1.
How sweetly shines, through azure skies,
The lamp of Heaven on Lora’s
shore;
Where Alva’s hoary turrets rise,
And hear the din of arms no
more!
2.
But often has yon rolling moon,
On Alva’s casques of
silver play’d;
And view’d, at midnight’s
silent noon,
Her chiefs in gleaming mail
array’d:
3.
And, on the crimson’d rocks beneath,
Which scowl o’er ocean’s
sullen flow,
Pale in the scatter’d ranks of death,
She saw the gasping warrior
low; [i]
4.
While many an eye, which ne’er again
Could mark the rising orb
of day,
Turn’d feebly from the gory plain,
Beheld in death her fading
ray.
5.
Once, to those eyes the lamp of Love,
They blest her dear propitious
light;
But, now, she glimmer’d from above,
A sad, funereal torch of night.
6.
Faded is Alva’s noble race,
And grey her towers are seen
afar;
No more her heroes urge the chase,
Or roll the crimson tide of
war.
7.
But, who was last of Alva’s clan?
Why grows the moss on Alva’s
stone?
Her towers resound no steps of man,
They echo to the gale alone.
8.
And, when that gale is fierce and high,
A sound is heard in yonder
hall;
It rises hoarsely through the sky,
And vibrates o’er the
mould’ring wall.
9.
Yes, when the eddying tempest sighs,
It shakes the shield of Oscar
brave;
But, there, no more his banners rise,
No more his plumes of sable
wave.
10.
Fair shone the sun on Oscar’s birth,
When Angus hail’d his
eldest born;
The vassals round their chieftain’s
hearth
Crowd to applaud the happy
morn.
11.
They feast upon the mountain deer,
The Pibroch rais’d its
piercing note, [2]
To gladden more their Highland cheer,
The strains in martial numbers
float.
12.
And they who heard the war-notes wild,
Hop’d that, one day,
the Pibroch’s strain
Should play before the Hero’s child,
While he should lead the Tartan
train.
13.
Another year is quickly past,
And Angus hails another son;
His natal day is like the last,
Nor soon the jocund feast
was done.
14.
Taught by their sire to bend the bow,
On Alva’s dusky hills
of wind,
The boys in childhood chas’d the
roe,
And left their hounds in speed
behind.
15.
But ere their years of youth are o’er,
They mingle in the ranks of
war;
They lightly wheel the bright claymore,
And send the whistling arrow
far.
16.
Dark was the flow of Oscar’s hair,
Wildly it stream’d along
the gale;
But Allan’s locks were bright and
fair,
And pensive seem’d his
cheek, and pale.
17.
But Oscar own’d a hero’s soul,
His dark eye shone through
beams of truth;
Allan had early learn’d controul,
And smooth his words had been
from youth.
18.
Both, both were brave; the Saxon spear
Was shiver’d oft beneath
their steel;
And Oscar’s bosom scorn’d
to fear,
But Oscar’s bosom knew
to feel;
19.
While Allan’s soul belied his form,
Unworthy with such charms
to dwell:
Keen as the lightning of the storm,
On foes his deadly vengeance
fell.
20.
From high Southannon’s distant tower
Arrived a young and noble
dame;
With Kenneth’s lands to form her
dower,
Glenalvon’s blue-eyed
daughter came;
21.
And Oscar claim’d the beauteous
bride,
And Angus on his Oscar smil’d:
It soothed the father’s feudal pride
Thus to obtain Glenalvon’s
child.
22.
Hark! to the Pibroch’s pleasing
note,
Hark! to the swelling nuptial
song,
In joyous strains the voices float,
And, still, the choral peal
prolong.
23.
See how the Heroes’ blood-red plumes
Assembled wave in Alva’s
hall;
Each youth his varied plaid assumes,
Attending on their chieftain’s
call.
24.
It is not war their aid demands,
The Pibroch plays the song
of peace;
To Oscar’s nuptials throng the bands
Nor yet the sounds of pleasure
cease.
25.
But where is Oscar? sure ’tis late:
Is this a bridegroom’s
ardent flame?
While thronging guests and ladies wait,
Nor Oscar nor his brother
came.
26.
At length young Allan join’d the
bride;
“Why comes not Oscar?”
Angus said:
“Is he not here?” the Youth
replied;
“With me he rov’d
not o’er the glade:
27.
“Perchance, forgetful of the day,
’Tis his to chase the
bounding roe;
Or Ocean’s waves prolong his stay:
Yet, Oscar’s bark is
seldom slow.”
28.
“Oh, no!” the anguish’d
Sire rejoin’d,
“Nor chase, nor wave,
my Boy delay;
Would he to Mora seem unkind?
Would aught to her impede
his way?
29.
“Oh, search, ye Chiefs! oh, search
around!
