UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS LIBRARY Class Book Volume MrlO-20M Return this book on or before the latest Date stamped below. Theft, mutilation, and underlining of books are reasons for disciplinary action and may result m dismissal from the University University of Illinois Library L161— O-1096 THE ALDINE EDITION OF THE BRITISH POETS r THE POETICAL WORKS OF SIR WALTER SCOTT VOL. V THE POETICAL WORKS OF SIR WALTEE SCOTT EDITED WITH MEMOIE BY JOHN DENNIS AUTHOR OF "STUDIES IN ENGLISH LITERATURE," ETC. In Five Volumes VOL. V LONDON GEORGE BELL & SONS, YORK ST., CO VENT GARDEN AND NEW YORK 1892 CHISWICK PRESS :— C. WHITTINGHAM AND CO., TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE. CONTENTS. Vol. V. , Harold THE Dauntless PAGE 1 ' MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Ballads, Translated, or Imitated, from THE German, &c. ^ William and Helen / The Wild Huntsman , ' The Fire-King . Frederick and Alice The Battle of Sempach The Noble Moringer . The Erl-King Contributions to the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border :— Thomas the Rhymer- Part I. Part II. Part III. 91 102 109 117 120 127 139 143 149 153 161 171 180 191 i^Glenfinlas . iThe Eve of St. John ^ Cadyow Castle . The Grey Brother Ballads, Songs, Etc. :— Bothwell Castle 199 The Shepherd's Tale 201 The Reiver's Wedding .... 207 The Violet 211 To a Lady, with Flowers from a Roman Wall 211 Cheviot 212 165728 vi CONTENTS. PAGE Ballads, Songs, Etc. -.—continued. War Song of the Koyal Edinburgh Light Dragoons 212 The Bard's Incantation . . . .215 Helvellyn 217 The Maid of Toro 220 The Palmer 221 The Maid of Neidpath .... 223 Wandering Willie 225 The Dying Bard 227 The Norman Horse-Shoe . . . .228 Hunting Song 230 The Resolve 231 Epitaph, designed for a monument in Lich- field Cathedral, at the Burial-place of the family of Miss Seward . . . .233 Prologue to Miss Baillie's play of " The Family Legend " 234 The Poacher 235 The Bold Dragoon, or the Plain of Badajos 241 Song Oh, say not, my love," etc.) . . 243 For a' that an' a' that 243 On the Massacre of Glencoe . . . 245 Lines, addressed to Ranald Macdonald, Esq., of StafFa 246 Letter in Verse to the Duke of Buccleuch . 247 Song for the Anniversary Meeting of the Pitt Club of Scotland .... 253 Farewell to Mackenzie, High Chief of Kin- tail 255 Imitation of the Preceding Song . , . 257 War Song of Lachlan, High Chief of Mac- lean 259 Saint Cloud 260 The Dance of Death 262 Romance of Dunois 267 The Troubadour 268 From the French 270 Song, on the lifting of the banner of the house of Buccleuch, at a great foot-ball match at Carterhaugh .... 270 Lullaby of an Infant Chief .... 273 Verses sung at a dinner given to the Grand - Duke Nicholas of Russia .... 274 Pibroch of Donald Dhu .... 275 The Return to Ulster 276 CO E NTS. vii PAGE Ballads, Songs, Etc. i— continued. Jock of Hazeldean 279 Nora's Vow 280 Macgregor's Gathering .... 282 The Search after Happiness, or, The Quest of Sultaun Solimaun .... 284 The Sun upon the Weirdlaw Hill . . 297 Mr. Kemble's Farewell Address . . . 298 lines written for Miss Smith . . . 300 The Monks of Bangor's March . . .301 Epilogue to The Appeal "... 303 Mackrimmon's Lament .... 304 Donald Caird's come again .... 306 Epitaph on Mrs. Erskine . . . .308 On Ettrick Forest's mountains dun . . 309 Farewell to the Muse 310 The Maid of Isla 311 Carle, now the King's come . . . 312 ,, ,, Part Second . 315 The Bannatyne Club ..... 319 Lines, addressed to Monsieur Alexandre the celebrated ventriloquist . . . 323 The Foray 324 Songs and Mottoes from the Novels :— Songs from " Waverley " .... 329 Songs from Guy Mannering' . . . 338 Songs from *' The Antiquary " . . . 340 Mottoes from " The Antiquary " . . 342 Song from Rob Roy " .... 346 Mottoes from " Rob Roy " . . . .347 Songs from Old Mortality "... 349 Mottoes from " Old Mortality " . . . 351 Songs from The Heart of Mid-Lothian " . 352 Mottoes from The Heart of Mid-Lothian " 356 Songs from *' The Legend of Montrose" . 356 Mottoes from " The Legend of Montrose " . 360 Songs from " The Bride of Lammermoor " . 361 Mottoes from The Bride of Lammermoor " 362 Mottoes from ' * The Black Dwarf " . . 363 Songs from Ivanhoe " . . . . 364 Mottoes from Ivanhoe " .... 373 Songs from The Monastery " . . . 376 Mottoes from " The Monastery " . . 386 Mottoes from " The Abbot "... 392 viii CONTENTS. PAGE Songs and Mottoes from the Novels '.—con- tinued. Songs from " Kenil worth " .... 396 Mottoes from Kenilworth" . . .398 Songs from " The Pirate " .... 401 Mottoes from The Pirate "... 420 Mottoes from " The Fortunes of Nigel " . 424 Mottoes from Peveril of the Peak " . . 431 Song from Quentin Durward " . . . 435 Mottoes from Quentin Durward " . . 436 Mottoes from St. Ronan's Well " . . 439 Song from " Redgauntlet " . . . . 441 Songs from The Betrothed "... 442 Mottoes from The Betrothed " . . . 445 Songs from The Talisman" . . . 446 Mottoes from The Talisman " . . . 453 Songs from Woodstock" .... 456 Mottoes from Woodstock" . . . 458 Motto from ' ' The Highland Widow " . 460 Motto from " The Two Drovers " . . 461 Motto from " My Aunt Margaret's Mirror" 461 Songs from Th'e Fair Maid of Perth " . 462 Mottoes from The Fair Maid of Perth " . 464 Songs from " Anne of Geierstein " . . 465 Mottoes from Anne of Geierstein" . . 467 Mottoes from Castle Dangerous " . . 473 Songs from the Dramas :— From The House of Aspen " . . . 477 From Auchindrane ; or, the Ayrshire Tragedy " 479 From " The Doom of Devergoil " . . 480 Index of First Lines 489 HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS, A POEM; In Six Cantos. V. B HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. INTRODUCTION. " Harold the Dauntless," one of the few pro- ductions of Scott that may be distinctly pro- nounced a failure, followed the " Bridal," in 1816. He seems to have kept it by him for two years, Lockhart writes, " as a congenial plaything to be taken up whenever the coach brought no proof-sheets to jog him as to serious matters." Writing of this poem the poet says : Upon another occasion I sent up another of these trifles, which, like schoolboys' kites, served to show how the wind of popular taste was setting. The manner was supposed to be that of a rude minstrel or Scald, in opposition to the * Bridal of Triermain,' which was de- signed to belong rather to the Italian school. This new fugitive piece was called * Harold the Dauntless ; ' and I am still astonished at my having committed the gross error of select- ing the very name which Lord Byron had made so famous. It encountered rather an odd fate. My ingenious friend, Mr. James Hogg, had published, about the same time, a work called the * Poetic Mirror,' containing imitations of the principal living poets. There was in it a very good imitation of my own style, which 4 INTRODUCTION TO HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. bore such a resemblance to ' Harold the Daunt- less/ that there was no discovering the original from the imitation ; and I believe that many who took the trouble of thinking upon the sub- ject were rather of opinion that my ingenious friend was the true, and not the fictitious Simon Pure. Since this period, which was in the year 1816, the author has not been an in- truder on the public by any poetical work of importance/' ^ It may be added that this poem, a " strange rude story " in its author's judgment, was pub- lished anonymously like the Bridal ; " that Scott amused himself a second time by insert- ing passages which might help to identify the poem with Erskine, and that once more the reviewers failed to discern the author. ^ Introduction to The Lord of the Isles." HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. INTRODUCTION. There is a mood of mind we all have known, On drowsy eve, or dark and lowering day, When the tired spirits lose their sprightly tone. And nought can chase the lingering hours away. Dull on our soul falls Fancy's dazzling ray. And Wisdom holds his steadier torch in vain. Obscured the painting seems, mistuned the lay, Nor dare we of our listless load complain, For who for sympathy may seek that cannot tell of pain ? 9 The jolly sportsman knows such drearihood, When bursts in deluge the autumnal rain. Clouding that morn which threats the heath- cock's brood ; Of such, in summer's drought, the anglers plain. Who hope the soft mild southern shower in vain ; But, more than all, the discontented fair. Whom father stern, and sterner aunt, re- strain 6 HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. [iNTROD. From coantj-ball, or race occurring rare, While all her friends around their vestments gaj prepare. Ennui ! — or, as our mothers called thee. Spleen ! To thee we owe full many a rare device ; — 20 Thine is the sheaf of painted cards, I ween, The rolling billiard-ball, the rattling dice, The turning-lathe for framing gimcrack nice ; The amateur's blotched pallet thou mayst claim. Retort, and air-pump, threatening frogs and mice, (Murders disguised by philosophic name,) And much of trifling grave, and much of buxom game. Then of the books, to catch thy drowsy glance Compiled, what bard the catalogue may quote ! Plays, poems, novels, never read but once ; — But not of such the tale fair Edgeworth wrote, 31 That bears thy name, and is thine antidote ; And not of such the strain my Thomson sung, Delicious dreams inspiring by his note. What time to Indolence his harp he strung ; — Oh ! might my lay be ranked that happier list among ! Each hath his refuge whom thy cares assail. For me, I love my study-fire to trim, And con right vacantly some idle tale. INTROD.] HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 7 Displaying on the couch each listless limb, 40 Till on the drowsy page the lights grow dim, And doubtful slumber half supplies tlio theme ; While antique shapes of knight and giant grim, Damsel and dwarf, in long procession gleam, And the Romancer's tale becomes the Reader^R dream. 'Tis thus my malady I well may bear, Albeit outstretched, like Pope's own Paridel,^ Upon the rack of a too-easy chair ; And find, to cheat the time, a powerful spell In old romaunts of errantry that tell, 50 Or later legends of the Fairy-folk, Or Oriental tale of Afrite fell. Of Genii, Talisman, and broad- winged Roc, Though taste may blush and frown, and sober reason mock. Oft at such season, too, will rhymes unsought Arrange themselves in some romantic lay ; The which, as things unfitting graver thought. Are burnt or blotted on some wiser day. — These few survive — and proudly let me say. Court not the critic's smile, nor dread his frown ; 60 They well may serve to while an hour away, Nor does the volume ask for more renown. Than Ennui's yawning smile, what time she drops it down. ^ See "The Dunciad," Bk. iv. 1. 34L— Ed. 8 HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. [CANTO I. CANTO FIRST. I. List to the valorous deeds that were done By Harold"^ the Dauntless, Count Witikind son ! Count Witikind came of a regal strain, And roved with his Norsemen the land and the main. Woe to the realms which he coasted ! for there Was shedding of blood, and rending of hair, Rape of maiden, and slaughter of priest. Gathering of ravens and wolves to the feasfc : When he hoisted his standard black, Before him was battle, behind him wrack, lo And he burned the churches, that heathen Dane, " To light his band to their barks again. II. On Erin's shore was his outrage known. The winds of France had his banners blown ; Little was there to plunder, yet still His pirates had forayed on Scottish hill ; But upon merry England's coast More frequent he sailed, for he won the most. So wide and so far his ravage they knew, If a sail but gleamed white 'gainst the welkin blue, 20 Trumpet and bugle to arms did call. Burghers hastened to man the wall. Peasants fled inland his fury to 'scape, CANTO I.] HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 9 Beacons were lighted on headland and cape, Bells were tolled out, and aye as they rung, Fearful and faintly the grey brothers sung, "Bless us, Saint Mary, from flood and from fire. From famine and pest, and Count Witikind's ire ! HI. He liked the wealth of fair England so well, That he sought in her bosom as native to dwell. He entered the Humber in fearful hour, 31 And disembarked with his Danish power. Three Earls came against him with all their train, — Two hath he taken, and one hath he slain. Count Witikind left the Humber's rich strand, And he wasted and warred in Northumberland. But the Saxon King was a sire in age. Weak in battle, in council sage ; Peace of that heathen leader he sought, Gifts he gave, and quiet he bought ; 40 And the Count took upon him the peaceable style ^ Of a vassal and liegeman of Britain's broad isle. IV. Time will rust the sharpest sword. Time will consume the strongest cord ; That which moulders hemp and steel. Mortal arm and nerve must feel. Of the Danish band, whom Count Witikind led. Many waxed aged, and many were dead : Himself found his armour full weighty to bear, Wrinkled his brows grew, and hoary his hair ;j He leaned on a staff, when his step went abroad, 5 1 10 HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. [CANTO I. And patient his palfrey, when steed he bestrode. As he grew feebler, his wildness ceased, He made himself peace with prelate and priest, Made his peace, and, stooping his head, Patiently listed the counsel they said : Saint Cuthbert's Bishop was holy and grave, Wise and good was the counsel he gave. V. Thou hast murdered, robbed, and spoiled. Time it is thy poor soul were assoiled ; 60 Priests didst thou slay, and churches burn. Time it is now to repentance to turn ; Fiends hast thou worshipped, with fiendish rite, Leave now the darkness, and wend into light : O ! while life and space are given, Turn thee yet, and think of Heaven ! " That stern old heathen his head he raised, And on the good prelate he steadfastly gazed ; " Give me broad lands on the Wear and the Tyne, My faith I will leave, and I'll cleave unto thine." 70 VL Broad lands he gave him on Tyne and Wear, To be held of the church by bridle and spear ; Part of Monkwearmouth, of Tynedale part. To better his will, and to soften his heart : Count Witikind was a joyful man. Less for the faith than the lands that he wan. The high church of Durham is dressed for the day. The clergy are ranked in their solemn array : There came the Count, in a bear-skin warm. Leaning on Hilda his concubine's arm. 80 \ CANTO I.] HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 11 He kneeled before Saint Cuthbert's shrine, With patience unwonted at rites divine ; He abjured the gods of heathen race, And he bent his head at the font of grace. But such was the grisly old proselyte's look, That the priest who baptized him grew pale and shook ; And the old monks muttered beneath their hood, ^* Of a stem so stubborn can never spring good ! " vn. Up then arose that grim convertite, Homeward he hied him when ended the rite ; The prelate in honour will with him ride, 91 And feast in his castle on Tyne's fair side. Banners and banderols danced in the wind, Monks rode before them, and spearmen be- hind ; Onward they passed, till fairly did shine Pennon and cross on the bosom of Tyne ; And full in front did that fortress lower, In darksome strength with its buttress and tower : At the castle gate was young Harold there, Count Witikind's only offspring and heir. 100 VIIT. Young Harold was feared for his hardihood, His strength of frame, and his fury of mood. Rude he was and wild to behold. Wore neither collar nor bracelet of gold, Cap of vair nor rich array, Such as should grace that festal day : His doublet of bull's hide was all unbraced, Uncovered his head, and his sandal unlaced : His shaggy black locks on his brow hung low, 12 HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. [CANTO I. And his eyes glanced through them a swarthy glow ; no A Danish club in his hand he bore, The spikes were clotted with recent gore ; At his back a she- wolf, and her wolf-cubs twain, In the dangerous chase that morning slain. Rude was the greeting his father he made, None to the Bishop, — while thus he said : — - IX. What priest-led hypocrite art thou, With thy humbled look and thy monkish brow, Like a shaveling who studies to cheat his vow ? Canst thou be Witikind the Waster known, 120 Royal Eric's fearless son, Haughty Gunhilda's haughtier lord. Who won his bride by the axe and sword; From the shrine of St. Peter the chalice who tore, And melted to bracelets for Freya and Thor ; With one blow of his gauntlet who burst the skull, Before Odin's stone, of the mountain bull ? Then ye worshipped with rites that to war-gods belong. With the deed of the brave, and the blow of the strong ; And now, in thine age to dotage sunk, 130 Wilt thou patter thy crimes to a shaven monk, — Lay down thy mail-shirt for clothing of hair, — Fasting and scourge, like a slave, wilt thou bear ? Or, at best, be admitted in slothful bower To batten with priest and with paramour ? Oh ! out upon thine endless shame ! Each Scald's high harp shall blast thy fame. And thy son will refuse thee a father's name ! " CANTO I.] HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 13 X. Ireful waxed old Witikind's look, His faltering voice with fury shook ; — 140 " Hear me, Harold of hardened lieart ! Stubborn and wilful ever thou wert. Thine outrage insane I command thee to cease, Fear my wrath and remain at peace : — Just is the debt of repentance I've paid, Hichly the church has a recompense made. And the truth of her doctrines I prove with my blade. But reckoning to none of my actions I owe. And least to my son such accounting will show. Why speak I to thee of repentance or truth, 150 Who ne'er from thy childhood knew reason or ruth ? Hence ! to the wolf and the bear in her den ; These are thy mates, and not rational men." XI. Grimly smiled Harold, and coldly replied, " We must honour our sires, if we fear when they chide. For me, I am yet what thy lessons have made, I was rocked in a buckler and fed from a blade ; An infant, was taught to clasp hands and to shout, From the roofs of the tower when the flame had broke out ; In the blood of slain foemen my finger to dip. And tinge with its purple my cheek and my lip. — 161 'Tis thou know'st not truth, thou hast bartered in eld. For a price, the brave faith that thine ancestors held. 14 HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. [CANTO I. When this wolf," — and the carcass he flnng on the plain, — " Shall awake and give food to her nurslings again, The face of his father will Harold review ; Till then, aged Heathen, young Christian, adieu ! XII. Priest, monk, and prelate, stood aghast. As through the pageant the heathen passed, A cross-bearer out of his saddle he flung, 170 Laid his hand on the pommel, and into it sprung ; Loud was the shriek, and deep the groan. When the holy sign on the earth was thrown ! The fierce old Count unsheathed his brand, But the calmer Prelate stayed his hand. **Let him pass free ! — Heaven knows its hour, — But he must own repentance's power. Pray and weep, and penance bear, Ere he hold land by the Tyne and the Wear." Thus in scorn and in wrath from his father is gone 1 80 Young Harold the Dauntless, Count Witikind's son. XIII. High was the feasting in Witikind's hall, Revelled priests, soldiers, and pagans, and all ; And e'en the good Bishop was fain to endure The scandal, which time and instruction might cure : It were dangerous, he deemed, at the first to restrain, In his wine and his wassail, a half-christened Dane. CANTO I.] HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. The mead flowed around, and the ale was drained dry, Wild was the laughter, the song, and the cry ; With Kyrie Eleison, came clamorously in 190 The war-songs of Danesmen, Norweyan, and Finn, Till man after man the contention gave o'er, Outstretched on the rushes that strewed the hall floor ; And the tempest within, having ceased its wild rout, Gave place to the tempest that thundered with- out. XIV. Apart from the wassail, in^turret alone, Lay flaxen-haired Gunnar, old Ermengarde's son ; In the train of Lord Harold that page was the first, For Harold in childhood had Ermengarde nursed ; And grieved was young Gunnar his master should roam, 200 Unhoused and unfriended, an exile from home. He heard the deep thunder, the plashing of rain. He saw the red lightning through shot-hole and pane ; " And oh ! " said the page, " on the shelterless wold, Lord Harold is wandering in darkness and cold ! What though he was stubborn, and wayward and wild, He endured me because I was Ermengarde's child, / 16 HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. [CANTO I. And often from dawn till the set of the sun, In the chase, hj his stirrup, unbidden I run ; I would I were older, and knighthood could bear, 210 I would soon quit the banks of the Tyne and the Wear, For mj mother's command, with her last part- ing breath, Bade me follow her nursling in life and to death. XV. " It pours and it thunders, it lightens amain. As if Lok, the Destroyer, had burst from his chain ! Accursed by the church, and expelled by his sire, l^OT Christian nor Dane give him shelter or fire, And this tempest what mortal may houseless endure ? Unaided, unmantled, he dies on the moor ! Whate'er comes of Gunnar, he tarries not here." He leapt from his couch and he grasped to his spear; 221 Sought the hall of the feast. Undisturbed by his tread The wassailers slept fast as the sleep of the dead : " Ungrateful and bestial ! " his anger broke forth, " To forget mid your goblets the pride of the North ! And you, ye cowled priests, who have plenty in store. Must give Gunnar for ransom a palfrey and ore." CANTO I.] HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS, 17 XYI. Then heeding full little of ban or of curse, He has seized on the Prior of Jorvaux's purse : Saint Meneholt's Abbot next morning has missed 230 His mantle, deep furred from the cape to the wrist : The Seneschal's keys from his belt he has ta'en, (Well drenched on that eve was old Hilde- brand's brain.) To the stable-yard he made his way, And mounted the Bishop's palfrey gay, Castle and hamlet behind him has cast, And right on his way to the moorland has passed. Sore snorted the palfrey, unused to face A weather so wild at so rash a pace ; So long he snorted, so loud he neighed, 240 There answered a steed that was bound beside. And the red flash of lightning showed where there lay His master, Lord Harold, outstretched on the clay. XVII. Up he started, and thundered out, Stand ! " And raised the club in his deadly hand. The flaxen-haired Grunnar his purpose told. Showed the palfrey and proffered the gold. " Back, back, and home, thou simple boy ! Thou canst not share my grief or joy : Have I not marked thee wail and cry 250 When thou hast seen a sparrow die P And canst thou, as my follower should, Wade ankle- deep through foeman's blood, Dare mortal and immortal foe. The gods above, the fiends below, V. c 18 " HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. [cANTO I. And man on earth, more hateful still, The very fountain-head of ill ? Desperate of life, and careless of death, Lover of bloodshed, and slaughter, and scathe. Such must thou be with me to roam, 260 And such thou canst not be — back, and home ! " XVIII. Young Gunnar shook like an aspen bough. As he heard the harsh voice and beheld the dark brow, And half he repented his purpose and vow. But now to draw back were bootless shame. And he loved his master, so urged his claim : " Alas ! if my arm and my courage be weak. Bear with me a while for old Ermengarde's sake : Nor deem so lightly of Gunnar's faith. As to fear he would break it for peril of death. Have I not risked it to fetch thee this gold, 271 This surcoat and mantle to fence thee from cold ? And, did I bear a baser mind. What lot remains if I stay behind ? The priests' revenge, thy father's wrath, A dungeon, and a shameful death." XIX. With gentler look Lord Harold eyed The page, then turned his head aside ; And either a tear did his eyelash stain. Or it caught a drop of the passing rain. 280 Art thou an outcast, then ? " quoth he ; The meeter page to follow me." 'Twere bootless to tell what climes they sought. Ventures achieved, and battles fought ; How oft with few, how oft alone. Fierce Harold's arm the field hath won. CANTO I.] HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 19 Men swore his eye, that flashed so red When each other glance was quenched with dread, Bore oft a Kght of deadly flame, That ne'er from mortal courage came. 290 Those limbs so strong, that mood so stern. That loved the couch of heath and fern, Afar from hamlet, tower and town. More than to rest on driven down ; That stubborn frame, that sullen mood. Men deemed must come of aught but good ; And they whispered, the great Master Fiend was at one With Harold the Dauntless, Count Witikind's son. XX. Years after years had gone and fled. The good old Prelate lies lapped in lead ; 300 In the chapel still is shown His sculptured form on a marble stone, With staff and ring and scapulaire. And folded hands in the act of prayer. Saint Cuthbert's mitre is resting now On the haughty Saxon, bold Aldingar's brow ; The power of his crozier he loved to extend O'er whatever would break, or whatever would bend. And now hath he clothed him in cope and in pall, And the Chapter of Durham has met at his call. 310 And hear ye not, brethren," the proud Bishop said, " That our vassal, the Danish Count Witikind's dead ? All his gold and his goods hath he given 20 HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. [CANTO I. To holy church for the love of heaven, And hath founded a chantry with stipend and dole, That priests and that beadsmen may pray for his soul : Harold his son is wandering abroad, Dreaded by man and abhorred by God ; Meet it is not, that such should heir The lands of the church on the Tyne and the Wear, 320 And at her pleasure, her hallowed hands May now resume these wealthy lands." XXI. Answered good Eustace, a canon old, — " Harold is tameless, and furious, and bold ; Ever Renown blows a note of fame, And a note of fear, when she sounds his name : Much of bloodshed and much of scathe Have been their lot who have waked his wrath. Leave him these lands and lordships still. Heaven in its hour may change his will ; 330 But if reft of gold, and of living bare, An evil counsellor is despair." — More had he said, but the Prelate frowned, And murmured his brethren who sate around. And with one consent have they given their doom. That the church should the lands of Saint Cuthbert resume. So willed the Prelate ; and canon and dean Gave to his judgment their loud amen. CANTO II.] HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 21 CANTO SECOND. I. 'TiS merry in greenwood, — thus runs the old lay- In the gladsome month of lively May, When the wild birds' song on stem and spray Invites to forest bower ; Then rears the ash his airy crest. Then shines the birch in silver vest, And the beech in glistening leaves is drest, And dark between shows the oak's proud breast, Like a chieftain's frowning tower ; Though a thousand branches join their screen, Yet the broken sunbeams glance between, ii And tip the leaves with lighter green, With brighter tints the flower : Dull is the heart that loves not then The deep recess of the wildwood glen, Where roe and red-deer find sheltering den When the sun is in his power. II. Less merry, perchance, is the fading leaf That follows so soon on the gathered sheaf. When the greenwood loses the name ; 20 Silent is then the forest bound, Save the redbreast's note, and the rustling sound Of frost-nipt leaves that are dropping round, Or the deep-mouthed cry of the distant hound That opens on his game : Tet then, too, I love the forest wide, 22 HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. [CANTO II. Whether the sun in splendour ride, And gild its many-coloured side ; Or whether the soft and silvery haze, In vapoury folds, o'er the landscape strays, 30 And half involves the woodland maze, Like an early widow's veil, Where wimpling tissue from the gaze The form half hides, and half betrays, Of beauty wan and pale. ^ III. Fair Metelill was a woodland maid. Her father a rover of greenwood shade, By forest statutes undismayed. Who lived by bow and quiver ; Well known was Wulfstane's archery, 40 By merry Tyne both on moor and lea, Through wooded Weardale's glens so free, Well beside Stanhope's wildwood tree. And well on Ganlesse river. Yet free though he trespassed on woodland game. More known and more feared was the wizard fame Of J utta of Bookhope, the Outlaw's dame ; Feared when she frowned was her eye of flame, More feared when in wrath she laughed ; For then, 'twas said, more fatal true 50 To its dread aim her spell-glance flew, Than when from Wulfstane's bended yew Sprung forth the grey-goose shaft. IV. Yet had this fierce and dreaded pair. So Heaven decreed, a daughter fair ; None brighter crowned the bed, CANTO II.] HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 23 In Britain's bonnds, of peer or prince, Nor hath, perchance, a lovelier since In this fair isle been bred. And nought of fraud, or ire, or ill, 60 Was known to gentle Metelill, — A simple maiden she ; The spells in dimpled smile that lie, And a downcast blush, and the darts that fly With the sidelong glance of a hazel eye, Were her arms and witchery. So young, so simple was she yet. She scarce could childhood's joys forget, And still she loved, in secret set Beneath the greenwood tree, 70 To plait the rushy coronet, - And braid with flowers her locks of jet. As when in infancy ; — Yet could that heart, so simple, prove The early dawn of stealing love : Ah ! gentle maid, beware ! The power who, now so mild a guest, Gives dangerous yet delicious zest To the calm pleasures of thy breast, Will soon, a tyrant o'er the rest, 80 Let none his empire share. V. One morn, in kirtle green arrayed, Deep in the wood the maiden strayed, And, where a fountain sprung. She sate her down, unseen, to thread The scarlet berry's mimic braid. And while the beads she strung. Like the blithe lark, whose carol gay Gives a good-morrow to the day, So lightsomely she sung, 90 24 HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. [CANTO II. VI. Song. Lord William was born in gilded bower, The heir of Wilton's lofty tower ; Yet better loves Lord William now To roam beneath wild Rookhope's brow ; And William has lived where ladies fair With gauds and jewels deck their hair, Yet better loves the dewdrops still That pearl the locks of Metelill. " The pious Palmer loves, I wis, Saint Cuthbert's hallowed beads to kiss; loo But I, though simple girl I be, Might have such homage paid to me ; For did Lord William see me suit This necklace of the bramble's fruit, He fain — but must not have his will — Would kiss the beads of Metelill. My nurse has told me many a tale, How vows of love are weak and frail ; My mother says that courtly youth By rustic maid means seldom sooth ; no What should they mean ? it cannot be, That such a warning's meant for me. For nought — oh ! nought of fraud or ill Can William mean to Metelill ! " VII. Sudden she stops — and starts to feel A weighty hand, a glove of steel, Upon her shrinking shoulders laid ; Fearful she turned, and saw, dismayed, A Knight in plate and mail arrayed. His crest and bearing worn and frayed, 120 His surcoat soiled and riven. Formed like that giant race of yore, CANTO II.] HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 25 Whose long- continued crimes ontwore The sufferance of Heaven. Stern accents made his pleasure known, Though then he used his gentlest tone : Maiden/' he said, " sing forth thy glee. Start not — sing on — it pleases me." yiii. Secured within his powerful hold, To bend her knee, her hands to fold, 130 Was all the maiden might ; And Oh ! forgive," she faintly said, " The terrors of a simple maid, If thou art mortal wight ! But if — of such strange tales are told, — Unearthly warrior of the wold. Thou comest to chide mine accents bold. My mother, Jutta, knows the spell. At noon and midnight pleasing well, The disembodied ear ; 140 Oh ! let her powerful charms atone For aught my rashness may have done. And cease thy grasp of fear." Then laughed the Knight — his laughter's sound Half in the hollow helmet drowned ; His barred visor then he raised. And steady on the maiden gazed. He smoothed his brows, as best he might, To the dread calm of autumn night. When sinks the tempest's roar; 150 Yet still the cautious fishers eye The clouds, and fear the gloomy sky. And haul their barks on shore. IX. Damsel," he said, be wise, and learn Matters of weight and deep concern ; 26 HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS^ [CANTO IT. From distant realms I come, And, wanderer long, at length have planned In this my native I^Torthern land To seek myself a home. Nor that alone — a mate I seek ; i6o She must be gentle, soft, and meek, — 'No lordly dame for me ; Myself am something rough of mood, And feel the fire of royal blood. And therefore do not hold it good To match in my degree. Then, since coy maidens say my face Is harsh, my form devoid of grace, For a fair lineage to provide, 'Tis meet that my selected bride 170 In lineaments be fair ; I love thine well — till now I ne'er Looked patient on a face of fear. But now that tremulous sob and tear Become thy beauty rare. One kiss — nay, damsel, coy it not ! — And now go seek thy parents' cot, And say, a bridegroom soon I come. To woo my love, and bear her home." X. Home sprung the maid without a pause, 180 As leveret 'scaped from greyhound's jaws ; But still she locked, howe'er distressed. The secret in her boding breast ; Dreading her sire, who oft forbade Her steps should stray to distant glade. Niofht came — to her accustomed nook Her distaff aged Jutta took. And by the lamp's imperfect glow. Rough Wulfstane trimmed his shafts and bow. Sudden and clamorous, from the ground 190 CANTO II.] HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 27 Upstarted slumbering brach and hound ; Loud knocking next the lodge alarms, And Wulfstane snatches at his arms, When open flew the yielding door, And that grim Warrior pressed the floor. XI. " All peace be here — What ! none replies ? Dismiss your fears and your surprise, 'Tis I — that maid hath told my tale, — Or, trembler, did thy courage fail ? It recks not — it is I demand 200 Fair Metelill in marriage band ; Harold the Dauntless I, whose name Is brave men's boast and caitiff's shame.'' The parents sought each other's eyes. With awe, resentment, and surprise : Wulfstane, to quarrel prompt, began . The stranger's size and thews to scan ; But as he scanned, his courage sunk. And from unequal strife he shrunk. Then forth, to blight and blemish, flies 210 The harmful curse from Jutta's eyes ; Yet, fatal howsoe'er, the spell On Harold innocently fell ! And disappointment and amaze Were in the witch's wildered gaze. XII. But soon the wit of woman woke. And to the Warrior mild she spoke : '* Her child was all too young." — ^'.A toy. The refuge of a maiden coy." — Again, A powerful baron's heir 220 Claims in her heart an interest fair." — " A trifle — whisper in his ear, That Harold ib a suitor here I"-— 28 HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. [CANTO II. Baffled at length she sought delay : " Would not the Knight till morning stay ? Late was the hour — he there might rest Till morn, their lodge's honoured guest." Such were her words, — her craft might cast, Her honoured guest should sleep his last : " No, not to-night — but soon," he swore, 230 *' He would return, nor leave them more." The threshold then his huge stride crost. And soon he was in darkness lost. XIII. Appalled a while the parents stood, Then changed their fear to angry mood, And foremost fell their words of ill On unresisting Metelill : Was she not cautioned and forbid. Forewarned, implored, accused, and chid. And must she still to greenwood roam, 240 To marshal such misfortune home ? " Hence, minion, to thy chamber hence — There prudence learn and penitence." She went — her lonely couch to steep In tears which absent lovers weep ; Or if she gained a troubled sleep. Fierce Harold's suit was still the theme And terror of her feverish dream. XIV. Scarce was she gone, her dame and sire Upon each other bent their ire ; 250 A woodsman thou, and hast a spear, And couldst thou such an insult bear ? " Sullen he said, " A man contends With men, a witch with sprites and fiends ; Not to mere mortal wight belong Yon gloomy brow and frame so strong, CANTO II.] HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 29 But thou — is this thy promise fair, That your Lord William, wealthy heir To Ulrick, Baron of Witton-le-Wear, Should Metelill to altar bear ? 260 Do all the spells thou boast'st as thine Serve but to slay some peasant's kine, His grain in autumn storms to steep, Or thorough fog and fen to sweep, And hag-ride some poor rustic's sleep ? Is such mean mischief worth the fame Of sorceress and witch's name ? Fame, which with all men's wish conspires, With thy deserts and my desires. To damn thy corpse to penal fires ; 270 Out on thee, witch ! aroint ! aroint ! What now shall put thy schemes in joint ? What save this trusty arrow's point. From the dark dingle when it flies. And he who meets it gasps and dies." XV. Stern she replied, " I will not wage War with thy folly or thy rage ; But ere the morrow's sun be low, Wulfstane of Rookhope, thou shalt know, If I can venge me on a foe. 280 Believe the while, that whatsoe'er I spoke, in ire, of bow and spear, It is not Harold's destiny The death of pilfered deer to die. But he, and thou, and yon pale moon, — That shall be yet more pallid soon. Before she sink behind the dell, — Thou, she, and Harold too, shall tell What Jutta knows of charm or spell." Thus muttering, to the door she bent 290 Her wayward steps, and forth she went. 30 HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. [CANTO II. And left alone the moody sire, To cherish or to slake his ire. XVI. Far faster than belonged to age Has Jutta made her pilgrimage. A priest has met her as she passed, And crossed himself and stood aghast : She traced a hamlet — not a car His throat would ope, his foot would stir ; By crouch, by trembling, and by groan, 300 They made her hated presence known ! But when she trode the sable fell. Were wilder sounds her way to tell, — For far was heard the fox's yell, The black-cock waked and faintly crew. Screamed o'er the moss the scared curlew ; Where o'er the cataract the oak Lay slant, was heard the raven's croak ; The mountain-cat, which sought his prey, Glared, screamed, and started from her way. 310 Such music cheered her journey lone To the deep dell and rocking stone : There, with unhallowed hymn of praise, She called a god of heathen days. XYII. Invocation. " From thy Pomeranian throne. Hewn in rock of living stone, Where, to thy godhead faithful yet. Bend Esthonian, Finn, and Lett, And their swords in vengeance whet, That shall make thine altars wet, 320 Wet and red for ages more With the Christians' hated gore, — CANTO II.] HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 31 Hear me ! Sovereign of the Rock, Hear me ! mighty Zernebock. " Mightiest of the mighty known, Here thy wonders have been shown ; Hundred tribes in various tongue Oft have here thy praises sung ; Down that stone with Runic seamed, Hundred victims^ blood hath streamed ! 330 Now one woman comes alone, And but wets it with her own. The last, the feeblest of thy flock, — Hear — and be present, Zernebock ! " Hark ! he comes ; the night-blast cold Wilder sweeps along the wold ; The cloudless moon grows dark and dim. And bristling hair and quaking limb Proclaim the Master Demon nigh, — Those who view his form shall die ! 340 Lo ! I stoop and veil my head ; Thou who ridest the tempest dread. Shaking hill and rending oak — Spare me ! spare me ! Zernebock. " He comes not yet ! Shall cold delay Thy votaress at her need repay ? Thou — shall I call thee god or fiend ? — Let others on thy mood attend With prayer and ritual — Jutta's arms Are necromantic words and charms ; 350 Mine is the spell, that, uttered once. Shall wake Thy Master from his trance. Shake his red mansion-house of pain. And burst his seven- times- twisted chain ! — So ! comest thou ere the spell is spoke ? I own thy presence, Zernebock." — 32 HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. [CANTO II. XVIIL " Daughter of dust," the Deep Voice said, — Shook while it spoke the vale for dread, Rocked on the base that massive stone. The Evil Deity to own, — 360 *' Daughter of dust ! not mine the power Thou seek'st on Harold's fatal hour. 'Twixt heaven and hell there is a strife Waged for his soul and for his life. And fain would we the combat win. And snatch him in his hour of sin. There is a star now rising red. That threats him with an influence dread ; Woman, thine arts of malice whet. To use the space before it set. 370 Involve him with the church in strife,"*^ Push on adventurous chance his life ; Ourself will in the hour of need. As best we may, thy counsels speed." So ceased the Voice ; for seven leagues round Each hamlet started at the sound ; But slept again, as slowly died Its thunders on the hill's brown side. XIX. And is this all," said Jutta stern, " That thou canst teach and I can learn ? 380 Hence ! to the land of fog and waste. There fittest is thine influence placed, Thou powerless, sluggish deity ! But ne'er shall Briton bend the knee Again before so poor a god." — She struck the altar with her rod ; Slight was the touch, as when at need A damsel stirs her tardy steed ; But to the blow the stone gave place. And, starting from its balanced base, 390 CANTO II.] HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 33 Rolled thundering down the moonlight dell, — Re-echoed moorland, rock, and fell ; Into the moonlight tarn it dashed. Their shores the sounding surges lashed, And there was ripple, rage, and foam ; But on that lake, so dark and lone. Placid and pale the moonbeam shone As Jutta hied her home. y. 34 HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. [cANTO III. CANTO THIRD. I. Grey towers of Durham ! there was once a time I viewed your battlements with such vague hope, As brightens life in its first dawning prime ; Not that e'en then came within fancy's scope A vision vain of mitre, throne, or cope ; Yet, gazing on the venerable hall, Her flattering dreams would in perspective ope Some reverend room, some prebendary's stall, — And thus Hope me deceived as she deceiveth all. 9 Well yet I love thy mixed and massive piles. Half church of God, half castle 'gainst the Scot, And long to roam these venerable aisles. With records stored of deeds long since forgot ; There might I share my Surtees' ^ happier lot, Who leaves at will his patrimonial field To ransack every crypt and hallowed spot, And from oblivion rend the spoils they yield, Restoring priestly chant and clang of knightly shield. ^ Robert Surtees, of Mainsforth, Esq., F.S.A., author of **The History and Antiquities of the County Palatine of Durham." 3 vols, foho, 1816-20- 23.— LOCKHART. CANTO III.] HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 35 Yain is the wish — since other cares demand Each vacant hour, and in another clime ; 20 But still that northern harp invites my hand, Which tells the wonder of thine earlier time ; And fain its numbers would I now command To paint the beauties of that dawning fair, When Harold, gazing from its lofty stand Upon the western heights of Beaurepaire, Saw Saxon Eadmer's towers begirt by winding Wear. II. Fair on the half- seen stream the sunbeams danced, Betraying it beneath the woodland bank, 29 And fair between the Gothic turrets glanced Broad lights, and shadows fell on front and flank, Where tower and buttress rose in martial rank, And girdled in the massive donjon Keep, And from their circuit pealed o'er bush and bank The matin bell with summons long and deep. And echo answered still with long-resounding sweep. III. The morning mists rose from the ground, Each merry bird awakened round. As if in revelry ; Afar the bugles' clanging sound 40 Called to the chase the lagging hound ; The gale breathed soft and free, And seemed to linger on its way To catch fresh odours from the spray, And waved it in its wanton play So light and gamesomely. 36 HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. [cANTO III. The scenes which morning beams reveal, Its sounds to hear, its gales to feel In all their fragrance round him steal, It melted Harold's heart of steel, 50 And, hardl)^ v^otting why, He doffed his helmet's gloomy pride, And hung it on a tree beside, Laid mace and falchion by. And on the greensward sate him down, And from his dark habitual frown Relaxed his rugged brow — Whoever hath the doubtful task From that stern Dane a boon to ask. Were wise to ask it now. 60 IV. His place beside young Gunnar took. And marked his master's softening look, And in his eye's dark mirror spied The gloom of stormy thoughts subside, And cautious watched the fittest tide To speak a warning word. So when the torrent's billows shrink, The timid pilgrim on the brink Waits long to see them wave and sink, Ere he dare brave the ford, 70 And often, after doubtful pause, His step advances or withdraws : Fearful to move the slumbering ire Of his stern lord, thus stood the squire, Till Harold raised his eye. That glanced as when athwart the shroud Of the dispersing tempest-cloud The bursting sunbeams fly. v. Arouse thee, son of Ermengarde, Offspring of prophetess and bard ! 80 CANTO III.] HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 37 Take harp, and greet this lovely prime With some high strain of Rnnic rhyme, Strong, deep, and powerful ! Peal it round Like that loud bell's sonorous sound Yet wild by fits, as when the lay Of bird and bugle hail the day. Such was my grandsire Erick's sport, When dawn gleamed on his martial court. Hey mar the Scald, with harp's high sound, Summoned the chiefs who slept around ; 90 Couched on the spoils of wolf and bear, They roused like lions from their lair. Then rushed in emulation forth To enhance the glories of the north. — Proud Eric, mightiest of thy race. Where is thy shadowy resting-place ? In wild Valhalla hast thou quaffed From foeman's skull metheglin draught, Or wander'st where thy cairn was piled To frown o'er oceans wide and wild ? 100 Or have the milder Christians given Thy refuge in their peaceful heaven ? Where'er thou art, to thee are known Our toils endured, our trophies won, Our wars, our wanderings, and our woes." He ceased, and Gunnar's song arose. VI. Song. " Hawk and osprey screamed for joy O'er the the beetling cliffs of Hoy, Crimson foam the beach o'erspread. The heath was dyed with darker red, no When o'er Eric, Inguar's son, Dane and Northman piled the stone ; Singing wild the war-song stern, ' Rest thee, Dweller of the Cairn ! ' 38 HA.ROLD THE DAUNTLESS. [CANTO III. " Where eddying currents foam and boil By Bersa's bnrgh and Graemsay's isle, The seaman sees a martial form Half -mingled with the mist and storm. In anxious awe he bears away To moor his bark in Stromna's bay, 120 And murmurs from the bounding stern, * Rest thee, Dweller of the Cairn ! ' " What cares disturb the mighty dead ? Each honoured rite was duly paid ; No daring band thy helm unlaced, Thy sword, thy shield, were near thee placed. Thy flinty couch no tear profaned, Without, with hostile blood 'twas stained ; Within, 'twas lined with moss and fern, Then rest thee, Dweller of the Cairn ! — 130 He may not rest : from realms afar Comes voice of battle and of war. Of conquest wrought with bloody hand On Carmel's cliffs and Jordan's strand. When Odin's warlike son could daunt The turbaned race of Termagaunt." VII. " Peace," said the Knight, " the noble Scald Our warlike father's deeds recalled. But never strove to soothe the son With tales of what himself had done . 140 At Odin's board the bard sits high Whose harp ne'er stooped to flattery ; But highest he whose daring lay Hath dared unwelcome truths to say." With doubtful smile young Gunnar eyed His master's looks, and nought replied — But well that smile his master led To construe what he left unsaid. CANTO III.] HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 39 " Is it to me, thou timid youth, Thou fear'st to speak unwelcome truth ? 150 My soul no more thy censure grieves Than frosts rob laurels of their leaves. Say on — and yet — beware the rude And wild distemper of my blood ; Loath were I that mine ire should wrong The youth that bore my shield so long, And who, in service constant still, Though weak in frame, art strong in will/' — " Oh ! " quoth the page, " even there depends My counsel — there my warning tends — 160 Oft seems as of my master's breast Some demon were the sudden guest ; Then at the first misconstrued word His hand is on the mace and sword. From her firm seat his wisdom driven, His life to countless dangers given. — O ! would that Gunnar could suffice To be the fiend's last sacrifice. So that, when glutted with my gore. He fled and tempted thee no more ! " 170 VIII. Then waved his hand, and shook his head The impatient Dane, while thus he said : Profane not, youth — it is not thine To judge the spirit of our line — The bold Berserkar's rage divine, Through whose inspiring, deeds are wrought Past human strength and human thought. When full upon his gloomy soul The champion feels the influence roll, He swims the lake, he leaps the wall — 180 Heeds not the depth, nor plumbs the fall — Unshielded, mail-less, on he goes Singly against a host of foes ; 40 HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. [CANTO III. Their spears he holds like withered reeds, Their mail like maiden's silken weeds ; One 'gainst a hundred will he strive, Take countless wounds, and yet survive. Then rush the eagles to his cry Of slaughter and of victory, — And blood he quaffs like Odin's bowl, 190 Deep drinks his sword, — deep drinks his soul ; And all that meet him in his ire He gives to ruin, rout, and fire. Then, like gorged lion, seeks some den, And couches till he's man agen. — Thou know'st the signs of look and limb. When 'gins that rage to overbrim — Thou know'st when I am moved, and why ; And when thou seest me roll mine eye. Set my teeth thus, and stamp my foot, 200 Hegard thy safety and be mute ; But else speak boldly out whate'er Is fitting that a knight should hear. I love thee, youth. Thy lay has power Upon my dark and sullen hour ; — So Christian monks are wont to say Demons of old were charmed away ; Then fear not I will rashly deem 111 of thy speech, whate'er the theme." IX. As down some strait in doubt and dread 210 The watchful pilot drops the lead. And, cautious in the midst to steer, The shoaling channel sounds with fear ; So, lest on dangerous ground he swerved. The page his master's brow observed. Pausing at intervals to fling His hand on the melodious string, CANTO III.] HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 41 And to his moody breast apply The soothing charm of harmony; While hinted half, and half exprest, 220 This warning song conveyed the rest. Song. " 111 fares the bark with tackle riven, And ill when on the breakers driven, — 111 when the storm-sprite shrieks in air, And the scared mermaid tears her hair ; But worse when on her helm the hand Of some false traitor holds command. " 111 fares the fainting Palmer, placed 'Mid Hebron's rocks or Rama's waste, — 111 when the scorching sun is high, 2 30 And the expected font is dry, — Worse when his guide o'er sand and heath , The barbarous Copt, has planned his death. " 111 fares the Knight with buckler cleft. And ill when of his helm bereft, — 111 when his steed to earth is flung, Or from his grasp his falchion wrung ; But worse, if instant ruin token. When he lists rede by woman spoken." — X. " How now, fond boy ? — Canst thou think ill," 240 Said Harold, " of fair Metelill ? "— " She may be fair," the page replied, As through the strings he ranged, — She may be fair ; but yet," — he cried. And then the strain he changed, 42 HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. [cANTO III. Song. " She may be fair," he sang, " but yet Far fairer have I seen Than she, for all her locks of jet. And eyes so dark and sheen. Were I a Danish knight in arms, 250 As one day I may be, My heart should own no foreign charms, — A Danish maid for me. I love my father's northern land, Where the dark pine-trees grow. And the bold Baltic's echoing strand Looks o'er each grassy oe.^ I love to mark the lingering sun, From Denmark loath to go. And leaving on the billows bright, 260 To cheer the short-lived summer night, A path of ruddy glow. " But most the northern maid I love, With breast like Denmark's snow. And form as fair as Denmark's pine, Who loves with purple heath to twine Her locks of sunny glow ; And sweetly blend that shade of gold With the cheek's rosy hue. And Faith might for her mirror hold 270 That eye of matchless blue. " 'Tis hers the manly sports to love That southern maidens fear. To bend the bow by stream and grove. And lift the hunter's spear. She can her chosen champion's fight With eye undazzled see. ^ Oe — Island. CANTO III.] HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 43 Clasp him victorious from the strife, Or on his corpse yield up her life, — A Danish maid for me ! " 280 XI. Then smiled the Dane — " Thou canst so well The virtues of our maidens tell, Half could I wish my choice had been Blue eyes, and hair of golden sheen, And lofty soul ; — yet what of ill Hast thou to charge on Metelill ? " — " I^othing on her," young Gunnar said, " But her base sire's ignoble trade. Her mother, too — the general fame Hath given to Jutta evil name, 290 And in her grey eye is a flame Art cannot hide, nor fear can tame. — That sordid woodman's peasant cot Twice have thine honoured footsteps sought. And twice returned with such ill rede As sent thee on some desperate deed." — XII. " Thou errest ; Jutta wisely said, He that comes suitor to a maid. Ere linked in marriage, should provide Lands and a dwelling for his bride — 300 My father's by the Tyne and Wear I have reclaimed." — " 0, all too dear. And all too dangerous the prize, E'en were it won," young Gunnar cries ; — " And then this Jutta's fresh, device. That thou shouldst seek, a heathen Dane, From Durham's ]Di^iests a boon to gain. When thou hast left their vassals slain In their own halls ! " — Flashed Harold's eye. Thundered his voice — " False page, you lie ! 310 44 HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. [cANTO III. The castle, hall and tower, is mine, Built by old Witikind on Tyne ; The wild-cat will defend his den, Fights for her nest the timid wren ; And think'st thou I'll forego my right For dread of monk or monkish knight ?-¥ Up and away, that deepening bell Doth of the Bishop's conclave tell. Thither will I, in manner due, As Jutta bade, my claim to sue ; 320 And, if to right me they are loath, Then woe to church and chapter both ! " Now shift the scene, and let the curtain fall, And our next entry be Saint Cuthbert's hall. CANTO IV.] HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 45 CANTO FOURTH. I. Full many a bard hath sung the solemn gloom Of the long Gothic aisle and stone-ribbed roof, O'er-canopying shrine, and gorgeous tomb, Carved screen, and altar glimmering far aloof. And blending with the shade — a matchless proof Of high devotion, which hath now waxed cold ; Yet legends say, that Luxury's brute hoof Intruded offc within such sacred fold. Like step of Bel's false priest, tracked in his fane of old.^ Well pleased am I, howe'er, that when the route lo Of our rude neighbours whilome deigned to come, Uncalled, and eke unwelcome, to sweep out And cleanse our chancel from the rags of Rome, They spoke not on our ancient fane the doom To which their bigot zeal gave o'er their own. But spared the martyred saint and storied tomb, ^ See, in the Apocryphal Books, The History of Bel and the Dragon."— Lockh art. 46 HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. [CANTO IV. Thoagli papal miracles had graced the stone, And though the aisles still loved the organ's swelling tone. And deem not, though 'tis now my part to paint A prelate swayed by love of power and gold. That all who wore the mitre of our Saint 21 Like to ambitions Aldingar I hold ; Since both in modern times and days of old It sate on those whose virtues might atone Their predecessors' frailties trebly told : Matthew and Morton we as such may own — And such (if fame speak truth) the honoured Barrington. IL But now to earlier and to ruder times, As subject meet, I tune my rugged rhymes, Telling how fairly the chapter was met, 30 And rood and books in seemly order set ; Huge brass-clasped volumes, which the hand Of studious priest but rarely scanned, Now on fair carved desk displayed, 'Twas theirs the solemn scene to aid. O'erhead with many a scutcheon graced, And quaint devices interlaced, A labyrinth of crossing rows, The roof in lessening arches shows ; Beneath its shade placed proud and high, 40 With footstool and with canopy, Sat Aldingar, and prelate ne'er More haughty graced Saint Cuthbert's chair ; Canons and deacons were placed below, In due degree and lengthened row. Unmoved and silent each sat there. Like image in his oaken chair ; Nor head, nor hand, nor foot they stirred, CANTO IV.] HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 47 Nor lock of hair, nor tress of beard ; And of their eyes severe alone 50 The twinkle showed they were not stone. HI. The Prelate was to speech addressed, Each head sunk reverent on each breast ; But ere his voice was heard — without Arose a wild tumultuous shout, Offspring of wonder mixed with fear, Such as in crowded streets we hear Hailing the flames, that, bursting out, Attract yet scare the rabble rout. Ere it had ceased, a giant hand 60 Shook oaken door and iron band, Till oak and iron both gave way. Clashed the long bolts, the hinges bray, And, ere upon angel or saint they can call. Stands Harold the Dauntless in midst of the hall. IV. " Now save ye, my masters, both rochet and rood. From Bishop with mitre to Deacon with hood ! For here stands Count Harold, old Witikind's son. Come to sue for the lands which his ancestors won." The Prelate looked round him with sore troubled eye, ^ 70 Unwilling to grant, yet afraid to deny ; While each Canon and Deacon who heard the Dane speak, To be safely at home would have fasted a week : — Then Aldingar roused him, and answered again, 48 HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. [CANTO IV. Thou suest for a boon which thou canst not obtain ; The church hath no fiefs for an unchristened Dane. Thy father was wise, and his treasure hath given, That the priests of a chantry might hymn him to heaven ; And the fiefs which whilome he possessed as his due. Have lapsed to the church, and been granted anew 80 To Anthony Conyers and Alberic Yere, For the service Saint Cuthbert's blessed banner to bear, When the bands of the North come to fpray the Wear : Then disturb not our conclave with wrangling or blame. But in peace and in patience pass hence as ye came." V. Loud laughed the stern Pagan, — " They're free from the care Of fief and of service, both Conyers and Vere, — Six feet of your chancel is all they will need, A buckler of stone and a corslet of lead. — Ho, Gunnar ! — the tokens ! " — and, severed anew, 90 A head and a hand on the altar he threw. Then shuddered with terror both Canon and Monk, They knew the glazed eye and the countenance shrunk. And of Anthony Conyers the half-grizzled hair, And, the scar on the hand of Sir Alberic Vere. CANTO IV.] HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 49 There was not a churchman or priest that was there, But grew pale at the sight, and betook him to prayer. YI. Count Harold laughed at their looks of fear : "Was this the hand should your banner bear? Was that the head should wear the casque loo In battle at the Church's task ? Was it to such you gave the place Of Harold with the heavy mace ? Find me between the Wear and Tyne A knight will wield this club of mine, — Give him my fiefs, and I will say There's wit beneath the cowl of grey." He raised it, rough with many a sfcain. Caught from crushed skull and spouting brain ; He wheeled it that it shrilly sung, no And the aisles echoed as it swung, Then dashed it down with sheer descent. And split King Osric's monument. — " How like ye this music ? How trow ye the hand That can wield such a mace may be reft of its land ? No answer ? — I spare ye a space to agree. And Saint Cuthbert inspire you, a saint if he be. Ten strides through your chancel, ten strokes on your bell. And again I am with you — grave fathers, farewell." YII. He turned from their presence, he clashed the oak door, 120 Y. E 50 HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. [CANTO IV. And the clang of his stride died away on the floor ; And his head from his bosom the Prelate uprears With a ghost- seer's look when the ghost dis- appears. " Ye priests of Saint Cuthbert, now give me your rede, For never of counsel had Bishop more need ! Were the arch-fiend incarnate in flesh and in bone, The language, the look, and the laugh, were his own. In the bounds of Saint Cuthbert there is not a knight Dare confront in our quarrel yon goblin in fight ; Then rede me aright to his claim to reply, 130 'Tis unlawful to grant, and 'tis death to deny/' vni. On venison and malmsey that morning had fed The cellarer Vinsauf — 'twas thus that he said ; " Delay till to-morrow the Chapter's reply ; Let the feast be spread fair, and the wine be poured high : If he's mortal he drinks, — if he drinks, he is ours — His bracelets of iron, — his bed in our towers." — This man had a laughing eye. Trust not, friends, when such you spy ; A beaker's depth he well could drain, 140 Revel, sport, and jest amain — The haunch of the deer and the grape's bright dye Never bard loved them better than I ; But sooner than Vinsauf filled me my wine, Passed me his jest, and laughed at mine, CANTO IV.] HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 51 Though the buck were of Bearpark, of Bor- deaux the vine, With the dullest hermit I'd rather dine On an oaten cake and a draught of the Tyne. IX. Walwajn the leech spoke next — he knew Each plant that loves the sun and dew, 150 But special those whose juice can gain Dominion o'er the blood and brain ; The peasant who saw him by pale moonbeam Gathering such herbs by bank and stream, Deemed his thin form and soundless tread Were those of wanderer from the dead.— " Yinsauf, thy wine," he said, hath power, Our gyves are heavy, strong our tower ; Yet three drops from this flask of mine, More strong than dungeons, gyves, or wine, 160 Shall give him prison under ground More dark, more narrow, more profound. Short rede, good rede, let Harold have — A dog's death and a heathen's grave." — I have lain on a sick man's bed, Watching for hours for the leech's tread, As if I deemed that his presence alone Were of power to bid my pain begone ; I have listed his words of comfort given. As if to oracles from Heaven ; 170 I have counted his steps from my chamber door, And blessed them when they were heard no more ; — But sooner than Walwayn my sick couch should nigh, My choice were by leech- craft unaided to die. X. " Such service done in fervent zeal The Church may pardon and conceal," 52 • HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. [CANTO IV. The doubtful Prelate said, " but ne'er The counsel ere the act should hear. — Anselm of Jarrow, advise us now, The stamp of wisdom is on thy brow ; i8o Thy days, thy nights, in cloister pent. Are still to mystic learning lent ; — Anselm of Jarrow, in thee is my hope, Thou well canst give counsel to Prelate or Pope." XI. Answered the Prior — " 'Tis wisdom's use Still to delay what we dare not refuse ; Ere granting the boon he comes hither to ask, Shape for the giant gigantic task ; Let us see how a step so sounding can tread In paths of darkness, danger, and dread; 190 He may not, he will not, impugn our decree, That calls but for proof of his chivalry ; And were Guy to return, or Sir Bevis the Strong, Our wilds have adventure might cumber them long — The Castleof Seven Shields " "KindAnselm no more ! The step of the pagan approaches the door." The churchmen were hushed. — In his mantle of skin, With his mace on his shoulder. Count Harold strode in. There was foam on his lips, there was fire in his eye, 199 For, chafed by attendance, his fury was nigh. **Ho! Bishop," he said, "dost thou grant me my claim ? Or must I assert it by falchion and flame ? ' ' — CANTO IV.] HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 68 XII. " On thy suit, gallant Harold," the Bishop replied In accents which trembled, " we might not decide, Until proof of your strength and your valour we saw — 'Tis not that we doubt them, but such is the law."— "And would you. Sir Prelate, have Harold make sport For the cowls and the shavelings that herd in thy court ? Say what shall he do ? — From the shrine shall he tear 209 The lead bier of thy patron, and heave it in air. And through the long chancel make Cuthbert take wing, With the speed of a bullet dismissed from the sling ? " — "Nay, spare such probation," the cellarer said, " From the mouth of our minstrels thy task shall be read. While the wine sparkles high in the goblet of gold, And the revel is loudest, thy task shall be told ; And thyself, gallant Harold, shall, hearing it, tell That the Bishop, his cowls, and his shavelings, meant well." XIII. Loud revelled the guests, and the goblets loud rang, 219 But louder the minstrel, Hugh Meneville sang ; And Harold, the hurry and pride of whose soul. E'en when verging to fury, owned music's control. 