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Tweed loves them well, and turns again,
As loath to leave the sweet domain,
And holds his mirror to her face,
And clips her with a close embrace :
Gladly as he, we seek the dome,
And as reluctant turn us home.

VI.

How just that, at this time of glee, My thoughts should, Heber, turn to thee! For many a merry hour we've known, And heard the chimes of midnight's tone. Cease, then, my friend! a moment cease, And leave these classic tomes in peace! Of Roman and of Grecian lore Sure mortal brain can hold no more. These ancients, as Noll Bluff might say, "Were pretty fellows in their day; But time and tide o'er all prevail On Christmas eve a Christmas tale Of wonder and of war- -Profane! What! leave the lofty Latian strain, Her stately prose, her verse's charms, To hear the clash of rusty arms: In Fairy Land or Limbo lost, To jostle conjurer and ghost, Goblin and witch!"— Nay, Heber dear, Before you touch my charter, hear: Though Leyden aids, alas! no more, My cause with many-languaged lore, This may I say: — in realms of death Ulysses meets Alcides' wraith, Eneas upon Thracia's shore The ghost of murder'd Polydore;

For omens, we in Livy cross,
At every turn, locutus Bos.

As grave and duly speaks that ox
As if he told the price of stocks;
Or held in Rome republican
The place of common-councilman.

VII.

All nations have their omens drear, Their legends wild of woe and fear. To Cambria look - the peasant see Bethink him of Glendowerdy

And shun " the spirit's Blasted Tree."
The Highlander, whose red claymore
The battle turn'd on Maida's shore,
Will on a Friday morn look pale,
If ask'd to tell a fairy tale :

He fears the vengeful Elfin King,
Who leaves that day his grassy ring:
Invisible to human ken,

He walks among the sons of men.

VIII.

Didst e'er, dear Heber, pass along Beneath the towers of Franchémont, Which, like an eagle's nest in air, Hang o'er the stream and hamlet fair? Deep in their vaults, the peasants say,

A mighty treasure buried lay,

Amass'd through rapine and through wrong

By the last Lord of Franchémont.

The iron chest is bolted hard,

A huntsman sits its constant guard;

Around his neck his horn is hung,
His hanger in his belt is slung;
Before his feet his blood-hounds lie:
And 'twere not for his gloomy eye,

Whose withering glance no heart can brook,
As true a huntsman doth he look

As bugle e'er in brake did sound,
Or ever holloo'd to a hound.

To chase the fiend and win the prize
In that same dungeon ever tries
An aged necromantic priest;
It is an hundred years at least

Since 'twixt them first the strife begun,
And neither yet has lost nor won.
And oft the Conjurer's words will make
The stubborn Demon groan and quake;
And oft the bands of iron break,
Or bursts one lock, that still amain,
Fast as 'tis open'd, shuts again.
That magic strife within the tomb
May last until the day of doom,
Unless the adept shall learn to tell
The very word that clench'd the spell
When Franch'mont lock'd the treasure cell.
An hundred years are pass'd and gone,
And scarce three letters has he won.

IX.

Such general superstition may

Excuse for old Pitscottie say,
Whose gossip history has given
My song the messenger from Heaven

That warn'd, in Lithgow, Scotland's King,
Nor less the infernal summoning;

May pass the Monk of Durham's tale,
Whose demon fought in Gothic mail;

May pardon plead for Fordun grave,
Who told of Gifford's Goblin-Cave.
But why such instances to you,
Who, in an instant, can renew

Your treasured hoards of various lore,
And furnish twenty thousand more ;
Hoards, not like theirs whose volumes rest
Like treasures in the Franch'mont chest,
While gripple owners still refuse
To others what they cannot use;
Give them the priest's whole century,
They shall not spell you letters three;
Their pleasure in the books the same
The magpie takes in pilfer'd gem.
Thy volumes, open as thy heart,
Delight, amusement, science, art,
To every ear and eye impart;

Yet who of all who thus employ them,
Can like the owner's self enjoy them?-
But, hark! I hear the distant drum!
The day of Flodden Field is come.
Adieu, dear Heber! life and health,
And store of literary wealth.

NOTES ON MARMION.

CANTO FIRST.

The Castle.

STANZA 1. Norham. A ruined castle on south bank of the Tweed, not far from Berwick, and where the Tweed marks the boundary between Scotland and England. Edward I. lived at Norham while umpire concerning the Scottish succession. The donjon, or keep, or prison, was added in 1164 by the Bishop of Durham. The ruins of Norham "consist of a large shattered tower with many vaults and fragments of other edifices enclosed within an outward wall of great circuit."

ST. 2. Donjon. The donjon of a feudal castle was the strongest part, and was placed in the centre of the other buildings. The donjon contained the great hall, principal staterooms, and the prison: hence the modern word dungeon.

ST. 2. Saint George. Patron saint of England.

ST. 3.

ST. 3.

Plump of spears. Body of men-at-arms.

Sewer. An ancient officer who served a feast. ST. 3. Squire. "The shield-bearer of a knight."

ST. 3.

Seneschal. Principal officer of the household. A euphuistic word limited to poetry.

ST. 4. Pipe. Large cask for liquors.

ST. 4. Malvoisie. Malmsey. A delicious white wine prepared in Madeira. It came originally from Malvoisia in the Morea.

ST. 4. Salvo. A salute by firing guns. A military salvo.

ST. 4. Portcullis. Framework of timbers pointed with iron, hung in grooves in the chief gateway of a fortress, and let down to stop passage when there is not time to shut the gates.

ST. 5. Stalworth. Stalwart.

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