LITMIR.BIZ

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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.

       Table of Contents

The Island.

       Table of Contents

      I.

       At morn the black-cock trims his jetty wing,

       'T is 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! good speed the while,

       Nor think again of the lonely isle.

       'High place to thee in royal court,

       High place in battled line,

       Good hawk and hound for sylvan 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's 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 erewhile,

       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,

       On thankless courts, or friends estranged,

       But come where kindred worth shall smile,

       To greet thee in the lonely isle.'

      IV.

       As died the sounds upon the tide,

       The shallop reached the mainland side,

       And ere his onward way he took,

       The stranger cast a lingering look,

       Where easily his eye might reach

       The Harper on the islet beach,

       Reclined against a blighted tree,

       As wasted, gray, and worn as he.

       To minstrel meditation given,

       His reverend brow was raised to heaven,

       As from the rising sun to claim

       A sparkle of inspiring flame.

       His hand, reclined upon the wire,

       Seemed watching the awakening fire;

       So still he sat as those who wait

       Till judgment speak the doom of fate;

       So still, as if no breeze might dare

       To lift one lock of hoary hair;

       So still, as life itself were fled

       In the last sound his harp had sped.

      V.

       Upon a rock with lichens wild,

       Beside him Ellen sat and smiled.—

       Smiled she to see the stately drake

       Lead forth his fleet upon the lake,

       While her vexed spaniel from the beach

       Bayed at the prize beyond his reach?

       Yet tell me, then, the maid who knows,

       Why deepened on her cheek the rose?—

       Forgive, forgive, Fidelity!

       Perchance the maiden smiled to see

       Yon parting lingerer wave adieu,

       And stop and turn to wave anew;

       And, lovely ladies, ere your ire

       Condemn the heroine of my lyre,

       Show me the fair would scorn to spy

       And prize such conquest of her eve!

      VI.

       While yet he loitered on the spot,

       It seemed as Ellen marked him not;

       But when he turned him to the glade,

       One courteous parting sign she made;

       And after, oft the knight would say,

       That not when prize of festal day

       Was dealt him by the brightest fair

       Who e'er wore jewel in her hair,

       So highly did

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