Ringed around by mountain forms,
Roofless, ruined, still defying
Summer's rains and winter's storms.
Every shattered lifeless window,
Every stone in every wall,
Keep and gable, broken stairway,
Woman's faithful love recall.
Colin, called "the Swarthy," famous
In the annals of Lochow,
When a child, was gently fostered
Near where Orchy's waters flow.
The Black Knight, his sire, could value
Vassal's love and hardy fare;
To a gudewife gave him, saying,
"Train him with the sons you bear."
Strong he grew, and brave, till armies
Praised in him a man of men.
Came a peace--then love;--a lady
Ruled with him the Orchy's glen.
But afar from over Ocean
Rose a cry for Christian aid:
Blessed of Pope, 'neath holy banners
Sailed he for the great crusade.
Leaving with his weeping lady
Half their marriage ring, whereon
Written stood his name, and taking
Half where hers, engraven, shone.
"If no tidings reach thee, darling,
Blame my death." But she through tears
Answered: "I'll believe thee living
Though I hear not seven years."
Lonely lived the lady, lonely:
Riches grew, and brought her all
Save the loving words whose echo
Seemed to linger in his hall.
Voiceless passed the years; and Rumour
Falsely slew him, whose steel mail
Flashed o'er white walls, azure sea girt,
Watched, and feared by Moslem sail.
Rhodes' fair island saw his valour;
'Mid her gardens he had bled;
Glowing as her sun, his love-words
Homeward to his lady sped.
Ah, they reached her not, to banish
Days of care, and nights of woe;
Their warm sunshine never parted
Clouds that darkened o'er Lochow,
Weary is her lot whose favour
For her wealth is held a prize;
Oft she finds no truthful homage,
Sees no love in pleading eyes.
Man gains strength from gold, but woman
Worse than dross her wealth may call;
Avarice is her haunting suitor,
Giving naught and seeking all.
Messages from the Crusader
Fell into a Baron's hands;
Who, with subtle treason working,
Coveted dark Colin's lands:
Spread the base and cruel rumours,
Preyed upon the aching heart,
Asked her year by year in marriage,
Falsely played the lover's part.
And the heartless seasons vanished,
Other twain were nearly sped;
Then at last his suit seemed answered,
Silently she bent her head.
Gaily, loudly, laughing o'er her,
Named the Baron hour and day.
But she said: "No, for this wedding
First I'll build a castle gay.
"When its halls are built, we'll tarry
Where our guests can praise our cheer;
When the feast-smoke from its chimneys
Rises, then the day is near."
So the building rose, and slowly
Walls and stairway, keep and tower
Stone by stone completed, sadly
Heralded the wedding hour.
Shall it come, and never mercy
Shown of God avert the doom?
Shall the longing for the absent
Turn to feasting o'er his tomb?
Yes. The Castle's new possessor
Soon shall follow thronging guests:
As the Lake reflects the turrets
Men shall second his behests.
Mournful, where they laughed so gladly,
A poor beggar, haggard, grey,
Trod with pain the stony roadside,
Often halting by the way.
He too reached the Castle's portal,
Stood within its archway grim,
Loitering in the path of others;
Who would step aside for him?
Pushed a henchman rudely, saying,
"Get you hence," but still he stood:
Then they gave him bread and water,
"Loiter not, you have your food."
Twice came others, in his wallet
Thrusting bread and meat, and said:
"Now away, why stand you troubling,
Here you cannot make your bed."
"Drink from her own hands imploring,
Tell your Lady here I wait!"
Wondering went she where the beggar
Shadowed stood within the gate.
Now she pours the crystal water,
Quickly he the cup returns;
Oh! what golden circlet broken
Sees she there that gleams and burns?
Eagerly she grasped the token,
Turning to the light away;
Came again, and crying "Colin!"
On the beggar's breast she lay.
Spoke he sadly: "Hast thou truly
Still the heart I loved? I know--
They have told me--that thou takest
To thy love my deadly foe.
