And not a man of blood and breath.
Not much this new ally he loved,
Yet, when he saw what hap had proved,
He greeted him right heartilie:
He would not waken old debate,
For he was void of rancorous hate,

Though rude, and scant of courtesy ;
In raids he spilt but seldom blood,
Unless when men-at-arms withstood,
Or, as was meet, for deadly feud.

He ne'er bore grudge for stalwart blow,
Ta'en in fair fight from gallant foe:

And so 'twas seen of him, e'en now,
When on dead Musgrave he look'd down;
Grief darken'd on his rugged brow,

Though half disguised with a frown;
And thus, while sorrow bent his head,
His foeman's epitaph he made.

XXIX.

"Now, Richard Musgrave, liest thou here!

I ween, my deadly enemy; For, if I slew thy brother dear,

Thou slew'st a sister's son to me; And when I lay in dungeon dark,

Of Naworth Castle, long months three, Till ransom'd for a thousand mark,

Dark Musgrave, it was long of thee. And, Musgrave, could our fight be tried, And thou wert now alive, as I, No mortal man should us divide, Till one, or both of us, did die: Yet rest thee God! for well I know I ne'er shall find a nobler foe. In all the northern counties here, Whose word is Snaffle, spur, and spear,1 Thou wert the best to follow gear! Twas pleasure, as we look'd behind, To see how thou the chase could'st wind, Cheer the dark blood-hound on his way, And with the bugle rouse the fray !2 I'd give the lands of Deloraine, Dark Musgrave were alive again.”—3

XXX.

So mourn'd he, till Lord Dacre's band
Were bowning back to Cumberland.
They raised brave Musgrave from the field,
And laid him on his bloody shield;
On levell❜d lances, four and four,
By turns, the noble burden bore.
Before, at times, upon the gale,

Was heard the Minstrel's plaintive wail;
Behind, four priests, in sable stole,
Sung requiem for the warrior's soul:

"The lands, that over Ouse to Berwick forth do bear, Have for their blazon had, the snaffle, spur, and spear." Poly-Albion, Song 13.

2 See Appendix, Note 3 W

3 "The style of the old romancers has been very successfully imitated in the whole of this scene; and the speech of

Around, the horsemen slowly rode; With trailing pikes the spearmen trode; And thus the gallant knight they bore, Through Liddesdale to Leven's shore; Thence to Holme Coltrame's lofty nave, And laid him in his father's grave.

THE harp's wild notes, though hush'd the song,
The mimic march of death prolong;
Now seems it far, and now a-near,
Now meets, and now eludes the ear;
Now seems some mountain side to sweep,
Now faintly dies in valley deep;
Seems now as if the Minstrel's wail,
Now the sad requiem, loads the gale;
Last, o'er the warrior's closing grave,
Rung the full choir in choral stave.

After due pause, they bade him tell, Why he, who touch'd the harp so well, Should thus, with ill-rewarded toil, Wander a poor and thankless soil,

When the more generous Southern Land Would well requite his skilful hand.

The Aged Harper, howsoe'er
His only friend, his harp, was dear,
Liked not to hear it rank'd so high
Above his flowing poesy:

Less liked he still, that scornful jeer
Misprised the land he loved so dear;
High was the sound, as thus again
The Bard resumed his minstrel strain.

The Lay of the Last Minstrel.

CANTO SIXTH.

I.

with soul so dead,

BREATHES there the man,
Who never to himself hath said,
This is my own, my native land!
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd,
As home his footsteps he hath turn'd,

From wandering on a foreign strand!
If such there breathe, go, mark him well;
For him no Minstrel raptures swell;
High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim;
Despite those titles, power, and pelf,
The wretch, concentred all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down

Deloraine, who, roused from his bed of sickness, rushes into the lists, and apostrophizes his fallen enemy, brought to our recollection, as well from the peculiar turn of expression in its commencement, as in the tone of sentiments which it conveys, some of the funebres orationes of the Mort Arthur."— Critical Review.

