Then Roderick, with impatient look, From Brian's hand the symbol took: "Speed, Malise, speed!" he said, and gave The crosslet to his henchman brave. 285 "The muster-place be Lanrick mead-- Instant the time--speed, Malise, speed!" Like heath-bird, when the hawks pursue, A barge across Loch Katrine flew; High stood the henchman on the prow, 290 So rapidly the barge-men row, The bubbles, where they launched the boat, Were all unbroken and afloat, Dancing in foam and ripple still, When it had neared the mainland hill; 295 And from the silver beach's side Still was the prow three fathom wide, When lightly bounded to the land The messenger of blood and brand. XIII Speed, Malise, speed! the dun deer's hide 300 On fleeter foot was never tied. Speed, Malise, speed! such cause of haste Thine active sinews never braced. Bend 'gainst the steepy hill thy breast, Burst down like torrent from its crest; 305 With short and springing footstep pass The trembling bog and false morass; Across the brook like roebuck bound, And thread the brake like questing hound; The crag is high, the scar is deep, 310 Yet shrink not from the desperate leap: Parched are thy burning lips and brow. Yet by the fountain pause not now; Herald of battle, fate, and fear, Stretch onward in thy fleet career! 315 The wounded hind thou track'st not now, Pursuest not maid through greenwood bough, Nor pliest thou now thy flying pace, With rivals in the mountain race; But danger, death, and warrior deed, 320 Are in thy course--speed, Malise, speed! XIV Fast as the fatal symbol flies, In arms the huts and hamlets rise; From winding glen, from upland brown, They poured each hardy tenant down. 325 Nor slacked the messenger his pace; He showed the sign, he named the place, And, pressing forward like the wind, Left clamor and surprise behind. The fisherman forsook the strand, 330 The swarthy smith took dirk and brand; With changed cheer, the mower blithe Left in the half-cut swathe the scythe; The herds without a keeper strayed, The plow was in mid-furrow stayed, 335 The falc'ner tossed his hawk away, The hunter left the stag at bay; Prompt at the signal of alarms, Each son of Alpine rushed to arms; So swept the tumult and affray 340 Along the margin of Achray. Alas, thou lovely lake! that e'er Thy banks should echo sounds of fear! The rocks, the bosky thickets, sleep So stilly on thy bosom deep, 345 The lark's blithe carol, from the cloud Seems for the scene too gaily loud. XV