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 For thither came, in times afar, Stern Lochlin's sons of roving war, ; The Norsemen, trained to spoil and blood, Kings of the main, their leaders brave, And there, in many a stormy vale, And thus had Harold, in his youth, Of those dread maids, whose hideous yell Of chiefs, who, guided through the gloom To Roslin's bowers young Harold came, Yet something of the Northern spell XXIII. HAROLD. O listen, listen, ladies gay! No haughty feat of arms I tell; Soft is the note, and sad the lay, That mourns the lovely Rosabelle. "Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant crew! And, gentle ladye, deign to stay! Rest thee in Castle Ravensheuch, Nor tempt the stormy firth to-day. “The blackening wave is edged with white; "Last night the gifted seer did view —“ 'Tis not because Lord Lindesay's heir But that my Ladye-mother there *Inch, Isle. « "Tis not because the ring they ride, And Lindesay at the ring rides well, But that my sire the wine will chide, If 'tis 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 brighter than the bright moon-beam. It glared on Roslin's castled rock, It reddened all the copse-wood glen; "Twas seen from Dryden's groves of oak, And seen from caverned Hawthornden. Seemed all on fire that chapel proud, Each Baron, for a sable shroud, Sheathed in his iron panoply. Seemed all on fire within, around, And glimmered all the dead-men's mail. Blazed battlement and pinnet high, Blazed every rose-carved buttress fair- There are twenty of Roslin's barons bold Each one the holy vault doth hold— And each St Clair was buried there, With candle, with book, and with knell ; But the Kelpy* rung, and the Mermaid sung, The dirge of lovely Rosabelle. *Kelpy, the Water Demon. |