She sat beneath the birchen tree, Her elbow resting on her knee; She had withdrawn the fatal shaft, And gazed on it, and feebly laughed; Her wreath of broom and feathers gray, Daggled with blood, beside her lay. The Knight to stanch the life-stream tried,-- 'Stranger, it is in vain!' she cried. 'This hour of death has given me more Of reason's power than years before; For, as these ebbing veins decay, My frenzied visions fade away. A helpless injured wretch I die, And something tells me in thine eye That thou wert mine avenger born. Seest thou this tress?--O. still I 've worn This little tress of yellow hair, Through danger, frenzy, and despair! It once was bright and clear as thine, But blood and tears have dimmed its shine. I will not tell thee when 't was shred, Nor from what guiltless victim's head,-- My brain would turn!--but it shall wave Like plumage on thy helmet brave, Till sun and wind shall bleach the stain, And thou wilt bring it me again. I waver still.--O God! more bright Let reason beam her parting light!-- O. by thy knighthood's honored sign, And for thy life preserved by mine, When thou shalt see a darksome man, Who boasts him Chief of Alpine's Clan, With tartars broad and shadowy plume, And hand of blood, and brow of gloom Be thy heart bold, thy weapon strong, And wreak poor Blanche of Devan's wrong!-- They watch for thee by pass and fell... Avoid the path... O God!... farewell.'
A kindly heart had brave Fitz-James; Fast poured his eyes at pity's claims; And now, with mingled grief and ire, He saw the murdered maid expire. 'God, in my need, be my relief, As I wreak this on yonder Chief!' A lock from Blanche's tresses fair He blended with her bridegroom's hair; The mingled braid in blood he dyed, And placed it on his bonnet-side: 'By Him whose word is truth, I swear, No other favour will I wear, Till this sad token I imbrue In the best blood of Roderick Dhu!-- But hark! what means yon faint halloo? The chase is up,--but they shall know, The stag at bay 's a dangerous foe.' Barred from the known but guarded way, Through copse and cliffs Fitz-James must stray, And oft must change his desperate track, By stream and precipice turned back. Heartless, fatigued, and faint, at length, From lack of food and loss of strength He couched him in a thicket hoar And thought his toils and perils o'er:-- 'Of all my rash adventures past, This frantic feat must prove the last! Who e'er so mad but might have guessed That all this Highland hornet's nest Would muster up in swarms so soon As e'er they heard of bands at Doune?-- Like bloodhounds now they search me out,-- Hark, to the whistle and the shout!-- If farther through the wilds I go, I only fall upon the foe: I'll couch me here till evening gray, Then darkling try my dangerous way.'