XIII.
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s the tall ship, whose lofty proreShall never stem the billows more,Deserted by her gallant band,Amid the breakers lies astrand,--So on his couch lay Roderick Dhu!And oft his fevered limbs he threwIn toss abrupt, as when her sidesLie rocking in the advancing tides,That shake her frame with ceaseless beat,Yet cannot heave her from her seat;--O, how unlike her course at sea!Or his free step on hill and lea!--Soon as the Minstrel he could scan,--'What of thy lady?--of my clan?--My mother?--Douglas?--tell me all!Have they been ruined in my fall?Ah, yes! or wherefore art thou here?Yet speak,--speak boldly,--do not fear.'--For Allan, who his mood well knew,Was choked with grief and terror too.--'Who fought?--who fled?--Old man, be brief;--Some might,--for they had lost their Chief.Who basely live?--who bravely died?''O, calm thee, Chief!' the Minstrel cried,'Ellen is safe!' 'For that thank Heaven!''And hopes are for the Douglas given;--The Lady Margaret, too, is well;And, for thy clan,--on field or fell,Has never harp of minstrel toldOf combat fought so true and bold.Thy stately Pine is yet unbent,Though many a goodly bough is rent.'
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