Of Bethune's line of Picardie : He learned the art that none may name, In Padua, far beyond the sea. Men said, he changed his mortal frame, By feat of magic mystery; For when in studious mood he paced St. Andrew's cloister'd hall,

His form no darkening shadow traced Upon the sunny wall!

XII.

And of his skill, as bards avow,

He taught that Ladye fair,
Till to her bidding she could bow

The viewless forms of air.
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,
Is it the roar of Teviot's tide,

That chafes against the scaur's red side?
Is it the wind that swings the oaks?
Is it the echo from the rocks?
What may it be, the heavy sound,
That moans old Branksome's turrets
round?

XIII.

At the sullen, moaning sound,
The ban-dogs bay and howl;
And from the turrets round,

Loud whoops the startled owl. In the hall, both squire and knight

Swore that a storm was near, And looked forth to view the night; But the night was still and clear.

XIV.

From the sound of Teviot's tide,
Chafing with the mountain's side,
From the groan of the wind-swung oak,
From the sullen echo of the rock,
From the voice of the coming storm,

The Ladye knew it well!

It was the Spirit of the Flood that spoke, And he called on the Spirit of the Fell.

XV.

RIVER SPIRIT.

"Sleep'st thou, brother?".

MOUNTAIN SPIRIT.
-"Brother, may-

On my hills the moonbeams play.
From Craik-cross to Skelfhill pen,
By every rill, in every glen,
Merry elves their morris pacing,
To aerial minstrelsy,

Emerald rings on brown heath tracing,
Trip it deft and merrily.

Up, and mark their nimble feet!
Up, and list their music sweet!

XVI.

RIVER SPIRIT.

"Tears of an imprisoned maiden Mix with my polluted stream; Margaret of Branksome, sorrow-laden.

Mourns beneath the moon's pale beam. Tell me, thou, who view'st the stars, When shall cease these feudal jars? What shall be the maiden's fate? 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 am grim;

Orion's studded belt is dim;
Twinkling faint, and distant far,
Shimmers through mist each planet star
Ill may I read their high decree !
But no kind influence deign they showe
On Teviot's tide, and Branksome's tower
Till pride be quell'd, and love be free.

XVIII.

The unearthly voices ceast,

And the heavy sound was still 5 It died on the river's breast,

It died on the side of the hill. But round Lord David's tower

The sound still floated near ; For it rung in the Ladye's bower, And it rung in the Ladye's ear. She raised her stately head,

And her heart throbb'd high wit pride:

"Your mountains shall bend,

And your streams ascend,

Ere Margaret be our foeman's bride!

XIX.

The Ladye sought the lofty hall, Where many a bold retainer lay, nd, with jocund din, among them all, Her son pursued his infant play. fancied moss-trooper, the boy The truncheon of a spear bestrode, and round the hall right merrily, In mimic foray rode.

Even bearded knights, in arms grown old,

Share in his frolic gambols bore, Albeit their hearts, of rugged mould, Were stubborn as the steel they wore. For the grey warriors prophesied,

How the brave boy, in future wars, Should tame the unicorn's pride, Exalt the Crescent and the Star.

XX.

The Ladye forgot her purpose high,
One moment, and no more;
One moment gazed with a mother's eye,
As she paused at the arched door:
Then, from amid the armed train,
She call'd to her William of Deloraine.

XXI.

A stark moss-trooping Scott was he,
As e'er couch'd Border lance by knee;
Through Solway sands, through Tarras

moss,

Blindfold, he knew the paths to cross;
By wily turns, by desperate bounds,
Had baffled Percy's best blood-hounds;
In Eske or Liddel, fords were none,
But he would ride them, one by one;
Alike to him was time or tide,
December's snow, or July's pride;
Alike to him was tide or time,
Moonless midnight, or matin prime:
Steady of heart, and stout of hand,
As ever drove prey from Cumberland;
Five times outlawed had he been,
By England's King, and Scotland's
Queen.

XXII.

