Analysis of The Lady of the Lake: Canto 5 (excerpt)
Sir Walter Scott 1771 (College Wynd, Edinburgh) – 1832 (Abbotsford, Roxburghshire)
"Have, then, thy wish!"--he whistled shrill,
And he was answer'd from the hill;
Wild as the scream of the curlew,
From crag to crag the signal flew.
Instant, through copse and heath,
Bonnets and spears and bended bows;
On right, on left, above, below,
Sprung up at once the lurking foe;
From shingles gray their lances start,
The bracken bush sends forth the dart,
The rushes and the willow-wand
Are bristling into axe and brand,
And every tuft of broom gives life
To plaided warrior arm'd for strife.
That whistle garrison'd the glen
At once with full five hundred men,
As if the yawning hill to heaven
A subterranean host had given.
Watching their leader's beck and will,
All silent there they stood, and still.
Like the loose crags whose threatening mass
Lay tottering o'er the hollow pass,
As if an infant's touch could urge
Their headlong passage down the verge,
With step and weapon forward flung,
Upon the mountain-side they hung.
The Mountaineer cast glance of pride
Along Benledi's living side,
Then fix'd his eye and sable brow
Full on Fitz-James--"How say'st thou now?
These are Clan-Alpine's warriors true;
And, Saxon,--I am Roderick Dhu!"X
Fitz-James was brave:--Though to his heart
The life-blood 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 swallow'd 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 hill-side,
Where heath and fern were waving wide:
The sun's last glance was glinted back,
From spear and glaive, from targe and jack,--
The next, all unreflected, shone
On bracken green, and cold grey stone.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 nought--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 moved:--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,
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 dishonour'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.XII
The Chief in silence strode before,
And reach'd that torrent's sounding shore
Which, daughter of three mighty lakes,
From Vennachar in silver breaks,
Sweeps through the plain, and ceaseless mines
On Bochastle the mouldering lines,
Where Rome, the Empress of the world,
Of yore her eagle wings unfurl'd.
And here his course the Chieftain staid,
Threw down his target and his plaid,
And to the Lowland warrior said:--
"Bold Saxon! to his promise just,
Vich-Alpine has discharged his trust.
Scheme AAABXCDDEEXFGGHHIIAAJJKKLLMMNNBC EEOOPPQQRRSSFFTTNDUUOOMMVVXC WWXXMMYYXXFFZZXXBXXG1 1 BBGGMM2 2 3 3 XH4 4 5 5 XC PP6 6 7 7 8 8 XXXXN Poetic Form Metre 11111101 01110101 1101101 11110101 101101 1010101 11110101 11110101 1101111 01011101 0100011 110001101 010011111 11100111 11010001 11111101 110101110 0001001110 10110101 11011101 101111001 1100100101 11110111 1110101 11010101 01010111 0101111 011101 11110101 111111111 11111001 01011101 11111111 01111101 1101111 01011101 11010111 01011101 11111111 11111111 11010011 01110101 001111001 0110111 11111111 1100101 110010111 01110111 11010101 011011 11111101 1101011 01111101 1010101 01110111 11010101 0111111 11011101 01111 11010111 11111101 01011101 1010111 01010101 11000111 01110101 11111111 11111101 11111111 11111 1111011 11011101 1110111001 11010101 11111101 110111110 1111101 01011101 11111111 11011101 11111111 11110101 110010111 1101011 11110111 1111111 10110101 111001 10111111 010100101 01110101 1011011 000111 01010101 11111101 01111111 01010101 11011111 11111111 11010101 01010101 0111101 11011101 110101 11010101 11011 11010101 11010101 01110101 11110011 01011001 11011101 11101111 Closest metre Iambic tetrameter Characters 4,247 Words 729 Sentences 24 Stanzas 4 Stanza Lengths 32, 28, 40, 13 Lines Amount 113 Letters per line (avg) 28 Words per line (avg) 6 Letters per stanza (avg) 805 Words per stanza (avg) 178 Font size:Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
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