Cantov

The Hero, rising from his lofty seat, Thus unpresumptuously accosts the great: "The fame of DENMARK pass'd our mountains o'er, And fill'd our ears on ABRIA's distant shore: Brave RYNOLD starts:—the aged chief alarms, And kindles all his family to arms. A hundred youths, who, from the sounding wood, Or tow'ring mountain brought their living food, Obey the bag-pipe's voice; for all, in view Of RYNOLD's seat, the friendly Canton grew. The hoary warrior leads the onward path, No stranger to the road which led to death. Behind advancing, I, with martial care, Lead on the youthful thunder-bolts of war; With arms anticipate the kindling fire, And move to ev'ry motion of my sire.

"On GRAMPUS, night her mantle round us throws; We slept in heath—the dappled morn arose: Descending thence pursue our headlong way, And cross the silver errors of the TAY. Groans, feeble shrieks, ascending from the vale, Speak on the pinions of the southern gale. A dismal scene breaks on our distant eyes; Here one pursues, and there another flies. This breathes his life thro' the impurpled wound, While his proud villa smokes along the ground. That with the foe maintains unequal strife, While his dear offspring fly, and dearer wife.

"The senior saw it with indignant eyes, And bid, at once, his kindred-ranks arise. With hasty steps we seize a virid brow, And form a sable cloud above the foe. Thus on the mountain's brow, I oft have seen The must'ring clouds brew torrents for the plain; At length the blust'ring south begins to roar, And heav'n descends impetuous in a show'r; The bubbling floods foam down the hill, and spread A swimming deluge on the subject mead.

"Thus RYNOLD formed on the mountain's brow, And headlong rush'd into the vale below. While on the banks of TAY terrific shine The steel-clad foe, and stretch the hostile line. They form a wall along the flowing flood, And awful gleam their arms, an iron wood. We shout, and rush upon the hostile throng: The echoing fields with iron clangour rung. Firm stood the foe, nor made they flight their care, But hand to hand return'd the equal war: Man close to man, and shield conjoin'd to shield, They with the stable phalanx keep the field. With pointed spear I mark'd the stoutest foe, And heav'n directed home the happy blow: He tumbles backward to the groaning flood: TAY circles round, and mingles with his blood. My kindred-youth their useful weapons wield, Fomenting the confusion of the field. DANE fell on DANE, and man transfix'd his man, Till bloody torrents smoak'd along the plain. At length they fly along the banks of TAY; Their guilty leader points th' inglorious way. Eager we follow:—still the foe with art Wound as they fly, and shoot th' inverted dart. RYNOLD is wounded.—Still he urg'd the foe; While down his limbs the crimson torrents flow: With eager voice he still foments the strife, Preferring ALBION's liberty to life.

"An antient pile uprear'd its rev'rent head, And from its lofty seat survey'd a mead: The mould'ring walls confess'd their beauty past; A fragment falls with each invading blast. Old arms above the gate time's empire own; The rampant lion moulders in the stone: Tall elms around, an old and shatter'd band, Their naked arms erect, like centries stand.

"Within the ruin'd walls their fear inclose The desp'rate squadrons of the flying foes. An ancient plane, whose leaf-dismantled weight Rude winds o'erturn'd, secures the shapeless gate. On ev'ry side my quick array I form, Prepar'd at once the muniment to storm. Missing my sire, I fly to find the chief, And give the wounded all a son's relief.

"Far on the plain the wounded warrior creeps, And scarcely moves along his tott'ring steps; But still, far as his feeble voice cou'd bear, He kindles with his words the distant war. Quick I approach'd:—He first the silence broke; And leaning on his launce, the warrior spoke."

"Say, why returns young ALPIN from the fight? Pursue the foe, and urge the DANISH flight. I sink, my son, I sink into the grave; You cannot me, your country, ALPIN, save."

No more he said.—I, mournful, thus reply, Compassion melting in my filial eye, O sire, the DANES, within yon walls secur'd, Will share our pity, or must feel our sword: Of filial duty what his wants require, I come to offer for a dying sire."

"He thus returns: still good, still gen'rous mind! My wants are, ALPIN, of no earthly kind: The world, the fading world, retires from view; Earth cloys me now, and all it has, but you. Go, ALPIN, go; within that lofty wood A hermit lives, a holy man and good! Relieve, my son, relieve me of my cares, And for the dying RYNOLD raise his pray'rs."

