Wyseby

OF THE FIRST IRVINGS.
23
applauded. Catharine spoke cheering words. Bend-
ing over his harp, the old man disregarded all. Sud-
denly raising his head, his eyes blazing again, he
hurriedly struck his harp, and poured forth this
wild song of warning : —
Lady ! lo, thy maidens call ;
Lady ! leave the festive hall ;
Lovely lady ! quickly fly,
Hostile raDks are hovering nigh !
Chieftain of the eagle eye !
Hostile ranks are hovering nigh !
Ruin rides upon the gale !
Chieftain ! heed a minstrel's tale.
Warriors ! cast the goblet by,
Hostile ranks are hovering nigh !
Bold of heart, and strong of hand
Treason waves the battle brand.
Lady ! chieftain ! clansmen !— all,
Treason girds the festive hall !
Festive hall, fair lady, fly,
Hostile ranks are hovering nigh :
Chieftain ! clansmen ! gird your mail;
Ruin rides upon the gale !
" By the sceptre of the Bruce, minstrel," cried the
chief, springing to his feet, " there is meaning in thy
lay. What, ho ! warden, see that the gates of the
castle are secure ; and thou, old man "
The voice of the chief was drowned in the yell of
a fierce onset. Terrified menials rush into the hall ;
the clansmen snatch whatever weapon is within their
reach ; all is uncertainty — confusion — consternation.
" Down with them !" shouted a stentorian voice.
The clash of arras —the falling of heavy bodies —