which, however, the flower has no connexion; the ther in a body, none cared to be left alone with etymology being Rosslinnhe, the promontory of it. It being the custom, therefore, for one of the the linn or water-fall. The chapel is said to ap- soldiers to lock the gates of the castle at a certain pear on fire previous to the death of any of his de- hour, and cary the keys to the captain, to whose scendants. This superstition, noticed by Slezer apartment, as I said before, the way led through in his Theatrım Scotix, and alluded to in the text, the church, they agreed among themselves, that is probably of Norwegian derivation, and may have whoever was to succeed the ensuing night his felbeen imported by the earls of Orkney into their low in this errand, should accompany him that Lothian domains. The tomb-fires of the north are went first, and by this means no man would be exmentioned in most of the Sagas.

posed singly to the danger: for I forgot to mention, The barons of Roslin were buried in a vault be- ihat the Mauthe Doog was always seen to come neath the chapel floor. The manner of their in- out from that passage at the close of day, and return terment is thus described by Father Hay, in the to it again as soon as the morning dawned; which MS. history already quoted.

made them look on this place as its pecu.iar resi“Sir William Sinclair, the father, was a leud dence. man. He kept a miller's daughter, with whom, it “One night, a fellow being drunk, and by the is alledged, he went to Ireland: yet I think the strength of the liquor rendered more daring than cause of his retreat was rather occasioned by the ordinarily, laughed at the simplicity of his comPresbyterians, who vexed him sadly, because of panions; and, though it was not his turn to go his religion being Roman Catholic. His son, sir with the keys, would needs take that office upon William, died during the troubles, and was inter- him to testify his courage. All the soldiers enred in the chapel of Roslin the very same day that deavoured to dissuade him; but the more they said, the battle of Dunbar was fought. When my good the more resolute he seemed, and swore that he father was buried, his (i. e. sir William's) corpse desired nothing more than that the Mauthe Doog seemed to be entire at the opening of the cave; but would follow him as it had done the others; for he when they came to touch his body, it fell into dust. would try if it were dog, or devil. After having He was lying in his armour, with a red velvet cap talked in a very reprobate manner for some time, on his head,

on a flat stone; nothing was spoiled he snatched up the keys, and went out of the guardo except a piece of the white furring, that went round room: in some time after his departure, a great the cap, and answered to the hinder part of the noise was heard, but nobody had the boldness to head. All his predecessors were buried after the see what occasioned it, till the adventurer returnsame manner, in their armour: late Rosline, my ing, they demanded the knowledge of him; but as good father, was the first that was buried in a cof- loud and noisy as he had been at leaving them, he fin; against the sentiments of king James the Se- was now become sober and silent enough; for he venth, who was then in Scotland, and several other was never heard to speak more: and though all the persons well versed in antiquity, to whom my mo- time he lived, which was three days, he was enther would not hearken, thinking it beggarly to be treated by all who came near him, either to speak, buried after that manner. The great expenses she or if he could not do that, to make some signs, by was at in burying her husband, occasioned the which they might understand what bad happened sumptuary acts which were made in the following to him; yet nothing intelligible could be got from parliament.”

him, only that by the distortion of his limbs and fea

tures, it might be guessed that he died in agonies “Gylbin, come!”—P. 24.

more than is common in a natural death. See the story of Gilpin Horner, p. 36, in notes.

