For mass or prayer can I rarely tarry, When I ride on a Border foray.1 Other prayer can none; So speed me my errand, and let me be gone.”— VII. Again on the Knight look'd the Churchman old, For he had himself been a warrior bold, And he thought on the days that were long since by When his limbs were strong, and his courage was high: Now, slow and faint, he led the way, And beneath their feet were the bones of the dead." VIII. Spreading herbs, and flowerets bright, The youth in glittering squadrons start;3 Sudden the flying jennet wheel, And hurl the unexpected dart. He knew, by the streamers that shot so bright, That spirits were riding the northern light. With base and with capital flourish'd around, Seem'd bundles of lances which garlands had bound. X. Full many a scutcheon and banner riven, O gallant Chief of Otterburne ! And thine, dark Knight of Liddesdale !" O fading honors of the dead! O high ambition, lowly laid! XI. The moon on the east oriel shone By foliaged tracery combined; Thou wouldst have thought some fairy's hand 'Twixt poplars straight the ozier wand, In many a freakish knot, had twined; Then framed a spell, when the work was done, And changed the willow-wreaths to stone. The silver light, so pale and faint, Show'd many a prophet, and many a saint, Whose image on the glass was dyed; And trampled the Apostate's pride. The cos example, and most of the prologues to the cantos. tume, too, is admirable. The tone is antique; and it might be read for instruction as a picture of the manners of the mid dle ages." "November 2, 1805.-We are perfectly enchanted with Walter Scott's Lay of the Last Minstrel. He is surely the man born at last to translate the Iliad. Are not the good parts of his poem the most Homeric of any thing in our language? There are tedious passages, and so are there in Homer."-SIR JAMES MACKINTOSH, Life, vol. i. pp. 254, 262. 10 A large marble stone, in the chancel of Melrose, is pointed out as the monument of Alexander II., one of the greatest of our early kings; others say, it is the resting-place of Waldeve, one of the early abbots, who died in the odor of sanctity. 11 See Appendix, Note 2 C. A wizard, of such dreaded fame, The bells would ring in Notre Dame !" The words that cleft Eildon hills in three,"* 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, His conscience was awakened: He bethought him of his sinful deed, And he gave me a sign to come with speed: 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, And I dug his chamber among the dead, XVII. "Lo, Warrior! now, the Cross of Red Points to the grave of the mighty dead; Within it burns a wondrous light, To chase the spirits that love the night: That lamp shall burn unquenchably, Until the eternal doom shall be." Slow moved the Monk to the broad flag-stone, 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; Till the toil-drops fell from his brows, like rain. That he moved the massy stone at length. I would you had been there, to see Show'd the Monk's cowl, and visage pale, XIX. Before their eyes the Wizard lay, Like a pilgrim from beyond the sea: His left hand held his Book of Might; A silver cross was in his right; The lamp was placed beside his knee: High and majestic was his look, At which the fellest fiends had shook, And all unruffled was his face: They trusted his soul had gotten grace.® XX. Often had William of Deloraine And neither known remorse nor awe; he had loved with brotherly affection-the horror of Deloraine, and his belief that the corpse frowned, as he withdrew the magic volume from its grasp, are, in a succeeding part of the narrative, circumstances not more happily conceived than exquisitely wrought."-Critical Review. Yet now remorse and awe he own'd; He might not endure the sight to see, 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 mayst not look upon, Are gathering fast round the yawning stone!" He thought, as he took it, the dead man frown'd ;' XXII. When the huge stone sunk o'er the tomb, For the moon had gone down, and the stars were few; And, as the Knight and Priest withdrew, They hardly might the postern gain. "Tis said, as through the aisles they pass'd, I say XXIV. The Knight breathed free in the morning wind, And strove his hardihood to find: He was glad when he pass'd the tombstones gray, Which girdle round the fair Abbaye; And his joints, with nerves of iron twined, XXV. The sun had brighten'd Cheviot gray, 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. XXVI. Why does fair Margaret so early awake,' And the silken knots, which in hurry she would make, Why tremble her slender fingers to tie; The ladye steps in doubt and dread, And she glides through greenwood at dawn of light To meet Baron Henry, her own true knight. 4"How true, sweet, and original is this description of Margaret-the trembling haste with which she attires herself, descends, and speeds to the bower!"- ANNA SE WARD. XXVIII. That Dwarf was scarce an earthly man, The Knight and ladye fair are met, A fairer pair were never seen To meet beneath the hawthorn green. Where would you find the peerless fair, XXIX. And now, fair dames, methinks I see Your waving locks ye backward throw, And how the Knight, with tender fire, But never, never cease to love; And how she blush'd, and how she sigh'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. XXX. Alas! fair dames, your hopes are vain! XXXI. And held his crested helm and spear: 1 See Appendix, Note 2 I. 2 The idea of the imp domesticating himself with the first person he met, and subjecting himself to that one's authority, is perfectly consonant to old opinions. Ben Jonson, in his play of "The Devil is an Ass," has founded the leading incident of that comedy upon this article of the popular creed. A fiend, styled Pug, is ambitious for figuring in the world, and petitions his superior for permission to exhibit himself upon earth. The devil grants him a day-rule, but clogs it with this condition, "Satan-Only thus more, I bind you To serve the first man that you meet; and him If the tales were true that of him ran 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; But where he rode one mile, the Dwarf ran four, And the Dwarf was first at the castle door. XXXII. Use lessens marvel, it is said: This elvish Dwarf with the Baron staid; An it had not been for his ministry. All between Home and Hermitage, Talk'd of Lord Cranstoun's Goblin-Page. XXXIII. For the Baron went on pilgrimage, To Mary's Chapel of the Lowes; And he would pay his vows. But the Ladye of Branksome gather'd a band I'll show you now; observe him, follow him; It is observable that in the same play, Pug alludes to the spareness of his diet. Mr. Scott's goblin, though "waspish, arch, and litherlie," proves a faithful and honest retainer to the lord, into whose service he had introduced himself. This sort of inconsistency seems also to form a prominent part of the diabolic character. Thus, in the romances of the Round Table, we find Merlin, the son of a devil, exerting himself most zealously in the cause of virtue and religion, the friend and counsellor of King Arthur, the chastiser of wrongs, and the scourge of the infidels. 3 See Appendix, Note 2 K. Through Douglas-burn, up Yarrow stream,' XXXIV. And now, in Branksome's good green wood, The Dwarf waves his long lean arm on high, WHILE thus he pour'd the lengthen'd tale, The Lay of the Last Minstrel. CANTO THIRD. I. AND said I that my limbs were old, And my poor wither'd heart was dead, 1 See notes on The Douglas Tragedy in the Minstrelsy, vol. iii. p. 3.-ED. 2 Wood-pigeon. And that I might not sing of love?- In peace, Love tunes the shepherd's reed; Love rules the court, the camp, the grove, And men below, and saints above; III. So thought Lord Cranstoun, as I ween, And scarce his helmet could he don, IV. But no whit weary did he seem, Few were the words, and stern and high, Gave signal soon of dire debate. In rapid round the Baron bent; He sigh'd a sigh, and pray'd a prayer; spear, The crest of the Cranstouns, in allusion to their name, is a crane dormant, holding a stone in his foot, with an emphatic border motto, Thou shalt want ere I want. |