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TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE CHARLES, EARL OF DALKEITH, This Poem is Inscribed,

BY THE AUTHOR.

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ADVERTISEMENT.

poem now offered to the public is intended to the customs and manners which anciently ed on the Borders of England and Scotland. habitants, living in a state partly pastoral and warlike, and combining habits of constant deen with the influence of a rude spirit of chiwere often engaged in scenes highly susceptible poetical ornament. As the description of scenery manners was more the object of the author than a ned and regular narrative, the plan of the ancient encal romance was adopted, which allows greater ade, in this respect, than would be consistent with dgnity of a regular poem. The same model red other facilities, as it permits an occasional ration of measure, which, in some degree, authorthe change of rhythm in the text. The machinery dopted from popular belief, would have seemed in a poem which did not partake of the rudeof the old ballad or metrical romance. for these reasons, the poem was put into the mouth of an ancient minstrel, the last of the race, who, as he posed to have survived the Revolution, might caught somewhat of the refinement of modern without losing the simplicity of his original The date of the Tale itself is about the middle be sixteenth century, when most of the personages ay flourished. The time occupied by the action free nights and three days.

INTRODUCTION.

THE way was long, the wind was cold,
The Minstrel was infirm and old;
His wither'd cheek, and tresses gray,
Seem'd to have known a better day;
The harp, his sole remaining joy,
Was carried by an orphan boy.
The last of all the bards was he,
Who sung of Border chivalry.
For, well-a-day! their date was fled,
His tuneful brethren all were dead;
And he, neglected and oppress'd,
Wish'd to be with them, and at rest.
No more, on prancing palfrey borne,
He caroll'd, light as lark at morn;
No longer courted and caress'd,
High placed in hall, a welcome guest,
He pour'd, to lord and lady gay,
The unpremeditated lay:

Old times were changed, old manners gone;
A stranger fill'd the Stuarts' throne;
The bigots of the iron time

Had call'd his harmless art a crime.
A wandering harper, scorn'd and poor,
He begg'd his bread from door to door;
And tuned, to please a peasant's ear,
The harp a king had loved to hear.

He pass'd where Newark's stately tower
Looks out from Yarrow's birchen bower:

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LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL

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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,
All loose her golden hair,

Hung Margaret o'er her slaughter'd sire,
And wept in wild despair.

But not alone the bitter tear

Had filial grief supplied;

For hopeless love, and anxious fear,
Had lent their mingled tide:
Nor in her mother's alter'd eye
Dared she to look for sympathy.
Her lover, 'gainst her father's clan,
With Car in arms had stood,
When Mathouse-burn to Melrose ran,
All purple with their blood;

And well she knew her mother dread,
Before Lord Cranstoun she should wed, (8)
Would see her on her dying bed.

XI.

Of noble race the Ladye came;

Her father was a clerk of fame,

Of Bethune's line of Picardie: (9) He learn'd the art that none may name, In Padua, far beyond the sea. (10) Men said he changed his mortal frame By feat of magic mystery;

For when, in studious mood, he paced
St Andrew's cloister'd hall,

His form no darkening shadow traced
Upon the sunny wall! (11)

XII.

And of his skill, as bards avow,
He taught that Ladye fair,
Till to her bidding she could bow
The viewless forms of air. (12)
And now she sits in secret bower,
In old Lord David's western tower,
And listens to a heavy sound,

That moans the mossy turrets round.

Is it the roar of Teviot's tide,

That chafes against the scaur's1 red side?

Is it the wind, that swings the oaks?

Is it the echo from the rocks?

What may it be, the heavy sound,

That moans old Branksome's turrets round?

XIII.

At the sullen, moaning sound,
The ban-dogs bay and howl;
And from the turrets round,

Loud whoops the startled owl.
In the hall, both squire and knight
Swore that a storm was near,
And look'd forth to view the night;
But the night was still and clear'

Scaur, a precipitous bank of earth.

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And, with jocund din, among them all,
Her son pursued his infant play.
A fancied moss-trooper, (13) the boy
The truncheon of a spear bestrode,
And round the hall, right merrily,

In mimic foray' rode.

Even bearded knights, in arms grown old,
Share in his frolic gainbols 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.2 (14)

XX.