“ The Mauthe Doog was however never after 24. For he was speechless, ghastly, wan,

seen in the castle, nor would any one attempt to Like him, of whom the story ran,

go through that passage; for which reason it was Who spoke the spectre-hound in Man.-P. 24. closed up, and another way made. This accident The ancient castle of Peel-town, in the Isle of happened about threescore years since: and I heard Man, is surrounded by four churches now ruinous. it altested by several, but especially by an old solThrough one of these chapels, there was formerly dier, who assured me he had seen it oftener than a passage from the guard-room of the garrison. he had then hairs on his head.”-Waldron's DeThis was closed, it is said, upon the following oc- scription of the Isle of Man, p. 107. casion: “They say, that an apparition, called in 25. And he a solemn sacred plight the Mankish language, the Mauthe Doog, in the Did to St. Bryde of Douglas make.-P. 25. shape of a large black spaniel, with curled shaggy This was a favourite saint of the house of Douhair, was used to haunt Peel-castle; and has been glas, and of the earl of Angus im particular, as we frequently seen in every room, but particularly in learn from the following passage. The queen rethe guard-chamber, where, as soon as candles were gent had proposed to raise a rival noble to the dulighted, it came and lay down before the fire, in pres- cal dignity; and discoursing of her purpose with ence of all the soldiers, who, at length, by being Angus he answered, “Why not madam? we are so much accustomed to the sight of it, lost great happy that have such a princess, that can know part of the terror they were seized with at its first and will acknowledge men's service, and is willing appearance. They still, however, retained a cer- to recompence it: but, by the might of God, (this tain awe, as believing it was an evil spirit, which was his oath when he was serious and in anger, at only waited permission to do them hurt; and, for other times, it was by St. Bride of Douglas,) if he that reason, forbore swearing, and all prophane dis- be a duke, I will be a drake!”–So she desisted cource, while in its company. But though they from prosecuting of that purpose. --Godscroft, val. endured the shock of such a guest when all toge- i, p. 131.




Alas! that Scottish maid should sing

The combat where her lover fell!
That Scottish Bard should wake the string,

The triumph of our foes to tell. Leyden.




That bloomed so rich on Needpath-fell, It is hardly to be expected, that an author, whom Sallow his brow, and ruisset bare the public has honoured with some degree of ap

Are now the sister-heights of Yare. plause, should not be again a trespasser on their The sheep, before the pinching heaven, kindness. Yet the author of Marmion must be To sheltered dale and down are driven, supposed to feel some anxiety concerning its suc- Where yet some faded herbage pines, cess, since he is sensible that he hazards, by this And yet a watery sunbeam shines: second intrusion, any reputation which his first In meek despondency they eye

The withered sward and wintry sky, poem may have procured him. The present story turns upon the private adventures of a fictitious and far beneath their summer hill, character; but is called a Tale of Flodden Field, Stray sadly by Glenkinnon's rill: because the hero's fate is connected with that me? The shepherd shifts his mantle's fold morable defeat, and the causes which led to it. And wraps him closer from the cold; The design of the author was, if possible to ap

His dogs no merry circles wheel, prise his readers, at the outset, of the date of his But, shivering, follow at his heel; story, and to prepare them for the manners of the A cowering glance they often cast, age in which it is laid. Any historical narrative, As deeper moans the gathering blast. far more an attempt at epic composition, exceeds

My imps, though hardy, bold, and wild his plan of a romantic tale; yet he may be permit- As best befits the

mountain chilů, ted to bope from the popularity of The Lay of the Feel the sad influence of the hour, Last Minstrel

, that an attempt to paint the man- | And wail the daisy's vanished flower; Ders of the feudal times, upon a broader scale,

and Their summer gambols tell, and mourn,

And anxious ask,-Will spring return, in the course of a more interesting story, will not be unacceptable to the public.

And birds and lambs again be gay, August and concludes with the defeat of Flodden, Again'shall paint your summer bower; The poem opens about the commencement of And blossoms clothe the hawthorn spray?

Yes, prattlers, yes. The daisy's flower 9th September, 1513.

Again the hawthorn shall supply

The garlands you delight to tie;
The lambs upon the lea shall bound,

The wild birds carol to the round,
INTRODUCTION TO CANTO I. And while you frolick light as they,

Too short shall seem the summer day, TO WILLIAM STEWART ROSE, Esq.

