And soon the bulwark of the North, Gray Stirling, with her towers and town, Upon their fleet career looked down. 505 XIX As up the flinty path they strained Sudden his steed the leader reined; A signal to his squire he flung, Who instant to his stirrup sprung: "Seest thou, De Vaux, yon woodsman gray, 510 Who townward holds the rocky way, Of stature tall and poor array? Mark'st thou the firm, yet active stride, With which he scales the mountain-side? Know'st thou from whence he comes, or whom?" 515 "No, by my word--a burly groom He seems, who in the field or chase A baron's train would nobly grace." "Out, out, De Vaux! can fear supply, And jealousy, no sharper eye? 520 Afar, ere to the hill he drew, That stately form and step I knew; Like form in Scotland is not seen, Treads not such step on Scottish green. 'Tis James of Douglas, by Saint Serle! 525 The uncle of the banished Earl. Away, away, to court, to show The near approach of dreaded foe; The King must stand upon his guard; Douglas and he must meet prepared." 530 Then righthand wheeled their steeds, and straight They won the castle's postern gate. XX The Douglas, who had bent his way From Cambus-Kenneth's abbey gray, Now, as he climbed the rocky shelf, 535 Held sad communion with himself: "Yes! all is true my fears could frame; A prisoner lies the noble Graeme, And fiery Roderick soon will feel The vengeance of the royal steel. 540 I, only I, can ward their fate-- God grant the ransom come not late! The Abbess hath her promise given, My child shall be the bride of heaven. Be pardoned one repining tear! 545 For He, who gave her, knows how dear, How excellent!--but that is by, And now my business is--to die. --Ye towers! within whose circuit dread A Douglas by his sovereign bled; 550 And thou, O sad and fatal mound! That oft hast heard the death-ax sound, As on the noblest of the land Fell the stern headsman's bloody hand-- The dungeon, block, and nameless tomb 555 Prepare--for Douglas seeks his doom! --But hark! what blithe and jolly peal Makes the Franciscan steeple reel? And see! upon the crowded street, In motley groups what maskers meet! 560 Banner and pageant, pipe and drum, And merry morris dancers come. I guess, by all this quaint array, The burghers hold their sports today. James will be there; he loves such show, 565 Where the good yeoman bends his bow, And the tough wrestler foils his foe, As well as where, in proud career, The high-born tilter shivers spear.