VIII. Spreading herbs, and flowerets bright, The youth in glittering squadrons start;1 Sudden the flying jennet 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-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, Was a fleur-de-lys, or a quatre-feuille ; The corbells were carved grotesque and grim; And the pillars, with cluster'd shafts so trim, With base and with capital flourish'd around,3 Seem'd bundles of lances which garlands had bound. X. Full many a scutcheon and banner riven, Around the screened altar's pale ; And thine, dark Knight of Liddesdale !5 O fading honours of the dead! O high ambition, lowly laid! XI. The moon on the east oriel shone6 By foliaged tracery combined; Thou would'st 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. 1 See Appendix, Note Y. 2 Corbells, the projections from which the arches spring, chanted with Walter Scott's Lay of the Last Minstrel. He usually cut in a fantastic face, or mask. 8" With plinth and with capital flourish'd around " First Edition. 4 See Appendix, Note Z. 5 Ibid. Note 2 A. 6 Ibid. Note 2 B. 7" Bombay, September 25, 1805.—I began last night to read Walter Scott's Lay of the Last Minstrel, as part of my evening readings to my children. I was extremely delighted by the poetical beauty of some passages, the Abbey of Melrose for example, and most of the prologues to the cantos. The costume, too, is admirable. The tone is antique; and it might be read for instruction as a picture of the manners of is surely the man born at last to translate the Iliad. Are not the good parts of his poem the most Homeric of any thing in our language? There are tedious passages, and so are there in Homer."-SIR JAMES MACKINTOSH, Life, Vol. I., pp. 254, 262. 8 A large marble stone, in the chancel of Melrose, is pointed out as the monument of Alexander II., one of the greatest of our early kings; others say, it is the resting-place of Waldeve, one of the early abbots, who died in the odour of sanctity. 9 See Appendix, Note 2 C. 11 See Appendix, Note 2 E. 10 Ibid. Note 2 D. 12 Ibid. Note 2 F And never to tell where it was hid, XIX. Save at his Chief of Branksome's need: And when that need was past and o'er, 1 buried him on St. Michael's night, When the bell toll'd one, and the moon was bright, And I dug his chamber among the dead, When the floor of the chancel was stained red, That his patron's cross might over him wave, And scare the fiends from the Wizard's grave. XVI. "It was a night of woe and dread, -Still spoke the Monk, when the bell toll'd one!- XVII. "Lo, Warrior! now, the Cross of Red Slow moved the Monk to the broad flag-stone, An iron bar the Warrior took ;2 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; Till the toil-drops fell from his brows, like rain. It was by dint of passing strength, That he moved the massy stone at length. I would you had been there, to see Show'd the Monk's cowl, and visage pale, 1 See Appendix, Note 2 G. 2 Orig.-A bar from thence the warrior took. 3 "The agitation of the monk at the sight of the man whom he had loved with brotherly affection-the horror of Deloraine, and his belief that the corpse frowned, as he withdrew the Before their eyes the Wizard lay, A palmer's amice wrapp'd him round, The lamp was placed beside his knee: Often had William of Deloraine And neither known remorse nor awe; He might not endure the sight to see, XXI. And when the priest his death-prayer had pray'd, Thus unto Deloraine he said : "Now, speed thee what thou hast to do, Or, Warrior, we may dearly rue; For those, thou may'st not look upon, Are gathering fast round the yawning stone!"- From the cold hand the Mighty Book, With iron clasp'd, and with iron bound: He thought, as he took it, the dead man frown'd;◄ But the glare of the sepulchral light, Perchance, had dazzled the warrior's sight. XXII. When the huge stone sunk o'er the tomb, 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. 'Tis said, as through the aisles they pass'd, magic volume from its grasp, are, in a succeeding part of the exquisitely wrought."-Critical Review. narrative, circumstances not more happily conceived than 4 See Appendix, Note 2 H. Loud sobs, and laughter louder, ran, Because these spells were brought to day. XXIII. "Now, hie thee hence," the Father said, "And when we are on death-bed laid, O 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 noontide bellThe 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 tombstones grey, XXV. The sun had brighten'd Cheviot grey, The sun had brighten'd the Carter's' side; And soon beneath the rising day Smiled Branksome Towers and Teviot's tide.* The wild birds told their warbling tale, And waken'd every 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 early left her sleepless bed, XXVI. Why does fair Margaret so early awake,3 And don her kirtle so hastilie; And the silken knots, which in hurry she would make, Why tremble her slender fingers to tie; Why does she stop, and look often around, As she glides down the secret stair; 1 A mountain on the Border of England, above Jedburgh. 