To mute and to material things

New life revolving summer brings; Ashestiel, Ettrick Forest. The genial call dead Nature hears, NOVEMBER's sky is chill and drear,

And in her glory re-appears. November's leaf is red and sear:

But Oh! my country's wintry state Late, gazing down the steepy linn,

What second spring shall renovate? That hems our little garden in,

What powerful call shall bid arise Low in its dark and narrrow glen,

The buried warlike, and the wise? You searce the rivulet might ken,

The mind, that thought for Britain's weal, So thick the tangled green-wood grew,

The hand, that grasped the victor steel? So feeble trilled the streamlet through:

The vernal sun new life bestows Now, marmuring hoarse, and frequent seen

Even on the meanest flower that blows; 1 hrough bush and brier, no longer green,

But vainly, vainly may he shine, An angry brook, it sweeps the glade,

Where glory weeps o'er Nelson's shrine; Brawls over rock and wild cascade,

And vainly pierce the solemn gloom And, foaming brown with double speed, That shrouds, O PITT, thy hallowed tomb! Hurries its waters to the Tweed.

Deep graved in every British heart, No longer Autumn's glowing red

O never let those names depart! Upon our forest hills is shed;

Say to your sons,-Lo, here his grave, No more, beneath the evening beam,

Who victor died on Gadite wave; Fair Tweed reflects their purple gleam; To him, as to the burning levin, Avay hath passed the heather-beli,

Short, bright, resistless course was given,

Where'er his country's foes were found, Of those who fought, and spoke, and sung Was heard the fated thunder's sound,

Here, where the iretted aisles prolong Till burst the bolt on yoniler shere,

The distant notes ot lioly song, Rolled, blazed, destroyed, and was no more. As if some angel spoke agen,

Nor mourn ye less his perisl.cd worth, All peace on earth, good-will lo men; Who bade the conqueror go forth,

If ever from an English heart, And lanched that thunderbolt of war

O here let prejudice depart, On Egypt, Hafnia,* Trafalgar;

And, partial feeling cast aside, Who, born to guide such high emprise,

Record, that Fox a Britain died ! For Britain's weal was early wise;

When Europe crouched to France's yoke, Alas! to whom the Almighty gave,

And Austria bent, and Prussia broke, For Britain's sins, an early grave;

And the firm Russian's purpose brave His worth, who, in his mightiest hour,

Was bartered by a timorous slave, A bauble held the pride of power,

Even then dishonour's peace he spurned, Spurned at the sordid lust of pell,

The sullied olive-branch returned, And served his Albion for herself;

Stood for his country's glory fast, Who, when the frantic crowd amain

And nailed her colours to the mast! Strained at subjection's bursting rein,

Heaven, to reward his firmness, gave O'er their wild mood full conquest gained, A portion in this honoured grave; The pride, he would not crush, restrained, And ne'er held marble in its trust Showed their fierce zeal a worthier cause, Of two such wond'rous men the dust. And brought the freeman's arm to aid the freeman's

With more than mortal powers endowed, laws.

How high they soared above the crowd!
Had'st thou but lived, though stripped of power, Theirs was no common party race,
A watchman on the lonely tower,

Jostling by dark intrigue for place;
Thy thrilling trump had roused the land,

Like fabled Goils, their mighiy war When fraud or danger were at hand;

Shook realms and nations in its jar; By thee, as by the beacon-light,

Beneath each banner proud to stand, Our pilots bad kept course aright;

Looked up the noblest of the land, As soine proud column, though alone,

Till through the British world were knows Thy strength had propped the toltering throne.

The names of Pitt and Fox alone. Now is the stately column broke,

Spells of such force no wizard grave The beacon-light is quenched in smoke,

E'er framed in dark Thessalian cave, The trumpet's silver sound is still,

Though his could drain the ocean dry, The warder silent on the hill!

