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   Chapter 181 No.181

The Lady of the Lake By Walter Scott Characters: 1259

Updated: 2017-12-01 00:03


The Chieftain reared his form on high,

And fever's fire was in his eye;

340 But ghastly pale, and livid streaks

Checkered his swarthy brow and cheeks.

"Hark, Minstrel! I have heard thee play,

With measure bold, on festal day,

In yon lone isle, ... again where ne'er

345 Shall harper play, or warrior hear!...

That stirring air that peals on high,

O'er Dermid's race our victory.

Strike it!-and then-for well thou canst-

Free from thy minstrel spirit glanced,

350 Fling me the picture of the fight,

When met my clan the Saxon might.

I'll listen, till my fancy hears

The clang of swords,

the crash of spears!

These grates, these walls, shall vanish then,

355 For the fair field of fighting men,

And my free spirit burst away,

As if it soared from battle fray."

The trembling Bard with awe obeyed-

Slow on the harp his hand he laid;

360 But soon remembrance of the sight

He witnessed from the mountain's height,

With what old Bertram told at night,

Awakened the full power of song,

And bore him in career along;

365 As shallop launched on river's side,

That slow and fearful leaves the side,

But, when it feels the middle stream,

Drives downward swift as lightning's beam.

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