"The gudewife, my foster mother,
Unto whom I made me known
When I reached the Orchy, told me
How the rumour base had grown:
"I was dead, or cared not for thee
Who received no word of mine;
'Twas thy lover's doing, woman,
Hungering for my wealth and thine!
"'Take,' the gudewife said, 'a beggar's
Old attire; and see the mist
Where the wedding smoke is ordered
By the lips which thou hast kissed.'
"Thou hast put our ring together
Can it be as one again?"
Then she raised her face, and proudly
Spoke unto her serving-men:
"See you where the Baron's people
Come with him along the road?
Go and tell them quickly, 'Colin
Rules again his own abode.'"
Fled the traitor, pulses beating,
Not with love, but craven fear;
And the beggar found the treasure
That to noble hearts is dear.
Found the love no time had altered,
Honoured lived, and honoured died;
And in Rhodes and in Glenorchy
Honoured shall his name abide.
_LOCH BÚY_
PART I.
Dark, with shrouds of mist surrounded.
Rise the mountains from the shore,
Where the galleys of the Islesmen
Stand updrawn, their voyage o'er.
Horns this morn are hoarsely sounding
From Loch Búy's ancient wall,
While for chase the guests and vassals
Gather in the court and hall.
Hounds, whose voices could give warning
From far moors of stags at bay,
Quiver in each iron muscle,
Howl, impatient of delay.
Henchmen, waiting for the signal,
At their chiefs imperious word
Start, to drive from hill and corrie
To the pass the watchful herd.
Closed were paths as with a netting,
Vain high courage, speed, or scent;
Every mesh, a man in ambush
Ready with a crossbow bent.
"Eachan, guard that glade and copsewood,
At your peril let none by!"
Cries the chief, while in the heather
Silently the huntsmen lie.
Shouting by the green morasses
Where the fairies dance at night,
Yelling 'mid the oak and birches
Come the beaters into sight.
And before them, rushing wildly
Speeds the driven herd of deer,
Whose wide antlers toss like branches
In the winter of the year.
Useless was the vassal's effort
To arrest the living flow;
And it passed by Eachan's passage
Spite of hound, and shout, and blow.
"Worse than woman! useless caitiff!
Why allowed you them to pass?
Back, no answer! Hark, men, hither!
Take his staff and bind him fast"
Hearing was with them obeying,
And the hunter's strong limbs lie
Bound with thongs from tawny oxen,
'Neath the chieftain's cruel eye.
"More than twoscore stags have passed him,
Mark the number on his flesh
With red stripes of this good ashwood,
Mend me thus this broken mesh!"
Ah, Loch Búy! faint and sullen
Beats the heart, once leal and free,
That had yielded life exulting
If it bled for thine and thee.
Deem'st thou that no honour liveth
Save in haughty breasts like thine?
Think'st thou men, like dogs in spirit,
At such blows but wince and whine?
Often in the dangerous tempest,
When the winds before the blast
Surging charged like crested horsemen
Over helm, and plank, and mast,
He, and all his kin before him,
Well have kept the clansman's faith,
Serving thee in every danger,
Shielding thee from harm and skaith.
'Mid the glens and hills, in combats
Where the blades of swordsmen meet,
Has he fought with thee the Campbells,
Mingling glory with defeat.
But as waters round Eorsa
Darken deep, then blanch in foam,
When the winds Ben More has harboured
Burst in thunder from their home,
So the brow fear never clouded
Blackens now 'neath anger's pall,
And the lips, to speak disdaining,
Whiten at revenge's call!
PART II.
Late, when many years had passed him,
And the Chiefs old age begun,
Seemed his youth again to blossom
With the birth of his fair son.
Late, when all his days had hardened
Into flint his nature wild,
Seemed it softer grown and kinder
For the sake of that one child.
And again a hunting morning
Saw Loch Búy and his men,
With his boy, his guests, and kinsmen,
Hidden o'er a coppiced glen.