54 HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. [CANTO IV. Still bent on the harper his broad sable eye, And often untasted the goblet passed by ; Than wine, or than wassail, to him was more dear The minstrel's high tale of enchantment to hear ; And the Bishop that day might of Yinsanf complain That his art had but wasted his wine-casks in vain. XIV. The Castle of the Seven Shields. A BALLAD. The Druid Urien had daughters seven, 229 Their skill could call the moon from heaven ; So fair their forms and so high their fame. That seven proud kings for their suitors came. King Mador and Rhys came from Powis and Wales, Unshorn was their hair, and unpruned were their nails. From Strath- CI wyd was Ewain, and Ewain was lame, And the red-bearded Donald from Galloway came. Lot, King of Lodon, was hunchbacked from youth ; Dunmail of Cumbria had never a tooth; But Adolf of Bambrough, Northumberland's heir. Was gay and was gallant, was young and was fair. 240 There was strife 'mongst the sisters, for each one would have For husband King Adolf, the gallant and brave ; CANTO IV.] HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 55 And envy bred hate, and hate urged them to blows, When the firm earth was cleft, and the Arch- fiend arose ! He swore to the maidens their wish to fulfil — They swore to the foe they would work by his will. A spindle and distaff to each hath he given, " Now hearken my spell," said the Outcast of Heaven. " Ye shall ply these spindles at midnight hour, And for every spindle shall rise a tower, 250 Where the right shall be feeble, the wrong shall have power, And there shall ye dwell with your paramour." Beneath the pale moonlight they sate on the wold, And the rhymes which they chaunted must never be told ; And as the black wool from the distaff they sped. With blood from their bosoms they moistened the thread. As light danced the spindles beneath the cold gleam. The castle arose like the birth of a dream — The seven towers ascended like mist from the ground. Seven portals defend them, seven ditches surround. 260 Within that dread castle seven monarchs were wed, But six of the s^ven ere the morning lay dead ; 56 HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. [cANTO IV. With their eyes all on fire, and their daggers all red, Seven damsels surronnd the Northumbrian's bed. " Six kingly bridegrooms to death we have done, Six gallant kingdoms King Adolf hath won, Six lovely brides all his pleasure to do, Or the bed of the seventh shall be husbandless too.'' "Well chanced it that Adolf the night when he wed Had confessed and had sained him ere boune to his bed ; 270 He sprung from the couch and his broadsword he drew, And there the seven daughters of Urien he slew. The gate of the castle he bolted and sealed, And hung o'er each arch-stone a crown and a shield ; To the cells of St. Dunstan then wended his way. And died in his cloister an anchorite grey. Seven monarchs' wealth in that castle lies stowed, The foul fiends brood o'er them like raven and toad. Whoever shall guesten these chambers within, From curfew till matins, that treasure shall win. 280 But manhood grows faint as the world waxes old; There lives not in Britain a champion so bold, CANTO IV.] HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 57 So dauntless of heart, and so prudent of brain, As to dare the adventure that treasure to gain. The waste ridge of Cheviot shall wave with the Before the rude Scots shall Northumberland And the flint clifts of Bambro' shall melt in the sun, Before that adventure be perilled and won. XV. And is this my probation ? " wild Harold he said, 289 ** Within a lone castle to press a lone bed ? — Good even, my Lord Bishop, — Saint Outhbert to borrow, The Castle of Seven Shields receives me to- ^ morrow." 58 HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. [CANTO V. CANTO FIFTH. I. Denmark's sage conrtier to her princely youth, Granting his cloud an ouzel or a whale, Spoke, though unwittingly, a partial truth ; For Fantasy embroiders Nature's veil. The tints of ruddy eve, or dawning pale. Of the swart thunder-cloud, or silver haze. Are but the ground- work of the rich detail Which Fantasy with pencil wild portrays. Blending what seems and is, in the rapt muser's gaze. Nor are the stubborn forms of earth and stone lo Less to the Sorceress's empire given ; For not with unsubstantial hues alone. Caught from the varying surge, or vacant heaven. From bursting sunbeam, or from flashing levin. She limns her pictures : on the earth, as air, Arise her castles, and her car is driven ; And never gazed the eye on scene so fair. But of its boasted charms gave Fancy half the share. IT. Up a wild pass went Harold, bent to prove, Hugh Meneville, the adventure of thy lay ; 20 Gunnar pursued his steps in faith and love, Ever companion of his ma^ster's way. CANTO v.] HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 69 Midward their path, a rock of granite grey From the adjoining cliff had made descent, — A barren mass — yet with her drooping spray Had a young birch-tree crowned its battle- ment. Twisting her fibrous roots through cranny, flaw and rent. This rock and tree could Gunnar's thought engage Till Fancy brought the tear-drop to his eye. And at his master asked the timid page, 30 What is the emblem that a bard should spy In that rude rock and its green canopy ? " And Harold said, Like to the helmet brave Of warrior slain in fight it seems to lie. And these same drooping boughs do o'er it wave Not all unlike the plume his lady's favour gave." — " Ah, no ! " replied the page ; " the ill-starred love Of some poor maid is in the emblem shown. Whose fates are with some hero's interwove. And rooted on a heart to love unknown : 40 And as the gentle dews of heaven alone N"ourish those drooping boughs, and as the scathe Of the red lightning rends both tree and stone. So fares it with her unrequited faith, — Her sole relief is tears — her only refuge death."— in. " Thou art a fond fantastic boy," Harold replied, to females coy, 60 HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. [CANTO V. Yet prating still of love ; Even so amid the clash of war I know thou lovest to keep afar, 50 Though destined by thy evil star With one like me to rove, Whose business and whose joys are found Upon the bloody battle-ground. Yet, foolish trembler as thou art, Thou hast a nook of my rude heart. And thou and I will never part ; — r Harold would wrap the world in flame Ere injury on Gunnar came." IV. The grateful page made no reply, 60 But turned to Heaven his gentle eye. And clasped his hands, as one who said, My toils — my wanderings are overpaid ! " Then in a gayer, lighter strain. Compelled himself to speech again : And, as they flowed along. His words took cadence soft and slow, And liquid, like dissolving snow. They melted into song. v. " What though through fields of carnage wide I may not follow Harold's stride, 71 Yet who with faithful Gunnar's pride Lord Harold's feats can see ? And dearer than the couch of bride He loves the bed of grey wolf's hide, When slumbering by Lord Harold's side In forest, field, or lea." — VI. " Break off ! " said Harold, in a tone Where hurry and surprise were shown, CANTO v.] HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 61 With some slight touch of fear, — 80 " Break off, we are not here alone ; A Palmer form comes slowly on ! Bj cowl, and staff, and mantle known. My monitor is near. Now mark him, Gunnar, heedfully ; He pauses by the blighted tree — Dost see him, youth ? — Thou couldst not see When in the vale of Galilee I first beheld his form, Nor when we met that other while 90 In Cephalonia^s rocky isle, Before the fearful storm, — Dost see him now ? " — The page, distraught With terror, answered, I see nought, And there is nought to see. Save that the oak's scathed boughs fling down Upon the path a shadow brown. That, like a pilgrim's dusky gown, Waves with the waving tree.*' VII. Count Harold gazed upon the oak 100 As if his eyestrings would have broke, And then resolvedly said, — " Be what it will yon phantom grey — Nor heaven, nor hell, shall ever say That for their shadows from his way Count Harold turned dismayed : I'll speak him, though his accents fill My heart with that unwonted thrill Which vulgar minds call fear. I will subdue it ! " — Forth he strode, no Paused where the blighted oak-tree showed Its sable shadow on the road. And, folding on his bosom broad His arms, said, " Speak — I hear." 62 HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. [CANTO V. vin. The Deep Voice said, 0 wild of will, Furious thy purpose to fulfil — Heart seared and unrepentant still, How long, O Harold, shall thy tread Disturb the slumbers of the dead ? Each step in thy wild way thou makest, 120 The ashes of the dead thou wakest ; And shout in triumph o'er thy path The fiends of bloodshed and of wrath. In this thine hour, yet turn and hear ! For life is brief and judgment near." IX. Then ceased The Voice. — The Dane replied In tones where awe and inborn pride For mastery strove, — " In vain ye chide The wolf for ravaging the flock, Or with its hardness taunt the rock, — 130 I am as they — my Danish strain Sends streams of fire through ev'ry vein. Amid thy realms of ghoul and ghost. Say is the fame of Erich lost, Or Witikind's the Waster, known Where fame or spoil was to be won ; Whose galleys ne'er bore off a shore They left not black with flame ? — He was my sire, — and, sprung of him, That rover merciless and grim, 140 Can I be soft and tame ? Part hence, and with my crimes no more upbraid me, I am that Waster's son, and am but what he made me." X. The Phantom groaned ; — the mountain shook around, CANTO v.] HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 63 The fawn and wild-doe started at the sound, The gorse and fern did wildly round them wave, As if some sudden storm the impulse gave. " All thou hast said is truth — Yet on the head Of that bad sire let not the charge be laid, That he, like thee, with unrelenting pace, 150 From grave to cradle ran the evil race : — Relentless in his avarice and ire. Churches and towns he gave to sword and fire ; Shed blood like water, wasted every land, Like the destroying angel's burning brand ; Fulfilled whatever of ill might be invented, Yes — all these things he did — he did, but he REPENTED ! ^ Perchance it is part of his punishment still. That his offspring pursues his example of ill. But thou, when thy tempest of wrath shall next shake thee, 160 Gird thy loins for resistance, my son, and awake thee ; If thou yield'st to thy fury, how tempted soever. The gate of repentance shall ope for thee NEVER ! " XI. " He is gone,'' said Lord Harold, and gazed as he spoke ; " There is nought on the path but the shade of the oak. He is gone, whose strange presence my feeling oppressed, Like the night-hag that sits on the slumberer's breast. My heart beats as thick as a fugitive's tread. And cold dews drop from my brow and my head. — 64 HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. [CANTO V. Ho ! Gunnar, the flasket jon almoner gave ; 170 He said that three drops would recall from the grave. For the first time Count Harold owns leech-craft has power, Or, his courage to aid, lacks the juice of a flower ! " The page gave the flasket, which Walwayn had filled With the juice of wild roots that his art had dis- tilled— So baneful their influence on all that had breath, One drop had been frenzy, and two had been death . Harold took it, but drank not ; for jubilee shrill, And music and clamour were heard on the hill, And down the steep pathway, o'er stock and o'er stone, 180 The train of a bridal came blithesomely on ; There was song, there was pipe, there was timbrel, and still The burden was, Joy to the fair Metelill ! XII. Harold might see from his high stance. Himself unseen, that train advance With mirth and melody ; — On horse and foot a mingled throng, Measuring tbeir steps to bridal song And bridal minstrelsy ; And ever when the blithesome rout 190 Lent to the song their choral shout, Redoubling echoes rolled about. While echoing cave and cliff sent out The answering symphony CANTO v.] HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 65 Of all those mimic notes which dwell In hollow rock and sounding dell. xnr. Joy shook his torch above the band, By many a various passion fanned ; — As elemental sparks can feed On essence pure and coarsest weed, 200 Gentle, or stormy, or refined, Joy takes the colours of the mind. Lightsome and pure, but unrepressed, He fired the bridegroom's gallant breast ; More feebly strove with maiden fear, Yet still joy glimmered through the tear On the bride's blushing cheek, that shows Like dewdrop on the budding rose ; While Wulfstane's gloomy smile declared The glee that selfish avarice shared, 210 And pleased revenge and malice high Joy's semblance took in Jutta's eye. On dangerous adventure sped. The witch deemed Harold with the dead, For thus that morn her Demon said : — " If, ere the set of sun, be tied The knot 'twixt bridegroom and his bride, The Dane shall have no power of ill O'er William and o'er Metelill." And the pleased witch made answer, Then 220 Must Harold have passed from the paths of men ! Evil repose may his spirit have, — May hemlock and mandrake find root in his grave, — May his death-sleep be dogged by dreams of dismay. And his waking be worse at the answering day." V. F 66 HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. [cANTO V. XIV. Such was their various mood of glee Blent in one shout of ecstasy. But still when joy is brimming highest, Of Sorrow and Misfortune nighest, . Of Terror with her ague cheek, 230 And lurking Danger, sages speak: — These haunt each path, but chief they lay Their snares beside the primrose way. — Thus found that bridal band their path Beset by Harold in his wrath. Trembling beneath his maddening mood, High on a rock the giant stood ; His shout was like the doom of death Spoke o'er their heads that passed beneath. His destined victims might not spy 240 The reddening terrors of his eye, — The frown of rage that writhed his face, — The lip that foamed like boar's in chase ; — But all could see — and, seeing, all Bore back to shun the threatened fall — The fragment which their giant foe Rent from the clilf and heaved to throw. XV. Backward they bore ; — yet are there two For battle who prepare : No pause of dread Lord William knew 250 Ere his good blade was bare ! And Wulfstane bent his fatal yew, And ere the silken cord he drew. As hurled from Heel a' s thunder, flew That ruin through the air! Full on the outlaw's front it came. And all that late had human name. And human face, and human frame. That lived, and moved, and had free will CA.NTO v.] HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 67 To choose the path of good or ill, 260 Is to its reckoning gone ; And nought of Walfstane rests behind, Save that beneath that stone. Half-buried in the dinted clay, A red and shapeless mass there lay Of mingled flesh and bone ! XYI. As from the bosom of the sky The eagle darts amain. Three bounds from yonder summit high Placed Harold on the plain. 270 As the scared wild-fowl scream and fly, So fled the bridal train ; As 'gainst the eagle's peerless might The noble falcon dares the fight, But dares the fight in vain. So fought the bridegroom ; from his hand The Dane's rude mace has struck his brand, Its glittering fragments strew the sand. Its lord lies on the plain. Now, Heaven ! take noble William's part, 280 And melt that yet unmelted heart. Or, ere his bridal hour depart, The hapless bridegroom's slain ! XYII. Count Harold's frenzied rage is high, There is a death-fire in his eye. Deep furrows on his brow are trenched. His teeth are set, his hand is clenched, The foam upon his lip is white. His deadly arm is up to smite ! But, as the mace aloft he swung, 290 To stop the blow young Grunnar sprung. Around his master's knees he clung, 68 HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. [CANTO V. And cried, " In mercy, spare ! O, think upon the words of fear Spoke by that visionary Seer, The crisis he foretold is here, — ^ Grant mercy, — or despair ! " This word suspended Harold's mood, Yet still with arm upraised he stood, And visage like the headsman's rude 300 That pauses for the sign. " O mark thee with the blessed rood," The page implored ; Speak word of good, Resist the fiend, or be subdued ! " He signed the cross divine — Instant his eye hath human light, Less red, less keen, less fiercely bright ; His brow relaxed the obdurate frown, The fatal mace sinks gently down. He turns and strides away ; 310 Yet oft, like revellers who leave Unfinished feast, looks back to grieve, As if repenting the reprieve He granted to his prey. Yet still of forbearance one sign hath he given, And fierce Witikind's son made one step towards Heaven. XVIII. But though his dreaded footsteps part. Death is behind and shakes his dart ; Lord William on the plain is lying, Beside him Metelill seems dying ! — 320 Bring odours — essences in haste — And lo ! a flasket richly chased, — But Jutta the elixir proves Ere pouring it for those she loves — Then Walwayn's potion was not wasted. For when three drops the hag had tasted. CANTO v.] HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 69 So dismal was her yell, Each bird of evil omen woke, The raven gave his fatal croak, And shrieked the night-crow from the oak, 330 The screech-owl from the thicket broke, And fluttered down the dell ! | So fearful was the sound and stern. The slumbers of the full-gorged erne Were startled, and from furze and fern Of forest and of fell, The fox and famished wolf replied, (For wolves then prowled the Cheviot side,) From mountain head to mountain head The unhallowed sounds around were sped ; 340 But when their latest echo fled. The sorceress on the ground lay dead. XIX. Such was the scene of blood and woes, With which the bridal morn arose Of William and of Metelill ; But oft, when dawning 'gins to spread. The summer- morn peeps dim and red Above the eastern hill, Ere, bright and fair, upon his road The King of Splendour walks abroad; 350 So, when this cloud had passed away. Bright was the noontide of their day. And all serene its setting ray. 70 HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. [CANTO VI. CANTO SIXTH. I. Well do I hope that this mj minstrel tale Will tempt no traveller from southern fields, Whether in tilbury, barouche, or mail, To view the Castle of these Seven Proud Shields. Small confirmation its condition yields To Meneville's high lay, — No towers are seen On the wild heath, but those that Fancy builds, And, save a fosse that tracks the moor with green, Is nought remains to tell of what may there have been. 9 And yet grave authors, with the no small waste Of their grave time, have dignified the spot By theories, to prove the fortress placed By Roman bands, to curb the invading Scot. Hutchinson, Horsley, Camden, I might quote, But rather choose the theory less civil. Of boors, who, origin of things forgot, Refer still to the origin of evil. And for their master-mason choose that master- fiend the devil. II. Therefore, I say, it was on fiend-built towers That stout Count Harold bent his wondering gaze, 20 When evening dew was on the heather flowers, CANTO VI.] HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 71 And the last sunbeams made the mountain blaze, And tinged the battlements of other days With the bright level light ere sinking down. — Illumined thus, the dauntless Dane surveys The Seven Proud Shields that o'er the portal frown, And on their blazons traced high marks of old renown. A wolf North Wales had on his armour-coat, And Rhys of Powis-land a couchant stag ; Strath-Olwyd's strange emblem was a stran- ded boat, 30 Donald of Galloway's a trotting nag ; A corn-sheaf gilt was fertile Lodon's brag ; A dudgeon-dagger was by Dunmail worn ; Northumbrian Adolf gave a sea-beat crag Surmounted by a cross — such signs were borne Upon these antique shields, all wasted now and worn. III. These scanned, Count Harold sought the castle-door, Whose ponderous bolts were rusted to decay ; Yet till that hour adventurous knight forbore The unobstructed passage to essay. 40 More strong than armed warders in array. And obstacle more sure than bolt or bar. Sate in the portal Terror and Dismay, While Superstition, who forbade to war With foes of other mould than mortal clay, Cast spells across the gate, and barred the on- ward way. 72 HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. [CANTO VI. Vain now those spells ; for soon with heavy clank The feeblj-fastenecl gate was inward pushed, And, as it oped, through that emblazoned rank Of antique shields, the wind of evening rushed With sound most like a groan, and then was hushed. 51 Is none who on such spot such sounds could hear But to his heart the blood had faster rushed ; Yet to bold Harold's breast that throb was dear — It spoke of danger nigh, but had no touch of fear, IV. Yet Harold and his page no signs have traced Within the castle, that of danger showed ; For still the halls and courts were wild and waste, As through their precincts the adventurers trode. The seven huge towers rose stately, tall, and broad, 60 Each tower presenting to their scrutiny A hall in which a king might make abode, And fast beside, garnished both proud and high, Was placed a bower for rest in which a king might lie. As if a bridal there of late had been, Decked stood the table in each gorgeous hall ; And yet it was two hundred years, I ween, Since date of that unhallowed festival. Flagons, and ewers, and standing cups, were all Of tarnished gold, or silver nothing clear, 70 CANTO VI.] HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 73 With throne begilt, and canopy of pall, And tapestry clothed the walls with frag- ments sear — Frail as the . spider's mesh did that rich woof appear. Y. In every bower, as round a hearse, was hung A dusky crimson curtain o'er the bed, And on each couch in ghastly wise were flung The wasted relics of a monarch dead ; Barbaric ornaments around were spread, Vests twined with gold, and chains of precious stone, And golden circlets, meet for monarch's head ; While grinned, as if in scorn amongst them thrown, 8i The wearer's fleshless skull, alike with dust bestrewn. For these were they who, drunken with delight. On pleasure's opiate pillow laid their head, For whom the bride's shy footstep, slow and light. Was changed ere morning to the murderer's tread. For human bliss and woe in the frail thread Of human life are all so closely twined, That till the shears of Fate the texture shred, The close succession cannot be disjoined, 90 Nor dare we, from one hour, judge that which comes behind. VL But where the work of vengeance had been done. In that seventh chamber, was a sterner sight ; 74 HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS [cANTO VI. There of the witch-brides lay each skeleton, Still in the posture as to death when dight. For this lay prone, by one blow slain outright ; And that, as one who struggled long in dying ; One bony hand held knife, as if to smite ; One bent on flesh less knees, as mercy crying ; One lay across the door, as killed in act of flying. loo The stern Dane smiled this charnel-house to see, — For his chafed thought returned to Metelill; — And Well," he said, hath woman's perfidy Empty as air, as water volatile. Been here avenged. — The origin of ill Through woman rose, the Christian doctrine saith ; Nor deem I, Gunnar, that thy minstrel skill Can show example where a woman's breath Hath made a true-love vow, and, tempted, kept her faith." VII. The minstrel-boy half smiled, half sighed, no And his half -filling eyes he dried. And said, " The theme I should but wrong. Unless it were my dying song, (Our Scalds have said, in dying hour The Northern harp has treble power,) Else could I tell of woman's faith. Defying danger, scorn, and death. Firm was that faith, — as diamond stone Pure and unflawed, — her love unknown, And unrequited ; — firm and pure, 120 Her stainless faith could all endure ; From clime to clime, — from place to place, — Through want, and danger, and disgrace, CANTO VI.] HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 75 A wanderer's wayward steps could trace. — All this she did, and guerdon none Required, save that her burial-stone Should make at length the secret known, * Thus hath a faithful woman done/ — Not in each breast such truth is laid. But Eivir was a Danish maid.'' 130 vni. Thou art a wild enthusiast," said Count Harold, " for thy Danish maid ; And yet, young Gunnar, I will own Hers were a faith to rest upon. But Eivir sleeps beneath her stone. And all resembling her are gone. What maid e'er showed such constancy In plighted faith, like thine to me ? But couch thee, boy; the darksome shade Falls thickly round, nor be dismayed 140 Because the dead are by. They were as we ; our little day O'erspent, and we shall be as they. Yet near me, Gunnar, be thou laid. Thy couch upon my mantle made. That thou mayst think, should fear invade. Thy master slumbers nigh." Thus couched they in that dread abode. Until the beams of dawning glowed. IX. An altered man Lord Harold rose, 150 When he beheld that dawn unclose — There's trouble in his eyes. And traces on his brow and cheek Of mingled awe and wonder speak : " My page," he said, " arise ; — Leave we this place, my page." — No more 76 HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. [CANTO VI. He uttered till the castle door The J crossed — but there he paused and said, " My wildness hath awaked the dead — Disturbed the sacred tomb ! i6o Methought this night I stood on high, Where Hecla roars in middle sky, And in her caverned gulfs could spy The central place of doom ; And there before my mortal eye Souls of the dead came flitting by, Whom fiends, with many a fiendish cry. Bore to that evil den ! My eyes grew dizzy, and my brain Was wildered, as the elvish train, 170 With shriek and howl, dragged on amain Those who had late been men. X. With haggard eyes and streaming hair, Jutta the Sorceress was there. And there passed Wulfstane, lately slain. All crushed and foul with bloody stain. — More had I seen, but that uprose A whirlwind wild, and swept the snows ; And with such sound as when at need A champion spurs his horse to speed, 180 Three armed knights rush on, who lead Caparisoned a sable steed. Sable their harness, and there came Through their closed visors sparks of flame. The first proclaimed, in sounds of fear, * Harold the Dauntless, welcome here ! ' The next cried, ' Jubilee ! we've won Count Witikind the Waster's son ! ' And the third rider sternly spoke, ' Mount, in the name of Zernebock ! — 190 From us, O Harold, were thy powers, — CANTO VI.] HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 77 Thy strength, thy dauntlessness are ours ; Nor think, a vassal thou of hell With hell canst strive.' The fiend spoke true ! My inmost soul the summons knew, As captives know the knell. That says the headsman's sword is bare, And, with an accent of despair. Commands them quit their cell. I felt resistance was in vain, 200 My foot had that fell stirrup ta'en, My hand was on the fatal mane, When to my rescue sped That Palmer's visionary form. And — like the passing of a storm — The demons yelled and fled XI. His sable cowl, flung back, revealed The features it before concealed ; And, Gunnar, I could find In him whose counsels strove to stay 210 So oft my course on wilful way. My father Witikind ! Doomed for his sins, and doomed for mine, A wanderer upon earth to pine Until his son shall turn to grace, And smooth for him a resting-place. — Gunnar, he must not haunt in vain This world of wretchedness and pain : I'll tame my wilful heart to live In pe'ace — to pity and forgive — 220 And thou, for so the Vision said, Must in thy Lord's repentance aid ; Thy mother was a prophetess, He said, who by her skill could guess How close the fatal textures join Which knit thy thread of life with mine ; 78 HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. [CANTO VI. Then, dark, he hinted of disguise She framed to cheat too curious eyes, That not a moment might divide Thy fated footsteps from my side. 230 Methought while thus my sire did teach, I caught the meaning of his speech, Yet seems its purport doubtful now.*' — His hand then sought his thoughtful brow. Then first he marked, that in the tower His glove was left at waking hour. XII. Trembling at first, and deadly pale. Had Gunnar heard the visioned tale ; But when he learned the dubious close. He blushed like any opening rose, 240 And, glad to hide his tell-tale cheek. Hied back that glove of mail to seek ; When soon a shriek of deadly dread Summoned his master to his aid. XIII. What sees Count Harold in that bower, So late his resting-place ? — The semblance of the Evil Power, Adored by all his race ! Odin in living form stood there. His cloak the spoils of Polar bear ; 250 For plumy crest a meteor shed Its gloomy radiance o'er his head, Yet veiled its haggard majesty To the wild lightnings of his eye. Such height was his, as when in stone O'er Upsal's giant altar shown : So flowed his hoary beard ; Such was his lance of mountain-pine. So did his sevenfold buckler shine ; — CANTO VI.] HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 79 But when his voice he reared, 260 Deep, without harshness, slow and strong, The powerful accents rolled along, And, while he spoke, his hand was laid On captive Gunnar's shrinking head. xiv. " Harold," he said, " what rage is thine, To quit the worship of thy line. To leave thy Warrior- Grod ? — With me is glory or disgrace. Mine is the onset and the chase, Embattled hosts before my face 270 Are withered by a nod. Wilt thou then forfeit that high seat Deserved by many a dauntless feat. Among the heroes of thy line, Eric and fiery Thorarine ? — Thou wilt not. Only I can give The joys for which the valiant live, Victory and vengeance — only I Can give the joys for which they die. The immortal tilt — the banquet full, 280 The brimming draught from foeman's skull. Mine art thou, witness this thy glove, The faithful pledge of vassal's love." — XV. Tempter," said Harold, firm of heart, I charge thee, hence ! whatever thou art, I do defy thee — and resist The kindling frenzy of my breast. Waked by thy words ; and of my mail, Nor glove, nor buckler, splent, nor nail, Shall rest with thee — that youth release, 290 And God, or Demon, part in peace." — " Eivir," the Shape replied, is mine, 80 HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. [cANTO VI. Marked in the birth-hour with my sign. Think'st thou that priest with drops of spray Could wash that blood-red mark away ? Or that a borrowed sex and name Can abrogate a godhead's claim ? " Thrilled this strange speech through Harold's brain, He clenched his teeth in high disdain, For not his new-born faith subdued 300 Some tokens of his ancient mood. — Now, by the hope so lately given Of better trust and purer heaven, I will assail thee, fiend ! — Then rose His mace, and with a storm of blows The mortal and the Demon close. XVI. Smoke rolled above, fire flashed around. Darkened the sky and shook the ground ; But not the artillery of hell. The bickering lightning, nor the rock 310 Of turrets to the earthquake's shock. Could Harold's courage quell. Sternly the Dane his purpose kept. And blows on blows resistless heaped, Till quailed that Demon Form, And— for his power to hurt or kill Was bounded by a higher will — Evanished in the storm. Nor paused the Champion of the North, But raised, and bore his Eivir forth, 320 From that wild scene of fiendish strife. To light, to liberty, and life ! XVII. He placed her on a bank of moss, A silver runnel bubbled by. CANTO VI.] HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 81 And new-born thoughts his soul engross And tremors yet unknown across His stubborn sinews fly, The while with timid hand the dew Upon her brow and neck he threw, And marked how life with rosy hue 330 On her pale cheek revived anew. And glimmered in her eye. Inly he said, " That silken tress, — What blindness mine that could not guess ! Or how could page's rugged dress That bosom's pride belie ? O, dull of heart, through wild and wave ^ In search of blood and death to rave, With such a partner nigh ! " XVIII. Then in the mirrored pool he peered, 340 Blamed his rough locks and shaggy beard, The stains of recent conflict cleared, — And thus the Champion proved. That he fears now who never feared, And loves who never loved. And Eivir — life is on her cheek. And yet she will not move or speak, S'or will her eyelid fully ope ; Perchance it loves, that half-shut eye. Through its long fringe, reserved and shy, 350 Affection's opening dawn to spy ; And the deep blush, which bids its dye O'er cheek, and brow, and bosom fly, Speaks shame-facedness and hope. XIX. But vainly seems the Dane to seek For terms his new-born love to speak, — For words, save those of wrath and wrong, V. G 82 HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. [CANTO VI. Till now were strangers to his tongue ; So, when he raised the blushing maid, In blunt and honest terms he said, 360 ('Twere well that maids, when lovers woo, Heard none more soft, were all as true,) " Eivir ! since thou for many a day Hast followed Harold's wayward way, It is but meet that in the line Of after-life I follow thine. To-morrow is Saint Cuthbert's tide, And we will grace his altar's side, A Christian knight and Christian bride ; And of Witikind's son shall the marvel be said, 370 That on the same morn he was christened and wed." CONCLUSION. And now. Ennui, what ails thee, weary maid ? And why these listless looks of yawning sorrow ? No need to turn the page, as if 'twere lead, Or fling aside the volume till to-morrow. — Be cheered — 'tis ended — and I will not borrow, To try thy patience more, one anecdote From Bartholine, or Perinskiold, or Snorro. Then pardon thou thy minstrel, who hath wrote A Tale six cantos long, yet scorned to add a note. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. INTRODUCTION. The first fruits of Scott's genius as a poet were the ballads which form, perhaps, the most cha- racteristic portion of his miscellaneous verse. What are popularly known as his great poems are chiefly distinguished by the pictu- resque portrayal of active life in a half-civilized state of society, by an unrivalled vigour of ex- pression, by richness of colour, and by a sympa- thetic love of nature always truthful and often tender. They can boast another merit which, if less conspicuous, is of the highest order. Sir Walter's narrative poems, as well as his prose romauces, are enriched with many a perfect blossom of song, and the latter abound with snatches of verse sometimes lyrical, and sometimes dramatic in form, that seem to fall unpremeditated from the pen, as if, to quote the fine phrase applied by Arnold to Words- worth, "Nature had written them for him." An illustration of this is given in the biography, when the fire of the poet's genius was well nigh extinct, and he was already " at the gates of death." While at work on " Count Robert of Paris " he was reminded that a motto was wanted 86 INTRODUCTION TO for one of the chapters, and, looking ont for a moment on the gloomy weather, he wrote these lines : — "The storm increases — 'tis no sunny shower, Fostered in the moist breast of March or April, Or such as parched Summer cools his lips with. Heaven's windows are flung wide ; the inmost deeps Call in hoarse greeting one upon another ; On comes the flood in all its foaming horrors, And Where's the dyke shall stop it ? " Scott's occasional pieces, written for the most part to serve a temporary purpose, are seldom of choice value, and several of them, if judged from the standing-point of the poet, are of no value at all. Sir Walter said truly of Wordsworth that he was sometimes content to creep upon all fours, and it may be said of Scott that he also too often attempted to sing without putting on his singing-robes. The genius of a poet, however, must be judged of as a whole. Many a famous poet has written much that adds nothing to his fame; and there are poems of no mean repute in which the gold of poetry is in large measure covered with the dust of conventionality and commonplace. This is not, to any large extent, the case with Scott, and it was probably due to his dis- regard of fame that he was content to publish verses written for special objects and of no literary significance. A few words must be said here about the poetical mottoes which form so striking a feature of the Waverley novels. It was in cor- recting the proof-sheets of "The Antiquary" that Scott was first led to head his chapters with original verse : — " On one occasion he happened to ask John MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 87 f Ballantyne, who was sitting by him, to hnnt for a particular passage in Beaumont and Fletcher ; John did as he was bid, but did not succeed in discovering the lines. * Hang it, Johnnie,' cried Scott, * I believe I can make a motto sooner than you will find one/ He did so accordingly, and from that hour, whenever memory failed to suggest an appropriate epi- graph, he had recourse to the inexhaustible mines of ' Old Play,' or ' Old Ballad,' to which we owe some of the most exquisite verses that ever flowed from his pen." ^ In 1822 Constable compiled a volume en- titled. The Poetry contained in the Novels, Tales and Romances of the Author of Waver- ley." The selection extended to " The Pirate," which had been published a few months pre- viously, and a letter from Sir Walter prior to the publication must be quoted here. Writing to Constable on March 23rd, he says : — It is odd to say, but nevertheless it is quite certain, that I do not know whether some of the things are original or not, and I wish you would devise some way of stating this in the title." Scott therefore wrote an explanatory advertise- ment which he deemed necessary to appear with the volume, and Constable adopted it, after making a few verbal alterations : — " We believe," he writes, by far the greater part of the poetry interspersed through these novels to be original compositions by the author. At the same time the reader will find passages which are quoted from other authors, and very probably detect more of these than our more limited reading has enabled us to ascertain. ^ Lockhart's Scott," vol. v. p. 145. 88 INTRODUCTION TO MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Indeed, it is our opinion that some of the fol- lowing poetry is neither entirely original, nor altogether borrowed; but consists in some in- stances of passages from other writers which the author has not hesitated to alter con- siderably, either to supply defects of his own memory, or to adapt the quotation more ex- plicitly and aptly to the matter in hand." It will be seen that Scott was not always sure of the originality of his mottoes, and therefore errors on his editor's part, of omission or insertion will be readily forgiven. When^ ever a motto is undoubtedly the work of another writer it is omitted from this edition ; whenever there is ground for questioning the authorship it is inserted. The reader, however, who searches the authority given by Sir Walter, in order to verify a quotation, will not always find his pains rewarded, for the poet, who generally quoted from memory, sometimes gives a wrong reference. BALLADS, TRANSLATED, OR IMITATED, FROM THE GERMAN, Etc. BALLADS, TRANSLATED, OR IMITATED, FROM THE GERMAN, Etc. WILLIAM AND HELEN. IMITATED FROM THE '^LENORE" OF BURGER. The following Translation was written long before the Author saw any ot^ier, and origi- nated in the following circumstances : — A lady of high rank in the literary world read this romantic tale, as translated by Mr. Taylor, in the house of the celebrated Professor Dugald Stewart of Edinburgh. The Author was not present, nor indeed in Edinburgh at the time ; but a gentleman who had the pleasure of hear- ing the ballad, afterwards told him the story, and repeated the remarkable chorus — " Tramp ! tramp ! across the land they speed, Splash ! splash ! across the sea ; Hurrah ! The dead can ride apace ! Dost fear to ride with me ? " In attempting a translation, then intended only to circulate among friends, the present Author did not hesitate to make use of this impressive stanza ; for which freedom he has since obtained the forgiveness of the ingenious gentleman to whom it properly belongs. I. From heavy dreams fair Helen rose, And eyed the dawning red : SCOTT'S POEMS. " Alas, my love, thou tarriest long ! O art thou false or dead ? *' — II. With gallant Fred'rick's princely power He sought the bold Crusade ; But not a word from Judah's wars Told Helen how he sped. III. With Paynim and with Saracen At length a truce was made. And every knight returned to dry The tears his love had shed. IV. Our gallant host was homeward bound, With many a song of joy ; Green waved the laurel in each plume, The badge of victory. V. And old and young, and sire and son, To meet them crowd the way, With shouts, and mirth, and melody. The debt of love to pay. VI. Full many a maid her true-love met, And sobbed in his embrace. And fluttering joy in tears and smiles Arrayed full many a face. VII. Nor joy nor smile for Helen sad ; She sought the host in vain ; For none could tell her William's fate. If faithless, or if slain. BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. YIII. The martial band is past and gone ; She rends her raven hair, And in distraction's bitter mood She weeps with wild despair. IX. 0 rise, my child,'' her mother said, " Nor sorrow thus in vain ; A perjured lover's fleeting heart No tears recall again." — X. " 0 mother, what is gone, is gone, What's lost for ever lorn : Death, death alone can comfort me ; 0 had I ne'er been born ! XI. O break, my heart, — 0 break at once Drink my life-blood. Despair ! No joy remains on earth for me, For me in Heaven no share." — XII. " 0 enter not in judgment. Lord ! The pious mother prays ; " Impute not guilt to thy frail child ! She knows not what she says. / XIII. r O say thy pater noster, child ! / O turn to God and grace ! His will, that turned thy bliss to bale, Can change thy bale to bliss." — XIV. " 0 mother, mother, what is bliss ? O mother, what is bale ? 94 SCOTT'S POEMS. My William's love was heaven on earth, Without it earth is hell. XV. " Why should I pray to ruthless Heaven, Since my loved William's slain? I only prayed for William's sake, And all my prayers were vain." — XVI. *' 0 take the sacrament, my child, And check these tears that flow ; By resignation's humble prayer, 0 hallowed be thy woe ! " — XVII. No sacrament can quench this fire. Or slake this scorching pain ; No sacrament can bid the dead Arise and live again. XVIII. O break, my heart, — 0 break at once ! Be thou my god. Despair ! Heaven's heaviest blow has fallen on me, And vain each fruitless prayer." — XIX. " 0 enter not in judgment. Lord, With thy frail child of clay ! She knows not what her tongue has spoke Impute it not, I pray ! XX. " Forbear, my child, this desperate woe, And turn to God and grace ; Well can devotion's heavenly glow Convert thy bale to bliss." — BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 95 XXI. *^ 0 mother, mother, what is bliss ? O mother, what is bale ? Without my William what were Heaven, Or with him what were hell ? — XXII. Wild she arraigns the eternal doom, Upbraids each sacred power, Till, spent, she sought her silent room, All in the lonely tower. XXIII. She beat her breast, she wrung her hands, Till sun and day were o'er. And through the glimmering lattice shone The twinkling of the star. XXIV. Then, crash ! the heavy drawbridge fell That o'er the moat was hung ; And, clatter ! clatter ! on its boards The hoof of courser rung. XXV. The clank of echoing steel was heard As off the rider bounded ; And slowly on the winding stair A heavy footstep sounded. XXVI. And hark ! and hark ! a knock — Tap ! tap ! A rustling stifled noise ; — Door-latch and tinkling staples ring ; — At length a whispering voice. XXVIL " Awake, awake, arise, my love ! How, Helen, dost thou fare ? 96 scott's poems. Wakest thou, or sleep'st ? laugh'st thou, or weep'st ? Hast thought on me, my fair ? " — XXYTII. " My love ! my love ! — so late by night ! — I waked, I wept for thee : Much have I borne since dawn of morn ; Where, William, couldst thou be ? — XXIX. " We saddle late — from Hungary I rode since darkness fell ; And to its bourne we both return Before the matin-bell." — XXX. " O rest this night within my arms, And warm thee in their fold ! Chill howls through hawthorn bush the wind : — My love is deadly cold." — XXXI. Let the wind howl through hawthorn bush ! This night we must away ; The steed is wight, the spur is bright ; I cannot stay till day. XXXII. " Busk, busk, and boune ! Thou mount'st behind Upon my black barb steed : O'er stock and stile, a hundred miles. We haste to bridal bed.'' — XXXIII. " To-night — to-night a hundred miles ! — O dearest William, stay ! The bell strikes twelve — dark, dismal hour ! 0 wait, my love, till day ! " — BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 97 XXXIY. "Look here, look here — the moon shines clear — Full fast I ween we ride ; Mount and away ! for ere the day We reach our bridal bed. XXXY. " The black barb snorts, the bridle rings ; Haste, busk, and bonne, and seat thee ! The feast is made, the chamber spread, The bridal guests await thee." — XXXYI. Strong love prevailed : She busks, she bonnes, She mounts the barb behind, And round her darling William's waist Her lily arms she twined. XXXVII. And, hurry ! hurry ! off they rode, As fast as fast might be ; Spurned from the courser's thundering heels The flashing pebbles flee. XXXVIII. And on the right, and on the left, Ere they conld snatch a view. Fast, fast each mountain, mead, and plain. And cot, and castle, flew. XXXIX. Sit fast — dost fear ? — The moon shines clear — Fleet goes my barb — keep hold ! Fear'st thou ? 0 no ! " she faintly said; " But why so stern and cold ? XL. " What yonder rings ? what yonder sings ? Why shrieks the owlet grey ? " V. H 98 scott's poems. 'Tis death-bell's clang, 'tis funeral song, The body to the clay. XLI. With song and clang, at morrow's dawn, Ye may inter the dead : To-night I ride, with my young bride, To deck our bridal bed. XLII. Come with thy choir, thou coffined guest, To swell our nuptial song ! Come, priest, to bless our marriage feast ! Come all, come all along ! " — XLIII. Ceased clang and song ; down sunk the bier ; The shrouded corpse arose : And, hurry ! hurry ! all the train The thundering steed pursues. XLIV. And, forward ! forward ! on they go ; High snorts the straining steed ; Thick pants the rider's labouring breath, As headlong on they speed. XLV. " O William, why this savage haste ? And where thy bridal bed ? " — " 'Tis distant far, low, damp, and chill. And narrow, trustless maid." — XL VI. " No room for me ? " — Enough for both ; — Speed, speed, my barb, thy course ! " O'er thundering bridge, through boiling surge He drove the furious horse. BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 99 XLVII. Tramp ! tramp ! along the land they rode, Splash ! splash ! along the sea ; The scourge is wight, the spur is bright, The flashing pebbles flee. XLYIII. Fled past on right and left how fast Each forest, grove, and bower ! On right and left fled past how fast Each city, town, and tower ! XLIX. " Dost fear ? dost fear ? The moon shines clear, Dost fear to ride with me r — Hurrah ! hurrah ! the dead can ride ! " — " 0 William, let them be !— L. " See there, see there ! What yonder swings And creaks mid whistling rain ? " " Gibbet and steel, th' accursed wheel ; A murderer in his chain. — LI. " Hollo ! thou felon, follow here : To bridal bed we ride ; And thou shalt prance a fetter dance Before me and my bride." — LII. And, hurry ! hurry ! clash, clash, clash ! The wasted form descends ; And fleet as wind through hazel bush The wild career attends. f LIII. Tramp ! tramp ! along the land they rode, Splash ! splash ! along the sea ; 100 scott's poems. Tlie scourge is red, the spur drops blood, The flashing pebbles flee. LIY. How fled what moonshine faintly showed! How fled what darkness hid ! How fled the earth beneath their feet, The heaven above their head ! LY. " Dost fear ? dost fear ? The moon shines clear, And well the dead can ride ; Does faithful Helen fear for them ? " — " O leave in peace the dead ! " — LVI. " Barb ! Barb ! methinks I hear the cock ; The sand will soon be run : Barb ! Barb ! I smell the morning air ; The race is wellnigh done." — LYII. Tramp ! tramp ! along the land they rode ; Splash ! splash ! along the sea ; The scourge is red, the spur drops blood, The flashing pebbles flee. LYIII. " Hurrah ! hurrah ! well ride the dead ! The bride, the bride is come ! And soon we reach the bridal bed. For, Helen ! here's my home." — LIX. Reluctant on its rusty hinge Revolved an iron door, And by the pale moon's setting beam Were seen a church and tower. BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 101 With many a shriek and cry whiz round The birds of midnight, scared ; And rustling like autumnal leaves Unhallowed ghosts were heard. LXI. 0*er many a tomb and tombstone pale He spurred the fiery horse, Till sudden at an open grave He checked the wondrous course. LXII. The falling gauntlet quits the rein, Down drops the casque of steel, The cuirass leaves his shrinking side. The spur his gory heel. LXIII. The eyes desert the naked skull, The mould'ring flesh the bone, Till Helen's lily arms entwine A ghastly skeleton. LXIV. The furious barb snorts fire and foam, And, with a fearful bound. Dissolves at once in empty air, And leaves her on the ground. LXV. Half seen by fits, by fits half heard, Pale spectres flit along, Wheel round the maid in dismal dance, And howl the funeral song ; LXVI. " E'en when the heart's with anguish cleft, Revere the doom of Heaven, Her soul is from her body reft ; Her spirit be forgiven ! " 102 scott's poems. THE WILD HUNTSMAN. [1796.] This is a translation, or rather an imitation, of the " Wilde Jager " of the German poet Biirger. The tradition upon which it is founded bears, that formerly a Wildgrave, or keeper of a royal forest, named Falkenburg, was so much ad- dicted to the pleasures of the chase, and other- wise so extremely profligate and cruel, that he not only followed this unhallowed amusement on the Sabbath, and other days consecrated to religious duty, but accompanied it with the most unheard of oppression upon the poor pea- sants, who were under his vassalage. When this second Nimrod died, the people adopted a super- stition, founded probably on the many various uncouth sounds heard in the depth of a German forest, during the silence of the night. They conceived they still heard the cry of the Wild- grave's hounds ; and the well-known cheer of the deceased hunter, the sounds of his horses' feet, and the rustling of the branches before the game, the pack, and the sportsmen, are also dis- tinctly discriminated ; but the phantoms are rarely, if ever, visible. Once, as a benighted GJiasseur heard this infernal chase pass by him, at the sound of the halloo, with which the Spectre Huntsman cheered his hounds, he could not refrain from crying, " GlilcJc zu Falhen- hurg ! " (Good sport to ye, Falkenburg ! ) " Dost thou wish me good sport ? " answered a hoarse voice; "thou shalt share the game;" and there was thrown at him what seemed to be a huge piece of foul carrion. The daring BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 108 Chasseur lost two of his best horses soon after, and never perfectly recovered the personal efEects of this ghostly greeting. This tale, though told with some variations, is universally believed all over Germany. The Wildgrave winds his bugle-horn, To horse, to horse ! halloo, halloo ! His fiery courser snuffs the morn. And thronging serfs their lord pursue. The eager pack, from couples freed, Dash through the bush, the brier, the brake ; While answering hound, and horn, and steed, The mountain echoes startling wake. The beams of God's own hallowed day Had painted yonder spire with gold, And, calling sinful man to pray, Loud, long, and deep the bell had tolled. But still the Wildgrave onward rides ; Halloo, halloo ! and, hark again ! When, spurring from opposing sides, Two Stranger Horsemen join the train. Who was each Sti-anger, left and right, Well may I guess, but dare not tell ; The right-hand steed was silver white, The left, the swarthy hue of hell. The right-hand Horseman, young and fair, His smile was like the morn of May ; The left, from eye of tawny glare, Shot midnight lightning's lurid ray. He waved his huntsman's cap on high. Cried, " Welcome, welcome, noble lord ! What sport can earth, or sea, or sky, To match the princely chase, afford ? '' — 104 SCOTT'S POEMS. " Cease thy loud bugle's clanging knell," Cried the Fair Youth, with silver voice ; And for devotion's choral swell. Exchange the rude unhallowed noise. " To-day, the ill-omened chase forbear, Yon bell yet summons to the fane ; To-day the Warning Spirit hear. To-morrow thou mayst mourn in vain." — " Away, and sweep the glades along ! " The Sable Hunter hoarse replies ; " To muttering monks leave matin-song, And bells, and books, and mysteries." The Wildgrave spurred his ardent steed. And, launching forward with a bound, " Who, for thy drowsy priestlike rede, Would leave the jovial horn and hound ? Hence, if our manly sport offend ! With pious fools go chant and pray : — Well hast thou spoke, my dark-browed friend ; Halloo, halloo ! and, hark away ! " The Wildgrave spurred his courser light, O'er moss and moor, o'er holt and hill ; * And on the left and on the right, Each Stranger Horseman followed still. Up springs, from yonder tangled thorn, A stag more white than mountain snow ; And louder rung the Wildgrave's horn. Hark forward, forward ! holla, ho ! " A heedless wretch has crossed the way ; He gasps, the thundering hoofs below ; — But, live who can, or die who may. Still, Forward, forward ! " on they go. BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 105 See, where yon simple fences meet, A field with Autumn's blessings crowned ; See, prostrate at the Wildgrave's feet, A husbandman with toil embrowned : " 0 mercy, mercy, noble lord ! Spare the poor's pittance," was his cry. Earned by the sweat these brows have poured, In scorching hour of fierce July." — Earnest the right-hand Stranger pleads, The left still cheering to the prey ; The impetuous Earl no warning heeds. But furious holds the onward way. " Away, thou hound ! so basely born, Or dread the scourge's echoing blow ! " — Then loudly rung his bugle-horn, " Hark forward, forward, holla, ho ! " So said, so done : — A single bound Clears the poor labourer's humble pale ; Wild follows man, and horse, and hound, Like dark December's stormy gale. And man and horse, and hound and horn. Destructive sweep the field along ; While, joying o'er the wasted corn. Fell Famine marks the maddening throng. Again up-roused, the timorous prey Scours moss and moor, and holt and hill ; Hard run, he feels his strength decay. And trusts for life his simple skill. Too dangerous solitude appeared ; He seeks the shelter of the crowd ; Amid the flock's domestic herd His harmless head he hopes to shroud. 106 scott's poems. O'er moss and moor, and holt and hill, His track the steady blood-hounds trace ; O'er moss and moor, unwearied still, The furious Earl pursues the chase. Full lowly did the herdsman fall ; — " O spare, thou noble Baron, spare These herds, a widow's little all ; These flocks, an orphan's fleecy care ! " — Earnest the right-hand Stranger pleads, The left still cheering to the prey ; The Earl nor prayer nor pity heeds, But furious keeps the onward way. " Unmannered dog ! To stop my sport Vain were thy cant and beggar whine. Though human spirits, of thy sort. Were tenants of these carrion kine ! " — Again he winds his bugle-horn, " Hark forward, forward, holla, ho ! " And through the herd, in ruthless scorn, He cheers his furious hounds to go. In heaps the throttled victims fall ; Down sinks their mangled herdsman near ; The murderous cries the stag appal, — Again he starts, new-nerved by fear. With blood besmeared, and white with foam, While big the tears of anguish pour. He seeks, amid the forest's gloom. The humble hermit's hallowed bower. But man and horse, and horn and hound, Fast rattling on his traces go ; The sacred chapel rung around With, " Hark away ! and, holla, ho ! " BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. All mild, amid the rout profane, The holy hermit poured his prayer ; — " Forbear with blood God's house to stain ; B/Bvere his altar, and forbear ! " The meanest brute has rights to plead, Which, wronged by cruelty, or pride. Draw vengeance on the ruthless head : — Be warned at length, and turn aside." Still the Fair Horseman anxious pleads ; The Black, wild whooping, points the prey Alas ! the Earl no warning heeds, But frantic keeps the forward way. " Holy or not, or right or wrong. Thy altar, and its rites, I spurn ; Not sainted martyrs' sacred song, Not God himself, shall make me turn ! He spurs his horse, he winds his horn, " Hark forward, forward, holla, ho ! " — But off, on whirlwind's pinions borne. The stag, the hut, the hermit, go. And horse and man, and horn and hound. And clamour of the chase, was gone ; For hoofs, and howls, and bugle-sound, A deadly silence reigned alone. Wild gazed the affrighted Earl around ; He strove in vain to wake his horn. In vain to call : for not a sound Could from his anxious lips be borne. He listens for his trusty hounds ; No distant baying reached his ears : His courser, rooted to the ground, The quickening spur unmindful bears. 108 scott's poems. still dark and darker frown tlie shades, Dark as the darkness of the grave ; And not a sound the still invades, Save what a distant torrent gave. High o'er the sinner's humbled head At length the solemn silence broke ; And, from a cloud of swarthy red, The awful voice of thunder spoke. " Oppressor of creation fair ! Apostate Spirits' hardened tool ! Scorner of God ! Scourge of the poor ! The measure of thy cup is full. " Be chased for ever through the wood ; For ever roam the affrighted wild ; And let thy fate instruct the proud, God's meanest creature is his child." 'Twas hushed : — One flash, of sombre glare, With yellow tinged the forest's brown ; Uprose the Wildgrave's bristling hair. And horror chilled each nerve and bone. Cold poured the sweat in freezing rill ; A rising wind began to sing ; And louder, louder, louder still. Brought storm and tempest on its wing. Earth heard the call ; — Her entrails rend ; From yawning rifts, with many a yell. Mixed with sulphureous flames, ascend The misbegotten dogs of hell. What ghastly Huntsman next arose, Well may 1 guess, but dare not tell ; His eye like midnight lightning glows. His steed, the swarthy hue of hell. BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 109 The Wildgrave flies o'er bush and thorn, With many a shriek of helpless woe ; Behind him hound, and horse, and horn, And, Hark away, and holla, ho ! " With wild despair's reverted eye, Close, close behind, he marks the throng. With bloody fangs and eager cry ; In frantic fear he scours along. — Still, still shall last the dreadful chase, Till time itself shall have an end ; By day, they scour earth's caverned space. At midnight's witching hour, ascend. This is the horn, and hound, and horse. That oft the lated peasant hears ; Appalled, he signs the frequent cross. When the wild din invades his ears. The wakeful priest oft drops a tear For human pride, for human woe, When, at his midnight mass, he hears The infernal cry of, Holla, ho ! " THE FIRE-KING. The blessings of the evil Genii, which are curses, were upon him." — Eastern Tale, [1801.] This ballad was written at the request of Mr. Lewis, to be inserted in his " Tales of Wonder." It is the third in a series of four ballads, on the subject of Elementary Spirits. 110 scott's poems. The story is, however, partly historical ; for it is recorded, that, during the struggles of the Latin kingdom of Jerusalem, a Knight-Templar, called Saint-Alban, deserted to the Saracens, and defeated the Christians in many combats, till he was finally routed and slain, in a conflict with King Baldwin, underthe walls of Jerusalem. Bold knights and fair dames, to my harp give an ear. Of love, and of war, and of wonder to hear ; And you haply may sigh, in the midst of your glee, At the tale of Count Albert, and fair Rosalie. O see you that castle, so strong and so high ? And see you that lady, the tear in her eye ? And see you that palmer, from Palestine's land. The shell on his hat, and the staff in his hand ? — " Now palmer, grey palmer, 0 tell unto me, What news bring you home from the Holy Countrie ? And how goes the warfare by Galilee's strand ? And how fare our nobles, the flower of the land ? " O well goes the warfare by Galilee's wave. For Gilead, and Nablous, and Ramah we have ; And well fare our nobles by Mount Lebanon, J^(\r> f.hA Henthen have lost, and the Christians have won." A fair chain of gold mid her ringlets there hung ; O'er the palmer's grey locks the fair chain has she flung : BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. Ill " O palmer, grey palmer, this chain be thy fee, For the news thon hast brought from the Holy Countrie. " And, palmer, good palmer, by Galilee's wave, O saw ye Count Albert, the gentle and brave ? When the Crescent went back, and the Red- cross rushed on, O saw ye him foremost on Mount Lebanon ? " — " 0 lady, fair lady, the tree green it grows ; O lady, fair lady, the stream pure it flows ; Your castle stands strong, and your hopes soar on high ; But, lady, fair lady, all blossoms to die. " The green boughs they wither, the thunderbolt falls. It leaves of your castle but levin- scorched walls ; The pure stream runs muddy ; the gay hope is gone ; Count Albert is prisoner on Mount Lebanon." O she's ta'en a horse, should be fleet at her speed ; And she's ta'en a sword, should be sharp at her need ; And she has ta'en shipping for Palestine's land. To ransom Count Albert from Soldanrie's hand. Small thought had Count Albert on fair Rosalie, Small thought on his faith, or his knighthood, had he : A heathenish damsel his light heart had won, The Soldan's fair daughter of Mount Lebanon. 