XXIII.

HAROLD.

O listen, listen, ladies gay!

No haughty feat of arms I tell ; Soft is the note, and sad the lay, That mourns the lobely Rosabelle.

'—Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant crew ! And, gentle ladye, deign to stay!

Rest thee in Castle Ravenshench,
Nor tempt the stormy firth to-day.

44

The blackening wave is edged with white;
To inch and rock the sea-mews fly;
The fishers have heard the Water Sprite,
Whose screams forebode that wreck is nigh.

“Last night the gifted Seer did biew
A wet shroud swathed round ladye gay;
Then stay thee, Fair, in Babensheuch;
Why cross the gloomy firth to-day?

"'Tis not because Lord Lindesay's heir
To-night at Roslin leads the ball,
But that my ladye-mother there

Sits lonely in her castle-hall.

''Tis not because the ring they ride,

And Lindesay at the ring rides well, But that my sire the wine will chide,

If 'tis not fill'd by Rosabelle."

O'er Roslin all that dreary night,

A wondrous blaze was seen to gleam ; 'Twas broader than the watch-fire's light, And redder than the bright moon-beam.

It glared on Roslin's castled rock,
It ruddied all the copse-wood glen;
'Twas seen from Dryden's grobes of oak,
And seen from cavern'd Hawthornden.

Seem'd all on fire that chapel proud,
Where Roslin's chiefs ancoffin'd lie,+

Each Baron, for a sable shroud,
Sheathed in his iron panoply.

Seem'd all on fire within, around,
Deep sacristy and altar's pale;

Shone every pillar foliage-bound,
And glimmer'd all the dead men's mail.

Blazed battlement and pinnet high,
Blazed every rose-carved buttress fair—
So still they blaze, when fate is nigh
The lordly line of high St. Clair.

There are twenty of Roslin's barons bold
Tie buried within that proud chapelle ;
Each one the holy bault doth hold-
But the sea holds lovely Rosabelle.

And each St. Clair was buried there,
With candle, with book, and with knell;
But the sea-cabes rung, and the wild winds sung,
The dirge of lovely Rosabelle!

XXIV.

O sweet was Harold's piteous lay,

Scarce mark'd the guests the darkened hall,

Though, long before the sinking day,

A wondrous shade involved them all :
It was not eddying mist or fog,
Drain'd by the sun from fen or bog ;
Of no eclipse had sages told ;

And yet, as it came on apace,

Each one could scarce his neighbour's face, Could scarce his own stretch'd hand be

hold.

A secret horror check'd the feast,

And chill'd the soul of every guest;
Even the high Dame stood half aghast,
She knew some evil on the blast;

The elvish Page fell to the ground,

And, shuddering, mutter'd, " Found! found! found!"

XXV.

HEN sudden, through the darken'd air
A flash of lightning came;

So broad, so bright, so red the glare,
The castle seem'd on flame.

Glanced every rafter of the hall,
Glanced every shield upon the wall;
Each trophied beam, each sculptured stone,
Were instant seen, and instant gone;
Full through the guests' bedazzled band
Resistless flash'd the levin-brand,

And fill'd the hall with smouldering smoke,
As on the elvish Page it broke.

It broke with thunder long and loud,

Dismay'd the brave, appall'd the proud,—
From sea to sea the larum rung;

On Berwick wall, and at Carlisle withal,
To arms the startled warders sprung.
When ended was the dreadful roar,
The elvish Dwarf was seen no more!

ཉི་

XXVI.

OME heard a voice in Branksome Hall,

Some saw a sight, not seen by all;
That dreadful voice was heard by some,
Cry, with loud summons, " GYLBIN, COME!"
And on the spot where burst the brand,
Just where the Page had flung him down,
Some saw an arm, and some a hand,

And some the waving of a gown.
The guests in silence pray'd and shook,
And terror dimm'd each lofty look.
But none of all the astonish'd train

Was so dismay'd as Deloraine :

His blood did freeze, his brain did burn,
'Twas fear'd his mind would ne'er return;

For he was speechless, ghastly, wan,