« 前へ次へ »
The monk return d him to his cell,
And many a prayer and penance sped; Wien the convent met at the noontide 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 brcathed free in the morning wind, And strove his bardihood to find: lle was glad when he pass'd the tomb-stones gray, Which girdle round the fair abbaye; For the mystic book, to his bosom press'd, Felt like a load upon his breast; And his joints, with nerves of iron twined, Shook, like the aspen leaves in wind. Full fain was he when the dawn of day Began to brighten Cheviot
grayi He joy'd to see the cheerful light, And he said Ave Mary as well as he might.
Like a pilgrim from beyond the sea ;
The lamp was placed beside his knee:
And neither known remorse nor awe;
When this strange scene of death he saw.
frown'd; (16) Dut the glare of the sepulchral light, Perchance, had dazzled the warrior's sight.
XXII. When the huge stone sunk o'er the toil), The night return d in double gloom, For the moon had gone down and the stars were few; And as the knight and priest withdrew, With wavering steps and dizzy brain, They hardly might the postern gain. "T is said, as through the aisles, tbey past, They lieard strange noises on the blast; And through the cloister-galleries small, Which at mid-hcight thread the chancel wall, Loud sobs, and laughter louder, ran, And voices unlike the voice of man ; As if the fiends kept holiday, Because these spells were brought to day. I cannot tell how the truth may be; I say the tale as 't was said to me.
XXIII. « Now bie thee hence, the father said, « And when we are on death-bed laid, 0
may Our dear Ladye, and sweet St John, Forgive our souls for the deed we have done!»
The sun had brightend the Carter's side, And soon beneath the rising day
Smiled Branksome towers and Teviot tide. The wild birds told their warbling tale, And wakend
flower that blows; And peeped forth the violet pale,
And spread her breast the mountain rose ; And lovelier than the rose so red,
Yet paler than the violet pale, She carly left her sleepless bed,
The fairest maid of Teviotdale.
. XXVI. Why does fair Margaret so early awake,
And don her kirtle so hastilie: And the silken knots, which in hurry. she would
As she glides down the secret stair ;
As hie rouses him up from his lair;
XXVII. The ladye steps in doubt and dread, Lest her watchful mother hear her tread: The ladye caresses the rough blood-bound, Lost his voice should waken the castle round; The watchman's bugle is not blown, For he was her foster-father's son: And she glides through the green-wood at dawn of
light, To meet Baron Henry, her own truc knight.
XXVIII. The knight and ladye fair are met, And under the hawthorn's boughs are set. A fairer pair were never seen To mcet beneath the hawthorn green.
! A mountain on the border of England, above Jedburgli.
He was stately, and young, and tall,
find the peerless fair, With Margaret of Branksome might compare!
He was waspish, arch, and litherlie,
But well Lord Cranstoun served he: And he of his service was full fain; For once he had been ta'en or slain,
An it had not been his ministry. All between Home and Hermitage Talk'd of Lord Cranstoun's goblin-page.
And sidelong bend your necks of snow:
To paint his faithful passion strove;
But never, never, cease to love; And how she blush'd, and how she sighd, And, half consenting, half denied, And said that she would die a maid ;Yet, might the bloody feud be stay'd, Henry of Cranstoun, and only he, Margaret of Branksome's choice should be.
To Mary's chapel of the Lowes :
And he would pay his vows. But the Ladye of Branksome gather'd a band Of the best that would ride at her command;(18)
The trysting-place was Newark Lee.
They were three hundred spears and three.
XXX Alas! fair dames, your hopes are vain! My harp has lost the enchanting strain;
Its lightness would my age reprove: My hairs are gray, my limbs are old, My heart is dead, my veins are cold: I
may not, must not, sing of love.
XXXIV. And now, in Branksome's good green-wood, As under the aged oak he stood, The baron's courser pricks his ears, As if a distant noise he hears; The Dwarf waves his long lean arm on high, And sigas to the lovers to part and fly; No time was then to vow or sigh. Fair Margaret, through the hazel grove, Flew like the startled cushat-dove: The Dwarf the stirrup held, and rein; Vaulted the knight on his steed amain, And, pondering deep that morning's scene, Rode eastward through the hawthorns green.
And held his crested helm and spear:
Through all the Border, far and near.
A leap of thirty feet and three,
And lighted at Lord Cranstoun's knee. Lord Cranstoun was some whit dismay'd; 'T is said that five good miles he rade,
To rid him of his company; But where he rode one mile, the Dwarf ran four, And the Dwarf was first at the castle door.
