Purpled the mountain and the stream. CANTO FIFTH THE COMBAT I Fair as the earliest beam of eastern light, When first, by the bewildered pilgrim spied, It smiles upon the dreary brow of night, And silvers o'er the torrent's foaming tide, And lights the fearful path on mountain side; 5 Fair as that beam, although the fairest far, Giving to horror grace, to danger pride, Shine martial Faith, and Courtesy's bright star, Through all the wreckful storms that cloud the brow of War. II That early beam, so fair and sheen, 10 Was twinkling through the hazel screen, When rousing at its glimmer red, The warriors left their lowly bed, Looked out upon the dappled sky, Muttered their soldier matins by, 15 And then awaked their fire, to steal, As short and rude, their soldier meal. That o'er, the Gael around him threw His graceful plaid of varied hue, And, true to promise, led the way, 20 By thicket green and mountain gray. A wildering path--they winded now Along the precipice's brow, Commanding the rich scenes beneath, The windings of the Forth and Teith, 25 And all the vales between that lie, Till Stirling's turrets melt in sky; Then, sunk in copse, their farthest glance Gained not the length of horseman's lance. 'Twas oft so steep, the foot was fain 30 Assistance from the hand to gain; So tangled oft, that, bursting through, Each hawthorn shed her showers of dew-- That diamond dew, so pure and clear, It rivals all but Beauty's tear! 35 III At length they came where, stern and steep, The hill sinks down upon the deep. Here Vennachar in silver flows, There, ridge on ridge, Benledi rose; Ever the hollow path twined on, 40 Beneath steep bank and threatening stone; An hundred men might hold the post With hardihood against a host. The rugged mountain's scanty cloak Was dwarfish shrubs of birch and oak, 45 With shingles bare, and cliffs between, And patches bright of bracken green, And heather black, that waved so high, It held the copse in rivalry. But where the lake slept deep and still, 50 Dank osiers fringed the swamp and hill; And oft both path and hill were torn, Where wintry torrents down had borne, And heaped upon the cumbered land Its wreck of gravel, rocks and sand. 55 So toilsome was the road to trace, The guide, abating of his pace, Led slowly through the pass's jaws, And asked Fitz-James, by what strange cause He sought these wilds, traversed by few, 60 Without a pass from Roderick Dhu. IV