Allan, with these, through
Alva fly;
Till Oscar, till my son is found,
Haste, haste, nor dare attempt
reply.”
30.
All is confusion—through the
vale,
The name of Oscar hoarsely
rings,
It rises on the murm’ring gale,
Till night expands her dusky
wings.
31.
It breaks the stillness of the night,
But echoes through her shades
in vain;
It sounds through morning’s misty
light,
But Oscar comes not o’er
the plain.
32.
Three days, three sleepless nights, the
Chief
For Oscar search’d each
mountain cave;
Then hope is lost; in boundless grief,
His locks in grey-torn ringlets
wave.
33.
“Oscar! my son!—thou
God of Heav’n,
Restore the prop of sinking
age!
Or, if that hope no more is given,
Yield his assassin to my rage.
34.
“Yes, on some desert rocky shore
My Oscar’s whiten’d
bones must lie;
Then grant, thou God! I ask no more,
With him his frantic Sire
may die!
35.
“Yet, he may live,—away,
despair!
Be calm, my soul! he yet may
live;
T’ arraign my fate, my voice forbear!
O God! my impious prayer forgive.
36.
“What, if he live for me no more,
I sink forgotten in the dust,
The hope of Alva’s age is o’er:
Alas! can pangs like these
be just?”
37.
Thus did the hapless Parent mourn,
Till Time, who soothes severest
woe,
Had bade serenity return,
And made the tear-drop cease
to flow.
38.
For, still, some latent hope surviv’d
That Oscar might once more
appear;
His hope now droop’d and now revived,
Till Time had told a tedious
year.
39.
Days roll’d along, the orb of light
Again had run his destined
race;
No Oscar bless’d his father’s
sight,
And sorrow left a fainter
trace.
40.
For youthful Allan still remain’d,
And, now, his father’s
only joy:
And Mora’s heart was quickly gain’d,
For beauty crown’d the
fair-hair’d boy.
41.
She thought that Oscar low was laid,
And Allan’s face was
wondrous fair;
If Oscar liv’d, some other maid
Had claim’d his faithless
bosom’s care.
42.
And Angus said, if one year more
In fruitless hope was pass’d
away,
His fondest scruples should be o’er,
And he would name their nuptial
day.
43.
Slow roll’d the moons, but blest
at last
Arriv’d the dearly destin’d
morn:
The year of anxious trembling past,
What smiles the lovers’
cheeks adorn!
44.
Hark to the Pibroch’s pleasing note!
Hark to the swelling nuptial
song!
In joyous strains the voices float,
And, still, the choral peal
prolong.
45.
Again the clan, in festive crowd,
Throng through the gate of
Alva’s hall;
The sounds of mirth re-echo loud,
And all their former joy recall.
46.
But who is he, whose darken’d brow
Glooms in the midst of general
mirth?
Before his eyes’ far fiercer glow
The blue flames curdle o’er
the hearth.
47.
Dark is the robe which wraps his form,
And tall his plume of gory
red;
His voice is like the rising storm,
But light and trackless is
his tread.
48.
’Tis noon of night, the pledge goes
round,
The bridegroom’s health
is deeply quaff’d;
With shouts the vaulted roofs resound,
And all combine to hail the
draught.
49.
Sudden the stranger-chief arose,
And all the clamorous crowd
are hush’d;
And Angus’ cheek with wonder glows,
And Mora’s tender bosom
blush’d.
50.
“Old man!” he cried, “this
pledge is done,
Thou saw’st ’twas
truly drunk by me;
It hail’d the nuptials of thy son:
Now will I claim a pledge
from thee.
51.
“While all around is mirth and joy,
To bless thy Allan’s
happy lot,
Say, hadst thou ne’er another boy?
Say, why should Oscar be forgot?”
52.
“Alas!” the hapless Sire replied,
The big tear starting as he
spoke,
“When Oscar left my hall, or died,
This aged heart was almost
broke.
53.
“Thrice has the earth revolv’d
her course
Since Oscar’s form has
bless’d my sight;
And Allan is my last resource,
Since martial Oscar’s
death, or flight.”
54.
“’Tis well,” replied
the stranger stern,
And fiercely flash’d
his rolling eye;
“Thy Oscar’s fate, I fain
would learn;
Perhaps the Hero did not die.
55.
“Perchance, if those, whom most
he lov’d,
Would call, thy Oscar might
return;
Perchance, the chief has only rov’d;
For him thy Beltane, yet,
may burn. [3]
56.
“Fill high the bowl the table round,
We will not claim the pledge
by stealth;
With wine let every cup be crown’d;
Pledge me departed Oscar’s
health.”
57.
“With all my soul,” old Angus
said,
And fill’d his goblet
to the brim:
“Here’s to my boy! alive or
dead,
I ne’er shall find a
son like him.”
58.
