第28章 A LEGEND OF MONTROSE.(21)

All accompanied their hospitable landlord excepting only Lord Menteith,who lingered in one of the deep embrasures formed by the windows of the hall.Annot Lyle shortly after glided into the room,not ill described by Lord Menteith as being the lightest and most fairy figure that ever trode the turf by moonlight.Her stature,considerably less than the ordinary size of women,gave her the appearance of extreme youth,insomuch,that although she was near eighteen,she might have passed for four years younger.Her figure,hands,and feet,were formed upon a model of exquisite symmetry with the size and lightness of her person,so that Titania herself could scarce have found a more fitting representative.Her hair was a dark shade of the colour usually termed flaxen,whose clustering ringlets suited admirably with her fair complexion,and with the playful,yet simple,expression of her features.When we add to these charms,that Annot,in her orphan state,seemed the gayest and happiest of maidens,the reader must allow us to claim for her the interest of almost all who looked on her.In fact,it was impossible to find a more universal favourite,and she often came among the rude inhabitants of the castle,as Allan himself,in a poetical mood,expressed it,"like a sunbeam on a sullen sea,"

communicating to all others the cheerfulness that filled her own mind.

Annot,such as we have described her,smiled and blushed,when,on entering the apartment,Lord Menteith came from his place of retirement,and kindly wished her good-morning.

"And good-morning to you,my lord,"returned she,extending her hand to her friend;"we have seldom seen you of late at the castle,and now I fear it is with no peaceful purpose."

"At least,let me not interrupt your harmony,Annot,"said Lord Menteith,"though my arrival may breed discord elsewhere.My cousin Allan needs the assistance of your voice and music."

"My preserver,"said Annot Lyle,"has a right to my poor exertions;and you,too,my lord,--you,too,are my preserver,and were the most active to save a life that is worthless enough,unless it can benefit my protectors."

So saying,she sate down at a little distance upon the bench on which Allan M'Aulay was placed,and tuning her clairshach,a small harp,about thirty inches in height,she accompanied it with her voice.The air was an ancient Gaelic melody,and the words,which were supposed to be very old,were in the same language;but we subjoin a translation of them,by Secundus Macpherson,Esq.of Glenforgen,which,although submitted to the fetters of English rhythm,we trust will be found nearly as genuine as the version of Ossian by his celebrated namesake.

"Birds of omen dark and foul,Night-crow,raven,bat,and owl,Leave the sick man to his dream--

All night long he heard your scream--

Haste to cave and ruin'd tower,Ivy,tod,or dingled bower,There to wink and mope,for,hark!

In the mid air sings the lark.

"Hie to moorish gills and rocks,Prowling wolf and wily fox,--

Hie you fast,nor turn your view,Though the lamb bleats to the ewe.

Couch your trains,and speed your flight,Safety parts with parting night;

And on distant echo borne,Comes the hunter's early horn.

"The moon's wan crescent scarcely gleams,Ghost-like she fades in morning beams;

Hie hence each peevish imp and fay,That scare the pilgrim on his way:--

Quench,kelpy!quench,in bog and fen,Thy torch that cheats benighted men;

Thy dance is o'er,thy reign is done,For Benyieglo hath seen the sun.

"Wild thoughts,that,sinful,dark,and deep,O'erpower the passive mind in sleep,Pass from the slumberer's soul away,Like night-mists from the brow of day:

Foul hag,whose blasted visage grim Smothers the pulse,unnerves the limb,Spur thy dark palfrey,and begone!

Thou darest not face the godlike sun."

As the strain proceeded,Allan M'Aulay gradually gave signs of recovering his presence of mind,and attention to the objects around him.The deep-knit furrows of his brow relaxed and smoothed themselves;and the rest of his features,which had seemed contorted with internal agony,relapsed into a more natural state.When he raised his head and sat upright,his countenance,though still deeply melancholy,was divested of its wildness and ferocity;and in its composed state,although by no means handsome,the expression of his features was striking,manly,and even noble.His thick,brown eyebrows,which had hitherto been drawn close together,were now slightly separated,as in the natural state;and his grey eyes,which had rolled and flashed from under them with an unnatural and portentous gleam,now recovered a steady and determined expression.

"Thank God!"he said,after sitting silent for about a minute,until the very last sounds of the harp had ceased to vibrate,"my soul is no longer darkened--the mist hath passed from my spirit."

"You owe thanks,cousin Allan,"said Lord Menteith,coming forward,"to Annot Lyle,as well as to heaven,for this happy change in your melancholy mood."

"My noble cousin Menteith,"said Allan,rising and greeting him very respectfully,as well as kindly,"has known my unhappy circumstances so long,that his goodness will require no excuse for my being thus late in bidding him welcome to the castle."

"We are too old acquaintances,Allan,"said Lord Menteith,"and too good friends,to stand on the ceremonial of outward greeting;

but half the Highlands will be here to-day,and you know,with our mountain Chiefs,ceremony must not be neglected.What will you give little Annot for making you fit company to meet Evan Dhu,and I know not how many bonnets and feathers?"

"What will he give me?"said Annot,smiling;"nothing less,I hope,than the best ribbon at the Fair of Doune."

"The Fair of Doune,Annot?"said Allan sadly;"there will be bloody work before that day,and I may never see it;but you have well reminded me of what I have long intended to do."

Having said this,he left the room.