112 SCOTT'S POEMS. *^ O Christian, brave Christian, my love wouldst thou be. Three things must thou do ere I hearken to thee : Our laws and our worship on thee shalt thou take ; And this thou shalt first do for Zulema's sake. And, next, in the cavern, where burns ever- more The mystical flame which the Curdmans adore. Alone, and in silence, three nights shalt thou wake ; And this thou shalt next do for Zulema's sake. " And, last, thou shalt aid us with counsel and hand. To drive the Frank robber from Palestine's land ; For my lord and my love then Count Albert I'll take. When all this is accomplished for Zulema's sake." He has thrown by his helmet, and cross-handled sword. Renouncing his knighthood, denying his Lord ; He has ta'en the green caftan, and turban put on, For the love u± the maiden of fair Lebanon. And in the dread cavern, deep deep under ground. Which fifty steel gates and steel portals surround, He has watched until daybreak, but sight saw he none, Save the flame burning bright on its altar of stone. BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 113 Amazed was the Princess, the Soldan amazed, Sore murmured the priests as on Albert they gazed ; They searched all his garments, and, under his weeds. They found, and took from him, his rosary beads. Again in the cavern, deep deep under ground, He watched the lone night, while the winds whistled round ; Far off was their murmur, it came not more nigh. The flame burned unmoved, and nought else did he spy. Loud murmured the priests, and amazed was the King, While many dark spells of their witchcraft they sing ; They searched Albert's body, and, lo ! on his breast Was the sign of the Cross, by his father impressed. The priests they erase it with care and with pain, And the recreant returned to the cavern again ; But, as he descended, a whisper there fell : It was his good angel, who bade him farewell ! High bristled his hair, his heart fluttered and beat. And he turned him five steps, half resolved to retreat ; But his heart it was hardened, his purpose was gone. When he thought of the Maiden of fair Lebanon. T. I 114 scott's poems. Scarce passed he the archway, the threshold scarce trode, When the winds from the four points of heaven were abroad, They made each steel portal to rattle and ring, And, borne on the blast, came the dread Fire- King. Full sore rocked the cavern whene'er he drew nigh. The fire on the altar blazed bickering and high ; In volcanic explosions the mountains proclaim The dreadful approach of the Monarch of Flame. Unmeasured in height, undistinguished in form, His breath it was lightning, his voice it was storm ; I ween the stout heart of Count Albert was tame, When he saw in his terrors the Monarch of Flame. In his hand a broad falchion blue- glimmered through smoke. And Mount Lebanon shook as the monarch he spoke : " With this brand shalt thou conquer, thus long, and no more. Till thou bend to the Cross, and the Virgin adore.'' The cloud- shrouded Arm gives the weapon ; and see ! The recreant receives the charmed gift on his knee : The thunders growl distant, and faint gleam the fires. As, borne on the whirlwind, the phantom retires. BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 115 Count Albert has armed him the Paynim among, Though his heart it was false, yet his arm it was strong ; And the Red-cross waxed faint, and the Crescent came on, From the day he commanded on Mount Lebanon. From Lebanon's forests to Galilee's wave, The sands of Samaar drank the blood of the brave ; Till the Knights of the Temple, and Knights of Saint John, With Salem's King Baldwin, against him came on. The war-cymbals clattered, the trumpets replied. The lances were couched, and they closed on each side ; And horsemen and horses Count Albert over- threw, Till he pierced the thick tumult King Baldwin unto. Against the charmed blade which Count Albert did wield, The fence had been vain of the King's Red- cross shield ; But a page thrust him forward the monarch before, And cleft the proud turban the renegade wore. So fell was the dint, that Count Albert stooped low Before the crossed shield, to his steel saddlebow ; And scarce had he bent to the Red- cross his head, — Bonne grace, Notre Darnel^' he unwittingly said. 116 SCOTT'S POEMS. Sore sighed the charmed sword, for its virtue was o'er, It sprung from his grasp, and was never seen more ; But true men have said, that the lightning's red wing Did waft back the brand to the dread Fire-King. He clenched his set teeth, and his gauntleted hand ; He stretched, with one buffet, that page on the strand, As back from the stripling the broken casque rolled. You might see the blue eyes, and the ringlets of gold. Short time had Count Albert in horror to stare On those death-swimming eyeballs, and blood- clotted hair ; For down came the Templars, like Cedron in flood, And dyed their long lances in Saracen blood. The Saracens, Curdmans and Ishmaelites yield To the scallop, the saltier, and crossleted shield ; And the eagles were gorged with the infidel dead. From Bethsaida's fountains to Naphthali's head. The battle is over on Bethsaida's plain. — Oh, who is yon Paynim lies stretched mid the slain ? And who is yon page lying cold at his knee ? — Oh, who but Count Albert and fair Rosalie ! BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 117 The Lady was buried in Salem's blessed bound, The Count he was left to the vulture and hound ; Her soul to high mercy Our Lady did bring ; His went on the blast to the dread Fire-King. Yet many a minstrel, in harping, can tell, How the Red-cross it conquered, the Crescent it fell: And lords and gay ladies have sighed, mid their glee, At the tale of Count Albert and fair Rosalie. FREDERICK AND ALICE. [1801.] This tale is imitated, rather than translated, from a fragment introduced in Goethe's " Claudina von Yilla Bella," where it is sung by a member of a gang of banditti, to engage the attention of the family, while his companions break into the castle. It owes any little merit it may possess to my friend Mr. Lewis, to whom it was sent in an extremely rude state ; and who, after some material improvements, published it in his "Tales of Wonder.'' Frederick leaves the land of France, Homeward hastes his steps to measure, Careless casts the parting glance On the sc^e of former pleasure. Joying in his prancing steed, Keen to prove his untried blade, Hope's gay dreams the soldier lead Over mountain, moor, and glade. scott's poems. Helpless, ruined, left forlorn, Lovely Alice wept alone ; Mourned o'er love's fond contract torn, Hope, and peace, and honour flown. Mark her breast's convulsive throbs ! See, the tear of anguish flows ! — Mingling soon with bursting sobs. Loud the laugh of frenzy rose. Wild she cursed, and wild she prayed ; Seven long days and nights are o'er ; Death in pity brought his aid, As the village bell struck four. Far from her, and far from France, Faithless Frederick onward rides ; Marking, blithe, the morning's glance Mantling o'er the mountain's sides. Heard ye not the boding sound. As the tongue of yonder tower. Slowly, to the hills around. Told the fourth, the fated hour ? Starts the steed, and snuffs the air, Yet no cause of dread appears ; Bristles high the rider's hair. Struck with strange mysterious fears. Desperate, as his terrors rise. In the steed the spur he hides ; From himself in vain he flies ; Anxious, restless, on he rides. Seven long days, and seven long nights. Wild he wandered, woe the while ! Ceaseless care, and causeless fright, Urge his footsteps many a mile. BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 119 Dark the seventh sad night descends ; Rivers swell, and rain-streams pour ; While the deafening thunder lends All the terrors of its roar. Weary, wet, and spent with toil, Where his head shall Frederick hide ? Where, but in yon ruined aisle, By the lightning's flash descried. To the portal, dank and low. Fast his steed the wanderer bound : Down a ruined staircase slow, Next his darkling way he wound. Long drear vaults before him lie ! Glimmering lights are seen to glide ! — " Blessed Mary, hear my cry ! Deign a sinner's steps to guide ! " Often lost their quivering beam, Still the lights move slow before, Till they rest their ghastly gleam Bight against an iron door. Thundering voices from within, Mixed with peals of laughter, rose ; As they fell, a solemn strain Lent its wild and wondrous close ! Midst the din, he seemed to hear Voice of friends, by death removed ; — Well he knew that solemn air, 'Twas the lay that Alice loved. — Hark ! for now a solemn knell Four times on the still night broke ; Four times, at its deadened swell, Echoes from the ruins spoke. ^ 120 SCOTT'S POEMS. As the lengthened clangors die, Slowly opes the iron door ! Straight a banquet met his eye, But a funeral's form it wore ! Coffins for the seats extend ; All with black the board was spread ; Girt by parent, brother, friend. Long since numbered with the dead ! Alice, in her grave-clothes bound. Ghastly smiling, points a seat ; All arose, with thundering sound ; All the expected stranger greet. High their meagre arms they wave. Wild their notes of welcome swell ; — " Welcome, traitor, to the grave ! Perjured, bid the light farewell ! " THE BATTLE OF SEMPACH. [1818.] These verses are a literal translation of an ancient Swiss ballad upon the battle of Sem- pach, fought 9th July, 1386, being the victory by which the Swiss cantons established their independence ; the author, Albert Tchudi, de- nominated the Souter, from his profession of a shoemaker. He was a citizen of Lucerne, esteemed highly among his countrymen, both for his powers as a Meister- Singer, or minstrel, and his courage as a soldier. The circumstance of their being written by a poet returning from the well-fought field he BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 121 describes, and in which his country's fortune was secured, may confer on Tchudi's verses an interest which they are not entitled to claim from their poetical merit. But ballad poetry, the more literally it is translated, the more it loses its simplicity, without acquiring either grace or strength ; and, therefore, some of the faults of the verses must be imputed to the translator's feeling it a duty to keep as closely as possible to his original. The various puns, rude attempts at pleasantry, and disproportioned episodes, must be set down to Tchudi's account, or to the taste of his age. The military antiquary will derive some amusement from the minute particulars which the martial poet has recorded. The mode in which the Austrian men-at-arms received the charge of the Swiss, was by forming a phalanx, which they defended with their long lances. The gallant Winkelreid, who sacrificed his own life by rushing among the spears, clasping in his arms as many as he could grasp, and thus opening a gap in those iron battalions, is cele- brated in Swiss history. When fairly mingled together, the unwieldy length of their weapons, and cumbrous weight of their defensive armour, rendered the Austrian men-at-arms a very unequal match for the light-armed moun- taineers. The victories obtained by the Swiss over the German chivalry, hitherto deemed as formidable on foot as on horseback, led to im- portant changes in the art of war. The poet describes the Austrian knights and squires as cutting the peaks from their boots ere they could act upon foot, in allusion to an incon- venient piece of foppery, often mentioned in the middle ages. Leopold III., Archduke of 122 scott's poems. Austria, called " The handsome man-at-arms," was slain in the Battle of Sempach, with the flower of his chivalry. 'TwAS when among our linden-trees The bees had housed in swarms, (And grey-haired peasants say that these Betoken foreign arms,) Then looked we down to Willisow, The land was all in flame ; We knew the Archduke Leopold With all his army came. The Austrian nobles made their vow, So hot their heart and bold, " On Switzer carles well trample now. And slay both young and old." With clarion loud, and banner proud, From Zurich on the lake. In martial pomp and fair array, Their onward march they make. " Now list, ye lowland nobles all — Ye seek the mountain strand, Nor wot ye what shall be your lot In such a dangerous land. " I rede ye, shrive ye of your sins. Before ye farther go ; A skirmish in Helvetian hills May send your souls to woe." — But where now shall we find a priest Our shrift that he may hear ? " — The Switzer priest has ta'en the field, He deals a penance drear. BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 123 " B/iglit heavily upon your head He'll lay his hand of steel ; And with his trusty partisan Your absolution deal." — 'Twas on a Monday morning then, The corn was steeped in dew, And merry maids had sickles ta'en, When the host to Sempach drew. The stalwart men of fair Lucerne Together have they joined ; The pith and core of manhood stern, Was none cast looks behind. It was the Lord of Hare-castle, And to the Duke he said, " Yon little band of brethren true Will meet us undismayed." — " 0 Hare- castle,^ thou heart of hare ! " Fierce Oxenstern replied. — Shalt see then how the game will fare," The taunted knight replied. There was lacing then of helmets bright, And closing ranks amain ; The peaks they hewed from their boot-points Might wellnigh load a wain.^ And thus they to each other said, " Yon handful down to hew Will be no boastful tale to tell, The peasants are so few." — ^ In the original, Haasenstein, or Hare-stone. ^ This seems to allude to the preposterous fashion, during the middle ages, of wearing boots with the points or peaks turned upwards, and so long, that in some cases they were fastened to the knees of the wearer with small chains. 124 Scott's poems. The gallant Swiss Confederates there They prayed to God aloud, And he displayed his rainbow fair Against a swarthy cloud. Then heart and pulse throbbed more and more With courage firm and high, And down the good Confederates bore On the Austrian chivalry. The Austrian Lion ^ 'gan to growl, And toss his mane and tail ; And ball, and shaft, and crossbow bolt, Went whistling forth like hail. Lance, pike, and halbert, mingled there. The game was nothing sweet ; The boughs of many a stately tree Lay shivered at their feet. The Austrian men-at-arms stood fast. So close their spears they laid ; It chafed the gallant Winkelreid, Who to his comrades said — " I have a virtuous wife at home, A wife and infant son ; I leave them to my country's care, — This field shall soon be won. " These nobles lay their spears right thick, And keep full firm array. Yet shall my charge their order break, And make my brethren way." He rushed against the Austrian band. In desperate career. ^ A pun on the Archduke's name, Leopold. BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 125 And with his body, breast, and hand, Bore down each hostile spear. Four lances splintered on his crest, Six shivered in his side ; Still on the serried files he pressed — He broke their ranks, and died. This patriot's self- devoted deed First tamed the Lion's mood. And the four forest cantons freed From thraldom by his blood. Right where his charge had made a lane, His valiant comrades burst. With sword, and axe, and partisan, And hack, and stab, and thrust. The daunted Lion 'gan to whine, And granted ground amain, The Mountain Bull ^ he bent his brows. And gored his sides again. Then lost was banner, spear, and shield, At Sempach in the flight. The cloister vaults at Konig's-field Hold many an Austrian knight. It was the Archduke Leopold, So lordly would he ride. But he came against the Switzer churls, And they slew him in his pride. The heifer said unto the bull, " And shall I not complain ? There came a foreign nobleman, To milk me on the plain. ^ A pun on the Urns, or wild -bull, which gives name to the Canton of Uri. 126 SCOTT'S POEMS. " One thrust of thine outrageous horn Has galled the knight so sore, That to the churchyard he is borne To range our glens no more." An Austrian noble left the stour, And fast the flight 'gan take ; And he arrived in luckless hour At Sempach on the lake. He and his squire a fisher called, (His name was Hans Yon Rot,) " For love, or meed, or charity, E/eceive us in thy boat ! " Their anxious call the fisher heard. And, glad the meed to win, His shallop to the shore he steered, And took the flyers in. And while against the tide and wind Hans stoutly rowed his way, The noble to his follower signed He should the boatman slay. The fisher's back was to them turned, The squire his dagger drew, Hans saw his shadow in the lake. The boat he overthrew. He 'whelmed the boat, and as they strove, He siunned them with his oar, " Now, drink ye deep, my gentle sirs. You'll ne'er stab boatman more. " Two gilded fishes in the lake This morning have I caught. Their silver scales may much avail, Their carrion flesh is naught." BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 127 It was a messenger of woe Has sought the Austrian land : " Ah ! gracious lady, evil news ! My lord lies on the strand. " At Sempach, on the battle-field, His bloody corpse lies there." — " Ah ! gracious God ! " the lady cried, What tidings of despair ! " Now would you know the minstrel wight Who sings of strife so stern, Albert the S outer is he hight, A burgher of Lucerne. A merry man was he, I wot, The night he made the lay. Returning from the bloody spot, Where God had judged the day. THE NOBLE MORINGER AN ANCIENT BALLAD. [1819.^] The original of these verses occurs in a collec- tion of German popular songs, entitled, " Samm- Inng Deutschen Volkslieder," Berlin, 1807, published by Messrs. Busching and Von der Hagen, both, and more especially the last, distinguished for their acquaintance with the ancient popular poetry and legendary history of Germany. ^ The translation of *'The Noble Moringer" was composed during Sir Walter Scott's severe and alarming illness of April, 1819, and dictated, in the intervals of exquisite pain, to his daughter Sophia, and his friend William Laidlaw.-— LOCKHART. 128 SCOTT'S POEMS. The legend tarns on an incident not peculiar to Germany, and which, perhaps, was not un- likely to happen in more instances than one, when crusaders abode long in the Holy Land, and their disconsolate dames received no tidings of their fate. I. O, WILL you hear a knightly tale of old Bohemian day, It was the noble Moringer in wedlock bed he lay ; He halsed and kissed his dearest dame, that was as sweet as May, And said, Now, lady of my heart, attend the words I say. II. " 'Tis I have vowed a pilgrimage unto a distant shrine, And I must seek Saint Thomas -land, and leave the land that's mine ; Here shalt thou dwell the while in state, so thou wilt pledge thy fay. That thou for my return wilt wait seven twelve- months and a day ? " III. Then out and spoke that Lady bright, sore troubled in her cheer. Now tell me true, thou noble knight, what order takest thou here ; And who shall lead thy vassal band, and hold thy lordly sway. And be thy lady's guardian true when thou art far away ? " BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 129 IV. Out spoke the noble Moringer, " Of that have thou no care, There's many a valiant gentleman of me holds living fair ; The trustiest shall rule my land, my vassals and my state, And be a guardian tried and true to thee, my lovely mate. V. ''As Christian-man, I needs must keep the vow which I have plight. When I am far in foreign land, remember thy true knight ; And cease, my dearest dame, to grieve, for vain were sorrow now. But grant thy Moringer his leave, since God hath heard his vow." VJ. It was the noble Moringer from bed he made him boune, And met him there his Chamberlain, with ewer and with gown : He flung the mantle on his back, 'twas furred with miniver. He dipped his hand in water cold, and bathed his forehead fair. VII. " Now hear," he said, " Sir Chamberlain, true vassal art thou mine. And such the trust that I repose in that proved worth of thine. For seven years shalt thou rule my towers, and lead my vassal train. And pledge thee for my Lady's faith till I return again." V. K 130 SCOTT'S POEMS. VIII. The Chamberlain was blunt and true, and sturdily said he, " Abide, my lord, and rule your own, and take this rede from me ; That woman's faith 's a brittle trust — Seven twelvemonths didst thou say ? I'll pledge me for no lady's truth beyond the seventh fair day." IX. The noble Baron turned him round, his heart was full of care, His gallant Esquire stood him nigh, he was Marstetten's heir, To whom he spoke right anxiously, *^ Thou trusty squire to me. Wilt thou receive this weighty trust when I am o'er the sea ? X. ** To watch and ward my castle strong, and to protect my land, And to the hunting or the host to lead my vassal band ; And pledge thee for my Lady's faith till seven long years are gone. And guard her as Our Lady dear was guarded by Saint John." XI. Marstetten's heir was kind and true, but fiery, hot, and young. And readily he answer made with too presump- tuous tongue ; " My noble lord, cast care away, and on your journey wend. And trust this charge to me until your pil- grimage have end. BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 131 XIL " Rely upon my plighted faith, which shall be truly tried, To guard your lands, and ward your towers, and with your vassals ride ; And for your lovely Lady's faith, so virtuous and so dear, I'll gage my head it knows no change, be absent thirty year." XIII. The noble Moringer took cheer when thus he heard him speak, And doubt forsook his troubled brow, and sorrow left his cheek ; A long adieu he bids to all — hoists topsails, and away, And wanders in Saint Thomas-land seven twelvemonths and a day. XIV. It was the noble Moringer within an orchard slept. When on the Baron's slumbering sense a boding vision crept ; And whispered in his ear a voice, 'Tis time, Sir Knight, to wake. Thy Lady and thy heritage another master take. XV. " Thy tower another banner knows, thy steeds another rein. And stoop them to another's will thy gallant vassal train ; And she, the Lady of thy love, so faithful once and fair, This night within thy father's hall she weds Marstetten's heir." 132 scott's poems. XVI. It is the noble Moringer starts up and tears his beard, " Oh would that I had ne'er been born ! what tidings have I heard ! To lose my lordship and my lands the less would be my care, But, God ! that e'er a squire untrue should wed my Lady fair. XVII. " 0 good Saint Thomas, hear," he prayed, " my patron Saint art thou, A traitor robs me of my land even while I pay my vow ! My wife he brings to infamy that was so pure of name. And I am far in foreign land, and must endure the shame." XVIII. It was the good Saint Thomas, then, who heard his pilgrim's prayer, And sent a sleep so deep and dead that it o'er- powered his care ; He waked in fair Bohemian land outstretched beside a rill. High on the right a castle stood, low on the left a mill. XIX. The Moringer he started up as one from spell unbound. And dizzy with surprise and joy gazed wildly all around ; " I know my fathers' ancient towers, the mill, the stream I know, Now blessed be my patron Saint who cheered his pilgrim's woe ! " BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 133 XX. He leant upon his pilgrim staff, and to tlie mill he drew, So altered was his goodly form that none their master knew ; The Baron to the miller said, Good friend, for charity. Tell a poor palmer in your land what tidings may there be ? " XXI. The miller answered him again, " He knew of little news, Save that the Lady of the land did a new bride- groom choose ; Her husband died in distant land, such is the constant word. His death sits heavy on our souls, he was a worthy Lord. XXII. " Of him I held the little mill which wins me living free, God rest the Baron in his grave, he still was kind to me 1 And when Saint Martin's tide comes round, and millers take their toll, The priest that prays for Moringer shall have both cope and stole." XXIII. It was the noble Moringer to climb the hill began, And stood before the bolted gate a woe and weary man ; " Now help me, every saint in heaven that can compassion take. To gain the entrance of my hall this woeful match to break." 134 SCOTT'S POEMS. XXIV. His very knock it sounded sad, his call was sad and slow, For heart and head, and voice and hand, were heavy all with woe ; And to the warder thus he spoke ; " Friend, to thy Lady say, A pilgrim from Saint Thomas-land craves har- bour for a day. XXV. " I've wandered many a weary step, my strength is wellnigh done. And if she turn me from her gate I'll see no morrow's sun ; I pray, for sweet Saint Thomas' sake, a pil- grim's bed and dole, And for the sake of Moringer, her once-loved husband's soul." XXVI. It was the stalwart warder then he came his dame before, " A pilgrim, worn and travel- soiled, stands at the castle- door ; And prays, for sweet Saint Thomas' sake, for harbour and for dole, And for the sake of Moringer, thy noble hus- band's soul." XXVII. The Lady's gentle heart was moved, " Do np the gate," she said, " And bid the wanderer welcome be to banquet and to bed ; And since he names my husband's name, so that he lists to stay. These towers shall be his harbourage a twelve- month and a day." BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 135 XXVIII. It was the stalwart warder then undid the portal broad, It was the noble Moringer that o'er the thres- hold strode ; " And have thou thanks, kind Heaven," he said, " though from a man of sin, That the true lord stands here once more his castle-gate within." XXIX. Then up the halls paced Moringer, his step was sad and slow ; It sat full heavy on his heart, none seemed their Lord to know ; He sat him on a lowly bench, oppressed with woe and wrong. Short space he sat, but ne'er to him seemed little space so long. XXX. Now spent was day, and feasting o'er, and come was evening hour. The time was nigh when new-made brides retire to nuptial bower ; Our castle's wont," a bride's-man said, **hath been both firm and long, No guest to harbour in our halls till he shall chant a song." XXXI. Then spoke the youthful bridegroom there as he sat by the bride, "My merry minstrel folk," quoth he, " lay shalm and harp aside ; Our pilgrim guest must sing a lay, the castle's rule to hold, And well his guerdon will I pay with garment and with gold." — 136 SCOTT'S POEMS. XXXII. " Chill flows the lay of frozen age," 'twas thus the pilgrim sung, " Nor golden meed nor garment gay, unlocks his heavy tongue; Once did I sit, thou bridegroom gay, at board as rich as thine. And by my side as fair a bride with all her charms was mine. XXXIII. " But time traced furrows on my face, and I grew silver-haired. For locks of brown, and cheeks of youth, she left this brow and beard ; Once rich, but now a palmer poor, I tread life's latest stage, And mingle with your bridal mirth the lay of frozen age." XXXIV. It was the noble Lady there this woeful lay that hears, And for the aged pilgrim's grief her eye was dimmed with tears ; She bade her gallant cupbearer a golden beaker take, And bear it to the palmer poor to quaff it for her sake. XXXV. It was the noble Moringer that dropped amid the wine A bridal ring of burning gold so costly and so fine : Now listen, gentles, to my song, it tells you but the sooth, 'Twas with that very ring of gold he pledged his bridal truth. BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 137 XXXVI. Then to tlie cupbearer lie said, " Do me one kindly deed, And should my better days return, full rich shall be thy meed ; Bear back the golden cup again to yonder bride so gay. And crave her of her courtesy to pledge the palmer grey." XXXVII. The cupbearer was courtly bred, nor was the boon denied. The golden cup he took again, and bore it to the bride ; . "Lady," he said, "your reverend guest sends this, and bids me pray. That, in thy noble courtesy, thou pledge the palmer grey." XXXVIIL The ring hath caught the Lady's eye, she views it close and near, Then might you hear her shriek aloud, " The Moringer is here ! " Then might you see her start from seat, while tears in torrents fell. But whether 'twas for joy or woe, the ladies best can tell. XXXIX. But loud she uttered thanks to Heaven, and every saintly power. That had returned the Moringer before the mid- night hour ; And loud she uttered vow on vow, that never was there bride. That had like her preserved her troth, or been so sorely tried. 138 SCOTT'S POEMS. XL. " Yes, here I claim the praise," she said, " to constant matrons due, Who keep the troth that they have plight, so steadfastly and true ; For count the term howe'er you will, so that you count aright, Seven twelvemonths and a day are out when bells toll twelve to-night." XLI. It was Marstetten then rose up, his falchion there he drew, He kneeled before the Moringer, and down his weapon threw ; " My oath and knightly faith are broke," these were the words he said, " Then take, my liege, thy vassal's sword, and take thy vassal's head." XLII. The noble Moringer he smiled, and then aloud did say, " He gathers wisdom that hath roamed seven twelvemonths and a day ; My daughter now hath fifteen years, fame speaks her sweet and fair, I give her for the bride you lose, and name her for my heir. XLIII. " The young bridegroom hath youthful bride, the old bridegroom the old. Whose faith was kept till term and tide so punctually were told ; But blessings on the warder kind that oped my castle gate, For had I come at morrow tide, I came a day too late." BALLADS FROM THE GERMAN. 139 THE ERL-KING. FROM THE GERMAN OF GOETHE. ^ The Erl-King is a goblin that haunts the Black Forest in Thuringia. — To be read by a candle particularly long in the snuff. 0, who rides by night through the woodland so wild ? It is the fond father embracing his child ; And close the boy nestles within his loved arm, To hold himself fast, and to keep himself warm. " 0 father, see yonder ! see yonder ! " he says ; " My boy, upon what dost thou fearfully gaze ? " — ** 0, 'tis the Erl-King with his crown and his shroud.'' "No, my son, it is but a dark wreath of the cloud." (The Hrl'King speaks.^ O come and go with me, thou loveliest child ; By many a gay sport shall thy time be beguiled ; My mother keeps for thee full many a fair toy, And many a fine flower shall she pluck for my boy." " 0, father, my father, and did you not hear The Erl-King whisper so low in my ear ? " — " Be still, my heart's darling — my child, be at ease ; It was but the wild blast as it sung through the trees." 140 scott's poems. Url-King. " 0 wilt thou go with me, thou loveliest boy ? My daughter shall tend thee with care and with She shall bear thee so lightly through wet and through wild, And press thee, and kiss thee, and sing to my child/' " 0 father, my father, and saw you not plain, The Erl-King's pale daughter glide past through the rain ? — " 0 yes, my loved treasure, I knew it full soon, It was the grey willow that danced to the moon." Erl-King, " 0 come and go with me, no longer delay, Or else, silly child, I will drag thee away.'' — " O father ! 0 father ! now, now keep your hold. The Erl-King has seized me — his grasp is so cold!" Sore trembled the father ; he spurred thro' the wild. Clasping close to his bosom his shuddering child ; He reaches his dwelling in doubt and in dread, But, clasped to his bosom, the infant was dead ! CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE MINSTEELSY OP THE SCOTTISH BOEDER. The Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, "^^ edited by Scott, was published in 1802-3, and it will be remem- bered that, unless stated to the contrary, the Intro- ductions and notes are from his pen. — Ed. CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE MINSTRELSY OF THE SCOTTISH BORDER. THOMAS THE RHYMER. IN THKEE PAETS. PART FIRST.— ANCIENT. Few personages are so renowned in tradition as Thomas of Ercildonne, known by the appella- tion of " The Rhymer. " Uniting, or supposing to unite, in his person, the powers of poetical com- position, and of vaticination, his memory, even after the lapse of five hundred years, is regarded with veneration by his countrymen. To give anything like a certain history of this remark- able man would be indeed difficult ; but the curious may derive some satisfaction from the particulars here brought together. It is agreed on all hands, that the residence, and probably the birthplace, of this ancient bard, was Ercildoune, a village situated upon the Leader, two miles above its junction with the Tweed. The ruins of an ancient tower are still pointed out as the Rhymer's castle. The uniform tradition bears, that his surname was Lermont, or Learmont; and that the ap- pellation of **The Rhymer'' was conferred on 144 SCOTT'S POEMS, him in consequence of his poetical compositions. There remains, nevertheless, some doubt upon the subject. We are better able to ascertain the period at which Thomas of Ercildoune Hved, being the latter end of the thirteenth century. I am inclined to place his death a little farther back than Mr. Pinkerton, who supposes that he was alive in 1300, (" List of Scottish Poets,") which is hardly, I think, consistent with the charter already quoted, by which his son, in 1299, for himself and his heirs, conveys to the convent of the Trinity of Soltra, the tenement which he possessed by inheritance (Jiereditarie) in Ercildoune, with all claim which he or his predecessors could pretend thereto. From this we may infer, that the Rhymer was now dead, since we find the son disposing of the family property. Still, however, the argument of the learned historian will remain unimpeached as to the time of the poet's birth. For if, as we learn from Barbour, his prophecies were held in reputation as early as 1306, when Bruce slew the Red Comyn, the sanctity, and (let me add to Mr. Pinkerton's words) the uncer- tainty of antiquity, must have already involved his character and writings. It cannot be doubted, that Thomas of Ercil- doune was a remarkable and important person in his own time, since, very shortly after his death, we find him celebrated as a prophet and as a poet. Whether he himself made any pre- tensions to the first of these characters, or whether it was gratuitously conferred upon him by the credulity of posterity, it seems difficult to decide. Whatever doubts, the learned might have, CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 145 as to the source of the B/hymer's prophetic skill, the vulgar had no hesitation to ascribe the whole to the intercourse between the bard and the Queen of Faery. The popular tale bears, that Thomas was carried off, at an early age, to the Fairy Land, where he acquired all the knowledge which made him afterwards so famous. After seven years' residence, he was permitted to return to the earth, to enlighten and astonish his countrymen by his prophetic powers ; still, however, remaining bound to return to his royal mistress, when she should intimate her pleasure. Accordingly, while Thomas was making merry with his friends in the Tower of Ercildoune, a person came running in, and told, with marks of fear and astonish- ment, that a hart and hind had left the neigh- bouring forest, and were, composedly and slowly, parading the street of the village. The prophet instantly arose, left his habitation, and followed the wonderful animals to the forest, whence he was never seen to return. Accord- ing to the popular belief, he still " drees his weird " in Fairy Land, and is one day expected to revisit earfch. In the meanwhile, his memory is held in the most profound respect. The Eildon Tree, from beneath the shade of which he delivered his prophecies, now no longer exists ; but the spot is marked by a large stone, called Eildon Tree Stone. It seemed to the Editor unpardonable to dismiss a person so important in Border tradi- tion as the Rhymer, without some farther notice than a simple commentary upon the following ballad. It is given from a copy, obtained from a lady residing not far from Ercildoune, corrected and enlarged by one in V. L 146 SCOTT'S POEMS. Mrs. Brown's MSS.^ The former copy, how- ^ ever, as might be expected, is far more minute as to local description. To this old tale the Editor has ventured to add a Second Part, consisting of a kind of cento, from the printed prophecies vulgarly ascribed to the Rhymer ; and a Third Part, entirely modern, founded upon the tradition of his having returned with the hart and hind, to the Land of Faery. PART FIRST. True Thomas lay on Huntlie bank ; ^ A ferlie he spied wi' his ee ; And there he saw a ladye bright, Come riding down by the Eildon Tree. Her shirt was o' the grass-green silk, Her mantle o' the velvet fyne ; At ilka tett of her horse's mane. Hung fifty siller bells and nine. True Thomas, he pulled aff his cap. And louted low down to his knee, " All hail, thou mighty Queen of Heaven ! For thy peer on earth I never did see." — " 0 no, 0 no, Thomas," she said, ** That name does not belang to me ; I am but the Queen of fair Elfland, That am hither come to visit thee. "Harp and carp, Thomas," she said; " Harp and carp along wi' me ; ^ See " Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border," vol. i. p. 231.— Ed. ^ Huntly Bank, and the adjoining ravine, called, from immemorial tradition, the Rhymer's Glen^ were ultimately included in the domain of Abbotsford. — LOCKHART. CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 147 And if ye dare to kiss my lips, Sure of your bodie I will be." — Betide me weal, betide me woe. That weird shall never daunton me." ^ — Syne he has kissed her rosy lips, All underneath the Eildon Tree. " Now, ye maun go wi' me," she said ; True Thomas, ye maun go wi' me ; And ye maun serve me seven years, Thro' weal or woe as may chance to be." She mounted on her milk-white steed ; She's ta'en true Thomas up behind : And aye, whene'er her bridle rung. The steed flew swifter than the wind. 0 they rade on, and farther on ; The steed gaed swifter than the wind ; Until they reached a desert wide, And living land was left behind. " Light down, light down, now, true Thomas, And lean your head upon my knee ; Abide and rest a little space. And I will shew you ferlies three. " 0 see ye not yon narrow road. So thick beset with thorns and briers ? That is the path of righteousness, Though after it but few enquires. " And see ye not that braid braid road, That lies across that lily leven ? That is the path of wickedness,' Though some call it the road to heaven. ^ That weirdy etc. — That destiny shall never frighten me. 148 scott's poems. " And see not ye that bonny road, That winds about the fernie brae ? That is the road to fair Elfland, Where thou and I this night maun gae. " But, Thomas, ye maun hold your tongue, Whatever ye may hear or see ; For, if ye speak word in Elflyn land, Ye'll ne'er get back to your ain countrie." 0 they rade on, and farther on. And they waded through rivers aboon the knee. And they saw neither sun nor moon, But they heard the roaring of the sea. It was mirk mirk night, and there was nae stern light, And they waded through red blude to the knee ; For a' the blude that's shed on earth Bins through the springs o' that countrie. Syne they came on to a garden green. And she pu'd an apple frae a tree — " Take this for thy wages, true Thomas ; It will give thee the tongue that can never lie."— " My tongue is mine ain," true Thomas said ; " A gudely gift ye wad gie to me ! 1 neither dought to buy nor sell, At fair or tryst where I may be. " I dought neither speak to prince or peer, Nor ask of grace from fair ladye." — " Now hold thy peace ! " the lady said, " For as I say, so must it be." — CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 149 He has gotten a coat of the even cloth, And a pair of shoes of velvet green ; And till seven years were gane and past, True Thomas on earth was never seen. PART SECOND. ALTERED FROM ANCIENT PROPHECIES. The prophecies ascribed to Thomas of Ercil- doune have been the principal means of securing to him remembrance " amongst the sons of his people." The author of " Sir Tristrem " would long ago have joined, in the vale of oblivion, " Clerk of Tranent, who wrote the adventure of * Schir Gawain,' " if, by good hap, the same current of ideas respecting antiquity, which causes Virgil to be regarded as a magician by the Lazzaroni of Naples, had not exalted the bard of Ercildoune to the prophetic character. Perhaps, indeed, he himself affected it during his life. We know, at least, for certain, that a belief in his supernatural knowledge was cur- rent soon after his death. His prophecies are alluded to by Barbour, by Wyntoun, and by Henry the Minstrel, or " Blind Harry," as he is usually termed. None of these authors, how- ever, give the words of any of the Rhymer's vaticinations, but merely narrate, historically, his having predicted the events of which they speak. The earliest of the prophecies ascribed to him, which is now extant, is quoted by Mr. Pinkerton from a MS. It is supposed to be a response from Thomas of Ercildoune to a question from the heroic Countess of March, renowned for the defence of the Castle of 150 SCOTT'S POEMS. Dunbar against the English, and termed, in the familiar dialect of her time, " Black Agnes " of Dunbar. This prophecy is remarkable, in so far as it bears very little resemblance to any verses published in the printed copy of the Rhymer's supposed prophecies. Corspatrick, (Comes Patrick) Earl of March, but more commonly taking his title from his castle of Dunbar, acted a noted part during the wars of Edward I. in Scotland. As Thomas of Ercildoune is said to have delivered to him his famous prophecy of King Alexander's death, the Editor has chosen to introduce him into the following ballad. All the prophetic verses are selected from Hart's publication.^ PART SECOND. When seven years were come and gane. The sun blinked fair on pool and stream ; And Thomas lay on Huntlie bank. Like one awakened from a dream. He heard the trampling of a steed. He saw the flash of armour flee, And he beheld a gallant knight Come riding down by the Eildon-tree. He was a stalwart knight, and strong ; Of giant make he 'peared to be : He stirred his horse, as he were wode, Wi' gilded spurs, of faushion free. ^ Lockharb states that an exact reprint of these prophecies, from the edition of Waldegrave, in 1603, collated with Hart's, of 1615, from the copy in the Abbotsford Library, was completed for the Ban- natyne Club, under the care of the learned antiquary, David Laing of Edinburgh. — Ed. CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 151 Says — " Well met, well met, true Thomas ! Some uncouth ferJies show to me." — Says — " Christ thee save, Corspatrick brave ! Thrice welcume, good Dunbar, to me ! Light down, light down, Corspatrick brave ! And I will show thee curses three, Shall gar fair Scotland greet and grane, And change the green to the black livery. " A storm shall roar this very hour, From Ross's hills to Sol way sea.'' — Ye lied, ye lied, ye warlock hoar! For the sun shines sweet on fauld and lea." He put his hand on the Earlie's head ; He showed him a rock beside the sea, Where a king lay stiff beneath his steed, ^ And steel-dight nobles wiped their ee. The neist curse lights on Branxton hills : By Flodden's high and heathery side, Shall wave a banner red as blude. And chieftains throng wi' meikle pride. " A Scottish King shall come full keen, The ruddy lion beareth he ; A feathered arrow sharp, I ween, Shall make him wink and warre to see. " When he is bloody, and all to bledde, Thus to his men he still shall say — * For God's sake, turn ye back again, And give yon southern folk a fray ! Why should I lose the right is mine ? My doom is not to die this day.' ^ ^ King Alexander, killed by a fall from his horse near Kinghorn. 2 The uncertainty which long prevailed in Scotland concerning the fate of James IV. is well known. 152 SCOTT'S POEMS. Yet turn ye to the eastern hand, And woe and wonder ye sail see ; How forty thousand spearmen stand, Where yon rank river meets the sea. There shall the lion lose the gylte, And the libbards bear it clean away ; At Pinkyn Cleuch there shall be spilt Much gentil bluid that day.'' "Enough, enough, of curse and ban ; Some blessings show thou now to me, Or, by the faith o' mybodie," Corspatrick said, Ye shall rue the day ye e'er saw me ! " — " The first of blessings I shall thee show, " Is by a burn, that's called of bread ; ^ Where Saxon men shall tine the bow, And find their arrows lack the head. " Beside that brigg, out ower that burn, Where the water bickereth bright and sheen, Shall many a falling courser spurn. And knights shall die in battle keen. " Beside a headless cross of stone, The libbards there shall lose the gree : The raven shall come, the erne shall go, And drink the Saxon bluid sae free. The cross of stone they shall not know, So thick the corses there shall be." — ^ One of Thomas's rhymes, preserved by tradition, runs thus : — The burn of breid Shall run f ow raid. " Bannock-burn is the brook here meant. The Scots give the name of hannock to a thick round cake of unleavened bread. CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 163 But tell me now," said brave Dunbar, True Thomas, tell now unto me, What man shall rule the isle Britain, Even from the north to the southern sea ? " — ■ " A French Queen shall bear the son, Shall rule all Britain to the sea ; He of the Bruce's blood shall come, As near as in the ninth degree. The waters worship shall his race ; Likewise the waves of the farthest sea ; For they shall ride over ocean wide. With hempen bridles, and horse of tree." PART THIRD.— MODERN. Thomas the Rhymer was renowned among his contemporaries as the author of the celebrated romance of " Sir Tristrem." Of this once ad- mired poem only one copy is now known to exist, which is in the Advocates' Library. The Editor, in 1804, published a small edition of this curious work ; which, if it does not revive the reputation of the bard of Ercildoune, is at least the earliest specimen of Scottish poetry hitherto published. Some account of this romance has already been given to the world in Mr. Ellis's Specimens of Ancient Poetry," vol. i. p. 165, iii. p. 410 ; a work to which our predecessors and our posterity are alike obliged ; the former, for the preservation of the best- selected examples of their poetical taste; and the latter, for a history of the English language, which will only cease to be interesting with the 1S4 scott's poems. existence of onr mother-tongue, and all that genius and learning have recorded in it. It is sufficient here to mention, that so great was the reputation of the romance of " Sir Tristrem," that few were thought capable of reciting it after the manner of the author — a circumstance alluded to by Robert de Brunne, the annalist : — " I see in song, in sedgeyng tale, Of Erceldoun, and of Kendale, Now thame says as they thame wroght, And in thare saying it semes nocht. That thou may here in Sir Tristrem, Over gestes it has the steme, Over all that is or was ; ^ If men it said as made Thomas," etc. It appears, from a very curious MS. of the thirteenth century, penes Mr. Douce, of London, containing a French metrical romance of " Sir Tristrem," that the work of our Thomas the Rhymer was known, and referred to, by the minstrels of Normandy and Bretagne. Having arrived at a part of the romance where reciters were wont to differ in the mode of telliug the story, the French bard expressly cites the authority of the poet of Ercildoune : " Plusurs de nos granter ne volenti Co que del naim dire se solent, Kifemme Kaherdin dut aimer ^ Li naim redut Tristram narrer, E entusche par grant engin, Quant il afole Kaherdin ; Fur cest plai e pur cest mal, Enveiad Tristram Guvernal, En Engleterre pur Ysolt : Thomas ico granter ne volt, Et si volt par raisun mostrer, Qu' ico ne put pas esteer,'' etc. ^he. tq,le of" Sir Tristrem," as narrated in the^ CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 155 Edinburgh MS., is totally different from the voluminous romance in prose, originally com- piled on the same subject by Rusticien de Puise, and analyzed by M. de Tressan ; but agrees in every essential particular with the metrical per- formance just quoted, which is a work of much higher antiquity. The following attempt to commemorate the Rhymer's poetical fame, and the traditional account of his marvellous return to Fairy Land, being entirely modern, would have been placed with greater propriety among the class of Modern Ballads, had it not been for its imme- diate connection with the first and second parts of the same story. PART THIRD. When seven years more were come and gone, Was war through Scotland spread. And Ruberslaw showed high Dunyon ^ His beacon blazing red. Then all by bonny Ooldingknow,^ Pitched palliouns took their room, And crested helms, and spears a-rowe, Glanced gaily through the broom. ^ Ruberslaw and Dunyon are two hills near Jed- burgh. ^ An ancient tower near Ercildoune, belonging to a family of the name of Home. One of Thomas's pro- phecies is said to have run thus ; — Vengeance ! vengeance ! when and where ? On the house of Coldingknow, now and ever mair ! " The spot is rendered classical by its having given name to the beautiful melody called, the. Broom the Cowdenknows." 166 scott's poems. The Leader, rolling to the Tweed, Resounds the ensenzie ; ^ They roused the deer from Caddenhead, To distant Torwoodlee.^ The feast was spread in Ercildonne, In Learmont's high and ancient hall : And there were knights of great renown, And ladies, laced in pall. 'Nor lacked they, while they sat at dine, The music nor the tale, Nor goblets of the blood-red wine, Nor mantling quaighs^ of ale. True Thomas rose, with harp in hand, When as the feast was done : (In minstrel strife, in Fairy Land, The elfin harp he won.) Hushed were the throng, both limb and tongue. And harpers for envy pale ; And armed lords leaned on their swords, And hearkened to the tale. In numbers high, the witching tale The prophet poured along ; No after bard might e'er avail Those numbers to prolong. Yet fragments of the lofty strain Float down the tide of years, As, buoyant on the stormy main, A parted wreck appears. ' Ensenzie — War-cry, or gathering word. ^ Torwoodlee and Caddenhead are places in Sel- kirkshire ; both the property of Mr. Pringle of Tor- woodlee. ^ Quaighs — Wooden cups, composed of staves hooped together. CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 157 He sung King Arthur's Table Round : The Warrior of the Lake ; How courteous Gawaine met the wound/ And bled for ladies' sake. But chief, in gentle Tristrem's praise, The notes melodious swell ; Was none excelled in Arthur's days, The knight of Lionelle. For Marke, his cowardly uncle's right, A venom ed wound he bore ; When fierce Morholde he slew in fight, Upon the Irish shore. No art the poison might withstand ; No medicine could be found, Till lovely Isolde's lily hand Had probed the rankling wound. With gentle hand and soothing tongue She bore the leech's part ; And, while she o'er his sick-bed hung, He paid her with his heart. 0 fatal was the gift, I ween ! For, doomed in evil tide. The maid must be rude Cornwall's queen, His cowardly uncle's bride. Their loves, their woes, the gifted bard In fairy tissue wove ; Where lords, and knights, and ladies bright, In gay confusion strove. ^ See, in the " Fabliaux " of Monsieur le Grand, elegantly translated by the late Gregory Way, Esq. , the tale of the Knight and the Sword." 158 scott's poems. The Garde Joyeuse, amid the tale, High reared its glittering head ; And Avalon's enchanted vale In all its wonders spread. Brangwain was there, and Segramore, And fiend-born Merlin's gramarye ; Of that famed wizard's mighty lore, 0 who could sing but he ? Through many a maze the winning song In changeful passion led, Till bent at length the listening throng O'er Tristrem's dying bed. His ancient wounds their scars expand, With agony his heart is wrung ; O where is Isolde's lilye hand, And where her soothing tongue ? She comes ! she comes ! — like flash of flame Can lovers' footsteps fly : She comes ! she comes ! — she only came To see her Tristrem die. She saw him die ; her latest sigh Joined in a kiss his parting breath, The gentlest pair, that Britain bare, United are in death. There paused the harp : its lingering sound Died slowly on the ear ; The silent guests still bent around. For still they seemed to hear. Then woe broke forth in murmurs weak : Nor ladies heaved alone the sigh ; But, half ashamed, the rugged cheek Did many a gauntlet dry. CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 159 On Leader's stream, and Learmont's tower, The mists of evening close ; In camp, in castle, or in bower. Each warrior sought repose. Lord Douglas, in his lofty tent. Dreamed o'er the woeful tale ; When footsteps light, across the bent, The warrior's ears assail. He starts, he wakes ; — What, Richard, ho ! Arise, my page, arise ! What venturous wight, at dead of night, Dare step where Douglas lies ! " — Then forth they rushed : by Leader's tide, A selcouth ^ sight they see — A hart and hind pace side by side. As white as snow on Fairnalie. Beneath the moon, with gesture proud. They stately move and slow ; Nor scare they at the gathering crowd. Who marvel as they go. To Learmont's tower a message sped. As fast as page might run ; And Thomas started from his bed. And soon his clothes did on. First he woxe pale, and then woxe red ; Never a word he spake but three ; — " My sand is run ; my thread is spun ; This sign regardeth me." The elfin harp his neck around, In minstrel guise, he hung ; And on the wind, in doleful sound, Its dying accents rung. ^ Selcouth — wondrous. 160 SCOTT'S POEMS. Then forth he went ; yet turned him oft To view his ancient hall : On the grey tower, in lustre soft, The autumn moonbeams fall ; And Leader's waves, like silver sheen, Danced shimmering in the ray ; In deepening mass, at distance seen, Broad Soltra's mountains lay. " Farewell, my father's ancient tower ! A long farewell," said he : " The scene of pleasure, pomp, or power, Thou never more shalt be. " To Learmont's name no foot of earth Shall here again belong. And, on thy hospitable hearth, The hare shall leave her young. " Adieu ! adieu ! " again he cried, All as he turned him roun' — " Farewell to Leader's silver tide ! Farewell to Ercildoune ! " The hart and hind approached the place. As lingering yet he stood ; And there, before Lord Douglas' face. With them he crossed the flood. Lord Douglas leaped on his berry-brown steed, And spurred him the Leader o'er ; But, though he rode with lightning speed, He never saw them more. Some said to hill, and some to glen, Their wondrous course had been; But ne'er in haunts of living men Again was Thomas seen. CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 161 GLENFINLAS ; OR, LORD RONALD'S CORONACH. ^ For them the viewless forms of air obey, Their bidding heed, and at their beck repair ; They know what spirit brews the stormful day, And heartless, oft like moody madness stare. To see the phantom-train their secret work prepare." Collins. The simple tradition, upon which the following stanzas are founded, runs thus : — While two Highland hunters were passing the night in a solitary bothy, (a hut, built for the purpose of hunting,) and making merry over their venison and whisky, one of them expressed a wish that they had pretty lasses to complete their party. The words were scarcely uttered, when two beautiful young women, habited in green, entered the hut, dancing and singing. One of the hunters was seduced by the siren who at- tached herself particularly to him, to leave the hut : the other remained, and, suspicious of the fair seducers, continued to play upon a trump, or Jew's harp, some strain, consecrated to the Virgin Mary. Day at length came, and the temptress vanished. Searching in the forest, he found the bones of his unfortunate friend, who had been torn to pieces and devoured by the fiend into whose toils he had fallen. The place was from thence called the Glen of the Green Women. Glenfinlas is a tract of forest-ground, lying in the Highlands of Perthshire, not far from ^ Coronach is the lamentation for a deceased warrior, sung by the aged of the clan. V. M 162 SCOTT'S POEMS. Callander in Menteifch. It was formerly a royal forest, and now belongs to the Earl of Moray. This country, as well as the adjacent district of Balquidder, was, in times of yore, chiefly in- habited by the Macgregors. To the west of the Forest of Glenfinlas lies Loch Katrine, and its romantic avenue, called the Trosachs. Benledi, Benmore, and Benvoirlich, are mountains in the same district, and at no great distance from Glenfinlas. The river Teith passes Callander and the Castle of Doune, and joins the Forth near Stirling. The Pass of Lenny is imme- diately above Callander, and is the principal access to the Higlands, from that town. Glen- artney is a forest, near Benvoirlich. The whole forms a sublime tract of Alpine scenery. This ballad first appeared in the " Tales of Wonder." 0 HONE a rie' ! O hone a rie' ! ^ The pride of Albin's line is o'er, And fallen Glenartney's stateliest tree ; We ne'er shall see Lord Ronald more ! — . O, sprang from great Macgillianore, The chief that never feared a foe, How matchless was thy broad claymore, How deadly thine unerring bow ! Well can the Saxon widows tell,^ How, on the Teith's resounding shore, The boldest Lowland warriors fell, As down from Lenny's pass you bore. ^ 0 hone a rie^ signifies — "Alas for the prince or chief." ^ The term Sassenach, or Saxon, is applied by the Highlanders to their Low Country neighbours. CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 163 But o'er his hills, in festal day, How blazed Lord Ronald's beltane-tree,^ While youths and maids the light strathspey So nimbly danced with Highland glee ! Cheered by the strength of Ronald's shell. E'en age forgot his tresses hoar; But now the loud lament we swell, 0 ne'er to see Lord Ronald more ! From distant isles a chieftain came, The joys of Ronald's halls to find, And chase with him the dark- brown game. That bounds o'er Albin's hills of wind. 'Twas Moy ; whom in Columba's isle The seer's prophetic spirit found, As, with a minstrel's fire the while, He waked his harp's harmonious sound. Full many a spell to him was known. Which wandering spirits shrink to hear ; And many a lay of potent tone, Was never meant for mortal ear. For there, 'tis said, in mystic mood, High converse with the dead they hold. And oft espy the fated shroud, That shall the future corpse enfold. 0 so it fell, that on a day. To rouse the red deer from their den, The Chiefs have ta'en their distant way, And scoured the deep Glenfinlas glen. ^ The fires lighted by the Highlanders on the first of May, in compliance with a custom derived from the Pagan times, are termed The Beltane-tree. i 164 scott's poems. No vassals wait their sports to aid, To watch their safety, deck their board ; Their simple dress, the Highland plaid, Their trusty guard, the Highland sword. Three summer days, through brake and dell. Their whistling shafts successful flew ; And still, when dewy evening fell. The quarry to their hut they drew. In grey Glenfinlas' deepest nook The solitary cabin stood, Fast by Moneira's sullen brook. Which murmurs through that lonely wood. Soft fell the night, the sky was calm. When three successive days had flown, And summer mist in dewy balm Steeped heathy bank, and mossy stone. The moon, half -hid in silvery flakes. Afar her dubious radiance shed. Quivering on Katrine's distant lakes. And resting on Benledi's head. Now in their hut, in social guise, Their sylvan fare the Chiefs enjoy ; And pleasure laughs in Ronald's eyes, As many a pledge he quaffs to Moy. What lack we here to crown our bliss, While thus the pulse of joy beats high ? What, but fair woman's yielding kiss. Her panting breath and melting eye ? "To chase the deer of yonder shades. This morning left their father's pile The fairest of our mountain maids, The daughters of the proud Glengyle. CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 165 " Long have I sought sweet Mary's heart. And dropped the tear, and heaved the sigh : But vain the lover's wily art, Beneath a sister's watchful eye. "But thou mayst teach that guardian fair, While far with Mary I am flown, Of other hearts to cease her care, And find it hard to guard her own. " Touch but thy harp, thou soon shalt see The lovely Flora of Glengyle, Unmindful of her charge and me. Hang on thy notes, 'twixt tear and smile. " Or, if she choose a melting tale, All underneath the greenwood bough, Will good St. Oran's rule prevail,^ Stern huntsman of the rigid brow ? " — " Since Enrick's fight, since Morna's death, No more on me shall rapture rise, Responsive to the panting breath, Or yielding kiss, or melting eyes. ^ St. Oran was a friend and follower of St. Columba, and was buried at Icolmkill. His pretensions to be a saint were rather dubious. According to the legend, he consented to be buried alive, in order to propitiate certain demons of the soil, who obstructed the attempts of Columba to build a chapel. Columba caused the body of his friend to be dug up, after three days had elapsed; when Oran, to the horror and scandal of the assistants, declared, that there was neither a God, a judgment, nor a future state ! He had no time to make further discoveries, for Columba caused the earth once more to be shovelled over him with the utmost despatch. The chapel, however, and the cemetery, was called Relig Ouran ; and, in memory of his rigid celibacy, no female was permitted to pay her devotions, or be buried in that place. This is the rule alluded to in the poem. 166 scott's poems. " E'en then, when o'er the heath of woe, Where sank mj hopes of love and fame, I bade my harp's wild wailings flow. On me the Seer's sad spirit came. " The last dread curse of angry heaven, With ghastly sights and sounds of woe, To dash each glimpse of joy was given — The gift, the future ill to know. " The bark thou saw'st, yon summer morn, ^ So gaily part from Oban's bay, My eye beheld her dashed and torn. Far on the rocky Colonsay. " Thy Fergus too — thy sister's son. Thou saw'st, with pride, the gallant's power. As marching 'gainst the Lord of Doune, He left the skirts of huge Benmore. " Thou only saw'st their tartans wave, As down Benvoirlich's side they wound, Heard'st but the pibroch, answering brave To many a target clanking round. I heard the groans, I marked the tears, I saw the wound his bosom bore, When on the serried Saxon spears He poured his clan's resistless roar. " And thou, who bidst me think of bliss. And bidst my heart awake to glee, And court, like thee, the wanton kiss — That heart, 0 Ronald, bleeds for thee ! I see the death-damps chill thy brow ; I hear thy Warning Spirit cry ; The corpse-lights dance — they're gone, and now . . . Ifo more is given to gifted eye [ " CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 167 Alone enjoy thy dreary dreams, Sad prophet of the evil hour ! Say, should we scorn joy's transient beams, Because to-morrow's storm may lour ? " Or false, or sooth, thy words of woe, Clangillian's Chieftain ne'er shall fear ; His blood shall bound at rapture's glow, Though doomed to stain the Saxon spear. " E'en now, to meet me in yon dell. My Mary's buskins brush the dew." He spoke, nor bade the Chief farewell, But called his dogs, and gay withdrew. Within an hour returned each hound ; In rushed the rousers of the deer ; They howled in melancholy sound, Then closely couched beside the Seer. No Ronald yet ; though midnight came. And sad were Moy's prophetic dreams, As, bending o'er the dying flame. He fed the watch-fire's quivering gleams. Sudden the hounds erect their ears, And sudden cease their moaning howl ; Close pressed to Moy, they mark their fears By shivering limbs and stifled growl. Untouched, the harp began to ring. As softly, slowly, oped the door ; And shook responsive every string. As light a footstep pressed the floor. And by the watch-fire's glimmering light, Close by the minstrel's side was seen A huntress maid, in beauty bright, All dropping wet her robes of green. 168 scott's poems. All dropping wet her garments seem ; Chilled was her cheek, her bosom bare, As, bending o'er the dying gleam. She wrung the moisture from her hair. With maiden blush, she softly said, O gentle huntsman, hast thou seen, In deep Glenfinlas' moonlight glade, A lovely maid in vest of green : " With her a Chief in Highland pride ; His shoulders bear the hunter's bow. The mountain dirk adorns his side, Far on the wind his tartans flow ? " — And who art thou ? and who are they ? " All ghastly gazing, Moy replied : " And why, beneath the moon's pale ray. Dare ye thus roam Glenfinlas' side ? " — " Where wild Loch Katrine pours her tide. Blue, dark, and deep, round many an isle, Our father's towers o'erhang her side, The castle of the bold Glengyle. " To chase the dun Glenfinlas deer, Our woodland course this morn we bore, And haply met, while wandering here. The son of great Macgillianore. " 0 aid me, then, to seek the pair. Whom, loitering in the woods, I lost; Alone, I dare not venture there. Where walks, they say, the shrieking ghost." — " Yes, many a shrieking ghost walks there ; Then, first, my own sad vow to keep, Here will I pour my midnight prayer, Wiiich still must rise when mortals sleep." — CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 169 " O first, for pity's gentle sake, Guide a lone wanderer on her way ! For I must cross the haunted brake, And reach my father's towers ere day." — " First, three times tell each Ave-bead, And thrice a Pater-noster say ; Then kiss with me the holy rede ; So shall we safely wend our way." — 0 shame to knighthood, strange and foul ! Go, doff the bonnet from thy brow. And shroud thee in the monkish cowl. Which best befits thy sullen vow. " Not so, by high Dunlathmon's fire; Thy heart was froze to love and joy, When gaily rung thy raptured lyre To wanton Morna's melting eye." Wild stared the minstrel's eyes of flame, And high his sable locks arose. And quick his colour went and came, As fear and rage alternate rose. And thou ! when by the blazing oak I lay, to her and love resigned. Say, rode ye on the eddying smoke, Or sailed ye on the midnight wind ? " Not thine a race of mortal blood, Nor old Glengyle's pretended line ; Thy dame, the Lady of the Flood — Thy sire, the Mod arch of the Mine." He muttered thrice St. Oran's rhyme, And thrice St. Fillan's powerful prayer ; Then turned him to the eastern clime, And sternly shook his coal-black hair. 170 scott's poems. And, bending o'er his harp, he flung His wildest witch-notes on the wind ; And loud, and high, and strange, they rung, As many a magic change they find. Tall waxed the Spirit's altering form, Till to the roof her stature grew ; Then, mingling with the rising storm, With one wild yell away she flew. Rain beats, hail rattles, whirlwinds tear : The slender hut in fragments flew ; But not a lock of Moy's loose hair Was waved by wind, or wet by dew. Wild mingling with the howling gale. Loud bursts of ghastly laughter rise ; High o'er the minstrel's head they sail. And die amid the northern skies. The voice of thunder shook the wood. As ceased the more than mortal yell ; And, spattering foul, a shower of blood Upon the hissing firebrands fell. Next dropped from high a mangled arm : The fingers strained a half-drawn blade : And last, the life-blood streaming warm, Torn from the trunk, a gasping head. Oft o'er that head, in battling field. Streamed the proud crest of high Benmore ; That arm the broad claymore could wield. Which dyed the Teith with Saxon gore. Woe to Moneira's sullen rills ! Woe to Glenfinlas' dreary glen ! There never son of Albin's hills Shall draw the hunter's shaft agen ! CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 171 E'en the tired pilgrim's bnrning feet At noon shall shnn that sheltering den, Lest, joTirneying in their rage, he meet The wayward Ladies of the Glen. And we — behind the Chieftain's shield, No more shall we in safety dwell ; None leads the people to the field — And we the loud lament must swell. 