Then fast the mother's tears did seek To dew the infant's kindling cheek. X. All loose her negligent attire, All loose her golden hair, Hung Margaret o'er her slaughtered sire, And wept in wild despair. But not alone the bitter tear Had filial grief supplied; For hopeless love, and anxious fear, Her lover, 'gainst her father's clan, And well she knew, her mother dread, XI. Of noble race the Ladye came; Of Bethune's line of Picardie: He learned the art, that none may name, Men said he changed his mortal frame For when, in studious mood, he paced St Kentigern's hall, His form no darkening shadow traced XII. And of his skill, as bards avow, And now she sits in secret bower, In old Lord David's western tower, And listens to a heavy sound, That moans the mossy turrets round. That chafes against the scaur's* red side? Is it the wind that swings the oaks? What may it be, the heavy sound, That moans old Branksome's turrets round? XIII. At the sullen, moaning sound, Loud whoops the startled owl. And looked forth to view the night; XIV. From the sound of Teviot's tide, Chafing with the mountain's side, From the groan of the wind-swung oak, From the voice of the coming storm, It was the Spirit of the Flood that spoke, On my hills the moon-beams play. By every rill, in every glen, Merry elves, their morrice pacing, To aerial minstrelsy, Emerald rings on brown heath tracing, Trip it deft and merrily. Up, and mark their nimble feet! XVI. RIVER SPIRIT. "Tears of an imprisoned maiden Who shall be the maiden's mate?" XVII. MOUNTAIN SPIRIT. "Arthur'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; |