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Both Scots and Southern chiefs prolong
Applauses of Fitztraver's song;
These hated Henry's name as death,
And those still held the ancient faith.
Then from his seat with lofty air
Rose Harold, bard of brave Saint Clair,
Saint Clair, who, feasting high at Home,
Had with that lord to battle come.
Harold was born where restless seas
Howl round the storm-swept Orcades;
Where erst Saint Clairs held princely sway
O'er isle and islet, strait and bay;-
Still nods their palace to its fall,
Thy pride and sorrow, fair Kirkwall!
Thence oft he marked fierce Pentland rave,
As if grim Odin rode her wave,
And watched the whilst, with visage pale
And throbbing heart, the struggling sail;
For all of wonderful and wild
Had rapture for the lonely child.

XXII

And much of wild and wonderful
In these rude isles might Fancy cull;

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For thither came in times afar
Stern Lochlin's sons of roving war,
The Norsemen, trained to spoil and blood,
Skilled to prepare the raven's food,
Kings of the main their leaders brave,
Their barks the dragons of the wave;
And there, in many a stormy vale,
The Scald had told his wondrous tale,
And many a Runic column high
Had witnessed grim idolatry.
And thus had Harold in his youth
Learned many a Saga's rhyme uncouth, -
Of that Sea-Snake, tremendous curled,
Whose monstrous circle girds the world;
Of those dread Maids whose hideous yell
Maddens the battle's bloody swell;

chiefs who, guided through the gloom By the pale death-lights of the tomb, Ransacked the graves of warriors old, Their falchions wrenched from corpses' hold,

Waked the deaf tomb with war's alarms,
And bade the dead arise to arms!
With war and wonder all on flame,
To Roslin's bowers young Harold came,
Where, by sweet glen and greenwood tree,
He learned a milder minstrelsy;
Yet something of the Northern spell
Mixed with the softer numbers well.

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is edged with

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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 view
A wet shroud swathed round ladye gay;
Then stay thee, fair, in Ravensheuch:
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 't is not filled by Rosabelle.'

O'er Roslin all that dreary night

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

Then sudden through the darkened air 420
A flash of lightning came;

So broad, so bright, so red the glare,
The castle seemed 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 Hashed the levin-brand,

And filled the hall with smouldering smoke,

As on the elfish page it broke.
It broke with thunder long and loud,
Dismayed the brave, appalled 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 elfish dwarf was seen no more!

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Some 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 prayed and shook, And terror dimmed each lofty look. But none of all the astonished train

Was so dismayed as Deloraine:

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His blood did freeze, his brain did burn,
'T was feared his mind would ne'er return;
For he was speechless, ghastly, wan,
Like him of whom the story ran,
Who spoke the spectre-hound in Man.
At length by fits he darkly told,
With broken hint and shuddering cold,
That he had seen right certainly