Ave. Maria! stainless styled! Foul demons of the earth and air, From this their wonted haunt exiled, Shall flee before thy presence fair. We bow us to our lot of care, Beneath thy guidance reconciled: Hear for a maid a maiden's prayer, And for a father hear a child! Ave Maria!
Died on the harp the closing hymn,-- Unmoved in attitude and limb, As listening still, Clan-Alpine's lord Stood leaning on his heavy sword, Until the page with humble sign Twice pointed to the sun's decline. Then while his plaid he round him cast, 'It is the last time--'tis the last,' He muttered thrice,--'the last time e'er That angel-voice shall Roderick hear'' It was a goading thought,--his stride Hied hastier down the mountain-side; Sullen he flung him in the boat An instant 'cross the lake it shot. They landed in that silvery bay, And eastward held their hasty way Till, with the latest beams of light, The band arrived on Lanrick height' Where mustered in the vale below Clan-Alpine's men in martial show.
A various scene the clansmen made: Some sat, some stood, some slowly strayed: But most, with mantles folded round, Were couched to rest upon the ground, Scarce to be known by curious eye From the deep heather where they lie, So well was matched the tartan screen With heath-bell dark and brackens green; Unless where, here and there, a blade Or lance's point a glimmer made, Like glow-worm twinkling through the shade. But when, advancing through the gloom, They saw the Chieftain's eagle plume, Their shout of welcome, shrill and wide, Shook the steep mountain's steady side. Thrice it arose, and lake and fell Three times returned the martial yell; It died upon Bochastle's plain, And Silence claimed her evening reign.
The rose is fairest when 't is budding new, And hope is brightest when it dawns from fears; The rose is sweetest washed with morning dew And love is loveliest when embalmed in tears. O wilding rose, whom fancy thus endears, I bid your blossoms in my bonnet wave, Emblem of hope and love through future years!' Thus spoke young Norman, heir of Armandave, What time the sun arose on Vennachar's broad wave.
Such fond conceit, half said, half sung, Love prompted to the bridegroom's tongue. All while he stripped the wild-rose spray, His axe and bow beside him lay, For on a pass 'twixt lake and wood A wakeful sentinel he stood. Hark!--on the rock a footstep rung, And instant to his arms he sprung. 'Stand, or thou diest!--What, Malise?--soon Art thou returned from Braes of Doune. By thy keen step and glance I know, Thou bring'st us tidings of the foe.'-- For while the Fiery Cross tried on, On distant scout had Malise gone.-- 'Where sleeps the Chief?' the henchman said. 'Apart, in yonder misty glade; To his lone couch I'll be your guide.'-- Then called a slumberer by his side, And stirred him with his slackened bow,-- 'Up, up, Glentarkin! rouse thee, ho! We seek the Chieftain; on the track Keep eagle watch till I come back.'