MELROSE ABBEY. INTERIOR FROM THE WEST,

Engraved & Published by J.B Mould. 29 North Bridge Edinburgh, 1841..

THE NEW YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY

ASTOR, LENOX

TILDEN FOUNDATIONS

to bottom, and each about eight inches broad; the upper part is interwoven with tracery, of a form peculiarly light, graceful, and beautiful.

The finely sculptured and fretted roof still covers the east end of the chancel; in the south side of which there lies on the floor a slab of dark green marble, which is believed to cover the dust of King Alexander II. who was buried beside the high altar of this church in 1249. Near the same spot was also buried the heart of Robert Bruce, after the ineffectual attempt of his friend Sir James Douglas to convey it, as its owner had desired, to Jerusalem. The following beautiful lines on this subject are from the pen of Mrs Hemans.

THE HEART OF BRUCE,

IN MELROSE ABBEY,

HEART, that didst press forward still,
Where the trumpet note rang shrill,
Where the mighty swords were crossing,
And the plumes, like sea-foam, tossing;

First where'er the brave were met,
Last against each dark tide set;
Leader of the charging spear,

Fiery heart, and liest thou here ?
May this narrow spot inurn,

Aught that so could beat and burn?

Heart that loved'st the clarion's blast,
Silent is thy place at last ;

Silent-save when breezes' moan

Comes through weed and fretted stone:
Silent-save when early bird

Sings, where once the mass was heard;
And the wild rose waves around thee,
And the long dark grass hath bound thee;
Sleep'st thou as the swain might sleep,
In his nameless valley deep?

No! brave heart, though cold and lone,
Kingly power is yet thine own,
Feel I not thy spirit brood,
O'er the whisp'ring solitude?
Lo! at one high thought of thee,
Fast they rise, the bold, the free,
Sweeping past thy lowly bed,
With a mute and stately tread,
Shedding their pale armours bright
Forth upon the breathless night,
Bending every warlike plume,
In the prayer o'er saintly tomb.

Is the noble Douglas nigh;
Armed to follow thee or die?
Now, true heart as thou wast wont,
Pass thee to the peril's front,
Where the banner spear is gleaming,
And the battle's red wine streaming;

Till the Paynim quail before thee,
Till the Cross wave proudly o'er thee.
-Dreams! the fallen of a leaf

Wins me from their splendours brief.
Dreams, yet bright ones, scorn them not,
Thou who seek'st the holy spot;
Nor, amidst its lone domain,
Call the faith in relics vain.

The outside of the building is profusely embellished with that exquisite carving which characterises the minutest portions of this noble ruin. In the wall are numerous niches, with finely designed canopies, and, though most of them are empty, a few still contains statues. There are also, in excellent condition, eight windows on the south side of the long nave of the church. The mouldings of these seem nearly as sharp and beautiful as when they passed through the hands of the workman; indicating, in a striking manner, the excellence of the stone which has so effectually resisted, not only the rude treatment it has sustained from the hands of man, but also the slow, though more sure, devastations of time, for a period of nearly seven hundred years. Each of these windows is elegantly formed into the Gothic point, and has three mullions, terminating in a circle on the top, within which