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; | 5 |
| “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; | 10 |
| 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, | 15 |
| 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; | 20 |
| 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, | 25 |
| 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 | 30 |
| 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: | 35 |
| 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,— | 40 |
| 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, | 45 |
| 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, | 50 |
| 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. | 55 |
| 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, but grave, her brow he kissed, | 60 |
| 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. | 65 |
| 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 | 70 |
| 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; | 75 |
| 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; | 80 |
| 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,— | 85 |
| 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, | 90 |
| 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, | 95 |
| ’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, | 100 |
| Thus learn to right the injured cause.” | |
| Then, in a tone apart and low, | |
| “Ah, little trait’ress! none must know | |
| What idle dream, what lighter thought, | |
| What vanity full dearly bought, | 105 |
| 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 hold | 110 |
| 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; | 115 |
| 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; | 120 |
| 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, | 125 |
| 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?” | 130 |
| 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. | |
| “Nay, then, my pledge has lost its force, | 135 |
| 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, | 140 |
| 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,— | 145 |
| 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. | 150 |
| |
