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And, though she passes the postern alone, Why is not the watchman's bugle blown?
Lood sobs, and laughter louder, ran,
XXIII. * Now, hie thee hence,” the Father said, * And when we are on death-bed laid, O may our dear Ladye, and sweet St. John, Forgive our souls for the deed we have done !"The Monk return'd him to his cell,
And many a prayer and penance sped; When the convent met at the noontide bell
The Monk of St. Mary's aisle was dead !
XXVII. The ladye steps in doubt and dread, Lest her watchful mother hear her tread; The lady caresses the rough blood-hound, Lest his voice should waken the castle round, The watchman's bugle is not blown, For he was her foster-father's son; And she glides through the greenwood at dam of
light To meet Baron Henry, her own true knight.
XXIV. The Knight breathed free in the morning wind, And strore his hardihood to find: He was glad when he pass’d the tombstones grey, Which girdle round the fair Abbaye; For the mystic Book, to his bosom prest, Felt like a load upon his breast; And his joints, with nerves of iron twined, Shook, like the aspen leaves in wind. 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.
XXVIII. The Knight and ladye fair are met, . And under the hawthorn's boughs are set. A fairer pair were never seen To meet beneath the hawthorn green. He was stately, and young, and tall; Dreaded in battle, and loved in hall: And she, when love, scarce told, scarce hid, Lent to her cheek a livelier red; When the half sigh her swelling breast Against the silken ribbon prest; When her blue eyes their secret told, Though shaded by her locks of goldWhere would you find the peerless fair, With Margaret of Branksome might com
The sun had brighten'd the Carter's side; And soon beneath the rising day
Smiled Branksome Towers and Teviot's tide.? 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,
The fairest maid of Teviotdale.
XXIX. And now, fair dames, methinks I see You listen to my minstrelsy; Your waving locks ye backward throw, And sidelong bend your necks of snow: Ye ween to hear a melting tale, Of two true lovers in a dale; And how the Knight, with tender fire,
To paint his faithful passion strove; Swore he might at her feet expire,
But never, never cease to love; And how she blush'd, and how she sigli’d, And, half consenting, half denied, And said that she would die a maid ;Yet, might the bloody feud be stay'd, Henry of Cranstoun, and only he, Margaret of Branksome's choice should be.
And don her kirtle so hastilie;
Why tremble her slender fingers to tie;
As she glides down the secret stair;
As he rouses him up from his lair;
XXX. Alas! fair dames, your hopes aro vain ! My harp has lost the enchanting strain;
Its lightness would my age reprove : My hairs are grey, my limbs are old, My heart is dead, my veins are cold:
I may not, must not, sing of love.
A mountain on the Border of England, above Jedhurgh. 8“ How true, sweet, and original, is this description of ?" How lovely and exhilarating is the fresh cool morning Margaret—the trembling haste with which sho attires her. landscape which relieves the mind after the horrors of the self, descends, and speeds to the bower !” – ANNA SEspell-guarded tomb!"--ANNA Seward.
Wat of Harden came thither amain,
They were three hundred spears and three.
And held his crested helm and spear:
Through all the Border, far and near.
He heard a voice cry, “ Lost ! lost! lost!”
A leap, of thirty feet and three,
And lighted at Lord Cranstoun's knee. Lord Cranstoun was some whit dismay'd; 'Tis said that five good miles he rade,
To rid him of his company;
He was waspish, arch, and litherlie,
But well Lord Cranstoun served he:
An it had not been for his ministry.
To Mary's Chapel of the Lowes:
And he would pay his vows.
The trysting place was Newark Lee.
While thus he pour'd the lengthen'd tale
I See Appendix, Note 2 I.
