Where, with the rock's wood-cover'd side, Rise turrets in fantastic pride, And feudal banners flaunt between : Where the rude torrent's brawling course Was shagged with thorn and tangling sloe, The ashlar buttress braves its force, And ramparts frown in battled row. 'Tis night—the shades of keep and spire Obscurely dance on Evan's stream; And on the wave the warder's fire Is chequering the moonlight beam. Fades slow their light; the east is grey; The drawbridge falls-they hurry out- Urge the shy steed, and slack the rein. First of his troop, the Chief rode on; His shouting merry-men throng behind ; The steed of princely Hamilton Was fleeter than the mountain wind. From the thick copse the roebucks bound, Through the huge oaks of Evandale, Whose limbs a thousand years have worn, Mightiest of all the beasts of chase, Crashing the forest in his race, The Mountain Bull comes thundering on. Fierce, on the hunter's quiver'd band, Aim'd well, the Chieftain's lance has flown ; pryse! ! 'Tis noon-against the knotted oak Proudly the chieftain mark'd his clan, "Why fills not Bothwellhaugh his place, Stern Claud replied, with darkening face, No more the warrior wilt thou see. "Few suns have set since Woodhouselee Saw Bothwellhaugh's bright goblets foam, When to his hearths, in social glee, The war-worn soldier turn'd him home. "There, wan from her maternal throes, His Margaret, beautiful and mild, Sate in her bower, a pallid rose, And peaceful nursed her new-born child. "O change accursed! past are those days; "What sheeted phantom wanders wild, Where mountain Eske through woodland flows, Her arms enfold a shadowy child Oh! is it she, the pallid rose? "The wilder'd traveller sees her glide, He ceased-and cries of rage and grief And half unsheathed his Arran brand. But who, o'er bush, o'er stream and rock, Whose cheek is pale, whose eyeballs glare, From gory selle, and reeling steed, Sprung the fierce horseman with a bound, And, reeking with the recent deed, He dash'd his carbine on the ground. Sternly he spoke ""Tis sweet to hear To drink a tyrant's dying groan. "Your slaughter'd quarry proudly trode, At dawning morn, o'er dale and down, But prouder base-born Murray rode Through old Linlithgow's crowded town. "From the wild Border's humbled side, In haughty triumph marched he, While Knox relax'd his bigot pride, And smiled, the traitorous pomp to see. "But can stern Power, with all his vaunt, Or change the purpose of Despair? "With hackbut bent, my secret stand, "Dark Morton, girt with many a spear, "Glencairn and stout Parkhead were nigh, "Mid pennon'd spears, a steely grove, "From the raised vizor's shade, his eye, "But yet his sadden'd brow confess'd "The death-shot parts-the charger springs- The wolf, by whom his infant fell! "But dearer to my injured eye To see in dust proud Murray roll; "My Margaret's spectre glided near; "Then speed thee, noble Chatlerault ! Vaults every warrior to his steed; Loud bugles join their wild acclaim— "Murray is fall'n, and Scotland freed ! Couch, Arran! couch thy spear of flame!” But, see the minstrel vision fails The glimmering spears are seen no more; The shouts of war die on the gales, Or sink in Evan's lonely roar. For the loud bugle, pealing high, The blackbird whistles down the vale, And sunk in ivied ruins lie The banner'd towers of Evandale. For Chiefs, intent on bloody deed, And long may peace and pleasure own Nor e'er a ruder guest be known On the fair banks of Evandale ! |