So toilsome was the road to trace,
       The guide, abating of his pace,
       Led slowly through the pass’s jaws,
       And ask’d Fitz-James by what strange cause
       He sought these wilds? traversed by few,
       Without a pass from Roderick Dhu. 
       “Brave Gael, my pass, in danger tried,
       Hangs in my belt, and by my side;
       Yet sooth to tell,” the Saxon said,
       “I dreamed not now to claim its aid. 
       When here but three days since, I came,
       Bewildered in pursuit of game,
       All seemed as peaceful and as still
       As the mist slumbering on yon hill: 
       Thy dangerous chief was then afar,
       Nor soon expected back from war.” 
       “But, Stranger, peaceful since you came,
       Bewildered in the mountain game,
       Whence the bold boast by which you show
       Vich-Alpine’s vowed and mortal foe?”
       “Warrior, but yester-morn, I knew
       Nought of thy Chieftain, Roderick Dhu,
       Save as an outlaw’d desperate man,
       The chief of a rebellious clan,
       Who in the Regent’s court and sight,
       With ruffian dagger stabbed a knight;
       Yet this alone might from his part
       Sever each true and loyal heart.” 
       Wrathful at such arraignment foul,
       Dark lowered the clansman’s sable scowl. 
       A space he paused, then sternly said,—­
       “And heard’st thou why he drew his blade? 
       Heards’t thou that shameful word and blow
       Brought Roderick’s vengeance on his foe? 
       What reck’d the Chieftain if he stood
       On Highland-heath, or Holy-Rood? 
       He rights such wrong where it is given,
       If it were in the court of heaven.” 
       “Still was it outrage:—­yet, ’tis true,
       Not then claimed sovereignty his due;
       While Albany, with feeble hand,
       Held borrowed truncheon of command,
       The young King mew’d in Stirling tower,
       Was stranger to respect and power. 
       But then, thy Chieftain’s robber life! 
       Winning mean prey by causeless strife,
       Wrenching from ruined lowland swain
       His herds and harvest reared in vain,
       Methinks a soul like thine should scorn
       The spoils from such foul foray borne.” 
       The Gael beheld him grim the while,
       And answered with disdainful smile,—­
       “Saxon, from yonder mountain high,
       I marked thee send delighted eye
       Far to the south and east, where lay
       Extended in succession gay,
       Deep waving fields and pastures green,
       With gentle slopes and groves between:—­
       These fertile plains, that softened vale,
       Were once the birthright of the Gael;
       The stranger came with iron hand,
       And from our fathers reft the land. 
       Where dwell