The Ladye forgot her purpose high
One moment-and no more;
One moment gazed with a mother's eye,
As she paused at the arched door:
Then, from amid the armed train,
She call'd to her William of Deloraine. (15)

XXL

A stark moss-trooping Scott was he,
As c'er couch'd Border lance by knee:
Through Solway sands, through Tarrass moss,
Blindfold he knew the paths to cross;
By wily turns, by desperate bounds,
Had baftled Percy's best blood-hounds ; (16)
In Eske, or Liddel, fords were none,
But he would ride them, one by one;
Alike to him was time or tide,
December's snow, or July's pride;
Alike to him was tide or time,
Moonless midnight, or matin prime:
Steady of heart and stout of hand,
As ever drove prey from Cumberland;
Five times outlaw'd had be been,
By England's king and Scotland's queen.

XXII.

« Sir William of Deloraine, good at need,
Mount thee on the wightest steed;
Spare not to spur, nor stint to ride,
Until you come to fair Tweedside;

And in Melrose's holy pile

Seek thou the monk of St Mary's aisle.
Greet the father well from me;

Say, that the fated hour is come,
And to-night he shall watch with thee,
To win the treasure of the tomb:

For this will be St Michael's night,

And, though stars be dim, the moon is bright;

And the cross, of bloody red,

Will point to the grave of the Mighty Dead.

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XXIV.

swiftly can speed my dapple-gray steed, Which drinks of the Teviot clear!

break of day, the warrior 'gan say, Again will I be here:

in safer by none may thy errand be done,

Than, noble dame, by me;

Letter nor line know I never a one,
Were t my neck-verse at Hairibee.»>

XXV.

Soon in his saddle sate he fast,

And soon the steep descent he past,
Soon cross'd the sounding barbican,
And soon the Teviot side he won.
Eastward the wooded path he rode,
Grren bazels o'er his basnet nod;
He pass'd the Peel of Goldiland,

And cross'd old Borthwick's roaring strand;
Dialy he view'd the Moat-hill's mound, (17)
Where Druid shades still flitted round:"
In Hawick twinkled many a light;
Belind him soon they set in night;
And soon he spurr'd his courser keen,
Beneath the tower of Hazeldean. (18)

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.
Be turn'd him now from Teviot side
And, guided by the tinkling rill,
Sorthward the dark ascent did ride,
And gain'd the moor at Horsliehill;
Broad on the left before him lay,
For many a mile, the Roman way.4

XXVII.

i moment now he slack'd his speed,
A moment breathed his panting steed,
Drew saddle-girth and corslet band,
And loosen'd in the sheath his brand.
On Minto-crags the moon-beams glint, (19)
Where Barnhill hew'd his bed of flint;
Who flung his outlaw'd limbs to rest
Where falcons hang their giddy nest,
Mid cliffs from whence his eagle eye
For many a league his could spy;
prey
Giffs, doubling, on their echoes borne,

The terrors of the robber's horn;

Cliffs which, for many a later year,

The warbling Doric reed shall hear,

When some sad swain shall teach the grove, Ambition is no cure for love!

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Down from the lakes did raving come, Cresting each wave with tawny foam,

Like the mane of a chesnut 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,
And the water broke o'er the saddle-bow;
Above the foaming tide, I ween,
Scarce half the charger's neck was seen;
For he was barded from counter to tail,
And the rider was arm'd complete in mail :
Never heavier man and horse

Stemm'd a midnight torrent's force.
The warrior's very plume, I say,

Was daggled by the dashing spray;

Yet, through good heart and Our Ladye's grace, At length he gain'd the landing-place.

ΧΧΧ.

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.

(22)

In bitter mood he spurred fast,
And soon the hated heath was past;
And far beneath, in lustre wan,
Old Melros' rose, and fair Tweed ran:
Like some tall rock, with lichens gray,
Rose, dimly huge, the dark abbaye.
When Hawick he pass'd, had curfew rung,
Now midnight lauds 3 were in Melrose sung.
The sound, upon the fitful gale,

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.

Barded, or barbed, -applied to a horse accoutred with defensive

armour.

2 Halidon-hill, on which the battle of Melrose was fought.

3 Lauds, the midnight service of the catholic church.

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