XVIII. The unearthly voices ceast,

And the heavy sound was still; It died on the river's breast,

It died on the side of the hill. But round Lord David's tower

The sound still floated near; For it rung in the Ladye's bower, And it rung in the Ladye's ear. She raised her stately head,

And her heart throbb'd high with pride:"Your mountains shall bend,

And your streams ascend,

Ere Margaret be our foeman's bride!"

XIX.

The Ladye sought the lofty hall,

Where many a bold retainer lay,
And, with jocund din, among them all,
Her son pursued his infant play.
A fancied moss-trooper,' the boy
The truncheon of a spear bestrode,
And round the hall, right merrily,

In mimic foray rode.

Even bearded knights, in arms grown old,
Share in his frolic gambols bore,
Albeit their hearts of rugged mould,

Were stubborn as the steel they wore. For the grey warriors prophesied,

How the brave boy, in future war, Should tame the Unicorn's pride,3

Exalt the Crescent and the Star.4

Alike to him was tide or time,
Moonless midnight, or matin prime :
Steady of heart, and stout of hand,
As ever drove prey from Cumberland;
Five times outlawed had he been,

By England's King, and Scotland's Queen.

XXII.

"Sir William of Deloraine, good at need,
Mount thee on the wightest steed;
Spare not to spur, nor stint to ride,
Until thou come to fair Tweedside;
And in Melrose's holy pile

Seek thou the Monk of St. Mary's aisle.
Greet the Father well from me;

Say that the fated hour is come,
And to-night he shall watch with thee,

To win the treasure of the tomb:

For this will be St. Michael's night,
And, though stars be dim, the moon is bright;
And the Cross, of bloody red,

Will point to the grave of the mighty dead.

XXIII.

"What he gives thee, see thou keep;

Stay not thou for food or sleep:

Be it scroll, or be it book,

Into it, Knight, thou must not look;

If thou readest, thou art lorn!

Better had'st thou ne'er been born."—

XXIV.

"O swiftly can speed my dapple-grey stced, Which drinks of the Teviot clear;

Ere break of day," the Warrior 'gar. say, "Again will I be here:

And safer by none may thy errand be donc, Than, noble dame, by me;

Letter nor line know I never a one,

Wer't my neck-verse at Hairibee."7

XXV.

Soon in his saddle sate he fast,
And soon the steep descent he past,
Soon cross'd the sounding barbican,8
And soon the Teviot side he won.
Eastward the wooded path he rode,
Green hazels o'er his basnet nod;
He passed the Peel of Goldiland,

And cross'd old Borthwick's roaring strand;
Dimly he view'd the Moat-hill's mound,
Where Druid shades still flitted round;10

Miserere mei, &c., anciently read by criminals claiming the benefit of clergy. ["In the rough but spirited sketch of the marauding Borderer, and in the naïveté of his last declaration, the reader will recognise some of the most striking features of the ancient ballad."-Critical Review.]

8 Barbican, the defence of the outer gate of a feudal castle. 9 Peel, a Border tower.

10 Sce Appendix, Note R.

In Hawick twinkled many a light; Behind him soon they set in night; And soon he spurr'd his courser keen Beneath the tower of Hazeldean.'

XXVI.

The clattering hoofs the watchmen mark ;"Stand, ho! thou courier of the dark.""For Branksome, ho!" the knight rejoin'd, And left the friendly tower behind.

He turn'd him now from Teviotside,

And, guided by the tinkling rill,
Northward the dark ascent did ride,

And gained the moor at Horslichill;

Broad on the left before him lay,
For many a mile, the Roman way."

XXVII.

A moment now he slack'd his speed,
A moment breathed his panting steed;
Drew saddle-girth and corslet-band,
And loosen'd in the sheath his brand.
On Minto-crags the moonbeams glint,3
Where Barnhill hew'd his bed of flint;
Who flung his outlaw'd limbs to rest,
Where falcons hang their giddy nest,
Mid cliffs, from whence his eagle eye
For many a league his prey could spy;
Cliffs, doubling, on their echoes borne,
The terrors of the robber's horn?
Cliffs, which, for many a later year,
The warbling Doric reed shall hear,
When some sad swain shall teach the grove,
Ambition is no cure for love!

