Then from a stall near at hand, amid exclamations of wonder, Alden the thoughtful, the careful, so happy, so proud of Priscilla, Brought out his snow-white steer, obeying the hand of its master, Led by a cord that was tied to an iron ring in its nostrils.
Flanked at each turn by loop-holes strait,
Where bowmen might in ambush wait,
(If force or fraud should burst the gate,)
To gall an entering foe.
But every jealous post of ward
Was now defenceless and unbarred.
And all the passage free
To one low-browed and vaulted room,
Where squire and yeoman, page and groom,
Plied their loud revelry
And "Rest ye here," the Warder bade,
"Till to our Lord your suit is said.-
And, comrades, gaze not on the maid,
And on these men who ask our aid
As if ye ne'er had seen
A damsel tired of midnight bark,
Or wanderers of a moulding stark,
And bearing martial mien."
But not for Eachin's reproof
Would page or vassal stand aloof,
But crowded on to stare,
As men of courtesy untaught,
Till fiery Edward roughly caught,
From one the foremost there,
His chequered plaid, and in its shroud,
To hide her from the vulgar crowd,
Involved his sister fair.
His brother, as the clansman bent
His sullen brow in discontent,
Made brief and stern excuse ;-
"Vassal, were thine the cloak of pall
That decks thy Lord in bridal hall,
"Twere honoured by her use."-
Proud was his tone, but calm; his eye
Had that compelling dignity,
His mien that bearing haught and high,
Which common spirits fear;
Needed nor word nor signal more,
Nod, wink, and laughter, all were o'er;
Upon each other back they bore,
And gazed like startled deer.
But now appeared the Seneschal,
Commissioned by his Lord to call
The strangers to the Baron's hall,
Where feasted fair and free
That Island Prince in nuptial tide,
With Edith there his lovely bride,
And her bold brother by her side,
And many a chief, the flower and pride
Of Western land and sea.
Here pause we, gentles, for a space;
And, if our tale hath won your grace,
Grant us brief patience, and again
We will renew the minstrel strain.
FILL the bright goblet, spread the festive board! Summon the gay, the noble, and the fair! Through the loud hall in joyous concert poured, Let mirth and music sound the dirge of Care! But ask thou not if Happiness be there,
If the loud laugh disguise convulsive throe, Or if the brow the heart's true livery wear;
Lift not the festal mask!-enough to know, No scene of mortal life but teems with mortal woo.
With beakers' clang, with harpers' lay,
With all that olden time deemed gay,
The Island Chieftain feasted high;
But there was in his troubled eye
A gloomy fire, and on his brow
Now sudden flushed, and faded now,
Emotions such as draw their birth
From deeper source than festal mirth.
By fits he paused, and harper's strain
And jester's tale went round in vain,
Or fell but on his idle ear
Like distant sounds which dreamers hear.
Then would he rouse him, and employ
Each art to aid the clamorous joy,
And call for pledge and lay,
And, for brief space, of all the crowd,
As he was loudest of the loud,
Seem gayest of the gay.
Yet nought amiss the bridal throng
Marked in brief mirth, or musing long;
The vacant brow, the unlistening ear,
They gave to thoughts of raptures near,
And his fierce starts of sudden glee
Seemed bursts of bridegroom's ecstacy.
Nor thus alone misjudged the crowd,
Since lofty Lorn, suspicious, proud,
And jealous of his honoured line,
And that keen knight, De Argentine,
(From England sent on errand high,
The western league more firm to tie,)
Both deemed in Ronald's mood to find
A lover's transport-troubled mind.
But one sad heart, one tearful eye,
Pierced deeper through the mystery
And watched, with agony and fear,
Her wayward bridegroom's varied cheer.
She watched-yet feared to meet his glance,
And he shunned hers;-till when by chance
They met, the point of foeman's lance
Had given a milder pang!
Beneath the intolerable smart
He writhed;-then sternly manned his heart
To play his hard but destined part,
And from the table sprang.
"Fill me the mighty cup!" he said,
"Erst owned by royal Somerled.
Fill it, till on the studded brim
In burning gold the bubbles swim,
And every gem of varied shine
Glow doubly bright in rosy wine!
To you, brave lord, and brother mine,
Of Lorn, this pledge I drink-
The union of Our House with thine,
By this fair bridal-link!"-
"Let it pass round!" quoth He of Lorn,
"And in good time-that winded horn
Must of the Abbot tell;
The laggard monk is come at last.".
Lord Ronald heard the bugle-blast,
And on the floor at random cast,
The untasted goblet fell.
But when the Warder in his ear
Tells other news, his blither cheer
Returns like sun of May,
When through a thunder-cloud it beams !---
Lord of two hundred isles, he seems
As glad of brief delay,
As some poor criminal might feel,
When from the gibbet or the wheel
Respited for a day.
"Brother of Lorn," with hurried voice
He said, 'And you, fair lords, rejoice!
Here, to augment our glee,
Come wandering knights from travel far,
Well proved, they say, in strife of war,
And tempest on the sea.-
Ho! give them at your board such place
As best their presence seems to grace,
And bid them welcome free!".
With solemn step, and silver wand,
The Seneschal the presence scanned
Of these strange guests; and well he knew
How to assign their rank its due;
|