2 "How lovely and exhilarating is the fresh cool morning landscape which relieves the mind after the horrors of the spell-guarded tomb!"-ANNA Seward. And, though she passes the postern alone, Why is not the watchman's bugle blown? XXVII. The ladye steps in doubt and dread, Lest her watchful mother hear her tread; The lady caresses the rough blood-hound, Lest 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 greenwood at dawn of light To meet Baron Henry, her own true knight. XXVIII. The Knight and ladye fair are met, And under the hawthorn's boughs are set. To meet beneath the hawthorn green. XXIX. And now, fair dames, methinks I see And how the Knight, with tender fire, And how she blush'd, and how she sigh'd, 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. XXX. Alas! fair dames, your hopes are vain! Its lightness would my age reprove: 3" How true, sweet, and original, is this description of Margaret-the trembling haste with which she attires herself, descends, and speeds to the bower!"- ANNA SE WARD. B XXXI. Beneath an oak, moss'd o'er by eld, 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. But where he rode one mile, the Dwarf ran four, And the Dwarf was first at the castle door. XXXII. Use lessens marvel, it is said: This elvish Dwarf with the Baron staid; And often mutter'd "Lost! lost! lost!" XXXIII. For the Baron went on pilgrimage, But the Ladye of Branksome gather'd a band 1 See Appendix, Note 2 I. 2 The idea of the imp domesticating himself with the first person he met, and subjecting himself to that one's authority, is perfectly consonant to old opinions. Ben Jonson, in his play of "The Devil is an Ass," has founded the leading incident of that comedy upon this article of the popular creed. A fiend, styled Pug, is ambitious of figuring in the world, and petitions his superior for permission to exhibit himself upon earth. The devil grants him a day-rule, but clogs it with this condition, "Satan-Only thus more, I bind you To serve the first man that you meet; and him Wat of Harden came thither amain, XXXIV. And now, in Branksome's good green wood, The Dwarf waves his long lean arm on high, WHILE thus he pour'd the lengthen❜d tale, Swell'd his old veins, and cheer'd his soul; Ere thus his tale again began. It is observable that in the same play, Pug alludes to the spareness of his diet. Mr. Scott's goblin, though "waspish, arch, and litherlie," proves a faithful and honest retainer to the lord, into whose service he had introduced himself. This sort of inconsistency seems also to form a prominent part of the diabolic character. Thus, in the romances of the Round Table, we find Merlin, the son of a devil, exerting himself most zealously in the cause of virtue and of religion, the friend and counsellor of King Arthur, the chastiser of wrongs, and the scourge of the infidels. 3 See Appendix, Note 2 K. 4 See notes on The Douglas Tragedy in the Minstrelsy, vol iii. p. 3.-ED. 5 Wood pigeon. The Lay of the Last Minstrel. CANTO THIRD. I. AND said I that my limbs were old, So foul, so false a recreant prove! How could I name love's very name, Nor wake my heart to notes of flame! II. In peace, Love tunes the shepherd's reed; Love rules the court, the camp, the grove, III. So thought Lord Cranstoun, as I ween, And scarce his helmet could he don, A stately knight came pricking on. That warrior's steed, so dapple-gray, Was dark with sweat, and splashed with clay; His armour red with many a stain: He seem'd in such a weary plight, As if he had ridden the live-long night; For it was William of Deloraine. IV. But no whit weary did he seem, He mark'd the crane on the Baron's crest;1 Few were the words, and stern and high, That mark'd the foemen's feudal hate; For question fierce, and proud reply, Gave signal soon of dire debate. Their very coursers seem'd to know That each was other's mortal foe, And snorted fire, when wheel'd around, To give each knight his vantage-ground. I The crest of the Cranstouns, in allusion to their name, is a crane dormant, holding a stone in his foot, with an V. In rapid round the Baron bent; He sigh'd a sigh, and pray'd a prayer; The prayer was to his patron saint, 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 couch'd his spear, VI. Stern was the dint the Borderer lent! But Cranstoun's lance, of more avail, VII. But when he rein'd his courser round, For the kinsman of the maid he loved. VIII. Away in speed Lord Cranstoun rode; 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 stanch the wound, Until the secret he had found. emphatic Border motto, Thou shalt want ere I want 2 See Appendix, Note 2 L. |