"I kneel to my father for his grace,

Right lowly on my knee;

But I stand and look the king in the face,
For the skipper is king o' me."

She turned and she sprang upo' the deck,
And the cable splashed in the sea.
The good ship spread her wings sae white,
And away with the skipper goes she.
Now was not this a king's daughter,

And a brave lady beside?

And a woman with whom a man might sail Into the heaven wi' pride?

GEORGE MACDONALD.

MARMION AND DOUGLAS.

FROM "MARMION," CANTO VI.

NOT far advanced was morning day,
When Marmion did his troop array
To Surrey's camp to ride;
He had safe-conduct for his band,
Beneath the royal seal and hand,

And Douglas gave a guide: The ancient Earl, with stately grace, Would Clara on her palfrey place, And whispered in an undertone, "Let the hawk stoop, his prey is flown." The train from out the castle drew, But Marmion stopped to bid adieu :"Though something I might plain," he said, "Of cold respect to stranger guest, Sent hither by your king's behest,

While in Tantallon's towers I stayed,
Part we in friendship from your land,
And, noble Earl, receive my hand.",-
But Douglas round him drew his cloak,
Folded his arms, and thus he spoke :
"My manors, halls, and bowers shall still
Be open, at my sovereign's will,
To each one whom he lists, howe'er
Unmeet to be the owner's peer.
My castles are my king's alone,
From turret to foundation-stone, –
The hand of Douglas is his own;
And never shall in friendly grasp
The hand of such as Marmion clasp." -

Burned Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire,
And shook his very frame for ire,

And "This to me!" he said,
"An 't were not for thy hoary beard,
Such hand as Marmion's had not spared
To cleave the Douglas' head!
And, first, I tell thee, haughty Peer,
He who does England's message here,
Although the meanest in her state,

Lord Marmion turned, well was his need!
And dashed the rowels in his steed;
Like arrow through the archway sprung;
The ponderous grate behind him rung :
To pass there was such scanty room,
The bars, descending, razed his plume.
The steed along the drawbridge flies,
Just as it trembled on the rise;
Not lighter does the swallow skim
Along the smooth lake's level brim ;

And when Lord Marmion reached his band,
He halts, and turns with clenched hand,
And shout of loud defiance pours,

And shook his gauntlet at the towers.
"Horse! horse!" the Douglas cried, "and

chase!

But soon he reined his fury's pace:

"A royal messenger he came, Though most unworthy of the name.

St. Mary, mend my fiery mood!
Old age ne'er cools the Douglas blood,
I thought to slay him where he stood.
'T is pity of him too," he cried;
"Bold can he speak, and fairly ride :
I warrant him a warrior tried."
With this his mandate he recalls,
And slowly seeks his castle halls.

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

JAMES FITZ-JAMES AND ELLEN. FROM "THE LADY OF THE LAKE," canto VI.

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 lead his better mood aside.
Come, Ellen, come; 't is more than time,
He holds his court at morning prime."
With beating 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.

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 stayed;
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!

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. hut 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 thine aid;
Thou must confirm this doubting maid."

--

-

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, the godlike voice,
Arise, sad Virtue, and rejoice!
Yet would not James the general eye
On nature's raptures long should pry:
He stepped between Nay, Douglas, nay:
Steal not my proselyte away!
The riddle 't is my right to read,
That brought this happy chance to speed.
Yes, Ellen, when disguised I stray
In life's more low but happier way,
"T is under name which veils my power,
Nor falsely veils, for Stirling's tower
Of yore the name of Snowdoun claims,
And Normans call me James Fitz-James.
Thus watch I o'er insulted laws,
Thus learn to right the injured cause."
Then, in a tone apart and low,

66

Ah, little trait'ress! none must know What idle dream, what lighter thought, What vanity full dearly bought, Joined to thine eye's dark witchcraft, drew My spell-bound steps to Benvenue, In dangerous hour, and all but gave Thy Monarch's life to mountain glaive!" Aloud he spoke, "Thou still dost hoid That little talisman of gold, Pledge of my faith, Fitz-James's ring; What seeks fair Ellen of the King?'