Deep within its oaken thickets
Ran its waters to the sea:
On the hill the Chief lay careless,
While the child watched eagerly.
'Neath them, on the shining Ocean,
Island beyond island lay,
Where the peaks of Jura's bosom
Rose o'er holy Oronsay.
Where the greener fields of Islay
Pointed to the far Kintyre,
Fruitful lands of after-ages,
Wasted then with sword and fire.
For the spell that once had gathered
All the chiefs beneath the sway
Of the ancient Royal sceptre
Of the Isles had passed away.
Once from Rathlin to the southward,
Westward, to the low Tiree,
Northward, past the Alps of Coolin,
Somerled ruled land and sea.
Colonsay, Lismore, and Scarba,
Bute and Cumrae, Mull and Skye,
Arran, Jura, Lew's and Islay
Shouted then one battle-cry.
But those Isles that, still united,
Fought at Harlaw, Scotland's might,
Broken by their fierce contentions
Singly waged disastrous fight.
And the teaching of forgiveness,
Grey Iona's creed, became
Not a sign for men to reverence,
But a burning brand of shame.
Still among the names that Ruin
Had not numbered in her train,
Lived the great Clan, proud as ever
Of the race of strong Maclaine.
And his boy, like her he wedded,
Though of nature like the dove,
Showed the eagle-spirit flashing
Through her heritage of love.
Heir of all the vassals' homage
Rendered to the grisly sire,
He had grown his people's treasure,
Fostered as their heart's desire.
Surely Safety guards his footsteps;
Enmity he hath not sown:
Yet who stealthily glides near him,
Whose the arm around him thrown?
It is Eachan, who has wolf-like
Seized upon a helpless prey!
Fearlessly and fast he bears him
Where a cliff o'erhangs the bay.
There, while sea-birds scream around them,
Holding by his throat the boy,
Eachan turns, and to the father
Shouts in scorn and mocking joy:
"Take the punishment thou gavest,
Give before all there a pledge
For my freedom, or thy darling
Dying, falls from yonder ledge.
"Take the strokes in even number
As thou gavest, blow for blow,
Then dishonoured, on thine honour
Swear to let me freely go."
Silent in his powerless anger
Stood the Chief, with all his folk;
And before them all the ransom
Was exacted stroke for stroke.
Then again the voice of vengeance
Pealed from Eachan's lips in hate:
"Childless and dishonoured villain,
Expiation comes too late.
"My revenge is not completed!"
And they saw in dumb despair
How he hurled his victim downward
Headlong through the empty air.
Then they heard a yell of laughter
As they turned away the eye;
And they gazed again where nothing
Met their sight but cliff and sky;
For the murderer dared to follow
Where the youthful spirit fled,
To the Throne of the Avenger,
To the Judge of Quick and Dead.
_THE HARD STRAIT OF THE FEINNE_
Now of the hard strait of the Feinne this legend's verse shall tell:
When Fionn's men had fought and won, and all with them was well,
And victory on Erin's shores had given spoil which they
Alone could win whose swords of old were mightiest in the fray:
For in those days the bravest hand, and not the craftiest brain,
Got gold, and skill in gallant fight was found the surest gain.
Great Fionn's wont it was to give, when foes had bled and broke,
A feast to nobles and to chiefs and all the humble folk:
Upon the plain they sat, and ate the meat which smoking came
From layers of stone, well laid on pits half filled with charcoal flame,
Where 'neath the covering roof of turf that kept the heat aglow.
The boar was quickly roasted whole, with many a stag and roe.
And while the feast, with laugh and jest, gave careless time to most,
Two watchers bold kept guard the while, and gazed o'er sea and coast--
Two watchers good, and keenly eyed, sent out by Fionn to mark
If danger rode upon the sea, with Norway's pirate bark.
