It was not framed for village churls, But when he caught the measure wild, In varying cadence, soft or strong, CANTO I I. THE feast was over in Branksome tower, Her bower that was guarded by word and by spell, Jesu Maria, shield us well! No living wight, save the ladye alone, II. The tables were drawn, it was idlesse all; Knight, and page, and household squire, Loiter'd through the lofty hall, Or crowded round the ample fire; The stag hounds, weary with the chase, Lay stretch'd upon the rushy floor, And urged, in dreams, the forest race, From Teviotstone to Eskdale-moor. III. Nine-and-twenty knights of fame Hung their shields in Branksome hall; Brought them their steeds from bower to stall; They were all knights of metal true, IV. Ten of them were sheathed in steel, Pillow'd on buckler cold and hard; They carved at the meal With gloves of steel, And they drank the red wine through the helmet barr'd. Until, amid his sorrowing clan, Her son lisp'd from the nurse's knee"And if I live to be a man, My father's death revenged shall be!" Then fast the mother's tears did seek To dew the infant's kindling cheek. X. All loose her negligent attire, Hung Margaret o'er her slaughter'd sire, Had filial grief supplied; For hopeless love, and anxious fear, And well she knew, her mother dread, XI. Of noble race the ladye came; Of Bethune's line of Picardie; He learn'd the art that none may name, By feat of magic mystery; For when, in studious mood, he paced XII. And of his skill, as bards avoW, That moans the mossy turrets round. That chafes against the scaur's* red side? That moans old Branksome's turrets round? XIII. At the sullen moaning sound, Loud whoops the startled owl. * Scaur, a precipitous bank of earth. XIV. From the sound of Teviot's tide, The lady knew it well! It was the spirit of the flood that spoke, And he call'd on the spirit of the fell. XV. RIVER SPIRIT. "Sleep'st thou, brother?" MOUNTAIN SPIRIT. "Brother, nay On my hills the moonbeams play. Emerald rings on brown heath tracing, Up, and mark their nimble feet! XVI. RIVER SPIRIT. "Tears of an imprison'd maiden Mourns beneath the moon's pale beam. XVII. MOUNTAIN SPIRIT. Arthur's slow wain his course doth roll In utter darkness round the pole; The northern bear lowers black and grim; Orion's studded belt is dim: Twinkling faiut, and distant far, Shimmers through mist each planet star; Ill may I read their high decree! But no kind influence deign they shower On Teviot's tide, and Branksome's tower, Till pride be quell'd, and love be free." XVIII. The unearthly voices ceased, And the heavy sound was still; It died on the river's breast, It died on the side of the hill, But round Lord David's tower The sound still floated near; For it rung in the ladye's bower, And it rung in the ladye's ear. She raised her stately head, And her heart throbb'd high with pride:"Your mountains shall bend, And your streams ascend, Ere Margaret be our foeman's bride! XIX. The ladye sought the lofty hall, Where many a bold retainer lay, And, with jocund din, among them all, In mimic foray* rode. E'en bearded knights, in arms grown old, Share in his frolic gambols bore, Albeit their hearts, of rugged mould, Were stubborn as the steel they wore. For the gray warriors prophesied, How the brave boy, in future war, Should tame the unicorn's pride, Exalt the crescent and the star. XX. The ladye forgot her purpose high, One moment gazed with a mother's eye, XXI. A stark mosstrooping Scott was he, XXII. "Sir William of Deloraine, good at need Say that the fated hour is come, For this will be Saint Michael's night, Will point to the grave of the mighty dead. XXIII. "What he gives thee, see thou keep; Stay not thou for food or sleep; Be it scroll, or be it book, Into it, knight, thou must not look; * Foray, a predatory inroad. If thou readest, thou art lorn! Better thou hadst ne'er been born." XXIV. "O swiftly can speed my dapplegray steed, Which drinks of the Teviot clear; Ere break of day," the warrior 'gan say, "Again will I be here: And safer by none may thy errand be done, Letter nor line know I never a one, XXV. Soon in his saddle sate he fast, And cross'd old Borthwick's roaring strand; XXVI. The clattering hoofs the watchmen mark;- He turn'd him now from Teviot side, And gain'd the moor at Horslie hill; XXVII. A moment now he slack'd his speed, *Haribee, the place of executing the Border marauders at Carlisle. The neck-verse is the beginning of the fifty. first psalm, Miserere mei, &c. anciently read by criminals, claiming the benefit of clergy. + Barbican, the defence of the outer gate of a feudal castle. Peel, a Border tower. § An ancient Roman road, crossing through part of Roxburghshire. In bitter mood he spurred fast, In solemn wise did rise and fail, But when Melrose he reach'd, 'twas silence all; Here paused the harp; and with its swell If they approved his minstrelsy: * Barded, or barbed, applied to a horse accoutred with defensive armour. † Lauds, the midnight service of the Catholic church. And, diffident of present praise, His hand was true, his voice was clear, CANTO II. I. Ir thou wouldst view fair Melrose aright, When the broken arches are black in night When silver edges the imagery, And the scrolls that teach thee to live and die; And the owlet to hoot o'er the dead man's grave, II. Short halt did Deloraine make there; For Branksome's chiefs had in battle stood, And lands and livings, many a rood, Had gifted the shrine for their soul's repose. Bold Deloraine his errand said; He enter'd the cell of the ancient priest, To hail the monk of St. Mary's aisle. IV. "The Ladye of Branksome greets thee by me; Says that the fated hour is come, * Aventayle, visor of the helmet. And that to-night I shall watch with thee, To win the treasure of the tomb." From sackcloth couch the monk arose, With toil his stiffen'd limbs he rear'd; A hundred years had flung their snows On his thin locks and floating beard. V. And strangely on the knight look'd he, And his blue eyes gleam'd wild and wide; "And, darest thou, warrior! seek to see What heaven and hell alike would hide? My breast, in belt of iron pent, With shirt of hair and scourge of thorn: For threescore years, in penance spent, My knees those flinty stones have worn; Yet all too little to atone For knowing what should ne'er be known In ceaseless prayer and penance drie, Then, daring warrior, follow me!" Now, slow and faint, he led the way, Where, cloister'd round, the garden lay: The pillard arches were over their head, The keystone, that lock'd each ribbed aisle, Full many a scutcheon and banner riven, Around the screened altar's pale; O gallant chief of Otterburne! And thine, dark knight of Liddesdale! XI. The moon on the east oriel shone By foliaged tracery combined: Thou would'st have thought some fairy's hand "Twixt poplars straight the osier 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 died; And trampled the apostate's pride. XII. They sate them down on a marble stone; (A Scottish monarch slept below ;) Thus spoke the monk, in solemn tone; "I was not always a man of wo; For Paynim countries I have trod, And fought beneath the cross of God: And beneath their feet were the bones of the dead. Now, strange to my eyes thine arms appear, VIII. Spreading herbs, and flow'rets bright, But was carved in the cloister'd arches as fair. So had he seen, in fair Castile, The youth in glitt'ring squadrons start; Sudden the flying gennet wheel, And hurl the unexpected dart. He knew, by the streamers that shot so bright, That spirits were riding the northern light. IX. By a steel-clench'd postern door, They enter'd now the chancel tall: The darken'd roof rose high aloof On pillars, lofty, and light, and small; And their iron clang sounds strange to my ear. XIII. "In these far climes, it was my lot The bells would ring in Notre Dame ! And, warrior, I could say to thee And bridled the Tweed with a curb of stone; 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; * Corbells, the projections from which the arches spring, usually cut in a fantastic face or mask. |