PERCY or Percival Rede of Trochend, in Redesdale, Northumberland, is celebrated in tradition as a huntsman, and a soldier. He was, upon two occasions, singularly unfortunate; once, when an arrow, which he had discharged at a deer, killed his celebrated dog Keeldar; and again, when, being on a hunting party, he was betrayed into the hands of a clan called Crossar, by whom he was murdered. Mr. Cooper's painting of the first of these incidents, suggested the following stanzas.1 UP rose the sun, o'er moor and mead; Career'd along the lea; The Palfrey sprung with sprightly bound, Man, hound, or horse, of higher fame, And right dear friends were they. The chase engross'd their joys and woes, 1 These stanzas, accompanying an engraving from Mr. Cooper's subject "The Death of Keeldar," appeared in The Gem of 1829, a literary journal edited by Thomas Hood, Esq. In the acknowledgment to his contributors, Mr. Hood says, "To Sir Walter Scott-not merely a literary feather in my cap, but a whole plume of them-I owe, and with the hand of my heart acknowledge, a deep obligation. A poem from his pen, is likely to confer on the book that contains it, if not perpetuity, at least a very Old Mortality."-Preface, p. 4. The original painting by Cooper, remains at Abbotsford.-Ed. Now is the thrilling moment near, The game 's afoot!-Halloo! Halloo! Has drench'd the grey-goose wing. The noble hound-he dies, he dies, Death, death has glazed his fixed eyes, Stiff on the bloody heath he lies, Without a groan or quiver. Now day may break and bugle sound, And whoop and hollow ring around. And o'er his couch the stag may bound, But Keeldar sleeps for ever. Dilated nostrils, staring eyes, But he that bent the fatal bow, Dear master, was it thine? "And if it be, the shaft be bless'd, And you may have a fleeter hound, And to his last stout Percy rued The fatal chance, for when he stood 'Gainst fearful odds in deadly feud, And fell amid the fray, E'en with his dying voice he cried, "Had Keeldar but been at my side, Your treacherous ambush had been spied I had not died to-day!" Remembrance of the erring bow Long since had join'd the tides which flow, Conveying human bliss and woe Down dark oblivion's river;" But Art can Time's stern doom arrest, From Anne of Geierstein. 1829. (1.)-THE SECRET TRIBUNAL. "PHILIPSON could perceive that the lights proceeded from many torches, borne by men muffled in black cloaks, like mourners at a funeral, or the Black Friars of Saint Francis's Order, wearing their cowls drawn over their heads, so as to conceal their features. They appeared anxiously engaged in measuring off a portion of the apartment; and, while occupied in that employment, they sung, in the ancient German language, rhymes more rude than Philipson could well understand, but which may be imitated thus:" MEASURERS of good and evil, Bring the square, the line, the level, Rear the altar, dig the trench, Blood both stone and ditch shall drench. Cubits six, from end to end, On life and soul, on blood and bone, How wears the night?-Doth morning shine The night is old; on Rhine's broad breast Glance drowsy stars which long to rest. No beams are twinkling in the east. |