a small trunk, i.e. a body without the limbs. So It. torso, a stump or fragment, esp. of a statue.

(1) wight, i. I, or wicht, adj. 'active;' lit. lively (wich is used in Lancashire for quick, alive;' Icel. kvikr, Lat. viv-us; cp. Gk. Bios). So Marmion, vi. 20,

"O for one hour of Wallace wight."

(2) wight, i. I, or wicht, subst. a creature, man = A. S. wiht, a creature, man, or thing. Eng. wight and whit.

SCOTT'S POEMS

The Lay of the Last Minstrel

WITH INTRODUCTION, NOTES AND GLOSSARY

BY

J. SURTEES PHILLPOTTS, M.A.

ASSISTANT MASTER IN RUGBY SCHOOL,

AND FORMERLY FELLOW OF NEW COLLEGE, OXFORD

PART II

CANTOS II & III

RIVINGTONS

London, Drford, and Cambridge

CANTO SECOND.

IF

I.

F thou would'st view fair Melrose aright,
Go visit it by the pale moonlight;

For the gay beams of lightsome day,
Gild, but to flout, the ruins grey.

When the broken arches are black in night,
And each shafted oriel glimmers white;
When the cold light's uncertain shower
Streams on the ruined central tower ;
When buttress and buttress, alternately,
Seem framed of ebon and ivory;
When silver edges the imagery,

And the scrolls that teach thee to live and die;
When distant Tweed is heard to rave,

And the owlet to hoot o'er the dead man's grave,
Then go-but go alone the while-
Then view St. David's ruin'd pile;
And, home returning, soothly swear,
Was never scene so sad and fair!

II.

Short halt did Deloraine make there :
Little reck'd he of the scene so fair;
With dagger's hilt, on the wicket strong,
He struck full loud, and struck full long.
The porter hurried to the gate-

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Who knocks so loud, and knocks so late?"—

"From Branksome I," the warrior cried;

And straight the wicket open'd wide;

For Branksome's Chiefs had in battle stood,
To fence the rights of fair Melrose ;

And lands and livings, many a rood,

Had gifted the shrine for their souls' repose.

III.

Bold Deloraine his errand said;
The porter bent his humble head;
With torch in hand, and feet unshod,
And noiseless step the path he trod;
The arched cloister, far and wide,
Rang to the warrior's clanking stride,
Till, stooping low his lofty crest,
He enter'd the cell of the ancient priest,
And lifted his barrèd aventayle,
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,

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.
Would'st thou thy every future year

In ceaseless prayer and penance dree,
Yet wait thy latter end with fear-

Then, daring Warrior, follow me!"—

VI.

"Penance, father, will I none;
Prayer know I hardly one;

For mass or prayer can I rarely tarry,
Save to patter an Ave Mary,

When I ride on a Border foray.

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