Rippling against the vessel's side,
As slow it mounted o'er the tide.-
But where is she?—her eyes are dark,
Are 'wilder'd still-Is this the bark,
The same that from Hermosia's bay
Bore her at morn,-whose bloody way
The sea-dog tracks?-No! strange and new
Is all that meets her wondering view.
Upon a galliot's deck she lies,

Beneath no rich pavilion's shade,
No plumes to fan her sleeping eyes,
Nor jasmine on her pillow laid.
But the rude litter, roughly spread
With war-cloaks, is her homely bed,
And shawl and sash, on javelins hung
For awning, o'er her head are flung.
Shuddering she look'd around-there lay
A group of warriors in the sun,
Resting their limbs, as for that day
The ministry of death were done.
Some gazing on the drowsy sea,
Lost in unconscious reverie;

And some, who seem'd but ill to brook
That sluggish calm, with many a look
To the slack sail impatient cast,
As loose it flagg'd before the mast.

Lalla Rookh,

K

COMBAT OF THE BORDER CHIEFS, MUSGRAVE AND DELORAINE.

ILL would it suit your gentle ear,

Ye lovely listeners, to hear

How to the axe the helms did sound,

And blood pour'd down from many a wound;
For desperate was the strife, and long,
And either warrior fierce and strong.
But, were each dame a listening knight,
I well could tell how warriors fight;
For I have seen war's lightning flashing,
Seen the claymore with bayonet clashing,
Seen through red blood the war-horse dashing,
And scorn'd, amid the reeling strife,

To yield a step for death or life.

'Tis done, 'tis done! that fatal blow

Has stretch'd him on the bloody plain;
He strives to rise-Brave Musgrave, no!
Thence never shalt thou rise again!
He chokes in blood-some friendly hand
Undo the visor's barred band,
Unfix the gorget's iron clasp,

And give him room for life to gasp! ́
O, bootless aid!-haste, holy Friar,
Haste, ere the sinner shall expire!
Of all his guilt let him be shriven,
And smooth his path from earth to heaven!

In haste the holy Friar sped ;-
His naked foot was dyed with red,

Scott.

As through the lists he ran;
Unmindful of the shouts on high,
That hail'd the conqueror's victory,
He raised the dying man;

Loose waved his silver beard and hair,
As o'er him he kneel'd down in prayer;
And still the crucifix on high

He holds before his darkening eye;
And still he bends an anxious ear
His faultering penitence to hear;

Still props him from the bloody sod,
Still, even when soul and body part,
Pours ghostly comfort on his heart,
And bids him trust in God!

Unheard he prays;—the death-pang's o'er !— Richard of Musgrave breathes no more.

As if exhausted in the fight,

Or musing o'er the piteous sight,

The silent victor stands:

His beaver did he not unclasp,

Mark'd not the shouts, felt not the grasp

Of gratulating hands.

When lo! strange cries of wild surprise,
Mingled with seeming terror, rise
Among the Scottish bands;
And all, amid the throng'd array,
In panic haste gave open way
To a half-naked, ghastly man,
Who downward from the castle ran :
He cross'd the barriers at a bound,
And wild and haggard look'd around,
As dizzy and in pain;

And all, upon the armed ground,
Knew William of Deloraine!

Each ladye sprung from seat with speed;
Vaulted each marshal from his steed;
"And who art thou," they cried,
"Who hast this battle fought and won?"
His plumed helm was soon undone-
"Cranstoun of Teviot-side!

For this fair prize I've fought and won,"—
And to the Ladye led her son.

Full oft the rescued boy she kiss'd,
And often press'd him to her breast;
For, under all her dauntless show,
Her heart had throbb'd at every blow;
Yet not Lord Cranstoun deign'd she greet,
Though low he kneeled at her feet.

Me lists not tell what words were made,
What Douglas, Home, and Howard said—
-For Howard was a generous foe-
And how the clan united pray'd,
The Ladye would the feud forego,

And deign to bless the nuptial hour

Of Cranstoun's Lord and Teviot's Flower.

She look'd to river, look'd to hill,

Thought on the Spirit's prophecy, Then broke her silence stern and still,"Not you, but Fate, has vanquish'd me: Their influence kindly stars may shower On Teviot's tide and Branksome's tower, For pride is quell'd, and love is free." She took fair Margaret by the hand, Who, breathless, trembling, scarce might stand; That hand to Cranstoun's lord gave she:

"As I am true to thee and thine,

Do thou be true to me and mine!

This clasp of love our bond shall be; For this is your betrothing day.

All as they left the listed plain,
Much of the story she did gain :
How Cranstoun fought with Deloraine,
And of his Page, and of the Book

Which from the wounded knight he took;
And how he sought her castle high,
That morn, by help of Gramarye;
How, in Sir William's armour dight,
Stolen by his Page, while slept the knight,
He took on him the single fight.

But half his tale he left unsaid,

And linger'd till he join'd the maid.
Cared not the Ladye to betray

Her mystic arts in view of day;

But well she thought, ere midnight came,
Of that strange Page the pride to tame,
From his foul hands the Book to save,
And send it back to Michael's grave.

Needs not to tell each tender word

"Twixt Margaret and 'twixt Cranstoun's lord;
Nor how she told of former woes,
And how her bosom fell and rose,
While he and Musgrave bandied blows.
Needs not these lovers' joy to tell;

One day, fair maids, you'll know them well.

Lay of the Last Minstrel.