Threatening both continent and isle,Bute, Arran, Cunninghame, and Kyle.
Lord Gifford, deep beneath the ground,
Heard Alexander’s bugle sound, 360
And tarried not his garb to change,
But, in his wizard habit strange,
Came forth,-a quaint and fearful sight;
His mantle lined with fox-skins white;
His high and wrinkled forehead bore 365
A pointed cap, such as of yore
Clerks say that Pharaoh’s Magi wore:
His shoes were mark’d with cross and spell,
Upon his breast a pentacle;
His zone, of virgin parchment thin, 370
Or, as some tell, of dead man’s skin,
Bore many a planetary sign,
Combust, and retrograde, and trine;
And in his hand he held prepared,
A naked sword without a guard. 375
XXI.
‘Dire dealings with the fiendish race
Had mark’d strange lines upon his face;
Vigil and fast had worn him grim,
His eyesight dazzled seem’d and dim,
As one unused to upper day; 380
Even his own menials with dismay
Beheld, Sir Knight, the grisly Sire,
In his unwonted wild attire;
Unwonted, for traditions run,
He seldom thus beheld the sun.- 385
“I know,” he said,-his voice was hoarse,
And broken seem’d its hollow force,-
“I know the cause, although untold,
Why the King seeks his vassal’s hold:
Vainly from me my liege would know 390
His kingdom’s future weal or woe;
But yet, if strong his arm and heart,
His courage may do more than art.
XXII.
‘ “Of middle air the demons proud,
Who ride upon the racking cloud, 395
Can read, in fix’d or wandering star,
The issue of events afar;
But still their sullen aid withhold,
Save when by mightier force controll’d.
Such late I summon’d to my hall; 400
And though so potent was the call,
That scarce the deepest nook of hell
I deem’d a refuge from the spell,
Yet, obstinate in silence still,
The haughty demon mocks my skill. 405
But thou,-who little know’st thy might,
As born upon that blessed night
When yawning graves, and dying groan,
Proclaim’d hell’s empire overthrown,-
With untaught valour shalt compel 410
Response denied to magic spell.”-
“Gramercy,” quoth our Monarch free,
“Place him but front to front with me,
And, by this good and honour’d brand,
The gift of Coeur-de-Lion’s hand, 415
Soothly I swear, that, tide what tide,
The demon shall a buffet bide.”-
His bearing bold the wizard view’d,
And thus, well pleased, his speech renew’d:-
“There spoke the blood of Malcolm!-mark: 420
Forth pacing hence, at midnight dark,
The rampart seek, whose circling crown
Crests the ascent of yonder down:
A southern entrance shalt thou find;
There halt, and there thy bugle wind, 425
And trust thine elfin foe to see,
In guise of thy worst enemy:
Couch then thy lance, and spur thy steed-
Upon him! and Saint George to speed!
If he go down, thou soon shalt know 430
Whate’er these airy sprites can show:-
If thy heart fail thee in the strife,
I am no warrant for thy life.”
XXIII.
‘Soon as the midnight bell did ring,
Alone, and arm’d, forth rode the King 435
To that old camp’s deserted round:
Sir Knight, you well might mark the mound,
Left hand the town,-the Pictish race,
The trench, long since, in blood did trace;
The moor around is brown and bare, 440
The space within is green and fair.
The spot our village children know,
For there the earliest wild-flowers grow;
But woe betide the wandering wight,
That treads its circle in the night! 445
The breadth across, a bowshot clear,
Gives ample space for full career;
Opposed to the four points of heaven,
By four deep gaps are entrance
