The shades of eve come slowly down，The woods are wrapt in deeper brown，The owl awakens from her dell，The fox is heard upon the fell；Enough remains of glimmering light To guide the wanderer’s steps aright，Yet not enough from far to showHis figure to the watchful foe.With cautious step，and ear awake，He climbs the crag and threads the brake；And not the summer solstice there，Tempered the midnight mountain air，But every breeze that swept the wold，Benumbed his drenchèd limbs with cold.In dread，in danger，and alone，Famished and chilled，through ways unknown，Tangled and steep，he journeyed on；Till，as a rock‘s huge point he turned，A watchfire close before him burned.
Beside its embers red and clear，Basked，in his plaid，a mountaineer；And up he sprung with sword in hand，“Thy name and purpose！Saxon，stand！”“A stranger.”“What dost thou require？”“Rest and a guide，and food and fire.
The gale has chilled my limbs with frost.”“Art thou a friend to Roderick？”“No.”“Thou darest not call thyself a foe？”“I dare！to him and all the bandHe brings to aid his murderous hand.”“Bold words！but，though the beast of game The privilege of chase may claim，Though space and law the stag we lend，Ere hound we slip，or bow we bend，Who ever recked，where，how，or when，The prowling fox was trapped or slain？
Thus，treacherous scouts，yet sure they lie，Who say thou camest a secret spy！”“They do，by Heaven！Come Roderick Dhu，And of his clan the boldest two，And let me but till morning rest，I write the falsehood on their crest.”“If by the blaze I mark aright，Thou bear‘st the belt and spur of Knight.”“Then，by these tokens mayest thou know，Each proud oppressor’s mortal foe.”“Enough，enough；sit down and shareA soldier‘s couch，a soldier’s fare.”He gave him of his Highland cheer，The hardened flesh of mountain deer；Dry fuel on the fire he laid，And bade the Saxon share his plaid.He tended him like welcome guest，Then thus his further speech addressed：“Stranger，I am to Roderick Dhu A clansman born，a kinsman true；Each word against his honour spoke，Demands of me avenging stroke；Yet more，upon thy fate，‘tis said，A mighty augury is laid.
It rests with me to wind my horn，Thou art with numbers overborne；It rests with me，here，brand to brand，Worn as thou art，to bid thee stand：But not for clan，nor kindred’s cause，Will I depart from honour‘s laws；To assail a wearied man were shame，And stranger is a holy name；Guidance and rest，and food and fire，In vain he never must require.
Then rest thee here till dawn of day；Myself will guide thee on the way，O’er stock and stone，through watch and ward，Till past ClanAlpine‘s outmost guard，As far as Coilantogle’s ford；From thence thy warrant is thy sword.”“I take thy courtesy，by Heaven，As freely as ‘tis nobly given！”“Well，rest thee；for the bittern’s cry Sings us the lake‘s wild lullaby.”
With that he shook the gathered heath，And spread his plaid upon the wreath；And the brave foemen，side by side，Lay peaceful down，like brothers tried，And slept until the dawning beam Purpled the mountain and the stream.