"Thus said;—himself the wounded warrior laid, Within the coolness of a birchen shade: Some youths around employ their friendly care, And o'er the dying shed the mournful tear. Around the antient fastness guards I sent; And to the lofty wood my journey bent. Two rising hills, whose brows tall pop'lars grace, With stretching arms a woody plain embrace; Along the tree-set vale a riv'let flow'd, And murmur'd softly thro' the under-wood: Along the purling stream my steps I bear, And seek the lonely mansions of the seer. Irreg'lar files of tow'ring elms embrace, In their calm bosom, an enamel'd space. Full at the end a rock with sable arms, Stretch'd o'er a moss-grown cave, a grotto forms. A silver stream, clear-issuing from the stones, In winding mazes thro' the meadow runs; Depending flow'rs their vary'd colours bind, Hang o'er the entrance, and defend the wind. On a green bank the holy seer is laid, Where weaving branches cloud the chequer'd shade; In solemn thought his hoary head's inclin'd, And his white locks wave in the fanning wind.

"With rev'rent steps approaching, I began. "O blest with all that dignifies the man! Who far from life, and all its noisy care, Enjoy'st the aim of all that wander there: Let, holy father, thy propitious aid Guide dying RYNOLD thro' the deathful shade." I said:—the prophet heav'n-ward lifts his eyes, Long fix'd in solemn thought, and thus replies; "Vain mortals! worms of earth! How can ye dare To deem your deeds not providence's care? Heav'n looks on all below with equal eye: They long escape, but yet the wicked die. With distant time, O youth! my soul's imprest; Futurity is lab'ring in my breast: Thy blood, which rolling down from FERGUS came, Passes thro' time, a pure untained stream. ALBION shall in her pristine glory shine, And, blest herself, bless the FERGUSIAN line.

"But ah! I see grim treason rear its head, Pale ALBION trembling, and her monarch dead; The tyrant wield his scepter 'smear'd with blood; O base return! but still great heav'n is good: He falls, he falls: see how the tyrant lies! And SCOTLAND brightens up her weeping eyes: The banish'd race, again, resume their own; Nor SYRIA boasts her royal saint alone. Its gloomy front the low'ring season clears, And gently rolls a happy round of years.

"Again I see contending chiefs come on, And, as they strive to mount, they tear the throne; To civil arms the horrid trumpet calls, And CALEDONIA by her children falls. The storm subsides to the calm flood of peace; The throne returns to FERGUS' antient race. Glad CALEDONIA owns their lawful sway; Happy in them, in her unhappy they! See each inwrapt untimely in his shroud, For ever sleeping in his gen'rous blood! Who on thy mournful tomb refrains the tear? O regal charms, unfortunately fair! Dark FACTION grasps her in his sable arms, And crushes down to death her struggling charms; The rose, in all its gaudy liv'ry drest, Thus faintly struggles with the blust'ring west.

"Why mention him in whom th' eternal fates Shall bind in peace the long-discording states? See SCOT and SAXON coalesc'd in one, Support the glory of the common crown. BRITAIN no more shall shake with native storms, But o'er the trembling nations lift her arms."

He spoke, and in the cave inclos'd his age: In wonder lost I leave the hermitage; Measure with thoughtful steps my backward way, While to the womb of night retires the day. Pale doubtful twilight broods along the ground: The forest nods its sleeping head around.

Before my eyes a ghastly vision stood; A mangled man, his bosom stain'd with blood! Silent and sad the phantom stood confest, And shew'd the streaming flood-gates of his breast. Then pointing to the Dome his tardy hand, Thither his eyes my silent way command. He hands my sword, emits a feeble groan, And weakly says, "revenge me, O my son!" I to reply—he hiss'd his way along, As breezes sing thro' reeds their shrilly song. I stood aghast, then wing'd me to obey; Across the field I sweep my hasty way. The men I arm;—the firm barrier we ply; And those who dare dispute the passage die. With dying groans the lonely walls resound: I on the guilty leader deal a wound; Thro' his bright helm the sword its journey takes; He falls, and thus with dying accents speaks:

"Just heav'n! in vain the wicked shun thy pow'r; Tho' late thy vengeance, yet the blow is sure. This earth receiv'd the blood from off my hands; A just return, my own, my own demands! In night's dead hour, when all, but treason, slept, With ruffian bands, a bloody train, I crept. 'Twas here, 'twas here, oh! long-deserved death! 'Twas here the godlike man resign'd his breath: The sleeping fam'ly we with blood surprize, And send the palace flaming to the skies. I fled, but fled, alas! pursued by fate; 'Tis now I find that I have sinn'd too late. O MALCOLM! O my king! before my eyes He stands confest;—accurst DOVALUS dies."