XXVIII.

Unchallenged, thence pass'd Deloraine, To ancient Riddel's fair domain,^

Where Aill, from mountains freed, Down from the lakes did raving come; Each wave was crested with tawny foam, Like the mane of a chestnut steed. In vain! no torrent, deep or broad, Might bar the bold moss-trooper's road.

XXIX.

At the first plunge the horse sunk low,
And the water broke o'er the saddlebow;
Above the foaming tide, I ween,
Scarce half the charger's neck was seen;
For he was barded from counter to tail,
And the rider was armed complete in mail;
Never heavier man and horse
Stemm'd a midnight torrent's force.

1 See Appendix, Note S.

XXXI.

In bitter mood he spurred fast,
And soon the hated heath was past;
And far beneath, in lustre wan,

Old Melros' rose, and fair Tweed ran:
Like some tall rock with lichens grey,
Seem'd dimly huge, the dark Abbaye.
When Hawick he pass'd, had curfew rung,

Now midnight lauds? were in Melrose sung.
The sound, upon the fitful gale,

In solemn wise did rise and fail,

Like that wild harp, whose magic tone

Is waken'd by the winds alone.

But when Melrose he reach'd, 'twas silence all; He meetly stabled his steed in stall,

And sought the convent's lonely wall.8

HERE paused the harp; and with its swell
The Master's fire and courage fell;
Dejectedly, and low, he bow'd,
And, gazing timid on the crowd,
He seem'd to seek, in every eye,
If they approved his minstrelsy;
And, diffident of present praise,
Somewhat he spoke of former days,
And how old age, and wand'ring long,
Had done his hand and harp some wrong.
The Duchess, and her daughters fair,
And every gentle lady there,
Each after each, in due degree,
Gave praises to his melody;

His hand was true, his voice was clear,
And much they long'd the rest to hear.
Encouraged thus, the Aged Man,
After meet rest, again began.

6 Halidon was an ancient seat of the Kerrs of Cessford, now

3 See Appendix, Note T.

4 Ibid. Noto U.

5 Barded, or barbed, applied to a horse accoutred with defensive armour.

the field of battle betwixt Buccleuch and Angus, which is called to this day the Skirmish Field.-Sce Appendix, Note D Lauds, the midnight service of the Catholic church.

8 See Appendix, Note V.

The Lay of the Last Minstrel.

CANTO SECOND.

I.

Ir thou would'st view fair Melrose aright,'
Go visit it by the pale moonlight;
For the gay beams of lightsome day
Gild, but to flout, the ruins grey.

When the broken arches are black in night,
And each shafted oriel glimmers white;
When the cold light's uncertain shower
Streams on the ruin'd central tower;
When buttress and buttress, alternately,
Seem framed of ebon and ivory;
When silver edges the imagery,

And the scrolls that teach thee to live and die;2
When distant Tweed is heard to rave,

And the owlet to hoot o'er the dead man's grave,
Then go but go alone the while

Then view St. David's ruin'd pile ;3
And, home returning, soothly swear,
Was never scene so sad and fair!

"In the description of Melrose, which introduces the Second Canto, the reader will observe how skilfully the Author calls in the aid of sentimental associations to heighten the effect of the picture which he presents to the eye."-JEFFREY. 2 See Appendix, Note W.

3 David I. of Scotland, purchased the reputation of sanctity, by founding, and liberally endowing, not only the monastery of Melrose, but those of Kelso, Jedburgh, and many others; which led to the well-known observation of his successor, that he was a sore saint for the crown.

And lifted his barred aventayle,"
To hail the Monk of St. Mary's aisle.

