And he thought on the days that were long

since by, When his limbs were strong, and his courage

was high :Now, slow and faint, he led the way, Where, cloister'd round, the garden lay ; The pillar'd arches were over their head, And beneath their feet were the bones of the dead.

VIII. 12 PREADING herbs, and flowerets bright,

Glisten'd with the dew of night; Nor herb, nor floweret, glisten’d there, But was carved in the cloister-arches as

fair. The Monk gazed long on the lovely moon,

Then into the night he looked forth ; And red and bright the streamers light

Were dancing in the glowing north. So had he seen, in fair Castile,

The youth in glittering squadrons start ; Sudden the flying jennet wheel,

And hurl the unexpected dart.

He knew, by the streamers that shot so

bright, That spirits were riding the northern light.

IX. 1 Y a steel-clenched postern door,

They enter'd now the chancel tall ; The darken'd roof rose high aloof

On pillars lofty and light and small : The key-stone, that lock'd each ribbed aisle, Was a fleur-de-lys, or a quatre-feuille ; The corbellst were carved grotesque and

grim ; And the pillars, with cluster'd shafts so trim, With base and with capital flourish'd around, Seem'd bundles of lances which garlands had bound.

x. BULL many a scutcheon and banner riven,

Shook to the cold night-wind of heaven, Around the screened altar's pale ; And there the dying lamps did burn, Before thy low and lonely urn, O gallant Chief of Otterburne !+

And thine, dark Knight of Liddesdale !+ O fading honours of the dead ! O high ambition, lowly laid !

AHE moon on the east oriel shone

Through slender shafts of shapely stone, By foliaged tracery combined ; Thou would'st have thought some fairy's

hand 'Twixt poplars straight the ozier wand,

In many a freakish knot, had twined Then framed a spell, when the work was

done,
And changed the willow-wreaths to stone.

The silver light so pale and faint,
Show'd many a prophet, and many a

saint,
Whose image on the glass was dyed ;
Full in the midst, his Cross of Red
Triumphant Michael brandished,

And trampled the Apostate's pride.
The moon-beam kiss'd the holy pane,
And threw on the pavement a bloody stain.

XII.

" HEY sate them down on a marble stone,

A Scottish monarch slept below; Thus spoke the Monk, in solemn tone :

“I was not always a man of woe; For Paynim countries I have trod, And fought beneath the Cross of God : Now, strange to my eyes thine arms appear, And their iron clang sounds strange to my ear.

'XI.
N these far climes, it was my lot

To meet the wondrous Michael Scott ;t
A wizard, of such dreaded fame,
That when, in Salamanca's cave,
Him listed his magic wand to wave,

The bells would ring in Notre Dame ! Some of his skill he taught to me; And, Warrior, I could say to thee The words that cleft Eildon hills in three, And bridled the Tweed with a curb of

stone.t But to speak them were a deadly sin ;

And for having but thought them my heart

within,
A treble penance must be done.

XIV. “MHEN Michael lay on his dying bed,

hos His conscience was awakened: He bethought him of his sinful deed, And he gave me a sign to come with speed : I was in Spain when the morning rose, But I stood by his bed ere evening close. The words may not again be said, That he spoke to me, on death-bed laid ; They would rend this Abbaye's massy nave, And pile it in heaps above his grave.

“ SWORE to bury his Mighty Book,
and That never mortal might therein

look;
And never to tell where it was hid,
Save at his Chief of Branksome's need :
And when that need was past and o'er,
Again the volume to restore.
I buried him on St. Michael's night,