"
The bright axe falter'd in the air, and ripp'd
Down the rough bark, and bit the drifted snow,
For Max's arm fell, wither'd in its strength,
'Long by his side. "Your Kate," he said; "your Kate!"
"Yes, mine, while holds her mind that way, my Kate;
"I sav'd her life, and had her love for thanks;
"Her father is Malcolm Graem--Max, my friend,
"You pale! what sickness seizes on your soul?"
Max laugh'd, and swung his bright axe high again:
"Stand back a pace--a too far reaching blow
"Might level your false head with yon prone trunk--
"Stand back and listen while I say, "You lie!
"That is my Katie's face upon your breast,
"But 'tis my Katie's love lives in my breast--
"Stand back, I say! my axe is heavy, and
"Might chance to cleave a liar's brittle skull.
"Your Kate! your Kate! your Kate!--hark, how the woods
"Mock at your lie with all their woody tongues,
"O, silence, ye false echoes! not his Kate
"But mine--I'm certain I will have your life!"
All the blue heav'n was dead in Max's eyes;
Doubt-wounded lay Kate's image in his heart,
And could not rise to pluck the sharp spear out.
"Well, strike, mad fool," said Alfred, somewhat pale;
"I have no weapon but these naked hands."
"Aye, but," said Max, "you smote my naked heart!
"O shall I slay him?--Satan, answer me--
"I cannot call on God for answer here.
"O Kate--!"
A voice from God came thro' the silent woods
And answer'd him--for suddenly a wind
Caught the great tree-tops, coned with high-pil'd snow,
And smote them to and fro, while all the air
Was sudden fill'd with busy drifts, and high
White pillars whirl'd amid the naked trunks,
And harsh, loud groans, and smiting, sapless boughs
Made hellish clamour in the quiet place.
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