XV. RIVER SPIRIT. LEEP'ST thou, brother?" MOUNTAIN SPIRIT. -"Brother, nay— On my hills the moon-beams play. By every rill, in every glen, Merry elves their morris pacing, Emerald rings on brown heath tracing, Up, and mark their nimble feet! XVI. RIVER SPIRIT. EARS of an imprisoned maiden Mix with my polluted stream; Margaret of Branksome, sorrow-laden, Mourns beneath the moon's pale beam. Tell me, thou, who view'st the stars, When shall cease these feudal jars ? What shall be the maiden's fate? Who shall be the maiden's mate?" XVII. MOUNTAIN SPIRIT. RTHUR'S slow wain his course doth roll. In utter darkness, round the pole ; The Northern Bear lowers black and grim ; Orion's studded belt is dim; Twinkling faint, and distant far, Shimmers through mist each planet star; But no kind influence deign they shower XVIII. HE unearthly voices ceast, And the heavy sound was still; It died on the river's breast, And it rung in the Ladye's ear. She raised her stately head, And her heart throbb'd high with pride:"Your mountains shall bend, And your streams ascend, Ere Margaret be our foeman's bride!" XIX. HE Ladye sought the lofty hall, Where many a bold retainer lay, And, with jocund din, among them all, Even bearded knights, in arms grown old, Albeit their hearts of rugged mould, c XX. HE Ladye forgot her purpose high, One moment, and no more; One moment gazed with a mother's eye, XXI. STARK moss-trcoping Scott was he, As e'er couch'd Border lance by knee : Through Solway sands, through Tarras moss, Blindfold, he knew the paths to cross; As ever drove prey from Cumberland ; Five times outlawed had he been, By England's King, and Scotland's Queen. XXII. IR William of Deloraine, good at need, Mount thee on the wightest steed; Spare not to spur, nor stint to ride, Until thou come to fair Tweedside ; Seek thou the Monk of St. Mary's aisle. Say that the fated hour is come, To win the treasure of the tomb : For this will be St. Michael's night, 1 And, though stars be dim, the moon is bright; And the Cross, of bloody red, Will point to the grave of the mighty dead. XXIII. HAT he gives thee, see thou keep, Stay not thou for food or sleep : Be it scroll, or be it book, Into it, Knight, thou must not look ; |