THE BRIDAL OF MAWORTII. 51 



The chase is o'er, the stately hart lies low, 

 And homeward turn'd the weary hunters go ; 

 They stop ! What quarry opens on their view ? 

 What means that cry ? Oh ! not the loud hallo ! 

 But shrill and wild, from mountain cave to cave, 

 Black Horror shouts, and shakes the stern and brave : 

 Slow issuing from a fearful gorge, they bore 

 Two mangled corses ! lost in wounds and gore : 

 In rude chamois, despoiled of every grace, 

 They knew their best companion in the chase, 

 Gils Beuth, whose skill and courage in the field, 

 Left age behind, and taught the bold to yield. 

 Close by his side his faithful squire they found, 

 Stripp'd of attire, and gash'd with many a wound. 

 Fast flew the tale, and soon an armed train 

 Mix'd with the group; the vassals of the slain : 

 They came, all burning for revenge, prepared 

 For that wild draught, to leave no deed undar'd ; 

 Each maddening heart to double fierceness wrought, 

 Thus to behold the chieftain whom they sought, 

 He ! the bright hope of an illustrious race, 

 Their youthful leader through the fight and chase, 

 Whose glowing ardour in the hour of strife 

 Scorn'd nature's bounds, disdaining thoughts of life ; 

 And made age young, while warriors stood amaz'd, 

 And young hearts leap'd to manhood as they gaz'd. 

 Nor dreaded more than lov'd ; for he had won 

 The common mind by feats of valour done ; 

 And the frank bearing of an open soul 

 Had gain'd him those who seldom brook'd control : 

 And well to-day's unwonted stir has shown, 

 Who work'd his death, have cause to dread their own. 



And whose the crime ? Unknown that fearful vale, 



But those around had told full many a tale 



Of horrid import ; deeds of that wild hand, 



The outlaw'd serf, and his night-scaring band : 



Him, they denounce, no proofs are needed there, 



The foe too hated, and revenge too dear ; 



Enough to know, in that detested glen, 



The robber's haunt, perchance his secret den, 



Was found their murder'd lord : a trail of blood 



Led to the spot where gush'd in one full flood 



The warm life from his breast : around them lay 



The signs of desp'rate, but unequal fray. 



From thence, a wintry torrent's craggy bed, 



To beaten paths, and op'ner country led ; 



And it would seem, his steps had been beguil'd, 



By that rude track, too far into the wild. 



The steeds away, the arms and vesture gone, 



Alone betray'd "what hands the deed had done. 



High heav'd each burning breast, and words of flame 



Burst wildly forth, all utt'ring Ranulph's name. 



****** 



* 



As falls and rises ocean's azure breast, 

 When only inward sorrows break her rest, 