Full well the conscious maiden guessed. He probed the weakness of her breast;

But with that consciousness there came
A lightening of her fears for Græme,
And more she deemed the monarch's ire
Kindled 'gainst him, who, for her sire,
Rebellious broadsword boldly drew;
And, to her generous feeling true,
She craved the grace of Roderick Dhu.
"Forbear thy suit; the King of kings
Alone can stay life's parting wings.
I know his heart, I know his hand,
Have shared his cheer, and proved his brand.
My fairest earldom would I give

To bid Clan-Alpine's Chieftain live! —
Hast thou no other boon to crave?
No other captive friend to save ?"
Blushing, she turned her from the King,
And to the Douglas gave the ring,
As if she wished her sire to speak

The suit that stained her glowing cheek.

66

Nay, then, my pledge has lost its force, And stubborn justice holds her course. Malcolm, come forth!"— And, at the word, Down knelt the Græme to Scotland's Lord. "For thee, rash youth, no suppliant sues, From thee may Vengeance claim her dues, Who, nurtured underneath our smile, Hast paid our care by treacherous wile, And sought, amid thy faithful clan, A refuge for an outlawed man, Dishonoring thus thy loyal name,Fetters and warder for the Græme! His chain of gold the King unstrung, The links o'er Malcolm's neck he flung, Then gently drew the glittering band, And laid the clasp on Ellen's hand.

NORVAL.

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

FROM THE TRAGEDY OF "DOUGLAS," ACT II. SC. 1.

LADY RANDOLPH. How fares my lord?
LORD RANDOLPH. That it fares well, thanks
to this gal'ant youth,

Whose valor saved me from a wretched death.
As down the winding dale I walked alone,
At the cross way four armèd men attacked me,
Rovers, I judge, from the licentious camp,
Who would have quickly laid Lord Randolph low,
Had not this brave and generous stranger come,
Like my good angel, in the hour of fate,

And, mocking danger, made my foes his own.
They turned upon him: but his active arm

Dwell accents pleasing to the brave and bold, Speak, noble dame, and thank him for thy lord. LADY RAN. My lord, I cannot speak what

now I feel.

My heart o'erflows with gratitude to Heaven,
And to this noble youth, who, all unknown
To you and yours, deliberated not,

Nor paused at peril, but, humanely brave,
Fought on your side against such fearful odds.
Have you yet learnt of him whom we should
thank,

Whom call the savior of Lord Randolph's life?

LORD RAN. I asked that question, and he

answered not;

But I must know who my deliverer is. (To the Stranger.)

NORVAL A low-born man, of parentage ob

scure,

Who naught can boast but his desire to be
A soldier, and to gain a name in arms.

LORD RAN. Whoe'er thou art, thy spirit is ennobled

By the great King of kings: thou art ordained
And stamped a hero by the sovereign hand
Of nature! Blush not, flower of modesty
As well as valor, to declare thy birth.

NORV. My name is Norval: on the Grampia hills

My father feeds his flocks, a frugal swain,
Whose constant cares were to increase his store,
And keep his only son, myself, at home.
For I had heard of battles, and I longed
To follow to the field some warlike lord :
And Heaven soon granted what my sire denied.
This moon which rose last night, round as my
shield,

Had not yet filled her horns, when, by her light,
A band of fierce barbarians from the hills
Rushed like a torrent down upon the vale,
Sweeping our flocks and herds. The shepherds
fled

For safety and for succor. I alone,
With bended bow, and quiver full of arrows,
Hovered about the enemy, and marked
The road he took; then hasted to my friends,
Whom, with a troop of fifty chosen men,
I met advancing. The pursuit I led,
Till we o'ertook the spoil-encumbered foe.
We fought and conquered. Ere a sword w

drawn

more,

The fiercest two; the others fled amain,

And left him master of the bloody field.

