And gazers mark their changeful gleams, But feel no influence from their beams.

By ties mysterious link'd, our fated race
Holds strange connection with the sons of men.
The star that rose upon the House of Avenel,
When Norman Ulric first assumed the name,
That star, when culminating in its orbit,
Shot from its sphere a drop of diamond dew,
And this bright font received it—and a Spirit
Rose from the fountain, and her date of life
Hath coexistence with the House of Avenel,
And with the star that rules it.

Look on my girdle-on this thread of gold—
"Tis fine as web of lightest gossamer,
And, but there is a spell on't, would not bmd,
Light as they are, the folds of my thin robe.
But when 'twas doun'd, it was a massive chain,
Such as might bin the champion of the Jews,
Even when his locks were longest-it hath
dwindled,

Hath 'minish'd in its substance and its strength,
As sunk the greatness of the House of Avenel.
When this trail thread gives way, I to the ele-

Maiden, attend! Beneath my foot lies hid
The Word, the Law, the Path which thou d
strive

To find, and canst not find.-Could Spirits shed
Tears for their lot, it were my lot to weep,
Showing the road which I shall never tread,
Though my foot points it.-Sleep, eternal sleep
Dark, long, and cold forgetfulness my lot!-
But do not thou at human ills repine;
Secure there lies full guerdon in this spot

For all the woes that wait frail Adam's lineStoop then and make it yours,-I may not mak it mine!

Chap. xxx.

THE WHITE LADY TO EDWARD
GLENDINNING.

THOU who seek'st my fountain lone,
With thughts and hopes thou dar'st not own,
Whose heart within leap'd wildly glad,
When most his brow seem'd dark and sad;
Hie thee back, thou find'st not here
Corpse or coffin, grave or bier;
The Dead Alive is gone and fled-
Go thou, and join the Living Dead!

The Living Dead, whose sober brow

Oft shrouds such thoughts as thou hast now,
Whose hearts within are seldom cured
Of passions by their vows abjured;
Where, under sad and solemn show,
Vain hopes are nursed, wild wishes glow.
Seek the convent's vaulted room,

Prayer and vigil be thy doom;
Doff the green, and don the gray,
To the cloister hence away!

Chap. xxxu

THE WHITE LADY'S FAREWELL

FARE THEE WELL, thou Holly green!
Thou shalt seldom now be seen,

With all thy glittering garlands bending,
As to greet my slow descending,

Startling the bewilder'd hind,

Chap. xvii.

Who sees thee wave without a wind.

THE WHITE LADY TO MARY AVENEL. MAIDEN, whose sorrows wail the Living Dead, Whose eyes shall commune with the Dead Alive,

Farewell, Fountain! now not long
Shalt thou murmur to my song,
While thy crystal bubbles glancing,
Keep the time in mystic dancing,
Rise and swell, are burst and lost,
Like mortal schemes by fortune cross'd.

MARCH, march, Ettrick and Teviotdale,

Why the deil dinna ye march forward in order? March, march, Eskdale and Liddesdale,

All the Blue Bonnets are bound for the Border.
Many a banner spread,
Flutters above your head,

Many a crest that is famous in story.

Mount and make ready then,

Sons of the mountain glen,

(2.)-CHAP. II.

In yon lone vale his early youth was bred. Not solitary then-the bugle-horn

Of fell Alecto often waked its windings,
From where the brook joins the majestic river,
To the wild northern bog, the curlieu's haunt,
Where oozes forth its first and feeble streamlet
Old Play.

(3.)-CHAP. V.

A priest, ye cry, a priest !—lame shepherds they,
How shall they gather in the straggling flock?
Dumb dogs which bark not-how shall they compel
The loitering vagrants to the Master's fold?
Fitter to bask before the blazing fire,
And snuff the mess neat-handed Phillis dresses,
Than on the snow-wreath battle with the wolf.
Reformation.

(4.)-CHAP. VI.

2.

Come from the hills where your hirsels are grazing, Come from the glen of the buck and the roe; Come to the crag where the beacon is blazing, Come with the buckler, the lance, and the bow.

Trumpets are sounding,

War-steeds are bounding,

Nor hurt the wholesome crop and tender vine Craves good advisement. plants,

The Reformation.

(5.)-CHAP. VIII.

England shall many a day

Tell of the bloody fray,

When the Blue Bonnets came over the Border.

(3.)-MOTTOES.

(1.)-CHAP. I.

Chap. xxv.

O AY! the Monks, the Monks, they did the mischief!

Theirs all the grossness, all the superstition
Of a most gross and superstitious age.-
May He be praised that sent the healthful tem-
pest,

And scatter'd all these pestilential vapors;
But that we owed them all to yonder Harlot
Throned on the seven hills with her cup of gold,
I will as soon believe, with kind Sir Roger,
That old Moll White took wing with cat and broom-
stick,

And raised the last night's thunder.

Old Play.

From the Abbot.

1820.

(1.)-THE PARDONER'S ADVERTISEMENT.

"Ar length the pardoner pulled from his scrip a small phial of clear water, of which he vaunted the quality in the following verses:"

Listneth, gode people, everiche one,
For in the londe of Babylone,
Far eastward I wot it lyeth,

And is the first londe the sonne espieth,
Ther, as he cometh fro out the sé;
In this ilk londe, as thinketh me,
Right as holie legendes tell,
Snottreth from a roke a well,
And falleth into ane bath of ston,
Wher chast Susanne in times long gon,
Was wont to wash her bodie and lim-
Mickle vertue hath that streme,
As ye shall se er that ye pas,
Ensample by this little glas-
Through night's cold and dayés hote,
Hiderward I have it brought;
Hath a wife made slip or slide,
Or a maiden stepp'd aside;

Putteth this water under her nese,
Wold she nold she, she shall snese.

(2).-MOTTOES.

(1.)-CHAP. V.

Chap. xxvii.

In the wild storm,

The seaman hews his mast down, and the merchant Heaves to the billows wares he once deem'd pre

cious:

So prince and peer, 'mid popular contentions, Cast off their favorites.

Old Play.

(2.)-CHAP. VI.

Thou hast each secret of the household, Francis.
I dare be sworn thou hast been in the buttery
Steeping thy curious humor in fat ale,
And in the butler's tattle-ay, or chatting
With the glib waiting-woman o'er her comfits-
These bear the key to each domestic mystery.
Old Play.

(3.)-CHAP. VIII.

The sacred tapers' lights are gone, Gray moss has clad the altar stone, The holy image is o'erthrown,