And, with jocund din, among them all, Her son pursued his infant play. In mimic foray1 rode. XX. The Ladye forgot her purpose high XXI. A stark moss-trooping Scott was he, By wily turns, by desperate bounds, Had baffled Percy's best blood-hounds; (16) Moonless midnight, or matin prime: prey XXII. « Sir William of Deloraine, good at need, And in Melrose's holy pile Seek thou the monk of St Mary's aisle. Say, that the fated hour is come, 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; If thou readest, thou art lorn! Better thou hadst ne'er been born.»> Foray, a predatory inroad. 2 Alluding to the armorial bearings of the Scotts and Cars. Soon in his saddle sate he fast, And cross'd old Borthwick's roaring strand; XXVI. The clattering hoofs the watchmen mark ;— «Stand, ho! thou courier of the dark.>> << For Branksome, ho!» the knight rejoin'd, And left the friendly tower behind. He turn'd him now from Teviot side" And, guided by the tinkling rill, And gain'd the moor at Horsliehill; XXVII. A moment now he slack'd his speed, When some sad swain shall teach the grove XXVIII. Unchallenged, thence pass'd Deloraine To ancient Riddel's fair domain, (20) Where Aill, from mountains freed, 1 Hairibee, the place of executing the Border marauders, at Carlisle. The neck-verse is the beginning of the 51st psalm, Miserere mei, etc., anciently read by criminals claiming the benefit of clergy. 2 Barbican, the defence of the outer gate of a feudal castle. 3 Peel, a Border tower. 4 An ancient Roman road, crossing through part of Roxburghshire. Down from the lakes did raving come, Cresting each wave with tawny foam, Like the mane of a chestnut steed. In vain! no torrent, deep or broad, Might bar the bold moss-trooper's road. XXIX. At the first plunge the horse sunk low, Scarce half the charger's neck was seen; And the rider was arm'd complete in mail : Stemm'd a midnight torrent's force. Yet, through good heart and Our Ladye's grace, XXX. Now Bowden Moor the march-man won, And sternly shook his plumed head, As glanced his eye o'er Halidon;2 (21) For on his soul the slaughter red Of that unhallow'd morn arose, When first the Scott and Car were foes; When royal James beheld the fray Prize to the victor of the day; When Home and Douglas, in the van, Bore down Buccleuch's retiring clan, Till gallant Cessford's heart-blood dear Reek'd on dark Elliot's Border spear. XXXI. In bitter mood he spurred fast, Old Melros' rose, and fair Tweed ran: (22) In solemn wise did rise and fail, Like that wild harp, whose magic tone Is waken'd by the winds alone. But when Melrose he reach'd, 't was silence all; He meetly stabled his steed in stall, And sought the convent's lonely wall. HERE paused the harp: and with its swell The master's fire and courage fell: Dejectedly, and low, he bow'd, And, gazing timid on the crowd, He seem'd to seek, in every eye, If they approved his minstrelsy; And, diffident of present praise, Somewhat he spoke of former days, And how old age, and wandering long, Had done his hand and harp some wrong. 1 Barded, or barbed, -applied to a horse accoutred with defensive armour. 2 Halidon-hill, on which the battle of Melrose was fought. 3 Lands, the midnight service of the catholic church. The duchess, and her daughters fair, His hand was true, his voice was clear, CANTO II. I. If thou wouldst view fair Melrose aright, When the broken arches are black in night, And the scrolls that teach thee to live and die; (1) And the owlet to hoot o'er the dead man's grave; Then go but go alone the while- II. Short halt did Deloraine make there; With dagger's hilt, on the wicket strong, << Who knocks so loud, and knocks so late?— << From Branksome I,» the warrior cried, Had gifted the shrine for their souls' repose. (3) III. 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, 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. Wouldst thou thy every future year In ceaseless prayer and penance drie, Yet wait thy latter end with fearThen, daring warrior, follow me!»> VI. << Penance, father, will I none; For mass or prayer can I rarely tarry, When I ride on a Border foray: (4) 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 fought in Spain and Italy. 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. (5) VIII. Spreading herbs and flowerets bright Nor herb nor floweret glisten'd there, But was carved in the cloister'd arches as fair. The youth in glittering squadrons start; And hurl the unexpected dart. (6) He knew, by the streamers that shot so bright, That spirits were riding the northern light. IX. By a steel-clenched postern door, They enter'd now the chancel tall; The darken'd roof rose high aloof On pillars, lofty, and light, and small: The key-stone, that lock'd each ribbed aisle, The corbells were carved grotesque and grim, X. Full many a scutcheon and banner, riven, Shook to the cold night-wind of heaven, Around the screened altar's pale; And there the dying lamps did burn Before thy low and lonely urn, O gallant chief of Otterburne! (7) And thine, dark knight of Liddesdale! (8) O fading honours of the dead! O high ambition, lowly laid! XI. The moon on the east oriel shone (9) 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. To meet the wond'rous Michael Scott: (11) The bells would ring in Notre Dame! (13) The words that cleft Eildon hills in three, And bridled the Tweed with a curb of stone: (14) 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; Corbells, the projections from which the arches spring, usually cut in a fantastic face, or mask. He bethought him of his sinful deed, XV. << I swore to bury his mighty book, That never mortal might therein look; And never to tell where it was hid, Save at his chief of Branksome's need; And when that need was past and o'er, Again the volume to restore. I buried him on St Michael's night, When the bell toll'd one, and the moon was bright, XVI. It was a night of woe and dread, When Michael in the tomb I laid! Strange sounds along the chancel past, The banners waved without a blast» -Still spoke the monk when the bell toll'd one!— I tell you, that a braver man Than William of Deloraine, good at need, Against a foe ne'er spurr'd a steed; XVII. << Lo, warrior! now the cross of red To chase the spirits that love the night; Slow moved the monk to the broad flag-stone, He pointed to a secret nook; 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; His sinewy frame o'er the grave-stone bent; 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 XIX. Before their eyes the wizard lay, The lamp was placed beside his knee: They trusted his soul had gotten grace. Often had William of Deloraine Rode through the battle's bloody plain, And neither known remorse nor awe; His breath came thick, his head swam round, eyes He might not endure the sight to see Of the man he had loved so brotherly. When the huge stone sunk o'er the tomb, For the moon had gone down, and the stars were few; XXIII. «Now hie thee hence, the father said, And when we are on death-bed laid, may Our dear Ladye, and sweet St John, Forgive our souls for the deed we have done!, The monk return'd him to his cell, And many a prayer and penance sped; When the convent met at the noon-tide bell, The Monk of St Mary's aisle was dead! Before the cross was the body laid, With hands clasp'd fast, as if still he pray'd. XXIV. The knight breathed free in the morning wind, He was glad when he pass'd the tomb-stones gray, For the mystic book, to his bosom press'd, And his joints, with nerves of iron twined, He joy'd to see the cheerful light, 1 A mountain on the border of England, above Jedburgh. |