Donald received applause upon the conclusion of his pathetic song; who, in return, bowed low and respectfully to the company. Here the minstrels tuned their pipes with a refreshing draught of Innishowen and water, of which commixture the first ingredient was, doubtless, the most predominant. It now came to Cormac's turn to strike his harp. When about to proceed the duke observed: "I fear, old friend Cormac, that it now waxes late, and we shall not have much time for any lengthened production, for you are aware that when the great hall-clock shall strike the ninth hour we proceed to supper. This rule at our castle is as peremptory and inviolable as the ancient laws of the Medes and Persians; so remember, good Cormac!" "Never fear, your Grace's honour, I shall not fail to obey you." Then turning to Lady Adelaide Bruce, he said: "I will sing the loves of Sir Trystan and the beautiful Isoud! they were young and noble; they were likewise comely too, lovely lady: but they were unfortunate in their loves. Grant, O heaven, that such a fate may never betide the Lady Adelaide or Sir David!" He then commenced-- THE ROMAUNT OF SIR TRYSTAN AND LA BELLE ISOUD. Arouse thee, old Cormac! recite the fond tale Of Isoud La Belle of renowned Innisfail,[3] Beauty's bright paragon; of chivalry tell Sir Trystan the valiant, and Isoud La Belle. A daughter of Erin, of Aöngus proud king No story more noble a minstrel might sing! Let the pioba[4] and harp triumphantly tell Of Trystan the valiant and Isoud La Belle! Aloud to fair Christendom, in numbers proclaim, With voice of the trumpet, the chosen of fame! Nor ever be _Arthur_ the noble forgot! The prince and his friend, who _were_, and _are not_! For long since, with valour and chivalry crown'd, A tomb piled by heroes these heroes have found; Not envy, malice, nor time, shall be able To shadow a chief of Arthur's round table! O long shall the lily,[5] the ivy, and bay, Frame a wreath round the hero, the pride of his day; And now bursting forth from cearment and gloom, Once more shall the victor arise from his tomb. He comes, the proud chieftain, to Cornwall's steep coast, Sir Trystan the valiant, high chivalry's boast; The friend of Prince Arthur descended in line From heroes whose glory 'tis his to enshrine: Still nobly look up to their banner so proud, The forfeit, dishonour, disgrace, and the shroud! 'Aye, ever his honour Sir Trystan shall cherish, When it shall be lost his wish is to perish! And shrink mid the ignoble, worthless, and dead, When the halo of glory shall wane on his head!' [Footnote 3: Innisfail is one of the ancient names of Ireland;--it means the isle of fate or destiny. It was so called from possessing an ancient stone chair, on which was sculptured in Gaelic,