XIX.
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enledi saw the Cross of Fire,It glanced like lightning up Strath-Ire.O'er dale and hill the summons flew,Nor rest nor pause young Angus knew;The tear that gathered in his eyeHe deft the mountain-breeze to dry;Until, where Teith's young waters rollBetwixt him and a wooded knollThat graced the sable strath with green,The chapel of Saint Bride was seen.Swoln was the stream, remote the bridge,But Angus paused not on the edge;Though the clerk waves danced dizzily,Though reeled his sympathetic eye,He dashed amid the torrent's roar:His right hand high the crosslet bore,His left the pole-axe grasped, to guideAnd stay his footing in the tide.He stumbled twice,--the foam splashed high,With hoarser swell the stream raced by;And had he fallen,--forever there,Farewell Duncraggan's orphan heir!But still, as if in parting life,Firmer he grasped the Cross of strife,Until the opposing bank he gained,And up the chapel pathway strained.A blithesome rout that morning-tideHad sought the chapel of Saint Bride.Her troth Tombea's Mary gaveTo Norman, heir of Armandave,And, issuing from the Gothic arch,The bridal now resumed their march.In rude but glad procession cameBonneted sire and coif-clad dame;And plaided youth, with jest and jeerWhich snooded maiden would not hear:And children, that, unwitting why,Lent the gay shout their shrilly cry;And minstrels, that in measures viedBefore the young and bonny bride,Whose downcast eye and cheek discloseThe tear and blush of morning rose.With virgin step and bashful handShe held the kerchief's snowy band.The gallant bridegroom by her sideBeheld his prize with victor's pride.And the glad mother in her earWas closely whispering word of cheer.
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