To the vile dust, from whence he sprung, Unwept, unhonour'd, and unsung.

II.

O Caledonia! stern and wild,1
Meet nurse for a poetic child!

Land of brown heath and shaggy wood,
Land of the mountain and the flood,
Land of my sires! what mortal hand
Can e'er untie the filial band,

That knits me to thy rugged strand!
Still, as I view each well-known scene,
Think what is now,
and what hath been,

Seems as, to me, of all bereft,

Sole friends thy woods and streams were left;

And thus I love them better still,

Even in extremity of ill.

By Yarrow's streams still let me stray,
Though none should guide my feeble way;
Still feel the breeze down Ettrick break,
Although it chill my wither'd cheek ;2
Still lay my head by Teviot Stone,3
Though there, forgotten and alone,
The Bard may draw his parting groan.

III.

Not scorn'd like me! to Branksome Hall
The Minstrels came, at festive call;
Trooping they came, from near and far,
The jovial priests of mirth and war;
Alike for feast and fight prepared,
Battle and banquet both they shared.
Of late, before each martial clan,
They blew their death-note in the van,
But now, for every merry mate,
Rose the portcullis' iron grate;

They sound the pipe, they strike the string,
They dance, they revel, and they sing,
Till the rude turrets shake and ring.

IV.

Me lists not at this tide declare

The splendour of the spousal rite,

How muster'd in the chapel fair

Both maid and matron, squire and
knight;

Me lists not tell of owches rare,
Of mantles green, and braided hair,
And kirtles furr'd with miniver;
What plumage waved the altar round,
How spurs and ringing chainlets sound;
And hard it were for bard to speak
The changeful hue of Margaret's cheek;

"The Lady of the Lake has nothing so good as the address to Scotland."-MACINTOSH.

2 The preceding four lines now form the inscription on the monument of Sir Walter Scott in the market-place of Selkirk.-See Life, vol. x. p. 257.

3 The line edition.-ED.

That lovely hue which comes and flies, As awe and shame alternate rise!

V.

Some bards have sung, the Ladye high
Chapel or altar came not nigh;
Nor durst the rites of spousal grace,
So much she fear'd each holy place.
False slanders these:-I trust right well
She wrought not by forbidden spell ;4
For mighty words and signs have power
O'er sprites in planetary hour:
Yet scarce I praise their venturous part,
Who tamper with such dangerous art.
But this for faithful truth I say,
The Ladye by the altar stood,
Of sable velvet her array,

And on her head a crimson hood,
With pearls embroider'd and entwined,
Guarded with gold, with ermine lined;
A merlin sat upon her wrist
Held by a leash of silken twist.

VI.

The spousal rites were ended soon:
"Twas now the merry hour of noon,
And in the lofty arched hall
Was spread the gorgeous festival.
Steward and squire, with heedful haste,
Marshall'd the rank of every guest;
Pages, with ready blade, were there,
The mighty meal to carve and share:
O'er capon, heron-shew, and crane,
And princely peacock's gilded train,
And o'er the boar-head, garnish'd brave,
And cygnet from St. Mary's wave;7
O'er ptarmigan and venison,
The priest had spoke his benison.
Then rose the riot and the din,
Above, beneath, without, within!
For, from the lofty balcony,

Rung trumpet, shalm, and psaltery:

Their clanging bowls old warriors quaff'd, Loudly they spoke, and loudly laugh'd; Whisper'd young knights, in tone more mild,

To ladies fair, and ladies smiled.

The hooded hawks, high perch'd on beam,

The clamour join'd with whistling scream,
And flapp'd their wings, and shook their bells,
In concert with the stag-hounds' yells.
Round go the flasks of ruddy wine,
From Bourdeaux, Orleans, or the Rhine;
Their tasks the busy sewers ply,

And all is mirth and revelry.

