O gallant chief of Otterburne! 12 And thine, dark Knight of Liddesdale ! 15 O fading honours of the dead! O high ambition, lowly laid! XI. The moon on the east oriel shone Thou would'st have thought some fairy's han In many a freakish knot, had twined; And trampled the Apostate's pride. The moonbeam kiss'd the holy pane, And threw on the pavement a bloody stain. XII. They sate them down on a marble stone, And fought beneath the cross of God: Now, strange to my eyes thine arms appear, XIII. "In these far climes it was my lot To meet the wondrous Michael Scott;11 A wizard, of such dreaded fame, That when, in Salamanca's cave, The bells would ring in Notre Dame! Some of his skill he taught to me; And, Warrior, I could say to thee The words that cleft Eildon hills in three,1 And bridled the Tweed with a curb of stone: But to speak them were a deadly sin; And for having but thought them my heart within A treble penance must be done. XIV. *When Michael lay on his dying bed, He bethought him of his sinful deed, The words may not again be said, XV. "I swore to bury his Mighty Book, I buried him on St Michael's night, When the bell toll'd one, and the moon was bright, When the floor of the chancel was stained red, 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— 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 Until the eternal doom shall be." 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; 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, Show'd the Monk's cowl, and visage pale, XIX. Before their eyes the Wizard lay, Like a pilgrim from beyond the sea: The lamp was placed beside his knee. They trusted his soul had gotten grace. XX. Often had William of Deloraine And neither known remorse nor awe; And the priest pray'd fervently and loud: He might not endure the sight to see, Of the man he had loved so brotherly XXI. And when the priest his death-prayer had pray'd, Thus unto Deloraine he said: Now, speed thee what thou hast to do, Or, Warrior, we may dearly rue; For those, thou may'st not look upon, Are gathering fast round the yawning stone!" Then, Deloraine, in terror, took From the cold hand the Mighty Book, With iron clasp'd, and with iron bound: He thought, as he took it, the dead man frown'd; But the glare of the sepulchral light, Perchance, had dazzled the warrior's sight. XXII. When the huge stone sunk o'er the tomb, The night return'd in double gloom: For the moon had gone down, and the stars were few: With wavering steps and dizzy brain, As if the fiends kept holiday, Because these spells were brought to day. I say the tale as 'twas said to me. XXIII. "Now, hie thee hence," the Father said, And many a prayer and penance sped; Before the cross was the body laid, With hands clasp'd fast, as if still he pray'd. XXIV. The Knight breathed free in the morning wind, And strove his hardihood to find: He was glad when he pass'd the tombstones grey For the mystic Book, to his bosom prest, And his joints, with nerves of iron twin'd, Full fain was he when the dawn of day Began to brighten Cheviot grey; He joy'd to see the cheerful light, And he said Ave Mary, as well as he might. XXV. The sun had brighten'd Cheviot grey, The sun had brighten'd the Carter's" side; And soon beneath the rising day Smiled Branksome towers and Teviot's tido. The wild birds told their warbling tale, And waken'd every flower that blows; And peeped forth the violet pale, And spread her breast the mountain rose. And lovelier than the rose so red, Yet paler than the violet pale, She early left her sleepless bed, A mountain on the Border of England, above Jedburgh. XXVI. Why does fair Margaret so early awake, And the silken knots, which in hurry she would make, Why does she stop, and look often around, As she glides down the secret stair; The Ladye steps in doubt and dread, Lest her watchful mother hear her tread; The Ladye caresses the rough blood-hound, Lest his voice should waken the castle round; For he was her foster-father's son; And she glides through the green wood at dawn of light To meet Baron Henry, her own true knight. XXVIII. The Knight and Ladye fair are met, To meet beneath the hawthorn green. When her blue eyes their secret told, Though shaded by her locks of gold Where would you find the peerless fair, With Margaret of Branksome might compare. XXIX. And now, fair dames, methinks I see Your waving locks ye backward throw, Of two true lovers in a dale; And how the Knight, with tender fire, But never, never cease to love; And how she blush'd and how she sigh'd, And said that she would die a maid;- Margaret of Branksome's choice should be |