Sir William of Deloraine, good at need, Mount thee on the wightest steed;

Spare not to spur, nor stint to ride,
Until thou come to fair Tweedside;
And in Melrose's holy pile

Seek thou the Monk of St. Mary's aisle.
Greet the Father well from me;

Say that the fated hour is come, And to-night he shall watch with thee, To win the treasure of the tomb : For this will be St. Michael's night, And, though stars be dim, the moon is bright;

And the Cross, of bloody red,

Will point to the grave of the mighty dead.

XXIII.

"What he gives thee, see thou keep,
Stay not thou for food or sleep :
Be it scroll, or be it book,

Into it, Knight, thou must not look;
If thou readest, thou art lorn!
Better hadst thou ne'er been born!"

XXIV.

"O swiftly can speed my dapple-grey steed,

Which drinks of the Teviot clear; Ere break of day," the Warrior 'gan say, "Again will I be here:

And safer by none may thy errand be done.

Than, noble dame, by me;
Letter nor line know I never a one,
Wer't my neck-verse at Hairibee."

XXV.

Soon in his saddle sate he fast,
And soon the steep descent he past,
Soon cross'd the sounding barbican,*
And soon the Teviot side he won.
Eastward the wooded path he rode,
Green hazels o'er his basnet nod;
He pass'd the Peelt of Goldiland,
And cross'd old Borthwick's roaring
strand;

Dimly he view'd the Moat-hill's mound,
Where Druid shades still flitted round;
In Hawick twinkled many a light;
Behind him soon they set in night;

*Barbican, the defence of an outer gate of a feudal castle.

↑ Peel, a Border tower.

A moment now he slack'd his speed,
A moment breathed his panting steed;
Drew saddle-girth and corslet-band,
And loosen'd in the sheath his brand,
On Minto-crags the moonbeams glint,
Where Barnhill hew'd his bed of flint;
Who flung his outlaw'd limbs to rest,
Where falcons hang their giddy nest,
Mid cliffs, from whence his eagle eye
For many a league his prey could spy
Cliffs, doubling, on their echoes borne,
The terrors of the robber's horn;
Cliffs, which, for many a later year,
The warbling Doric reed shall hear,
When some sad swain shall teach the
grove,

Ambition is no cure for love!

XXVIII.

Unchallenged, thence pass'd Deloraine, To ancient Riddel's fair domain,

Where Aill, from mountains freed, Down from the lakes did raving come; Each wave was crested with tawny foam, Like the mane of a chestnut steed. In vain! no torrent, deep or broad, Might bar the bold moss-trooper's road.

XXIX.

At the first plunge the horse sunk low,
And the water broke o'er the saddlebow;
Above the foaming tide, I ween,
Scarce half the charger's neck was seen;

* An ancient Roman road, crossing through part of Roxburghshire.

For he was barded* from counter to tail, And the rider was armed complete in mail;

Never heavier man and horse
Stemm'd a midnight torrent's force.
The warrior's very plume, I say,
Was daggled by the dashing spray;
Yet, through good heart, and Our
Ladye's grace,

At length he gained the landing place.

XXX.

Now Bowden Moor the march-man won,
And sternly shook his plumed head,
As glanced his eye o'er Halidon; +
For on his soul the slaughter red
Of that unhallow'd morn arose,
When first the Scott and Carr were foes
When royal James beheld the fray,
Prize to the victor of the day,
When Home and Douglas, in the van,
Bore down Buccleuch's retiring clan,
Till gallant Cessford's heart-blood dea
Reek'd on dark Elliott's Border spear.

XXXI.

Dejectedly, and low, he bow'd,
And, gazing timid on the crowd,
He seem'd to seek, in every eye,
If they approved his minstrelsy;
And, diffident of present praise,
Somewhat he spoke of former days,
And how old age, and wand'ring long,
Had done his hand and harp some wrong.
The Duchess and her daughters fair,
And every gentle lady there,
Each after each, in due degree,
Gave praises to his melody;

His hand was true, his voice was clear,
And much they longed the rest to hear,
Encouraged thus, the Aged Man,
After meet rest, again began.