His guilty soul in these dire accents fled, I left with hasty steps the silent dead. Beneath the birch my aged sire I found; His life was ebbing thro' the purple wound. On me the aged senior lifts his eyes, And mixes feeble accents with his sighs.

"ALPIN, the commerce of this world I leave, Convey my reliques to my father's grave. Ten friendly youths the homely rites shall pay; Lead thou the rest, my ALPIN, to the fray: DENMARK invades:—this was a pilf'ring band, Who spread divided terror o'er the land."

He said: a qualm succeeds; tears fill my eyes, And woe, securely, shuts the gates of voice; Silent and sad I hang the dying o'er, And with warm tears intenerate his gore."

The chief resumes:—"my brave, my only son! Yes, ALPIN, I may call thee all my own; I shall not veil a secret in my death; Take then this story of my latest breath: The twentieth season liv'ries o'er the year, Since on the SEVERN's banks I met the war; In private feud, against a SAXON lord, The great DUMBAR had rais'd his kindred-sword: I on the foe my bow auxiliar bend, And join afar our fam'ly's antient friend: Returning thence I next the TAY divide, That very night the great King MALCOLM dy'd. My clan in arms might then preserve their king; But Fate withstood;—along in arms we ring. An infant's cries, at distance, took my ear, I went, found thee, a helpless orphan there.

The king, who long infix'd in dumb surprize, Run o'er the speaking youth with searching eyes, Here stopt him short, his arms around him flung, And silent on th' astonish'd warrior hung; My son, my son! at last, perplex'd, he cries, My DUFFUS!—tears hung in his joyful eyes: The crouding tide of joy his words suppress'd; He clasps the youth, in silence, to his breast. Th' astonish'd chiefs, congeal'd in dumb amaze, Stiffen'd to silence, on each other gaze. Sudden their cheeks are vary'd with surprize, And glad disorder darted from their eyes.

As when before the swains, with instant sound, The forky bolt descending tears the ground; They stand; with stupid gaze each other eye: So stood the chiefs oppress'd with sudden joy.

At length, relax'd from fetters of surprize, "Welcome, brave youth!" the scepter'd senior cries, "Welcome to honours justly thine alone, Triumphant mount, tho' late, thy father's throne To thee with joy the scepter I resign, And waft the kingdom to the coming line." He said: and thus the youth; "I only know To shoot the spear, and bend the stubborn bow; Unskill'd to stretch o'er nations my command, Or in the scales of judgment poise a land. Wield still the scepter which with grace you wear, And guide with steadier hand the regal car; While, looking up to thee with humble eye, I first transcribe my future rules of sway; Till late enjoy the throne which you bequeath, And only date dominion from thy death." Resolv'd he spoke:—bursts of applause around Break on the chief:—with joy the halls resound. As when some valiant youth returns from far, And leaves the fields of death, and finish'd war; Whom time and honest scars another made, And friendly hope long plac'd among the dead; At first his sire looks with indifference on, But soon he knows, and hangs upon his son.

So all the chiefs the royal youth embrace; While joys, tumultuous, rend the lofty place.

While thus the king, and noble chiefs rejoice, Harmonious bards exalt the tuneful voice: A select band by INDULPH's bounty fed, To keep in song the mem'ry of the dead! They handed down the ancient rounds of time, In oral story and recorded rhyme.

The vocal quire in tuneful concert sings Exploits of heroes, and of antient kings: How first in FERGUS CALEDONIA rose; What hosts she conquer'd, and repell'd what foes. Thro' time in reg'lar series they decline, And touch each name of the FERGUSIAN line; Great CARACTACUS, FERGUS' awful sword; That bravely lost his country, this restor'd: HIBERNIA's spoils, GREGORIUS' martial fire; The stern avenger of his murder'd sire: Beneath his sword, as yet, whole armies groan, And a whole nation paid the blood of ONE. At length descend the rough impetuous strains To valiant DUFFUS, and the slaughter'd DANES: The battle lives in verse; in song they wound; And falling squadrons thunder on the ground.

Thus, in the strain, the bards impetuous roll, And quaff the gen'rous spirit of the bowl; At length from the elab'rate song respire; The chiefs remove, and all to rest retire.