And force the planets from the sky. Oh, think, how to his latest day,

These spells are spent, and, spent with these, When death, just hovering, claimed his prey, The wine of life is on the lees. With Palinure's unaltered mood,

Genius, and taste, and talent gone, Firm at his dangerous post he stood;

For ever tombed beneath the stone, Each call for needful rest repelled,

Where--taming thought to human pride! With dying hand the rudder held,

The mighty chiefs sleep side by side. Till, in his fall, with fateful sway,

Drop upon Fox's grave the tear, The steerage of the realm gave way!

'Twill trickle to his rival's bier; Then, while on Britain's thousand plains O'er Pitt's the mournful requiem sound, One unpolluted church remains,

And Fox's shall the notes rebound. Whose peaceful bells ne'er sent around

The solemn echo seems to cry, The bloody tocsin's maddening sound,

“Here let their discord with them die; But still, upon the hallowed day,

Speak pot for those a separate doom, Convoke the swains to praise and pray;

Whom fate made brothers in the tomb, While faith and civil peace are dear,

But search the land of living men, Grace this cold marble with a lear,

Where wilt thou find their like agen?” He, who preserved them, Pitt, lies here!

Rest, ardent Spirits! till the cries
Nor yet suppress the generous sigh,

Of dying Nature bid you rise;
Because his rival slumbers nigh;
Nor be thy requiescat dumb,

Not even your Britain's groaus can pierce

The leaden silence of your hearse: Lest it be said o'er Fox's tomb.

Then, O how impotent and vain
For talents mourn, untimely lost,

This grateful tributary strain!
When best employed, and wanted most,
Mourn genius high, and lore profound,

Though uot unmarked from northern elime,

Ye heard the Border Minstrel's rhyme: And wit that loved to play, not wound;

His Gothic harp has o'er you rung: And all the reasoning powers divine,

The bard you deigned to praise, your death To penetrate, resolve, combine;

names has sung. And feelings keen, and fancy's glow,They sleep with him who sleeps below

Stay yet illusion, stay awhile,

My wildered fancy still beguile!
And, if thou mourn'st they could not save
From error him who owns this grave,

From this high theme how can I part,
Be every harsher thought suppressed,

Ere balf unloaded is my beart! And sacred be the last long rest.

For all the tears e'er sorrow drew, Here, where the end of earthly things

And all the raptures fancy knew, Lays heroes, patriots, bards, and kings;

And all the keener rush of blood, Where stiff the hand, and still the tongue,

That throbs through bard in bard-like mood,

Were here a tribute mean and low,

Though all their mingled streams could low- . To wonder, and sansation high,

In the fair fields of old romance; hane spring-tide of ecstasy!

Or seek the moated castle's cell, It will not be it may not last

Where long through talisman and spell, The vision of enchantment's past:

While tyrants ruled, and damsels wept, Like frost-work in the morning ray,

Thy Genius, Chivalry, hath slept: Tbe fancied fabric melts away;

There sound the harpings of the North, Each Gothie arch, memorial stone,

Till he awake and sally forth, And long, dim, lofty aisle are gone,

On venturous quest to prick again, And, lingering last, deception dear,

In all his arms, with all his train, The choir's high sounds die on my ear.

Shield, lance, and brand, and plume, and sonrf; Now slow return the lonely down,

Fay, giant, dragon, squire, and dwarf, The silent pastures bleak and brown,

And wizard, with his wand of might, The farm begrit with copse-wood wild,

And errant maid on palfrey white. The gambols of each frolic child,

Around the Genius weave their spells, Miring their shrill cries with the tone

Pure Love, who scarce his passion tells; Of Tweed's dark waters rushing on.

