Fitz-James was brave:--Though to his heart The lifeblood thrill'd with sudden start, He mann'd himself with dauntless air, Return'd the Chief his haughty stare, His back against a rock he bore, And firmly placed his foot before:-- "Come one, come all! this rock shall fly From its firm base as soon as I." Sir Roderick mark'd--and in his eyes Respect was mingled with surprise, And the stern joy which warriors feel In foemen worthy of their steel. Short space he stood--then waved his hand: Down sunk the disappearing band; Each warrior vanish'd where he stood, In broom or bracken, heath or wood; Sunk brand and spear and bended bow, In osiers pale and copses low; It seem'd as if their mother Earth Had swallowed up her warlike birth. The wind's last breath had toss'd in air Pennon, and plaid, and plumage fair,-- The next but swept a lone hillside, Where heath and fern were waving wide: The sun's last glance was glinted[285] back, From spear and glaive, from targe and jack,-- The next, all unreflected, shone On bracken green, and cold gray stone. [285] Flashed. XI. Fitz-James look'd round--yet scarce believed The witness that his sight received; Such apparition well might seem Delusion of a dreadful dream. Sir Roderick in suspense he eyed, And to his look the Chief replied, "Fear naught--nay, that I need not say-- But--doubt not aught from mine array. Thou art my guest;--I pledged my word As far as Coilantogle ford: Nor would I call a clansman's brand For aid against one valiant hand, Though on our strife lay every vale Rent by the Saxon from the Gael. So move we on;--I only meant To show the reed on which you leant, Deeming this path you might pursue Without a pass from Roderick Dhu." They mov'd:--I said Fitz-James was brave, As ever knight that belted glaive; Yet dare not say, that now his blood Kept on its wont and temper'd flood,[286] As, following Roderick's stride, he drew That seeming lonesome pathway through, Which yet, by fearful proof, was rife With lances, that, to take his life, Waited but signal from a guide So late dishonor'd and defied. Ever, by stealth, his eye sought round The vanish'd guardians of the ground, And still, from copse and heather deep, Fancy saw spear and broadsword peep, And in the plover's shrilly strain, The signal-whistle heard again. Nor breathed he free till far behind The pass was left; for then they wind Along a wide and level green, Where neither tree nor tuft was seen, Nor rush nor bush of broom was near, To hide a bonnet or a spear. [286] Flow. XII.