Part 8 (2/2)

He girt his loins, and came to show 175 The signals of impending woe, And now stood prompt to bless or ban, As bade the Chieftain of his clan.

VIII

'Twas all prepared--and from the rock, A goat, the patriarch of the flock, 180 Before the kindling pile was laid, And pierced by Roderick's ready blade.

Patient the sickening victim eyed The life-blood ebb in crimson tide, Down his clogged beard and s.h.a.ggy limb, 185 Till darkness glazed his eyeb.a.l.l.s dim.

The grisly priest, with murmuring prayer, A slender crosslet formed with care, A cubit's length in measure due; The shaft and limbs were rods of yew, 190 Whose parents in Inch-Cailliach wave Their shadows o'er Clan-Alpine's grave, And, answering Lomond's breezes deep, Soothe many a chieftain's endless sleep.

The Cross, thus formed, he held on high, 195 With wasted hand and haggard eye, And strange and mingled feelings woke; While his anathema he spoke.

IX

”Woe to the clansman, who shall view This symbol of sepulchral yew, 200 Forgetful that its branches grew Where weep the heavens their holiest dew On Alpine's dwelling low!

Deserter of his Chieftain's trust, He ne'er shall mingle with their dust, 205 But, from his sires and kindred thrust, Each clansman's execration just Shall doom him wrath and woe.”

He paused--the word the va.s.sals took, With forward step and fiery look, 210 On high their naked brands they shook, Their clattering targets wildly strook; And first in murmur low, Then, like the billow in his course, That far to seaward finds his source, 215 And flings to sh.o.r.e his mustered force, Burst, with loud roar, their answer hoa.r.s.e, ”Woe to the traitor, woe!”

Ben-an's grey scalp the accents knew, The joyous wolf from cover drew, 220 The exulting eagle screamed afar-- They knew the voice of Alpine's war.

X

The shout was hushed on lake and fell, The Monk resumed his muttered spell; Dismal and low its accents came, 225 The while he scathed the Cross with flame: And the few words that reached the air, Although the holiest name was there, Had more of blasphemy than prayer.

But when he shook above the crowd 230 Its kindled points, he spoke aloud: ”Woe to the wretch, who fails to rear At this dread sign the ready spear!

For, as the flames this symbol sear, His home, the refuge of his fear, 235 A kindred fate shall know; Far o'er its roof the volumed flame Clan-Alpine's vengeance shall proclaim, While maids and matrons on his name Shall call down wretchedness and shame, 240 And infamy and woe.”

Then rose the cry of females, shrill As goshawk's whistle on the hill, Denouncing misery and ill, Mingled with childhood's babbling trill 245 Of curses stammered slow; Answering, with imprecation dread, ”Sunk be his home in embers red!

And cursed be the meanest shed That e'er shall hide the houseless head 250 We doom to want and woe!”

A sharp and shrieking echo gave, Coir-Uriskin, thy goblin cave!

And the gray pa.s.s where birches wave, On Beala-nam-bo. 255

XI

Then deeper paused the priest anew, And hard his laboring breath he drew, While, with set teeth and clenched hand, And eyes that glowed like fiery brand, He meditated curse more dread, 260 And deadlier, on the clansman's head, Who, summoned to his chieftain's aid, The signal saw and disobeyed.

The crosslet's points of sparkling wood He quenched among the bubbling blood, 265 And, as again the sign he reared, Hollow and hoa.r.s.e his voice was heard: ”When flits this Cross from man to man, Vich-Alpine's summons to his clan, Burst be the ear that fails to heed! 270 Palsied the foot that shuns to speed!

May ravens tear the careless eyes, Wolves make the coward heart their prize!

As sinks that blood-stream in the earth, So may his heart's blood drench his hearth! 275 As dies in hissing gore the spark, Quench thou his light, Destruction dark!

And be the grace to him denied, Bought by this sign to all beside!”

He ceased; no echo gave again 280 The murmur of the deep Amen.

XII

Then Roderick, with impatient look, From Brian's hand the symbol took: ”Speed, Malise, speed!” he said, and gave The crosslet to his henchman brave. 285 ”The muster-place be Lanrick mead-- Instant the time--speed, Malise, speed!”

Like heath-bird, when the hawks pursue, A barge across Loch Katrine flew; High stood the henchman on the prow, 290 So rapidly the barge-men row, The bubbles, where they launched the boat, Were all unbroken and afloat, Dancing in foam and ripple still, When it had neared the mainland hill; 295 And from the silver beach's side Still was the prow three fathom wide, When lightly bounded to the land The messenger of blood and brand.

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