By foliaged tracery combined; Thou wouldst have thought some fairy's hand, In many a freakish knot, had twined; And trampled the Apostate's pride. XII They sate them down on a marble stone, Now, strange to my eyes thine arms appear, XIII "In these far climes, it was my lot The bells would ring in Notre Dame! lightness and elegance of Gothic architecture, when in purity, than the eastern window of Melrose Abbey. A large marble stone, in the chancel of Melrose, is pointed out as the monument of Alexander II., one of the greatest of the early kings of Scotland; others say, it is the resting-place of Waldeve, one of the early abbots, who died in the odour of sanctity. y Sir Michael Scott of Balwearie flourished during the thirteenth century, and was one of the ambassadors sent to bring the fair maid of Norway to Scotland, upon the death of Alexander III., 1290. By a poetical anachronism, he is here placed in a later era. He wrote several works upon the abstruse sciences, and passed among his contemporaries for a skilful magician. His memory survives in many a legend, and in the south of Sco and, any work of great labour and antiquity is ascribed, either to the agency of Auld Michael, of Sir William Wallace, or of the devil. Tradition varies as to the place of his burial, but all agree that his books of magic were interred in his grave, or preserved in the convent where he died. Spain, from the reliques, doubtless, of Arabian learning and superstition, was accounted a favourite residence of magicians. Pope Sylvester, who actually imported from Spain the use of the Arabian numerals, was supposed to have learned in that country the magic for which he was stigmatized by the ignorance of his age. And, Warrior, I could say to thee The words, that cleft Eildon hills in three, And bridled the Tweed with a curb of stone: And for having but thought them my heart within, XIV "When Michael lay on his dying bed, He bethought him of his sinful deed, XV "I swore to bury his Mighty Book, I buried him on St. Michael's night, When the bell tolled 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, When Michael in the tomb I laid! Strange sounds along the chancel passed, The banners waved without a blast," Still spoke the Monk, when the bell tolled one! I tell you, that a braver man Than William of Deloraine, good at need, Against a foe ne'er spurred a steed; Yet somewhat was he chilled with dread, XVII "Lo, Warrior! now, the Cross of Red • Michael Scott was, once upon a time, much embarrassed by a spirit, for whom he was under the necessity of finding constant employment. He commanded him to build a cauld, or dam-head, across the Tweed at Kelso: it was accomplished in one night. Michael next ordered that Eildon Hill, which was then a uniform cone, should be divided Within it burns a wondrous light, 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 withered hand, XVIII With beating heart to the task he went; 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 Showed the Monk's cowl, and visage pale, XIX Before their eyes the Wizard lay, The lamp was placed beside his knee: High and majestic was his look, At which the fellest fiends had shook, into three. Another night was sufficient to part its summit into the three picturesque peaks which it now bears. Baptista Porta, and other authors who treat of natural magic, talk much of eternal lamps, which they pretend to have been found burning in ancient sepulchres. The amice or amite is the first of the sacerdotal vestments. It is, says Mr. Way, a piece of fine linen, of an oblong square form, which was formerly worn on the head until the priest arrived before the altar, and then thrown back upon the shoulders.-Halliwell, Arch. Dict. A belt, girdle, or sash of various kinds.-Halliwell. And all unruffled was his face:- XX Often had William of Deloraine And the priest prayed fervently, and loud: He might not endure the sight to see, Of the man he had loved so brotherly. XXI And when the priest his death-prayer had prayed, Now, speed thee what thou hast to do, Or, Warrior, we may dearly rue; For those, thou mayst not look upon, Are gathering fast round the yawning stone!" Then Deloraine, in terror, took From the cold hand the Mighty Book, With iron clasped, and with iron bound: He thought, as he took it, the dead man frowned; 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 returned 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 passed, Which at mid-height thread the chancel wal.. Because these spells were brought to-day. XXIII "Now, hie thee hence," the Father said, The monk returned 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 clasped fast, as if still he prayed. XXIV The Knight breathed free in the morning wind, He was glad when he passed the tombstones grey, For the Mystic Book, to his bosom pressed, Felt like a load upon his breast; And his joints, with nerves of iron twined, Full fain was he when the dawn of day And he said Ave Mary, as well as he might. XXV The sun had brightened Cheviot grey, The sun had brightened the Carter's side; e And soon beneath the rising day Smiled Branksome towers and Teviot's tide. The wild birds told their warbling tale, And wakened 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, And the silken knots, which in hurry she would make, Why does she stop, and look often around, As she glides down the secret stair ? And why does she pat the shaggy blood-hound, And, though she passes the postern alone, XXVII The Ladye steps in doubt and dread, A mountain on the border of England, above Jedburgh, |