While thus he pourd the lengthen d tale, The Minstrel's voice began to fail : Full slyly smiled the observant page, And gave the wither'd hand of age A goblet, crown'd with mighty wine, The blood of Velez' scorched vine. He raised the silver cup on high, And, while the big drop filld his eye, Pray'd God to bless the duchess long, And all who cheer'd a son of song. The attending maidens smiled to see flow long, how deep, how zealously, The precious juice the Minstrel quaff'd; And he, embolden'd by the draught, Look'd gaily back to them, and laugh d. The cordial nectar of the bowl Swell'd his old veins, and cheerd his soul; A lighter, livelier prelude ran, Ere thus hisdale again began.
XXXII. Use lessens marvel, it is said: This elfish Dwarf with the baron staid; Little he ate, and less he spoke, Nor mingled with the menial flock: And oft apart his arms he tossid, And often mutter'd, « Lost! lost! lost!»
And said I that my limbs were old;
And that I might not sing of love?Ilow could I to the dearest theme, That ever warm'd a minstrel's dream,
So foul, so false a recreant prove! How could I name Love's very name, Nor wake my heart to notes of flame!
VI. Stern was the dint the Borderer lent; The stately baron backwards bent; • Bent backwards to his horse's tail, And his plumes went scattering on the gale; The lough ash spear, so stout and true, Into a thousand tlinders tlew. But Cranstoun's lance, of more avail, Pierced through, like silk, the Borderer's mail; Through shield, and jack, and acton past, Deep in his bosom broke at last.Still sate the warrior saddle-fast, Till, stumbling in the mortal shock, Down went the steed, the girthing broke, Hurld on a leap lay man and horse. The baron onward passid his course ; Nor knew--so giddy roll'd his brainHis foe lay stretch'd upon the plain.
JI. in peace, Love (unes the shepherd's reed; In war, he mounts the warrior's steed; In halls, in gay attire is seen; In hamlets, dances on the green. Love rules the court, the camp,
grove, And men below, and saints above; For love is heaven, and heaven is fove.
JI. So thought Lord Cranstoun, as I ween, While, pondering deep the tender scene, He rode through Branksome's hawthorn green.
But the page shouted wild and shrill And scarce his helmet could he don,
When downward from the shady hill A stately knight came pricking on. That warrior's steed, so dapple-gray, Was dark with sweat, and splash'd with clay;
His armour red with many a stain: lle seem'd in such a weary plight, As if he had ridden the livelong night;
For it was William of Deloraine.
Lie senseless as the bloody clay,
And there beside the warrior stay, And tend him in his doubtful state, And lead him to Branksome castle-gate : His noble mind was inly moved For the kinsman of the maid he loved. « This shalt thou do without delay; No longer here myself may slay : Unless the swifter I speed away, Short shrift will be at my dying day.»–
vili. Away in speed Lord Cranstoun rode ; The goblin-page behind abode; His lord's command he ne'er withstood, Though small liis pleasure to do good. As the corslet off he took, The Dwarf espied the mighty book! Much he marvell’d, a knight of pride Like a book-bosom'd priest should ride: (2) He thought not to search or staunch the wound, Until the secret he had found.
IV. But no whit weary did he seem, When, dancing in the sunny beam, Ile mark d the crane on the baron's crest; (1) For his ready spear was in his rest. Few were the words, and stern and high,
That markd the foemen's feudal hale,
Gave signal soon of dire debate.
He sigh'd a sigh, and pray'd a prayer ;
The sigh was to his ladye fair. Stout Deloraine nor sigh'd nor pray'd, Nor saint nor ladye call'd to aid ; But he stoop'd his head, and couclid his spear, And spurr'd his steed to full carcer. The mecting of these champions proud Scem'd like the bursting thunder-cloud.
IX. The iron band, the iron clasp, Resisted long the eltin grasp ; For when the first he had undone, It closed as he the next begun. Those iron clasps, that iron band, Would not yield to unchristen'd hand, Till he smeard the cover o'er With the Borderer's curdled zore; A moment then the volume spread, And one short spell therein he read. It had much of glamour' might, (3) Could make a ladye seem a knight; The cobwebs on a dungeon wall Seem tapestry in lordly ball; A put-shell seem a gilded barge, A sheeling2 seem a palace large,
1 Magical delusion. : A shepherd's lut.
And youth seem age, and age seem youthAll was delusion, nought was truth.
The woodland brook he bounding cross d, And laugh'd, and shouted « Lost! lost! lost!»