VII.

The Goblin Page, omitting still
No opportunity of ill,

Strove now, while blood ran hot and high,
To rouse debate and jealousy;

Till Conrad, Lord of Wolfenstein,

By nature fierce, and warm with wine,
And now in humour highly cross'd,
About some steeds his band had lost,
High words to words succeeding still,
Smote, with his gauntlet, stout Hunthill ;'
A hot and hardy Rutherford,

Whom men called Dickon Draw-the-sword.
He took it on the page's saye,
Hunthill had driven these steeds away.
Then Howard, Home, and Douglas rose,
The kindling discord to compose:
Stern Rutherford right little said,

But bit his glove, and shook his head.-
A fortnight thence, in Inglewood,
Stout Conrade, cold, and drench'd in blood,
His bosom gored with many a wound,
Was by a woodman's lyme-dog found;
Unknown the manner of his death,

Gone was his brand, both sword and sheath;
But ever from that time, 'twas said,
That Dickon wore a Cologne blade.

VIII.

The dwarf, who fear'd his master's eye
Might his foul treachery espie,
Now sought the castle buttery,
Where many a yeoman, bold and free,
Revell'd as merrily and well
As those that sat in lordly selle.
Watt Tinlinn, there, did frankly raise
The pledge to Arthur Fire-the-Braes ;3
And he, as by his breeding bound,
To Howard's merry-men sent it round.
To quit them, on the English side,
Red Roland Forster loudly cried,
"A deep carouse to yon fair bride!”-
At every pledge, from vat and pail,
Foam'd forth in floods the nut-brown ale;
While shout the riders every one;
Such day of mirth ne'er cheer'd their clan,

1 See Appendix, Note 4 A.

2 Ibid. Note 4 B.

3 The person bearing this redoubtable nom de guerre was an Elliot, and resided at Thorleshope, in Liddesdale. He occurs in the list of Border riders, in 1597.

* See Appendix, Note 4 C.

5 "The appearance and dress of the company assembled in the chapel, and the description of the subsequent feast, in which the hounds and hawks are not the least important personages of the drama, are again happy imitations of those authors from whose rich but unpolished ore Mr. Scott has wrought much of his most exquisite imagery and description. A society, such as that assembled in Branxholm Castle, inflamed with national prejudices, and heated with wine, seems to have contained in itself sufficient seeds of spontaneous dis

Since old Buccleuch the name did gain, When in the cleuch the buck was ta'en.*

IX.

The wily page, with vengeful thought,
Remember'd him of Tinlinn's yew,
And swore, it should be dearly bought
That ever he the arrow drew.
First, he the yeoman did molest,
With bitter gibe and taunting jest;
Told, how he fled at Solway strife,

And how Hob Armstrong cheer'd his wife;
Then, shunning still his powerful arm,
At unawares he wrought him harm;
From trencher stole his choicest cheer,
Dash'd from his lips his can of beer;
Then, to his knee sly creeping on,
With bodkin pierced him to the bone:
The venom'd wound, and festering joint,
Long after rued that bodkin's point.
The startled yeoman swore and spurn'd,
And board and flagons overturn'd.
Riot and clamour wild began;
Back to the hall the Urchin ran;

Took in a darkling nook his post,

And grinn'd, and mutter'd, "Lost! lost! lost!

X.

By this, the Dame, lest farther fray
Should mar the concord of the day,
Had bid the Minstrels tune their lay.
And first stept forth old Albert Græme,
The Minstrel of that ancient name:"
Was none who struck the harp so well,
Within the Land Debateable;
Well friended, too, his hardy kin,
Whoever lost, were sure to win;

They sought the beeves that made their broth,
In Scotland and in England both.
In homely guise, as nature bade,
His simple song the Borderer said.

XI.

