The Lady of the Lake Part 18

CANTO SIXTH

THE GUARD-ROOM

I

The sun, awakening, through the smoky air Of the dark city casts a sullen glance, Rousing each caitiff to his task of care, Of sinful man the sad inheritance; Summoning revelers from the lagging dance, 5 Scaring the prowling robber to his den; Gilding on battled tower the warder's lance, And warning student pale to leave his pen, And yield his drowsy eyes to the kind nurse of men.

What various scenes, and, Oh! what scenes of woe, 10 Are witnessed by that red and struggling beam!

The fevered patient, from his pallet low, Through crowded hospital beholds its stream; The ruined maiden trembles at its gleam; The debtor wakes to thought of gyve and jail; 15 The love-lorn wretch starts from tormenting dream; The wakeful mother, by the glimmering pale, Trims her sick infant's couch, and soothes his feeble wail.

II

At dawn the towers of Stirling rang With soldier-step and weapon-clang, 20 While drums, with rolling note, foretell Relief to weary sentinel.

Through narrow loop and cas.e.m.e.nt barred, The sunbeams sought the Court of Guard, And, struggling with the smoky air, 25 Deadened the torches' yellow glare.

In comfortless alliance shone The lights through arch of blackened stone, And showed wild shapes in garb of war, Faces deformed with beard and scar, 30 All haggard from the midnight watch, And fevered with the stern debauch; For the oak table's ma.s.sive board, Flooded with wine, with fragments stored, And beakers drained, and cups o'erthrown, 35 Showed in what sport the night had flown.

Some, weary, snored on floor and bench; Some labored still their thirst to quench; Some, chilled with watching, spread their hands O'er the huge chimney's dying brands, 40 While round them, or beside them flung, At every step their harness rung.

III

These drew not for their fields the sword, Like tenants of a feudal lord, Nor owned the patriarchal claim 45 Of Chieftain in their leader's name; Adventurers they, from far who roved, To live by battle which they loved.

There the Italian's clouded face, The swarthy Spaniard's there you trace; 50 The mountain-loving Switzer there More freely breathed in mountain-air; The Fleming there despised the soil, That paid so ill the laborer's toil; Their rolls showed French and German name; 55 And merry England's exiles came, To share, with ill-concealed disdain, Of Scotland's pay the scanty gain.

All brave in arms, well trained to wield The heavy halberd, brand, and shield; 60 In camps licentious, wild and bold; In pillage fierce and uncontrolled; And now, by holytide and feast, From rules of discipline released.

IV

They held debate of b.l.o.o.d.y fray, 65 Fought 'twixt Loch Katrine and Achray.

Fierce was their speech, and, mid their words, Their hands oft grappled to their swords; Nor sunk their tone to spare the ear Of wounded comrades groaning near, 70 Whose mangled limbs, and bodies gored, Bore token of the mountain sword, Though, neighboring to the Court of Guard, Their prayers and feverish wails were heard; Sad burden to the ruffian joke, 75 And savage oath by fury spoke!-- At length up-started John of Brent, A yeoman from the banks of Trent; A stranger to respect or fear, In peace a chaser of the deer, 80 In host a hardy mutineer, But still the boldest of the crew, When deed of danger was to do.

He grieved, that day, their games cut short, And marred the dicer's brawling sport, 85 And shouted loud, "Renew the bowl!

And, while in merry catch I troll, Let each the buxom chorus bear, Like brethren of the brand and spear."

V

SOLDIER'S SONG

Our vicar still preaches that Peter and Poule 90 Laid a swinging long curse on the bonny brown bowl, That there's wrath and despair in the jolly black-jack, And the seven deadly sins in a flagon of sack; Yet whoop, Barnaby! off with thy liquor, Drink upsees out, and a fig for the vicar! 95

Our vicar he calls it d.a.m.nation to sip The ripe ruddy dew of a woman's dear lip, Says, that Beelzebub lurks in her kerchief so sly, And Apollyon shoots darts from her merry black eye; Yet whoop, Jack! kiss Gillian the quicker, 100 Till she bloom like a rose, and a fig for the vicar!

Our vicar thus preaches--and why should he not?

For the dues of his cure are the placket and pot; And 'tis right of his office poor laymen to lurch, Who infringe the domains of our good Mother Church. 105 Yet whoop, bully-boys! off with your liquor, Sweet Marjorie's the word, and a fig for the Vicar!

