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ERE paused the harp; and with its swell

The Master's fire and courage fell : Dejectedly, and low, he bow'd, And, gazing timid on the crowd, He seem'd to seek, in every eye, If they approved his minstrelsy ; And, diffident of present praise, Somewhat he spoke of former days, And how old age, and wand'ring long, Had done his hand and harp some wrong. The Duchess, and her daughters fair, And every gentle lady there, Each after each, in due degree, Gave praises to his melody ; His hand was true, his voice was clear, And much they longed the rest to hear, Encouraged thus, the Aged Man, After meet rest, again began.

Xanto Second.

F thou would'st view fair Melrose aright,

I Go visit it by the pale moonlight ; COM For the gay beams of lightsome day, Gild, but to flout, the ruins grey. When the broken arches are black in night, And each shafted oriel glimmers white; When the cold light's uncertain shower Streams on the ruin'd central tower ; When buttress and buttress, alternately, Seem framed of ebon and ivory ; When silver edges the imagery, And the scrolls that teach thee to live and die;t When distant Tweed is heard to rave, And the owlet to hoot o'er the dead man's

grave,

Then go-but go alone the while
Then view St. David's ruin'd pile ;t
And, home returning, soothly swear,
Was never scene so sad and fair !

II.
THORT halt did Deloraine make there ;

Little reck'd he of the scene so fair : With dagger's hilt, on the wicket strong, He struck full loud, and struck full long. The porter hurried to the gate“Who knocks so loud, and knocks so late?"-“From Branksome I,” the warrior cried ; And straight the wicket open'd wide : For Branksome's Chiefs had in battle stood,

To fence the rights of fair Melrose ;
And lands and livings, many a rood,
Had gifted the shrine for their souls' repose.

III.
POLD Deloraine his errand said ;

The porter bent his humble head ;
With torch in hand, and feet unshod,
And noiseless step, the path he trod ;
The arched cloister, far and wide,

Rang to the warrior's clanking stride ;
Till, stooping low his lofty crest,
He enter'd the cell of the ancient priest,
And lifted his barred aventayle,f
To hail the Monk of St. Mary's aisle.

IV. “ HE Ladye of Branksome greets thce

by me; Says, that the fated hour is come, And that to-night I shall watch with thee,

To win the treasure of the tomb.”— From sackcloth couch the Monk arose,

With toil his stiffen'a limbs he reard ; A hundred years had flung their snows

On his thin locks and floating beard.

a ND strangely on the Knight look'd he,

And his blue eyes gleam'd wild and

wide ; “And darest thou, Warrior ! seek to see

What heaven and hell alike would hide ? My breast, in belt of iron pent,

With shirt of hair and scourge of thorn ;

For threescore years, in penance spent,

My knees those Alinty stones have worn ;
Yet all too little to atone
For knowing what should ne'er be known.
Would'st thou thy every future year

In ceaseless prayer and penance drie,
Yet wait thy latter end with fear-
Then, daring Warrior, follow me!”-

VI.
HENANCE, father, will I none;

Prayer know I hardly one ;
For mass or prayer can I rarely tarry,
Save to patter an Ave Mary,
When I ride on a Border foray.
Other prayer can I none;
So speed me my errand, and let me be
gone."—

VII.
I GAIN on the Knight look'd the Church-

man old,
And again he sighed heavily ;
For he had himself been a warrior bold,

And fought in Spain and Italy,

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