ALBERT GRÆME.7

It was an English ladye bright,

(The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,8)

3

order; but the goblin page is well introduced, as applying torch to this mass of combustibles. Quarrels, highly characteristic of Border manners, both in their cause and the manner in which they are supported, ensue, as well among the lordly guests, as the yoemen assembled in the buttery."— Critical Review, 1805.

6 See Appendix, Note 4 D.

7 "It is the author's object, in these songs, to exemplify the different styles of ballad narrative which prevailed in this island at different periods, or in different conditions of society. The first (ALBERT's) is conducted upon the rude and simple model of the old Border ditties, and produces its effect by the direct and concise narrative of a tragical occurrence."-JEF

FREY.

8 See Appendix, Note 4 E.

And she would marry a Scottish knight, For Love will still be lord of all.

Blithely they saw the rising sun,

When he shone fair on Carlisle wall; But they were sad ere day was done,

Though Love was still the lord of all.

Her sire gave brooch and jewel fine,
Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall;
Her brother gave but a flask of wine,
For ire that Love was lord of all.

For she had lands, both meadow and lea,
Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,
And he swore her death, ere he would see
A Scottish knight the lord of all!

XII.

That wine she had not tasted well,

(The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,) When dead, in her true love's arms, she fell, For Love was still the lord of all!

He pierced her brother to the heart,

Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall:

So perish all would true love part,

That Love may still be lord of all!

And then he took the cross divine,

(Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,) And died for her sake in Palestine,

So Love was still the lord of all.

Now all ye lovers, that faithful prove,
(The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,)
Pray for their souls who died for love,
For Love shall still be lord of all!

XIII.

As ended Albert's simple lay,

Arose a bard of loftier port;
For sonnet, rhyme, and roundelay,
Renown'd in haughty Henry's court:
There rung thy harp, unrivall'd long,
Fitztraver of the silver song!

The gentle Surrey loved his lyre-
Who has not heard of Surrey's fame?1
His was the hero's soul of fire,

And his the bard's immortal name,

And his was love, exalted high
By all the glow of chivalry.

XIV.

They sought, together, climes afar, And oft, within some olive grove,

1 See Appendix, Note 4 F.

2 First Edit." So sweet their harp and voices join.”

When even came with twinkling star, They sung of Surrey's absent love. His step the Italian peasant stay'd,

And deem'd, that spirits from on high, Round where some hermit saint was laid, Were breathing heavenly melody; So sweet did harp and voice combine," To praise the name of Geraldine.

XV.

Fitztraver! O what tongue may say
The pangs thy faithful bosom knew,
When Surrey, of the deathless lay,

Ungrateful Tudor's sentence slew?
Regardless of the tyrant's frown,

His harp call'd wrath and vengeance down. He left, for Naworth's iron towers, Windsor's green glades, and courtly bowers, And faithful to his patron's name,

With Howard still Fitztraver came;

Lord William's foremost favourite he,
And chief of all his minstrelsy.

XVI. FITZTRAVER.3

'Twas All-soul's eve, and Surrey's heart beat high;

He heard the midnight bell with anxious start, Which told the mystic hour, approaching nigh, When wise Cornelius promised, by his art, To show to him the ladye of his heart, Albeit betwixt them roar'd the ocean grim; Yet so the sage had hight to play his part,

That he should see her form in life and limb, And mark, if still she loved, and still she thought of him.

XVII.

Dark was the vaulted room of gramarye,

To which the wizard led the gallant Knight, Save that before a mirror, huge and high, A hallow'd taper shed a glimmering light On mystic implements of magic might; On cross, and character, and talisman, And almagest, and altar, nothing bright: For fitful was the lustre, pale and wan, As watchlight by the bed of some departing man.

XVIII.

But soon, within that mirror huge and high,
Was seen a self-emitted light to gleam;
And forms upon its breast the Earl 'gan spy,
Cloudy and indistinct, as feverish dream;
Till, slow arranging, and defined, they seem
To form a lordly and a lofty room,
Part lighted by a lamp with silver beam,

Placed by a couch of Agra's silken loom, And part by moonshine pale, and part was hid in gloom.

