« 前へ次へ »
From the wild Border's humbled side,
While Knox relaxed his bigot pride,
But can stern Power, with all his vaunt.
Or Pomp, with all her courtly glare,
With hackbut bent, my secret stand
And marked, where, mingling in his band,
Dark Morton, girt with many a spear,
And clashed their broadswords in the rear,
Glencairn and stout Parkhead were nigh,
And haggard Lindsay's iron eye,
'Mid pennoned spears, a steely grove,
Scarce could his trampling charger move,
From the raised visor's shade, his eye,
And his steel truncheon, waved on high,
But yet his saddened brow confessed
Some fiend was whispering in his breast,
The death-shot parts—the charger springs—
And Murray's plumy helmet rings—
What joy the raptured youth can feel,
Or he, who broaches on his steel
But dearer to my injured eye,
And mine was ten times trebled joy
My Margaret's spectre glided near;
With pride her bleeding victim saw;
'Remember injured Bothwellhaugh!'
Then speed thee, noble Chatlerault!
Spread to the wind thy bannered tree!
Murray is fallen, and Scotland free."
Vaults every warrior to his steed:
Loud bugles join their wild acclaim— "Murray is fallen, and Scotland freed!
Couch, Arran! couch thy spear of flame!"
But, see! the minstrel vision fails—
The shouts of war die on the gales,
For the loud bugle, pealing high,
And sunk in ivied ruins lie
For chiefs, intent on bloody deed,
Lo! high-born Beauty rules the steed,
And long may Peace and Pleasure own
Nor e'er a ruder guest be known
THE GREY BROTHER.
The tradition, upon which the tale Is founded, regards a house upon the barony of Gilmerton, near Lasswade, in Mid-Lothian. This building, now called Gilmerton Grange, was formerly named Burndale, from the following tragic adventure:—The barony of Gilmerton belonged, of yore, to a gentleman named Heron, who had one beautiful daughter. This young lady was seduced by the Abbot of Newbottle, a richly-endowed abbey, upon the banks of the South Eske, now a seat of the Marquis of Lothian. Heron came to the knowledge of this circumstance, and learned, also, that the lovers carried on their guilty intercourse by the contrivance of the lady's nurse, who lived at this house of Gilmerton Grange, or Burndale. He formed a resolution of bloody vengeance, undeterred by the supposed sanctity of the clerical character, or by the stronger claims of natural
affection. Choosing, therefore, a dark and windy night, when the objects of his vengeance were engaged In a stolen Interview, he set fire to a stack of dried thorns and other combustibles, which he had caused to be piled against the house, and reduced to a pile of glowing ashes the dwelling, with nil Its inmates.
The scene with which the ballad opens, was suggested by a curious passage in the life of Alexander Feden, one of the wandering and persecuted teachers of the sect of Cameronians, during the reign of Charles II. and that of his successor James 1L
Thk Pope he was saying the high, high mass,
All on Saint Peter's day,
To wash men's sins away.
The Pope he was saying the blessed mass,
And the people kneeled around,
As he kissed the holy ground.
And all among the crowded throng,
Was still, both limb and tongue,
The holy accents rung.
At the holiest word, he quivered for fear,
And faltered in the sound—
He dropped it on the ground.
"The breath of one, of evil deed,
Pollutes our sacred day;
No part in what I say.
A being, whom no blessSd word
To ghostly peace can bring;
Recoils each holy thing.
Up, up, unhappy! haste, arise!
My adjuration fear!
Nor longer tarry here!"
Amid them all a Pilgrim kneeled,
In gown of sackcloth grey:
He first saw Rome that day.
For forty days and nights so drear,
I ween, he had not spoke,
His fast he ne'er had broke.
Amid the penitential flock,
Seemed none more bent to pray; But, when the Holy Father spoke,
He rose, and went his way.
Again unto his native land
His weary course he drew,
And Pentland's mountains blue.
His unblessed feet his native seat,
'Mid Eske's fair woods, regain; Through woods more fair no stream more sweet
Rolls to the eastern main.
And lords to meet the Pilgrim came,
And vassals bent the knee;
Was none more famed than he.
And boldly for his country, still,
In battle he had stood,
Her noblest poured their blood.
Sweet are the paths, O, passing sweet!
By Eske's fair streams that run,
Impervious to the sun.
There the rapt poet's step may rove,
And yield the muse the day; There Beauty, led by timid Love,
May shun the tell-tale ray;
From that fair dome, where suit is paid
By blast of bugle free,
And haunted Woodhouselee.
Who knows not Melville's beechy grove,
And Roslin's rocky glen,
And classic Hawthornden 1
Yet never a path, from day to day,
The Pilgrim's footsteps range, Save but the solitary way,
To Burndale's ruined Grange.
A woeful place was that, I ween,
As sorrow could desire; For, nodding to the fall was each crumbling wall,
And the roof was scathed with fire..
It fell upon a summer's eve,
While on Cariiethy*s head
Had streaked the grey with red;
And the convent bell did vespers tell,
Newbottle's oaks among,
Our Ladye's evening song:
The heavy knell, the choir's faint swell,
Came slowly down the wind, And on the Pilgrim's ear they fell,
As his wonted path he did find.
Deep sunk in thought, I ween he was,
Nor ever raised his eye,
Which did all in ruins lie.
He gazed on the walls, so scathed with fire,
With many a bitter groan—
Resting him on a stone.
"Now, Christ thee save!" said the Grey Brother;
"Some pilgrim thou seem'st to be;" But in sore amaze did Lord Albert gaze,
Nor answer again made he.
"O come ye from east, or come ye from west,
Or bring relics from over the sea; Or come ye from the shrine of Saint James the divine,
Or Saint John of Beverley V
"I come not from the shrine of Saint James the divine,
Nor bring relics from over the sea;
Which for ever will cling to me."
"Now, woeful pilgrim, say not so!
But kneel thee down by me,
That absolved thou mayst be."
"And who art thou, thou Grey Brother,
That I should shrive to thee, When he, to whom are given the keys of earth and heaven,
Has no power to pardon met"
"O I am sent from a distant clime,
Five thousand miles away,
Done here 'twixt night and day."