X. He had not read another spell, When on his cheek a buffet fell, So fierce, it stretchid him on the plain, Beside the wounded Deloraine. From the ground he rose dismay'd, And shook his huge and malled head ; One word he mutterd, and no more« Man of age, thou smilest sore!» No more the elfin page Into the wondrous book to pry; The clasps, though smear'd with christian gore, Shut faster than they were before, He hid it underneath his cloak.Now, if you ask who gave the stroke, I cannot tell, so mot I thrive; It was not given by man alive. (4)
XIV. Full sore amazed at the wondrous change,
And frighten'd, as a child might be, At the wild yell and visage strange, And the dark words of
gramarye, The child, amidst the forest bower, Stood rooted like a lily tlower ; And when at length, with trembling pace,
He sought to find where Branksome lay, He feard to see that grisly face
Glare from some thicket on his way.
the more he sought his way,
XI. Unwillingly himself he address'd To do his master's high behest : He lifted up the living corse, And laid it on the weary
horse; He led him into Branksome-ball, Before the beards of the warders all; And each did after swear and say, There only pass'd a wain of hay. He took him to Lord David's tower, Even to the Ladye's secret bower; And, but that stronger spells were spread, And the door might not be opened, He had laid him on her very bed. Whate'er he did of gramarye,' Was always done maliciously; He flung the warrior on the ground, And the blood welld freshly from the wound.
Comes nigher still, and nigher;
And his red eye shot fire.
But still in act to spring;
XU. As he repass'd the outer court, He spied the fair young child at sport; He thought to train him to the wood; For, at a word, be it understood, He was always for ill, and never for good. Seem'd to the boy, some comrade gay Led him forth to the woods to play ; On the draw-bridge the warders stout Saw a terrier and lurcher passing out.
Until they came to a woodland brook ; The running stream dissolved the spell, (5)
And his own elvish shape he took. Could he have had his pleasure vilde, He had crippled the joints of the noble child; Or, with his fingers long and lean, Had strangled him in fiendish spleen. But his awful mother he had in dread, And also tris power was limited; So he but scowl'd on the startled child, And darted through the forest wild ;
And quell'd the ban-dog's ire :
And born in Lancashire.
Five hundred feet him fro;
No archer bended bow.
Set off his supburnt face;
Uis barret-cap did grace;
XVII. His kirtle, made of forest green,
Reachi'd scantly to his knee,
XVIII. lle would not do the fair child harm, But held him with his powerful arm, That he might neither fight nor flee For when the red cross spied he, The boy strove long and violently. « Now, by St George,» the archer cries,
Edward, methinks we have a prize! This boy's fair face, and courage free, Show he is come of high degree.»
XIX. « Yes! I am come of high degree,
For I am the heir of bold Buccleuch ; And if thou dost not set me free,
False southron, thou shalt dearly rue! For Walter of Harden shall come with speed, And William of Deloraine, good at need, And every Scoti from Esk to Tweed; And, if thou dost not let me go, Despite thy arrows and thy bow, I'll have thee hany'd to feed the crow!»
And with a charm she staunch'd the blood; (7) She bade the gash be cleansed and bound :
No longer by his couch she stood; But she has ta'en the broken lance,
And washi'd it from the clotted gore,
And salved the splinter o'er avd o'er. (8)
Then to her maidens she did say,
Within the course of a night and day.
Our wardens bad need to keep good order : My bow of yew to a hazel wand,
Thou 'lt make them work upon the Border. Meantime, be pleased to come with me, For good Lord Dacre shalt thou see : I think our work is well begun, When we have taken thy father's son.»—
XXIV. So pass'd the day-the evening fell. 'T was near the time of curfew bell; The air was mild, the wind was calm, The stream was smooth, the dew was balm; E'en the rude watchman, on the tower, Enjoy'd and bless'd the lovely hour; Far more fair Margaret loved and blessid The hour of silence and of rest. On the high turret sitting lone, She waked at times the lute's soft tone; Touch'd a wild note, and, all between, Thought of the bower of hawthorns green. Her golden hair stream'd free from band, Her fair cheek resled on her hand, Her blue eyes sought the west afar, For lovers love the western star.
yon the star, o'er Penchryst Pen, That rises slowly to her ken, And, spreading broad its wavering light, Shakes its loose iresses on the night? Is yon red glare the western star ?— 0, 't is the beacon-blaze of war! Scarce could she draw her tightend breath, For well she knew the fire of death !
XXVI. The warder view'd it blazing strong, And blew his war-note loud and long, Till, at the high and haughty sound, Rock, wood, aud river, rung around. The blast alarm'd the festal hall, And startled forth the warriors all;
• Bandelier, belt for carrying ammunition. » Hackbutteer, musketeer.