IV.

"The Ladye of Branksome greets thee by me;
Says, that the fated hour is come,
And that to-night I shall watch with thee,
To win the treasure of the tomb."
From sackcloth couch the Monk arose,
With toil his stiffen'd limbs he rear'd;
A hundred years had flung their snows
On his thin locks and floating beard.

V.

And strangely on the Knight look'd he, And his blue eyes gleam'd wild and wide; "And, darest thou, Warrior! seek to see

What heaven and hell alike would hide? My breast, in belt of iron pent,

With shirt of hair and scourge of thorn; For threescore years, in penance spent,

My knees those flinty stones have worn: Yet all too little to atone

For knowing what should ne'er be known. Would'st thou thy every future year

In ceaseless prayer and penance drie, Yet wait thy latter end with fear

Then, daring Warrior, follow me!"—

VI.

"Penance, father, will I none;
Prayer know I hardly one;

For mass or prayer can I rarely tarry,
Save to patter an Ave Mary,

When I ride on a Border foray."
Other prayer can I none;

So speed me my errand, and let me be gone."

VII.

Again on the Knight look'd the Churchman old, And again he sighed heavily;

For he had himself been a warrior bold,

And fought in Spain and Italy.

And he thought on the days that were long since by When his limbs were strong, and his courage was high

Now, slow and faint, he led the way,
Where, cloister'd round, the garden lay;
The pillar'd arches were over their head,

And beneath their feet were the bones of the dead."

4 The Buccleuch family were great benefactors to the Abbey of Melrose. As early as the reign of Robert II., Robert Scott, Baron of Murdicston and Rankleburn, (now Buccleuch,) gave to the monks the lands of Hinkery, in Ettrick Forest, pro salute animæ suæ.-Chartulary of Melrose, 28th May, 1415. Aventayle, visor of the helmet.

6 See Appendix, Note X.

7 The cloisters were frequently used as places of sepulture. An instance occurs in Dryburgh Abbey, where the cloister has an inscription, bearing, Hic jacet frater Archibaldus.

VIII.

Spreading herbs, and flowerets bright,
Glisten'd with the dew of night;
Nor herb, nor floweret, glisten'd there,
But was carved in the cloister-arches as fair.
The Monk gazed long on the lovely moon,
Then into the night he looked forth;
And red and bright the streamers light
Were dancing in the glowing north.
So had he seen, in fair Castile,

The youth in glittering squadrons start ;' Sudden the flying jennet wheel,

And hurl the unexpected dart.

He knew, by the streamers that shot so bright, That spirits were riding the northern light.

IX.

By a steel-clenched postern door,

They enter'd now the chancel tall;

The darken'd roof rose high aloof

On pillars lofty and light and small: The key-stone, that lock'd each ribbed aisle, Was a fleur-de-lys, or a quatre-feuille ; The corbells were carved grotesque and grim; And the pillars, with cluster'd shafts so trim, With base and with capital flourish'd around,3 Seem'd bundles of lances which garlands had bound.

X.

Full many a scutcheon and banner riven,
Shook to the cold night-wind of heaven,
Around the screened altar's pale;
And there the dying lamps did burn,
Before thy low and lonely urn,
O gallant Chief of Otterburne !4

And thine, dark Knight of Liddesdale !"

O fading honours of the dead!

O high ambition, lowly laid !

XI.

The moon on the east oriel shone
Through slender shafts of shapely stone,

By foliaged tracery combined;

Thou would'st have thought some fairy's hand
Twixt poplars straight the ozier wand,
In many a freakish knot, had twined;
Then framed a spell, when the work was done,
And changed the willow-wreaths to stone.

1 See Appendix, Note Y.

3" With plinth and with capital flourish'd around."

