Walter Scott - The Complete Poems of Sir Walter Scott

Thou bear’st the belt and spur of Knight.’

‘Then by these tokens mayst thou know

Each proud oppressor’s mortal foe.’

‘Enough, enough; sit down and share

A soldier’s couch, a soldier’s fare.’

XXXI

He gave him of his Highland cheer,

The hardened flesh of mountain deer;

Dry fuel on the fire he laid,

And bade the Saxon share his plaid.

He tended him like welcome guest,

Then thus his further speech addressed:—

‘Stranger, I am to Roderick Dhu

A clansman born, a kinsman true;

Each word against his honour spoke

Demands of me avenging stroke;

Yet more,—upon thy fate, ‘tis said,

A mighty augury is laid.

It rests with me to wind my horn,—

Thou art with numbers overborne;

It rests with me, here, brand to brand,

Worn as thou art, to bid thee stand:

But, not for clan, nor kindred’s cause,

Will I depart from honour’s laws;

To assail a wearied man were shame,

And stranger is a holy name;

Guidance and rest, and food and fire,

In vain he never must require.

Then rest thee here till dawn of day;

Myself will guide thee on the way,

O’er stock and stone, through watch and ward,

Till past Clan-Alpine’s outmost guard,

As far as Coilantogle’s ford;

From thence thy warrant is thy sword.’

‘I take thy courtesy, by heaven,

As freely as ‘tis nobly given!’

Well, rest thee; for the bittern’s cry

Sings us the lake’s wild lullaby.’

With that he shook the gathered heath,

And spread his plaid upon the wreath;

And the brave foemen, side by side,

Lay peaceful down like brothers tried,

And slept until the dawning beam

Purpled the mountain and the stream.

Table of Contents

The Combat

I

Fair as the earliest beam of eastern light,

When first, by the bewildered pilgrim spied,

It smiles upon the dreary brow of night

And silvers o’er the torrent’s foaming tide

And lights the fearful path on mountainside,—

Fair as that beam, although the fairest far,

Giving to horror grace, to danger pride,

Shine martial Faith, and Courtesy’s bright star

Through all the wreckful storms that cloud the brow of War.

II

That early beam, so fair and sheen,

Was twinkling through the hazel screen

When, rousing at its glimmer red,

The warriors left their lowly bed,

Looked out upon the dappled sky,

Muttered their soldier matins try,

And then awaked their fire, to steal,

As short and rude, their soldier meal.

That o’er, the Gael around him threw

His graceful plaid of varied hue,

And, true to promise, led the way,

By thicket green and mountain gray.

A wildering path!—they winded now

Along the precipice’s brow,

Commanding the rich scenes beneath,

The windings of the Forth and Teith,

And all the vales between that lie.

Till Stirling’s turrets melt in sky;

Then, sunk in copse, their farthest glance

Gained not the length of horseman’s lance.

‘Twas oft so steep, the foot was as fain

Assistance from the hand to gain;

So tangled oft that, bursting through,

Each hawthorn shed her showers of dew,—

That diamond dew, so pure and clear,

It rivals all but Beauty’s tear!

III

At length they came where, stern and steep,

The hill sinks down upon the deep.

Here Vennachar in silver flows,

There, ridge on ridge, Benledi rose;

Ever the hollow path twined on,

Beneath steep hank and threatening stone;

A hundred men might hold the post

With hardihood against a host.

The rugged mountain’s scanty cloak

Was dwarfish shrubs of birch and oak

With shingles bare, and cliffs between

And patches bright of bracken green,

And heather black, that waved so high,

It held the copse in rivalry.

But where the lake slept deep and still

Dank osiers fringed the swamp and hill;

And oft both path and hill were torn

Where wintry torrent down had borne

And heaped upon the cumbered land

Its wreck of gravel, rocks, and sand.

So toilsome was the road to trace

The guide, abating of his pace,

Led slowly through the pass’s jaws

And asked FitzJames by what strange cause

He sought these wilds, traversed by few

Without a pass from Roderick Dhu.

IV

‘Brave Gael, my pass, in danger tried

Hangs in my belt and by my side

Yet, sooth to tell,’ the Saxon said,

‘I dreamt not now to claim its aid.

When here, but three days since,

I came Bewildered in pursuit of game,

All seemed as peaceful and as still

As the mist slumbering on yon hill;

Thy dangerous Chief was then afar,

Nor soon expected back from war.

Thus said, at least, my mountain-guide,

Though deep perchance the villain lied.’

‘Yet why a second venture try?’

‘A warrior thou, and ask me why!—

Moves our free course by such fixed cause

As gives the poor mechanic laws?

Enough, I sought to drive away

The lazy hours of peaceful day;

Slight cause will then suffice to guide

A Knight’s free footsteps far and wide,—

A falcon flown, a greyhound strayed,

The merry glance of mountain maid;

Or, if a path be dangerous known,

The danger’s self is lure alone.’

V

‘Thy secret keep, I urge thee not;—

Yet, ere again ye sought this spot,

Say, heard ye naught of Lowland war,

Against Clan-Alpine, raised by Mar?’

‘No, by my word;—of bands prepared

To guard King James’s sports I heard;

Nor doubt I aught, but, when they hear

This muster of the mountaineer,

Their pennons will abroad be flung,

Which else in Doune had peaceful hung.’

‘Free be they flung! for we were loath

Their silken folds should feast the moth.

Free be they flung!—as free shall wave

Clan-Alpine’s pine in banner brave.

But, stranger, peaceful since you came,

Bewildered in the mountain-game,

Whence the bold boast by which you show

Vich-Alpine’s vowed and mortal foe?’

‘Warrior, but yester-morn I knew

Naught of thy Chieftain, Roderick Dhu,

Save as an outlawed desperate man,

The chief of a rebellious clan,

Who, in the Regent’s court and sight,

With ruffian dagger stabbed a knight;

Yet this alone might from his part

Sever each true and loyal heart.’

VI

Wrathful at such arraignment foul,

Dark lowered the clansman’s sable scowl.

A space he paused, then sternly said,

‘And heardst thou why he drew his blade?

Heardst thou that shameful word and blow

Brought Roderick’s vengeance on his foe?

What recked the Chieftain if he stood

On Highland heath or Holy-Rood?

He rights such wrong where it is given,

If it were in the court of heaven.’

‘Still was it outrage;—yet, ‘tis true,

Not then claimed sovereignty his due;

While Albany with feeble hand

Held borrowed truncheon of command,

The young King, mewed in Stirling tower,

Was stranger to respect and power.

But then, thy Chieftain’s robber life!—

Winning mean prey by causeless strife,

Wrenching from ruined Lowland swain

His herds and harvest reared in vain,—

Methinks a soul like thine should scorn

The spoils from such foul foray borne.’

VII