It is observable that in the same play, Pug alludes to the 9 The idea of the imp domesticating himself with the first spareness of his diet. Mr. Scott's goblin, though “ waspish, porson he net, and subjecting himself to that one's authority, arch, and litherlie," proves a faithful and honest retainer to is perfectly consonant to old opinions. Ben Jonson, in his play the lord, into whose service he had introduced himself. This of“ The Devil is an Ass," has founded the leading incident of sort of inconsistency seems also to form a prominent part of the that comedy upon this article of the popular creed. A fiend, diabolic character. Thus, in the romances of the Round styled Pug, is ambitious of figuring in the world, and petitions Table, we find Merlin, the son of a devil, exerting himself his superior for permission to exhibit himself upon earth. The most zealously in the cause of virtue and of religion, the friend devil grants him a day-rule, but clogs it with this condi- and counsellor of King Arthur, the chastiser of wrongs, and tion,
the scourge of the infidels. “ Satan-Only thus more, I bind you
3 See Appendix, Note 2 K. To serve the first man that you meet; and him
* See notes on The Douglas Tragedy in the Minstrelsy, vol. I'll show you tow; observe him, follow him;
iii. p. 3.--ED. But, once engaged, there you must stay and fix." 6 Wood-pigeon.
The Lay of the Last Minstrel.
He sigh'd a sigh, and pray'd a prayor;
The sigh was to his ladye fair. Stout Deloraine nor sigh'd nor pray'd, Nor saint, nor ladye, call'd to aid ; But he stoop'd his head, and couch'd his spear, And spurred his steed to full career. The meeting of these champions proud Seem'd like the bursting thunder-cloud.
I. And said I that my limbs were old, And said I that my blood was cold, And that my kindly fire was fled, And my poor wither'd heart was dead,
And that I might not sing of love ? How could I to the dearest theme, That ever warm'd a minstrel's dream,
So foul, so false a recreant prove! How could I name love's very name, Nor wake my heart to notes of flame!
II. In peace, Love tunes the shepherd's reed ; In war, he mounts the warrior's steed; In halls, in gay attire is seen; In hamlets, dances on the green. Love rules the court, the camp, the grove, And men below, and saints above; For love is heaven, and heaven is love.
VI. Stern was the dint the Borderer lent! The stately Baron backwards bent; Bent backwards to his horse's tail, And his plumes went scattering on the gale: The tough ash spear, so stout and true, Into a thousand Alinders flew. But Cranstoun's lance, of more avail, Pierced through, like silk, the Borderer's mail ; Through shield, and jack, and acton, past, Deep in his bosom broke at last.Still sate the warrior saddle-fast, Till, stumbling in the mortal shock, Down went the steed, the girthing broke, Hurld on a heap lay man and horse. The Baron onward pass'd his course; Nor knew-so giddy roll'd his brainHis foe lay stretch'd upon the plain.
III. So thought Lord Cranstoun, as I ween, While, pondering deep the tender scene, He rode through Branksome's hawthorn green. But the page shouted wild and shrill,
And scarce his helmet could he don, When downward from the shady hill
A stately knight came pricking on.
His armour red with many a stain:
For it was William of Deloraine.
VII. But when he rein'd his courser round, And saw his foeman on the ground
Lie senseless as the bloody clay, He bade his page to stanch the wound,
And there beside the warrior stay, And tend him in his doubtful state, And lead him to Branksome castle-gate: His noble mind was inly moved For the kinsman of the maid he loved. “ This shalt thou do without delay: No longer here myself may stay; Unless the swifter I speed away, Short shrift will be at my dying day."
IV. But no whit weary did he seem, When, dancing in the sunny beam, He mark'd the crane on the Baron's crest;' For his ready spear was in his rest. Few were the words, and stern and high,
That mark'd the foemen's feudal hate; For question fierce, and proud reply,
Gave signal soon of dire debate.
VIII. Away in speed Lord Cranstoun rode; The Goblin Page behind abode; His lord's command he ne'er withstood, Though small his pleasure to do good. As the corslet off he took, The dwarf espied the Mighty Book ! Much he marvell’d a knight of pride, Like a book-bosom'd priest should ride: He thought not to search or stanch the wound, Until the secret he had found.
1 The crest of the Cranstouns, in allusion to their name, emphatic Border motto, Thou shalt want ere I wani. is a crane dormant, holding a stone in his foot, with an 2 See Appendix, Note 2 L.
