of Snowdoun gave,

  Dame Margaret heard with silence grave;

  Or Ellen, innocently gay,

  Turned all inquiry light away:

  "Weird women we—by dale and down

  We dwell, afar from tower and town.

  We stem the flood, we ride the blast,

  On wandering knights our spells we cast;

  While viewless minstrels touch the string,

  'Tis thus our charméd rimes we sing."

  She sung, and still a harp unseen

  Filled up the symphony between.

  XXXI

  SONG

  "Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er,

  Sleep the sleep that knows no breaking;

  Dream of battled fields no more,

  Days of danger, nights of waking.

  In our isle's enchanted hall,

  Hands unseen thy couch are strewing,

  Fairy strains of music fall,

  Every sense in slumber dewing.

  Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er,

  Dream of fighting fields no more;

  Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking,

  Morn of toil, nor night of waking.

  "No rude sound shall reach thine ear,

  Armor's clang, or war-steed champing,

  Trump nor pibroch summon here

  Mustering clan, or squadron tramping.

  Yet the lark's shrill fife may come

  At the day-break from the fallow,

  And the bittern sound his drum,

  Booming from the sedgy shallow.

  Ruder sounds shall none be near,

  Guards nor warders challenge here,

  Here's no war-steed's neigh and champing,

  Shouting clans or squadrons stamping."

  XXXII

  She paused—then, blushing, led the lay

  To grace the stranger of the day.

  Her mellow notes awhile prolong

  The cadence of the flowing song,

  Till to her lips in measured frame

  The minstrel verse spontaneous came.

  SONG—(Continued)

  "Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done,

  While our slumbrous spells assail ye,

  Dream not, with the rising sun,

  Bugles here shall sound reveillé.

  Sleep! the deer is in his den;

  Sleep! thy hounds are by thee lying;

  Sleep! nor dream in yonder glen,

  How thy gallant steed lay dying.

  Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done,

  Think not of the rising sun,

  For at dawning to assail ye,

  Here no bugles sound reveillé."

  XXXIII

  The hall was cleared—the stranger's bed

  Was there of mountain heather spread,

  Where oft a hundred guests had lain,

  And dreamed their forest sports again.

  But vainly did the heath-flower shed

  Its moorland fragrance round his head;

  Not Ellen's spell had lulled to rest

  The fever of his troubled breast.

  In broken dreams the image rose

  Of varied perils, pains, and woes:

  His steed now flounders in the brake,

  Now sinks his barge upon the lake;

  Now leader of a broken host,

  His standard falls, his honor's lost.

  Then—from my couch may heavenly might

  Chase that worst phantom of the night!

  Again returned the scenes of youth,

  Of confident undoubting truth;

  Again his soul he interchanged

  With friends whose hearts were long estranged.

  They come, in dim procession led,

  The cold, the faithless, and the dead;

  As warm each hand, each brow as gay,

  As if they parted yesterday.

  And doubt distracts him at the view—

  O were his senses false or true?

  Dreamed he of death, or broken vow,

  Or is it all a vision now?

  XXXIV

  At length, with Ellen in a grove

  He seemed to walk, and speak of love;

  She listened with a blush and sigh,

  His suit was warm, his hopes were high.

  He sought her yielded hand to clasp,

  And a cold gauntlet met his grasp;

  The phantom's sex was changed and gone,

  Upon its head a helmet shone;

  Slowly enlarged to giant size,

  With darkened cheek and threatening eyes,

  The grisly visage, stern and hoar,

  To Ellen still a likeness bore.

  He woke, and, panting with affright,

  Recalled the vision of the night.

  The hearth's decaying brands were red.

  And deep and dusky luster shed,

  Half showing, half concealing, all

  The uncouth trophies of the hall.

  Mid those the stranger fixed his eye,

  Where that huge falchion hung on high,

  And thoughts on thoughts, a countless throng,

  Rushed, chasing countless thoughts along.

  Until, the giddy whirl to cure,

  He rose, and sought the moonshine pure.

  XXXV

  The wild-rose, eglantine, and broom,

  Wasted around their rich perfume:

  The birch-trees swept in fragrant balm,

  The aspens slept beneath the calm;

  The silver light, with quivering glance,

  Played on the water's still expanse—

  Wild were the heart whose passion's sway

  Could rage beneath the sober ray!

  He felt its calm, that warrior guest,

  While thus he communed with his breast:

  "Why is it, at each turn I trace

  Some memory of that exiled race?

  Can I not mountain-maiden spy,

  But she must bear the Douglas eye?

  Can I not view a Highland brand,

  But it must match the Douglas hand?

  Can I not frame a fevered dream,

  But still the Douglas is the theme?

  I'll dream no more—by manly mind

  Not even in sleep is will resigned.

  My midnight orisons said o'er,

  I'll turn to rest, and dream no more."

  His midnight orisons he told,

  A prayer with every bead of gold,

  Consigned to heaven his cares and woes,

  And sunk in undisturbed repose,

  Until the heath-cock shrilly crew,

  And morning dawned on Benvenue.

  CANTO SECOND

  THE ISLAND

  I

  At morn the blackcock trims his jetty wing,

  'Tis morning prompts the linnet's blithest lay,

  All Nature's children feel the matin spring

  Of life reviving, with reviving day;

  And while yon little bark glides down the bay,

  Wafting the stranger on his way again,

  Morn's genial influence roused a minstrel gray,

  And sweetly o'er the lake was heard thy strain,

  Mixed with the sounding harp,

  O white-haired Allan-bane!

  II

  SONG

  "Not faster yonder rowers' might

  Flings from their oars the spray,

  Not faster yonder rippling bright,

  That tracks the shallop's course in light,

  Melts in the lake away,

  Than men from memory erase

  The benefits of former days;

  Then, stranger, go! g
ood speed the while,

  Nor think again of the lonely isle.

  "High place to thee in royal court,

  High place in battle line,

  Good hawk and hound for silvan sport,

  Where beauty sees the brave resort;

  The honored meed be thine!

  True be thy sword, thy friend sincere,

  Thy lady constant, kind and dear,

  And lost in love, and friendship's smile

  Be memory of the lonely isle.

  III

  SONG (Continued)

  "But if beneath yon southern sky

  A plaided stranger roam

  Whose drooping crest and stifled sigh,

  And sunken cheek and heavy eye,

  Pine for his Highland home;

  Then, warrior, then be thine to show

  The care that soothes a wanderer's woe;

  Remember then thy hap ere while,

  A stranger in the lonely isle.

  "Or if on life's uncertain main

  Mishap shall mar thy sail;

  If faithful, wise, and brave in vain,

  Woe, want, and exile thou sustain

  Beneath the fickle gale;

  Waste not a sigh on fortune changed,