The voice of thunder shook the wood, Next, dropped from high a mangled arm; Oft o'er that head, in battling field, Streamed the proud crest of high Benmore; Woe to Moneira's sullen rills! Woe to Glenfinlas' dreary glen! F'en the tired pilgrim's burning feet And we-behind the chieftain's shield, O hone a rie'! O hone a rie'! The pride of Albin's line is o'er, THE EVE OF ST. JOHN. SMAYLHO'ME, or Smallholm Tower, the scene of the following ballad, is situated on the northern boundary of Roxburghshire, among a cluster of wild rocks, called Sandiknow-Crags. The tower is a high square building, surrounded by an outer wall, now ruinous, The circuit of the outer court, being defended, on three sides, by a precipice and, morass, is accessible only from the west, by a steep and rocky path. The apartments, as is usual in a Border keep, or fortress, are placed one above another, and communicate by a narrow stair. On the roof are two bartizans, or platforms, for defence or pleasure. The inner door of the tower is wood, the outer an iron gate; the distance between them being nine feet, the thickness, namely, of the wall. From the elevated situation of Smaylho'me Tower, it is seen many miles in every direction. Among the crags by which it is surrounded, one, more eminent, is called the Watch fold, and is said to have been the station of a beacon, in the times of war with England. Without the tower-court is a ruined chapel. Brotherstone is a heath, in the neighbourhood of Smaylho'me Tower. THE Baron of Smaylho'me rose with day, Without stop or stay, down the rocky way He went not with the bold Buccleuch, He went not 'gainst the English yew, Yet his plate-jack was braced, and his helmet And his vaunt-brace of proof he wore; At his saddle-gerthe was a good steel sperthe, The Baron returned in three days' space, He came not from where Ancram Moor Where the Douglas true, and the bold Buccleuch, Yet was his helmet hacked and hewed, His acton pierced and tore; His axe and his dagger with blood imbrued,— He lighted at the Chapellage, And he whistled thrice for his little foot-page, "Come thou hither, my little foot-page; Thou art young, and tender of age, I think thou art true to me. Come, tell me all that thou hast seen, And look thou tell me true! Since I from Smaylho'me tower have been, "My lady, each night, sought the lonely light, For, from height to height, the beacons bright The bittern clamoured from the moss, I watched her steps, and silent came No watchman stood by the dreary flame; The second night I kept her in sight, And, by Mary's might! an armèd Knight And many a word that warlike lord Did speak to my lady there; But the rain fell fast, and loud blew the blast, The third night there the sky was fair, And the mountain blast was still, As again I watched the secret pair, And I heard her name the midnight hour, And name this holy eve; And say, 'Come this night to thy lady's bower ; He lifts his spear with the bold Buccleuch ; His lady is all alone; The door she'll undo to her knight so true, 'I cannot come; I must not come; I dare not come to thee; On the eve of St. John I must wander alone: 'Now, out on thee, faint-hearted knight ! For the eve is sweet, and when lovers meet, And I'll chain the blood-hound, and the warder And rushes shall be strewed on the stair; So by the black rood-stone, and by holy St. John, "Though the blood-hound be mute, and the rush And the warder his bugle should not blow, Yet there sleepeth a priest in the chamber to the east, And my footstep he would know.' O fear not the priest, who sleepeth to the east! pass, He turned him around, and grimly he frowned; 'He who says the mass-rite for the soul of that knight, At the lone midnight hour, when bad spirits have power, In thy chamber will I be.' With that he was gone, and my lady left alone, And no more did I see.' Then changed, I trow, was that bold Baron's brow, "Now, tell me the mien of the knight thou hast seen, "His arms shone full bright, in the beacon's red light; On his shield was a hound, in a silver leash bound, "Thou liest, thou liest, thou little foot-page, For that knight is cold, and low laid in the mould, "Yet hear but my word, my noble lord! For I heard her name his name; And that lady bright, she called the knight, The bold Baron's brow then changed, I trow, "The grave is deep and dark-and the corpse is stiff and stark So I may not trust thy tale. Where fair Tweed flows round holy Melrose, And Eildon slopes to the plain, Full three nights ago, by some secret foe, The gay gallant was slain. The varying light deceived thy sight, And the wild winds drowned the name; For the Dryburgh bells ring, and the white monks do sing, He passed the court-gate, and he oped the tower grate, To the bartizan-seat, where, with maids that on her wait, That lady sat in mournful mood; Over Tweed's fair flood, and Mertoun's wood, "Now hail, now hail, thou lady bright!" What news, what news, from Ancram fight? "The Ancram moor is red with gore, For many a Southron fell; And Buccleuch has charged us, evermore The lady blushed red, but nothing she said; Nor added the Baron a word : Then she stepped down the stair to her chamber fair, In sleep the lady mourned, and the Baron tossed and turned, And oft to himself he said "The worms around him creep, and his bloody grave is deep... It cannot give up the dead!" It was near the ringing of matin-bell, The lady looked through the chamber fair, And she was aware of a knight stood there- "Alas! away, away!" she cried, 66 "For the holy Virgin's sake! Lady, I know who sleeps by thy side; But, lady, he will not awake. By Eildon-tree, for long nights three, In bloody grave have I lain; The mass and the death-prayer are said for me, But, lady, they are said in vain. By the Baron's brand near Tweed's fair strand, And my restless sprite on the beacon's height At our trysting-place, for a certain space, But I had not had power to come to thy bower, |