PART II.

Late, when many years had passed him,

And the Chiefs old age begun,

Seemed his youth again to blossom

With the birth of his fair son.

Late, when all his days had hardened

Into flint his nature wild,

Seemed it softer grown and kinder

For the sake of that one child.

And again a hunting morning

Saw Loch Búy and his men,

With his boy, his guests, and kinsmen,

Hidden o'er a coppiced glen.

Deep within its oaken thickets

Ran its waters to the sea:

On the hill the Chief lay careless,

While the child watched eagerly.

‘ Neath them, on the shining Ocean,

Island beyond island lay,

Where the peaks of Jura's bosom

Rose o'er holy Oronsay.

Where the greener fields of Islay

Pointed to the far Kintyre,

Fruitful lands of after-ages,

Wasted then with sword and fire.

For the spell that once had gathered

All the chiefs beneath the sway

Of the ancient Royal sceptre

Of the Isles had passed away.

Once from Rathlin to the southward,

Westward, to the low Tiree,

Northward, past the Alps of Coolin,

Somerled ruled land and sea.

Colonsay, Lismore, and Scarba,

Bute and Cumrae, Mull and Skye,

Arran, Jura, Lew's and Islay

Shouted then one battle-cry.

But those Isles that, still united,

Fought at Harlaw, Scotland's might,

Broken by their fierce contentions

Singly waged disastrous fight.

And the teaching of forgiveness,

Grey Iona's creed, became

Not a sign for men to reverence,

But a burning brand of shame.

Still among the names that Ruin

Had not numbered in her train,

Lived the great Clan, proud as ever

Of the race of strong Maclaine.

And his boy, like her he wedded,

Though of nature like the dove,

Showed the eagle-spirit flashing

Through her heritage of love.

Heir of all the vassals’ homage

Rendered to the grisly sire,

He had grown his people's treasure,

Fostered as their heart's desire.

Surely Safety guards his footsteps;

Enmity he hath not sown:

Yet who stealthily glides near him,

Whose the arm around him thrown?

It is Eachan, who has wolf-like

Seized upon a helpless prey!

Fearlessly and fast he bears him

Where a cliff o'erhangs the bay.

There, while sea-birds scream around them,

Holding by his throat the boy,

Eachan turns, and to the father

Shouts in scorn and mocking joy:

“Take the punishment thou gavest,

Give before all there a pledge

For my freedom, or thy darling

Dying, falls from yonder ledge.

“Take the strokes in even number

As thou gavest, blow for blow,

Then dishonoured, on thine honour

Swear to let me freely go.”

Silent in his powerless anger

Stood the Chief, with all his folk;

And before them all the ransom

Was exacted stroke for stroke.

Then again the voice of vengeance

Pealed from Eachan's lips in hate:

“Childless and dishonoured villain,

Expiation comes too late.

“My revenge is not completed!”

And they saw in dumb despair

How he hurled his victim downward

Headlong through the empty air.

Then they heard a yell of laughter

As they turned away the eye;

And they gazed again where nothing

Met their sight but cliff and sky;

For the murderer dared to follow

Where the youthful spirit fled,

To the Throne of the Avenger,

To the Judge of Quick and Dead.