VI

The warder's challenge, heard without, Stayed in mid-roar the merry shout.

A soldier to the portal went-- 110 "Here is old Bertram, sirs, of Ghent; And--beat for jubilee the drum!

A maid and minstrel with him come."

Bertram, a Fleming, gray and scarred, Was entering now the Court of Guard, 115 A harper with him, and in plaid All m.u.f.fled close, a mountain maid, Who backward shrunk, to 'scape the view Of the loose scene and boisterous crew.

"What news?" they roared. "I only know, 120 From noon till eve we fought with foe, As wild and as untamable As the rude mountains where they dwell; On both sides store of blood is lost, Nor much success can either boast." 125 "But whence thy captives, friend? Such spoil As theirs must needs reward thy toil.

Old dost thou wax, and wars grow sharp; Thou now hast glee-maiden and harp!

Get thee an ape, and trudge the land, 130 The leader of a juggler band."

VII

"No, comrade; no such fortune mine.

After the fight these sought our line, That aged harper and the girl, And, having audience of the Earl, 135 Mar bade I should purvey them steed, And bring them hitherward with speed.

Forbear your mirth and rude alarm, For none shall do them shame or harm."

"Hear ye his boast?" cried John of Brent, 140 Ever to strife and jangling bent; "Shall he strike doe beside our lodge, And yet the jealous n.i.g.g.ard grudge To pay the forester his fee?

I'll have my share, howe'er it be, 145 Despite of Moray, Mar, or thee."

Bertram his forward step withstood; And, burning in his vengeful mood, Old Allan, though unfit for strife; Laid hand upon his dagger-knife; 150 But Ellen boldly stepped between, And dropped at once the tartan screen.

So, from his morning cloud, appears The sun of May, through summer tears.

The savage soldiery, amazed, 155 As on descended angel gazed; Even hardy Brent, abashed and tamed, Stood half admiring, half ashamed.

VIII

Boldly she spoke--"Soldiers, attend!

My father was the soldier's friend; 160 Cheered him in camps, in marches led, And with him in the battle bled.

Not from the valiant, or the strong, Should exile's daughter suffer wrong."

Answered De Brent, most forward still 165 In every feat of good or ill: "I shame me of the part I played; And thou an outlaw's child, poor maid!

An outlaw I by forest laws, And merry Needwood knows the cause. 170 Poor Rose--if Rose be living now"-- He wiped his iron eye and brow-- "Must bear such age, I think, as thou.

Hear ye, my mates; I go to call The Captain of our watch to hall. 175 There lies my halberd on the floor; And he that steps my halberd o'er, To do the maid injurious part, My shaft shall quiver in his heart!

Beware loose speech, or jesting rough; 180 Ye all know John de Brent. Enough."

IX

Their Captain came, a gallant young-- Of Tullibardine's house he sprung-- Nor wore he yet the spurs of knight; Gay was his mien, his humor light, 185 And, though by courtesy controlled, Forward his speech, his bearing bold.

The high-born maiden ill could brook The scanning of his curious look And dauntless eye; and yet, in sooth, 190 Young Lewis was a generous youth; But Ellen's lovely face and mien, Ill suited to the garb and scene, Might lightly bear construction strange, And give loose fancy scope to range. 195 "Welcome to Stirling towers, fair maid!

Come ye to seek a champion's aid, On palfrey white, with harper h.o.a.r, Like errant damosel of yore?

Does thy high quest a knight require, 200 Or may the venture suit a squire?"

Her dark eye flashed--she paused and sighed-- "O what have I to do with pride!

Through scenes of sorrow, shame, and strife, A suppliant for a father's life, 205 I crave an audience of the King.

Behold, to back my suit, a ring, The royal pledge of grateful claims, Given by the Monarch to Fitz-James."

X

The signet ring young Lewis took, 210 With deep respect and altered look; And said--"This ring our duties own; And pardon, if to worth unknown, In semblance mean obscurely veiled, Lady, in aught my folly failed. 215 Soon as the day flings wide his gates, The King shall know what suitor waits.

Please you, meanwhile, in fitting bower Repose you till his waking hour; Female attendance shall obey 220 Your hest, for service or array.

Permit I marshal you the way."