0 hone a rie' ! O hone a rie' ! The pride of Albin's line is o'er ! And fallen Glenartney's stateliest tree ; We ne'er shall see Lord Ronald more ! THE EYE OF ST. JOHN. Smatlho'me, or Smallholm Tower, the scene of the following ballad, is situated on the northern boundary of Roxburghshire, among a cluster of wild rocks, called Sandiknow-Crags. The tower is a high square building, surrounded by an outer wall, now ruinous. The circuit of the outer court, being defended on three sides, by a precipice and morass, is accessible only from the west by a steep and rocky path. The apart- ments, as is usual in a Border keep, or fortress, are placed one above another, and communicate by a narrow stair ; on the roof are two bartizans, or platforms, for defence or pleasure. The inner door of the tower is wood, the outer an iron gate ; the distance between them being nine feet, the thickness, namely, of the wall. From the ele- vated situation of Smaylho'me Tower, it is seen many miles in every direction,. Among thq. 172 SCOTT'S POEMS. crags by whicli it is surrounded, one, more eminent, is called the " Watchfold,"and is said to have been the station of a beacon, in the times of war with England. Without the tower-court is a ruined chapel. Brotherstone is a heath, in the neighbourhood of Smaylho'me Tower. This ballad was first printed in Mr. Lewis's Tales of Wonder." It is here published, with some additional illustrations, particularly an account of the battle of Ancram Moor ; which seemed proper in a work upon Border antiquities. The catastrophe of the tale is founded upon a well-known Irish tradition. This ancient for- tress and its vicinity formed the scene of the Editor's infancy, and seemed to claim from him this attempt to celebrate them in a Border tale. The Baron of Smaylho'me rose with day, He spurred his courser on. Without stop or stay, down the rocky way, That leads to Brotherstone. He went not with the bold Buccleuch, His banner broad to rear ; He went not 'gainst the English yew, To lift the Scottish spear. Yet his plate- jack ^ was braced, and his helmet was laced. And his vaunt-brace of proof he wore ; At his saddle-gerthe was a good steel sperthe, Full ten pound weight and more. ^ The plate-jack is coat-armour ; the vaunt-brace, or warn -brace, armour for the body : the sperthe, a battle-axe. CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 173 The Baron returned in three days' space, And his looks were sad and sour ; And weary was his courser's pace, As he reached his rocky tower. He came not from where Ancram Moor Ran red with English blood ; Where the Douglas true, and the bold Bue- cleuch, 'Gainst keen Lord Evers stood. Yet was his helmet hacked and hewed, His acton pierced and tore, His axe and his dagger with blood imbrued, — But it was not English gore. He lighted at the Chapellage, He held him close and still ; And he whistled thrice for his little foot-page. His name was English Will. " Come thou hither, my little foot-page, Come hither to my knee ; Though thou art young, and tender of age, I think thou art true to me. " Come, tell me all that thou hast seen. And look thou tell me true ! Since I from Smaylho'me tower have been. What did thy lady do ? " My lady, each night, sought the lonely light. That burns on the wild Watchfold ; For, from height to height, the beacons bright Of the English foemen told. The bittern clamoured from the moss, The wind blew loud and shrill ; Yet the craggy pathway she did cross To the eiry Beacon Hill. 174 scott's poems. " I watched her steps, and silent came Where she sat her on a stone ; — No watchman stood by the dreary flame, It burned all alone. " The second night I kept her in sight, Till to the fire she came, And, by Mary's might ! an Armed Knight Stood by the lonely flame. " And many a word that warlike lord Did speak to my lady there ; But the rain fell fast, and loud blew the blast, And I heard not what they were. " The third night there the sky was fair, And the mountain- blast was still, As again I watched the secret pair, On the lonesome Beacon Hill. " And I heard her name the midnight hour, And name this holy eve ; And say, * Come this night to thy lady's bower ; Ask no bold Baron's leave. " * He lifts his spear with the bold Buccleuch ; His lady is all alone ; The door she'll undo, to her knight so true. On the eve of good St. John.' — " * I cannot come ; I must not come ; I dare not come to thee ; On the eve of St. John I must wander alone : In thy bower I may not be.' — " ' Now, out on thee, fainthearted knight ! Thou shouldst not say me nay ; For the eve is sweet, and when lovers meet, Is worth the whole summer's day. CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 175 " * And 111 chain the blood-hound, and the warder shall not sound, And rushes shall be strewed on the stair ; So, by the black rood- stone/ and by holy St. John, I conjure thee, my love, to be there ! ' — " ' Though the blood-hound be mute, and the rush beneath my foot, And the warder his bugle should not blow, Yet there sleepeth a priest in the chamber to the east, And my footstep he would know.' — * 0 fear not the priest, who sleepeuh co the east. For to Dry burgh ^ the way he has ta'en ; And there to say mass, till three days do pass, For the soul of a knight that is slayne.' — " He turned him around, and grimly he frowned ; Then he laughed right scornfully — * He who says the mass-rite for the soul of that knight. May as well say mass for me : " ' At the lone midnight hour, when bad spirits have power. In thy chamber will I be.' — With that he was gone, and my lady left alone, And no more did I see." ^ The black-rood of Melrose was a crucifix of black marble, and of superior sanctity. Dryburgh Abbey is beautifully situated on the banks of the Tweed. 176 SCOTT'S POEMS. Then changed, I trow, was that bold Baron's brow, From the dark to the blood-red high — " Now, tell me the mien of the knight thou hast seen, For, by Mary, he shall die ! " — " His arms shone full bright, in the beacon's red light : His plume it was scarlet and blue ; On his shield was a hound, in a silver leash bound. And his crest was a branch of the yew." — " Tho^- ^2C^9.t, thoa liest, thou little foot-page, Loud dost thou lie to me ! For that knight is cold, and low laid in the mould. All under the Eil don-tree." — " Yet hear but my word, my noble lord ! For I heard her name his name ; And that lady bright, she called the knight Sir Richard of Coldinghame." — The bold Baron's brow then changed, I trow, From high blood-red to pale — " The grave is deep and dark — and the corpse is stiff and stark — So I may not trust thy tale. Where fair Tweed flows round holy Melrose, And Eildon slopes to the plain, Full three nights ago, by some secret foe, That gay gallant was slain. " The varying light deceived thy sight. And the wild winds drowned the name,* CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 177 For the Drjburgli bells ring, and the white monks do sing, For Sir Richard of Ooldinghame ! " He passed the court-gate, and he oped the tower- gate. And he mounted the narrow stair, To the bartizan-seat, where, with maids that on her wait, He found his lady fair. That lady sat in mournful mood ; Looked over hill and vale ; Over Tweed's fair flood, and Mertoun's wood. And all down Teviotdale. "Now hail, now hail, thou lady bright ! " — Now hail, thou Baron true ! What news, what news, from Ancram fight ? What news from the bold Buccleuch ? " — The Ancram Moor is red with gore, For many a southern fell ; And Buccleuch has charged us, evermore. To watch our beacons well." — The lady blushed red, but nothing she said : Nor added the Baron a word : Then she stepped down the stair to her chamber fair. And so did her moody lord. In sleep the lady mourned, and the Baron tossed and turned. And oft to himself he said, — " The worms around him creep, and his bloody grave is deep ..... It cannot give up the dead ! " — V. N 178 SCOTT'S POEMS. It was near the ringing of matin-bell, The night was wellnigh done, When a heavy sleep on that Baron fell, On the eve of good St. John. The lady looked through the chamber fair, By the light of a dying flame ; And she was aware of a knight stood there — Sir Richard of Coldinghame ! Alas ! away, away ! " she cried, " For the holy Virgin's sake ! " — " Lady, I know who sleeps by thy side ; But, lady, he will not awake. " By Eildon-tree, for long nights three, In bloody grave have I lain ; The mass and the death-prayer are said for me, But, lady, they are said in vain. "By the Baron's brand, near Tweed's fair strand. Most foully slain, I fell ; And my restless sprite on the beacon's height, For a space is doomed to dwell. " At our try sting-place, for a certain space, I must wander to and fro ; But I had not had power to come to thy bower Hadst thou not conjured me so." — Love mastered fear — her brow she crossed ; How, R-ichard, hast thou sped ? And art thou saved, or art thou lost ? " — The vision shook his head ! CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 179 Who spilleth life, shall forfeit life ; So bid thy lord believe : That lawless love is guilt above, This awful sign receive." He laid his left palm on an oaken beam ; His right upon her hand ; The ladj shrunk, and fainting sunk. For it scorched like a fiery brand. The sable score, of fingers four. Remains on that board impressed ; And for evermore that lady wore A covering on her wrist. There is a nun in Dryburgh bower, Ne'er looks upon the sun ; There is a monk in Melrose tower. He speaketh word to none. That nun, who ne'er beholds the day, That monk, who speaks to none — That nun was Smaylho'me's Lady gay, That monk the bold Baron. 180 SCOTT'S POEMS. CADYOW CASTLE. ADDRESSED TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE LADY ANNE HAMILTON. ^ The ruins of Cadyow, or Cadzow Castle, the ancient baronial residence of the family of Hamilton, are situated upon the precipitous banks of the river Evan, about two miles above its junction with the Clyde. It was dismantled, in the conclusion of the Civil Wars, during the reign of the unfortunate Mary, to whose cause the house of Hamilton devoted themselves with a generous zeal, which occasioned their tem- porary obscurity, and, very nearly, their total ruin. The situation of the ruins, embosomed in wood, darkened by ivy and creeping shrubs, and overhanging the brawling torrent, is roman- tic in the highest degree. In the immediate vicinity of Cadyow is a grove of immense oaks, the remains of the Caledonian Forest, which anciently extended through the south of Scot- land, from the eastern to the Atlantic Ocean. Some of these trees measure twenty-five feet, and upwards, in circumference ; and the state of decay, in which they now appear, shows that they may have witnessed the rites of the Druids. The whole scenery is included in the magnifi- cent and extensive park of the Duke of Hamil- ton. There was long preserved in this forest the breed of the Scottish wild cattle, until their ferocity occasioned their being extirpated, about ^ Eldest daughter of Archibald, ninth Duke of Hamilton. — Lockhart. CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 181 forty years agoJ Their appearance was beauti- ful, being milk-white, with black muzzles, horns, and hoofs. The bulls are described by ancient authors as having white manes ; but those of latter days had lost that peculiarity, perhaps by intermixture with the tame breed. In detailing the death of the Regent Murray, which is made the subject of the following ballad, it would be injustice to my reader to use other words than those of Dr. Robertson, whose account of that memorable event forms a beautiful piece of historical painting. " Hamilton of Bothwellhaugh was the person who committed this barbarous action. He had been condemned to death soon after the battle of Langside, as we have already related, and owed his life to the Regent's clemency. But part of his estate had been bestowed upon one of the Regent's favourites, who seized his house, and turned out his wife, naked, in a cold night, into the open fields, where, before next morning, she became furiously mad. This injury made a deeper impression on him than the benefit he had received, and from that moment he vowed to be revenged of the Regent. Party rage strengthened and inflamed his pri- vate resentment. His kinsmen, the Hamiltons, applauded the enterprise. The maxims of that age justified the most desperate course he could take to obtain vengeance. He followed the Regent for some time, and watched for an opportunity to strike the blow. He resolved at last to wait till his enemy should arrive at Lin- lithgow, through which he was to pass in his way from Stirling to Edinburgh. He took his ^ There is still a herd of these cattle in Cadzow Forest.— Ed. 182 scott's poems. stand in a wooden gallery/ which had a win- dow towards the street; spread a feather-bed on the floor to hinder the noise of his feet from being heard ; hung up a black cloth behind him, that his shadow might not be observed from without ; and, after all this preparation, calmly expected the Regent's approach, who had lodged, during the night, in a house not far distant. Some indistinct information of the danger which threatened him had been con- veyed to the Regent, and he paid so much regard to it, that he resolved to return by the same gate through which he had entered, and to fetch a compass round the town. But, as the crowd about the gate was great, and he himself unacquainted with f^ar, he proceeded directly along the street ; and the throng of people obliging him to move very slowly, gave the assassin time to take so true an aim, that he shot him, with a single bullet, through the lower part of his belly, and killed the horse of a gentleman who rode on his other side. His followers instantly endeavoured to break into the house whence the blow had come ; but they found the door strongly barricadoed, and, before it could be forced open, Hamilton had mounted a fleet horse, which stood ready for him at a back passage, and was got far beyond their reach. The Regent died the same night of his wound." — History of Scotland, book v. Bothwellhaugh rode straight to Hamilton, ^ This projecting gallery is still shown. The house to which it was attached was the property of the Archbishop of St. Andrews, a natural brother to the Duke of Cliatelherault, and uncle to Bothwellhaugh. This, among many other circumstances, seems to evince the aid which Bothwellhaugh received from his clan in effecting his purpose. CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY, 183 where he was received in triumph ; for the ashes of the houses in Clydesdale, which had been burned by Murray's army, were yet smoking; and party prejudice, the habits of the age, and the enormity of the provocation, seemed to his kinsmen to justify his deed. After a short abode at Hamilton, this fierce and determined man left Scotland, and served in France, under the patronage of the family of Guise, to whom he was doubtless recommended by having avenged the cause of their niece, Queen Mary, upon her ungrateful brother. De Thou has recorded, that an attempt was made to engage him to assassinate Gaspar de Coligni, the famous Admiral of France, and the buckler of the Huguenot cause. But the character of Bothwellhaugh was mistaken. He was no mercenary trader in blood, and rejected the offer with contempt and indignation. He had no authority, he said, from Scotland to commit murders in France ; he had avenged his own just quarrel, but he would neither, for price nor prayer, avenge that of another man. — " Thuanus," cap. 46. The Regent's death happened 23rd January, 1569. It is applauded or stigmatized, by con- temporary historians, according to their reli- gious or party prejudices. The triumph of Blackwood is unbounded. He not only extols the pious feat of Bothwellhaugh, "who," he observes, satisfied, with a single ounce of lead, him whose sacrilegious avarice had stripped the metropolitan church of St. Andrews of its covering ; " but he ascribes it to immediate divine inspiration, and the escape of Hamilton to little less than the miraculous interference of the Deity.— Jebb, vol. ii. p. 263. With 184 SCOTT'S POEMS. equal injustice, it was, by others, made the ground o£ a general national reflection ; for, when Mather urged Berney to assassinate Bur- leigh, and quoted the examples of Poltrot and Bothwellhaugh, the other conspirator answered, *' that neyther Poltrot nor Hambleton did attempt their enterpryse, without some reason or consideration to lead them to it ; as the one, by hyre, and promise of preferment or rewarde ; the other, upon desperate mind of revenge, for a lyttle wrong done unto him, as the report goethe, according to the vyle trayterous dyspo- sysyon of the hoole natyon of the Scottes." — Murdin's State Papers, vol. i. p. 197. When princely Hamilton's abode Ennobled Cadyow's Gothic towers, The song went round, the goblet flowed. And revel sped the laughing hours. Then, thrilling to the harp's gay sound, So sweetly rung each vaulted wall. And echoed light the dancer's bound. As mirth and music cheered the hall. But Cadyow's towers, in ruins laid. And vaults, by ivy mantled o'er, Thrill to the music of the shade. Or echo Evan's hoarser roar. Yet still, of Cadyow's faded fame. You bid me tell a minstrel tale, And tune my harp, of Border frame. On the wild banks of Evandale. For thou, from scenes of courtly pride, From pleasure's lighter scenes, canst turn, To draw oblivion's pall aside. And mark the long-forgotten urn. CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 185 Then, noble maid ! at thy command, Again the crumbled halls shall rise ; Lo ! as on Evan's banks we stand, The past returns — the present flies. Where, with the rock's wood-covered side. Were blended late the ruins green, Rise turrets in fantastic pride, And feudal banners flaunt between : Where the rude torrent's brawling course Was shagged with thorn and tangling sloe, The ashler buttress braves its force. And ramparts frown in battled row. 'Tis night — the shade of keep and spire Obscurely dance on Evan's stream ; And on the wave the warder's lire Is chequering the moonlight beam. Fades slow their light ; the east is grey ; The weary warder leaves his tower ; Steeds snort ; uncoupled stag-hounds bay. And merry hunters quit the bower. The drawbridge falls — they hurry out — Clatters each plank and swinging chain, As, dashing o'er, the jovial rout Urge the shy steed, and slack the rein. First of his troop, the Chief rode on ; His shouting merry-men throng behind ; The steed of princely Hamilton Was fleeter than the mountain wind. From the thick copse the roebucks bound. The startled red-deer scuds the plain, For the hoarse bugle's warrior-sound Has roused their mountain haunts again. 186 scott's poems. Through the huge oaks of Evandale, Whose limbs a thousand years have worn, What sullen roar comes down the gale, And drowns the hunter's pealing horn ? Mightiest of all the beasts of chase. That roam in woody Caledon, Crashing the forest in his race, The Mountain Bull comes thundering on. Fierce, on the hunter's quivered band, He rolls his eyes of swarthy glow, Spurns, with black hoof and horn, the sand, And tosses high his mane of snow. Aimed well, the Chieftain's lance has flown ; Struggling in blood the savage lies ; His roar is sunk in hollow groan — Sound, merry huntsmen ! sound the pryse ! ^ 'Tis noon — against the knotted oak The hunters rest the idle spear ; Curls through the trees the slender smoke, Where yeomen dight the woodland cheer. Proudly the Chieftain marked his clan, On greenwood lap all careless thrown. Yet missed his eye the boldest man That bore the name of Hamilton. " Why fills not Bothwellhaugh his place, Still wont our weal and woe to share ? Why comes he not our sport to grace ? Why shares he not our hunter's fare ? " — Stern Claud replied, with darkening face, (Grey Paisley's haughty lord was he,) " At merry feast, or buxom chase, No more the warrior wilt thou see. ^ Pryse. The note blown at the death of the game. CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 187 " Few suns have set since Woodhouselee Saw Bofchwellhaugh's bright goblets foam, When to his hearth, in social glee, The war-worn soldier turned him home. There, wan from her maternal throes. His Margaret, beautiful and mild, Sate in her bower, a pallid rose, And peaceful nursed her new-born child. " 0 change accursed ! past are those days ; False Murray's ruthless spoilers came, And, for the hearth's domestic blaze, Ascends destruction's volumed flame. " What sheeted phantom wanders wild. Where mountain Esk through woodland flows. Her arms enfold a shadowy child — Oh ! is it she, the pallid rose ? The wildered traveller sees her glide. And hears her feeble voice with awe — ' Revenge,' she cries, ' on Murray's pride ! And woe for injured Bothwellhaugh ! ' " He ceased — and cries of rage and grief Burst mingling from the kindred band, And half arose the kindling Chief, And half unsheathed his Arran brand. But who, o'er bush, o'er stream and rock, Rides headlong, with resistless speed. Whose bloody poniard's frantic stroke Drives to the leap his jaded steed ; Whose cheek is pale, whose eyeballs glare. As one some visioned sight that saw. Whose hands are bloody, loose his hair ? — 'Tis he ! 'tis he ! 'tis Bothwellhaugh. 188 SCOTT'S POEMS. From gory selle/ and reeling steed, Sprang the fierce horseman with a bound, And, reeking from the recent deed, He dashed his carbine on the ground. Sternly he spoke — " 'Tis sweet to hear In good greenwood the bugle blown, But sweeter to Revenge's ear. To drink a tyrant's dying groan. " Your slaughtered quarry proudly trode. At dawning morn, o'er dale and down. But prouder base-born Murray rode Through old Linlithgow's crowded town. " From the wild Border's humbled side. In haughty triumph marched he. While Knox relaxed his bigot pride. And smiled, the traitorous pomp to see. " But can stern Power, with all his vaunt, Or Pomp, with all her courtly glare. The settled heart of Vengeance daunt. Or change the purpose of Despair ? " With hackbut bent,^ my secret stand. Dark as the purposed deed, I chose. And marked, where, mingling in his band. Trooped Scottish pikes and English bows. " Dark Morton,^ girt with many a spear, Murder's foul minion, led the van ; And clashed their broadswords in the rear The wild Macfarlanes' plaided clan. ^ Selle — Saddle. A word used by Spenser, and other ancient authors. ^ Hackhut hent — Gun cocked. ^ Of this noted person, it is enough to say, that he was active in the murder of David Rizzio, and at least privy to that of Darnley. CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 1 " Glencairn and stont Parkhead were nigh, Obsequious at their Regent's rein, And haggard Lindesay's iron eye, That saw fair Mary weep in vain. " Mid pennoned spears, a steely grove, Proud Murray's plumage floated high ; Scarce could his trampling charger move, So close the minions crowded nigh. From the raised visor's shade, his eye, . Dark-rolling, glanced the ranks along. And his steel truncheon, waved on high. Seemed marshalling the iron throng. But yet his saddened brow confessed A passing shade of doubt and awe ; Some fiend was whispering in his breast ; ' Beware of injured Bothwellhaugh ! ' The death-shot parts — the charger springs Wild rises tumult's startling roar ! And Murray's plumy helmet rings — — Rings on the ground, to rise no more. *' What joy the raptured youth can feel, To hear her love the loved one tell — Or he, who broaches on his steel The wolf, by whom his infant fell ! ** But dearer to my injured eye To see in dust proud Murray roll ; And mine was ten times trebled joy. To hear him groan his felon soul. " My Margaret's spectre glided near ; With pride her bleeding victim saw ; And shrieked in his death-deafened ear, ' Remember injured Bothwellhaugh ! ' 190 scott's poems. " Then speed thee, noble Chatlerault ! Spread to the wind thy bannered tree ! ^ Each warrior bend his Clydesdale bow ! — Murray is fallen, and Scotland free ! " Vaults every warrior to his steed ; Loud bugles join their wild acclaim — " Murray is fallen, and Scotland freed ! Couch, Arran ! couch thy spear of flame ! But, see ! the minstrel vision fails — The glimmering spears are seen no more ; The shouts of war die on the gales, Or sink in Evan's lonely roar. For the loud bugle, pealing high, The blackbird whistles down the vale, And sunk in ivied ruins lie The bannered towers of Evandale. For Chiefs, intent on bloody deed, And Vengeance shouting o'er the slain, Lo ! high-born Beauty rules the steed. Or graceful guides the silken rein. And long may Peace and Pleasure own The maids who list the minstrel's tale ; Nor e'er a ruder guest be known On the fair banks of Evandale ! ^ An oak, half-sawn, with the motto through, is an ancient cognizance of the family of Hamilton. CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 191 THE GREY BROTHER. A FRAGMENT. The imperfect state of this ballad, which was written several years ago, is not a circumstance affected for the purpose of giving it that peculiar interest which is often found to arise from un- gratified curiosity. On the contrary, it was the Editor's intention to have completed the tale, if he had found himself able to succeed to his own satisfaction. Yielding to the opinion of persons, whose judgment, if not biassed by the partiality of friendship, is entitled to deference, he has preferred inserting these verses as a fragment, to his intention of entirely suppressing them. The tradition, upon which the tale is founded, regards a house upon the barony of Gilmerton, near Lass wade, in Mid-Lothian. This building, now called Gilmerton Grange, was originally named Burndale, from the following tragic ad- venture. The barony of Gilmerton belonged, of yore, to a gentleman named Heron, who had one beautiful daughter. This young lady was seduced by the Abbot of Newbattle, a richly en- dowed abbey, upon the banks of the South Esk, now a seat of the Marquis of Lothian. Heron came to the knowledge of this circumstance, and learned also, that the lovers carried on their guilty intercourse by the connivance of the lady's nurse, who lived at this house of Gil- merton Grange, or Burndale. He formed a resolution of bloody vengeance, undeterred by the supposed sanctity of the clerical character, or by the stronger claims of natural affection. Choosing, therefore, a dark and windy night, 192 scott's poems. when the objects of his vengeance were engaged in a stolen interview, he set fire to a stack of dried thorns, and other combustibles, which he had caused to be piled against the house, and reduced to a pile of glowing ashes the dwelling, with all its inmates. The Pope he was saying the high, high mass, All on Saint Peter's day. With the power to him given, by the saints in heaven, To wash men's sins away. The Pope he was saying the blessed mass. And the people kneeled around. And from each man's soul his sins did pass, As he kissed the holy ground. And all, among the crowded throng, Was still, both limb and tongue, While, through vaulted roof and aisles aloof. The holy accents rung. At the holiest word he quivered for fear, And faltered in the sound — And, when he would the chalice rear. He dropped it to the ground. *'The breath of one of evil deed Pollutes our sacred day ; He has no portion in our creed, No part in what I say. " A being, whom no blessed word To ghostly peace can bring ; A wretch, at whose approach abhorred. Recoils each holy thing. CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 193 " Up, up, unhappy ! haste, arise ! My adjuration fear ! I charge thee not to stop my voice, Nor longer tarry here ! " — Amid them all a pilgrim kneeled. In gown of sackcloth grey ! Far journeying from his native field, He first saw Rome that day. For forty days and nights so drear, I ween he had not spoke, And, save with bread and water clear, His fast he ne'er had broke. Amid the penitential flock, Seemed none more bent to pray ; But, when the Holy Father spoke, He rose and went his way. Again unto his native land His weary course he drew, To Lothian's fair and fertile strand, And Pentland's mountains blue. His unblest feet his native seat, Mid Esk's fair woods, regain ; Through woods more fair no stream more sweet Rolls to the eastern main. And lords to meet the pilgrim came, And vassals bent the knee ; For all mid Scotland's chiefs of fame, Was none more famed than he. And boldly for his country, still. In battle he had stood, Ay, even when on the banks of Till Her noblest poured their blood. V. 0 194 scott's poems. Sweet are the paths, O passing sweet ! By Esk's fair streams that run, O'er airy steep, through copsewood deep, Impervious to the sun. There the rapt poet's step may rove. And yield the muse the day ; There Beauty, led by timid Love, May shun the tell-tale ray ; From that fair dome, where suit is paid By blast of bugle free, To Auchendinny's hazel glade, And haunted Woodhouseloe. Who knows not Melville's beechy grove, And Roslin's rocky glen, Dalkeith, which all the virtues love. And classic Hawthornden ? Yet never a path, from day to day, The pilgrim's footsteps range. Save but the solitary way To Burndale's ruined grange. A woeful place was that, I ween. As sorrow could desire ; For nodding to the fall was each crumbling wall. And the roof was scathed with fire. It fell upon a summer's eve. While, on Carnethy's head, The last faint gleams of the sun's low beams Had streaked the grey with red ; And the convent bell did vespers tell, Newbattle's oaks among. And mingled with the solemn knell Our Ladye's evening song : CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY. 195 The heavy knell, the choir's faint swell, Came slowly down the wind. And on the pilgrim's ear they fell, As his wonted path he did find. Deep sunk in thought, I ween, he was, ^or ever raised his eye. Until he came to that dreary place. Which did all in ruins lie. He gazed on the walls, so scathed with fire, With many a bitter groan — And there was aware of a Grey Friar, Resting him on a stone. " Now, Christ thee save ! '' said the Grey Brother ; " Some pilgrim thou seemest to be.'' But in sore amaze did Lord Albert gaze, Nor answer again made he. " 0 come ye from east, or come ye from west. Or bring reliques from over the sea ; Or come ye from the shrine of St. James the divine, Or St. John of Beverley ? "— " I come not from the shrine of St. James the divine, Nor bring reliques from over the sea ; I bring but a curse from our father, the Pope, Which for ever will cling to me." — " Now, woeful pilgrim, say not so ! But kneel thee down by me, And shrive thee so clean of thy deadly sin, That absolved thou may'st be." — 196 scott's poems. *' And who art thoa, thou Grey Brother, That I should shrive to thee, When He, to whom are given the keys of earth and heaven, Has no power to pardon me ? " — "01 am sent from a distant clime, Five thousand miles away, And all to absolve a foul, foul crime, Done here 'twixt night and day.'* The pilgrim kneeled him on the sand, And thus began his saye — When on his neck an ice-cold hand Did that Grey Brother laye. # # # # ^ BALLADS AND SONGS. BALLADS AND SONGS. BOTHWELL CASTLE.' [1799.] When fruitful Clydesdale's apple-bowers Are mellowing in the noon ; When sighs round Pembroke's ruined towers The sultry breath of June ; When Clyde, despite his sheltering wood, Must leave his channel dry ; And vainly o'er the limpid flood The angler guides his fly ; If chance by Bothwell's lovely braes A wanderer thou hast been. Or hid thee from the summer's blaze In Blantyre's bowers of green, Full where the copsewood opens wild Thy pilgrim step hath staid, Where Bothwell's towers, in ruin piled, O'erlook the verdant glade ; ^ This fragment was first printed in Loekhart's "Life of Scott," vol. ii. p. 28.— Ed. 200 SCOTT'S POEMS. And many a tale of love and fear Hath mingled with the scene — Of Both well's banks that bloomed so dear, And Bothw ell's bonny Jean. 0, if with rugged minstrel lays Unsated be thy ear, And thon of deeds of other days Another tale wilt hear. — Then all beneath the spreading beech, Flung careless on the lea, The Gothic muse the tale shall teach Of Bothwell's sisters three. Wight Wallace stood on Deckmont head, He blew his bugle round, Till the wild bull in Cadyow wood Has started at the sound. St. George's cross, o'er Bothwell hung. Was waving far and wide. And from the lofty turret flung Its crimson blaze on Clyde ; And rising at the bugle blast That marked the Scottish foe. Old England's yeomen mustered fast, And bent the Norman bow. Tall in the midst Sir Aylmer rose, Proud Pembroke's Earl was he — -^Ijije ^ # * * # * BALLADS AND SONGS. 201 THE SHEPHERD'S TALE.' [1799.] ^ ^ ^ And ne'er but once, my son, he sajs, Was yon sad cavern trod. In persecution's iron days, When the land was left by God. From Bewlie bog, with slaughter red, A wanderer hither drew, And oft he stopt and turned his head. As by fits the night wind blew ; For trampling round by Cheviot edge Were heard the troopei^s keen. And frequent from the Whitelaw ridge The death-shot flashed between. The moonbeams through the misty shower On yon dark cavern fell ; Through the cloudy night the snow gleamed white. Which sunbeam ne'er could quell. " Yon cavern dark is rough and rude, And cold its jaws of snow ; But more rough and rude are the men of blood, That hunt my life below ; ^ ' 'Another imperfect ballad, in which he had meant to blend together two legends familiar to every reader of Scottish history and romance, has been found in the same portfolio, and the handwriting proves it to be of the same early date."— LoCKHART's Scott, vol. it, p. 30. 202 SCOTT'S POEMS. " Yon spell-bound den, as the aged tell, Was hewn by demon's hand ; But I had lourd ^ melle with the fiends of hell, Than with Clavers and his band." He heard the deep-mouthed bloodhound bark, He heard the horses neigh, He plunged him in the cavern dark. And downward sped his way. Now faintly down the winding path Came the cry of the faulting hound. And the muttered oath of balked wrath Was lost in hollow sound. He threw him on the flinted floor, And held his breath for fear ; He rose and bitter cursed his foes. As the sounds died on his ear. " O bare thine arm, thou battling Lord, For Scotland's wandering band ; Dash from the oppressor's grasp the sword, And sweep him from the land ! " Forget not thou thy people's groans From dark Dunnotter's tower, Mixed with the seaf owl's shrilly moans, And ocean's bursting roar ! " O, in fell Clavers' hour of pride, Even in his mightiest day, As bold he strides through conquest's tide, 0 stretch him on the clay ! " His widow and his little ones, O may their tower of trust Remove its strong foundation stones, And crush them in the dust ! " — ^ Lourd ; i.e., liefer — rather. BALLADS AND SONGS. 203 " Sweet prayers to me," a voice replied, u Thrice welcome, guest of mine ! " And glimmering on the cavern side, A light was seen to shine. An aged man, in amice brown, Stood by the wanderer's side, By powerful charm, a dead man's arm The torch's light supplied. From each stiff finger, stretched upright, Arose a ghastly flame. That waved not in the blast of night Which through the cavern came. O, deadly blue was that taper's hue. That flamed the cavern o'er. But more deadly blue was the ghastly hue Of his eyes who the taper bore. He laid on his head a hand like lead, As heavy, pale, and cold — Vengeance be thine, thou guest of mine, If thy heart be firm and bold. " But if faint thy heart, and caitiff fear Thy recreant sinews know. The mountain erne thy heart shall tear, Thy nerves the hooded crow." The wanderer raised him undismayed : " My soul, by dangers steeled, Is stulDborn as my border blade, Which never knew to yield. " And if thy power can speed the hour Of vengeance on my foes, Theirs be the fate, from bridge and gate. To feed the hooded crows." 204 SCOTT'S POEMS. The Brownie looked him in the face, And his colour fled with speed — I fear me," quoth he, " uneath it will be To match thy word and deed. " In ancient days when English bands Sore ravaged Scotland fair, The sword and shield of Scottish land Was valiant Halbert Kerr. " A warlock loved the warrior well, Sir Michael Scott by name, And he sought for his sake a spell to make. Should the Southern foemen tame. " * Look thou,' he said, * from Cessford head, As the July sun sinks low. And when glimmering white on Cheviot's height Thou shalt spy a wreath of snow. The spell is complete which shall bring to thy feet The haughty Saxon foe.' **For many a year wrought the wizard here. In Cheviot's bosom low. Till the spell was complete, and in July's heat Appeared December's snow ; But Cessford's Halbert never came The wondrous cause to know. " For years before in Bowden aisle The warrior's bones had lain. And after short while, by female guile, Sir Michael Scott was slain. " But me and my brethren in this cell His mighty charms retain, — And he that can quell the powerful spell Shall o'er broad Scotland reign." BALLADS AND SONGS. 205 He led him through an iron door And up a winding stair, And in wild amaze did the wanderer gaze On the sight which opened there. Through the gloomy night flashed ruddy light, — A thousand torches glow ; The cave rose high, like the vaulted sky, O'er stalls in double row. In every stall of that endless hall Stood a steed in barbing bright ; At the foot of each steed, all armed save the head, Lay stretched a stalwart knight. In each mailed hand was a naked brand ; As they lay on the black bull's hide. Each visage stern did upwards turn. With eyeballs fixed and wide. A launcegay strong, full twelve ells long. By every warrior hung ; At each pommel there, for battle yare, A Jedwood axe was slung. The casque hung near each cavalier ; The plumes waved mournfully At every tread which the wanderer made Through the hall of gramarye. The ruddy beam of the torches' gleam That glared the warriors on, Reflected light from armour bright, In noontide splendour shone. And onward seen in lustre sheen, Still lengthening on the sight. Through the boundless hall stood steeds in stall, And by each lay a sable knight. 206 SCOTT'S POEMS. Still as the dead lay each horseman dread, And moved nor limb nor tongue ; Each steed stood stiff as an earthfast cliff, l^or hoof nor bridle rung. No sounds through all the spacious hall The deadly still divide, Save where echoes aloof from the vaulted roof To the wanderer's step replied. At length before his wondering eyes, On an iron column borne, Of antique shape, and giant size. Appeared a sword and horn. " Now choose thee here," quoth his leader, " Thy venturous fortune try ; Thy woe and weal, thy boot and bale, In yon brand and bugle lie." To the fatal brand he mounted his hand, But his soul did quiver and quail ; The life-blood did start to his shuddering heart, And left him wan and pale. The brand he forsook, and the horn he took To 'say a gentle sound ; But so wild a blast from the bugle brast, That the Cheviot rocked around. From Forth to Tees, from seas to seas. The awful bugle rung ; On Carlisle wall, and Berwick withal, To arms the warders sprung. With clank and clang the cavern rang. The steeds did stamp and neigh ; And loud was the yell as each warrior fell Sterte up with whoop and cry. BALLADS AND SONGS. 207 "Woe, woe," they cried, " thou caitiff coward, That ever thou wert born ! Why drew ye not the knightly sword Before ye blew the horn ? The morning on the mountain shone, And on the bloody ground Hurled from the cave with shivered bone, The mangled wretch was found. And still beneath the cavern dread, Among the glidders grey, A shapeless stone with lichens spread Marks where the wanderer lay. THE REIVER'S WEDDING.' [1802.] O WILL ye hear a mirthful bourd ? Or will ye hear of courtesie ? Or will ye hear how a gallant lord Was wedded to a gay ladye ? " Ca' out the kye," quo' the village herd, As he stood on the knowe, " Ca' this ane's nine and that ane's ten, And bauld Lord William's cow." — ^ This fragment was first published in Lockhart's Life," vol. ii. p. 95.— Ed, 208 scott's poems. " All ! hj mj sootli," quoth William then, And stands it that way now, When knave and chnrl have nine and ten, That the Lord has but his cow ? " I swear by the light of the Michaelmas moon, And the might of Mary high, And by the edge of my braidsword brown. They shall soon say Harden's kye." He took a bugle frae his side, With names carved o'er and o'er — Full many a chief of meikle pride That Border bugle bore — He blew a note baith sharp and hie. Till rock and water rang around — Three score of moss-troopers and three Have mounted at that bugle sound. The Michaelmas moon had entered then, And ere she wan the full, Ye might see by her light in Harden glen A bow o' kye and a bassened bull. And loud and loud in Harden tower The quaigh gaed round wi' meikle glee ; For the English beef was brought in bower And the English ale flowed merrilie. And mony a guest from Teviotside And Yarrow's Braes was there Was never a lord in Scotland wide That made more dainty fare. They ate, they laughed, they sang and quaffed. Till nought on board was seen. When knight and squire were boune to dine, But a spur of silver sheen. BALLADS AND SONGS. 209 Lord William has ta'en his berry brown steed — A sore shent man was he ; " Wait ye, my guests, a little speed — " Weel feasted ye shall be." He rode him down by Falsehope burn, His tjousin dear to see. With him to take a riding turn — Wat-draw-the-sword was he. And when he came to Falsehope glen, Beneath the trysting-tree. On the smooth green was carved plain, " To Loch wood bound are we." " 0 if they be gane to dark Lochwood To drive the Warden's gear, Betwixt our names, I ween, there's feud ; I'll go and have my share : " For little reck I for Johnstone's feud. The Warden though he be." So Lord William is away to dark Lochwood, With riders barely three. The Warden's daughters in Lochwood sate. Were all both fair and gay, All save the Lady Margaret, And she was wan and wae. The sister, Jean, had a full fair skin, And Grace was bauld and braw ; But the leal-fast heart her breast within It weel was worth them a'. Her father 's pranked her sisters twa With meikle joy and pride ; But Margaret maun seek Dundrennan's wa' — She ne'er can be a bride. 210 scott's poems. On spear and casque by gallants gent Her sisters' scarfs were borne, But never at tilt or tournament Were Margaret's colours worn. Her sisters rode to Thirlstane bower, But she was left at hame To wander round the gloomy tower, And sigh young Harden's name. " Of all the knights, the knight most fair, From Yarrow to the Tyne/' Soft sighed the maid, " is Harden's heir, But ne'er can he be mine ; Of all the maids, the foulest maid From Teviot to the Dee, Ah ! " sighing sad, that lady said, " Can ne'er young Harden's be." — She looked up the briery glen, And up the mossy brae, And she saw a score of her father's men Yclad in the Johnstone grey. 0 fast and fast they downwards sped The moss and briers among, And in the midst the troopers led A shackled knight along. BALLADS AND SONGS. 211 THE VIOLET. [1797.] The violet in her greenwood bower, Where birchen boughs with hazels mingle, May boast itself the fairest flower In glen, or copse, or forest dingle. Though fair her gems of azure hue, Beneath the dew-drop's weight reclining ; IVe seen an eye of lovelier blue. More sweet through wat'ry lustre shining. The summer sun that dew shall dry, Ere yet the day be past its morrow ; Nor longer in my false love's eye Remained the tear of parting sorrow. TO A LADY, WITH FLOWERS FROM A ROMAN WALL. [1797.] Take these flowers which, purple waving. On the ruined rampart grew. Where, the sons of freedom braving, Rome's imperial standards flew. Warriors from the breach of danger Pluck no longer laurels there ; They but yield the passing stranger Wild-flower wreaths for Beauty's hair. 212 SCOTT'S POEMS. CHEVIOT. [1799.] * # * * * Go sit old Cheviot's crest below, And pensive mark the lingering snow, In all his scaurs abide, And slow dissolving from the hill In many a sightless, soundless rill. Feed sparkling Bowmont's tide. Fair shines the stream by bank and lea. As wimpling to the eastern sea She seeks TilFs sullen bed, Indenting deep the fatal plain, Where Scotland's noblest, brave in vain. Around their monarch bled. And westward hills on hills you see, Even as old Ocean's mightiest sea Heaves high her waves of foam. Dark and snow-ridged from Cutsfeld's wold To the proud foot of Cheviot rolled. Earth's mountain billows come. # * # * # WAR-SONG. OF THE ROYAL EDINBURGH LIGHT DRAGOONS. [1802.] The following War- Song was written during the apprehension of an invasion. The corps of volunteers to which it was addressed, was BALLADS AND SONGS. 213 raised in 1797, consisting of gentlemen, mounted and armed at their own expense. It still sub- sists, as the Right Troop of the Royal Mid- Lothian Light Cavalry, commanded by the Honourable Lieutenant- Colonel Dundas. The noble and constitutional measure of arming freemen in defence of their own rights, was nowhere more successful than in Edinburgh, which furnished a force of 3,000 armed and disciplined volunteers, including a regiment of cavalry, from the city and county, and two corps of artillery, each capable of serving twelve guns. To such a force, above all others, might, in similar circumstances, be applied the exhortation of our ancient Galgacus : ^' Proinde ituri in aciem, et majores vestros et jposteros cogitate,^ ^ To horse ! to horse ! the standard flies. The bugles sound the call ; The Gallic navy stems the seas, The voice of battle's on the breeze, Arouse ye, one and all ! From high Dunedin's towers we come, A band of brothers true ; Cur casques the leopard's spoils surround, With Scotland's hardy thistle crowned ; We boast the red and blue.^ Though tamely crouch to Gallia's frown Dull Holland's tardy train ; ^ The royal colours. 214 SCOTT*S POEMS. Their ravished toys though Romans mourn ; Though gallant Switzers vainly spurn, And, foaming, gnaw the chain ; Oh ! had they marked the avenging call ^ Their brethren's murder gave, Disunion ne'er their ranks had mown, Nor patriot valour, desperate grown. Sought freedom in the grave ! Shall we, too, bend the stubborn head. In Freedom's temple born. Dress our pale cheek in timid smile. To hail a master in our isle, Or brook a victor's scorn ? No ! though destruction o'er the land Come pouring as a flood. The sun, that sees our falling day. Shall mark our sabres' deadly sway. And set that night in blood. For gold let Gallia's legions fight. Or plunder's bloody gain ; Unbribed, unbought, our swords we draw, To guard our king, to fence our law, Nor shall their edge be vain. If ever breath of British gale Shall fan the tri- color. Or footstep of invader rude. With rapine foul, and red with blood, Pollute our happy shore, — ^ The allusion is to the massacre of the Swiss Guards, on the fatal 10th August, 1792. BALLADS AND SONGS. 215 Then farewell home ! and farewell friends ! Adieu each tender tie ! Resolved, we mingle in the tide, Where charging squadrons furious ride, To conquer or to die. To horse ! to horse ! the sabres gleam ; High sounds our bugle-call ; Combined bj honour's sacred tie, Our word is Laws and Liberty ! March forward one and all ! THE BARD'S INCANTATION. WRITTEN UNDER THE THREAT OF INVASION IN THE AUTUMN OF 1804. The Forest of Glenmore is drear, It is all of black pine and the dark oak-tree ; And the midnight wind, to the mountain deer, Is whistling the forest lullaby : The moon looks through the drifting storm, But the troubled lake reflects not her form, For the waves roll whitening to the land, And dash against the shelvy strand. There is a voice among the trees, That mingles with the groaning oak — That mingles with the stormy breeze. And the lake-waves dashing against the rock ; — There is a voice within the wood, The voice of the bard in fitful mood ; His song was louder than the blast. As the bard of Glenmore through the forest past. 216 SCOTT'S POEMS. Wake ye from your sleep of death, Minstrels and bards of other days ! For the midnight wind is on the heath, And the midnight meteors dimly blaze : The Spectre with his Bloody Hand, Is wandering through the wild woodland ; The owl and the raven are mute for dread, And the time is meet to awake the dead ! Souls of the mighty, wake and say. To what high strain your harps were strung, When Lochlin plowed her billowy way, And on your shores her Norsemen flung ? Her Norsemen trained to spoil and blood, Skilled to prepare the Raven's food, All, by your harpings doomed to die On bloody Largs and Loncarty.^ " Mute are ye all ? ISTo murmurs strange Upon the midnight breeze sail by ; Nor through the pines, with whistling change Mimic the harp's wild harmony ! Mute are ye now ? — Ye ne'er were mute, When Murder with his bloody foot. And Rapine with his iron hand, Were hovering near yon mountain strand. " O yet awake the strain to tell, By every deed in song enrolled. By every chief who fought or fell, For Albion's weal in battle bold : — From Coilgach, first who rolled his car Through the deep ranks of Roman war, To him, of veteran memory dear, Who victor died on Aboukir. ^ Where the Norwegian invader of Scotland received two bloody defeats. BALLADS AND SONGS. 217 " By all their swords, hy all their scars, By all their names, a mighty spell ! By all their wounds, by all their wars, Arise, the mighty strain to tell ! For fiercer than fierce Hengist's strain, More impious than the heathen Dane, More grasping than all- grasping Rome, GauFs ravening legions hither come ! " The wind is hushed, and still the lake — Strange murmurs fill my tingling ears, Bristles my hair, my sinews quake. At the dread voice of other years — When targets clashed, and bugles rung, And blades round warriors' heads were flung, The foremost of the band were we, And hymned the joys of Liberty ! " HELVELLYN. [1805.] In the spring of 1805, a young gentleman of talents, and of a most amiable disposition, perished by losing his way on the mountain Helvellyn. His remains were not discovered till three months afterwards, when they were found guarded by a faithful terrier-bitch, his constant attendant during frequent solitary rambles through the wilds of Cumberland and Westmoreland. I CLIMBED the dark brow of the mighty Hel- vellyn, Lakes and mountains beneath me gleamed misty and wide ; 218 scott's poems. All was still, save by fits, when the eagle was jelling. And starting around me the echoes replied. On the right, Striden-edge round the Red-tarn was bending, And Catchedicam its left verge was defending, One huge nameless rock in the front was ascending, When I marked the sad spot where the wanderer had died. Dark green was that spot mid the brown mountain-heather. Where the Pilgrim of Nature lay stretched in decay. Like the corpse of an outcast abandoned to weather, Till the mountain winds wasted the tenantless clay. Nor yet quite deserted, though lonely extended, For, faithful in death, his mute favourite attended. The much-loved remains of her master defended. And chased the hill-fox and the raven away. How long didst thou think that his silence was slumber p When the wind waved his garment, how oft didst thou start ? How many long days and long weeks didst thou number. Ere he faded before thee, the friend of thy heart ? And, oh, was it meet, that — no requiem read o'er him — No mother to weep, and no friend to deplore him, BALLADS AND SONGS. 219 And thon, little guardian, alone stretched before him — Unhonoured the Pilgrim from life should depart ? When a Prince to the fate of the Peasant has yielded, The tapestry waves dark round the dim- lighted hall ; With scutcheons of silver the coffin is shielded, And pages stand mute by the canopied pall : Through the courts, at deep midnight, the torches are gleaming ; In the proudly- arched chapel the banners are beaming, Far adown the long aisle sacred music is streaming. Lamenting a Chief of the people should fall. But meeter for thee, gentle lover of nature, To lay down thy head like the meek mountain lamb. When wildered he drops from some cliff huge in stature, And draws his last sob by the side of his dam ; And more stately thy couch by this desert lake lying, Thy obsequies sung by the grey plover flying. With one faithful friend but to witness thy dying In the arms of Helvellyn and Catchedicam. 220 scott's poems. THE MAID OF TORO. [1806.] 0, LOW shone the sun on the fair lake of Toro, And weak were the whispers that waved the dark wood, All as a fair maiden, bewildered in sorrow, Sorely sighed to the breezes, and wept to the flood. " O saints ! from the mansions of bliss lowly bending ; Sweet Virgin ! who hearest the suppliant's cry, N"ow grant my petition, in anguish ascending, My Henry restore, or let Eleanor die ! " All distant and faint were the sounds of the battle, With the breezes they rise, with the breezes they fail, Till the shout, and the groan, and the conflict's dread rattle. And the chase's wild clamour, came loading the gale. Breathless she gazed on the woodlands so dreary ; Slowly approaching a warrior was seen ; Life's ebbing tide marked his footsteps so weary, Cleft was his helmet, and woe was his mien. " O save thee, fair maid, for our armies are flying! ^ . 0 save thee, fair maid, for thy guardian is low ! BALLADS AND SONGS. 221 Deadly cold on yon heath thy brave ^ Henry is lying, And fast through the woodland approaches the foe." Scarce could he falter the tidings of sorrow, And scarce could she hear them, benumbed with despair : And when the sun sank on the sweet lake of Toro, For ever he set to the Brave and the Fair. THE PALMER. [1806.] " O OPEN the door, some pity to show, Keen blows the northern wind ! The glen is white with the drifted snow, And the path is hard to find. " No outlaw seeks your castle gate, From chasing the King's deer, Though even an outlaw's wretched state Might claim compassion here. " A weary Palmer, worn and weak, I wander for my sin ; 0 open, for Our Lady's sake ! A pilgrim's blessing win ! I'll give you pardons from the Pope, And reliques from o'er the sea ; Or if for these you will not ope. Yet open for charity. scott's poems. " The hare is crouching in her form, The hart beside the hind ; An aged man, amid the storm, No shelter can I find. " Yon hear the Ettrick's sullen roar, Dark, deep, and strong is he, And I must ford the Ettrick o'er. Unless you pity me. " The iron gate is bolted hard, At which I knock in vain ; The owner's heart is closer barred, Who hears me thus complain. " Farewell, farewell ! and Mary grant. When old and frail you be, You never may the shelter want, That's now denied to me." The Ranger on his couch lay warm, And heard him plead in vain ; But oft amid December's storm, He'll hear that voice again : For lo, when through the vapours dank Morn shone on Ettrick fair, A corpse amid the alders rank The Palmer weltered there. BALLADS AND SONGS. 223 THE MAID OF NEIDPATH. [1806.] There is a tradition in Tweeddale, that, when Neidpath Castle, near Peebles, was inhabited by the Earls of March, a mutual passion sub- sisted between a daughter of that noble family, and a son of the Laird of Tushielaw, in Ettrick Forest. As the alliance was thought unsuit- able by her parents, the young man went abroad. During his absence the lady fell into a consumption ; and at length, as the only means of saving her life, her father consented that her lover should be recalled. On the day when he was expected to pass through Peebles, on the road to Tushielaw, the young lady, though much exhausted, caused herself to be carried to the balcony of a house in Peebles, belonging to the family, that she might see him as he rode past. Her anxiety and eagerness gave such force to her organs, that she is said to have distinguished his horse's footsteps at an incredible distance. But Tushielaw, unpre- pared for the change in her appearance, and not expecting to see her in that place, rode on without recognizing her, or even slackening his pace. The lady was unable to support the shock ; and, after a short struggle, died in the arms of her attendants. There is an incident similar to this traditional tale in Count Hamil- ton's " Fleur d'Epine." 224 SCOTT'S POEMS. O lovers' eyes are sharp to see, And lovers' ears in hearing ; And love, in life's extremity, Can lend an hour of cheering. Disease had been in Mary's bower, And slow decay from mourning, Though now she sits on Neidpath's tower, To watch her love's returning. All sunk and dim her eyes so bright, Her form decayed by pining, Till through her wasted hand, at night. You saw the taper shining ; By fits, a sultry hectic hue Across her cheek was flying ; By fits, so ashy pale she grew. Her maidens thought her dying. Yet keenest powers to see and hear, Seemed in her frame residing ; Before the watch- dog pricked his ear. She heard her lover's riding ; Ere scarce a distant form was kenned, She knew, and waved to greet him ; And o'er the battlement did bend, As on the wing to meet him. He came — he passed — a heedless gaze. As o'er some stranger glancing ; Her welcome, spoke in faltering phrase. Lost in his courser's prancing — The castle arch, whose hollow tone Returns each whisper spoken. Could scarcely catch the feeble moan, Which told her heart was broken. BALLADS AND SONGS. 225 WANDERING WILLIE. [1806.] All joy was bereft me the day that you left me, And climbed the tall vessel to sail yon wide sea ; 0 weary betide it ! I wandered beside it, And banned it for parting my Willie and me. Far o'er the wave hast thou followed thy for- tune. Oft fought the squadrons of France and of Spain ; Ae kiss of welcome's worth twenty at parting, Now I hae gotten my Willie again. When the sky it was mirk, and the winds they were wailing, I sat on the beach wi' the tear in my ee, And thought o* the bark where my Willie was sailing, And wished that the tempest could a* bla^w on me. Now that thy gallant ship rides at her mooring, Now that my wanderer's in safety at hame, Music to me were the wildest winds' roaring, That e'er o'er Inch-Keith drove the dark ocean faem. When the lights they did blaze, and the guns they did rattle. And blithe was each heart for the great victory, In secret I wept for the dangers of battle, And thy glory itself was scarce comfort to me. V. Q 226 scott's poems. But now slialt thou tell, while I eagerly listen, Of each bold adventure, and every brave scar ; And trust me, I'll smile, though my een they may glisten ; For sweet after danger 's the tale of the war. And oh, how we doubt when there's distance 'tween lovers. When there's naething to speak to the heart thro' the ee ; How often the kindest and warmest prove rovers. And the love of the faithfullest ebbs like the sea. Till, at times— could I help it ? — I pined and I pondered. If love could change notes like the bird on the tree — N"ow I'll ne'er ask if thine eyes may hae wan- dered, Enough, thy leal heart has been constant to me. Welcome, from sweeping o'er sea and through channel, . Hardships and danger despising for fame, Furnishing story for glory's bright annal, Welcome, my wanderer, to Jeanie and hame ! Enough, now thy story in annals of glory Has humbled the pride of France, Holland, and Spain ; No more shalt thou grieve me, no more shalt thou leave me, I never will part with my Willie again. BALLADS AND SONGS. 227 THE DYING BARD. Am— Daffydz Gangwen* [1806.] The Welsh tradition bears, that a Bard, on his death-bed, demanded his harp, and played the air to which these verses are adapted ; requesting that it might be performed at his funeral. I. DiNAS Emlinn, lament ; for the moment is nigh, When mute in the woodlands thine echoes shall die : No more by sweet Teivi Cadwallon shall rave, And mix his wild notes with the wild dashing wave. II. In spring and in autumn thy glories of shade Unhonoured shall flourish, unhonoured shall fade ; Tor soon shall be lifeless the eye and the tongue. That viewed them with rapture, with rapture that sung. III. Thy sons, Dinas Emlinn, may march in their pride, And chase the proud Saxon from Prestatyn*s side ; But where is the harp shall give life to their name ? And where is the bard shall give heroes their fame ? 228 SCOTT'S POEMS. IV. And oh, Dinas Emlinn ! thy daughters so fair, Who heave the white bosom and wave the dark hair, What tuneful enthusiast shall worship their eye, When half of their charms with Cadwallon shall die ? y. Then adieu, silver Teivi ! I quit thy loved scene To join the dim choir of the bards who have been, With Lewarch and Meilor and Merlin the Old, And sage Taliessin, high harping to hold. YI. And adieu, Dinas Emlinn ! still green be thy shades, Unconquered thy warriors, and matchless thy maids ! And thou, whose faint warblings my weakness can tell. Farewell, my loved Harp, my last treasure, farewell ! THE NORMAN" HORSE-SHOE. Air — The War-Song of the Men of Glamorgan* [1806.] The Welsh, inhabiting a mountainous country, and possessing only an inferior breed of horses, were usually unable to encounter the shock of the Anglo-Norman cavalry. Occasionally, how- BALLADS AND SONGS. 229 ever, they were successful in repelling the invaders ; and the following verses are supposed to celebrate a defeat of Clare, Earl of Striguil and Pembroke, and of Neville, Baron of Chepstow, Lords-Marchers of Monmouthshire. E-jmny is a stream which divides the counties of Monmouth and Glamorgan: Caerphili, the scene of the supposed battle, is a vale upon its banks, dignified by the ruins of a very ancient castle. I. Red glows the forge in Striguil's bounds, And hammers din, and anvil sounds, And armourers, with iron toil. Barb many a steed for battle's broil. Foul fall the hand which bends the steel Around the courser's thundering heel, That e'er shall dint a sable wound On fair Glamorgan's velvet ground ! II. Prom Chepstow's towers, ere dawn of morn. Was heard afar the bugle-horn ; And forth, in banded pomp and pride. Stout Clare and fiery Neville ride. They swore, their banners broad should gleam, In crimson light, on Rymny's stream ; They vowed Caerphili's sod should feel The Norman charger's spurning heel. III. And sooth they swore — the sun arose And Bymny's wave with crimson glows ; For Clare's red banner floating wide. Boiled down the stream to Severn's tide ! And sooth they vowed — the trampled green Showed where hot Neville's charge had been ; 230 SCOTT'S POEMS. In every sable hoof -tramp stood A Norman horseman's curdling blood ! lY. Old Chepstow's brides may curse the toil, That armed stout Clare for Cambrian broil ; Their orphans long the art may rue For Neville's war-horse forged the shoe. No more the stamp of armed steed Shall dint Glamorgan's velvet mead ; Nor trace be there in early spring, Save of the Fairies' emerald ring. HUNTING SONG. [1808.] Waken, lords and ladies gay. On the mountain dawns the day. All the jolly chase is here, With hawk, and horse, and hunting-spear ! Hounds are in their couples yelling, Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling. Merrily, merrily, mingle they, " Waken, lords and ladies gay." Waken, lords and ladies gay, The mist has left the mountain grey, Springlets in the dawn are steaming. Diamonds on the brake are gleaming : And foresters have busy been, To track the buck in thicket green ; Now we come to chant our lay, ''Waken, lords and ladies gay." BALLADS AND SONG 231 Waken, lords and ladies gay, To the greenwood haste away ; We can show you where he lies, Fleet of foot, and tall of size ; We can show the marks he made, When 'gainst the oak his antlers frayed ; You shall see him brought to bay, " Waken, lords and ladies gay.'* Louder, louder chant the lay, Waken, lords and ladies gay ! Tell them youth, and mirth, and glee, B/un a course as well as we ; Time, stern huntsman ! who can balk, Stanch as hound, and fleet as hawk ; Think of this, and rise with day. Gentle lords and ladies gay. THE RESOLVE. IN IMITATION OF AN OLD ENGLISH POEM. [1809.] My wayward fate I needs must plain, Though bootless be the theme ; I loved, and was beloved again. Yet all was but a dream : For, as her love was quickly got. So it was quickly gone ; No more I'll bask in flame so hot. But coldly dwell alone. "Eot maid more bright than maid was e'er My fancy shall beguile, SCOTT'S POEMS. By flattering word, or feigned tear, By gesture, look, or smile : No more I'll call the shaft fair shot. Till it has fairly flown, Nor scorch me at a flame so hot ; — I'll rather freeze alone. Each ambushed Cupid I'll defy. In cheek, or chin, or brow. And deem the glance of woman's eye As weak as woman's vow : I'll lightly hold the lady's heart, That is but lightly won ; I'll steel my breast to beauty's art. And learn to live alone. The flaunting torch soon blazes out. The diamond's ray abides ; The flame its glory hurls about. The gem its lustre hides ; Such gem I fondly deemed was mine. And glowed a diamond stone. But, since each eye may see it shine, I'll darkling dwell alone. No waking dream shall tinge my thought With dyes so bright and vain, No silken net, so slightly wrought. Shall tangle me again : No more I'll pay so dear for wit, I'll live upon mine own. Nor shall wild passion trouble it, — I'll rather dwell alone. And thus I'll hush my heart to rest, — " Thy loving labour's lost ; Thou shalt no more be wildly blest, To be so strangely crost ; BALLADS AND SONGS. 233 The widowed turtles mateless die, The phoenix is but one ; They seek no loves — no more will I — I'll rather dwell alone." EPITAPH, DESIGNED FOR A MONUMENT IN LICHFIELD CATHE- DRAL, AT THE BURIAL-PLACE OF THE FAMILY OF MISS SEWARD. [1809.] Amid these aisles, where once his precepts showed The Heavenward pathway which in life he trod, This simple tablet marks a Father's bier. And those he loved in life, in death are near ; For him, for them, a Daughter bade it rise, Memorial of domestic charities. Still wouldst thou know why o'er the marble spread. In female grace the willow droops her head ; Why on her branches, silent and unstrung. The minstrel harp is emblematic hung ; What poet's voice is smothered here in dust Till waked to join the chorus of the just, — Lo ! one brief line an answer sad supplies, Honoured, beloved, and mourned, here Seward lies Her worth, her warmth of heart, let friendship say,— Go seek her genius in her living lay. 234 SCOTT'S POEMS. PROLOGUE TO MISS BAILLIE'S PLAY OF '*THE FAMILY LEGEND." [1809.] 'Tis sweet to hear expiring Summer's sigh, Through forests tinged with russet, wail and die; 'Tis sweet and sad the latest notes to hear Of distant music, dying on the ear ; But far more sadly sweet, on foreign strand, We list the legends of our native land. Linked as they come with every tender tie, Memorials dear of youth and infancy. Chief, thy wild tales, romantic Caledon, Wake keen remembrance in each hardy son. Whether on India's burning coasts he toil, Or till Acadia's ^ winter-fettered soil. He hears with throbbing heart and moistened eyes, And, as he hears, what dear illusions rise ! It opens on his soul his native dell. The woods wild waving, and the water's swell ; Tradition's theme, the tower that threats the plain. The mossy cairn that hides the hero slain ; The cot, beneath whose simple porch were told. By grey-haired patriarch, the tales of old. The infant group, that hushed their sports the while. And the dear maid who listened with a smile. The wanderer, while the vision warms his brain, Is denizen of Scotland once again. ^ Acadia or Nova Scotia. BALLADS AND SONGS. 235 Are such keen feelings to the crowd confined, And sleep they in the Poet's gifted mind ? Oil no ! For She, within whose mighty page Each tyrant Passion shows his woe and rage, Has felt the wizard influence they inspire, And to your own traditions tuned her lyre. Yourselves shall judge — whoe'er has raised the sail By Mull's dark coast, has heard this evening's tale. The plaided boatman, resting on his oar, Points to the fatal rock amid the roar Of whitening waves, and tells whate'er to-night Our humble stage shall offer to your sight ; Proudly preferred that first our efforts give Scenes glowing from her pen to breathe and live ; More proudly yet, should Oaledon approve The filial token of a Daughter's love. THE POACHER. WRITTEN IN IMITATION OF CRABBE. [1809.