Full well they watched, although behind they heard the shouted song,
And knew the wine was bathing red the fair beards of the strong,
While chanted verse, and music's notes, arose upon the air,
And the briny breeze itself half seemed a savoury steam to bear;
Nor left their post, when from the clouds the hailstones leaped to ground,
And plaids were wrapt o'er shoulders broad, and o'er deep chests were
wound.
But Fionn's plaid untouched lay yet upon the earth outspread,
And white it grew as lichened rock, or Prophet's hoary head.
"Oh would it were all ruddy gold, there lying thickly strewn;
What joy were ours to share alike, and bear away each stone."
And laughingly each filled his hands, forgetful of the twain,
Their comrades good, on guard who stood to watch the moor and main.
But when their lonely vigil o'er, they, Roin and Aildé, came,
And found how little friendship counts, when played the spoiler's game,
Sore angered that no hand for them had set apart a prize,
They murmured. "With such men of greed all faith and kindness dies!
When thus they deal with us in peace, how shall we fare when blood
Runs from the wounds to blind the eyes to aught but selfish good?"
They swore that they forgotten thus were better far away,
And sailed to Lochlin's distant shore, and served in her array.
Their fame was great in Norway's realm, and love for Aildé came
To melt the heart of Norway's queen, a sudden quenchless flame.
She fled with Aildé from the King, and soon on Scotland's coast
She trod, a messenger of ill, a danger to the host
Great Eragon, far Lochlin's King, was not the man to know
The blood mount hot at insult's stroke without an answering blow,
His dragon keels were rolled to waves that shouted welcome loud
To glittering helm and painted shield beneath each spar and shroud
Oh! strong was Eragon in war, in battle victor oft,
From many a rank, from many a mast his banner streamed aloft;
With forty ships he set to sea, and scores of glancing oars
Streaked white his wake on fiord and loch along the echoing shores.
The Shetland Islands saw them pass, where on the tides, their sails
Shone like a flight of mighty swans, fast borne on wintry gales:
Hoarse as the raven's note their oath rang over all the seas,
False Fionn's host should bend and break before the Northern breeze.
And southward, onward still they steered, and up Loch Leven bore,
As you may know, for one great ship was lost upon the shore:
The sunken rock on which she drove and inlet where she lay
Were called the Galley's Crag and Port, and bear the name to-day.
They left her, taking all her crew, and landing near Glencoe,
On level ground their tents were set, thick planted row on row.
To Fionn of the Feinne that day, King Eragon sent word,
To yield him homage or abide the hard doom of the sword;
But grievous then was Fionn's strait, for thrice a thousand men,
His best and bravest, far away were hunting hill and glen.
The wives, the old and feeble folk alone were left, and these
He gathered, asking how to blind the strangers of the seas?
Then gave they counsel: "We are weak. By thee must peace be sought,
E'en though with massy store of gold the boon to-day be bought;
And if all this do not avail," they said, "O Fionn, thou
Shouldst yield thy daughter as the price, our ransom on her brow!"
Their messenger then offered these before the set of sun;
When flamed the wrath from Norway's King: "I ask not what I've won,
Your master stands before you now, my vengeance is my own;
For Aildé's deed the Feinne as slaves in Norway shall atone."
Back went the messenger in haste, and sadly Fionn knew
The threat was uttered by the strong, against the old and few.
But homeward from the forest soon he saw each hero's hound
Come swiftly back, in front of all he saw his Oscar bound;
And when the foremost hunters came, he told their noble band
How fight was sought with them this day upon the Northern strand.
Then looked they for some ground whose strength would quickly hide and save
Their little force, till gathering might gave fortune to the brave.
They dug four trenches deep, where firs above the birches flung
Red gnarled limbs that glowed at eve the dark green plumes among;
There hidden silently they watched, while rugged, scarred, and high,
Just at their rear a peak appeared to move against the sty.
Steep were its rocky ledges, strewn with jagged stones that lay
So loose one hand might send a mass on its resistless way,
While from the neighbouring hills the mount was sundered by a glen,
Where lightly crossed the grey cloud mists, but never mortal men.