Mystery, half veiled and half revealed; Prompt on unequal tasks to run,

And Honour, with his spotless shield; Thas Nature disciplines her son:

Attention, with fixed eye; and Fear, Meeter, she says, for me to stray,

That loves the tale he shrinks to hear; And yaste the solitary day,

And gentle Courtesy; and Faith, lo plocking from yon fen the reed,

Unchanged by sufferings, time, or death; And Fateh it floating down the Tweed;

And Valour, lion-mettled lord, Or idly list the shrilling lay

Leaning upon his own good sword. With which the milk-maid cheers her way,

Well has thy fair achievement shown, Marking its cadence rise and fail,

A worthy meed may thus be won; As from the field, beneath her pail,

Ytene's* oaksbeneath whose shade, She trips it down the uneven dale:

Their theme the merry minstrels made, Meeter for me, by yonder cairn,

Of A scapart, and Bevis bold, 4 The ancient shepherd's tale to learn,

And that red king,t who, while of old, Though oft he stop in rustic fear,

Though Boldrewood the chase he led, Lest his old legends tire the ear

By his loved huntsman's arrow bled Of one, who, in his simple mind,

Ytene's oaks have heard again May boast of book-learned taste refined.

Renewed such legendary strain; But thou, my friend, canst fitly tell,

For thou hast sung, how he of Gaul, (For few have read romance so well,)

That Amadis, so famed in hall, How still the legendary lay

For Oriana, foiled in fight O'er poet's bosom holds its sway;

The necromancer's felon might; How on the ancient minstrel strain

And well in modern verse hast woro Time lays his palsied hand in vain;

Partenoper's mystic love: And how our hearts at doughty deeds,

Hear then, attentive to my lay,
By warriors wrought in steely weeds,

A knightly tale of Albion's elder day.
Súil throb for fear and pity's sake;
As when the champion of the lake
Enters Morgana's
fated house,

Or in the Chapel Perilous,

I. Despising spells and demons' force,

Day set on Norham's castled steep, Holds converse with the unburied corse;'

And Tweed's fair river, broad and deep, Ot when, dame Ganore's grace to move,

And Cheviot's mountains lone: (Alas! that lawless was their love,)

The battled towers, the donjon keep, 6 He sought proud Tarquin in his den,

The loop-bole grates where captives weeper And freed full sixty knights; or when,

The flanking walls that round it sweep, A sinful man, and unconfessed,

In yellow lustre shone. He took the Sangreal's holy, quest,

The warriors on the turrets high, And, slumbering, saw the vision high,

Moving athwart the evening sky, He might not view with waking eye, 2

Seemed forms of giant height: The mightiest chiefs of British song

Their armour, as it caught the

rays Scorded not such legends to prolong:

Flashed back again the western blaze,
They gleam through Spenser's elfin dream, In lines of dazzling light.
And mix in Milton's heavenly theme;
And Dryden, in immortal strain,

Had raised the Table Round again,

St. George's banner, broad and gay, But that a ribald king and court

Now faded, as the fading ray Bade him toil on, to make them sport;

Less bright, and less, was flung; Demanded for their niggard pay,

The evening gale had scarce the power Fit for their souls, a looser lay,

To wave it on the donjon tower, Licentious satire, song, and play:

So heavily it hung. The world defrauded of the high design,

The scouts had parted on their senrch, Pmfaned the God-given strength, and marred the

The castle gates were barred; lofty line.

Above the gloomy portal arch, Warmed by such names, well may we then,

Timing his

footseps to a mareh, Though dwindled sons of little men,

The new forest in Hampshire, ancienty so aalled Essay to break a feeble lance

+ William Rufus.


The warder kept his guard;

E'en such a falcon, on his shield, Low humming, as he paced along,

Soared sable in an azure field: Some ancient border-gathering song.

The golden legend bore aright,

Who checks at me, to death is dight." III.

Blue was the charger's broidered rein; A distant trampling sound he hears; He looks abroad, and soon appears,

Blue ribbons decked his arching mane; O’er Horncliff-hill, a plump* of spears,

The knightly housing's ample fold Beneath a pennon gay:

Was velvet blue, and trapped with gold. A horseman, darting from the crowd,

VII. Like lightning from a summer cloud,

Behind him rode two gallant squires, Spurs on his mettled courser proud,

Of noble name, and knightly sires; Before the dark array.