Speak. Lady Randolph; upon beauty's tongue

The shepherd's slothful life; and having heard That our good king had summoned his bold peen To lead their warriors to the Carron side,

I left my father's house, and took with me

A chosen servant to conduct my steps,
Yon trembling coward, who forsook his master.
Journeying with this intent, I passed these
towers,

And, Heaven-directed, came this day to do
The happy deed that gilds my humble name.
LORD RAN. He is as wise as brave was ever
tale

With such a gallant modesty rehearsed?
My brave deliverer! thou shalt enter now
A nobler list; and, in a monarch's sight,
Contend with princes for the prize of fame.
I will present thee to our Scottish king,
Whose valiant spirit ever valor loved.
Ha! my Matilda! wherefore starts that tear?
LADY RAN. I cannot say; for various affec-
tions,

And strangely mingled, in my bosom swell :
Yet each of them may well command a tear.
I joy that thou art safe; and I admire

Had caught their starts and fits of thoughtful

ness,

Their haggard looks, and strange soliloquies.
Arising (so say they that dwell below)
From frequent dealings with the Mountain-
Spirits.

But other ways had taught him better things;
And now he numbered, marching by my side,
The great, the learned, that with him had crossed
The frozen tract, with him familiarly
Through the rough day and rougher night con
versed

In many a chalet round the Peak of Terror,
Round Tacul, Tour, Well-horn, and Rosenlau,
And her whose throne is inaccessible,
Who sits, withdrawn in virgin majesty,
Nor oft unveils. Anon an avalanche
Rolled its long thunder; and a sudden crash,
Sharp and metallic, to the startled ear
Told that far down a continent of ice

safety;

Yea, as my mind predicts, with thine his own.
Obscure and friendless, he the army sought;
Bent upon peril, in the range of death
Resolved to hunt for fame, and with his sword
To gain distinction which his birth denied.
In this attempt unknown he might have perished,
And gained with all his valor but oblivion.
Now graced by thee, his virtue serves no more
Beneath despair. The soldier now of hope,
He stands conspicuous: fame and great renown
Are brought within the compass of his sword.
On this my mind reflected, whilst you spoke,
And blessed the wonder-working hand of Heaven.
LORD RAN. Pious and grateful ever are thy
thoughts!

And with what transport he recalled the hour
When, to deserve, to win his blooming bride,
Madelaine of Annecy, to his feet he bound
The iron crampons, and, ascending, trod
The upper realms of frost; then, by a cord
Let half-way down, entered a grot star-bright,
And gathered from above, below, around,
The pointed crystals! Once, nor long before
(Thus did his tongue run on, fast as his feet,
And with an eloquence that Nature gives
To all her children, - breaking off by starts
Into the harsh and rude, oft as the mule
Drew his displeasure), once, nor long before,
Alone at daybreak on the Mettenberg,
He slipped, he fell; and, through a fearful cleft
Gliding from ledge to ledge, from deep to deeper,

Upon his rugged bed, then waked like one Wishing to sleep again and sleep forever!

I am

In speech and manners; never till this hour Stood I in such a presence; yet, my lord, There's something in my breast which makes me bold

To say that Norval ne'er will shame thy favor. JOHN HOME.

JORASSE.

FROM ITALY."

JORASSE was in his three-and-twentieth year; Graceful and active as a stag just roused; Gentle withal, and pleasant in his speech, Yet seldom seen to smile. He had grown up Among the hunters of the Higher Alps;

Innumerable branches of a cave,

Winding beneath that solid crust of ice;
With here and there a rent that showed the stars!
What then, alas! was left him but to die?
What else in those immeasurable chambers,
Strewn with the bones of miserable men,
Lost like himself? Yet must he wander on,
Till cold and hunger set his spirit free!
And, rising, he began his dreary round;
When hark! the noise as of some mighty river
Working its way to light! Back he withdrew,
But soon returned, and, fearless from despair,
Dashed down the dismal channel; and all day,
If day could be where utter darkness was,
Travelled incessantly; the craggy roof
Just overhead, and the impetuous waves,