Such was the chosen fort The Feinne into the trenches went;
For succour through all Alban's realm their messengers were sent;
To the green slopes of deep Glencoe the warriors summoned came,
Alas, too few to brave in fight the men of Norway's name.
They held long counsel, and the chief sent forth that hostage fair
His daughter, with a chosen band, his words of peace to bear;
And Fergus, his young son, to speak on his behalf, that they
Might change to love the king's black thought, and all his wrath allay--
For Fergus' speech, like ivy wreath, o'er heart of rock could wind
Till tender thoughts, like nestling birds, would come and shelter find.
Wealth to awake the Northmen's greed should weight his tempting word
For quaichs of gold and precious belts, and magic stones which stirred
The torpid blood of all disease to vigorous life once more,
And fivescore mares of iron grey, and hunting hawks threescore,
Were gifts to promise, with good herds, and cows with calves at side.
They placed the maid upon a horse, and bade her boldly ride;
With Fergus marching at her rein, his comrades close at hand,
They came to where the fleet and camp thick covered sea and land.
And halting there, young Fergus spake across a space of ground
Unto the king, who foremost stood with mailed men around;
He offered all the tribute rich, and that fair lady proud.
But when he ceased a silence fell, and then the answer loud
In Eragon's deep voice rang forth: "Let Fionn bring me all,
All that he hath on earth, and here let him before me fall,
Him and his wife before me here upon the shore, that I
May see them on their knees to me swear troth and fealty,
While as they homage make I shall above them rear my blade
To spare, or slay them at my feet, if so their debt be paid."
Then called in scorn the lady's voice, "No, Eragon, your might
Hath not across the broad salt seas brought such a host to fight
As e'er shall cause my father's knees to bend to you in prayer,
Nor shall you ever call me bride, or spoil of Erin wear."
She quickly turned her horse and went, but Fergus stood and waved
The signal banner for the chief, and for awhile he braved
The onset of the foe, and fought until the evening fell.
Then gave the council their advice to Fionn. "It were well
That Aildé should himself defy the king, and man to man
With sevenscore 'gainst sevenscore contend before the van."
And thus they fought, and Aildé fell, and Eragon defied
An equal band to equal fight, for great had grown his pride.
Then paused and pondered Fionn long, and doubted whom to ask
To lead in such a venture great, and dare so grave a task.
But Goll, the son of Morna, named at Fionn's call, went forth
And matched with equal force, back drove the boasters of the North.
And yet again a band as strong was overcome and made
To own our heroes' swords were best, when man to man arrayed;
But Eragon in fury cried his men should conquer yet.
For eight days more aye sevenscore 'gainst sevenscore were set,
And when the blood had flowed in streams, to utter madness urged
Against the trenches of the Feinne their baffled army surged.
Then sparkled swords like gleams of light upon the ocean's spray
When tossed aloft to wind and sun where battling currents play.
In that fierce fray did Eragon the son of Morna greet,
And, striking fast their mighty blades ascend and flashing meet;
Then sank the stranger king in death, and Goll sore wounded fell,
Against the Northmen went the day; and of their slain they tell
That from Glen Fewich to the shore they lay, and of the host
So few escaped that galleys twain alone left Scotland's coast.
Nay, even they ne'er reached a port, so that in Norway none
Could tell how Eragon revenged the deed by Aildé done.
But sorrow came upon the Feinne for all their strongest, dead;
And Fionn found that from that time his fortune waned and fled,
For ne'er again in equal strength the Feinne in arms were seen
Since the dark days of Aildé's love, and Norway's evil queen.
_Note._--This story was taken down by J. Dewar in prose from oral
recitation in Gaelic in 1860. Translated by H. McLean, of Islay. It
is rendered here nearly literally.
_TOBERMORY BAY._
1588.