First Edition. 4 See Appendix, Note Z. 5 Ibid. Note 2 A. Ibid Note 2 B. 7" Bombay, September 25, 1805.—I began last night to read Walter Scott's Lay of the Last Minstrel, as part of my evenmg readings to my children. I was extremely delighted by the poetical beauty of some passages, the Abbey of Melrose for example, and most of the prologues to the cantos. The costume, too, is admirable. The tone is antique; and it u.ight be read for instruction as a picture of the manners of

is surely the man born at last to translate the Iliad. Are not the good parts of his poem the most Homeric of any thing in our language? There are tedious passages, and so are there in Homer."-Sir James MackiNTOSH, Life, Vol. I., pp. 254, 262. 8 A large marble stone, in the chancel of Melrose, is pointed out as the monument of Alexander II., one of the greatest of our carly kings; others say, it is the resting-place of Waldeve, one of the early abbots, who died in the odour of sanctity. Sec Appendix, Note 2 C.

11 See Appendix, Note 2 E.

10 lbid. Note 2 D. 18 Ibid. Note 2 F.

And never to tell where it was hid,

Save at his Chief of Branksome's need:
And when that need was past and o'er,
Again the volume to restore.

I buried him on St. Michael's night,

When the bell toll'd one, and the moon was bright,

And I dug his chamber among the dead, When the floor of the chancel was stained red, That his patron's cross might over him wave, And scare the fiends from the Wizard's grave.

XVI.

"It was a night of woe and dread,
When Michael in the tomb I laid!
Strange sounds along the chancel pass'd,
The banners waved without a blast"—

-Still spoke the Monk, when the bell toll'd one!-
I tell you, that a braver man

Than William of Deloraine. good at need,
Against a foe ne'er spurr'd a steed;
Yet somewhat was he chill'd with dread,
And his hair did bristle upon his head.

XVII.

"Lo, Warrior! now, the Cross of Red
Points to the grave of the mighty dead;
Within it burns a wondrous light,
To chase the spirits that love the night:
That lamp shall burn unquenchably,
Until the eternal doom shall be."—1

Slow moved the Monk to the broad flag-stone,
Which the bloody Cross was traced upon:
He pointed to a secret nook;

An iron bar the Warrior took ;2

And the Monk made a sign with his wither'd hand, The grave's huge portal to expand.

XVIII.

With beating heart to the task he went;
His sinewy frame o'er the grave-stone bent;
With bar of iron heaved amain,

Till the toil-drops fell from his brows, like rain.

It was by dint of passing strength,

That he moved the massy stone at length.

I would you had been there, to see
How the light broke forth so gloriously,
Stream'd upward to the chancel roof,
And through the galleries far aloof!
No earthly flame blazed e'er so bright:
It shone like heaven's own blessed light,
And, issuing from the tomb,

Show'd the Monk's cowl, and visage pale,
Danced on the dark-brow'd Warrior's mail,
And kiss'd his waving plume.

1 See Appendix, Note 2 G.

2 Orig.-A bar from thence the warrior took. "The agitation of the monk at the sight of the man whom he had loved with brotherly affection-the horror of Deloraine, and his belief that the corpse frowned, as he withdrew the

XIX

Before their eyes the Wizard lay,
As if he had not been dead a day.
His hoary beard in silver roll'd,
He seem'd some seventy winters old;
A palmer's amice wrapp'd him round,
With a wrought Spanish baldric bound,
Like a pilgrim from beyond the sea:
His left hand held his Book of Might;
A silver cross was in his right;

The lamp was placed beside his knee:
High and majestic was his look,
At which the fellest fiends had shook,
And all unruffled was his face:
They trusted his soul had gotten grace.3
XX.

Often had William of Deloraine
Rode through the battle's bloody plain,
And trampled down the warriors slain,

And neither known remorse nor awe;
Yet now remorse and awe he own'd;
His breath came thick, his head swam round,
When this strange scene of death he saw.
Bewilder'd and unnerved he stood,
And the priest pray'd fervently and loud:
With eyes averted prayed he;
He might not endure the sight to see,
Of the man he had loved so brotherly.