They burned the gilded spurs to claim; Beneath the sable palisade,

For well could each a war-horse tame, That closed the castle barricade,

Could draw the bow, the sword could sway, His bugle horn he blew;

And lightly bear the ring away; The warder hasted from the wall,

Nor less with courteous precepts stored, And warned the captain in the hall,

Could dance in hall, and carve at board, For well the blast he knew;

And frame love-ditties passing rare, And joyfully that knight did call

And sing them to a lady fair.
To sewer, squire, and seneschal.


Four men-at arms came at their backs, “ Now broach ye a pipe of Malvoisie,

With halbert, bill, and battle-axe: Bring pasties of the doe,

They bore lord Marmion's lance so strong, And quickly make the entrance free,

And led his sumpter-mules along, And bid my heralds ready be,

And ambling palfrey, when at need And every minstrel sound his glee,

Him listed ease his battle-steed. And all our trumpets blow;

The last, and trustiest of the four, And from the platform, spare ye not

On high his forky pennon bore; To fire a noble salvo-shot;

Like swallow's tail, in shape and hue, Lord Marmion waits below!"

Fluttered the streamer glossy blue, Then to the castle's lower ward

Where, blazoned sable, as before, Sped forty yeomen tall,

The towering falcon seemed to soar. The iron-studded gates unbarred,

Last, twenty yeomen, two and two, Raised the portcullis' ponderous guard,

In hosen black, and jerkins blue, The lofty palisade unsparred,

With falcons broidered on each breast, And let the drawbridge fall.

Attended on their lord's behest.

Fach, chosen for an archer good,
Along the bridge lord Marmion rode,

Knew hunting-craft by lake or wood; Proudly his red-roan charger trod,

Each one a six foot bow could bend, His helm hung at the saddle bow;

And far a cloth-yard shaft could send; Well, by his visage, you might know

Each held a boar-spear tough and strong,

And at their belts their quivers rung. He was a stalworth knight, and keen,

Their dusty palfreys, and array, And had in many a battle been;

Showed they had marched a weary way. The scar on his brown cheek revealed A token true of Bosworth field;

IX. His eyebrow dark, and eye of fire,

'Tis meet that I should tell you now, Showed spirit proud, and prompt to ire: How fairly armed, and ordered how, Yet lines of thought upon his cheek

The soldiers of the guard, Did deep design and counsel speak.

With musquet, pike, and morion, His forehead, by his casque worn bare,

To welcome noble Marmion,
His thin moustache, and curly hair,

Stood in the castle-yard;
Coal-black, and grizzled here and there, Minstrels and trumpeters were there,
But more through toil than age;

The gunner held his linstock yare,
His square turned joints, and strength of limb, For welcome-shot prepared-
Showed him no carpet knight so trim,

Entered the train, and such a clang, But, in close fight, a champion grim,

As then through all his turrets rang,
In camps, a leader sage.

Old Norham never heard.

Well was he armed from head to heel,

The guards their morrice-pikes advanced, In mail, and plate of Milan steel;7

The trumpets flourished brave, But his strong helm, of mighty cost,

The cannon from the ramparts glanced, Was all with burnished gold embossed;

And thundering welcome gave. Amid the plumage of the crest

A blith salute, in martial sort, A falcon hovered on her nest,

The minstrels well might sound, With wings outspread, and forward breast; For, as lord Marmion crossed the court, . This word properly applies to a flight of water-fowl; “Welcome to Norham, Marmion,

He scattered angels round. but is applied, by analogy, to a body of horse. There is a knight of the North Country,

Stout heart, and open hand!
Which leads a lusty plump of spears.

Well dost thou brook thy gallant roan,
Battle of Flodden, Thou flower of English land!”

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