^] Welcome, grave Stranger, to our green retreats, Where health with exercise and freedom meets ! Thrice welcome. Sage, whose philosophic plan By Nature's limits metes the right of man ; Generous as he, who now for freedom bawls, ITow gives full value for true Indian shawls : O'er court, o'er custom-house, his shoe who flings, Now bilks excisemen, and now bullies kings. ' See Life of Scott," vol. iii. p. 329.— Ed. 236 SCOTT'S POEMS. Like his, I ween, thy comprehensive mind Holds laws as mouse-traps baited for mankind : Thine eye, applausive, each sly vermin sees. That balks the snare, yet battens on the cheese ; Thine ear has heard, with scorn instead of awe, Our buckskinned justices expound the law, Wire-draw the acts that fix for wires the pain, And for the netted partridge noose the swain ; And thy vindictive arm would fain have broke The last light fetter of the feudal yoke, To give the denizens of wood and wild, Nature's free race, to each her free-born child. Hence hast thou marked, with grief, fair London's race. Mocked with the boon of one poor Easter chase, And longed to send them forth as free as when Poured o'er Chantilly the Parisian train. When musket, pistol, blunderbuss, combined, And scarce the field-pieces were left behind ! A squadron's charge each leveret's heart dis- mayed, On every covey fired a bold brigade ; La Douce HumanitS approved the sport. For great the alarm indeed, yet small the hurt ; Shouts patriotic solemnized the day. And Seine re-echoed Vive la Liberie ! But mad Gitoyen, meek Monsieur again. With some few added links resumes his chain. Then, since such scenes to France no more are known. Come, view with me a hero of thine own ! One, whose free actions vindicate the cause Of sylvan liberty o'er feudal laws. Seek we yon glades, where the proud oak o'ertops Wide-waving seas of birch and hazel copse, BALLADS AND SONGS. 237 Leaving between deserted isles of land, Where stunted heath is patched with ruddy sand ; And lonely on the waste the yew is seen, Or straggling hollies spread a brighter green. Here, little worn, and winding dark and steep. Our scarce marked path descends yon dingle deep : Follow — but heedful, cautious of a trip, — In earthly mire philosophy may slip. Step slow and wary o'er that swampy stream, Till, guided by the charcoal's smothering steam. We reach the frail yet barricaded door Of hovel formed for poorest of the poor ; No hearth the fire, no vent the smoke receives. The walls are wattles, and the covering leaves ; For, if such hut, our forest statutes say. Rise in the progress of one night and day, (Though placed where still the Conqueror's bests o'erawe, And his son's stirrup shines the badge of law,) The builder claims the unenviable boon, To tenant dwelling, framed as slight and soon As wigwam wild, that shrouds the native frore On the bleak coast of frost-barred Labrador.^ Approach, and through the unlatticed window peep — Ifay, shrink not back, the inmate is asleep ; Sunk mid yon sordid blankets, till the sun Stoop to the west, the plunderer's toils are done. ^ Such IS the law in the New Forest, Hampshire, tending greatly to increase the various settlements of thieves, smugglers, and deer-stealers, who infest it. In the forest courts the presiding judge wears as a badge of office an antique stirrup, said to have been that of William Rufus. 238 scott's poems. Loaded and primed, and prompt for desperate hand, Rifle and fowling-piece beside Mm stand ; While round the hut are in disorder laid The tools and booty of his lawless trade ; For force or fraud, resistance or escape. The crow, the saw, the bludgeon, and the crape. His pilfered powder in yon nook he hoards, And the filched lead the church's roof affords — (Hence shall the rector's congregation fret, That while his sermon's dry his walls are wet.) The fish-spear barbed, the sweeping nets are there, Doe-hides, and pheasant plumes, and skins of hare. Cordage for toils, and wiring for the snare. Bartered for game from chase or warren won, Yon cask holds moonlight,^ run when moon was none ; And late-snatched spoils lie stowed in hutch apart. To wait the associate higgler's evening cart. Look on his pallet foul, and mark his rest : What scenes perturbed are acting in his breast ! His sable brow is wet and wrung with pain, And his dilated nostril toils in vain ; For short and scant the breath each effort draws, And 'twixt each effort IsTature claims a pause. Beyond the loose and sable neckcloth stretched. His sinewy throat seems by convulsion twitched, While the tongue falters, as to utterance loath, Sounds of dire import — watchword, threat, and oath. Though, stupified by toil, and drugged with gin. The body sleep, the restless guest within ^ A cant term for smuggled spirits. BALLADS AND SOKGS. 239 Now plies on wood and wold his lawless trade, Now in the fangs of justice wakes dismayed. — " Was that wild start of terror and despair, Those bursting eyeballs, and that wildered air, Signs of compunction for a murdered hare ? Do the locks bristle and the eyebrows arch. For grouse or partridge massacred in March — No, scoffer, no ! Attend, and mark with awe, There is no wicket in the gate of law ! He, that would e'er so lightly set ajar That awful portal, must undo each bar : Tempting occasion, habit, passion, pride. Will join to storm the breach, and force the barrier wide. That ruffian, whom true men avoid and dread. Whom bruisers, poachers, smugglers, call Black Ned, Was Edward Mansell once ; — the lightest heart, That ever played on holiday his part ! The leader he in every Christmas game, The harvest-feast grew blither when he came. And liveliest on the chords the bow did glance. When Edward named the tune and led the dance. Kind was his heart, his passions quick and strong, Hearty his laugh, and jovial was his song ; And if he loved a gun, his father swore, " 'Twas but a trick of youth would soon be o'er. Himself had done the same some thirty years before." But he whose humours spurn law's awful yoke, ^ Must herd with those by whom law's bonds are broke. 240 scott's poems. The common dread of justice soon allies The clown, who robs the warren, or excise, With sterner felons trained to act more dread, Even with the wretch by whom his fellow bled. Then, as in plagues the foul contagions pass, Leavening and festering the corrupted mass, — Guilt leagues with guilt, while mutual motives draw. Their hope impunity, their fear the law ; Their foes, their friends, their rendezvous the same. Till the revenue balked, or pilfered game, Flesh the young culprit, and example leads To darker villany, and direr deeds. Wild howled the wind the forest glades along. And oft the owl renewed her dismal song ; Around the spot where erst he felt the wound, Red William's spectre walked his midnight round. When o'er the swamp he cast his blighting look. From the green marshes of the stagnant brook The bittern's sullen shout the sedges shook ! The waning moon, with storm-presaging gleam, Wow gave and now withheld her doubtful beam ; The old Oak stooped his arms, then flung them high, Bellowing and groaning to the troubled sky — • 'Twas then, that, couched amid the brushwood sere. In Malwood-walk young Mansell watched the deer : The fattest buck received his deadly shot — The watchful keeper heard, and sought the spot. Stout were their hearts, and stubborn was their strife, BALLADS AND SONGS. 241 Overpowered at length the Outlaw drew his knife. Next morn a corpse was found upon the fell — The rest his wakipg agony may tell ! THE BOLD DRAGOON; OR, THE PLAIN OF BADAJOS. [1812.] 'TwAS a Mareehal of France, and he fain would honour gain, And he longed to take a passing glance at Por- tugal from Spain ; With his flying guns this gallant gay. And boasted corps d'armee — 0 he feared not our dragoons, with their long swords, boldly riding, Whack, fal de ral, &c. To Campo Mayor come, he had quietly sat down, Just a fricassee to pick, while his soldiers sacked the town, When, 'twas ;pe5^e/ morbleu! mon General^ Hear the English bugle-call ! And behold the light dragoons, with their long swords, boldly riding. Whack, fal de ral, &c. Right about went horse and foot, artillery and all, And, as the devil leaves a house, they tumbled through the wall ; ^ ^ In their hasty evacuation of Campo Mayor the French pulled down a part of the rampart and marched out over the glacis. 242 SCOTT'S POEMS. They took no time to seek the door, But, best foot set before — 0 they ran from onr dragoons, with their long swords, boldly riding. Whack, fal de ral, &c. Those valiant men of France they had scarcely fled a mile, When on their flank there soused at once the British rank and file ; For Long, De Grey, and Otway, then Ne'er minded one to ten, But came on like light dragoons, with their long swords, boldly riding, Whack, fal de ral, &c. Three hundred British lads they made three thousand reel. Their hearts were made of English oak, their swords of Sheffield steel. Their horses were in Yorkshire bred. And Beresford them led ; So huzza for brave dragoons, with their long swords, boldly riding, Whack, fal de ral, &c. Then here's a health to Wellington, to Beres- ford, to Long, And a single word of Bonaparte before I close my song : The eagles that to fight he brings Should serve his men with wings, When they meet the bold dragoons, with their long swords, boldly riding. Whack, fal de ral, &c. BALLADS AND SONGS. 243 SONG. Oh, say not, my love, with that mortified air, That your spring-time of pleasure is flown, Nor bid me to maids that are younger repair. For those raptures that still are thine own. Though April his temples may wreathe with the vine. Its tendrils in infancy curled, 'Tis the ardour of August matures us the wine, Whose life-blood enlivens the world. Though thy form, that was fashioned as light as a fay's. Has assumed a proportion more round. And thy glance, that was bright as a falcon's at gaze. Looks soberly now on the ground, — Enough, after absence to meet me again, Thy steps still with ecstasy move ; Enough, that those dear sober glances retain For me the kind language of love. FOR A' THAT AW A' THAT.' A NEW SONG TO AN OLD TUNE. [1814.] Though right be aft put down by strength. As mony a day we saw that, The true and leilfu' cause at length Shall bear the gree for a' that. ^ Sung at the first meeting of the Pitt Club of Scot- land. -—LOCKH ART. SCOTT'S POEMS. For a' that an' a' that, Guns, guillotines, an' a' that. The Fleur-de-lis, that lost her right, Is queen again for a' that ! We'll twine her in a friendly knot With England's Rose, an' a' that ; The Shamrock shall not be forgot. For Wellington made braw that. The Thistle, though her leaf be rude. Yet faith we'll no misca' that, She sheltered in her solitude The Fleur-de-lis, for a' that. The Austrian Vine, the Prussian Pine (For Blucher's sake, hurra that,) The Spanish Olive, too, shall join, And bloom in peace for a' that. Stout Russia's Hemp, so surely twined Around our wreath we'll draw that, And he that would the cord unbind, Shall have it for his gra-vat ! Or, if to choke sae puir a sot. Your pity scorn to thraw that. The Devil's elbow be his lot. Where he may sit and claw that. In spite of slight, in spite of might. In spite of brags, an' a' that. The lads that battled for the right. Have won the day, an' a' that ! There's ae bit spot I had forgot, America they ca' that ! A coward plot her rats had got Their father's flag to gnaw that : Now see it fly top-gallant high, Atlantic winds shall blaw that, BALLADS AND SONGS. 245 And Yankee loon, beware your croun, There's kames in hand to claw that ! For on the land, or on the sea, Where'er the breezes blaw that, The British Flag shall bear the gree, And win the day for a' that ! ON THE MASSACRE OF GLENOOE. [1814.] " 0 TELL me. Harper, wherefore flow Thy wayward notes of wail and woe. Far down the desert of Glencoe, Where none may list their melody ? Say, harp'st thou to the mists that fly, Or to the dun- deer glancing by. Or to the eagle, that from high Screams chorus to thy minstrelsy ? " — " No, not to these, for they have rest, — The mist- wreath has the mountain- crest. The stag his lair, the erne her nest. Abode of lone security. But those for whom I pour the lay, Not wildwood deep, nor mountain grey. Not this deep dell, that shrouds from day. Could screen from treacherous cruelty. Their flag was furled, and mute their drum. The very household dogs were dumb, TJnwont to bay at guests that come In guise of hospitality. His blithest notes the piper plied. Her gayest snood the maiden tied, The dame her distaff flung aside. To tend her kindly housewifery. 246 scott's poems. The hand that mingled in the meal, At midnight drew the felon steel, And gave the host's kind breast to feel Meed for his hospitality ! The friendly hearth which warmed that hand. At midnight armed it with the brand, That bade destruction's flames expand Their red and fearful blazonry. " Then woman's shriek was heard in vain. Nor infancy's unpitied plain. More than the warrior's groan, could gain Respite from ruthless butchery ! The winter wind that whistled shrill, The snows that night that cloaked the hill. Though wild and pitiless, had still Far more than Southern clemency. Long have my harp's best notes been gone, Few are its strings, and faint their tone. They can but sound in desert lone Their grey-haired master's misery. Were each grey hair a minstrel string. Each chord should imprecations fling, Till startled Scotland loud should ring, * Revenge for blood and treachery ! ' " LINES, ADDRESSED TO RANALD MACDONALD, ESQ., OF STAFFA. [1814.] Staffa, sprung from high Macdonald, Worthy branch of old Clan-Ranald ! Staffa ! king of all kind fellows ! BALLADS AND SONGS. 247 Well befall thy hills and valleys, Lakes and inlets, deeps and shallows — Cliffs of darkness, caves of wonder, Echoing the Atlantic thunder ; Mountains which the grey mist covers, Where the Chieftain spirit hovers, Pausing while his pinions quiver. Stretched to quit our land for ever ! Each kind influence reign above thee ! Warmer heart, 'twixt this and Staffa Beats not, than in heart of Staffa ! LETTER IN VERSE ON THE VOYAGE WITH THE COMMISSIONERS OF NORTHERN LIGHTS. TO HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF BUCCLEUCH, &c. &c. &c. Lighthouse Yacht in the Sound of Lerwick, Zetland, 8th August, 1814. Health to the chieftain from his clansman true ! From her true minstrel, health to fair Buc- cleuch ! Health from the isles, where dewy Morning weaves Her chaplet with the tints that Twilight leaves ; Where late the sun scarce vanished from the sight, And his bright pathway graced the short-lived night, 248 scott's poems. Though darter now as autnmn's shades extend, The north winds whistle and the mists ascend ! Health from the land where eddying whirlwinds toss The storm-rocked cradle of the Cape of Noss ; On outstretched cords the giddy engine slides, His own strong arm the bold adventurer guides, And he that lists such desperate feat to try, May, like the sea-mew, skim 'twixt surf and sky, And feel the mid-air gales around him blow. And see the billows rage five hundred feet below. Here, by each stormy peak and desert shore, The hardy islesman tugs the daring oar. Practised alike his venturous course to keep. Through the white breakers or the pathless deep. By ceaseless peril and by toil to gain A wretched pittance from the niggard main. And when the worn-out drudge old ocean leaves. What comfort greets him, and what hut re- ceives ? Lady ! the worst your presence e*er has cheered (When want and sorrow fled as you appeared) Were to a Zetlander as the high dome Of proud Drumlanrig to my humble home. Here rise no groves, and here no gardens blow. Here even the hardy heath scarce dares to grow ; But rocks on rocks, in mist and storm arrayed. Stretch far to sea their giant colonnade, With many a cavern seamed, the dreary haunt Of the dun seal and swarthy cormorant. Wild round their rifted brows, with frequent cry As of lament, the gulls and gannets fly. BALLADS AND SONGS. 249 And from their sable base, with sullen sound, In sheets of whitening foam the waves rebound. Yet even these coasts a touch of envy gain From those whose land has known oppression's chain ; For here the industrious Dutchman comes once more To moor his fishing craft by Bressay's shore ; Greets every former mate and brother tar, Marvels how Lerwick 'scaped the rage of war, Tells many a tale of Gallic outrage done, And ends by blessing God and "Wellington. Here too the Greenland tar, a fiercer guest. Claims a brief hour of riot, not of rest ; Proves each wild frolic that in wine has birth. And wakes the land with brawls and boisterous mirth. A sadder sight on yon poor vessel's prow The captive Norseman sits in silent woe. And eyes the flags of Britain as they flow. Hard fate of war, which bade her terrors sway His destined course, and seize so mean a prey ; A bark with planks so warped and seams so riven, She scarce might face the gentlest airs of heaven : Pensive he sits, and questions oft if none Can list his speech, and understand his moan ; In vain — no islesman now can use the tongue Of the bold Norse, from whom their lineage sprung. Not thus of old the Norsemen hither came, Won by the love of danger or of fame ; On every storm-beat cape a shapeless tower Tells of their wars, their conquests, and their power; 250 SCOTT'S POEMS. For ne'er for Grecia's vales, nor Latian land, Was fiercer strife than for this barren strand ; A race severe — the isle and ocean lords, Loved for its own delight the strife of swords ; With scornful laugh the mortal pang defied, And blest their gods that they in battle died. Such were the sires of Zetland's simple race, And still the eye may faint resemblance trace In the blue eye, tall form, proportion fair. The limbs athletic, and the long light hair — (Such was the mien, as Scald and Minstrel sings. Of fair-haired Harold, first of Norway's Kings ; ) But their high deeds to scale these crags con- fined. Their only warfare is with waves and wind. Why should I talk of Mousa's castled coast ? Why of the horrors of the Sumburgh Rest ? May not these bald disjointed lines suffice. Penned while my comrades whirl the rattling dice — While down the cabin skylight lessening shine The rays, and eve is chased with mirth and wine ? Imagined, while down Mousa's desert bay Our well-trimmed vessel urged her nimble way. While to the freshening breeze she leaned her side, And bade her bowsprit kiss the foamy tide ? Such are the lays that Zetland Isles supply ; Drenched with the drizzly spray and dropping sky. Weary and wet, a sea- sick minstrel I. W. Scott. BALLADS AND SONGS. 251 POSTSCRIPTUM. Kirkwall, Orkney, Aug. 13, 1814. In respect that your Grace has commissioned a Kraken, Tou will please be informed that they seldom are taken ; It is January two years, the Zetland folks say, Since they saw the last Kraken in Scalloway bay; He lay in the offing a fortnight or more, But the devil a Zetlander put from the shore, Though bold in the seas of the North to assail The morse and the sea-horse, the grampus and whale. If your Grace thinks I'm writing the thing that is not. Yon may ask at a namesake of ours, Mr. Scott — (He's not from our clan, though his merits deserve it, But springs, I'm informed, from the Scotts of Scotstarvet He questioned the folks who beheld it with eyes. But they differed confoundedly as to its size. For instance, the modest and diffident swore That it seemed like the keel of a ship, and no more — Those of eyesight more clear, or of fancy more high. Said it rose like an island 'twixt ocean and sky — But all of the hulk had a steady opinion ^ The Scotts of Scotstarvet, and other families of the name in Fife and elsewhere, claim no kindred with the great clan of the Border, — and their armorial hearings are different.— Lockh art. 252 scott's poems. That 'twas sure a live subject of Neptune's do- minion — And I think, my Lord Duke, your Grace hardly would wish, To cumber your house, such a kettle of fish. Had your order related to night-caps or hose. Or mittens of worsted, there's plenty of those. Or would you be pleased but to fancy a whale ? And direct me to send it — by sea or by mail ? The season, I'm told, is nigh over, but still I could get you one fit for the lake at Bowhill. Indeed, as to whales, there's no need to be thrifty, Since one day last fortnight two hundred and fifty. Pursued by seven Orkneymen's boats and no more. Betwixt Truffness and Luffness were drawn on the shore ! You'll ask if I saw this same wonderful sight ; I own that I did not, but easily might — For this mighty shoal of leviathans lay On our lee-beam a mile, in the loop of the bay, And the islesmen of Sanda were all at the spoil. And flincTiing (so term it) the blubber to boil ; (Ye spirits of lavender, drown the reflection That awakes at the thoughts of this odorous dissection.) To see this huge marvel full fain would we go. But Wilson, the wind, and the current, said no. We have now got to Kirkwall, and needs I must stare When I think that in verse I have once called it fair; 'Tis a base little borough, both dirty and mean — There is nothing to hear, and there's nought to be seen, BALLADS AND SONGS. 25 Save a church, where, of old times, a prelate harangued, And a palace that's built by an earl that was hanged. But, farewell to Kirkwall — aboard we are going, The anchor's a-peak, and the breezes are blow- ing ; Our commodore calls all his band to their places, And 'tis time to release you — good night to your Graces ! SONG, FOR THE ANNIVERSARY MEETING OF THE PITT CLUB OF SCOTLAND. [1814.] 0, DREAD was the time, and more dreadful the omen. When the brave on Marengo lay slaughtered in vain. And beholding broad Europe bowed down by her foemen, PiTT closed in his anguish the map of her reign ! Not the fate of broad Europe could bend his brave spirit To take for his country the safety of shame ; 0, then in her triumph remember his merit, And hallow the goblet that flows to his name. Round the husbandman's head, while he traces the furrow. 254 SCOTT'S POEMS. The mists of the winter may mingle with rain, He may plough it with labour, and sow it in sorrow, And sigh while he fears he has sowed it in vain ; He may die ere his children shall reap in their gladness, But the blithe harvest-home shall remember his claim ; And their jubilee-shout shall be softened with sadness, While they hallow the goblet that flows to his name. Though anxious and timeless his life was ex- pended, In toils for our country preserved by his care. Though he died ere one ray o'er the nations ascended, To light the long darkness of doubt and despair ; The storms he endured in our Britain's De- cember, The perils his wisdom foresaw and o'ercame. In her glory's rich harvest shall Britain re- member. And hallow the goblet that flows to his name. Nor forget His grey head, who, all dark in affliction. Is deaf to the tale of our victories won, And to sounds the most dear to paternal affec- tion. The shout of his people applauding his Son; By his firmness unmoved in success and disaster, By his long reign of virtue, remember his claim ! BALLADS AND SONGS. 255 With our tribute to Pitt join the praise of his Master, Though a tear stain the goblet that flows to his name. Yet again fill the wine-cup, and change the sad measure. The rites of our grief and our gratitude paid, To our Prince, to our Heroes, devote the bright treasure, The wisdom that planned, and the zeal that obeyed ! Pill Wellington's cup till it beam like his glory. Forget not our own brave Dalhousie and GrjIME ; A thousand years hence hearts shall bound at their story, And hallow the goblet that flows to their fame. PAREWELL TO MACKENZIE, HIGH CHIEF OF KINTAIL. FROM THE GAELIC. [1815.] The original verses are arranged to a beautiful Gaelic air, of which the chorus is adapted to the double pull upon the oars of a galley, and which is therefore distinct from the ordinary jorrams, or boat- songs. They were composed by the Family Bard upon the departure of the Earl of Seaforth, who was obliged to take refuge in 256 scott's poems. Spain, after an nnsuccessful effort at insurrec- tion in favour of the Stuart family, in tlie year 1718. Farewell to Mackenneth, great Earl of the North, The Lord of Lochcarron, Glenshiel, and Sea- forth ; To the Chieftain this morning his course who began. Launching forth on the billows his bark like a swan. For a far foreign land he has hoisted his sail, Farewell to Mackenzie, High Chief of Kintail ! O swift be the galley, and hardy her crew, May her captain be skilful, her mariners true, In danger undaunted, unwearied by toil. Though the whirlwind should rise, and the ocean should boil : On the brave vessel's gunnel I drank his bonail,^ And farewell to Mackenzie, High Chief of Kin- tail ! Awake in thy chamber, thou sweet Southland gale ! Like the sighs of his people, breathe soft on his sail ; Be prolonged as regret, that his vassals must know, Be fair as their faith, and sincere as their woe : Be so soft, and so fair, and so faithful, sweet gale. Wafting onward Mackenzie, High Chief of Kin- tail ! ^ Bonail or Bonallez, the old Scottish phrase for a feast at parting with a friend. BALLADS AND SONGS. 267 Be his pilot experienced, and trusty, and wise, To measure the seas and to study the skies : May he hoist all his canvas from streamer to deck, But 0 ! crowd it higher when wafting him back — Till the cliffs of Skooroora, and Conan's glad vale. Shall welcome Mackenzie, High Chief of Kin- tail ! IMITATION OF THE PRECEDING SONG.i So sung the old Bard, in the grief of his heart. When he saw his loved Lord from his people depart. Now mute on thy mountains, 0 Albyn, are heard Nor the voice of the song, nor the harp of the bard; Or its strings are but waked by the stern winter gale, \ As they mourn for Mackenzie, last Chief of Kintail. From the far Southland Border a Minstrel came forth, And he waited the hour that some Bard of the north ^ These verses w/ere written shortly after the death of Lord Seaforth, the last male representative of his illustrious house.— Lockh ART. V. s 258 scott's poems. His hand on the harp of the ancient should cast, And bid its wild numbers mix high with the blast ; But no bard was there left in the land of the Gael, To lament for Mackenzie, last Chief of Kin tail. And shalt thou then sleep, did the Minstrel exclaim. Like the son of the lowlj, unnoticed by fame ? No, son of Fitzgerald ! in accents of woe, The song thou hast loved o'er thy coffin shall flow, And teach thy wild mountains to join in the wai], That laments for Mackenzie, last Chief of Kintail. In vain, the bright course of thy talents to wrong. Fate deadened thine ear and imprisoned thy tongue ; For brighter o'er all her obstructions arose The glow of the genius they could not oppose ; And who in the land of the Saxon or Gael, Might match with Mackenzie, High Chief of Kintail ? Thy sons rose around thee in light and in love. All a father could hope, all a friend could approve ; What Vails it the tale of thy sorrows to tell, — In the spring-time of youth and of promise they fell! Of the line of Fitzgerald remains not a male, To bear the proud name of the Chief of Kintail. BALLADS AND SONGS. 259 And thou, gentle Dame, who must bear, to thy grief, For thy clan and thy country the cares of a Chief, Whom brief rolling moons in six changes have left. Of thy husband, and father, and brethren be- reft, To thine ear of affection, how sad is the hail, That salutes thee the Heir of the line of Kintail !^ WAR-SONG OF LACHLAN, HIGH CHIEF OF MACLEAN. FROM THE GAELIC. [1815.] This song appears to be imperfect, or, at least, like many of the early Gaelic poems, makes a rapid transition from one subject to another ; from the situation, namely, of one of the daughters of the clan, who opens the song by lamenting the absence of her lover, to an eulogium over the military glories of the Chief- tain. The translator has endeavoured to imitate the abrupt style of the original. A WEARY month has wandered o'er Since last we parted on the shore ; ^ The Honourable Lady Hood, daughter of the last Lord Seaforth, widow of Admiral Sir Samuel Hood, afterwards Mrs* Stewart Mackenzie of Seaforth and Glasserton. — Lockh art. 260 scott's poems. Heaven ! that I saw thee, Love, once more, Safe on that shore again ! — 'Twas valiant Lachlan gave the word : Lachlan, of many a galley lord : He called his kindred bands on board, And launched them on the main. Clan- Gillian ^ is to ocean gone, Clan- Gillian, fierce in foray known; Rejoicing in the glory won In many a bloody broil : For wide is heard the thundering fray. The rout, the ruin, the dismay. When from the twilight glens away Clan-Gillian drives the spoil. Woe to the hills that shall rebound Our bannered bag-pipes' maddening sound ; Clan-Gillian's onset echoing round. Shall shake their inmost cell. Woe to the bark whose crew shall gaze. Where Lachlan's silken streamer plays ! The fools might face the lightning's blaze As wisely and as well ! SAINT CLOUD. [PARIS, 5th SEPTEMBEE, 1815.] Soft spread the southern summer night Her veil of darksome blue ; Ten thousand stars combined to light The terracQ of Saint Cloud. ^ z.e, the clan of Maclean, literally the race of Gillian. BALLADS AND SONGS. 261 The. evening breezes gently sighed, Like breath of lover true, Bewailing the deserted pride And wreck of sweet Saint Cloud. The drum's deep roll was heard afar, The bugle wildly blew Good-night to Uhlan and Hussar, That garrison Saint Cloud. The startled Naiads from the shade With broken urns withdrew, And silenced was that proud cascade, The glory of Saint Cloud. We sat upon its steps of stone, Nor could its silence rue, When waked, to music of our own, The echoes of Saint Cloud, Slow Seine might hear each lovely note Fall light as summer dew. While through the moonless air they float, Prolonged from fair St. Cloud. And sure a melody more sweet His waters never knew, Though music's self was wont to meet With Princes at Saint Cloud. Nor then, with more delighted ear, The circle round her drew. Than ours, when gathered round to hear, Our songstress at Saint Cloud. Few happy hours poor mortals pass, — Then give those hours their due, And rank among the foremost class Our evenings at Saint Cloud. 262 SCOTT'S POEMS. THE DANCE OF DEATH. [1815.] I. Night and morning were at meeting Over Waterloo ; Cocks had sung their earliest greeting ; Faint and low they crew, For no paly beam yet shone On the heights of Mount Saint John ; Tempest-clouds prolonged the sway Of timeless darkness over day ; Whirlwind, thunder-clap, and shower. Marked it a predestined hour. Broad and frequent through the night Flashed the sheets of levin-light ; Muskets, glancing lightnings back, Showed the dreary bivouack Where the soldier lay. Chill and stiff, and drenched with rain, Wishing dawn of morn again, Though death should come with day. II. 'Tis at such a tide and hour, Wizard, witch, and fiend, have power, And ghastly forms through mist and shower Gleam on the gifted ken ; And then the affrighted prophet's ear Drinks whispers strange of fate and fear Presaging death and ruin near Among the sons of men ; — Apart from Albyn's war-array, 'Twas then grey Allan sleepless lay ; Grey Allan who, for many a day, BALLADS AND SONGS. 263 Had followed stont and stern, Where, through battle's rout and reel, Storm of shot and hedge of steel, Led the grandson of Lochiel, Valiant Fassiefern. Through steel and shot he leads no more, Low laid mid friends' and foemen's gore — But long his native lake's wild shore. And Sunart rough, and high Ardgower, And Morven long shall tell. And proud Ben Nevis hear with awe. How, upon bloody Quatre-Bras, Brave Cameron heard the wild hurra Of conquest as he fell. IIL Lone on the outskirts of the host. The weary sentinel held post, And heard, through darkness far aloof, The frequent clang of courser's hoof. Where held the cloaked patrol their course, And spurred 'gainst storm the swerving horse. But there are sounds in Allan's ear. Patrol nor sentinel may hear. And sights before his eye aghast Invisible to them have passed. When down the destined plain, 'Twixt Britain and the bands of France, Wild as marsh-borne meteor's glance. Strange phantoms wheeled a revel dance, And doomed the future slain. — Such forms were seen, such sounds were heard. When Scotland's James his march prepared For Flodden's fatal plain ; Such, when he drew his ruthless sword, As Choosers of the Slain, adored The yet unchristened Dane. 264 scott's poems. An indistinct and phantom band, They wheeled their ring- dance hand in hand, With gestures wild and dread ; The Seer, who watched them ride the storm, Saw through their faint and shadowy form The lightning's flash more red ; And still their ghastly roundelay Was of the coming battle-fray, And of the destined dead. IV. Song. Wheel the wild dance While lightnings glance, And thunders rattle loud, And call the brave To bloody grave. To sleep without a shroud. Our airy feet. So light and fleet, They do not bend the rye That sinks its head when whirlwinds rave, And swells again in eddying wave, As each wild gust blows by ; But still the corn, At dawn of morn, Our fatal steps that bore, At eve lies waste, A trampled paste Of blackening mud and gore. V. Wheel the wild dance While lightnings glance, And thunders rattle loud. BALLADS AND SONGS. 265 And call the brave To bloody grave, To sleep without a shroud. Wheel the wild dance ! Brave sons of Prance, For you our ring makes room ; Make space full wide For martial pride, For banner, spear, and plume. Approach, draw near, Proud cuirassier ! Room for the men of steel ! Through crest and plate The broadsword's weight Both head and heart shall feel. VI. Wheel the wild dance While lightnings glance, And thunders rattle loud, And call the brave To bloody grave, To sleep without a shroud. Sons of the spear ! You feel us near In many a ghastly dream ; With fancy's eye Our forms you spy. And hear our fatal scream. With clearer sight Ere falls the night, Just when to weal or woe. Your disembodied souls take flight On trembling wing — each startled sprite Our choir of death shall know. 266 scott's poems. YII. Wheel the wild dance While lightnings glance, And thunders rattle loud, And call the brave To bloody grave, To sleep without a shroud. Burst ye clouds in tempest showers, Redder rain shall soon be ours ; See the east grows wan — Yield we place to sterner game, Ere deadlier bolts and direr flame Shall the welkin's thunders shame ; Elemental rage is tame To the wrath of man. VIII. At morn, grey Allan's mates with awe Heard of the visioned sights he saw, The legend heard him say ; But the Seer's gifted eye was dim, Deafened his ear, and stark his limb, Ere closed that bloody day — He sleeps far from his Highland heath, — But often of the Dance of Death His comrades tell the tale. On picquet-jpost, when ebbs the night. And waning watch-fires glow less bright, And dawn is glimmering pale. BALLADS AND SONGS. 267 ROMANCE OP DUNOIS. FROM THE FRENCH.^ [1815.] The original of this little Romance makes part of a manuscript collection of French songs, probably compiled by some young officer, which was found on the field of Waterloo, so much stained with clay and with blood, as sufficiently to indicate what had been the fate of its late owner. The song is popular in France, and is rather a good specimen of the style of compo- sition to which it belongs. The translation is strictly literal. It was Dunois, the young and brave, was bound for Palestine, But first he made his orisons before Saint Mary's shrine : And grant, immortal Queen of Heaven,'' was still the Soldier's prayer, " That I may prove the bravest knight, and love the fairest fair." His oath of honour on the shrine he graved it with his sword. And followed to the Holy Land the banner of his Lord ; ^ The original romance " Partant pour la Syrie Le jeune et brave Dunois," etc., was written, and set to music also, by Hortense Beau- harnois Duchesse de St. Leu, ex-Queen of Holland.— LOCKHART. 268 SCOTT'S POEMS. Where, faithful to his noble vow, his war-cry filled the air, " Be honoured aye the bravest knight, beloved the fairest fair/' They owed the conquest to his arm, and then his Liege-Lord said, " The heart that has for honour beat by bliss must be repaid. — My daughter Isabel and thou shall be a wedded pair, For thou art bravest of the brave, she fairest of the fair." And then they bound the holy knot before Saint Mary's shrine, That makes a paradise on earth, if hearts and hands combine ; And every lord and lady bright, that were in chapel there, Cried, " Honouredbe the bravest knight, beloved the fairest fair ! " THE TROUBADOUR.^ FROM THE SAME COLLECTION. [1815.] Glowing with love, on fire for fame, A Troubadour that hated sorrow. Beneath his Lady's window came, And thus he sung his last good-morrow : ^ The original of this ballad also, was written and composed by the Duchesse de St. Leu. — Lockhart. BALLADS AND SONGS. 269 " My arm it is my country's right, My heart is in my true-love's bower ; Gaily for love and fame to fight Befits the gallant Troubadour." And while he marched with helm on head And harp in hand, the descant rung, As, faithful to his favourite maid. The minstrel-burden still he sung : " My arm it is my country's right, My heart is in my lady's bower ; Resolved for love and fame to fight, I come, a gallant Troubadour." Even when the battle-roar was deep, With dauntless heart he hewed his way. Mid splintering lance and falchion- sweep, And still was heard his warrior-lay : " My life it is my country's right, My heart is in my lady's bower ; For love to die, for fame to fight, Becomes the valiant Troubadour." Alas ! upon the bloody field He fell beneath the foeman's glaive. But still reclining on his shield, Expiring sung the exulting stave : — " My life it is my country's right, My heart is in my lady's bower ; For love and fame to fall in fight Becomes the valiant Troubadour." 270 SCOTT'S POEMS. FROM THE EEENCH/ [1815.] It chanced that Cupid on a season, By Fancy urged, resolved to wed, But could not settle whether Reason Or Folly should partake his bed. What does he then ? — Upon my life, 'Twas bad example for a deity — He takes me Reason for a wife, And Folly for his hours of gaiety. Though thus he dealt in petty treason ; He loved them both in equal measure ; Fidelity was born of Reason, And Folly brought to bed of Pleasure. SONG, ON THE LIFTING OF THE BANNER OF THE HOUSE OF BUCCLEUCH, AT A GREAT FOOT-BALL MATCH ON CARTERHAUGH.2 [1815.] From the brown crest of Newark its summons extending. Our signal is waving in smoke and in flame ; * This trifle also is from the French Collection, found at Waterloo. See "Paul's Letters."— Lock- hart. ^ The foot-ball match took place on 5th December, 1815, and was also celebrated by the Ettrick Shejpherd. — LOCKHART* BALLADS AND SONGS. 271 And each forester blithe, from his mountain descending, Bounds light o'er the heather to join in the game. CHORUS. Then up with the Banner, let forest winds fan her. She has blazed over Ettrick eight ages and more ; In sport we'll attend her, in battle defend her, With heart and with hand, like our fathers before. When the Southern invader spread waste and disorder, At the glance of her crescents he paused and withdrew. For around them were marshalled the pride of the Border, The Flowers of the Forest, the Bands of BUCCLEUCH. Then up with the Banner, &c. A stripling's weak hand ^ to our revel has borne her. No mail-glove has grasped her, no spearmen surround ; But ere a bold foeman should scathe or should • scorn her, A thousand true hearts would be cold on the ground. Then up with the Banner, &c. We forget each contention of civil dissension. And hail, like our brethren. Home, Douglas, and Oar : ^ The bearer of the standard was the author's eldest son.— LoCKHART. 272 SCOTT'S POEMS. And Elliot and Pringle in pastime shall mingle, As welcome in peace as their fathers in war. Then np with the Banner, &c. Then strip, lads, and to it, though sharp be the weather, And if, by mischance, you should happen to fall, There are worse things in life than a tumble on heather. And life is itself but a game at foot-ball. Then up with the Banner, &c. And when it is over, we'll drink a blithe measure To each Laird and each Lady that witnessed our fun, And to every blithe heart that took part in our pleasure. To the lads that have lost and the lads that have won. Then up with the Banner, &c. May the Forest still flourish, both Borough and Landward, From the hall of the Peer to the Herd's ingle-nook ; And huzza! my brave hearts, for Buccleuch and his standard. For the King and the Country, the Clan, and the Duke ! Then tip with the Banner, &c* BALLADS AND SONGS. 273 LULLABY OF AN INFANT CHIEF. Air — Cadiil gu lo,^ [1815.] I. 0, HUSH thee, my baby, thy sire was a knight, Thy mother a lady, both lovely and bright ; The woods and the glens, from the towers which we see, They all are belonging, dear baby, to thee. O ho ro, i ri ri, cadul gu lo, 0 ho ro, i ri ri, &c. II. 0, fear not the bngle, though loudly it blows, It calls but the warders that guard thy repose ; Their bows would be bended, their blades would be red. Ere the step of a f oeman draws near to thy bed. 0 ho ro, i ri ri, &c. in. 0, hush thee, my baby, the time soon will come, When thy sleep shall be broken by trumpet and drum ; Then hush thee, my darling, take rest while you may. For strife comes with manhood, and waking with day. 0 ho ro, i ri ri, &c. ^ '^Sleapon tillclay." V. T 274 SCOTT'S POEMS. VERSES, COMPOSED FOR THE OCCASION, AND SUNG BY A SELECT BAND AFTER THE DINNER GIVEN BY THE LORD PROVOST OF EDINBURGH TO THE GRAND-DUKE NICHOLAS OF RUSSIA, AND HIS SUITE, 19TH DECEMBER, 1816. God protect brave Alexander, Heaven defend the noble Czar, Mighty Russia's high Commander, First in Europe's banded war ; For the realms he did deliver From the tyrant overthrown, Thou, of every good the Giver, Grant him long to bless his own ! Bless him, mid his land's disaster. For her rights who battled brave, Of the land of foemen master. Bless him who their wrongs forgave. O'er his just resentment victor, Victor over Europe's foes. Late and long supreme director, Grant in peace his reign may close. Hail ! then, hail ! illustrious Stranger ! Welcome to our mountain strand ; Mutual interests, hopes, and danger. Link us with thy native land. Freemen's force, or false beguiling, Shall that union ne'er divide. Hand in hand while peace is smiling, And in battle side by side. BALLADS AND SONGS. 275 PIBROCH OF DONALD DHTJ. Air — Piohair of Donuil Bhuidh} [1816.] This is a very ancient pibrocli belonging to Clan MacDonald, and supposed to refer to the expe- dition of Donald Balloch, who, in 1431, launched from the Isles with a considerable force, invaded Lochaber, and at Inverlochy defeated and put to flight the Earls of Mar and Caithness, though at the head of an army superior to his own. Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, Pibroch of Donuil, "Wake thy wild voice anew, Summon Clan-Conuil. Come away, come away, Hark to the summons ! Come in your war-array. Gentles and commons. Come from deep glen, and From mountain so rocky, The war-pipe and pennon Are at Inverlochy. Come every hill-plaid, and True heart that wears one, Come every steel blade, and Strong hand that bears one. Leave untended the herd, The flock without shelter ^ The pibroch of Donald the Black." 276 SCOTT'S POEMS. Leave the corpse uninterred, The bride at the altar ; Leave the deer, leave the steer, Leave nets and barges : Come with your fighting gear, Broadswords and targes. Come as the winds come, when Forests are rended ; Come as the waves come, when JSTavies are stranded : Faster come, faster come, Faster and faster. Chief, vassal, page and groom, Tenant and master. Fast they come, fast they come ; See how they gather ! Wide waves the eagle pi iime. Blended with heather. Cast your plaids, draw your blades, Forward each man set ! Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, Knell for the onset ! THE RETURN TO ULSTER. [1816.] Once again, — but how changed since my wan- derings began — I have heard the deep voice of the Lagan and Bann, And the pines of Clanbrassil resound to the roar. That wearies the echoes of fair Tullamore. BALLADS AND SONGS. 277 Alas ! my poor bosom, and why shouldst thou burn ? With the scenes of my youth can its raptures return ? Can I live the dear life of delusion again, That flowed when these echoes first mixed with my strain ? It was then that around me, though poor and unknown. High spells of mysterious enchantment were thrown ; The streams were of silver, of diamond the dew. The land was an Eden, for fancy was new. I had heard of our bards, and my soul was on fire At the rush of their verse, and the sweep of their lyre : To me 'twas not legend, nor tale to the ear, But a vision of noontide, distinguished and clear. Ultonia's old heroes awoke at the call. And renewed the wild pomp of the chase and the hall ; And the standard of Fion flashed fierce from on high. Like a burst of the sun when the tempest is nigh/ It seemed that the harp of green Erin once more Could renew all the glories she boasted of yore. — Yet why at remembrance, fond heart, shouldst thou burn ? They were days of delusion, and cannot return. / In ancient Irish poetry, the standard of Fion, or Fingal, is called the Sim-hurst, an epithet feebly rendered by the Sunbeam of Macpherson. 278 scott's poems. But was she, too, a phantom, the Maid who stood Idj, And listed my lay, while she turned from mine eye ? Was she, too, a vision, just glancing to view. Then dispersed in the sunbeam, or melted to dew? Oh ! would it had been so, — Oh ! would that her eye Had been but a star-glance that shot through the sky, And her voice that was moulded to melody's thrill. Had been but a zephyr, that sighed and was still ! Oh ! would it had been so, — not then this poor heart Had learned the sad lesson, to love and to part; To bear, unassisted, its burthen of care. While I toiled for the wealth I had no one to share. Not then had I said, when life's summer was done. And the hours of her autumn were fast speed- ing on. Take the fame and the riches ye brought in your train. And restore me the dream of my spring-tide again." BALLADS AND SONGS. 279 JOCK OF HAZELDEAK^ Km— A Border Melody, [1816.] I. " Why weep ye by the tide, ladie ? Why weep ye by the tide ? ni wed ye to my youngest son, And ye sail be his bride : And ye sail be his bride, ladie, Sae comely to be seen " — But aye she loot the tears down fa' For Jock of Hazel dean. II. " Now let this wilfu' grief be done. And dry that cheek so pale ; Young Frank is chief of Errington, And lord of Langley-dale ; His step is first in peaceful ha'. His sword in battle keen " — But aye she loot the tears down fa' For Jock of Hazeldean. III. " A chain of gold ye sail not lack, Nor braid to bind your hair ; Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk, Nor palfrey fresh and fair ; ^ The first stanza of this ballad is ancient. 280 SCOTT'S POEMS. And you, the foremost o' them a', Shall ride our forest queen — But aye she loot the tears down fa' For Jock of Hazeldean. IV. The kirk was decked at morning-tide, The tapers glimmered fair ; The priest and bridegroom wait the bride, And dame and knight are there. They sought her baith by bower and ha' ; The ladie was not seen ! She's o'er the Border, and awa' Wi' Jock of Hazeldean. NORA'S VOW. Air — Cha teid mis a chaoidh} [1816.] In the original Gaelic the Lady makes protes- tations that she will not go with the Eed Earl's son, until the swan should build in the cliff, and the eagle in the lake — until one mountain should change places with another, and so forth. It is but fair to add, that there is no authority for supposing that she altered her mind — except the vehemence of her protestation. I. Hear what Highland Nora said, — " The Earlie's son I will not wed. Should all the race of nature die. And none be left but he and I. ^ I will never go with him," BALLADS AND SONGS. 281 For all the gold, for all the gear, And all the lands both far and near, That ever valour lost or won, I would not wed the Earlie's son.'' — II. "A maiden's vows," old Galium spoke, Are lightly made and lightly broke ; The heather on the mountain's height Begins to bloom in purple light ; The frost-wind soon shall sweep away That lustre deep from glen and brae ; Yet Nora, ere its bloom be gone. May blithely wed the Earlie's son." — III. " The swan," she said, the lake's clear breast May barter for the eagle's nest ; The Awe's fierce stream may backward turn, Ben-Cruaichan fall, and crush Kilchurn ; Our kilted clans, when blood is high. Before their foes may turn and fly ; But I, were all these marvels done, Would never wed the Earlie's son." IV. Still in the water-lily's shade Her wonted nest the wild-swan made ; Ben-Cruaichan stands as fast as ever. Still downward foams the Awe's fierce river ; To shun the clash of foeman's steel, 1^0 Highland brogue has turned the heel ; But Nora's heart is lost and won, — She's wedded to the Earlie's son ! 282 scott's poems. MACGREGOR'S GATHERING. Air — Thain^ a Grigalach.^ [1816.] These verses are adapted to a very wild, yet lively gathering-tune, used by the MacGregors. The severe treatment of this Clan, their out- lawry, and the proscription of their very name, are alluded to in the ballad. The moon's on the lake, and the mist's on the brae. And the Clan has a name that is nameless by day; Then gather, gather, gather Grigalach ! Gather, gather, gather, &c. Our signal for fight, that from monarehs we drew. Must be heard but by night in our vengeful haloo ! Then haloo, Grigalach ! haloo, Grigalach ! Haloo, haloo, haloo, Grigalach, &c. Glen Orchy's proud mountains, Coalchuirn and her towers, Glenstrae and Glenlyon no longer are ours ; We're landless, landless, landless, Griga- lach ! Landless, landless, landless, &c. But doomed and devoted by vassal and lord, MacGregor has still both his heart and his sword ! ^ " The MacGregor is come." BALLADS AND SONGS. 283 Then courage, courage, courage, Griga- lacli! Courage, courage, courage, &c. If they rob us of name, and pursue us with beagles, Give their roofs to the flame, and their flesh to the eagles ! Then vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, Grigalach ! Vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, &c. While there's leaves in the forest, and foam on the river, MacGregor, despite them, shall flourish for ever ! Come then, Grigalach, come then, Griga- lach, Come then, come then, come then, &c. Through the depths of Loch Katrine the steed shall career, O'er the peak of Ben-Lomond the galley shall steer, And the rocks of Craig-Royston like icicles melfc, Ere our wrongs be forgot, or our vengeance unfelt ! Then gather, gather, gather, Grigalach ! Gather, gather, gather, &c. 284 SCOTT'S POEMS. THE SEARCH AETER HAPPINESS ; OR, THE QUEST OF SULTAUN SOLIMAUN. [1817.] I. Oh for a glance of tliat gay Muse's eye, That lightened on Bandello's laughing tale, And twinkled with a lustre shrewd and sly, When Giam Battista bade her vision hail ! ^ — Yet fear not, ladies, the naive detail Given by the natives of that land canorous ; Italian license loves to leap the pale. We Britons have the fear of shame before us, And, if not wise in mirth, at least must be de- corous. II. In the far eastern clime, no great while since, Lived Sultaun Solimaun, a mighty prince, Whose eyes, as oft as they performed their round. Beheld all others fixed upon the ground ; Whose ears received the same unvaried phrase, Sultaun ! thy vassal hears, and he obeys ! ^' All have their tastes — this may the fancy strike Of such grave folks as pomp and grandeur like: For me, I love the honest heart and warm Of Monarch who can amble round his farm. Or, when the toil of state no more annoys. In chimney corner seek domestic joys — ^ The hint of the following tale is taken from " La Camiscia Magica," a novel of Giam Battista Casti. BALLADS AND SONGS. 285 I love a Prince will bid the bottle pass, Exchanging with his subjects glance and glass ; In fitting time, can, gayest of the gay, Keep up the jest, and mingle in the lay — Such Monarchs best our free-born humours suit, But Despots must be stately, stern, and mute. III. This Solimaun, Serendib had in sway — And where's Serendib ? may some critic say. — Good lack, mine honest friend, consult the chart. Scare not my Pegasus before I start ! If Rennell has it not, you'll find, mayhap, The isle laid down in Captain Sindbad's map, — Famed mariner ! whose merciless narrations Drove every friend and kinsman out of patience. Till, fain to find a guest who thought them shorter He deigned to tell them over to a porter — The last edition see, by Long, and Co., Rees, Hurst, and Orme, our fathers in the Row. IV. Serendib found, deem not my tale a fiction — This Sultaun, whether lacking contradiction — (A sort of stimulant which hath its uses. To raise the spirits and reform the juices, — Sovereign specific for all sorts of cures In my wife's practice, and perhaps in yours,) The Sultaun lacking this same wholesome bitter. Or cordial smooth for prince's palate fitter — Or if some Mollah had hag-rid his dreams With Degial, Ginnistan, and such wild themes Belonging to the Mollah 's subtle craft. 286 SCOTT'S POEMS. I wot not — but the Sultaun never laughed, Scarce ate or drank, and took a melanclioly That scorned all remedy profane or holy ; In his long list of melancholies, mad. Or mazed, or dumb, hath Burton none so bad. V. Physicians soon arrived, sage, ware, and tried. As e'er scrawled jargon in a darkened room ; With heedful glance the Sultaun's tongue they eyed, Peeped in his bath, and God knows where be- side, And then in solemn accent spoke their doom, " His majesty is very far from well.'* Then each to work with his specific fell : The Hakim Ibrahim instanter brought His unguent Mahazzim al Zerdukkaut, While Roompot, a practitioner more wily, Relied on his Munaskif al fillfily.^ More and yet more in deep array appear. And some the front assail, and some the rear ; Their remedies to reinforce and vary. Came surgeon eke, and eke apothecary ; Till the tired Monarch, though of words grown chary. Yet dropt, to recompense their fruitless labour, Some hint about a bowstring or a sabre. There lacked, I promise you, no longer speeches To rid the palace of those learned leeches. VI. Then was the council called — by their advice, (They deemed the matter ticklish all, and nice, ^ For these hard words see D'Herbelot, or the learned editor of the Recipes of Avicenna.'' BALLADS AND SONGS. 287 And sought to shift it off from their own shoulders,) Tartars and couriers in all speed were sent, To call a sort of Eastern Parliament Of feudatory chieftains and freeholders — Such have the Persians at this very day, My gallant Malcolm calls them couroultai; — ^ I'm not prepared to show in this slight song That to Serendib the same forms belong, — E'en let the learned go search, and tell me if I'm wrong. vn. The Omrahs,^ each with hand on scymitar. Gave, like Sempronius, still their voice for war — " The sabre of the Sultaun in its sheath Too long has slept, nor owned the work of death ; Let the Tambourgi bid his signal rattle, Bang the loud gong, and raise the shout of battle ! This dreary cloud that dims our sovereign's day. Shall from his kindled bosom flit away, When the bold Lootie wheels his courser round. And the armed elephant shall shake the ground. Each noble pants to own the glorious sum- mons — And for the charges — Lo ! your faithful Com- mons ! " The Ryots who attended in their places (Serendib language calls a farmer Ryot) Looked ruefully in one another's faces, ^ See Sir John Malcolm's admirable History of Persia." 2 NoMlity. 288 SCOTT'S POEMS. From this oration auguring much disquiet, Double assessment, forage, and free quarters ; And fearing these as China-men the Tartars, Or as the whiskered vermin fear the mousers, Each fumbled in the pocket of his trowsers. YIII. And next came forth the reverend Convocation, Bald heads, white beards, and many a turban green, Imaum and MoUah there of every station, Santon, Fakir, and Calendar were seen. Their votes were various — some advised a Mosque With fitting revenues should be erected. With seemly gardens and with gay Kiosque, To recreate a band of priests selected ; Others opined that through the realms a dole Be made to holy men, whose prayers might profit The Sultaun's weal in body and in soul. But their long-headed chief, the Sheik Ul- Sofit; More closely touched the point : — " Thy studious mood,'* Quoth he, "0 Prince ! hath thickened all thy blood. And dulled thy brain with labour beyond measure ; Wherefore relax a space and take thy pleasure. And toy with beauty, or tell o'er thy treasure ; From all the cares of state, my Liege, enlarge thee. And leave the burden to thy faithful clergy." IX. These counsels sage availed not a whit, And so the patient (as is not uncommon BALLADS AND SONGS. 289 Where grave physicians lose their time and wit) Resolved to take advice of an old woman ; His mother she, a dame who once was beauteous, And still was called so by each subject duteous. Now, whether Fatima was witch in earnest. Or only made believe, I cannot say — But she professed to cure disease the sternest, By dint of magic amulet or lay ; And, when all other skill in vain was shown, She deemed it fitting time to use her own. X. " Sympathia magica hath wonders done," (Thus did old Fatima bespeak her son,) It works upon the fibres and the pores, And thus, insensibly, our health restores, And it must help us here. — Thou must endure The ill, my son, or travel for the cure. Search land and sea, and get, where'er you can. The inmost vesture of a happy man, I mean his shirt, my son ; which, taken warm And fresh from off his back, shall chase your harm, Bid every current of your veins rejoice. And your dull heart leap light as shepherd- boy's." Such was the counsel from his mother came ; — I know not if she had some under-game, As Doctors have, who bid their patients roam And live abroad, when sure to die at home ; Or if she thought, that, somehow or another, Queen-Regent sounded better than Queen- Mother ; But, says the Chronicle (who will go look it,) That such wg-s her advice, the Sultaun took it, v. y 290 scott's poems. XT. All are on board — the Sultaun and Ws train, In cj^ilded galley prompt to plough the main. The old Rais ^ was the first who questioned, " Whither?" They paused — " Arabia," thought the pensive Prince, " Was called The Happy many ages since — For Mokha, Rais." — And they came safely thither. But not in Araby, with all her balm, Not where Judea weeps beneath her palm, Not in rich Egypt, not in Nubian waste. Could there the step of Happiness be traced. One Copt alone professed to have seen her smile. When Bruce his goblet filled at infant Nile : She blessed the dauntless traveller as he quaffed, But vanished from him with the ended draught. XII. " Enough of turbans," said the weary King, ** These dolimans of ours are not the thing ; Try we the Giaours, these men of coat and cap, I Incline to think some of them must be happy ; At least, they have as fair a cause as any can. They drink good wine and keep no Ramazan. Then northward, ho ! " — The vessel cuts the sea, And fair Italia lies upon her lee. — But fair Italia, she who once unfurled Her eagle banners o'er a conquered world. Long from her throne of domination tumbled, Lay, by her quondam vassals, sorely humbled ; The Pope himself looked pensive, pale, and lean, And was not half the man he once had been, "While these the priest and those the noble fleeces, ^ Master of the vessel. BALLADS AND SONGS. 291 Oar poor old boot," ^ they said /'is torn to pieces. Its tops^ the vengeful claws of Austria feel, And the Great Devil is rending toe and heel.^ If happiness you seek, to tell you truly, We think she dwells with one Giovanni Bulli ; A tramontane, a heretic, — the buck, Poffaredio ! still has all the luck ; By land or ocean never strikes his flag — And then — a perfect walking money-bag." set our Prince to seek John Bull's abode, But first took France — it lay upon the road. XIII. Monsieur Baboon, after much late commotion, Was agitated like a settling ocean. Quite out of sorts, and could not tell what ailed him. Only the glory of his house had failed him ; Besides, some tumours on his noddle biding, Gave indication of a recent hiding.^ Our Prince, though Sultauns of such things are heedless. Thought it a thing indelicate and needless To ask, if at that moment he was happy. And Monsieur, seeing that he was comme il faut, a Loud voice mustered up, for " Vive le Boi ! " Then whispered, " Ave you any news of Nappy?" The Sultaun answered him with a cross ques- tion, — " Pray, can you tell me aught of one John Bull, ^ The well-known resemblance of Italy in the map. ^ Florence, Venice, etc. ^ The Calabrias, infested by bands of assassins. One of the leaders was called Fra Diavolo, i.e., Brother Devil. * Or drubbing ; so called in the *' Slang Dictonary." 292 scott's poems. That dwells somewliere beyond your herring- pool?" The query seemed of difficult digestion, The party shrugged, and grinned, and took his snuff. And found his whole good-breeding scarce enough. XIV. Twitching his visage into as many puckers As damsels wont to put into their tuckers, (Ere liberal Fashion damned both lace and lawn, And bade the veil of modesty be drawn,) Replied the Frenchman, after a brief pause, " Jean Bool ! — I vas not know him — Yes, I vas — I vas remember dat, von year or two, I saw him at von place called Vaterloo — Ma foi ! il s'est tres joliment battu, Dat is for Englishman, — m'entendez-vous ? But den he had wit him one damn son-gun. Rogue I no like — dey call him Vellington." Monsieur's politeness could not hide his fret, So Solimaun took leave, and crossed the strait. XV. John Bull was in his very worst of moods, Raving of sterile farms and unsold goods ; His sugar-loaves and bales about he threw. And on his counter beat the devil's tattoo. His wars were ended, and the victory won, But then, 'twas reckoning- day with honest John ; And authors vouch, 'twas still this Worthy's way, Never to grumble till he came to pay ; BALLADS AND SONGS. 293 And then lie always thinks, his temper's such, The work too little, and the pay too much/' ^ Yet, grumbler as he is, so kind and hearty, That when his mortal foe was on the floor. And past the power to harm his quiet more. Poor John had wellnigh wept for Bonaparte ! Such was the wight whom Solimaun salaamed, — "And who are you," John answered, ''and be d— d ? " XVI. " A stranger, come to see the happiest man, — So, signior, all avouch, in Frangistan." — ^ " Happy ? my tenants breaking on my hand ; Unstocked my pastures, and untilled my land ; Sugar and rum a drug, and mice and moths The sole consumers of my good broadcloths — ■ Happy ? — Why, cursed war and racking tax Have left us scarcely raiment to our backs." — In that case, signior, I may take my leave ; I came to ask a favour — but I grieve ' ' " Favour? " said John, and eyed the Sultaun hard, It's my belief you come to break the yard ! — But, stay, you look like some poor foreign sinner, — Take that to buy yourself a shirt and dinner." — With that he chucked a guinea at his head ; But, with due dignity, the Sultaun said, " Permit me, sir, your bounty to decline ; A shirt indeed I seek, but none of thine. Signior, I kiss your hands, so fare you well." — *' Kiss and be d — d," quoth John, " and go to hell ! " ^ See the True Born Englishman," by Daniel De Foe. ^ Europe. 294 SCOTT'S POEMS. XVII. Next door to John there dwelt his sister Peg, Once a wild lass as ever shook a leg When the blithe bagpipe blew — but, soberer now, She doucely span her flax and milked her cow. And whereas erst she was a needy slattern, Nor now of wealth or cleanliness a pattern, Yet once a-month her house was partly swept, And once a-week a plenteous board she kept. And whereas, eke, the vixen used her claws And teeth, of yore, on slender provocation, She now was grown amenable to laws, A quiet soul as any in the nation ; The sole remembrance of her warlike joys Was in old songs she sang to please her boys. John Bull, whom, in their years of early strife, She wont to lead a cat-and- doggish life, Now found the woman, as he said, a neighbour, Who looked to the main chance, declined no labour, Loved a long grace, and spoke a northern jargon, And was d — d close in making of a bargain. XVIII. The Sultaun entered, and he made his leg. And with decorum curtsyed sister Peg ; (She loved a book, and knew a thing or two. And guessed at once with whom she had to do.) She bade him " Sit into the fire,'' and took Her dram, her cake, her kebbuck from the nook ; Asked him about the news from Eastern parts ; And of her absent bairns, puir Highland hearts ! If peace brought down the price of tea and pepper. And if the nitmugs were grown omj cheaper ; — Were there nae speerings of our Mungo Park — Ye '11 be the gentleman that wants the sark ? BALLADS AND SONGS. 295 If ye wad buy a web o' auld wife's spinnin', 111 warrant ye it's a weel- wearing linen." XIX. Then np got Peg, and round the bouse 'gan scuttle In search of goods her customer to nail, Until the Sultaun strained his princely throttle, And holloed, — Ma'am, that is not what I ail. Pray, are you happy, ma'am, in this snug glen ? Happy ? " said Peg; " What for d'ye want to ken ? Besides, just think upon this by-gane year, Grain wadna pay the yoking of the pleugh." — " What say you to the present ? " — " Meal's sae dear, To mak' their hrose my bairns have scarce aneugh." — ** The devil take the shirt," said Solimaun, I think my quest will end as it began. — Farewell, ma'am; nay, no ceremony, I beg " *' Ye'll no be for the linen then ? " said Peg. XX. Now, for the land of verdant Erin, The Sultaun's royal bark is steering, The Emerald Isle, where honest Paddy dwells, The cousin of John Bull, as story tells. For a long space had John, with words of thunder, Hard looks, and harder knocks, kept Paddy under, Till the poor lad, like boy that's flogged unduly, Had gotten somewhat restive and unruly. Hard was his lot and lodging, you'll allow, A wigwam that would hardly serve a sow ; 296 scott's poems. His landlord, and of middle-men two brace, Had screwed his rent up to the starving -place ; His garment was a top- coat, and an old one, His meal was a potato, and a cold one ; But still for fun or frolic, and all that, In the round world was not the match of Pat. XXI. The Sultaun saw him on a holiday. Which is with Paddy still a jolly day : When mass is ended, and his load of sins Confessed, and Mother Church hath from her binns Dealt forth a bonus of imputed merit. Then is Pat's time for fancy, whim, and spirit ! To jest, to sing, to caper fair and free. And dance as light as leaf upon the tree. By Mahomet," said Sultaun Solimaun, That ragged fellow is our very man ! Rush in and seize him — do not do him hurt. But, will he nill he, let me have his shirV^ — XXII. Shilela their plan was wellnigh after balking, (Much less provocation will set it a- walking,) L3ut the odds that foiled Hercules foiled Paddy Whack ; They seized, and they floored, and they stripped him — Alack ! Up-bubboo ! Paddy had not a shirt to his back ! ! ! And the King, disappointed, with sorrow and shame, Went back to Serendib as sad as he came. BALLADS AND SONGS. 