In the vapour and haze on the ocean,
Where the skies and the waters meet,
There's a form that drifts, phantom-like, onward
As it follows the grey clouds' feet.
O'er the sea come the winds and the billows,
And they howl to the rocks, and they cry,
They will bring them a wreck on the morrow,
Ere the joy of the tempest die.
The shade looming dark in the distance
Is naught but a galleon proud;
And the spray has long battered her turrets,
And loosened each yard and each shroud;
But not on the surf-beaten islands,
Nor yet upon Morven's land,
Does she drive, for her rudder, unshattered,
Is firm in the steersman's hand.
No mist wreath, no cloud, was the shadow
That moved on the height of the seas;
Like a castle how steep are her bulwarks,
Her spars like a forest of trees!
She is safe from the gales for a season,
In the shelter and calm of the sound;
A harbour named after the Virgin,
The "Well of Our Lady" she found.
She may rest in that haven, hill-girdled,
Near the shade of the woods on the shore,
Where the hush of the forest is deepened
By the waterfall's song evermore.
How grandly her masts rise to heaven,
How glitters the blest Mary's form,
High placed o'er the stern, and upholding
The Prince of our Peace through the storm!
Now waters their orisons murmur
As they fold her bright robes to their breast,
Where they mirror the galleried windows,
And the flag and the face of the Blest.
Again with that sign and the banner
Of the gold and the crimson of Spain,
Shall this ship front the foes of the Virgin,
And the English be chased from the Main.
Yes, again on the heretic Saxon
Her cannon shall thunder in scorn,
Till in triumph through insolent England
Shall the Faith and King Philip be borne.
But the rows of dark mouths that have spoken
Defiance with sulphurous breath,
Glisten black, stretching forth in the silence,
And in vain ask the presence of death.
Yes, repose and surcease of all hazard,
A truce to all war for a time!
The cliffs and the pines only echo
The laugh of a sunnier clime.
And gaily the dark-visaged seamen
Quaff, cursing the mists and the rain;
Gravely drinking from goblets of silver
Sits their chief, Don Fereija of Spain. [1]
[1] This galleon was said to have been "The Florida," commanded
by Don Fereija. A search at Madrid among the archives shows that the
only vessel named the "_Florida_" in the Armada, was a small ship
which came safely back to Santander Roads after the destruction of
the fleet. No commander had the name assigned to the captain of the
vessel sunk at Tobermory. The identity of this galleon remains, therefore,
a mystery.
But the souls of the men to whose nostrils
Had risen the smoke of the fight,
Soon tired of the shore and of slumber,
Soon yearned for the red battle light.
And courtesy fled from the weary,
From idleness arrogance grew;
And all they received as a favour
They haughtily claimed as their due.
Then answered the Islesmen in anger,
"The food you demand as your own,
By our people's free favour long given
Shall be bought by your gold now alone."
"Now, down with the savage's envoy,
Set sail and away on our track!
Carthagena's sweet girls shall deride him,
And jeer the red locks on his back."
Below, in the dark narrow spaces,
The Islesman gropes, down in the hold;
Unnoticed, and one among many;
What harm can his hatred unfold?
Swarm the men to the rigging, and swiftly
Shine clouds of white canvas, and clank
The links of the anchor's great cable,
Creaks, trampled on deck, every plank:
Swings round the huge bowsprit, and slowly
With motion majestic and free,
The galleon, vast, gilded, and mighty,
Passes on, passes forth, to the sea.
Her colours still paint all the ripples,
Repeated her banners all seem,
Her sails, and her gold, and her cannon
Float on like a gorgeous dream.
Came a flash, and a roar, and a smoke-cloud
Rushed up, and spread far o'er the sky;
Sank a wreck, black, and rugged, and blasted,
While the sound on the winds swept by.
And the mountains sent back the dull thunder
As though to all time they would tell
The vengeance that pealed to the Heavens
From the Harbour of "Mary's Well."
_LOCH UISK, ISLE OF MULL._