XIX.

Fair all the pageant-but how passing fair

The slender form, which lay on couch of Ind! O'er her white bosom stray'd her hazel hair, Pale her dear cheek, as if for love she pined; All in her night-robe loose she lay reclined,

And, pensive, read from tablet eburnine,

Some strain that seem'd her inmost soul to find :That favour'd strain was Surrey's raptured line, That fair and lovely form, the Lady Geraldine.

XX.

Slow roll'd the clouds upon the lovely form,
And swept the goodly vision all away-
So royal envy roll'd the murky storm

O'er my beloved Master's glorious day.
Thou jealous, ruthless tyrant! Heaven repay
On thee, and on thy children's latest line,
The wild caprice of thy despotic sway,

The gory bridal bed, the plunder'd shrine, The murder'd Surrey's blood, the tears of Geraldine!

XXI.

Both Scots, and Southern chiefs, prolong
Applauses of Fitztraver's song ;
These hated Henry's name as death,
And those still held the ancient faith.--
Then, from his seat, with lofty air,
Rose Harold, bard of brave St. Clair ;
St. Clair, who, feasting high at Home,
Had with that lord to battle come.
Harold was born where restless seas
Howl round the storm-swept Orcades;1
Where erst St. Clairs held princely sway
O'er isle and islet, strait and bay;-
Still nods their palace to its fall,
Thy pride and sorrow, fair Kirkwall !_2
Thence oft he mark'd fierce Pentland rave,
As if grim Odin rode her wave;

And watch'd, the whilst, with visage pale,
And throbbing heart, the struggling sail ;
For all of wonderful and wild

Had rapture for the lonely child.

XXII.

;

And much of wild and wonderful
In these rude isles might fancy cull
For thither came, in times afar,
Stern Lochlin's sons of roving war,
The Norsemen, train'd to spoil and blood,
Skill'd to prepare the raven's food;
Kings of the main their leaders brave,
Their barks the dragons of the wave.3
And there, in many a stormy vale,
The Scald had told his wondrous tale;
And many a Runic column high
Had witness'd grim idolatry.
And thus had Harold, in his youth,
Learn'd many a Saga's rhyme uncouth,--
Of that Sea-Snake, tremendous curl'd,
Whose monstrous circle girds the world ;*
Of those dread Maids," whose hideous yell
Maddens the battle's bloody swell;

Of Chiefs, who, guided through the gloom
By the pale death-lights of the tomb,
Ransack'd the graves of warriors old,
Their falchions wrench'd from corpses' hold,"
Waked the deaf tomb with war's alarms,
And bade the dead arise to arms!
With war and wonder all on flame,
To Roslin's bowers young Harold came,
Where, by sweet glen and greenwood tree,
He learn'd a milder minstrelsy;
Yet something of the Northern spell
Mix'd with the softer numbers well.

XXIII. HAROLD.7

O listen, listen, ladies gay!

No haughty feat of arms I tell ; Soft is the note, and sad the lay,

That mourns the lovely Rosabelle.R

"Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant crew! And, gentle ladye, deign to stay! Rest thee in Castle Ravensheuch,9 Nor tempt the stormy firth to-day.

"The blackening wave is edged with white :
To inch10 and rock the sea-mews fly;
The fishers have heard the Water-Sprite,
Whose screams forbode that wreck is nigh.

1 See Appendix, Note 4 G.

2 Ibid. Note 4 H.

of the dramatic form into which it is thrown, and of the indirect description by which every thing is most expressively told, without one word of distinct narrative."-JEFFREY.

8 "This was a family name in the house of St. Clair. Henry St. Clair, the second of the line, married Rosabelle, fourth daughter of the Earl of Stratherne.

9 See Appendix, Note 4 M.

10 Inch, isle.