297 THE SUN UPON THE WEIRDLAW HILL. Air — Bimhiii aluin ^stu mo run, [1817.] The sun upon the Weirdlaw Hill, In Ettrick's vale, is sinking sweet ; The westland wind is hush and still, The lake lies sleeping at my feet. Yet not the landscape to mine eye Bears those bright hues that once it bore ; Though evening, with her richest dye. Flames o'er the hills of Ettrick's shore. With listless look along the plain, I see Tweed's silver current glide, And coldly mark the holy fane Of Melrose rise in ruined pride. The quiet lake, the balmy air, The hill, the stream, the tower, the tree, — Are they still such as once they were ? Or is the dreary change in me ? Alas, the warped and broken board. How can it bear the painter's dye ! The harp of strained and tuneless chord. How to the minstrel's skill reply ! To aching eyes each landscape lowers, To feverish pulse each gale blows chill ; And Araby's or Eden's bovvers Were barren as this moorland hill. 298 SCOTT'S POEMS. MR. KEMBLE'S FAREWELL ADDRESS, ON TAKING LEAVE OF THE EDINBURGH STAGE. [1817.] As the worn war-horse, at the trumpet's sound, Erects his mane, and neighs, and paws the ground — Disdains the ease his generous lord assigns, And longs to rush on the embattled lines, So I, your plaudits ringing on mine ear, Can scarce sustain to think our parting near ; To think my scenic hour for ever past. And that those valued plaudits are my last. Why should we part, while still some powers remain, That in your service strive not yet in vain ? Cannot high zeal the strength of youth supply. And sense of duty fire the fading eye ; And all the wrongs of age remain subdued Beneath the burning glow of gratitude ? Ah, no ! the taper, wearing to its close. Oft for a space in fitful lustre glows ; But all too soon the transient gleam is past, It cannot be renewed, and will not last ; Even duty, zeal, and gratitude, can wage But short-lived conflict with the frosts of age. Yes ! It were poor, remembering what I was. To live a pensioner on your applause. To drain the dregs of yoar endurance dry. And take, as alms, the praise I once could buy; Till every sneering youth around enquires, " Is this the man who once could please our sires ? And scorn assumes compassion's doubtful mien, BALLADS AND SONGS. 299 To warn me off from tlie encumbered scene. This must not be ; — and higher duties crave Some space between the theatre and the grave, That, like the Roman in the Capitol, I may adjust my mantle ere I fall : My life's brief act in public service flown. The last, the closing scene, must be my own. Here, then, adieu ! while yet some well-graced parts May fix an ancient favourite in your hearts, Not quite to be forgotten, even when You look on better actors, younger men : And if your bosoms own this kindly debt Of old remembrance, how shall mine forget — 0, how forget ! — how oft I hither came In anxious hope, how oft returned with fame ! How oft around your circle this weak hand Has waved immortal Shakspeare's magic wand. Till the full burst of inspiration came. And I have felt', and you have fanned the flame ! By memory treasured, while her reign endures, Those hours must live — and all their charms are yours. 0 favoured Land ! renowned for arts and arms, For manly talent, and for female charms. Could this full bosom prompt the sinking line. What fervent benedictions now were thine ! But my last part is played, my knell is rung, When e'en your praise falls faltering from my tongue ; And all that you can hear, or I can tell. Is — Friends and Patrons, hail, and fare you WELL. 300 SCOTT'S POEMS. LINES, WRITTEN FOR MISS SMITH. ^ When the lone pilgrim views afar The shrine that is his guiding star, With awe his footsteps print the road Which the loved saint of yore has trod. As near he draws, and yet more near, His dim eye sparkles with a tear ; The Gothic fane's unwonted show. The choral hymn, the tapers' glow. Oppress his soul ; while they delight And chasten rapture with affright. No longer dare he think his toil Can merit aught his patron's smile ; Too light appears the distant way. The chilly eve, the sultry day — All these endured no favour claim, But murmuring forth the sainted name, He lays his little offering down, And only deprecates a frown. We too, who ply the Thespian art, Oft feel such bodings of the heart, And, when our utmost powers are strained. Dare hardly hope your favour gained. She, who from sister climes has sought The ancient land where Wallace fought ; — Land long renowned for arms and arts. And conquering eyes and dauntless hearts ; — She, as the flutterings here avow, ^ These lines were written for recitation by the distinguished actress, Miss Smith, afterwards Mrs. Bartley, on the night of her benefit at the Edinburgh Theatre, in 1817 ; but reached her too late for her purpose.— LOCKHART, BALLADS AND SONGS. 301 Feels all the pilgrim's terrors now ; Yet snre on Caledonian plain The stranger never sued in vain. 'Tis jours the hospitable task To give the applause she dare not ask ; And they who bid the pilgrim speed, The pilgrim's blessing be their meed. THE MONKS OF BANGOR'S MARCH. Air — Ymdaith Mionge, WRITTEN FOR MR. GEORGE THOMSON'S WELSH MELODIES. [1817.] Ethelfrid or Olfrid, King of Northumberland, having besieged Chester in 613, and Brockmael, a British Prince, advancing to relieve it, the religious of the neighbouring Monastery of Bangor marched in procession, to pray for the success of their countrymen. But the British being totally defeated, the heathen victor put the monks to the sword, and destroyed their monastery. The tune to which these verses are adapted is called the Monks' March, and is supposed to have been played at their ill-omened procession. When the heathen trumpet's clang Round beleaguered Chester rang. Veiled nun and friar grey Marched from Bangor's fair Abbaye ; High their holy anthem sounds, Cestria's vale the hymn rebounds. Floating down the sylvan Dee, 0 miserere^ Domine ! 802 scott's poems. On the long procession goes, Glory round their crosses glows, And the Virgin -mother mild In their peaceful banner smiled ; Who could think such saintly band Doomed to feel unhallowed hand ? Such was the Divine decree, 0 miserere, Domine ! Bands that masses only sung, Hands that censers only swung, Met the northern bow and bill. Heard the war-cry wild and shrill : Woe to Brockmael's feeble hand, Woe to Olfrid's bloody brand. Woe to Saxon cruelty, 0 miserere, Vomine ! Weltering amid warriors slain. Spurned by steeds with bloody mane, Slaughtered down by heathen blade, Bangor's peaceful monks are laid : Word of parting rest unspoke, Mass unsung, and bread unbroke ; For their souls for charity, Sing, 0 miserere, Domine ! Bangor ! o'er the murder wail ! Long thy ruins told the tale. Shattered towers and broken arch Long recalled the woeful march : On thy shrine no tapers burn. Never shall thy priests return ; The pilgrim sighs and sings for thee, 0 miserere, Domine ! BALLADS AND SONGS. 303 EPILOGUE TO '*THE APPEAL."' SPOKEN BY MRS. HENRY SIDDONS, FEB. 16th, 1818. A CAT of yore (or else old ^sop lied) Was changed into a fair and blooming bride, But spied a mouse upon her marriage- day, Forgot her spouse, and seized upon her prey ; Even thus my bridegroom lawyer, as you saw, Threw off poor me, and pounced upon papa. His neck from Hymen's mystic knot made loose, He twisted round my sire's the literal noose. Such are the fruits of our dramatic labour Since the New Jail became our next-door neighbour.^ Yes, times are changed ; for, in your fathers* age. The lawyers were the patrons of the stage ; However high advanced by future fate, There stands the bench (points to the Pit) that first received their weight. The future legal sage, 'twas ours to see. Doom though unwigged, and plead without a fee. But now, astounding each poor mimic elf, Instead of lawyers comes the law herself ; Tremendous neighbour, on our right she dwells. Builds high her towers and excavates her cells; While on the left she agitates the town, ^ The Appeal," a tragedy, by John Gait. It is necessary to mention that the allusions in this piece are all local, and addressed only to the Edinburgh audience. 304 scott's poems. With the tempestuous question, Up or down ? 'Twixt Scylla and Charybdis thus stand we, Law's final end, and law's uncertainty. But, soft ! who lives at Rome the Pope must flatter, And jails and lawsuits are no jesting matter. Then — just farewell ! We wait with serious awe Till your applause or censure gives the law. Trusting our humble efforts may assure ye. We hold you Court and Counsel, Judge and Jury. MACKRIMMON'S LAMENT. Air — Cha till mi tuille,^ [1818.] Mackrimmon, hereditary piper to the Laird of Macleod, is said to have composed this Lament when the Clan was about to depart upon a dis- tant and dangerous expedition. The Minstrel was impressed with a belief, which the event verified, that he was to be slain in the approaching feud ; and hence the Gaelic words, " Cha till mi tuille ; ged thillis Macleod^ cha till Mackrimmon,^* I shall never return ; although Macleod re- turns, yet Mackrimmon shall never return ! '* The piece is but too well known, from its being the strain with which the emigrants from the West Highlands and Isles usually take leave of their native shore. 1 u return no more." BALLADS AND SONGS» 305 MacLeod's wizard flag from tlie grey castle sallies, The rowers are seated, unmoored are the galleys ; Gleam war-axe and broadsword, clang target and quiver, As Mackrimmon sings, " Farewell to Dunvegan for ever ! Farewell to each cliff, on which breakers are foaming ; Farewell, each dark glen, in which red-deer are roaming ; Farewell, lonely Skye, to lake, mountain, and river ; Macleod may return, but Mackrimmon shall never ! " Farewell the bright clouds that on Quillan are sleeping ; Farewell the bright eyes in the Dun that are weeping ; To each minstrel delusion, farewell ! — and for ever — Mackrimmon departs, to return to you never ! The Banshee's wild voice sings the death-dirge before me. The pall of the dead for a mantle hangs o'er me ; But my heart shall not flag, and my nerves shall not shiver. Though devoted I go — to return again never ! * Too oft shall the notes of Mackrimmon's bewailing Be heard when the Gael on their exile are sailing ; Dear land ! to the shores, whence unwilling we sever, 306 scott's poems. Return — return — return shall we never ! Cha till, cha till, cha till sin tuille ! Cha till, cha till, cha till sin tuille, Cha till, cha till, cha till sin tuille, Gea thillis Macleod, cha till Mackrimmon ! DONALD CAIRD'S COME AGAIK Air — Malcolm Caird^s come again^ [1818.] CHORUS. Donald Caird's come again ! Donald Caird's come again ! Tell the news in hrugh and glen^ Donald Gaird^s come again ! Donald Caird can lilt and sing Blithely dance the Hieland fling, Drink till the gudeman be blind, Fleech till the gudewife be kind ; Hoop a leglin, clout a pan, Or crack a pow wi' ony man ; Tell the news in brugh and glen, Donald Caird's come again. Donald Gaird's come again ! Donald Gaird^s come again ! Tell the news in hrugh and glen, Donald Gaird's come again, Donald Caird can wire a maukin, Kens the wiles o* dun-deer staukin*, Leisters kipper, makes a shift ^ Caird signifies Tinker. BALLADS AND SONGS. To shoot a muir-fowl in the drift ; Water-bailiffs, rangers, keepers, He can wauk when they are sleepers "Not for bountith or reward Dare ye mell wi' Donald Caird. Donald Caird^s come again ! Donald Gawd's come again ! Gar the bagpipes hum amain, Donald Caird' s come again, Donald Caird can drink a gill Fast as hostler- wife can fill ; Ilka ane that sells gnde liqnor Kens how Donald bends a bicker ; When he's fou he's stout and saucy; Keeps the cantle o' the cawsey ; Hieland chief and Lawland laird Maun gie room to Donald Caird ! Donald Gaird's come again ! Donald Caird' s come again ! Tell the nevjs in hrugh and glen, Donald Caird' s come again. Steek the amrie, lock the kist. Else some gear may weel be mist ; Donald Caird finds orra things Where Allan Gregor fand the tings ; Dunts of kebbuck, taits of woo. Whiles a hen and whiles a sow, Webs or duds frae hedge or yard — . 'Ware the wuddie, Donald Caird ! Donald Caird' s come again I Donald Caird s come again ! . Dinna let the Shirr a ken Donald Caird s come again. 308 SCOTT'S POEMS. On Donald Caird the doom was stern, Craig to tether, legs to airn ; But Donald Caird, wi' raickle study, Caught the gift to cheat the wuddie ; Rings of airn, and bolts of steel, Fell like ice frae hand and heel ! Watch the sheep in fauld and glen, Donald Caird's come again ! Donald Gaird^s come again ! Donald Caird^s come again ! Dinna let the Justice hen, Donald Caird'' s come again. EPITAPH ON MRS. ERSKINE. [1819.] Plain, as her native dignity of mind, Arise the tomb of her we have resigned ; Unflawed and stainless be the marble scroll, Emblem of lovely form and candid soul. — But, oh ! what symbol may avail, to tell The kindness, wit, and sense, we loved so well? What sculpture show the broken ties of life, Here buried with the parent, friend, and wife ! Or on the tablet stamp each title dear. By which thine urn, Euphemia, claims the tear ! Yet taught, by thy meek sufferance, to assume Patience in anguish, hope beyond the tomb, Resigned, though sad, this votive verse shall flow. And brief, alas ! as thy brief span below. BALLADS AND SONGS. 309 ON ETTRICK FOREST'S MOUNTAINS DUN. [First printed in 1822.] On Ettrick Forest's mountains dun, 'Tis blithe to hear the sportsman's gun, And seek the heath-frequenting brood Far through the noonday solitude ; By many a cairn and trenched mound, Where chiefs of yore sleep lone and sound, And springs, where grey-haired shepherds tell, That still the fairies love to dwell. Along the silver streams of Tweed, 'Tis blithe the mimic fly to lead, When to the hook the salmon springs. And the line whistles through the rings ; The boiling eddy see him try. Then dashing from the current high, Till watchful eye and cautious hand Have led his wasted strength to land. 'Tis blithe along the midnight tide, With stalwart arm the boat to guide ; On high the dazzling blaze to rear, And heedful plunge the barbed spear ; Rock, wood, and scaur, emerging bright, Fling on the stream their ruddy light, And from the bank our band appears Like Genii, armed with fiery spears. 'Tis blithe at eve to tell the tale. How we succeed, and how we fail, Whether at Alwyn's ^ lordly meal, ^ Alwyn, the seat of Lord Somerville. 310 scott's poems. Or lowlier board of Ashestiel ; ^ While the gay tapers cheerly shine, Bickers the fire, and flows the wine — Days free from thought, and nights from care, My blessing on the Forest fair ! FAREWELL TO THE MUSE. [1822.] Enchantress, farewell, who so oft has decoyed me. At the close of the evening through wood- lands to roam. Where the forester, lated, with wonder espied me, Explore the wild scenes he was quitting for home. Farewell, and take with thee thy numbers wild speaking The language alternate of rapture and woe : Oh ! none but some lover, whose heart-strings are breaking, The pang that I feel at our parting can know. Each joy thou couldst double, and when there came sorrow. Or pale disappointment to darken my way, What voice was like thine, that could sing of to-morrow, Till forgot in the strain was the grief of to- day ! ^ But when friends drop around us in life's weary waning, 1 Scott left Ashestiel in 1812.— Ed. BALLADS AND SONGS. 311 The grief, Qaeen of Numbers, thou canst not assuage ; Nor the gradual estrangement of those yet remaining, The languor of pain, and the chillness of age, 'Twas thou that once taught me, in accents be- wailing, To sing how a warrior laj stretched on the plain, And a maiden hung o'er him with aid unavailing, And held to his lips the cold goblet in vain ; As vain thy enchantments, O Queen of wild Numbers, To a bard when the reign of his fancy is o'er, And the quick pulse of feeling in apathy slum- bers — Farewell, then, Enchantress ! I meet thee no more. THE MAID OF ISLA. [1822.] Oh, Maid of Isla, from the cliff. That looks on troubled wave and sky, Dost thou not see yon little skiff Contend with ocean gallantly ? Now beating 'gainst the breeze and surge. And steeped her leeward deck in foam. Why does she war unequal urge ? — Oh, Isla's maid, she seeks her home. Oh, Isla's maid, yon sea-bird mark. Her white wing gleams through mist and spray. 312 SCOTT'S POEMS. Against the storm-cloud, lowering dark, As to the rock she wheels away ; — Where clouds are dark and billows rave, Why to the shelter should she come Or cliff, exposed to wind and wave ? — Oh, maid of Isla, 'tis her home ! As breeze and tide to yonder skiff, Thou'rt adverse to the suit I bring. And cold as is yon wintry cliff, Where sea-birds close their wearied wing. Yet cold as rock, unkind as wave. Still, Isla*s maid, to thee I come ; For in thy love, or in his grave, Must Allan Vourich find his home. CARLE, NOW THE KING'S COME.' BEING NEW WORDS TO AN AULD SPRING. [1822.] The news lias flown frae mouth to mouth, The North for ance has banged the South ; The deil a Scotsman's die' o' drouth. Carle, now the King's come ! CHORUS. Carle, now the King's come ! Carle, now the King's come ! Thou shalt dance, and I will sing, Carle, now the King's come ! ^ This imitation of an old Jacobite ditty was written on the appearance, in the Frith of Forth, of the lieet which conveyed his Majesty King George IV. to Scotland, in August, 1822, and was published as a broadside. — Lockh art. BALLADS AND SONGS. 313 Auld England held him lang and fast ; And Ireland had a joyfu' cast; But Scotland's turn is come at last — Carle, now the King's come ! Auld Reekie, in her rokelay grey, Thonght never to have seen the day ; He's been a weary time away — But, Carle, now the King's come ! She's skirling frae the Castle-hill ; The Carline's voice is grown sae shrill, Ye'll hear her at the Canon-mill — Carle, now the King's come ! Up, bairns ! " she cries, " baith grit and sma', And busk ye for the weapon-shaw ! Stand by me, and we'll bang them a' — Carle, now the King's come ! " Come from ^Tewbattle's ancient spires, Bauld Lothian, with your knights and squires, And match the mettle of your sires — Carle, now the King's come ! " You're welcome hame, my Montagu ! Bring in your hand the young Buccleuch ; I'm missing some that I may rue — Carle, now the King's come ! ^ " Come, Haddington, the kind and gay. You've graced my causeway mony a day ; I'll weep the cause if you should stay — Carle, now the King's come ! ^ ^ Lord Montagu, uncle and guardian to the young Duke of Buccleuch, placed his Grace's residence of Dalkeith at his Majesty's disposal during his visit to Scotland. — LocKH art. ^ Charles, the tenth Earl of Haddington, died in 1828.— LoCKH ART. 314 scott's poems. " Come, premier Duke/ and carry doun Frae yonder craig his ancient croun ; It's had a lang sleep an a sonn' — But, Carle, now the King's come ! " Come, Athole, from the hill and wood. Bring down your clansmen like a cloud ; Come, Morton, show the Douglas' blood, — Carle, now the King's come ! " Come, Tweeddale, true as sword to sheath ; Come, Hopetoun, feared on fields of death ; Come, Clerk,^ and give your bugle breath ; Carle, now the King's come ! " Come, Wemyss, who modest merit aids ; Come, Rosebery, from Dalmeny shades; Breadalbane, bring your belted plaids ; Carle, now the King's come ! " Come, stately Niddrie, auld and true, Girt with the sword that Minden knew ; We have o'er few such lairds as you — Carle, now the King's come ! " King Arthur's grown a common crier, He's heard in Fife and far Cantire, — ^ The Duke of Hamilton, as Earl of Angus, carried the ancient royal crown of Scotland on horseback in King George's procession from Holyrood to the Castle. —LOCKHART. 2 The Castle. ^ Sir George Clerk of Pennycuik, Bart. The Baron of Pennycuik is bound by his tenure, whenever the King comes to Edinburgh, to receive him at the Hare- stone (in which the standard of James IV. was erected when his army encamped on the Boroughmuir, before his fatal expedition to England), now built into the park-wall at the end of Tipperlin Lone, near the Boroughmuir-head ; and, standing thereon, to give three blasts on a horn. BALLADS AND SOXGS. 315 * Fie, lads, behold my crest of fire ! * Carle, now the King's come ! " Saint Abb roars out, * I see him pass. Between Tantallon and the Bass ! * Calton, get out your keeking-glass — Carle, now the King's come ! '* The Carline stopped ; and, sure I am, For very glee had ta'en a dwam, But Oman^ helped her to a dram. — Cogie, now the King's come ! Cogie, now the King's come ! Cogie, now the King's come ! I'se be fou' and ye's be toom,^ Cogie, now the King's come ! CARLE, NOW THE KING'S COME. PART SECOND. A Hawick gill of mountain dew, Heised up Auld Reekie's heart, I trow, It minded her of Waterloo — Carle, now the King's come ! Again I heard her summons swell. For, sic a dirdum and a yell, It drowned Saint Giles's j owing bell — Carle, now the King's come ! " My trusty Provost, tried and tight. Stand forward for the Good Town's right, ^ Mr. Oman, landlord of the Waterloo Hotel. — LOCKHAKT. 2 Empty. 316 SCOTT'S POEMS. There's waur than jou been made a knight — ^ Carle, now the King's come ! " My reverend Clergy, look ye say The best of thanksgivings ye ha'e, And warstle for a sunny day — Carle, now the King's come ! " My Doctors look that you agree, Cure a' the town without a fee ; My Lawyers, dinna pike a plea — Carle, now the King's come ! " Come forth each sturdy Burgher's bairn, That dints on wood or clanks on airn. That fires the o'en, or winds the pirn- Carle, now the King's come ! " Come forward with the Blanket Blue,^ Your sires were loyal men and true. As Scotland's foemen oft might rue — Carle, now the King's come ! " Scots downa loup, andrin, and rave, We're steady folks and something grave, We'll keep the causeway firm and brave — Carle, now the King's come ! ^ The Lord Provost had the agreeable surprise to hear his health proposed, at the civic banquet given to George IV. in the Parliament House, as ' ' Sir William Arbuthnot, Bart."— Lockh art. ^ The Blue Blanket is the standard of the incorpo- rated trades of Edinburgh, and is kept by their con- vener, " at whose appearance therewith," observes Maitland, 'tis said, that not only the artificers of Edinburgh are obliged to repair to it, but all the artificers or craftsmen within Scotland are bound to follow it, and fight under the convener of Edinburgh as aforesaid." — Lockhart. BALLADS AND SONGS. 317 " Sir Thomas/ thunder from your rock,^ Till Pentland dinnles wi' the shock, And lace wi' fire my snood o' smoke — Carle, now the King's come ! " Melville, bring out your bands of blue, A' liouden lads, baith stout and true, With Elcho, Hope, and Cockburn, too — ^ Carle, now the King's come ! " And you, who on yon bluidy braes Compelled the vanquished despot's praise, Rank out — rank out — my gallant Greys — ^ Carle, now the King's come ! " Cock o' the North, my Huntly bra'. Where are you with the Forty-twa ? Ah ! wae's my heart that ye're awa' — Carle, now the King's come ! " But yonder come my canty Celts, With durk and pistols at their belts. Thank God, we've still some plaids and kilts — Carle, now the King's come ! ^ Sir Thomas Bradford, then commander of the forces in Scotland. — Lockhart. 2 Edinburgh Castle. ^ Lord Melville was colonel of the Mid-Lothian Yeomanry Cavalry ; Sir J ohn Hope of Pinkie, Bart. , major ; and Robert Cockburn, Esq., and Lord Elcho, were captains in the same corps, to which Sir Walter Scott had formerly belonged. — Lockhart. The Scots Greys, headed by their gallant colonel, General Sir James Stewart of Coltness, Bart., were on duty at Edinburgh during the King's visit. Bona- parte's exclamation at Waterloo is well known : *'Ces beaux chevaux gris, comme Is travaillent ! " — LOCK- HART. 318 SCOTT'S POEMS. " Lord, how the pibroch s groan and yell ! MacdonnelFs ^ ta'en the field himsell, Macleod comes branking o'er the fell — Carle, now the King's come ! " Bend up your bow each Archer spark, For you're to guard him light and dark ; Faith, lads, for ange ye've hit the mark — Carle, now the King's come ; " Young Errol,^ take the sword of state, The sceptre, Panie-Morarchate ; ^ Knight Mareschal, see ye clear the gate — Carle, now the King's come ! " Kind cummer, Leith, ye've been mis-set, But dinna be upon the fret — Ye'se hae the handsel of him yet. Carle, now the King's come ! " My daughters, come with een sae blue. Your garlands weave, your blossoms strew ; He ne'er saw fairer flowers than you — Carle, now the King's come ! What shall we do for the propine We used to offer something fine, But ne'er a groat's in pouch of mine — Carle, now the King's come ; '^Deil care — for that I'se never start. We'll welcome him with Highland heart ; ^ Colonel Ronaldson Macdonnell of Glengarry — who died in January, 1828.— Lockh art. ^ The Earl of Errol is hereditary Lord High-Con- stable of Scotland.— LoCKH ART. ^ In more correct Gaelic orthography, Banamhorar- Chat^ or the Great Lady (literally Female Lord) of the Chatte, the Celtic title of the Countess of Sutherland. — LOCKHART. BALLADS AND SONGS. 319 Whate'er we have he's get a part — Carle, now the King's come ! " I'll show him mason-work this day — Nane of your bricks of Babel clay, Bat towers shall stand till Time's away — Carle, now the King's come ! ** I'll show him wit, I'll show him lair, And gallant lads and lasses fair, And what wad kind heart wish for mair ? Carle, now the King's come ! Step out. Sir John,^ of projects rife, Come win the thanks of an auld wife, And bring him health and length of life — Carle, now the King's come ! " THE BANNATYNE CLUB.^ [1823.] I. Assist me, ye friends of Old Books and Old Wine, To sing in the praises of sage Bannatyne, Who left such a treasure of old Scottish lore As enables each age to print one volume more. * The Right Honourable" Sir John Sinclair, Bart., author of **The Code of Health and Longevity," &c. &C.— LOCKHART. - Sir Walter Scott was the first President of the Club, and wrote these verses for the anniversary dinner of March, 1823. The club was instituted in the year 1822 for the publication or reprint of rare and curious works connected with the history and antiquities of Scotland.— Lockh art. 320 scott's poems. One volume more, my friends, one volume more, We'll ransack old Banny for one volume more. II. And first, Allan Ramsay, was eager to glean From Bannatyne's Hortus his bright Ever- green ; Two light little volumes (intended for four) Still leave us the task to print one volume more. One volume more, &c. III. His ways were not ours, for he cared not a pin How much he left out, or how much he put in ; The truth of the reading he thought was a bore, So this accurate age calls for one volume more. One volume more, &c. IV. Correct and sagacious, then came my Lord Hailes, And weighed every letter in critical scales, But left out some brief words, which the prudish abhor, And castrated Banny in one volume more. One volume more, my friends, one volume more ; We'll restore Banny's manhood in one volume more. V. John Pinkerton next, and I'm truly concerned I can't call that worthy so candid as learned ; BALLADS AND SONGS. 321 He railed at the plaid and blasphemed the claymore, And set Scots bj the ears in his one volume more. One volume more, my friends, one volume more, Celt and Goth shall be pleased with one volume more. VI. As bitter as gall, and as sharp as a razor. And feeding on herbs ^ as a Nebuchadnezzar His diet too acid, his temper too sour, Little Ritson came out with his two volumes more. But one volume, my friends, one volume more. We'll dine on roast beef and print one volume more. VII. The stout Gothic yeditur, next on the roll,^ With his beard like a brush and as black as a coal. And honest GreysteeP that was true to the core. Lent their hearts and their hands each to one volume more. One volume more, &c. ^ It will be remembered that Ritson was a vege- tarian. — Ed. ^ James Sibbald, editor of "Scottish Poetry," &c. The Yeditur" was the name given him by the late Lord Eldin, then Mr. John Clerk, advocate. The de- scription of him here is very accurate. — Lockhart. ^ David Herd, editor of * ' Songs and Historical Ballads." 2 vols. He was called Greysteel by his intimates, from having been long in imsuccessful quest of the romance of that name.— Lockh ART. 322 scott's poems. VIII. Since by these single champions what wonders were done, What may not be achieved by our Thirty and One? Law, Gospel, and Commerce, we count in our corps. And the Trade and the Press join for one volume more. One volume more, &c. IX. Ancient libels and contraband books, I assure ye, We*ll print as secure from Exchequer or Jury ; Then hear your Committee and let them count o'er The Chiels they intend in their three volumes more. Three volumes more, &c, X. They'll produce you King Jamie, the sapient and Sext, And the Rob of Dumblane and her Bishops come next ; One tome miscellaneous they'll add to your store. Resolving next year to print four volumes more. Four volumes more, my friends, four volumes more ; Pay down your subscriptions for four volumes more. BALLADS AND SONGS. 323 LINES, ADDRESSED TO MONSIEUR ALEXANDRE, THE CELEBRATED VENTRILOQUIST. [1824] Of yore, in old England, it was not thought good To carry two visages under one hood ; What should folk say to you ? who have faces such plenty, That from under one hood, you last night showed us twenty ! Stand forth, arch deceiver, and tell us in truth, Are you handsome or ugly, in age or in youth ? Man, woman, or child — a dog or a mouse ? Or are you, at once, each live thing in the house ? Each live thing, did I ask ? — each dead imple- ment, too, A work-shop in your person, — saw, chisel, and screw ! Above all, are you one individual ? I know You must be at least Alexandre and Co. But I think you're a troop — an assemblage — a mob. And that I, as the Sheriff, should take up the And instead of rehearsing your wonders in verse. Must read you the Riot Act, and bid you disperse. 324 SCOTT 'S POEMS. THE FORAY. [1830.] The last of our steers on the board has been spread, And the last flask of wine in our goblet is red ; Up ! up, my brave kinsmen ! belt swords and begone. There are dangers to dare, and there's spoil to be won. The eyes, that so lately mixed glances with ours, For a space must be dim, as they gaze from the towers, And strive to distinguish through tempest and gloom, The prance of the steed, and the toss of the plume. The rain is descending ; the wind rises loud ; And the moon her red beacon has veiled with a cloud ; 'Tis the better, my mates ! for the warder's dull eye Shall in confidence slumber, nor dream we are nigh. Our steeds are impatient ! I hear my blithe Grey ! There is life in his hoof -clang, and hope in his neigh ; Like the flash of a meteor, the glance of his mane Shall marshal your march through the darkness and rain. BALLADS AND SONGS. 325 The drawbridge has dropped, the bugle has blown ; One pledge is to quaff yet — then mount and begone ! — To their honour and peace, that shall rest with the slain ; To their health and their glee, that see Teviot again ! / SONGS AND MOTTOES FROM THE NOVELS. SONGS AND MOTTOES FEOM THE NOVELS. FEOM ^^WAVERLEY/^ LINES BY EDWARD WAYERLEY. CHAP. V. Late, when the Autumn evening fell On Mirkwood-Mere*s romantic dell, The lake returned, in chastened gleam. The purple cloud, the golden beam : Reflected in the crystal pool, Headland and bank lay fair and cool ; The weather-tinted rock and tower, Each drooping tree, each fairy flower, So true, so soft, the mirror gave. As if there lay beneath the wave, Secure from trouble, toil, and care, A world than earthly world more fair. But distant winds began to wake. And roused the Genius of the Lake ! He heard the groaning of the oak. And donned at once his sable cloak, As warrior, at the battle cry, Invests him with his panoply : Then, as the whirlwind nearer pressed, He 'gan to shake his foamy crest O'er furrowed brow and blackened cheak, 330 SCOTT'S POEMS. And bade his surge in thunder speak. In wild and broken eddies whirled, Flitted tha,t fond ideal world ; And, to the shore in tumult tost, The realms of fairy bliss were lost. Yet, with a stern delight and strange, I saw the spirit-stirring change. As warred the wind with wave and wood. Upon the ruined tower I stood. And felt my heart more strongly bound, K/esponsive to the lofty sound. While, joying in the mighty roar, I mourned that tranquil scene no more. So, on the idle dreams of youth Breaks the loud trumpet-call of truth. Bids each fair vision pass away, Like landscape on the lake that lay. As fair, as flitting, and as frail. As that which fled the Autumn gale — For ever dead to fancy's eye Be each gay form that glided by, While dreams of love and lady's charms Give place to honour and to arms ! DAVIE GELLATLEY'S SONGS. CHAP. IX. False love, and hast thou played me this In summer among the flowers ? I will repay thee back again In winter among the showers. Unless again, again, my love. Unless you turn again ; SONGS AND MOTTOES. 831 As you with other maidens rove, I'll smile on other men.^ The Knight's to the mountain His bugle to wind ; The Lady's to greenwood Her garland to bind. The bower of Burd Ellen Has moss on the floor, That the step of Lord William Be silent and sure. CHAP. XII. Hie away, hie away, Over bank and over brae, Where the copsewood is the greenest. Where the fountains glisten sheenest. Where the lady-fern grows strongest, Where the morning dew lies longest, Where the black-cock sweetest sips it. Where the fairy latest trips it : Hie to haunts right seldom seen. Lovely, lonesome, cool, and green, Over bank and over brae. Hie away, hie away. CHAP. XIV. Young men will love thee more fair and more fast ; Heard ye so merry the little bird sing ? Old men's love the longest will last. And the throstle-cocW s head is under Ms wing, ^ This is a genuine ancient fragment with some alteration in the last two lines. 332 scott's poems. The young man's wrath is like light straw on fire ; Heard ye so merry the little hird sing ? But like red-hot steel is the old man's ire, And the throstle- cock^s head is under his wing. The young man will brawl at the evening board; Heard ye so merry the little hird sing ? But the old man will draw at the dawning the sword, And the throstle-cock's head is under his wing} "FOLLOW ME, FOLLOW ME." CHAP. LXIII. But follow, follow me. While glow-worms light the lea, I'll show ye where the dead should be — Each in his shroud. While winds pipe loud. And the red moon peeps dim through the cloud. Follow, follow me ; Brave should he be That treads by night the dead man's lea. ^ The song has allusion to the Baron of Bradwar- dine's personal encounter with Balmawhapple in the early morning, after the evening quarrel betwixt the latter and Waverley. — Ed. SONGS AND MOTTOES. 333 ST. SWITHIN'S CHAIR. CHAP. XIII. On Hallow-Mass Eve, ere yon boune ye to rest, Ever beware that your conch be blessed ; Sign it with cross, and sain it with bead, Sing the Ave, and say the Creed. For on Hallow-Mass Eve the Mght-Hag will ride. And all her nine-fold sweeping on by her side, Whether the wind sing lowly or loud. Sailing through moonshine or swathed in the cloud. The Lady she sat in St. Swithin's Chair, The dew of the night has damped her hair : Her cheek was pale — but resolved and high Was the word of her lip and the glance of her eye. She muttered the spell of Swithin bold. When his naked foot traced the midnight wold. When he stopped the Hag as she rode the night. And bade her descend, and her promise plight. He that dare sit on St. Swithin's Chair, When the Night- Hag wings the troubled air, Questions three, when he speaks the spell. He may ask, and she must tell. I The Baron has been with King Robert his liege, These three long years in battle and siege ; News are there none of his weal or his woe, ^ And fain the Lady his fate would know , i 334 SCOTT'S POEMS. She shudders and stops as the charm she speaks ; — Is it the moody owl that shrieks ? Or is that sound, betwixt laughter and scream, The voice of the Demon who haunts the stream? The moan of the wind sunk silent and low, And the roaring torrent had ceased to flow ; The calm was more dreadful than raging storm, When the cold grey mist brought the ghastly form ! ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ FLORA MACIVOR'S SONG. CHAP. XXII. There is mist on the mountain, and night on the vale. But more dark is the sleep of the sons of the Gael. A stranger commanded — it sunk on the land. It has frozen each heart, and benumbed every hand ! The dirk and the target lie sordid with dust. The bloodless claymore is but reddened with rust ; On the hill or the glen if a gun should appear, It is only to war with the heath-cock or deer. The deeds of our sires if our bards should re- hearse. Let a blush or a blow be the meed of their verse ! Be mute every string, and be hushed every tone, That shall bid us remember the fame that is £own. SONGS AND MOTTOES. 335 But tlie dark hours of night and of slumber are past, The morn on our mountains is dawning at last ; Glenaladale's peaks are illumed with the rays, And the streams of Glenfinnan leap bright in the blaze. 0 high-minded Moray ! — the exiled — the dear! — In the blush of the dawning the Standard up- rear ! Wide, wide on the winds of the north let it fly, Like the sun's latest flash when the tempest is nigh ! Ye sons of the strong, when that dawning shall break, l^eed the harp of the aged remind you to wake ? That dawn never beamed on your forefathers' eye. But it roused each high chieftain to vanquish or die. 0 sprung from the Kings who in Islay kept state, Proud chiefs of Clan-Ranald, Glengarry, and Sleat ! Combine like three streams from one mountain of snow. And resistless in union rush down on the foe ! True son of Sir Evan, undaunted Lochiel, Place thy targe on thy shoulder and burnish thy steel ! Rough Keppoch, give breath to thy bugle's bold swell, Till far Coryarrick resound to the knell ! 336 scott's poems. Stern son of Lord Kenneth, high chief of Kintail, Let the stag in thy standard bound wild in the gale ! May the race of Clan- Gillian, the fearless and free. Remember Glenlivat, Harlaw, and Dundee! Let the clan of grey Fingon, whose offspring has given Such heroes to earth, and such martyrs to heaven, Unite with the race of renowned Rorri More, To launch the long galley, and stretch to the oar ! How Mac-Shimei will joy when their chief shall display The yew-crested bonnet o'er tresses of grey ! How the race of wronged Alpine and murdered Glencoe Shall shout for revenge when they pour on the foe ! Ye sons of brown Dermid, who slew the wild boar. Resume the pure faith of the great Callum- More ! Mac-Niel of the Islands, and Moy of the Lake, For honour, for freedom, for vengeance awake! Awake on your hills, on your islands awake. Brave sons of the mountain, the frith, and the lake! 'Tis the bugle — but not for the chase is the call; 'Tis the pibroch's shrill summons — but not to the hall. SONGS AND MOTTOES. 337 *Tis the summons of heroes for conquest or death, When the banners are blazing on mountain and heath ; They call to the dirk, the claymore, and the targe. To the march and the muster, the line and the charge. Be the brand of each chieftain like Fin's in his ire ! May the blood through his veins flow like cur- rents of fire ! Burst the base foreign yoke as your sires did of yore ! Or die, like your sires, and endure it no more ! TO AN OAK TREE, IN THE CHURCHYARD OF , IN THE HIGHLANDS OF SCOTLAND, SAID TO MARK THE GRAVE OF CAPTAIN WOGAN, KILLED IN 1649. CHAP. XXIX. Emblem of England's ancient faith. Full proudly may thy branches wave, Where loyalty lies low in death, And valour fills a timeless grave. And thou, brave tenant of the tomb ! Repine not if our clime deny, Above thine honoured sod to bloom, The flowrets of a milder sky. These owe their birth to genial May; Beneath a fiercer sun they pine. Before the winter storm decay— And can their worth be type of thine ? V. Z 338 scott's poems. No ! for, mid storms of Fate opposing, Still higher swelled thy dauntless heart, And, while Despair the scene was closing, Commenced thy brief but brilliant part. Twas then thou sought'st on Albyn's bill, (When England's sons the strife resigned,) A rugged race resisting still, And unsubdued though unrefined. Thy death's hour heard no kindred wail, No holy knell thy requiem rung ; Thy mourners were the plaided Gael, Thy dirge the clamorous pibroch sung, Yet who, in Fortune's summer-shine To waste life's longest term away, Would change that glorious dawn of thine, Though darkened ere its noontide day ? Be thine the Tree whose dauntless boughs Brave summer's drought and winter's gloom ! Rome bound with oak her patriots' b,rows. As Albyn shadows Wogan's tomb. ^ ' ■ \ . FROM "GUY MANNERING;^? SONGS OF MEG MERKILIES. "TWIST YE, TWINE YE." CHAP. III. Twist ye, twine ye ! even so. Mingle shades of joy and woe, Hope, and fear, and peace, and strife, . In the thread of human life. I SONGS AND MOTTOES. 339 While the mystic twist is spinning, And the infant's life beginning, Dimly seen through twilight bending, Lo, what varied shapes attending ! Passions wild, and follies vain. Pleasures soon exchanged for pain ; Doubt, and jealousy, and fear, In the magic dance appear. Now they wax, and now they dwindle. Whirling with the whirling spindle. Twist ye, twine ye ! even so, Mingle human bliss and woe. THE DYING GIPSY SMUGGLER. CHAP. XXVII. Wasted, weary, wherefore stay. Wrestling thus with earth and clay ? From the body pass away ; — Hark ! the mass is singing. Prom thee doff thy mortal weed, Mary Mother be thy speed, Saints to help thee at thy need ; — Hark ! the knell is ringing. Pear not snow-drift driving fast. Sleet, or hail, or levin blast ; Soon the shroud shall lap thee fast. And the sleep be on thee cast That shall ne'er know waking. Haste thee, haste thee, to be gone. Earth flits fast, and time draws on, — Gasp thy gasp, and groan thy groan, Day is near the breaking. 340 SCOTT'S POEMS. FEOM ^^THE ANTIQUARY/^ TIME. CHAP. X. " Why sit'st thou by that ruined hall, Thou aged carle so stern and grey ? Dost thou its former pride recall, Or ponder how it passed away ? " — " Know'st thou not me ? " the Deep Voice cried ; " So long enjoyed, so oft misused — Alternate, in thy fickle pride. Desired, neglected, and accused ! " Before my breath, like blazing flax, Man and his marvels pass away ! And changing empires wane and wax, Are founded, flourish, and decay. " Redeem mine hours — the space is brief — While in my glass the sand-grains shiver. And measureless thy joy or grief, When Time and thou shalt part for ever ! ELSPETH'S BALLAD. CHAP. XL. The herring loves the merry moon-light. The mackerel loves the wind, But the oyster loves the dredging sang. For they come of a gentle kind. SONGS AND MOTTOES. 341 Now hand your tongue, baith wife and carle, And listen great and sma', And I will sing of Glenallan's Earl That fought on the red Harlaw. The cronach's cried on Bennachie, And doun the Don and a'. And hieland and lawland may mourn fu' be For the sair field of Harlaw. They saddled a hundred milk-white steeds. They hae bridled a hundred black, With a chafron of steel on each horse's head. And a good knight upon his back. They hadna ridden a mile, a mile, A mile, but barely ten, When Donald came branking down the brae Wi' twenty thousand men. Their tartans they were waving wide, Their glaives were glancing clear, The pibrochs rung frae side to side, Would deafen ye to hear. The great Earl in his stirrups stood. That Highland host to see : Now here a knight that's stout and good May prove a jeopardie : " What would'st thou do, my squire so gay. That rides beside my reyne, — Were ye Glenallan's Earl the day. And I were Roland Cheyne ? " To turn the rein were sin and shame, To fight were wond'rous peril, — What would ye do now, Roland Cheyne, Were ye Glenallan's Earl ? "— 342 SCOTT'S POEMS. " Were I Glenallan's Earl this tide, And ye were Roland Cheyne, The spear should be in my horse's side, ; And the bridle upon his mane. " If they hae twenty thousand blades, And we twice ten times ten, Yet they hae but their tartan plaids, And we are mail-clad men. " My horse shall ride through ranks sae rude, As through the moorland fern, — Then ne'er let the gentle Norman blude Grow cauld for Highland kerne." MOTTOES FROM '^THE ANTIQUARY." CHAP. IX. "Be brave," she cried, "you yet maybe our guest. Our haunted room was ever held the best : If, then, your valour can the fight sustain Of rustling curtains, and the clinking chain ; If your courageous tongue have powers to talk, When round your bed the horrid ghost shall walk, If you dare ask it why it leaves its tomb, I'll see your sheets well aired, and show the room." True Story, CHAP. XI. Sometimes he thinks that Heaven this vision sent. And ordered all the pageants as they went ; Sometimes that only 'twas wild Fancy's play, — The loose and scattered relics of the day. SONGS AND MOTTOES. 343 CHAP. XXI. ThS Lord Abbot had a soul Subtile and quick, and searching as the fire : Bj magic stairs he went as deep as hell, And if in devils' possession gold be kept, He brought some sure from thence — 'tis hid in caves, Known, save to me, to none The Wonder of a King dome. CHAP. XXX. Who is he ? — One that for the lack of land Shall fight upon the water — he hath challenged Formerly the grand whale ; and by his titles Of Leviathan, Behemoth, and so forth. He tilted with a sword-fish — Marry, sir, Th' aquatic had the best — the argument Still galls our champion's breech. Old Flay. CHAP. XXXI. Tell me not of it, friend — when the young weep. Their tears are lukewarm brine ; — from our old eyes Sorrow falls down like hail-drops of the North, Chilling the furrows of our withered cheeks, Cold as our hopes, and hardened as our feeling — Theirs, as they fall, sink sightless — ours recoil, Heap the fair plain, and bleaken all before us. Old Flay. CHAP. XXXIII. Remorse — she ne'er forsakes us ! — A bloodhound stanch — she tracks our rapid step Through the wild labyrinth of youthful frenzy, Unheard, perchance, until old age hath tamed US} 344 scott's poems. Then in our lair, when Time hath chilled our joints, And maimed our hope of combat, or of flight, We hear hqr deep-mouthed bay, announcing all Of wrath and woe and punishment that bides us. Old Flatj. CHAP. XXXIV. Still in his dead hand clenched remain the strings That thrill his father's heart — e'en as the limb, Lopped off and laid in grave, retains, they tell us, Strange commerce with the mutilated stump, Whose nerves are twinging still in maimed existence. Old Play. CHAP. XXXV. Life, with you. Glows in the brain and dances in the arteries ; 'Tis like the wine some joyous guest hath qualfed, That glads the heart and elevates the fancy : — Mine is the poor residuum of the cup, Vapid, and dull, and tasteless, only soiling With its base dregs the vessel that contains it. Old Play. CHAP. XXXVII. Yes ! I love Justice well — as well as you do — But, since the good dame's blind, she shall excuse me, If, time and reason fitting, I prove dumb; — The breath I utter now shall be no means To take away from me ray breath in future. Old Play. SONGS AND MOTTOES. 345 CHAP. XXXVIII. Well, well, a t worst, 'tis neither thef fc nor coinage, Granting I knew all that you charge me with. What, though the tomb hath born a second birth, And given the wealth to one that knew not on't. Yet fair exchange was never robbery, Far less pure bounty Old Flay, CHAP. XL. Life ebbs from such old age, unmarked and silent, As the slow neap-tide leaves yon stranded galley.— Late she rocked merrily at the least impulse That wind or wave could give; but now her keel Is settling on the sand, her mast has ta'en An angle with the sky, from which it shifts not. Each wave receding shakes her less and less, Till, bedded on the strand, she shall remain Useless as motionless. Old Flay, CHAP. XLI. So, while the Goose, of whom the fable told, Incumbent, brooded o'er her eggs of gold. With hand outstretched, impatient to destroy, Stole on her secret nest the cruel Boy, Whose gripe rapacious changed her splendid dream, For wings vain fluttering, and for dying scream. The Loves of the Sea- Weeds. CHAP. XLII. Let those go see who will — I like it not — For, say he was a slave to rank and pomp, 346 scott's poems. And all the nothings he is now divorced from By the hard doom of stern necessity ; Yet is it sad to mark his altered brow, Where Vanity adjusts her flimsy veil O'er the deep wrinkles of repentant anguish. Old Flay, CHAP. XLIII. Fortune, you say, flies from us — She but circles, Like the fleet sea-bird round the fowler's skiff, — Lost in the mist one moment, and the next Brushing the white sail with her whiter wing, As if to court the aim. — Experience watches, And has her on the wheel. Old Flay. CHAP. XLIV. Nat, if she love me not, I care not for her : Shall I look pale because the maiden blooms ? Or sigh because she smiles — and smiles on others ? ISTot I, by Heaven ! — I hold my peace too dear, To let it, like the plume upon her cap. Shake at each nod that her caprice shall dictate. Old Flay, FEOM ^^ROB nOXr TO THE MEMORY OF EDWARD THE BLACK PRINCE. 0 FOR the voice of that wild horn, On Fontarabian echoes borne, The dying hero's call, SONGS AND MOTTOES. 347 That told imperial Charlemagne, How Paynim sons of swarthy Spain Had wrought his champion's fall. Sad over earth and ocean sounding, And England's distant cliffs astounding. Such are the notes should say How Britain's hope, and France's fear, Victor of Cressy and Poitier, In Bordeaux dying lay. "Raise my faint head, my squires," he said, And let the casement be displayed. That I may see once more The splendour of the setting sun Gleam on thy mirrored wave, Garonne, And Blaye's empurpled shore. " Like me, he sinks to Glory's sleep, His fall the dews of evening steep. As if in sorrow shed. So soft shall fall the trickling tear. When England's maids and matrons hear Of their Black Edward dead. " And though my sun of Glory set, Nor France nor England shall forget The terror of my name ; And oft shall Britain's heroes rise, New planets in these southern skies. Through clouds of blood and flame." MOTTOES FROM ^'ROB ROY." CHAP. X. In the wide pile, by others heeded not, Hers was one sacred solitary spot, 348 scott's poems. Whose gloomy aisles and bending shelves con- tain, For moral hunger food, and cures for moral pain. Anonymous, CHAP. XIII. Dire was his thought, who first in poison steeped The weapon formed for slaughter — direr his, And worthier of damnation, who instilled The mortal venom in the social cup. To fill the veins with death instead of life. Ano7iymo7is, CHAP. XXII. Look round thee, young Astolpho : Here's the place Which men (for being poor) are sent to starve in,— Rude remedy, I trow, for sore disease. Within these walls, stifled by damp and stench. Doth Hope's fair torch expire ; and at the snuff. Ere yet 'tis quite extinct, rude, wild, and way- ward. The desperate revelries of wild despair. Kindling their hell-born cressets, light to deeds That the poor captive would have died ere* practised. Till bondage sunk his soul to his condition. The Prison, Scene iii. Act i. CHAP. XXXI. *' Woe to the vanquished 1 " was stern Brenno's word, When sunk proud Rome beneath the Gallic sword — SONGS AND MOTTOES. 349 Woe to the vanqiiislied ! " when his massive blade Bore down the scale against her ransom weighed, And on the field of f oughten battle still, Who knows no limit save the victor's will. The GaulUad, CHAP. XXXII. And be he safe restored ere evening set, Or, if there's vengeance in an injured heart, And power to wreak it in an armed hand. Your land shall ache for t. Old Play. CHAP. XXXVI. Farewell to the land where the clouds love to rest. Like the shroud of the dead on the mountain's cold breast; * To the cataract's roar where the eagles reply, And the lake her lone bosom expands to the sky. FROM ^^OLD MORTALITY/' MAJOR BELLENDEN'S SONG. CHAP. XIX. And what though winter will pinch severe Through locks of grey and a cloak that's old, Yet keep up thy heart, bold cavalier, For a cup of sack shall fence the cold. 350 SCOTT'S POEMS. For time will rust the brightest blade, And years will break the strongest bow ; Was never wight so starkly made, But time and years would overthrow ? VERSES FOUND IN BOTHWELL'S POCKET-BOOK.' CHAP. XXIII. Thy hue, dear pledge, is pure and bright, As in that well-remembered night, When first thy mystic braid was wove. And first my Agnes whispered love. Since then how often hast thou pressed The torrid zone of this wild breast. Whose wrath and hate have sworn to dwell With the first sin which peopled hell, A breast whose blood's a troubled ocean. Each throb the earthquake's wild commotion ! — O, if such clime thou canst endure. Yet keep thy hue unstained and pure, What conquest o'er each erring thought Of that fierce realm had Agnes wrought ! I had not wandered wild and wide. With such, an angel for my guide ; • Nor heaven nor earth could then reprove me, If she had lived, and lived to love me. Not then this world's wild joys had been To me one savage hunting scene, ^ With these letters was a lock of hair wrapped in a copy of verses, written obviously with a feeling which atoned, in Morton's opinion, for the roughness of the poetry, and the conceits with which it abounded, according to the taste of the period." SONGS AND MOTTOES. 351 My sole delight the headlong race, And frantic hnrrj of the chase ; To start, pursue, and bring to bay. Rush in, drag down and rend my prey, Then — from the carcase turn away ! Mine ireful mood had sweetness tamed. And soothed each wound which pride inflamed ! Yes, God and man might now approve me, If thou hadst lived, and lived to love me. MOTTOES FROM " OLD MORTALITY." CHAP. XIV. My hounds may a' rin masterless My hawks may fly frae tree to tree, My lord may grip my vassal lands. For there again maun I never be ! Old Ballad, CHAP. XXXIV. Sound, sound the clarion, fill the fife ! To all the sensual world proclaim, One crowded hour of glorious life Is worth an age without a name. Anonymous, 352 SCOTT'S POEMS. FROM ^^THE HEART OF MID- LOTHIAN/^ MADGE WILDFIRE'S SOITGS/ Het for cavaliers, ho for cavaliers, Dub a dub, dub a dub ; Have at old Beelzebub, — Oliver's rnnning for fear. — I glance like the wildfire tbrougb country and town ; I'm seen on tbe causeway — I'm seen on the down ; The lightning that flashes so bright and so free, Is scarcely so blithe or so bonny as me. What did ye wi' the bridal ring — bridal riug — bridal ring ? What did ye wi' your wedding ring, ye little cutty quean, 0 ? I gied it till a sodger, a sodger, a sodger, I gied it till a sodger, an auld true love o' mine, 0. ^ It is almost needless to say that Madge Wildlire's songs, like the larger number of the lyrical verses culled from the novels, lose much of their beauty and significance when severed from the context. Enough, however, of the charm remains to justify the divorce. — Ed. SONGS AND MOTTOES. 353 Good even, good fair moon, good even to thee ; I prithee, dear moon, now show to me The form and the features, the speech and degree, Of the man that true lover of mine shall be. It is the bonny butcher lad, That wears the sleeves of blue. He sells the flesh on Saturday, On Friday that he slew. When the gledd's in the blue cloud. The lavrock lies still ; When the hound's in the green-wood. The hind keeps the hill. There's a bloodhound ranging Tinwald Wood, There's harness glancing sheen ; There's a maiden sits on Tinwald brae. And she sings loud between. O sleep ye sound. Sir James, she said. When ye suld rise and ride ? There's twenty men, wi' bow and blade. Are seeking where ye hide. Up in the air. On my bonnie grey mare. And I see, and I see, and I see her yet In the bonnie cells of Bedlam, Ere I was ane and twenty, V. A A 364 SCOTT'S POEMS. I had hempen bracelets strong, And merry whips, ding-dong. And prayer and fasting plenty. My banes are buried in yon kirk-yard Sae far ayont the sea, And it is but my blithsome ghaist That's speaking now to thee. I'm Madge of the country, I'm Madge of the town. And I'm Madge of the lad I am blithest to own — The Lady of Beever in diamonds may shine, But has not a heart half so lightsome as mine. I am Queen of the Wake, and I'm Lady of May, And I lead the blithe ring round the May-pole to-day ; The wild-fire that flashes so fair and so free Was never so bright, or so bonnie as me. Our work is over — over now. The goodman wipes his weary brow. The last long wain wends slow away, And we are free to sport and play. The night comes on when sets the sun, And labour ends when day is done. When Autumn's gone, and Winter's come, We hold our jovial harvest-home. When the fight of grace is fought, — When the marriage vest is wrought, — When Faith hath chased cold doubt away, — And Hope but sickens at delay, — SONGS AND MOTTOES. 356 When Charity, imprisoned here, Longs for a more expanded sphere ; Doff thy robes of sin and clay ; Christian, rise, and come away. Cauld is my bed, Lord Archibald, And sad my sleep of sorrow : But thine sail be as sad and cauld, My fause true-love ! to-morrow. And weep ye not, my maidens free, Though death your mistress borrow; For he for whom I die to-day. Shall die for me to-morrow. Proud Maisie is in the wood, Walking so early ; Sweet Robin sits on the bush. Singing so rarely. " Tell me, thou bonny bird, When shall I marry me ? — " When six braw gentlemen Kirk ward shall carry ye." " Who makes the bridal bed, Birdie, say truly ? " — " The grey-headed sexton That delves the grave duly. " The glow-worm o'er grave and stone Shall light thee steady. The owl from the steeple sing, ' Welcome, proud lady.' " 356 scon's POEMS. MOTTOES FEOM "THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN." CHAP. VIII. Arthur's Seat shall be my bed, The sheets shall ne'er be pressed by me ; St. Anton's well shall be my drink, Sin' my true love's forsaken me. Old Song. CHAP. XII. Then she stretched out her lily hand And for to do her best, Hae back thy faith and troth, Willie, God gie thy soul good rest ! Old Ballad, CHAP. XIV. Dark and eerie was the night. And lonely was the way. As Janet wi' her green mantell To Miles' Cross she did gae. Old Ballad, FEOM ^^THE LEGEND OP MONTROSE.^^ ANNOT LYLE'S SONGS. CHAP. VI. Birds of omen dark and foul, Night-crow, raven, bat, and owl, Leave the sick man to his dream — All night long he heard your scream, SONGS AND MOTTOES. 357 Haste to cave and ruined tower, Ivj tod, or dingled-bower, There to wink and mope, for, hark ! In the mid air sings the lark. Hie to moorish gills and rocks, Prowling wolf and wily fox, — Hie ye fast, nor turn your view. Though the lamb bleats to the ewe. Couch your trains, and speed your flight, Safety parts with parting night ; And on distant echo borne, Comes the hunter's early horn. The moon's wan crescent scarcely gleams. Ghost-like she fades in morning beams ; Hie hence, each peevish imp and fay That scare the pilgrim on his way. — Quench, kelpy ! quench, in bog and fen, Thy torch, that cheats benighted men ; Thy dance is o'er, thy reign is done. For Benyieglo hath seen the sun. Wild thoughts, that, sinful, dark, and deep, O'erpower the passive mind in sleep. Pass from the slumberer's soul away, Like night-mists from the brow of day ; Foul hag, whose blasted visage grim Smothers the pulse, unnerves the limb, Spur thy dark palfrey, and begone ! Thou darest not face the godlike sun. 358 scott's poems. "GAZE NOT UPON THE STARS." CHAP. VI. Gaze not upon the stars, fond sage, In them no infinence lies ; To read the fate of youth or age Look on my Helen's eyes. Yet, rash astrologer, refrain ! Too dearly would be won The prescience of another's pain If purchased by thine own. THE ORPHAN MAID. CHAP. IX. November's hail-cloud drifts away, November's sunbeam wan Looks coldly on the castle grey, When forth comes Lady Anne. The orphan by the oak was set. Her arms, her feet, were bare ; The hail-drops had not melted yet. Amid her raven hair. " And, dame," she said, " by all the ties That child and mother know. Aid one who never knew these joys, — Relieve an orphan's woe." The lady said, " An orphan's state Is hard and sad to bear ; Yet worse the widowed mother's fate. Who mourns both lord and heir. SONGS AND MOTTOES. 359 Twelve times the rolling year has sped, Since, while from vengeance wild Of fierce Strathallan's chief I fled, Forth's eddies whelmed my child.*' — ** Twelve times the year its course has borne,'* The wandering maid replied ; Since fishers on St. Bridget's morn Drew nets on Campsie side. St. Bridget sent no scaly spoil ; An infant, well nigh dead, They saved, and reared in want and toil, To beg from you her bread." That orphan maid the lady kissed, — " My husband's looks you bear ; St. Bridget and her morn be blessed ! You are his widow's heir." They've robed that maid, so poor and pale, In silk and sandals rare ; And pearls, for drops of frozen hail. Are glistening in her hair. "WERT THOU LIKE ME." CHAP. XXI. Wert thou like me in life's low vale, With thee how blest that lot I'd share ; With thee I'd fly wherever gale Could waft, or bounding galley bear. But parted by severe decree, Far different must our fortunes prove ; May thine be joy — enough for me To weep and pray for him I love. 360 SCOTT'S POEMS. The pangs this foolish heart must feel When hope shall be for ever flown, No sullen murmur shall reveal, No selfish murmurs ever own. Nor will I through life's weary years, Like a pale drooping mourner move, While I can think my secret tears May wound the heart of him I love. MOTTOES FROM "THE LEGEND OF MONTROSE." CHAP. X. Dark on their journey loured the gloomy day, Wild were the hills, and doubtful grew the way; More dark, more gloomy, and more doubtful, showed The mansion which received them from the road. The Travellers, a Romance. CHAP. XI. Is this thy castle, Baldwin ? Melancholy Displays her sable banner from the donjon, Darkening the foam of the white surge beneath. Were I a habitant, to see this gloom Pollute the face of nature, and to hear The ceaseless sound of wave, and sea-bird's scream, I'd wish me in the hut that poorest peasant E'er framed, to give him temporary shelter. Brown. SONGS AND MOTTOES. 361 CHAP. XIV. This was the entry then, these stairs — but whither after ? Yet he that's sure to perish on the land May quit the nicety of card and compass, And, breast the open sea without a pilot. Tragedy of Brennovalt. FROM "THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR/^ LUCY ASHTON'S SONG. CHAP. III. Look not thou on beauty's charming, — Sit thou still when kings are arming, — Taste not when the wine-cup glistens, — Speak not when the people listens, — Stop thine ear against the singer, — From the red gold keep thy finger, — Vacant heart, and hand, and eye, Easy live and quiet die. NORMAN THE FORESTER'S SONG. CHAP. III. The monk must arise when the matins ring. The abbot may sleep to their chime ; But the yeoman must start when the bugles sing, 'Tis time, my hearts, 'tis time. 362 scott's poems. There's bucks and raes on Billhope braes, There's a herd on Shortwood Shaw ; But a lily white doe in the garden goes, She's fairly worth them a'. MOTTOES FROM THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR." CHAP. VII. Now, Billy Bewick, keep good heart, And of thy talking let me be ; But if thou art a man, as I am sure thou art, Come over the dike and fight with me. Old Ballad, CHAP. VIII. The hearth in hall was black and dead. No board was dight in bower within, Nor merry bowl nor welcome bed ; " Here's sorry cheer," quoth the Heir of Linne. Old Ballad} CHAP. XIV. As, to the Autumn breeze's bugle-sound. Various and vague the dry leaves dance their round ; Or, from the garner-door, on ether borne. The chaff flies devious from the winnowed corn ; So vague, so devious, at the breath of heaven, From their fixed aim are mortal counsels driven. Anomjmous. ^ The first three lines are Scott's, the last is from the English version of the Ballad. — Ed. SONGS AND MOTTOES. 863 CHAP. XVII. Here is a father now, Will truck his daughter for a foreign venture, Make her the stop-gap to some cankered feud, Or fling her o'er, like Jonah, to the fishes, To appease the sea at highest. Anonymous, CHAP. XXVII. Why, now I have Dame Fortune by the fore- lock. And if she escapes my grasp, the fault is mine ; He that hath buffeted with stern adversity. Best knows to shape his course to favouring breezes. Old Play. MOTTOES FROM THE. BLACK DWARF." CHAP. X. I LEFT my ladye's bower last night. It was clad in wreaths of snaw, — 111 seek it when the sun is bright And sweet the roses blaw. Old Ballad. CHAP. XVI. 