IX. The iron band, the iron clasp, Resisted long the elfin grasp: For when the first he had undone, It closed as he the next begun. Those iron clasps, that iron band, Would not yield to unchristen’d hand, Till he smear'd the cover o'er With the Borderer's curdled gore; A moment then the volume spread, And one short spell therein he read, It had much of glamour! Inight, Could make a ladye seem a knight; The cobwebs on a dungeon wall Seem tapestry in lordly hall; A nut-shell seem a gilded barge, A sheeling? seem a palace large, And youth seem age, and age seem youthAll was delusion, nought was truth.3
XII. As he repass'd the outer court, He spied the fair young child at sport: He thought to train him to the wood; For, at a word, be it understood, He was always for ill, and never for good. Seem'd to the boy, some comrade gay Led him forth to the woods to play; On the drawbridge the warders stout Saw a terrier and lurcher passing out.
Until they came to a woodland brook ;
And his own elvisb shape he took. Could he have had his pleasure vilde, He had crippled the joints of the noble child, Or, with his fingers long and lean, Had strangled him in fiendish spleen: But his awful mother he had in dread, And also his power was limited; So he but scowl'd on the startled child, And darted through the forest wild; The woodland brook he bounding cross’d, And laugh’d, and shouted, “ Lost! lost! lost !
XIV. Full sore amazed at the wondrous change,
And frighten'd as a child might be, At the wild yell and visage strange,
And the dark words of gramarye, The child, amidst the forest bower, Stood rooted like a lily flower; And when at length, with trembling pace,
He sought to find where Branksome lay, He fear'd to see that grisly face
Glare from some thicket on his way.
XV. And hark! and hark! the deep-mouth'd bark
Comes nigher still, and nigher:
And his red eye shot fire.
1 Magical delusion.
2 A shepherd's hut.
See Appendix, Note 2 0.
He faced the blood-hound manfully,
But still in act to spring;
He drew his tough bow-string; But a rough voice cried, “Shoot not, hoy! Ho! shoot not, Edward—'Tis a boy!”
For Walter of Harden shall come with speed,
Our wardens had need to kcep good order ; My bow of yew to a hazel wand,
Thou’lt make them work upon the Border. Meantime, be pleased to come with me, For good Lord Dacre shalt thou see; I think our work is well begun, When we have taken thy father's son.”
And quell'd the ban-dog's ire:
And born in Lancashire. Well could he hit a fallow-deer
Fire hundred feet him fro; With hand more true, and eye more clear,
No archer bended bow.
Set off his sun-burn'd face:
His barret-cap did grace;
All in a wolf-skin baldric tied;
XXI. Although the child was led away, In Branksome still he seem'd to stay, For so the Dwarf his part did play; And, in the shape of that young boy, He wrought the castle much annoy. The comrades of the young Buccleuch He pinch'd, and beat, and overthrew; Nay, some of them he wellnigh slew. He tore Dame Maudlin's silken tire, And, as Sym Hall stood by the fire, He lighted the match of his bandelier, And wofully scorch'd the hackbuteer.3 It may be hardly thought or said, The mischief that the urchin made, Till many of the castle guess'd, That the young Baron was possess'd !
Reach'd scantly to his knee;
A furbish'd sheaf bore he;
No larger fence had he;
Would strike below the knee:
XVIII. He would not do the fair child harm, But held him with his powerful arm, That he might neither fight nor flee; For when the Red-Cross spied he, The boy strove long and violently. “ Now, by St. George," the archer cries, “ Edward, methinks we have a prize! This boy's fair face, and courage free, Bhow he is come of high degree.”
On the stone threshold stretch'd along; She thought some spirit of the sky
Had done the bold moss-trooper wrong: Because, despite her precept dread, Perchance he in the Book had read; But the broken lance in his bosom stood, And it was earthly steel and wood.
XIX. * Yes! I am come of high degree,
For I am the heir of bold Buccleuch; And, if thou dost not set me free,
False Southron, thou shalt dearly rue!
And with a charm she stanch'd the blood ;* She bade the gash be cleansed and bound:
No longer by his couch she stood;
See Appendix, Note 2 P. 1 Bandelier, belt for carrying ammunition.
8 Hackbuteer, musketeer. 4 See Appendix. Note 2 Q.