“Bravely, old man, this health has
sped;
But why does Allan trembling
stand?
Come, drink remembrance of the dead,
And raise thy cup with firmer
hand.”
59.
The crimson glow of Allan’s face
Was turn’d at once to
ghastly hue;
The drops of death each other chace,
Adown in agonizing dew.
60.
Thrice did he raise the goblet high,
And thrice his lips refused
to taste;
For thrice he caught the stranger’s
eye
On his with deadly fury plac’d.
61.
“And is it thus a brother hails
A brother’s fond remembrance
here?
If thus affection’s strength prevails,
What might we not expect from
fear?”
62.
Roused by the sneer, he rais’d the
bowl,
“Would Oscar now could
share our mirth!”
Internal fear appall’d his soul;
He said, and dash’d
the cup to earth.
63.
“’Tis he! I hear my murderer’s
voice!”
Loud shrieks a darkly gleaming
Form.
“A murderer’s voice!”
the roof replies,
And deeply swells the bursting
storm.
64.
The tapers wink, the chieftains shrink,
The stranger’s gone,—amidst
the crew,
A Form was seen, in tartan green,
And tall the shade terrific
grew.
65.
His waist was bound with a broad belt
round,
His plume of sable stream’d
on high;
But his breast was bare, with the red
wounds there,
And fix’d was the glare
of his glassy eye.
66.
And thrice he smil’d, with his eye
so wild
On Angus bending low the knee;
And thrice he frown’d, on a Chief
on the ground,
Whom shivering crowds with
horror see.
67.
The bolts loud roll from pole to pole,
And thunders through the welkin
ring,
And the gleaming form, through the mist
of the storm,
Was borne on high by the whirlwind’s
wing.
68.
Cold was the feast, the revel ceas’d.
Who lies upon the stony floor?
Oblivion press’d old Angus’
breast, [iv]
At length his life-pulse throbs
once more.
69.
“Away, away! let the leech essay
To pour the light on Allan’s
eyes:”
His sand is done,—his race
is run;
Oh! never more shall Allan
rise!
70.
But Oscar’s breast is cold as clay,
His locks are lifted by the
gale;
And Allan’s barbèd arrow lay
With him in dark Glentanar’s
vale.
71.
And whence the dreadful stranger came,
Or who, no mortal wight can
tell;
But no one doubts the form of flame,
For Alva’s sons knew
Oscar well.
72.
Ambition nerv’d young Allan’s
hand,
Exulting demons wing’d
his dart;
While Envy wav’d her burning brand,
And pour’d her venom
round his heart.
73.
Swift is the shaft from Allan’s
bow;
Whose streaming life-blood
stains his side?
Dark Oscar’s sable crest is low,
The dart has drunk his vital
tide.
74.
And Mora’s eye could Allan move,
She bade his wounded pride
rebel:
Alas! that eyes, which beam’d with
love,
Should urge the soul to deeds
of Hell.
75.
Lo! see’st thou not a lonely tomb,
Which rises o’er a warrior
dead?
It glimmers through the twilight gloom;
Oh! that is Allan’s
nuptial bed.
76.
Far, distant far, the noble grave
Which held his clan’s
great ashes stood;
And o’er his corse no banners wave,
For they were stain’d
with kindred blood.
77.
What minstrel grey, what hoary bard,
Shall Allan’s deeds
on harp-strings raise?
The song is glory’s chief reward,
But who can strike a murd’rer’s
praise?
78.
Unstrung, untouch’d, the harp must
stand,
No minstrel dare the theme
awake;
Guilt would benumb his palsied hand,
His harp in shuddering chords
would break.
79.
No lyre of fame, no hallow’d verse,
Shall sound his glories high
in air:
A dying father’s bitter curse,
A brother’s death-groan
echoes there.
[Footnote 1: The catastrophe
of this tale was suggested by the story of “Jeronymo
and Lorenzo,” in the first volume of Schiller’s
’Armenian, or the Ghost-Seer’. It
also bears some resemblance to a scene in the third
act of ‘Macbeth’.—[’Der
Geisterseher’, Schiller’s ‘Werke’
(1819), x. 97, ’sq’.]
[Footnote 2: It is evident that
Byron here confused the ‘pibroch’, the
air, with the ‘bagpipe’, the instrument.]
[Footnote 3: Beltane Tree, a
Highland festival on the first of May, held near fires
lighted for the occasion.]
[Footnote i:
’She view’d the gasping’——.
[’Hours of Idleness’.]]
[Footnote ii:
’When many an eye which ne’er
again
Could view’——.
[’Hours of Idleness’.]]
[Footnote iii:
’Internal fears’——.
[’Hours of Idleness’.]]
[Footnote iv:
‘Old Angus prest, the earth with
his breast’.
[’Hours of Idleness’.]]