'TwAS time and griefs That framed him thus : Time, with his fairer hand. Offering the fortunes of his former days. The former man may make him — Bring us to him. And chance it as it may. Old Play. 364 scott's poems. FROM "IVANHOE/^ THE CRUSADER'S RETURN. CHAP. XYII. High deeds achieved of knightly fame, From Palestine the champion came ; The cross upon his shoulders borne, Battle and blast had dimmed and torn. Each dint upon his battered shield Was token of a foughten field; And thus, beneath his lady's bower, He sung, as fell the twilight hour : — " Joy to the fair ! — thy knight behold, Keturned from yonder land of gold ; No wealth he brings, nor wealth can need. Save his good arms and battle-steed ; His spurs to dash against a foe, His lance and sword to lay him low ; Such all the trophies of his toil. Such — and the hope of Tekla's smile ! " Joy to the fair ! whose constant knight Her favour fired to feats of might ! Unnoted shall she not remain Where meet the bright and noble train ; Minstrel shall sing, and herald tell — * Mark yonder maid of beauty well, 'Tis she for whose bright eyes was won The listed field of Ascalon ! " ' Note well her smile ! — it edged the blade Which fifty wives to widows made. When, vain his strength and Mahound's spell, Iconium's turbaned Soldan fell. SONGS AND MOTTOES. 365 Seest thou her locks, whose snnnj glow Half shows, half shades her neck of snow ? Twines not of them one golden thread. But for its sake a Paynim bled.' " Joy to the fair ! — my name unknown, Each deed, and all its praise thine own ; Then, oh ! unbar this churlish gate. The night- dew falls, the hour is late. Inured to Syria's glowing breath, I feel the north breeze chill as death ; Let grateful love quell maiden shame. And grant him bliss who brings thee fame." THE BAREFOOTED FRIAR. CHAP. XVII. I'll give thee, good fellow, a twelvemonth or twain. To search Europe through from Byzantium to Spain ; But ne'er shall you find, should you search till you tire. So happy a man as the Barefooted Friar. Your knight for his lady pricks forth in career. And is brought home at even-song pricked through with a spear ; I confess him in haste — for his lady desires No comfort on earth save the Barefooted Friar's. Your monarch ! — Pshaw ! many a prince has been known To barter his robes for our cowl and our gown ; 366 scott's poems. But which of us e'er felt the idle desire To exchange for a crown the grey hood of a Friar ? The Friar has walked out, and where'er he has gone, The land and its fatness is marked for his own ; He can roam where he lists, he can stop where he tires, For every man's house is the Barefooted Friar's. He's expected at noon, and no wight, till he comes, May profane the great chair, or the porridge of plums ; For the best of the cheer, and the seat by the fire, Is the undenied right of the Barefooted Friar. He's expected at night, and the pasty's made hot, They broach the brown ale, and they fill the black pot ; And the good- wife would wish the good-man in the mire, Ere he lacked a soft pillow, the Barefooted Friar. Long flourish the sandal, the cord, and the cope. The dread of the devil and trust of the Pope ; For to gather life's roses, unscathed by the brier. Is granted alone to the Barefooted Friar. SONGS AND MOTTOES. 367 ULRIOA^S WAR-SONG.i CHAP. XXXI. Whet the bright steel, Sons of the White Dragon ! Kindle the torch, Daughter of Hengist ! The steel glimmers not for the carving of the banquet, It is hard, broad, and sharply pointed ; The torch goeth not to the bridal chamber, It steams and glitters blue with sulphur. Whet the steel, the raven croaks ! Light the torch, Zernebock is yelling ! Whet the steel, sons of the Dragon ! Kindle the torch, daughter of Hengist! The black cloud is low over the thane's castle ; The eagle screams — he rides on its bosom. Scream not, grey rider of the sable cloud. Thy banquet is prepared ! The maidens of Valhalla look forth. The race of Hengist will send them guests. Shake your black tresses, maidens of Valhalla ! And strike your loud timbrels for joy ! Many a haughty step bends to your halls. Many a helmed head. Dark sits the evening upon the thane's castle, * The fire was spreading rapidly through all parts of the castle, when Ulrica, who had first kindled it, appeared on a turret, in the guise of one of the ancient furies, yelling forth a war-song, such as was of yore chanted on the field of battle by the yet heathen Saxons." 368 scott's poems. The black clouds gather round ; Soon shall they be red as the blood of the valiant ! The destroyer of forests shall shake his red crest against them ; He, the bright consumer of palaces, Broad waves he his blazing banner, Red, wide, and dusky, Over the strife of the valiant ; His joy is in the clashing swords and broken bucklers ; He loves to lick the hissing blood as it bursts warm from the wound ! All must perish ! The sword cleaveth the helmet ; The strong armour is pierced by the lance : Fire devoureth the dwelling of princes. Engines break down the fences of the battle. All must perish ! The race of Hengist is gone — The name of Horsa is no more ! Shrink not then from your doom, sons of the sword ! Let your blades drink blood like wine ; Feast ye in the banquet of slaughter, By the light of the blazing halls ! Strong be your swords while your blood is warm. And spare neither for pity nor fear. For vengeance hath but an hour ; Strong hate itself shall expire ! I also must perish.^ ^ It will readily occur to the antiquary, that these verses are intended to imitate the antique poetry of the Scalds — the minstrels of the old Scan- SOKGS ANB MOTTOES. S69 REBECCA'S HYMN. CHAP. XXXIX. When Israel, of the Lord beloved, Out from the land of bondage came. Her fathers' God before her moved, An awful guide in smoke and flame. By day, along the astonished lands The cloudy pillar glided slow ; By night, Arabia's crimsoned sands B>eturned the fiery column's glow. There rose the choral hymn of praise, And trump and timbrel answered keen. And Zion's daughters poured their lays, With priest's and warrior's voice between. No portents now our foes amaze, Forsaken Israel wanders lone : Our fathers would not know Thy ways, And Thou hast left them to their own. But present still, though now unseen ; When brightly shines the prosperous day. Be thoughts of Thee a cloudy screen To temper the deceitful ray. And oh, when stoops on Judah's path In shade and storm the frequent night, Be Thou, long-suffering, slow to wrath, A burning, and a shining light ! dinavians — the race, as the Laureate [Southey] so happily terms them, " Stern to inflict, and stubborn to endure, Who smiled in death." V. B B 370 scott's poems. Onr harps we left by Babel's streams, The tyrant's jest, the Gentile's scorn ; No censer round onr altar beams. And mute are timbrel, harp, and horn. But Thou hast said. The blood of goat, The flesh of rams I will not prize ; A contrite heart, a humble thought, Are mine accepted sacrifice. A VIRELAI. CHAP. XL. KNIGHT. Anna-Marie, love, up is the sun, Anna-Marie, love, morn is begun. Mists are dispersing, love, birds singing free, Up in the morning, love, Anna-Marie. Anna- Marie, love, up in the morn. The hunter is winding blithe sounds on his horn. The echo rings merry from rock and from tree, 'Tis time to arouse thee, love, Anna-Marie. WAMBA. O Tybalt, love, Tybalt, awake me not yet. Around my soft pillow while softer dreams flit ; For what are the joys that in waking we prove. Compared with these visions, 0 Tybalt ! my love ? Let the birds to the rise of the mist carol shrill. Let the hunter blow out his loud horn on the hill, Softer sounds, softer pleasures, in slumber I prove, Bat think not I dreamt of thee, Tybalt, my lovei SONGS AND MOTTOES. 371 SONG BETWEEN THE BLACK KNIGHT AND WAMBA. CHAP. XL. KNIGHT. There came three merry men from south, west, and north, Evermore sing the roundelay ; To win the widow of Wycombe forth, And where was the widow might say them nay? The first was a knight, and from Tynedale he came, Evermore sing the roundelay ; And his fathers, God save us, were men of great fame. And where was the widow might say him nay ? Of his father the laird, of his uncle the squire, He boasted in rhyme and in roundelay ; She bade him go bask by his sea-coal fire For she was the widow would say him nay. WAMBA. The next that came forth swore by blood and by nails, Merrily sing the roundelay ; Hur's a gentleman, God wot, and hur's lineage was of Wales, And where was the widow might say him nay? Sir David ap Morgan ap Griffith ap Hugh Ap Tudor ap Rhice, quoth his roundelay ; 372 SCOTT'S POEMS. She said that one widow for so many was too few, And she bade the Welshman wend his way. But then next came a yeoman, a yeoman of Kent, Jollily singing his roundelay ; He spoke to the widow of living and rent, And where was the widow could say him nay? BOTH. So the knight and the squire were both left in the mire, There for to sing their roundelay ; For a yeoman of Kent with his yearly rent. There never was a widow could say him nay. FUNERAL HYMN. CHAP. XLII. Dust unto dust, To this all must ; The tenant hath resigned The faded form. To waste and worm — Corruption claims her kind. Through paths unknown Thy soul hath flown, To seek the realms of woe, Where fiery pain Shall purge the stain Of actions done below. In that sad place. By Mary's grace, SONGS AND MOTTOES. 373 Brief may thy dwelling be ! Till prayers and alms, And holy psalms, Shall set the captive free. MOTTOES FROM ^aVANHOE.'^ CHAP. XYIII. Away ! our journey lies through dell and dingle, Where the blithe fawn trips by its timid mother, Where the broad oak, with intercepting boughs, Chequers the sun-beam in the greensward alley — Up and away ! — for lovely paths are these To tread, when the glad Sun is on his throne : Less pleasant, and less safe, when Cynthia's lamp. With doubtful glimmer lights the dreary forest. JEttrick Forest, CHAP. XX. When antumn nights were long and drear, And forest walks were dark and dim. How sweetly on the pilgrim's ear Was wont to steal the hermit's hymn ! Devotion borrows Music's tone. And Music took Devotion's wing. And, like the bird that hails the snn, They soar to heaven, and soaring sing. The Hermit of St, Clement's Well, CHAP. XXYI. The hottest horse will oft be cool. The dullest will show fire ; 374 scott's poems. The friar will often play the fool, The fool will play the friar. Old Song. CHAP. XXVIII. This wandering race, severed from other men, Boast yet their intercourse with human arts ; The seas, the woods, the deserts which they haunt, Find them acquainted with their secret trea- sures ; And unregarded herbs, and flowers, and blos- soms. Display undreamed-of powers when gathered by them. The Jeiv, CHAP. XXX. Approach the chamber, look upon bis bed. His is the passing of no peaceful ghost, Which, as the lark arises to the sky. Mid morning's sweetest breeze and softest dew. Is winged to heaven by good men's sighs and tears ! — Anselm parts otherwise. Old Play. CHAP. XXXII. Trust me, each state must have its policies : Kingdoms have edicts, cities have their char- ters ; Even the wild outlaw, in his forest-walk. Keeps yet some touch of civil discipline. For not since Adam wore his verdant apron, Hath man with man in social union dwelt, But laws were made to draw that union closer. Old Play. SONGS AND MOTTOES. 375 CHAP. XXXY Arouse the tiger of Hyrcanian deserts, Strive with the half- starved lion for his prey ; Lesser the risk, than roase the slumbering fire Of wild Fanaticism. Anonymous. CHAP. XXXYI. Say not my art is fraud — all live by seeming. The beggar begs with it, and the gay courtier Gains land and title, rank and rule, by seem- ing: The clergy scorn it not, and the bold soldier Will eke with it his service. — All admit it, All practise it ; and he who is content With showing what he is, shall have small credit In church, or camp, or state. — So wags the world. Old Flay. CHAP. XXXYII. Stern was the law which bade its votaries leave At human woes with human hearts to grieve ; Stern was the law, which at the winning wile Of frank and harmless mirth forbade to smile ; But sterner still, when high the iron-rod Of tyrant power she shook, and called that power of God. The Middle Ages. CHAP. XLII. I FOUND them winding of Marcello's corpse, And there was such a solemn melody, 'Twixt doleful songs, tears, and sad elegies, Such as old gran dames watching by the dead Are wont to outwear the night with. OU Flay. 376 scott's poems. FROM ^^THE MONASTERY/^ SONGS OF THE WHITE LADY OF AVENEL. CHAP. V. Merrily swim we, the moon shines bright, Both current and ripple are dancing in light. We have roused the night raven, I heard him croak, As we plashed along beneath the oak That flings its broad branches so far and so wide. Their shadows are dancing in midst of the tide. ** Who wakens my nestlings ? the raven he said, " My beak shall ere morn in his blood be red ! For a blue swollen corpse is a dainty meal, And I'll have my share with the pike and the eel.'' Merrily swim we, the moon shines bright. There's a golden gleam on the distant height : There's a silver shower on the alders dank, And the drooping willows that wave on the bank. I see the Abbey, both turret and tower. It is all astir for the vesper hour ; The Monks for the chapel are leaving each cell, But where's Father Philip should toll the bell ? Merrily swim we, the moon shines bright, Downward we drift through shadow and light, Under yon rock the eddies sleep, Qalm and silent, dark and deep. SONGS AND MOTTOES. 377 The Kelpy has risen from the fathomless pool, He has lighted his candle of death and of dool : Look, Father, look, and you'll laugh to see How he gapes and glares with his eyes on thee ! Good luck to your fishing, whom watch ye to- night F A man of mean or a man of might ? Is it layman or priest that must float in your cove. Or lover who crosses to visit his love ? Hark ! heard ye the Kelpy reply as we passed, — " God's blessiug on the warder, he locked the bridge fast ! All that come to my cove are sunk. Priest or layman, lover or monk." # * * * * Landed — landed ! the black book hath won. Else had you seen Berwick with morning sun ! Sain ye, and save ye, and blithe mot ye be, For seldom they land that go swimming with me. TO THE SUB-PRIOR. CHAP. IX. Good evening, Sir Priest, and so late as you ride, With your mule so fair, and your mantle so wide ; But ride you through valley, or ride you o'er hill, Tliere is one that has warrant to wait on you 378 scott's poems. Back, back, The volume black ! I have a warrant to carry it back. What, ho ! Sub- Prior, and came you but here To conjure a book from a dead woman's bier ? Sain you, and save you, be wary and wise, Ride back with the book, or you'll pay for your prize. Back, back. There's death in the track ! In the name of my master, I bid thee bear back. In the name of my Master," said the as- tonished Monk, that name before which all things created tremble, I conjure thee to say what thou art that hauntest me thus ? " The same voice replied, — That which is neither ill nor well. That which belongs not to heaven nor to hell, A wreath of the mist, a bubble of the stream, 'Twixt a waking thought and a sleeping dream ; A form that men spy With the half -shut eye In the beams of the setting sun, am I. Vainly, Sir Prior, wouldst thou bar me my right ! Like the star when it shoots, I can dart through the night ; I can dance on the torrent, and ride on the air. And travel the world with the bonny night- mare. Again, again. At the crook of the glen. Where bickers the burnie, I'll meet thee again. SONGS AND MOTTOES. 379 HALBERT'S INCANTATION. CHAP. XI. Thrice to the holly brake — Thrice to the well : — I bid thee awake, White Maid of Avenel ! Noon gleams on the Lake — Noon glows on the Fell — Wake thee, O wake, White Maid of Avenel. THE WHITE LADY ANSWERS. CHAP. XII. Youth of the dark eye, wherefore didst thou call me ? Wherefore art thou here, if terrors can appal thee? He that seeks to deal with us must know nor fear, nor failing ; To coward and churl our speech is dark, our gifts are unavailing. The breeze that brought me hither now must sweep Egyptian ground, The fleecy cloud on which I ride for Araby is bound ; The fleecy cloud is drifting by, the breeze sighs for my stay. For I must sail a thousand miles before the close of day. What I am I must not show — What I am thou couldst not know— 380 scott's poems. Sometliing betwixt heaven and hell — Something that neither stood nor fell — Something that through thy wit or will May work thee good — may work thee ill. Neither substance quite, nor shadow, Haunting lonely moor and meadow, Dancing by the haunted spring, Riding on the whirlwind's wing ; Aping in fantastic fashion Every change of human passion. While o'er our frozen minds they pass. Like shadows from the mirrored glass. Wayward, fickle, is our mood. Hovering betwixt bad and good, Happier than brief-dated man. Living ten times o'er his span ; Far less happy, for we have Help nor hope beyond the grave ! Man awakes to joy or sorrow ; Ours the sleep that knows no morrow. This is all that I can show — This is all that thou may'st know. Ay ! and I taught thee the word and the spell, To waken me here by the Fairies' Well. But thou hast loved the heron and hawk. More than to seek my haunted walk ; And thou hast loved the lance and the sword, More than good text and holy word ; And thou hast loved the deer to track. More than the lines and the letters black ; And thou art a ranger of moss and wood, And scornest the nurture of gentle blood. Thy craven fear my truth accused, Thine idlehood my trust abused ; SONGS AND MOTTOES. 381 He that draws to harbour late, Must sleep without, or burst the gate. There is a star for thee which burned, Its influence wanes, its course is turned ; Valour and constancy alone Can bring thee back the chance that's flown. Within that awful volume lies The mystery of mysteries ! Happiest they of human race, To whom God has granted grace To read, to fear, to hope, to pray, To lift the latch, and force the way ; And better had they ne'er been born, Who read to doubt, or read to scorn. Mortal warp and mortal woof Cannot brook this charmed roof ; All that mortal art hath wrought In our cell returns to nought. The molten gold returns to clay, The polished diamond melts away ; All is altered, all is flown. Nought stands fast but truth alone. THE WHITE LADY'S SECOND APPEARANCE TO HALBERT. CHAP. XVII. This is the day when the fairy kind Sit weeping alone for their hopeless lot, And the wood-maiden sighs to the sighing wind. And the mermaiden weeps in her crystal grot ; For this is the day that a deed was wrought. 382 scott's poems. In whicli we have neither part nor share, For the children of clay was salvation bought, But not for the forms of sea or air ! And ever the mortal is most forlorn, Who meeteth our race on the Friday morn. Daring youth ! for thee it is well, Here calling me in haunted dell, That thy heart has not quailed, Nor thy courage failed. And that thou couldst brook The angry look Of Her of Avenel. Did one limb shiver. Or an eyelid quiver. Thou wert lost for ever. Though I am formed from the ether blue, And my blood is of the unfallen dew, And thou art framed of mud and dust, 'Tis thine to speak, reply I must. A mightier wizard far than I Wields o'er the universe his power ; Him owns the eagle in the sky, The turtle in the bower. Changeful in shape, yet mightiest still, He wields the heart of man at will. From ill to good, from good to ill. In cot and castle tower. Ask thy heart, whose secret cell Is filled with Mary Avenel ! — Ask thy pride, why scornful look In Mary's view it will not brook ? — Ask it why thou seek'st to rise SONGS AND MOTTOES. 383 Among the mighty and the wise ? — Why thou spurn'st thy lowly lot ? — Why thy pastimes are forgot ? — Why thou would'st in bloody strife Mend thy luck or lose thy life ? — Ask thy heart, and it shall tell, Sighing from its secret cell, 'Tis for Mary Avenel. By ties mysterious linked, our fated race Holds strange connection with the sons of men. The star that rose upon the House of Avenel, When Norman Ulric first assumed the name, That star, when culminating in its orbit. Shot from its sphere a drop of diamond dew. And this bright font received it — and a Spirit Rose from the fountain, and her date of life Hath co-existence with the House of Avenel, And with the star that rules it. Look on my girdle — on this thread of gold — 'Tis fine as web of lightest gossamer. And, but there is a spell on't, would not bind. Light as they are, the folds of my thin robe. But when 'twas donned, it was a massive chain Such as might bind the champion of the Jews Even when his locks were longest — it hath dwindled, Hath minished in its substance and its strength, As sunk the greatness of the House of Avenel. When this frail thread gives way, I to the elements Resign the principles of life they lent me. Ask me no more of this ! — the stars forbid it. 384 scott's poems. Dim burns the once bright star of Avenel, Dim as the beacon when the morn is nigh, And the o'erwearied warder leaves the light- house ; There is an influence sorrowful and fearful, That dogs its downward course. Disastrous passion, Fierce hate and rivalry, are in the aspect That lowers upon its fortunes. BORDER BALLAD. CHAP. XXV. March, march, Ettrick and Teviotdale, Why the deil dinna ye march forward in order ? March, march, Eskdale and Liddesdale, All the Blue Bonnets are bound for the Border. Many a banner spread. Flutters above your head. Many a crest that is famous in story. Mount and make ready then, Sons of the mountain glen. Fight for the Queen and our old Scottish glory ! Come from the hills where your hirsels are grazing. Come from the glen of the bu(;k and the roe ; Come to the crag where the beacon is blazing, Come with the buckler, the lance, and the bow. Soms AND MOTTOl^S. Trampets are sounding, War-steeds are bounding, Stand to your arms, and march in good order, England shall many a day Tell of the bloody fray, When the Blue Bonnets came over the Border ! THE WHITE LADY TO MARY AVENEL. CHAP. XXX. Maiden, whose sorrows wail the Living Dead, Whose eyes shall commune with the Dead Alive, Maiden, attend ! Beneath my foot lies hid The Word, the Law, the Path which thou dost strive To find, and canst not find. — Could Spirits shed Tears for their lot, it were my lot to weep. Showing the road which I shall never tread. Though my foot points it. — Sleep, eternal sleep. Dark, long, and cold forget fulness my lot ! — But do not thou at human ills repine ; Secure there lies full guerdon in this spot For all the woes that wait frail Adam's line — Stoop then and make it yours, — I may not make it mine ! ^ ^ All the communications of the White Lady of Avenel are made in verse, and for the most part they possess little merit and convey but slight meaning when read apart from the context. Yet, with a few insignili - cant exceptions, it has seemed best to retain them. If the rhymes in The Monastery" suffer greatly from transplantation, so, though in a lesser degree, do all the verses reprinted from the novels. — Ed. V. c c 386 scott's poems. THE WHITE LADY'S LAST SONG. CHAP. XXXVII. Fare thee well, thou Holly green ! Thou shalt seldom now be seen, With all thy glittering garlands bending, As to greet my slow descending, Startling the bewildered hind, Who sees thee wave without a wind. Farewell, Fountain ! now not long Shalt thou murmur to my song, While thy crystal bubbles glancing, Keep the time in mystic dancing. Rise and swell, are burst and lost. Like mortal schemes by fortune crost. The knot of fate at length is tied. The Churl is Lord, the Maid is Bride. Vainly did my magic sleight Send the lover from her sight ; Wither bush and perish well. Fallen is lofty Avenel ! MOTTOES FROM "THE MONASTERY." CHAP. I. 0 at! the Monks, the Monks, they did the mischief ! Theirs all the grossness, all the superstition Of a most gross and superstitious age. — May He be praised that sent the healthful tempest, SONGS AND MOTTOES. 387 And scattered all these pestilential vapours ; But that we owed them all to yonder Harlot Throned on the seven hills with her cup of gold, I will as soon believe, with kind Sir Roger, That old Moll White took wing with cat and broom-stick, And raised the last night's thunder. Old Play, CHAP. II. In yon lone vale his early youth was bred. Not solitary then — the bugle-horn Of fell Alecto often waked its windings, From where the brook joins the majestic river, To the wild northern bog, the curlew's haunt, Where oozes forth its first and feeble streamlet. Old Flay, CfiAP. V. A PRIEST, ye cry, a priest ! — lame shepherds they, How shall they gather in the straggling flock ? Dumb dogs which bark not — how shall they compel The loitering vagrants to the Master's fold ? Fitter to bask before the blazing fire. And snuff the mess neat-handed Phillis dresses, Than on the snow-wreath battle with the wolf. The Beformation, CHAP. VI. Now let us sit in conclave. That these weeds Be rooted from the vineyard of the Church, That these fonl tares be severed from the wheat. We are, I trust, agreed. Yet how to do this, 388 SCOTT*S POEMS. Nor hurt the wholesome crop and tender vine- plants, Craves good advisement. The Beformation. CHAP. YIII. Nat, dally not with time, the wise man's trea- sure. Though fools are lavish on't — the fatal Fisher Hooks souls, while we waste moments. Old Flay. CHAP. XI. You call this education, do you not ? Why, 'tis the forced march of a herd of bullocks Before a shouting drover. The glad van Move on at ease, and pause a while to snatch A passing morsel from the dewy greensward, While all the blows, the oaths, the indignation, Fall on the croupe of the ill-fated laggard That cripples in the rear. Old Flay. CHAP. XII. There's something in that ancient superstition. Which, erring as it is, our fancy loves. The spring that, with its thousand crystal bubbles, Bursts from the bosom of some desert rock In secret solitude, may well be deemed The haunt of something purer, more refined, And mightier than ourselves. Old Flay, CHAP. XIY. Nat, let me have the friends who eat my victuals, As various as my dishes. — The feast's naught, SONGS AND MOTTOES. 389 Where one huge plate predominates. — John Plaintext, He shall be mighty beef, our English staple ; The worthy Alderman, a buttered dumpling ; Yon pair of whiskered Cornets, ruffs and rees ; Their friend the Dandy, a green goose in sippets. And so the board is spread at once and filled On the same principle — Variety. New Flay. CHAP. XV. He strikes no coin, 'tis true, but coins new phrases, And vends them forth as knaves vend gilded counters. Which wise men scorn, and fools accept in pay- ment. Old Play. CHAP. XIX. Now choose thee, gallant, betwixt wealth and honour ; There lies the pelf, in sum to bear thee through The dance of youth, and turmoil of manhood, Yet leave enough for age's chimney-corner ; But an thou grasp to it, farewell Ambition ! Farewell each hope of bettering thy condition. And raising thy low rank above the churls That till the earth for bread ! Old Play, CHAP. XXI. Indifferent, but indifferent — pshaw ! he doth it not Like one who is his craft's master — ne'ertheless I have seen a clown confer a bloody coxcomb On one who was a master of defence. Old Play, 390 scott's poems. CHAP. XXII. Yes, life hath left him — every busy thought, Each fiery passion, every strong afiection. The sense of outward ill and inward sorrow, Are fled at once from the pale trunk before me ; And I have given that which spoke and moved, Thought, acted, suffered, as a living man, To be a ghastly form of bloody clay, Soon the foul food for reptiles. Old Flay, CHAP. XXIII. 'Tis when the wound is stiffening with the cold. The warrior first feels pain — 'tis when the heat And fiery fever of his soul is passed, The sinner feels remorse. Old Flay. CHAP. XXIV. Tll walk on tiptoe; arm my eye with caution, My heart with courage, and my hand with weapon Like him who ventures on a lion's den. Old Flay. CHAP. XXVIT. Now, by Our Lady, Sheriff, 'tis hard reckoning. That I, with every odds of birth and barony, Should be detained here for the casual death Of a wild forester, whose utmost having Is but the brazen buckle of the belt In which he sticks his hedge-knife. Old Flay. CHAP. XXX. You call it an ill angel — it mny be so ; But sure I am, among the ranks which fell, SONGS AND MOTTOES. 391 'Tis the first fiend e'er counselled man to rise, And win the bliss the sprite himself had for- feited. Old Flay, CHAP. XXXI. At school I knew him — a sharp-witted youth, Grave, thoughtful, and reserved amongst his mates, Turning the hours of sport and food to labour, Starving his body to inform his mind. Old Flaij. CHAP. XXXII. Then in my gown of sober grey Along the mountain path I'll wander, And wind my solitary way To the sad shrine that courts me yonder. There in the calm monastic shade, All injuries may be forgiven ; And there for thee, obdurate maid. My orisons shall rise to Heaven. The Gruel Lady of the Mountains, chap. XXXIII. Now on my faith this gear is all entangled, Like to the yarn-clew of the drowsy knitter, Dragged by the frolic kitten through the cabin, While the good dame sits nodding o'er the fire — Masters, attend ; 'twill crave some skill to clear it. Old Play, chap. XXXIV. It is not texts will do it — Cliurch artillery Is silenced soon by real ordnance, 392 scott's poems. And canons are but vain opposed to cannon. Go, coin your crosier, melt your church plate down, Bid the starved soldier banquet in your halls And quaff your long-saved hogsheads — Turn them out Thus primed with your good cheer, to guard your wall. And they will venture for't. Old Plmj, MOTTOES FROM "THE ABBOT." CHAP. V. In the wild storm The seaman hews his mast down, and the mer- chant Heaves to the billows, wares he once deemed precious ; So prince and peer, mid popular contentions, Cast off their favourites. Old Play, CHAP. VI. Tnou hast each secret of the household, Francis ; T dare be sworn thou hast been in the buttery Steeping thy curious humour in fat ale, And in the butler's tattle — ay, or chatting With the glib waiting- woman o'er her comfits — These bear the key to each domestic mystery. Old Flay. CHAP. VII. When I hae a sixpence under my thumb, Then I get credit in ilka town ; SONGS AND MOTTOES. 393 But when I am puir they bid me gae by — 0, poverty parts good company ! Old Song, CHAP. VIII. The sacred tapers' lights are gone, Grey moss has clad the altar stone, The holy image is overthrown, The bell has ceased to toll ; The long-ribbed aisles are burst and shrunk, The holy shrines to ruin sunk, Departed is the pious monk, God's blessing on his soul ! CHAP. IX. Kneel with me — swear it — 'tis not in words I trust, Save when they're fenced with an appeal to Heaven. Old Flay. CHAP. XI. Life hath its May, and all is mirthful then. The woods are vocal, and the flowers all odour ; Its very blast has mirth in't, — and the maidens, The while they don their cloaks to screen their kirtles, Laugh at the rain that wets them. Old Flay. CHAP. XII. Nay, hear me, brother — I am elder, wiser. And holier than thou — And age, and wisdom, And holiness have peremptory claims, And will be listened to. Old Flay. 394 SCOTT'S POEMS. CHAP. XVI. Youth ! thou wear'st to manhood now, Darker lip and darker brow, Statelier step, more pensive mien, In thy face and gait are seen : Thou must now brook midnight watches. Take thy food and sport by snatches ; For the gambol and the jest Thou wert wont to love the best. Graver follies must thou follow. But as senseless, false, and hollow. Life, a Poem, CHAP. XVIII. The sky is clouded, Gaspard, And the vexed ocean sleeps a troubled sleep. Beneath a lurid gleam of parting sunshine. Such slumber hangs o'er discontented lands, While factions doubt, as yet, if they have strength To front the open battle. Albion, a Poem, CHAP. XIX. It is and is not — 'tis the thing I sought for, Have kneeled for, prayed for, risked my fame and life for. And yet it is not — no more than the shadow Upon the hard, cold, flat, and polished mirror Is the warm, graceful, rounded, living substance Which it presents in form and lineament. Old Play, CHAP. XX. Now have you reft me from my staff, my guide, Who taught my youth, as men teach untamed falcons, SONGS AND MOTTOES. 395 To use my strength discreetly — I am reft Of comrade and of counsel. Old Flay, CHAP. XXIII. Give me a morsel on the greensward rather, Coarse as you will the cooking — Let the fresh spring Bubble beside my napkin — and the free birds, Twittering and chirping, hop from bough to bough, To claim the crumbs I leave for perquisites — Your prison-feasts I like not. The Woodsman, a Drama. CHAP. XXIV. 'Tis a weary life this Vaults overhead, and grates and bars around me. And my sad hours spent with as sad com- panions, Whose thoughts are brooding o'er their own mischances. Far, far too deeply to take part in mine. The Woodsman. CHAP. XXV. And when Love's torch hath set the heart in flame. Comes Seignor Reason, with his saws and cautions, Giving such aid as the old grey-beard Sexton, Who from the church-vault drags his crazy engine, To ply its dribbling ineffectual streamlet Against a conflagration. Old Play. 396 SCOTT'S POEMS. CHAP. XXVIII. Yes, it is she whose eyes looked on thy child- hood, And watched with trembling hope thy dawn of youth, That now, with these same eye-balls, dimmed with age. And dimmer yet with tears, sees thy dishonour. Old Flay. CHAP. XXX. In some breasts passion lies concealed and silent, Like war's swart powder in a castle vault, Until occasion, like the linstock, lights it ; Then comes at once the lightning and the thunder. And distant echoes tell that all is rent asunder. Old Flay. FROM KENILWORTH/^ GOLDTHRED'S SONG. CHAP. II. Of all the birds on bush or tree. Commend me to the owl, Since he may best ensample be To those the cup that trowl. For when the sun hath left the west, He chooses the tree that he loves the best. And he whoops out his song, and he laughs at his jest, Then, though hours be late, and weather foul, We'll drink to the health of the bonny, bonny owl. SONGS AND MOTTOES. 397 The lark is but a bumpkin fowl, He sleeps in his nest till morn ; But mj blessing upon the jolly owl, That all night blows his horn. Then up with your cup till you stagger in speech, And match me this catch, though you swagger and screech. And drink till you wink, my merry men each ; For, though hours be late, and weather be foul. We'll drink to the health of the bonny, bonny owl. SPEECH OF THE PORTER. CHAP. XXX. What stir, what turmoil, have we for the nones ? Stand back, my masters, or beware your bones ! Sirs, I'm a warder, and no man of straw ; My voice keeps order, and my club gives law. Yet soft — nay stay — what vision have we here ? What dainty darling's this — what peerless peer ? What loveliest face, that loving ranks enfold. Like brightest diamond chased in purest gold ? Dazzled and blind, mine office I forsake, My club, my key, my knee, my homage take. Bright paragon, pass on in joy and bliss ; — Beshrew the gate that opes not wide at such a sight as this ! 398 SCOTT'S POEMS. MOTTOES FROM " KENILWORTH." CHAP. III. Nat, I'll hold touch — the game shall be played out, It ne'er shall stop for me, this merry wager ; That which I say when gamesome, I'll avouch In my most sober mood, ne'er trust me else. The Hazard Table, CHAP. IV. Not serve two masters ? — Here's a youth will try it — Would fain serve God, yet give the devil his due ; Says grace before he doth a deed of villainy. And returns his thanks devoutly when 'tis acted. Old Play. CHAP. V. He was a man Versed in the world as pilot in his compass. The needle pointed ever to that interest Which was his loadstar, and he spread his sails With vantage to the gale of others' passion. The Deceiver, a Tragedy, CHAP. VII. This is he Who rides on the court-gale ; controls its tides ; Knows all their secret shoals and fatal eddies ; Whose frown abases, and whose smile exalts. He shines like any rainbow — and, perchance, His colours are as transient. Old Play, SONGS AND MOTTOES. 399 CHAP. xiy. This is rare news thou tell'st me, my good fellow ; There are two bulls fierce battling on the green For one fair heifer — if the one goes down, The dale will be more peaceful, and the herd, Which have small interest in their brulziement. May pasture there in peace. Old Flay. CHAP. XVII. Well, then, our course is chosen ; spread the sail, — Heave oft the lead, and mark the soundings well ; Look to the helm, good master — many a shoal Marks this stern coast, and rocks, where sifcs the Siren, Who, like ambition, lures men to their ruin. The ShipwrecJc, CHAP. XXV. Hark, the bells summon, and the bugle calls, But she, the fairest, answers not — the tide Of nobles and of ladies throngs the halls. But she, the loveliest, must in secret hide. What eyes were thine, proud Prince, which in the gleam Of yon gay meteors lost that better sense. That o'er the glow-worm doth the star esteem, And merit's modest blush o'er courtly insolence ? The Glass SUpjoer, CHAP. XXVIII. What, man, ne^er lack a draught, when the full can Stands at thine elbow, and craves emptying ! — 400 scott's poem.^. ITay, fear not me, for I have no delight To watch men's vices, since I have myself Of virtue nought to boast of. — I'm a striker Would have the world strike with me, pell-mell, all. Pandcemonium. CHAP. XXIX. Now, fare thee well, my master — if true service Be guerdoned with hard looks e'en cut the tow- line. And let our barks across the pathless flood Hold different courses. The Shipivreck, CHAP. XXX. Now bid the steeple rock — she comes, she comes ! — Speak for us, bells — speak for us, shrill-tongued tuckets. Stand to thy linstock, gunner ; let thy cannon Play such a peal, as if a paynim foe Came stretched in turbaned ranks to storm the ramparts ; We*^will have pageants too — but that craves wit. And I'm a rough-hewn soldier. The Virgin Queen, a Tragi- Comedy. CHAP. XXXII. The wisest sovereigns err like private men. And royal hand has sometimes laid the sword Of chivalry upon a worthless shoulder, Which better had been branded by the hang- man. SONGS AND MOTTOES. 401 What then ? Kings do their best — and they and we Must answer for the intent, and not the event. Old Flay, CHAP. XXXIII. Here stands the victim — there the proud be- trayer, — E'en as the hind pulled down by strangling dogs Lies at the hunter's feet — who courteous proffers To some high dame, the Dian of the chase. To whom he looks for guerdon, his sharp blade To gash the sobbing throat. The Woodsman, CHAP. XL. High o'er the eastern steep the sun is beaming, And darkness flies with her deceitful shadows : So truth prevails o'er falsehood. Old Flay, FROM ^^THB PIRATE/; THE SONG OF THE TEMPEST. CHAP. VI. Stern eagle of the far north-west, Thou that bearest in thy grasp the thunder- bolt, Thou whose rushing pinions stir ocean to mad- ness, Thou the destroyer of herds, thou the scatterer of navies, 402 scott's poems. Thou the breaker down of towers, Amidst the scream of thy rage, Amidst the rushing of thy onward wings, Though thy scream be loud as the cry of a perishing nation, Though the rushing of thy wings be like the roar of ten thousand waves, Yet hear, in thine ire and thy haste, Hear thou the voice of the Reim-kennar. Thou hast met the pine-trees of Drontheim, Their dark-green heads lie prostrate beside their uprooted stems; Thou hast met the rider of the ocean, The tall, the strong bark of the fearless rover, And she has struck to thee the topsail That she had not vailed to a royal armada ; Thou hast met the tower that bears its crest among the clouds. The battled massive tower of the Jarl of former days, And the cope-stone of the turret Is lying upon its hospitable hearth ; Bat thou too shalt stoop, proud compeller of clouds. When thou hearest the voice of the Reim- kennar. There are verses that can stop the stag in the forest. Ay, and when the dark- coloured dog is opening on his track ; There are verses can make the wild hawk pause on the wing. Like the falcon that wears the hood and the jesses, And who knows the shrill whistle of the fowler. SONGS AND MOTTOES. 403 Thou who canst mock at the scream of the drowning mariner, And the crash of the ravaged forest, And the groan of the overwhelmed crowds, When the church hath fallen in the moment of prayer ; There are sounds which thou also must list, When they are chanted by the voice of the Reim-kennar. Enough of woe hast thou wrought on the ocean, The widows wring their hands on the beach ; Enough of woe hast thou wrought on the land, The husbandman folds his arms in despair ; Cease thou the waving of thy pinions, Let the ocean repose in her dark strength ; Cease thou the flashing of thine eye, Let the thunderbolt sleep in the armoury of Odin; Be thou still at my bidding, viewless racer of the north-western heaven, — Sleep thou at the voice of Noma the Reim- kennar. Eagle of the far north-western waters. Thou hast heard the voice of the Reim-kennar, Thou hast closed thy wide sails at her bidding, And folded them in peace by thy side. My blessing be on thy retiring path ; When thou stoopest from thy place on high. Soft be thy slumbers in the caverns of the un- known ocean, Rest till destiny shall again awaken thee ; Eagle of the north-west, thou hast heard the voice of the Reim-kennar. 404 scott's poems. CLAUD HALCRO'S SONG. CHAP. XII. MARY. Farewell to Nortlimaven, Grey Hillswicke, farewell ! To the calms of thy haven, The storms on thy fell — To each breeze that can vary The mood of thy main, And to thee, bonny Mary ! We meet not again ! Farewell the wild ferry, Which Hacon could brave, When the peaks of the Skerry Were white in the wave. There^s a maid may look over These wild waves in vain, — For the skiff of her lover — He comes not again ! The vows thou hast broke. On the wild currents fling them ; On the quicksand and rock Let the mermaidens sing them, New sweetness they'll give her Bewildering strain ; But there's one who will never Believe them again. O were there an island, Though ever so wild, Where woman coald smile, and No man be beguiled — SONGS AND MOTTOES. 405 Too tempting a snare To poor mortals were given ; And the hope would fix there, That should anchor in heaven. THE SONG OF HAROLD HARFAGER. CHAP. XV. The sun is rising dimly red, The wind is wailing low and dread ; From his cliff the eagle sallies. Leaves the wolf his darksome valleys ; In the mist the ravens hover. Peep the wild dogs from the cover. Screaming, croaking, baying, yelling, Each in his wild accents telling, " Soon we feast on dead and dying. Fair-haired Harold's flag is flying." Many a crest in air is streaming. Many a helmet darkly gleaming. Many an arm the axe nprears. Doomed to hew the wood of spears. All along the crowded ranks Horses neigh and armour clanks ; Chiefs are shouting, clarions ringing. Louder still the bard is singing — " Gather footmen, gather horsemen. To the field, ye valiant Norsemen ! " Halt ye not for food or slumber. View not vantage, count not number : Jolly reapers, forward still. Grow the crop on vale or hill, Thick or scattered, stiff or lithe. It shall down before the scythe. 406 scott's poems. Forward with your sickles bright, Reap the harvest of the fight. — Onward footmen, onward horsemen, To the charge ye gallant ]N"orsemen ! " Fatal Choosers of the Slaughter, O'er you hovers Odin's daughter ; Hear the choice she spreads before ye, — Victory, and wealth, and glory ; Or old Valhalla's roaring hail. Her ever-circling mead and ale, Where for eternity unite The joys of wassail and of fight. Headlong forward, foot and horsemen, Charge and fight, and die like IS'orsemen ! " — SONG OF THE MERMAIDS AND MERMEN. CHAP. XVI. MERMAID. Fathoms deep beneath the wave, Stringing beads of glistering pearl, Singing the achievements brave Of many an old Norwegian earl ; Dwelling where the tempest's raving Falls as light upon our ear As the sigh of lover, craving Pity from his lady dear. Children of wild Thule, we. From the deep caves of the sea, As the lark springs from the lea. Hither come, to share your glee. SONGS AND MOTTOES. 407 MERMAN. From reining of the water-horse, That bounded till the waves were foaming, Watching the infant tempest's course, Chasing the sea-snake in his roaming ; From winding charge-notes on the shell. When the huge whale and sword-fish duel, Or tolling shroudless seamen's knell, When the winds and waves are cruel ; Children of wild Thule, we Have ploughed such furrows on the sea As the steer draws on the lea, And hither we come to share your glee. MERMAIDS AND MERMEN. We heard you in our twilight caves, A hundred fathom deep below, For notes of joy can pierce the waves, That drown each sound of war and woe. Those who dwell beneath the sea Love the sons of Thule well ; Thus, to aid your mirth, bring we Dance, and song, and sounding shell. Children of dark Thule, know. Those who dwell by haaf and voe. Where your daring shallops row, Come to share the festal show. NORNA'S SONG. CHAP. XIX. For leagues along the watery way. Through gulf and stream my course has been ; The billows know my Runic lay, And smooth their crests to silent green. 408 scott's poems. The billows know my Runic lay, — The gulf grows smooth, the stream is still ; But human hearts, more wild than they. Know but the rule of wayward will. One hour is mine, in all the year, To tell my woes, — and one alone ; When gleams this magic lamp, 'tis here, — When dies the mystic light, 'tis gone. Daughters of northern Magnus, hail ! The lamp is lit, the flame is clear, — To you I come to tell my tale. Awake, arise, my tale to hear ! CLAUD HALCRO AND NORNA. CHAP. XXI. CLAUD HALCRO. Mother darksome. Mother dread ; Dweller of the Fitful-head, Thou canst see what deeds are done Under the never-setting sun. Look through sleet, and look through frost. Look to Greenland's caves and coast, — By the iceberg is a sail Chasing of the swarthy whale ; Mother doubtful. Mother dread, Tell us, has the good ship sped ? NORNA. The thought of the aged is ever on gear, — On his fishing, his furrow, his flock, and his steer ; SONGS AND MOTTOES. 409 But thrive may his fishing, flock, furrow, and herd, While the aged for anguish shall tear his grey beard. The ship, well-laden as bark need be. Lies deep in the furrow of the Iceland sea ; — The breeze for Zetland blows fair and soft, And gaily the garland is fluttering aloft : Seven good fishes have spouted their last, And their jaw-bones are hanging to yard and mast ; Two are for Lerwick, and two for Kirkwall, — Three for Burgh- Westra, the choicest of all. CLAUD HALCRO. Mother doubtful. Mother dread, Dweller of the Fitful-head, Thou hast conned full many a rhyme, That lives upon the surge of time : Tell me, shall my lays be sung. Like Hacon's of the golden tongue, Long after Halcro's dead and gone ? Or, shall Hialtland's minstrel own One note to rival glorious John ? NORNA. The infant loves the rattle's noise ; Age, double childhood, hath its toys ; But different far the descant rings, As strikes a different hand the strings. The eagle mounts the polar sky — The Imber-goose, unskilled to fly, Must be content to glide along Where seal and sea-dog list his song. 410 Scott's poems. CLAUD HALCRO. Be mine the Imber-goose to play, And haunt lone cave and silent bay ; The archer's aim so shall I shun — So shall I 'scape the levelled gun — Content my verses' tuneless jingle, With Thule's sounding tides to mingle, While, to the ear of wondering wight, Upon the distant headland's height. Softened by murmur of the sea, The rude sounds seem like harmony ! # # # * Mother doubtful. Mother dread. Dweller of the Fitful-head, A gallant bark from far abroad, Saint Magnus hath her in his road, With guns and firelocks not a few — A silken and a scarlet crew. Deep stored with precious merchandise, Of gold, and goods of rare device — What interest hath our comrade bold In bark and crew, in goods and gold ? NORNA. Gold is ruddy, fair, and free. Blood is crimson, and dark to see ; — I looked out on Saint Magnus Bay, And I saw a falcon that struck her prey, — A gobbet of flesh in her beak she bore. And talons and singles are dripping with gore ;— Let he that asks after them look on his hand, And if there is blood on't, he's one of their band. SONGS AND MOTTOES. 411 CLAUD HALCRO. Mother doubtful, Mother dread, Dweller of the Fitful-head, Well thou know'st it is thy task To tell what Beauty will not ask ; — Then steep thy words in wine and milk, And weave a doom of gold and silk, — For we would know, shall Brenda prove In love, and happy in her love ? NORNA. TJntonched by love, the maiden's breast Is like the snow on Rona's crest. High seated in the middle sky. In bright and barren purity ; But by the sunbeam gently kissed. Scarce by the gazing eye 'tis missed. Ere, down the lonely valley stealing. Fresh grass and growth its course revealing. It cheers the flock, revives the flower. And decks some happy shepherd's bower, MAGNUS TROIL. Mother speak, and do not tarry, Here's a maiden fain would marry. Shall she marry, ay or not ? If she marry, what's her lot ? NORNA. Untouched by love, the maiden's breast Is like the snow on Rona's crest ; So pure, so free from earthly dye. It seems, whilst leaning on the sky, Part of the heaven to which 'tis nigh ; But passion, like the wild March rain, May soil the wreath with many a stain. 412 scott's poems. We gaze — the lovely vision's gone — A torrent fills the bed of stone, That, hurrying to destruction's shock, Leaps headlong from the lofty rock. SONG OF THE ZETLAND FISHERMAN. CHAP. XXTI. Farewell, merry maidens, to song, and to laugh, For the brave lads of Westra are bound to the Haaf ; And v/e must have labour, and hunger, and pain, Ere we dance with the maids of Dunrossness again. For now, in our trim boats of Noroway deal, We must dance on the waves, with the porpoise and seal ; The breeze it shall pipe, so it pipe not too high. And the gull be our songstress whene'er she flits by. Sing on, my brave bird, while we follow, like thee. By bank, shoal, and quicksand, the swarms of the sea ; And when twenty-score fishes are straining our line. Sing louder, brave bird, for their spoils shall be thine. We'll sing while we bait, and we'll sing when we haul. For the deeps of the Haaf have enough for us all: SONGS AND MOTTOES. 413 There is torsk for the gentle, and skate for the carle, And there's wealth for bold Magnus, the son of the earl. Huzza ! my brave comrades, give way for the Haaf, We shall sooner come back to the dance and the laugh ; For life without mirth is a lamp without oil Then, mirth and long life to the bold Magnus Troil ! CLEVELAND'S SONGS. CHAP. XXIII. Love wakes and weeps While Beauty sleeps ! O for Music's softest numbers, To prompt a theme, For Beauty's dream. Soft as the pillow of her slumbers ! Through groves of palm Sigh gales of balm. Fire-flies on the air are wheeling ; While through the gloom Comes soft perfume. The distant beds of flowers revealing. O wake and live ! No dream can give A shadowed bliss, the real excelling ; No longer sleep, From lattice peep, And list the tale that Love is telling ! 414 scott's poems. Farewell ! Farewell ! the voice you hear, Has left its last soft tone with you,-r- Ifcs next must join the seaward cheer, And shout among the shouting crew. The accents which I scarce could form Beneath your frown's controlling check, Must give the word above the storm, To cut the mast, and clear the wreck. The timid eye I dared not raise, — The hand, that shook when pressed to thine. Must point the guns upon the chase — Must bid the deadly cutlass shine. To all I love, or hope, or fear, — Honour, or own, a long adieu ! To all that life has soft and dear, Farewell ! save memory of you ! CLAUD HALCRO'S VERSES. CHAP. XXIII. And you shall deal the funeral dole ; Ay, deal it, mother mine. To weary body, and to heavy soul, The white bread and the wine. And you shall deal my horses of pride ; Ay, deal them, mother mine ; And you shall deal my lands so wide, And deal my castles nine. But deal not vengeance for the deed. And deal not for the crime ; The body to its place, and the soul to Heaven's grace. And the rest in God's own time. SONGS AND MOTTOES. 415 Saint Magnus control thee, that martyr of treason ; Saint Ronan rebuke thee, with rhyme and with reason ; By the mass of Saint Martin, the might of Saint Mary, Be thou gone, or thy weird shall be worse if thou tarry ! If of good, go hence and hallow thee ; — If of ill, let the earth swallow thee ; — If thou'rt of air, let the grey mist fold thee ; — If of earth, let the swart mine hold thee ; — If a Pixie, seek thy ring ; — If a Nixie, seek thy spring ; — If on middle earth thou'st been Slave of sorrow, shame, and sin, Hast eat the bread of toil and strife, And dree'd the lot which men call life ; Begone to thy stone ! for thy coffin is scant of thee, The worm, thy play-fellow, wails for the want of thee : Hence, houseless ghost ! let the earth hide thee, Till Michael shall blow the blast, see that there thou bide thee ! — Phantom, fly hence ! take the Cross for a token. Hence pass till Hallo wmass ! — my spell is spoken. Where corpse-light Dances bright. Be it by day or night, Be it by light or dark. There shall corpse lie stiff and stark. 416 SCOTT'S POEMS. Menseful maiden ne'er should rise, Till the first beam tinge the skies ; Silk-fringed eyelids still should close, Till the sun has kissed the rose ; Maiden's foot we should not view, Marked with tiny print on dew, Till the opening flowerets spread Carpet meet for beauty's tread. NORNA'S INCANTATIONS. CHAP. XXV. Champion, famed for warlike toil, Art thou silent, Ribolt Troil ? Sand, and dust, and pebbly stones. Are leaving bare thy giant bones. Who dared touch the wild bear's skin Ye slumbered on, while life was in ? — A woman now, or babe, may come And cast the covering from thy tomb. Yet be not wrathful, Chief, nor blight Mine eyes or ears with sound or sight ! I come not, with unhallowed tread. To wake the slumbers of the dead, Or lay thy giant relics bare ; But what I seek thou well canst spare. Be it to my hand allowed To shear a merk's weight from thy shroud ; Yet leave thee sheeted lead enough To shield thy bones from weather rough. See, I draw my magic knife — Never, while thou wert in life, Laidst thou still for sloth or fear, When point and edge were glittering near ; SONGS AND MOTTOES. 41? See, the cerements now I sever — Waken now, or sleep for ever ! Thou wilt not wake ? the deed is done ! — The prize I sought is fairly won. Thanks, E-ibolt, thanks, — for this the sea Shall smooth its ruffled crest for thee — And while afar its billows foam. Subside to peace near Ribolt's tomb. Thanks, Ribolt, thanks — for this the might Of wild winds raging at their height. When to thy place of slumber nigh. Shall soften to a lullaby. She, the dame of doubt and dread, Norna of the Fitful-head, Mighty in her own despite, — Miserable in her might ; In despair and frenzy great, In her greatness desolate ; Wisest, wickedest who lives, — Well can keep the word she gives ! AT HER INTERVIEW WITH MINNA. CHAP. XXVIII. Thou, so needful, yet so dread, With cloudy crest, and wing of red ; Thou, without whose genial breath The North would sleep the sleep of death ; Who deign'st to warm the cottage hearth. Yet hurFst proud palaces to earth, — Brightest, keenest of the powers, Which form and rule this woild of ours. With my rhyme of Runic, I Thank thee for thy agency. V. EE Scott's poems. Old K;eim-kennar, to thy art Mother Hertha sends her part ; She, whose gracious bounty gives I^eedful food for all that lives. From the deep mine of the North Came the mystic metal forth, Doomed amidst disjointed stones, Long to cere a champion's bones, Disinhnmed my charms to aid — Mother Earth, my thanks are paid. Girdle of our islands dear, Element of Water, hear ! Thou whose power can overwhelm Broken mounds and ruined realm On the lowly Belgian strand ; All thy fiercest rage can never Of our soil a furlong sever From our rock-defended land ; Play then gently thou thy part. To assist old Noma's art. TO THE SPIRIT OF THE WINDS. Thou, that over billows dark Safely send'st the fisher's bark, — Giving him a path and motion Through the wilderness of ocean ; Thou, that when the billows brave ye. O'er the shelves canst drive the navy, — Didst thou chafe as one neglected. While thy brethren were respected ? To appease thee, see, I tear This full grasp of grizzled hair ; Oft thy breath hath through it sung, Softening to my magic tongue, — SONGS AND MOTTOES. 419 Now, 'tis thine to bid it fly Through the wide expanse of sky, Mid the countless swarms to sail Of wild-fowl wheeling on thy gale ; Take thy portion and rejoice, — Spirit, thou hast heard my voice ! She who sits by haunted well. Is subject to the Nixies' spell ; She who walks on lonely beach. To the Mermaid's charmed speech ; She who walks round ring of green, Offends the peevish Fairy Queen ; And she who takes rest in the Dwarfie's cave, A weary weird of woe shall have. By ring, by spring, by cave, by shore, Minna Troil has braved all this and more ; And yet hath the root of her sorrow and ill, A source that 's more deep and more mystical still.— Thou art within a demon's hold. More wise than Heims, more strong than TroUd, No siren sings so sweet as he, — No fay springs lighter on the lea ; No elfin power hath half the art To soothe, to move, to wring the heart, — Life-blood from the cheek to drain, Drench the eye, and dry the vein. Maiden, ere we farther go, Dost thou note me, ay or no ? MINNA. I mark thee, my mother, both v^ord, look, and sign; Speak on with thy riddle — to read it be mine. 420 scott's poems. NORNA. Mark me ! for the word I speak Shall bring the colour to thy cheek. This leaden heart, so light of cost, The symbol of a treasure lost, Thou shalt wear in hope and in peace. That the cause of your sickness and sorrow may cease. When crimson foot meets crimson hand In the Martyr's Aisle, and in Orkney land. — Be patient, be patient ; for Patience hath power To ward us in danger, like mantle in shower ; A fairy gift you best may hold In a chain of fairy gold ; — The chain and the gift are each a true token, That not without warrant old !N"orna has spoken ; But thy nearest and dearest must never behold them, Till time shall accomplish the truths I have told them.^ MOTTOES FROM "THE PIRATE." CHAP. II. 'Tis not alone the scene — the man, Anselmo, The man finds sympathies in these wild wastes, And roughly- tumbling seas, which fairer views And smoother waves deny him. Ancient Drama. ^ For an explanation of Noma's mystic utterances, the reader will refer to the chapter in which they are uttered.— Ed. SONGS AND MOTTOES. 421 CHAP. IV. This is no pilgrim's morning — yon grey mist , Lies npon hill and dale, and field and forest, Like the dun wimple of a new-made widow ; And by my faith, although my heart be soft, I'd rather hear that widow weep and sigh, And tell the virtues of the dear departed. Than, when the tempest sends his voice abroad, Be subject to its fury. The Double Nuptials. CHAP. VII. She does no work by halves, yon raving ocean ; Engulphing those she strangles, her wild womb ' Affords the mariners whom she hath dealt on, Their death at once, and sepulchre. Old Flaij. CHAP. IX. This is a gentle trader, and a prudent, He's no Autolycus, to blear your eye. With quips of worldly gauds and gamesome- ness ; But seasons all his glittering merchandise With wholesome doctrines suited to the use, As men sauce goose with sage and rosemary. Old Flay, CHAP. XI. All your ancient customs And long-descended usages, I'll change. Ye shall not eat, nor drink, nor speak, nor move, Think, look, or walk, as ye were wont to do. Even your marriage-beds shall know mutation; The bride shall have the stock, the groom the wall ; 422 SCOTT'S POEMS. For all old practice will I turn and change, And call it reformation — marry will I ! ^Tis Even that weWe at Odds. CHAP. XIY. We'll keep our customs — what is law itself, But old-established custom ? What religion (I mean with one-half of the men that use it). Save the good use and wont that carries them To worship how and where their fathers wor- shipped ? All things resolve in custom — we'll keep ours. Old Play. CHAP. XVII. Now was the time for vigorous lads to show What love or honour could incite them to : — A goodly theatre, where rocks are round, With reverend age and lovely lasses crowned. Battle of the Summer Isles. CHAP. XXIII. There was shaking of hands, and sorrow of heart. For the hour was approaching when merry folks must part ; So we called for our horses, and asked for our way. While the jolly old landlord said, " Nothing's to pay." Lillijput, a Poem. CHAP. XXIX. See yonder woman, whom our swains revere, And dread in secret, while they take her counsel SONGS AND MOTTOES. 423 When sweetheart shall be kind, or when cross dame shall die ; Where lurks the thief who stole the silver tankard, And how the pestilent murrain may be cured. — The sage adviser's mad, stark mad, my friend ; Yet, in her madness, hath the art and cunning To wring fools' secrets from their inmost bosoms, And pay inquirers with the coin they gave her. Old Flay, CHAP. XXX. What ho, my jovial mates ! come on ! we'll frolic it, Like fairies frisking in the merry moonshine, Seen by the curtal friar, who, from some christening Or some blithe bridal, hies belated cell-ward — He starts, and changes his bold bottle swagger To churchman's pace professional, and, ran- sacking His treacherous memory for some holy hymn, Finds but the roundel of the midnight catch. Old Flay, CHAP. XXXII, I strive like to the vessel in the tide -way. Which, lacking favouring breeze, hath not the power To stem the powerful current. — Even so, Resolving daily to forsake my vices, Habits, strong circumstance, renewed tempta- tion, Sweep me to sea again. — 0 heavenly breath. Fill thou my sails, and aid the feeble vessel, Which ne'er can reach the blessed port without thee r ^Tis Odds when Evens meet. 424 scott's poems. CHAP. XXXIII. Parental love, my friend, has power o'er wisdom, And is the charm, which, like the falconer's lure. Can bring from heaven the highest soaring spirits. — So, when famed Prosper doffed his magic robe. It was Miranda plucked it from his shoulders. Old Flay. MOTTOES FROM "THE FORTUNES OF NIGEL." CHAP. I. Now Scot and English are agreed, And Saunders hastes to cross the Tweed, Where, such the splendours that attend him. His very mother scarce had kenned him. His metamorphosis behold, From Glasgow frieze to cloth of gold, His back-sword with the iron hilt, To rapier fairly hatched and gilt ; Was ever seen a gallant braver ? His very bonnet's grown a beaver. The Ueformation. CHAP. IV. At, sir, the clouted shoe hath of ttimes crept in't, As says the rustic proverb ; and your citizen, In's grogram suit, gold chain, and well-blacked shoes. Bears under his flat cap of ttimes a brain Wiser than burns beneath the cap and feather, Or seethes within the statesman's velvet night- cap. Tlead me mn Riddle, SONGS AND MOTTOES. 425 CHAP. V. Wherefore come ye not to court ? Certain 'tis the rarest sport ; There are silks and jewels glistening, Prattling fools and wise men listening, Bullies among brave men justling. Beggars amongst nobles bustling ; Low-breathed talkers, minion lispers, Cutting honest throats by whispers ; Wherefore come ye not to court ? Skelton swears 'tis glorious sport. Skelton SJceUoiiizeth, CHAP. VI. 0, I do know him 'tis the mouldy lemon Which our court wits will wet their lips withal, When they would sauce their honied conversa- tion With somewhat sharper flavour. — Marry, sir, That virtue's wellnigh left him — all the juice That was so sharp and poignant, is squeezed out ; While the poor rind, although as sour as ever, Must season soon the draff we give our grunters, For two-legged things are weary on't. The Chamberlain, a Comedy, CHAP. VII. Things needful we have thought on ; but the thing Of all most needful — that which Scripture terms, As if alone it merited regard, The ONE thing needful — that's yet unconsidered. The Ghamheidain, 426 scott's poems. CHAP. XII. This is the very barn-yard, Where muster daily the prime cocks o' the game, Ruffle their pinions, crow till they are hoarse. And spar about a barleycorn. Here, too, chickens, The callow, unfledged brood of forward folly. Learn first to rear the crest, and aim the spur, And tune their note like full-plumed Chanti- cleer. The Bear Garden. CHAP. XIII. Let the proud salmon gorge the feathered hook. Then strike, and then you have him. — He will wince ; Spin out your line that it shall whistle from you Some twenty yards or so, yet you shall have him — Marry ! you must have patience — the stout rock Which is his trust, hath edges something sharp ; And the deep pool hath ooze and sludge enough To mar your fishing — 'less you are more careful. Albion or the Double Kings. CHAP. XIV. BiNGO, why Bingo ! hey, boy — here, sir, here — He's gone and off, but he'll be home before us ; — 'Tis the most wayward cur e'er mumbled bone. Or dogged a master's footsteps. — Bingo loves me Better than beggar ever loved his alms ; Yet when he takes such humour, you may coax Sweet Mistress Fantasy, your worship's mis- tress. Out of her sullen moods, as soon as Bingo. The JDominie and his Dog. SONGS AND MOTTOES. 427 CHAP. XV. 'TwAS when fleet SnowbalFs head was woxen grey, A luckless leveret met him on his way, — Who knows not Snowball — he whose race renowned Is still victorious on each coursing ground ? S waff ham, Newmarket, and the liloman camp Have seen them victors o'er each meaner stamp — In vain the youngling sought with doubling wile The hedge, the hill, the thicket, or the stile, Experience sage the lack of speed supplied, And in the gap he sought, the victim died. So was I once, in thy fair street, Saint James, Through walking cavaliers and car-borne dames. Descried, pursued, turned o'er again and o'er. Coursed, coted, mouthed by an unfeeling bore. 8fc., Sfc, 8fc. CHAP. XVI. Give way — give way — I must and will have justice ! And tell me not of privilege and place ; Where I am injured, there I'll sue redress. Look to it, every one who bars my access ; I have a heart to feel, the injury, A hand to right myself, and, by my honour, That hand shall grasp what grey-beard Law denies me. The Chamberlain. CHAP. XVII. Come hither, young one — Mark me ! Thou art now 'Mongst men o' the sword, that live by reputation 428 scott's poems. More than by constant income — Single-suited They are, I grant yon ; yet each single suit Maintains, on the rough guess,, a thousand followers — And they be men, who, hazarding their all. Needful apparel, necessary income. And human body, and immortal soul, Do in the very deed but hazard nothing — So strictly is that all bound in reversion ; Clothes to the broker, income to the usurer, — And body to disease, and soul to the foul fiend ; Who laughs to see Soldadoes and Fooladoes, Play better than himself his game on earth. The Mohocks, CHAP. XIX. By this good light, a wench of matchless mettle ! This were a leaguer-lass to love a soldier. To bind his wounds, and kiss his bloody brow. And sing a roundel as she helped to arm him. Though, the rough foeman's drums were beat so nigh. They seemed to bear the burden. Old Flay, CHAP. XX. Credit me, friend, it hath been ever thus, Since the ark rested on Mount Ararat. False man hath sworn, and woman hath believed — Repented and reproached, and then believed once more. The New World, SONGS AND MOTTOES. 429 CHAP. XXII. Chance will not do the work — Chance sends the breeze ; But if the pilot slumber at the helm, The very wind that wafts us towards the port May dash us on the shelves. — The steersman's part is vigilance, Blow it rough or smooth. Old Play, CHAP. XXIII. Swash'hucMer. Bilboe's the word — Pierrot, It hath been spoke too often, The spell hath lost its charm — I tell thee, friend, The meanest cur that trots the street will turn And snarl against your proffered bastinado. Swash-buckler, 'Tis art shall do it, then — I will dose the mongrels — Or in plain terms, I'll use the private knife, 'Stead of the brandished falchion. Old Plaij, CHAP. XXIV. This is the time — Heaven's maiden-sentinel Hath quitted her high watch — the lesser spangles Are paling one by one ; give me the ladder And the short lever — bid Anthony Keep with his carabine the wicket-gate ; And do thou bare thy knife and follow me. For we will in and do it — darkness like this Is dawning of our fortunes. Old Play, 430 scott's poems. CHAP. XXV. Death finds ns mid our playthings — snatches us, As a cross nurse might do a wayward child, From all our toys and baubles. His rough call Unlooses all our favourite ties on earth ; And well if they are such as may be answered In yonder world, where all is judged of truly. Old Play. CHAP. XXVI. Give us good voyage, gentle stream — we stun not Thy sober ear with sounds of revelry ; Wake not the slumbering echoes of thy banks With voice of flute and horn — we do but seek On the broad pathway of thy swelling bosom To glide in silent safety. The Double Bridal. CHAP. XXVII. This way lie safety and a sure retreat ; Yonder lie danger, shame, and punishment. Most welcome danger then — Nay, let me say. Though spoke with swelling heart — welcome e'en shame ; And welcome punishment — for, call me guilty, I do but pay the tax that's due to justice ; And call me guiltless, then that punishment Is shame to those alone who do inflict it. The Tribunal. CHAP. XXIX. How fares the man on whom good men would look With eyes where scorn and censure combated, SONGS AND MOTTOES. 431 But that kind Christian love hath taught the lesson — That they who merit most contempt and hate, Do most deserve our pity Old Flay. CHAP. XXXI. Marry, come up, sir, with your gentle blood ! Here's a red stream beneath this coarse blue doublet, That warms the heart as kindly as if drawn From the far source of old Assyrian kings, Who first made mankind subject to their sway. Old Flay. CHAP. XXXV. We are not worse at once — the course of evil Begins so slowly, and from such slight source. An infant's hand might stem its breach with clay ; But let the stream get deeper, and philo- sophy — Ay, and religion too, — shall strive in vain To turn the headlong torrent. Old Flay. MOTTOES FROM ^'PEVERIL OF THE PEAK." CHAP. II. Why then, we will have bellowing of beeves, Broaching of barrels, brandishing of spigots ; Blood shall flow freely, but it shall be gore 432 scott's poems. Of herds and flocks, and venison and poultry, Joined to the brave heart's blood of John-a- Barleycorn ! Old Play. CHAP. III. Here's neither want of appetite nor mouths ; Pray Heaven we be not scant of meat or mirth ' Old Plmj. CHAP. IV. No, sir, — I will not pledge — I'm one of those Who think good wine needs neither bush nor preface To make it welcome. If you doubt my word. Fill the quart-cup, and see if I will choke on't. Old Play. CHAP. XVI. Ascasto, Can she not speak ? Oswald. If speech be only in accented sounds, Framed by the tongue and lips, the maiden's dumb ; But if by quick and apprehensive look, By motion, sign, and glance, to give each meaning, Express as clothed in language, be termed speech. She hath that wondrous faculty ; for her eyes, Like the bright stars of heaven, can hold discourse, Though it be mute and soundless. Old Play. CHAP. XVII. This a love meeting? See the maiden mourns, And the sad suitor bends his looks on earth. SONGS AND MOTTOES. 433 There's more hath passed between them than belongs To Love's sweet sorrows. Old Flay. CHAP. XIX. Now, hoist the anchor, mates — and let the sails Give their broad bosom to the buxom wind, Like lass that wooes a lover. Anomjmous, CHAP. XXIV. We meet, as men see phantoms in a dream, Which glide and sigh, and sign, and move their lips. But make no sound ; or, if they utter voice, 'Tis but a low and undistinguished moaning, Which has nor word nor sense of uttered sound. The Chief tain, CHAP. XXV. The course of human life is changeful still As is the fickle wind and wandering rill; Or, like the light dance which the wild-breeze weaves Amidst the faded race of fallen leaves ; Which now its breath bears down, now tosses high, Beats to the earth, or wafts to middle sky. Such, and so varied, the precarious play Of fate with man, frail tenant of a day ! A7wnymous. CHAP. XXVI. Necessity — thou best of peacemakers. As well as surest prompter of invention — Help us to composition ! Anonymous, V. F F 434 SCOTT'S POEMS. CHAP. XXVII. This is some creature of the elements Most like your sea-gull. He can wheel and whistle His screaming song, e'en when the storm is loudest — Take for his sheeted couch the restless foam Of the wild wave-crest — slumber in the calm, And dally with the storm. Yet 'tis a gull, An arrant gull, with all this. The Chieftain. CHAP. XXXI. I PEAR the devil worst when gown and cassock, Or, in the lack of them, old Calvin's cloak. Conceals his cloven hoof. Anonymous, CHAP. XXXVIII. Speak not of niceness when there's chance of wreck," The captain said, as ladies writhed their neck To see the dying dolphin flap the deck ; " If we go down, on us these gentry sup ; We dine upon them, if we haul them up. Wise men applaud us when we eat the eaters. As the devil laughs when keen folks cheat the cheaters." The Sea Voyage, CHAP. XLIV. And some for safety took the dreadful leap ; Some for the voice of Heaven seemed calling on them ; Some for advancement, or for lucre's sake — I leaped in frolic. The Dream. SONGS AND MOTTOES. 486 CHAP. XLV. High feasting was there, there— the gilded roofs Rung to the wassail-health — the dancer's step Sprung to the chord responsive — the gay gamester To fate's disposal flung his heap of gold, And laughed alike when it increased or les- sened : Such virtue hath court-air to teach us patience Which schoolmen preach in vain. IVhy come ye not to Court ? FROM ^^QUENTIN DURWARD/^ COUNTY GUY. CHAP. IV. Ah ! County Guy, the hour is nigh. The sun has left the lea, The orange flower perfumes the bower, The breeze is on the sea. The lark, his lay who trilled all day. Sits hushed his partner nigh ; Breeze, bird, and flower, confess the hour, But where is County Guy ? The village maid steals through the shade, Her shepherd's suit to hear ; To beauty shy, by lattice high, Sings high-born Cavalier. The star of Love, all stars above. Now reigns o'er earth and sky ; And high and low the influence know — But where is County Guy ? 436 SCOTT'S POEMS. MOTTOES FROM " QUENTIN DURWARD." CHAP. nr. Full in the midst a mighty pile arose, Where iron-grated gates their strength oppose To each invading step — and strong and steep The battled walls arose, the fosse sunk deep. Slow round the fortress rolled the sluo^crish stream, And high in middle air the warder's turrets gleam. Anonymous, CHAP. VII. Justice of Peace, Here, hand me down the statute — read the articles — Swear, kiss the book — subscribe, and be a hero; Drawing a portion from the public stock For deeds of valour to be done hereafter — Sixpence per day, subsistence and arrears. The Recruiting Officer, CHAP. XL Painters show Cupid blind — Hath Hymen eyes ? Or is his sight warped by those spectacles Which parents, guardians, and advisers, lend him. That he may look through them on lands and mansions, On jewels, gold, and all such rich dotations, And see their value ten times magnified ? — Methinks 'twill brook a question. The Miseries of Enforced Marriage. SONGS AND MOTTOES. 437 CHAP. XII. This is a lecturer so skilled in policy, That (no disparagement to Satan's cunning) He well might read a lesson to the devil, And teach the old seducer new temptations. Old Flay, CHAP. XIV. I SEE thee yet, fair France — thou favoured land Of art and nature — thou art still before me; Thy sons, to whom their labour is a sport, So well thy grateful soil returns its tribute ; Thy sun-burnt daughters, with their laughing eyes And glossy raven-locks. But, favoured France, Thou hast had many a tale of woe to tell. In ancient times as now. Anonymous. CHAP. XV. He was a son of Egypt, as he told me, And one descended from those dread magicians, Who waged rash war, when Israel dwelt in Goshen, With Israel and her Prophet — matching rod With his the sons of Levi's — and encountering Jehovah's miracles with incantations. Till upon Egypt came the avenging Angel, And those proud sages wept for their first- born, As wept the unlettered peasant. Anonymous. CHAP. XXIV. Rescue or none. Sir Knight, I am your captive ; Deal with me what your nobleness suggests— Thinking the chance of war may one day place you 438 scott's poems. Where I must now be reckoned — i' the roll Of melancholy prisoners. Afwnymous, CHAP. xxy. No human quality is so weljl wove In warp and woof, but there's some flaw in it ; I've known a brave man fly a shepherd's cur, A wise man so demean him, drivelling idiocy Had well nigh been ashamed on't. For your crafty, Your worldly-wise man, he, above the rest, Weaves his own snares so fine, he's often caught in them. Old Play. CHAP. XXVI. When princes meet, astrologers may mark it An ominous conjunction, full of boding. Like that of Mars with Saturn. Old Play, CHAP. XXIX. Thy time is not yet out — the devil thou servest Has not as yet deserted thee. He aids The friends who drudge for him, as the blind man Was aided by the guide, who lent his shoulder O'er rough and smooth, until he reached the brink Of the fell precipice — then hurled him down- ward. Old Play. CHAP. XXX. OuE counsels waver like the unsteady bark. That reels amid the strife of meeting currents. Old Play. SONGS AND MOTTOES. 439 CHAP. xxxr. Hold fast thy truth, young soldier. — Gentle maiden, Keep you your promise plight — leave age its subtleties, And grey-haired policy its maze of falsehood ; But be you candid as the morning sky, Ere the high sun sucks vapours up to stain it. The Trial MOTTOES FROM "ST. EONAN'S WELL.'' CHAP. III. There must be government in all society — Bees have their Queen, and stag herds have their leader ; Rome had her Consuls, Athens had her Archons, And we, sir, have our Managing Committee. The Album of St. Uonan's, CHAP. IX. We meet as shadows in the land of dreams Which speak not but in signs. Anonymous, CHAP. X. Come, let me have thy counsel, for I need it ; Thou art of those, who better help their friends With sage advice, than usurers with gold, Or brawlers with their swords — I'll trust to thee. For I ask only from thee words, not deeds. The Devil hath met his Match, 440 scott's poems. CHAP. XT. Nearest of blood sliould still be next in love ; And when I see these happy children playing, While William gathers flowers for Ellen's ringlets, And Ellen dresses flies for William's angle, I scarce can think, that in advancing life, Coldness, unkindness, interest, or suspicion. Will e'er divide that unity so sacred. Which Nature bound at birth. Ano7iymous. CHAP. XXIII. Oh ! you would be a vestal maid, I warrant, The bride of Heaven — Come — we may shake your purpose : For here I bring in hand a jolly suitor Hath ta'en degrees in the seven sciences The ladies love best — He is young and noble, Handsome and valiant, gay and rich, and liberal. The Nun. CHAP. XXXIT. It comes — it wrings me in my parting hour. The long-hid crime — the well-disguised guilt. Bring me some holy priest to lay the spectre ! Old Play, CHAP. XXXIII. On the lee-beam lies the land, boys. See all clear to reef each course ; Let the fore-sheet go, don t mind, boys, Though the weather should be worse. The Storm. CHAP. XXXVIII. What sheeted ghost is wandering through the storm ? SONGS AND MOTTOES. 441 For never did a maid of middle earth Choose such a time or spot to vent her sorrows. Old Flay, CHAP. XXXIX. Here come we to our close — for that which follows Is but the tale of dull, unvaried misery. Steep crags and headlong lins may court the pencil Like sudden haps, dark plots, and strange adventures ; But who would paint the dull and fog- wrapt moor, In its long track of sterile desolation ? Old Play. FROM REDGAUNTLET/^ CHAP. IX. As lords their labourers' hire delay, Fate quits our toil with hopes to come, Which, if far short of present pay. Still owns a debt and names a sum. Quit not the pledge, frail sufferer, then, Although a distant date be given ; Despair is treason towards man. And blasphemy to Heaven. f^COTT*.S POEMS. FEOM ^^THE BETROTHED/' SOLDIER, WAKE. CHAP. XIX. Soldier, wake — the day is peeping, Honour ne'er was won in sleeping. Never wlien the sunbeams still Lay unreflected on the hill : 'Tis when they are glinted back From axe and armour, spear and jack, That they promise future story Many a page of deathless glory. Shields that are the foeman's terror, Ever are the morning's mirror. Arm and up — the morning beam Hath called the rustic to his team, Hath called the falconer to the lake. Hath called the huntsman to the brake ; The early student ponders o'er His dusty tomes of ancient lore. Soldier, wake — thy harvest, fame ; Thy study, conquest ; war, thy game. Shield, that would be foeman's terror, Still should gleam the morning's mirror. Poor hire repays the rustic's pain ; More paltry still the sportsman's gain : Vainest of all the student's theme Ends in some metaphysic dream : Yet each is up, and each has toiled Since first the peep of dawn has smiled ; SONGS AND MOTTOES. 443 And each is eagerer in his aim Than he who barters life for fame. Up, up, and arm thee, son of terror ! Be thy bright shield the morning's mirror. THE TRUTH OF WOMAN. CHAP. XX. Woman's faith, and woman's trust — Write the characters in dust ; Stamp them on the running stream, Print them on the moon's pale beam, And each evanescent letter Shall be clearer, firmer, better, And more permanent, I ween, Than the thing those letters mean. I have strained the spider's thread 'Gainst the promise of a maid ; I have weighed a grain of sand 'Gainst her plight of heart and hand ; I told my true love of the token. How her faith proved light, and her word was broken : Again her word and truth she plight, And I believed them again ere night. A WELSH LAY. CHAP. XXXI. I ASKED of my harp, "Who hath injured thy cords ? " And she replied, " The crooked finger, which I mocked in my tune." 444 scott's poems. A blade of silver may be bended — a blade of steel abideth — Kindness fadeth away, but vengeance endureth. The sweet taste of mead passetb from the lips, But they are long corroded by the juice of wormwood ; The lamb is brought to the shambles, but the vrolf rangetli the mountain ; Kindness fadeth away, but vengeance endureth. I asked the red-hot iron, when it glimmered on the anvil, " Wherefore glowest thou longer than the fire- brand ? " I V7as born in the dark mine, and the brand in the pleasant greenwood." Kindness fadeth away, but vengeance endureth. I asked the green oak of the assembly, " Where- fore its bonghs v^ere dry and seared like the horns of the stag ? " And it showed me that a small worm had gnawed its roots. The boy who remembered the scourge, undid the wicket of the castle at midnight. Kindness fadeth away, but vengeance enduretli. Lightning destroy eth temples, though their spires pierce the clouds ; Storms destroy armadas, though their sails intercept the gale. He that is in his glory falleth, and that by a contemptible enemy. Kindness fadeth away, but vengeance endureth. SONGS AND MOTTOES. 445 MOTTOES FROM '^THE BETROTHED." CHAP. II. In Madoc's tent the clarion sounds, With rapid clangour hurried far ; Each hill and dale the note rebounds, But when return the sons of war ? Thou, born of stern l^ecessity. Dull Peace ! the valley yields to thee, And owns thy melancholy sway. Welsh Foem. CHAP. VII. O, SADLY shines the morning sun On leaguered castle wall, When bastion, tower, and battlement. Seem nodding to their fall. Old Ballad. CHAP. XII. Now all ye ladies of fair Scotland, And ladies of England that happy would prove, Marry never for houses, nor marry for land, Nor marry for nothing but only love. Family Quarrels. CHAP. XIII. Too much rest is rust. There 's ever cheer in changing ; We tyne by too much trust. So we '11 be up and ranging. Old Song. scott's poems. CHAP. XVII. Ring out the merry bells, the bride approaches. The blush upon her cheek has shamed the morning, For that is dawning palely. Grant, good saints, These clouds betoken nought of evil omen ! Old Flay, CHAP. XXVII. Julia, Gentle sir, You are our captive — but we'll use you so, That you shall think your prison joys may match Whatever your liberty hath known of pleasure. Boderick. No, fairest, we have trifled here too long ; And, lingering to see your roses blossom, IVe let my laurels wither. Old Play, FROM ^^THE TALISMAN/' AHRIMANES, THE EVIL PRINCIPLE. CHAP. III. Dark Ahriman, whom Irak still. Holds origin of woe and ill ! When bending at thy shrine. We view the world with troubled eye. Where see we 'neath the extended sky. An empire matching thine ? If the Benigner Power can yield A fountain in the desert field, SONGS AND MOTTOES. U7 Where we^ry pilgrims drink ; Thine are the waves that lash the rock, Thine the tornado's deadly shock, When countless navies sink ! Or if He bid the soil dispense Balsams to cheer the sinking sense, How few can they deliver From lingering pains, or pang intense, Red Fever, spotted Pestilence, The arrows of thy quiver ! Chief in Man's bosom sits thy sway. And frequent, while in words we pray Before another throne, Whatever of specious form be there. The secret meaning of the prayer Is, Ahriman, thine own. Say, hast thou feeling, sense, and form, Thunder thy voice, thy garments storm, As Eastern Magi say ; With sentient soul of hate and wrath. And wings to sweep thy deadly path. And fangs to tear thy prey ? Or art thou mixed in Nature's source, An ever- operating force, Converting good to ill ; An evil principle innate. Contending with our better fate, And oh ! victorious still ? Howe'er it be, dispute is vain. On all without thou hold'st thy reign. Nor less on all within ; Each mortal passion's fierce career. Love, hate, ambition, joy, and fear, Thou goadest into sin. us scott's poems. Whene'er a sunny gleam appears, To brighten up our vale of tears, Thou art not distant far ; Mid such brief solace of our lives Thou whett'st our very banquet-knives To tools of death and war. Thus, from the moment of our birth, Long as we linger on the earth. Thou rulest the fate of men ; Thine are the pangs of life's last hour, And — who dare answer ? — is thy power, Dark Spirit ! ended Then ? ^ SONG OF BLONDEL.— THE BLOODY VEST. CHAP. XXVI. 'TwAS near the fair city of Benevent, When the sun was setting on bough and bent, ' The worthy and learned clergyman by whom this species of hymn has been translated, desires that, for fear of misconception, we should warn the reader to recollect that it is composed by a heathen, to whom the real causes of moral and physical evil are un- known, and who views their predominance in the system of the universe as all must view that appalling fact who have not the benefit of the Christian revela- tion. On our own part we beg to add, that we under- stand the style of the translator is more paraphrastic than can be approved by those who are acquainted with the singularly curious original. The translator seems to have despaired of rendering into English verse the flights of Oriental poetry, and, possibly, like many learned and ingenious men, finding it im- possible to discover the sense of the original, he may have tacitly substituted his own. SONGS AND MOTTOES. 449 And knights were preparing in bower and teni, On the eve of the Baptist's tournament ; When in Lincoln green a stripling gent, Well seeming a page by a princess sent, Wandered the camp, and, still as he went, Enquired for the Englishman, Thomas a Kent. Far hath he fared, and farther must fare, Till he finds his pavilion nor stately nor rare, — Little save iron and steel was there ; And, as lacking the coin to pay armourer's care. With his sinewy arms to the shoulders bare. The good knight with hammer and file did repair The mail that to-morrow must see him wear, For the honour of Saint John and his lady fair. " Thus speaks my lady," the page said he, And the knight bent lowly both head and knee, " She is Benevent's Princess so high in degree, And thou art as lowly as knight may well be — He that would climb so lofty a tree, Or spring such a gulf as divides her from thee, Must dare some high deed, by which all men may see His ambition is backed by his high chivalrie. " Therefore thus speaks my lady," the fair page he said, And the knight lowly louted with hand and with head, Fling aside the good armour in which thou art clad. And don thou this weed of her night-gear instead. For a hauberk of steel, a kirtle of thread : And charge, thus attired, in the tournament dread, V. G G 450 scott's poems. And fight as thy wont is where most blood is shed, And bring honour away, or remain with the dead.'* Untroubled in his look, and untroubled in his breast, The knight the weed hath taken, and reve- rently hath kissed : " ^»I"ow blessed be the moment, the messenger be blest ! Much honoured do I hold me in my lady's high behest ; And say unto my lady, in this dear night- weed dressed, To the best armed champion I will not vail my crest ; But if I live and bear me well 'tis her turn to take the test." Here, gentles, ends the foremost fytte of the Lay of the Bloody Vest. THE BLOODY VEST. FYTTE SECOND., The Baptist's fair morrow beheld gallant feats — There was winning of honour, and losing of seats — There was hewing with falchions, and splin- tering of staves, The victors won glory, the vanquished won graves. O, many a knight there fought bravely and well. Yet one was accounted his peers to excel, SONGS AND MOTTOES. 451 And 'twas he whose sole armour on body and breast, Seemed the weed of a damsel when bonne for her rest. There were some dealt him wounds that were bloody and sore, But others respected his plight, and forebore. " It is some oath of honour," they said, " and I trow 'Twere unknightly to slay him achieving his vow." Then the Prince, for his sake, bade the tourna- ment cease. He flung down his warder, the trumpets sung peace ; And the judges declare, and competitors yield. That the Knight of the Night-gear was first in the field. The feast it was nigh, and the mass it was nigher. When before the fair Princess low louted a squire, And delivered a garment unseemly to view, With sword-cut and spear- thrust, all hacked and pierced through ; All rent and all tattered, all clotted with blood, With foam of the horses, with dust, and with mud. Not the point of that lady's small finger, I ween. Could have rested on spot was unsullied and clean. " This token my master. Sir Thomas a Kent, Restores to the Princess of fair Benevent ; He that climbs the ta.ll tree has won right to the fruit, 452 scott's poems. He that leaps the wide gulf should prevail in his suit ; Through life's utmost peri] the prize I have won, And now must the faith of my mistress be shown : For she who prompts knights on such danger to run, Must avouch his true service in front of the sun. *' * I restore/ says my master, * the garment I've worn, And I claim of the Princess to don it in turn ; For its stains and its rents she should prize it the more. Since by shame 'tis unsullied, though crimsoned with gore." Then deep blushed the Princess — yet kissed she and pressed The blood-spotted robe to her lips and her breast. " Go tell my true knight, church and chamber shall show, If I value the blood on this garment or no." And when it was time for the nobles to pass, In solemn procession to minster and mass, The first walked the Princess in purple and pall, But the blood-besmeared night-robe she wore over all ; And eke, in the hall, where they all sat at dine. When she knelt to her father and proffered the wine. Over all her rich robes and state jewels, she wore That wimple unseemly bedabbled with gore. SONGS AND MOTTOES. 453 Then lords whispered ladies, as well you may think, And ladies replied, with nod, titter, and wink ; And the Prince, who in anger and shame had looked down, Turned at length to his daughter, and spoke with a frown : " Now since thou hast published thy folly and guilt. E'en atone with thy hand for the blood thou hast spilt ; Yet sore for your boldness you both will repent. When you wander as exiles from fair Benevent/' Then out spoke stout Thomas, in hall where he stood. Exhausted and feeble, but dauntless of mood : " The blood that I lost for this daughter of thine, I poured forth as freely as flask gives its wine ; And if for my sake she brooks penance and blame. Do not doubt I will save her from suffering and shame ; And light will she reck of thy princedom and rent. When I hail her, in England, the Countess of Kent." MOTTOES FROM ''THE TALISMAN." CHAP. VT. Now change the scene and let the trumpets sound. For we must rouse the lion from his lair. Old Flmj. 454 scott's poems. CHAP. IX. This is the Prince of Leeclies ; fever, plague, Cold rheum, and hot podagra, do but look on him. And quit their grasp upon the tortured sinews. Ano7iymous. CHAP. XIII. You talk of Gaiety and Innocence ! The moment when the fatal fruit was eaten, They parted ne'er to meet again ; and Malice Has ever since been playmate to light Gaiety, From the first moment when the smiling infant Destroys the flower or butterfly he toys with, To the last chuckle of the dying miser, Who on his deathbed laughs his last to hear His wealthy neighbour has become a bankrupt. Old Plmj, CHAP. XVI. 'Tis not her sense — for sure, in that There 's nothing more than common ; And all her wit is only chat, Like any other woman. Song, CHAP. XYII. Were every hair upon his head a life, And every life were to be supplicated By numbers equal to those hairs quadrupled. Life after life should out like waning stars Before the daybreak — or as festive lamps, Which have lent lustre to the midnight revel. Each after each are quenched when guests depart ! Old Play, SONGS AND MOTTOES. 455 CHAP. XIX. Must we then sheath our still victorious sword ; Turn back our forward step, which ever trode O'er foemen's necks the onward path of glory ; Unclasp the mail, which with a solemn vow, In God's own house we hung upon our shoulders ; That vow, as unaccomplished as the promise Which village nurses make to still their chil- dren, An-d after think no more of ? The Crusade^ a Tragedy, CHAP. XX. When beauty leads the lion in her toils, Such are her charms, he dare not raise his mane, Par less expand the terror of his fangs. So great Alcides made his club a distaff, And spun to please fair Omphale. Anonymous, CHAP. XXIII. Mid these wild scenes Enchantment waves her hand, To change the face of the mysterious land : Till the bewildering scenes around us seem The vain productions of a feverish dream. Astolpho, a Bomance, CHAP. XXIV. A GRAIN of dust Soiling our cup, will make our sense reject Fastidiously the draught which we did thirst for ; A rusted nail, placed near the faithful compass, Will sway it from the truth, and wreck the argosy. 456 scott's poems. Even this small cause of anger and disgust Will break the bonds of amity 'mongst princes, And wreck their noblest purposes. The Crusade. CHAP. XXVI. The tears I shed must ever fall ! I weep not for an absent swain, For time may happier hours recall, And parted lovers meet again. I weep not for the silent dead, Their pains are past, their sorrows o'er. And those that loved their steps must tread. When death shall join to part no more. But worse than absence, worse than death. She wept her lover's sullied fame, And, fired with all the pride of birth, She wept a soldier's injured name. Ballad. FROM WOODSTOCK/^ AN HOUR WITH THEE. CHAP. XXVI. An hour with thee ! — When earliest day Dapples with gold the eastern grey. Oh, what can frame my mind to bear The toil and turmoil, cark and care. New griefs, which coming hours unfold. And sad remembrance of the old ? One hour with thee ! SONGS AND MOTTOES. 457 One hour with thee ! — When burning June Waves his red flag at pitch of noon ; What shall repay the faithful swain, His labour on the sultry plain ; And more than cave or sheltering bough, Cool feverish blood, and throbbing brow ? — One hour with thee ! One hour with thee ! — When sun is set, O, what can teach me to forget The thankless labours of the day ; The hopes, the wishes, flung away ; The increasing wants, and lessening gains. The master's pride, who scorns my pains ? — One hour with thee ! GLEE FOR KING CHARLES. CHAP. XX. Bring the bowl which you boast. Fill it up to the brim ; 'Tis to him we love most. And to all who love him. Brave gallants, stand up. And avaunt, ye base carles ! Were there death in the cup. Here's a health to King Charles I Though he wanders through dangers. Unaided, unknown. Dependent on strangers. Estranged from his own ; Though 'tis under our breath, Amidst forfeits and perils. Here's to honour and faith, And a health to King Charles ! 458 SCOTT'S POEMS. Let such honours abound As the time can afford, The knee on the ground And the hand on the sword ; But the time shall come round When, mid Lords, Dukes, and Earls, The loud trumpets shall sound Here's a health to King Charles ! MOTTOES FROM " WOODSTOCK." CHAP. II. Come forth, old man — Thy daughter's side Is now the fitting place for thee : When Time hath quelled the oak's bold prido, The youthful tendril yet may hide The ruins of the parent tree. CHAP. lY. Yon path of greensward Winds round by sparry grot and gay pavilion ; There is no flint to gall thy tender foot. There's ready shelter from each breeze, or shower. — But Duty guides not that way — see her stand, With wand entwined with amaranth, near yon cliffs. Oft where she leads, thy blood must mark thy footsteps. Oft where she leads, thy head must bear the storm. And thy shrunk form endure heat, cold, and hunger ; But she will guide thee up to noble heights, Which he who gains seems native of the sky, SONGS AND MOTTOES. 459 While earthly things lie stretched beneath his feet, Diminished, shrunk, and valueless Anonymous, CHAP. V. My tongue pads slowly under this new lan- guage. And starts and stumbles at these uncouth phrases, They may be great in worth and weight, but hang Upon the native glibness of my language Like Saul's plate-armour on the shepherd boy, Encumbering, and not arming him. /. B. CHAP. X. Heee we have one head Upon two bodies — your two-headed bullock Is but an ass to such a prodigy. These two have but one meaning, thought, and counsel ; And when the single noddle has spoke out. The four legs scrape assent to it. Old Play. . CHAP. XIV. Deeds are done on earth, Which have their punishment ere the earth closes Upon the perpetrators. Be it the working Of the remorse-stirred fancy, or the vision, Distinct and real, of unearthly being. All ages witness, that beside the couch Of the fell homicide oft stalks the ghost Of him he slew, and shows the shadowy wound. Old Play. 460 scott's poems. CHAP. XVII. We do that in our zeal, Our calmer moments are afraid to answer. Anonymous, CHAP. XXIV. The deadliest snakes are those which, twined 'mongst flowers, Blend their bright colouring with the varied blossoms. Their fierce eyes glittering like the spangled dewdrop ; In all so like what nature has most harmless, That sportive innocence, which dreads no danger, Is poisoned unawares. Old Flay. MOTTO FROM "THE HIGHLAND WIDOW.'' chap. II. O, I'm come to the Low Country, Och, och, ohonochie, Without a penny in my pouch To buy a meal for me. I was the proudest of my clan, Long, long, may I repine ; And Donald was the bravest man, And Donald he was mine. Old Song, SONGS AND MOTTOES. 461 MOTTO FROM "THE TWO DROVERS." CHAP. II. Were ever two such loving friends ! — How could they disagree ? 0 thus it was, he loved him dear, And thought how to requite him ; And having no friend left but he, He did resolve to fight him. Duke u^on Diike. MY AUNT MARGARET'S MIRROR. There are times When Fancy plays her gambols, in despite Even of our watchful senses, when in sooth Substance seems shadow, shadow substance seems, When the broad, palpable, and marked partition, 'Twixt that which is and is not, seems dissolved, As if the mental eye gained power to gaze Beyond the limits of the existing world. Such hours of shadowy dreams I better love Than all the gross realities of life. Anonymous, 462 SCOTT'S POEMS. FROM ^^THB FAIR MAID OF PBRTH/^ THE LAY OF POOR LOUISE. CHAP. X. Ah, poor Louise ! The livelong day She roams from cot to castle gay ; And still her voice and viol say, Ah, maids, beware the woodland way, Think on Louise. Ah, poor Louise ! The sun was high, It smirched her cheek, it dimmed her eye, The woodland walk was cool and nigh. Where birds with chiming streamlets vie To cheer Louise. Ah, poor Louise ! The savage bear Made ne'er that lovely grove his lair ; The wolves molest not paths so fair — But better far had such been there For poor Louise. Ah, poor Louise ! In woody wold She met a huntsman fair and bold ; His baldric was of silk and gold, And many a witching tale he told To poor Louise. Ah, poor Louise ! Small cause to pine Hadst thou for treasures of the mine ; For peace of mind that gift divine. And spotless innocence, were thine. Ah, poor Louise ! SONGS AND MOTTOES. 463 All, poor Louise ! Thy treasure's reft ! I know not if by force or theft, Or part by violence, part by gift ; But misery is all that's left To poor Louise. Let poor Louise some succour have ! She will not long your bounty crave. Or tire the gay with warning stave — For Heaven has grace, and earth a grave. For poor Louise. DEATH CHANT. CHAP. XXII. Viewless Essence, thin and bare, Well nigh melted into air ; Still with fondness hovering near The earthly form thou once didst wear ; Pause upon thy pinion's flight. Be thy course to left or right ; Be thou doomed to soar or sink. Pause upon the awful brink. To avenge the deed expelling Thee untimely from thy dwelling, Mystic force thou shalt retain O'er the blood and o'er the brain. When the form thou shalt espy That darkened on thy closing eye ; When the footstep thou shalt hear, That thrilled upon thy dying ear ; 464 SCOTT'S POEMS. Then strange sympathies shall wake, The flesh shall thrill, the nerves shall quake, The wounds renew their clotted flood, And every drop cry blood for blood. SONG OF THE GLEE MAIDEN. CHAP. XXX. Yes, thou may'st sigh, And look once more at all around, At stream and bank, and sky and ground, And thou must die. Yes, lay thee down, And while thy struggling pulses flutter, Bid the grey monk his soul-mass utter, Thy life is gone. Be not afraid. 'Tis but a pang, and then a thrill, A fever fit, and then a chill ; And then an end of human ill. For thou art dead. MOTTOES FROM "THE FAIR MAID OF PERTH.'' CHAP. I. " Behold the Tiber," the vain Roman cried. Viewing the ample Tay from Baiglie's side ; But where's the Scot that would the vaunt repay, And hail the puny Tiber for the Tay. Anonymoics. SONGS AND MOTTOES* 465 CHAP. VIII. Within the bounds of Annandale The gentle Johnstones ride ; They have been there a thousand years, A thousand more they'll bide. Old Ballad. CHAP. XI. Fair is the damsel, passing fair, — Sunny at distance gleams her smile ; Approach — the cloud of woeful care Hangs trembling in her eye the while. Lucinda, a Ballad, CHAP. XXXIII. The hour is nigh : now hearts beat high ; Each sword is sharpened well ; And who dares die, who stoops to fly, To-morrow's light shall tell. Sir Edwald, FROM ^^ANNE OP GEIERSTEIN/^ THE SECRET TRIBUNAL. CHAP. XX. Measurers of good and evil. Bring the square, the line, the level, — Rear the altar, dig the trench. Blood both stone and ditch shall drench. Cubits six, from end to end. Must the fatal bench extend, — Cubits six, from side to side. Judge and culprit must divide. V. H H 466 SCOTT'S POEMS. On the east the Court assembles, On the west the Accused trembles — Answer, brethren, all and one. Is the ritual rightly done ? On life and soul, on blood and bone, One for all, and all for one, We warrant this is rightly done. How wears the night ? — Doth morning shine In early radiance on the Rhine ? What music floats upon his tide ? Do birds the tardy morning chide ? Brethren, look out from hill and height, And answer true, how wears the night ? The night is old ; on Rhine's broad breast Glance drowsy stars which long to rest. No beams are twinkling in the east. There is a voice upon the flood, The stern still call of blood for blood ; 'Tis time we listen the behest. Up, then, up ! When day's at rest, 'Tis time that such as we are watchers ; Rise to judgment, brethren, rise! Vengeance knows not sleepy eyes. He and night are matchers. SONGS AND MOTTOES. 467 MOTTOES FROM ^*ANNB OF GEIERSTEIN.'' CHAP. V. I WAS one Who loved the greenwood bank and lowing herd, The russet prize, the lowly peasant's life, Seasoned with sweet content, more than the halls Where revellers feast to fever-height. Believe me. There ne'er was poison mixed in maple bowl. Anonymous, CHAP. VI. When we two meet, we meet like rushing torrents ; Like warring winds, like flames from various points. That mate each other's fury — there is nought Of elemental strife, were fiends to guide it. Can match the wrath of man. Frenaud. CHAP. VIII. They saw that city, welcoming the Rhine, As from his mountain heritage he bursts. As purposed proud Orgetorix of yore, Leaving the desert region of the hills To lord it o'er the fertile plains of j_Gaul. Helvetia, chap. X. We know not when we sleep nor when we wake. Visions distinct and perfect cross our eye, 468 SCOTT'S POEMS. Which to the slumberer seem realities ; And while they waked, some men have seen such sights As set at nought the evidence of sense, And left them well persuaded they were dreaming. Anonymous. CHAP. XI. These be the adept's doctrines — every element Is peopled with its separate race of spirits. The airy Sylphs on the blue ether float ; Deep in the earthy cavern skulks the Gnome ; The sea-green Naiad skims the ocean-billow, And the fierce fire is yet a friendly home To its pecuHar sprite — the Salamander. Anonymous. CHAP. XXII. Tell me not of it — I could ne'er abide The mummery of all that forced civility. Pray, seat yourself, my lord." With cringing hams The speech is spoken, and with bended knee, Heard by the smiling courtier. — " Before you, sir? It must be on the earth then." Hang it all ! The pride which cloaks itself in such poor fashion Is scarcely fit to swell a beggar's bosom. Old Play. CHAP. XXIX. A MIRTHFUL man he was — the snows of age Fell, but they did not chill him. Gaiety, Even in life's closing, touched his teeming brain With such wild visions as the setting sun SONGS AND MOTTOES. 469 Raises in front of some hoar glacier, Painting the bleak ice with a thousand hues. Old Play. CHAP. XXX. Ay, this is he who wears the wreath of bays Wove by Apollo and the Sisters N'ine, Which Jove's dread lightning scathes not. He hath doft The cumbrous helm of steel, and flung aside The yet more galling diadem of gold ; While, with a leafy circlet round his brows, He reigns the King of Lovers and of Poets. CHAP. XXXI. Want you a man Experienced in the world and its affairs ? Here he is for your purpose. — He's a monk. He hath forsworn the world and all its work — The rather that he knows it passing well, 'Special the worst of it, for he's a monk. Old Flay. CHAP. XXXIII. Toll, toll the bell ! Greatness is o'er, The heart has broke, To ache no more ; An unsubstantial pageant all — Drop o'er the scene the funeral pall. Old Poem. CHAP. XXXV. Here's a weapon now. Shall shake a conquering general in his tent, A monarch on his throne, or reach a prelate, However holy be his oflSces, E'en while he serves the altar. Old Play. 470 scott's poems. MOTTOES FROM COUNT EOBERT OF PARIS." CHAP. II. Othus, This superb successor Of the earth's mistress, as thou vainly speakest, Stands midst these ages as, on the wide ocean. The last spared fragment of a spacious land. That in some grand and awful ministration Of mighty nature has engulfed been. Doth lift aloft its dark and rocky cliffs O'er the wild waste around, and sadly frowns In lonely majesty. Constantine Paleologus, Scene i. CHAP. III. Here, youth, thy foot unbrace, Here, youth, thy brow unbraid, Each tribute that may grace The threshold here be paid. Walk with the stealthy pace Which Nature teaches deer. When, echoing in the chase, The hunter's horn they hear. The Courts. CHAP. Y. The storm increases — 'tis no sunny shower, Fostered in the moist breast of March or April, Or such as parched Summer cools his lip with ; Heaven's windows are flung wide ; the inmost deeps Call in hoarse greeting one upon another ; On comes the flood in all its foaming horrors, And where's the dike shall stop it ! The Deluge, a Poem. SONGS AND MOTTOES. 471 CHAP. VI. Vain man ! thou mayst esteem thy love as fair As fond hyperboles suffice to raise. She may be all that's matchless in her person, And all- divine in soul to match her body ; But take this from me — thou shalt never call her Superior to her sex, while one survives, And I am her true votary. Old Flay, CHAP. IX. Between the foaming jaws of the white torrent, The skilful artist draws a sudden mound ; By level long he subdivides their strength, Stealing the waters from their rocky bed, First to diminish what he means to conquer ; Then, for the residue he forms a road, Easy to keep, and painful to desert, And guiding to the end the planner aimed at. The Engineer. CHAP. X. These were wild times — the antipodes of ours : Ladies were there, who oftener saw themselves In the broad lustre of a foeman's shield Than in a mirror, and who rather sought To match themselves in battle, than in dalliance To meet a lover's onset. — But though Nature Was outraged thus, she was not overcome. Feudal Times. CHAP. XI. Without a ruin, broken, tangled, cumbrous. Within it was a little paradise. Where Taste had made her dwelling. Statuary, First-born of human art, moulded her images. And bade men mark and worship. Anonymous. 472 SCOTT'S POEMS. CHAP. XII. The parties met. The wily, wordy Greek, Weighing each word, and canvassing each syllable ; Evading, arguing, equivocating, And the stern Frank came with his two-hand sword. Watching to see which way the balance sways, That he may throw it in, and turn the scales. Palestine. CHAP. XVI. Strange ape of man ! who loathes thee while he scorns thee ; Half a reproach to us and half a jest. What fancies can be ours ere we have pleasure In viewing our own form, our pride and passions. Reflected in a shape grotesque as thine ! Anonymoits, CHAP. XVII. 'Tis strange that, in the dark sulphureous mine, Where wild ambition piles its ripening stores Of slumbering thunder. Love will interpose His tiny torch, and cause the stern explosion To burst, when the deviser's least aware. Anonymous, CHAP. XXIV. All is prepared — the chambers of the mine Are crammed with the combustible, which, harm- less While yet nnkindled, as the sable sand, Needs but a spark to change its nature so, That he who wakes it from its slumbrous mood, Dreads scarce the explosion less than he who knows That 'tis his towers which meet its fury. Anouyvious, SONG AND MOTTOES. 473 CHAP. XXV. Heaven knows its time ; the bullet has its billet, Arrow and javelin each its destined purpose; The fated beasts of ^Tature's lower strain Have each their separate task. Old Play, MOTTOES FROM CASTLE DANGEROUS." CHAP. V. A TALE of sorrow, for your eyes may weep ; A tale of horror, for your flesh may tingle ; A tale of wonder, for the eyebrows arch. And the flesh curdles if you read it rightly. Old Play. CHAP. XI. Where is he ? Has the deep earth swallowed him ? Or hath he melted like some airy phantom That shuns the approach of morn and the young sun ? Or hath he wrapt him in Cimmerian darkness, And passed beyond the circuit of the sight With things of the night's shadows ? Anonymous, CHAP. XIV. The way is long, my children, long and rough — The moors are dreary, and the woods are dark ; But he that creeps from cradle on to grave, Unskilled save in the velvet course of fortune, Hath missed the discipline of noble hearts. Old Play. 474 scott's poems. CHAP. XYIII. His talk was of another world — his bodements Strange, doubtful, and mysterious ; those who heard him Listened as to a man in feverish dreams, Who speaks of other objects than the present, And mutters like to him who sees a vision. Old Flay, CHAP. XX. Cry the wild war-note, let the champions pass, Do bravely each, and God defend the right ; Upon Saint Andrew thrice can they thus cry. And thrice they shout on height, And then marked them on the Englishmen, As I have told you right. Saint George the bright, our ladies' knight, To name they were full fain ; Our Englishmen they cried on height. And thrice they shout again. Old Ballad, SONGS FROM THE DRAMAS. SONGS FROM THE DRAMAS. FROM " THE HOUSE OF ASPEN/' SONG. Jot to the victors ! the sons of old Aspen ! Joy to the race of the battle and scar ! Glory's proud garland triumphantly grasping ; Generous in peace, and victorious in war. Honour acquiring, Yalour inspiring, Bursting, resistless, through f oemen they go : War-axes wielding, Broken ranks yielding. Till from the battle proud Roderic retiring, Yields in wild rout the fair palm to his foe. Joy to each warrior, true follower of Aspen ! Joy to the heroes that gained the bold day ! Health to our wounded, in agony gasping ; Peace to our brethren that fell in the fray ! Boldly this morning, Roderic's power scorning. Well for their chieftain their blades did they wield : Joy blest them dying, As Maltingen flying. Low laid his banners, our conquest adorning. Their death-clouded eyeballs descried on the field! 478 scott's poems. Now to our home, the proud mansion of Aspen, Bend we, gay victors, triumphant away ; There each fond damsel, her gallant youth clasping. Shall wipe from his forehead the stains of the fray. Listening the prancing Of horses advancing ; E'en now on the turrets our maidens appear. Love our hearts warming, Songs the night charming. Round goes the grape in the goblet gay dancing ; Love, wine, and song, our blithe evening shall cheer ! SONG. Sweet shone the sun on the fair lake of Toro, Weak were the whispers that waved the dark wood, As a fair maiden, bewildered in sorrow. Sighed to the breezes and wept to the flood. — " Saints, from the mansion of bliss lowly bend- ing, Virgin, that hear'st the poor suppliant's cry. Grant my petition, in anguish ascending, My Frederick restore, or let Eleanor die." Distant and faint were the sounds of the battle ; With the breezes they rise, with the breezes they fail. Till the shout, and the groan, and the conflict's dread rattle. And the chase's wild clamour came loading the gale. Breathless she gazed through the woodland so dreary. SONGS FROM THE DRAMAS. 479 Slowly approaching, a warrior was seen ; Life's ebbing tide marked his footsteps so weary, Cleft was his helmet, and woe was his mien. " Save thee, fair maid, for oar armies are flying ; Save thee, fair maid, for thy guardian is low ; Cold on yon heath thy bold Frederick is lying. Fast through the woodland approaches the foe." FROM "AUCHINDRANE; OR, THE AYRSHIRE TRAGEDY." SONG. Hither we come, Once slaves to the drum, But no longer we list to its rattle ; Adieu to the wars. With their slashes and scars. The march, and the storm, and the battle. There are some of us maimed. And some that are lamed, And some of old aches are complaining ; But we'll take up the tools. Which we flung by like fools, 'Gainst Don Spaniard to go a-campaigning. Dick Hathorn doth vow To return to the plough. Jack Steele to his anvil and hammer ; The weaver shall find room At the wight-wapping loom. And your clerk shall teach writing and grammar. 480 scott's poems. PROM " THE DOOM OF DEVERGOIL/' SONG. The sun upon the lake is low, The wild birds hush their song, The hills have evening's deepest glow, Yet Leonard tarries long. Now all whom varied toil and care From home and love divide. In the calm sunset may repair Each to the loved one's side. The noble dame, on turret high. Who waits her gallant knight, Looks to the western beam to spy The flash of armour bright. The village maid, with hand on brow, The level ray to shade, Upon the footpath watches now For Oolin's darkening plaid. Now to their mates the wild swans row. By day they swam apart, And to the thicket wanders slow The hind beside the hart. The woodlark at his partner's side. Twitters his closing song — All meet whom day and care divide, But Leonard tarries long. SONG. We love the shrill trumpet, we love the drum's rattle. They call us to sport, and they call us to battle ; SONGS FROM THE DRAMAS. 481 And old Scotland shall laugh at the threats of a stranger, While our comrades in pastime are comrades in danger. If there's mirth in onr house, 'tis our neighbour that shares it — If peril approach, 'tis our neighbour that dares it; And when we lead off to the pipe and the tabor, The fair hand we press is the hand of a neigh- bour. Then close your ranks, comrades, the bands that combine them. Faith, friendship, and brotherhood, joined to entwine them ; And we'll laugh at the threats of each insolent stranger. While our comrades in sport are our comrades in danger. SONG. Admire not that I gained the prize From all the village crew ; How could I fail with hand or eyes, When heart and faith were true ? And when in floods of rosy wine My comrades drowned their cares, I thought but that thy heart was mine, My own leapt light as theirs. My brief delay then do not blame, Nor deem your swain untrue ; My form but lingered at the game, My soul was still with you. V. II 482 Scott's poems. SONG. When the tempest's at the loudest, On its gale the eagle rides ; When the ocean rolls the proudest, Through the foam the sea-bird glides — All the rage of wind and sea Is subdued by constancy. " Gnawing want and sickness pining, All the ills that men endure ; Each their various pangs combining, Constancy can find a cure — Pain, and Fear, and Poverty, Are subdued by constancy. Bar me from each wonted pleasure. Make me abject, mean, and poor ; Heap on insults without measure. Chain me to a dungeon floor — I'll be happy, rich, and free, If endowed with constancy. SONG. 0, Robin Hood was a bowman good. And a bowman good was he. And he met with a maiden in merry Sherwood, All under the greenwood tree. Now give me a kiss, quoth bold Robin Hood, Now give me a kiss, said he. For there never came maid into merry Sherwood, But she paid the forester's fee. SONGS FROM THE DRAMAS. 483 SONG. Air — The Bonnets of Bonny Dundee. To the Lords of Convention 'twas Claver'se who spoke, "Ere the King's crown shall fall there are crowns to be broke ; So let each Cavalier who loves honour and me, Come follow the bonnet of Bonny Dundee. " Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can, Come saddle your horses, and call up your men ; Come open the West Port, and let me gang free, And it's room for the bonnets of Bonny Dundee ! " Dundee he is mounted, he rides up the street. The bells are rung backward, the drums they are beat ; But the Provost, douce man, said, Just e'en let him be, The Gude Town is weel quit of that Deil of Dundee." Come fill up my cup, &c. As he rode down the sanctified bends of the Bow, Ilk carline was flyting and shaking her pow ; But the young plants of grace they looked couthie and slee. Thinking, luck to thy bonnet, thou Bonny Dundee ! Come fill up my cup, &c. 484 SCOTT'S POEMS. With sour-featured Whigs the Grassmarket was crammed As if half the West had set tryst to be hanged ; There was spite in each look, there was fear in each e'e, As they watched for the bonnets of Bonny Dundee. Come fill up my cup, &c. These cowls of Kilmarnock had spits and had spears And lang-hafted gullies to kill Cavaliers ; But they shrunk to close-heads, and the cause- way was free, At the toss of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee. Come fill up my cup, &c. He spurred to the foot of the proud Castle rock, And with the gay Gordon he gallantly spoke ; " Let Mons Meg and her marrows speak twa words or three, For the love of the bonnet of Bonnie Dundee." Come fill up my cup, &c. The Gordon demands of him which way he goes — Where'er shall direct me the shade of Montrose ! Your Grace in short space shall hear tidings of me, Or that low lies the bonnet of Bonny Dundee. Come fill up my cup, &c. " There are hills beyond Pentland, and lands beyond Forth, If there's lords in the Lowlands, there's chiefs in the North ; SONGS FROM THE DRAMAS. 485 There are wild Duniewassals three thousand times three, Will cry hoigh ! for the bonnet of Bonny Dundee. Come fill up my cup, &c. " There's brass on the target of barkened bull- hide ; There's steel in the scabbard that dangles beside ; The brass shall be burnished, the steel shall flash free, At a toss of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee. Come fill up my cup, &c. " Away to the hills, to the caves, to the rocks — Ere I own an usurper, I'll couch with the fox ; And tremble, false Whigs, in the midst of your glee. You have not seen the last of my bonnet and me! " Come fill up my cup, &c. He waved his proud hand, and the trumpets were blown. The kettle-drums clashed, and the horsemen rode on, Till on Ravelston's cliffs and on Clermiston's lee. Died away the wild war-notes of Bonny Dundee. Come fill up my cap, come fill up my can, Come saddle the horses, and call up the men, Come open your gates, and let me gae free. For it's up with the bonnets of Bonny Dundee ! 486 scott's poems. SONG. When friends are met o'er merry cheer, And lovely eyes are laughing near, And in the goblet's bosom clear The cares of day are drowned ; When puns are made, and bumpers quaffed, And wild Wit shoots his roving shaft, And Mirth his jovial laugh has laughed, Then is our banquet crowned. Ah gay, Then is our banquet crowned. When glees are sung, and catches trolled, And bashfulness grows bright and bold, And beauty is no longer cold, And age no longer dull ; When chimes are brief, and cocks do crow. To tell us it is time to go, Yet how to part we do not know, Then is our feast at full. Ah gay, Then is our feast at full. INDEX OF FIRST LINES. INDEX OF FIRST LINES OF THE MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, INCLUDING THE SONGS IN THE LONGER POEMS. VOL. PAGE A cat of yore (or else old ^sop lied) .... v. 3();> Admire not that I gained the prize v. 481 A Hawick gill of mountain dew v. 31.5 Ah ! County Guy, the hour is nigh v. 435 Ah, poor Louise ! the livelong day v. 462 Allen-a-Dale has no fagot for burning .... iii. 138 All joy was bereft me the day that you left me . v. 225 Amid these aisles, where once his precepts showed V. 233 A mightier wizard far than I v. 382 And art thou cold and lowly laid i. 294 And ne'er but once, my son, he says .... v. 201 Aud what though winter will pinch severe . , v. 349 And whither would you lead me, then .... iii. 186 And you shall deal the funeral dole v. 414 An hour with thee ! — When earliest day ... v. 456 Anna-Marie, love, up is the sun v. 370 Arthur's Seat shall be my bed v. 356 Ask thy heart, whose secret cell v. 382 As lords their labourers' hire delay v. 441 Assist me, ye friends of Old Books and Old Wine v. 319 As the worn war-horse, at the trumpet's sound . v. 298 Ave Maria ! maiden mild i, 221 A weary lot is thine, fair maid iii. 137 A weary month has wandered o'er v. 259 Ay ! and I taught thee the word and the spell . v. 380 " Behold the Tiber," the vain Roman cried . . v. 464 Be patient, be patient ; for Patience hath power v. 420 Birds of omen dark and foul v. 356 Bold knights and fair dames, to my harp give an ear ... v. 110 Bring the bowl which you boast v. 457 490 SCOTT'S POEMS. VOL. PAGE But follow, follow me v. 332 By ties mysterious linked, our fated race ... v. 383 Cauld is my bed. Lord Archibald v. 355 Champion, famed for warlike toil v. 416 Come forth, old man — Thy daughter's side . . v. 458 Cry the wild war-note, let the champions pass . v. 474 Dark Ahriman, whom Irak still v. 446 Dark and eerie was the night . v. 356 Daring youth, for thee it is well v. 382 Dinas Emlinn, lament; for the moment is nigh . v. 227 Donald Caird's come again ! v. 306 Dust unto dust v. 372 Emblem of England's ancient faith v. 337 Enchantress, farewell, who so oft has decoyed me V. 310 Fair is the damsel, passing fair v. 465 False love, and hast thou played me this ... v. 330 Fare thee well, thou Holly green v. 386 Farewell ! Farewell ! the voice you hear ... v. 414 Farewell, merry maidens, to song, and to laugh v. 412 Farewell to Mackenneth, great Earl of the North v. 256 Farewell to Northmaven v. 404 Farewell to the land where the clouds love to rest V. 349 Fathoms deep beneath the wave v. 406 For leagues along the watery way v. 407 Frederick leaves the land of France v. 117 From heavy dreams fair Helen rose v. 91 From the brown crest of Newark its summons extending v. 270 From thy Pomeranian throne v. 30 Gaze not upon the stars, fond sage v. 358 Girdle of our islands dear v. 418 Glowing with love, on fire for fame v. 268 God protect brave Alexander v. 274 Good even, good fair moon, good even to thee . v. 353 Good evening. Sir Priest, and so late as you ride v. 377 Go sit old Cheviot's crest below v. 212 Hail to the Chief who in triumph advances . . i. 185 Hail to thy cold and clouded beam iii. 93 Hawk and osprey screamed for joy v. 37 Health to the chieftain from his clansman true . v. 247 Hear what Highland Nora said v. 280 INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 491 VOL. PAGE He is gone on the mountain i. 211 Here, youth, thy foot unbrace v. 470 Hey for cavaliers, ho for cavaliers v. 352 Hie away, hie away v. 331 High deeds achieved of knightly fame .... v. 364 Hither we come v. 479 Hurra ! hurra ! Our watch is done iv. 258 I asked of my harp, "Who hath injured thy cords ? " V. 443 I climbed the dark brow of the mighty Helvellyn v. 217 I glance like wildfire through country and town . v. 352 I left my ladye's bower last night v. 363 111 fares the bark with tackle riven v. 41 I'll give thee, good fellow, a twelvemonth or twain V. 365 I'm Madge of the country, I'm Madge of the town V. .354 In Madoc's tent the clarion sounds v. 445 In respect that your Grace has commissioned a Kraken v. 251 In the bonnie cells of Bedlam v. 353 It chanced that Cupid on a season v. 270 It is the bonny butcher lad v. 353 It was an English ladye bright i. 106 It was Dunois, the young and brave, was bound for Palestine v. 267 I was a wild and wayward boy iii. 179 Joy to the victors ! the sons of old Aspen ! . . v. 477 Late, when the Autumn evening fell .... v. 329 Look not thou on beauty's charming .... v. 361 Look on my girdle — on this thread of gold . . v. 383 Lord William was born in gilded bower ... v. 24 Loves wakes and weeps v. 413 Macleod's wizard flag from the grey castle sallies v. 305 Maiden whose sorrows wail the Living Dead . v. 385 March, march, Ettrick and Teviotdale .... v. 384 Measurers of good and evil v. 465 Menseful maiden ne'er should rise v. 416 Merrily swim we, the moon shines bright . . v. 376 Merry it is in the good greenwood i. 232 Mortal warp and mortal woof v. 381 Mother darksome, Mother dread v. 408 My banes are buried in yon kirk-yard .... v, 354 My hawk is tired of perch and hood .... i. 296 492 scott's poems. VOL. PAGE My hounds may a* rin masterless v. 351 My wayward fate I needs must plain .... v. 231 Night and morning were at meeting- .... v. 262 Not faster yonder rowers' might i. 173 November's hail- cloud drifts away v. 358 Now all ye ladies of fair Scotland v. 445 Now, Billy Bewick, keep good heart .... v. 36^ Now Scot and English are agreed v. 424 O, Brignall banks are wild and fair iii. 128 O, dread was the time, and more dreadful the omen v. 253 Of all the birds on bush or tree v. 396 O for the voice of that wild horn v. 346 Of yore, in Old England, it was not thought good v. 323 Oh for a glance of that gay Muse's eye ... v. 2H4 Oh, Maid of Isla, from the cliff v. 311 O hone a rie' ! O hone a rie' ! v. 162 Oh, say not, my love, with that mortified air . v. 243 O, hush thee, my baby, thy sire was a knight . v. 273 O, I'm come to the Low Country v. 46 ) O Lady, twine no wreath for me . . . . . . iii. 175 O listen, listen, ladies gay i. Ill O lovers' eyes are sharp to see v. 224 O, low shone the sun on the fair lake of Toro . v. 220 Once again — but how changed since my wander- ings began v. 276 On Hallow-Mass Eve, ere you boune ye to rest v. 333 On Ettrick Forest's mountains dun v. 309 On the lee-beam lies the land, boys v. 440 O open the door, some pity to show .... v. 221 O, Robin Hood was a bowman good .... v. 482 O, sadly shines the morning sun v. 445 O sleep ye sound, Sir James, she said .... v. 353 O tell me, Harper, wherefore flow v. 245 Our vicar still preaches that Peter and Poule . i. 279 Our work is over — over now v. 354 O, who rides by night through the woodland so wild V. 139 O, will ye hear a mirthful bourd v. 207 O, will you hear a knightly tale of old Bohemian day V. 128 O, young Lochinvar is come out of the west . . ii. 136 Pibroch of Donuil Dim v. 275 Plain, as her native dignity of mind .... v. 308 Proud Maisie is in the wood v. 355 INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 493 VOL. PAGE Quake to jour foundations deep iv. 267 Rash adventurer, bear tliee back iv. ^56 Red glows the forge in Striguil's bounds ... v. 2'i9 Saint Magnus control thee, that martyr of treason v. 415 " She may be fair," he sang, "but yet" ... v. 42 She who sits by haunted well v. 419 Soft spread the southern summer night ... v. 260 Soldier, rest ! thy warfare o'er i. 168 Soldier, wake — the day is peeping v. 442 Son of Honour, theme of story iv. 265 So sung the old Bard, in the grief of his heart . v. 257 Sound, sound the clarion, fill the fife .... v. 351 Stafifa, sprung from high Macdonald .... v. 246 Stern eagle of the far north-west v. 401 Summer eve is gone and past iii. 169 Sweet shone the sun on the fair lake of Toro . . v. 478 Take these flowers which, purple waving ... v. 211 That day of wrath, that dreadful day .... 1. 117 The Baron of Smaylho'me rose with day ... v. 172 The course of human life is changeful still . . v. 43S The Druid Urien had daughters seven .... v. 54 The Forest of Glenmore is drear v. 215 The heath this night must be my bed .... i. 216 The hearth in hall was black and dead .... v. o62 The herring loves the merry moon-light ... v. 340 The hottest horse will oft be cool v. 373 The hour is nigh : now hearts beat high ... v. 465 The Knight's to the mountain v, 331 The last of our steers on the board has been spread v. 324 The monk must arise when the matins ring , , v. 361 The moon's on the lake, and the mist's on the brae v. 282 The news has flown frae mouth to mouth ... v. 312 Then in my gown of sober grey v. 391 Then she stretched out her lily hand .... v. 356 The Pope he was saymg the high, high mass . v. 192 There came three merry men from south, west, and north v. 371 There is mist on the mountain and night on the vale V. 334 There's a bloodhound ranging Tinwald Wood » v» 353 There was shaking of hands and sorrow of heart v. 422 The sacred tapers' lights are gone v* 393 The sound of Rokeby's woods 1 hear .... iii. 184 The sun is rising dimly red v. 404 494 SCOTT'S POEMS. VOL. PAGE The sun upon the lake is low v. 480 The sun upon the Weirdlaw Hill v. 297 The tears 1 shed must ever fall v. 456 The violet in her greenwood bower v. 211 The WildgTave winds his bugle-horn .... v. 103 They bid me sleep, they bid me pray .... i. 240 This is the day when the fairy kind v. 381 Thou art withm a demon's hold v. 419 Though right be aft put down by strength . . v, 243 Thou, so needful, yet so dread v. 417 Thou, that over billows dark v. 418 Thrice to the holly brake v. 379 Thy craven fear my truth accused v. 380 Thy hue, dear pledge, is pure and bright ... v. 350 'Tis not her sense — for sure, in that v. 454 'Tis sweet to hear expiring Summer's sigh . . v. 234 To horse ! to horse ! the standard flies .... v. 213 Toll, toll the bell v. 469 Too much rest is rust v. 445 To the Lords of Convention 'twas Claver'se who spoke V. 483 True Thomas lay on Huntlie bank v. 146 'Twas All-Souls' eve, and Surrey's heart beat high i. 108 'Twas a Marechal of France, and he fain would honour gain v. 241 'Twas when among our linden-trees .... v. 122 'Twas near the fair city of Benevent .... v. 448 Twist ye, twine ye ! even so v. 338 Up in the air v. 353 Viewless Essence, thin and bare v. 463 Waken, lords and ladies gay v. 230 Wasted, weary, wherefore stay v. 339 Welcome, grave Stranger, to our green retreats . v. 235 We love the shrill trumpet, we love the drum's rattle v. 480 Were ever two such loving friends .... v. 461 Wert thou like me in life's low vale v. 359 What did ye wi' the bridal ring — bridal ring — bridal ring ; v. 352 What I am I must not show v. 379 What stir, what turmoil, have we for the nones . v. 397 Wheel the wild dance v. 264 When autumn nights were long and drear . . v. 373 Whence the brooch of burning gold iv. 33 When friends are met o'er merry cheer .... v. 486 INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 495 VOL. PAGE When fruitful Clydesdale's apple-bowers ... v. 199 • When Israel, of the Lord beloved v. 369 When princely Hamilton's abode v. 184 When seven years more were come and gone . . v. 155 When seven years were come and gane ... v. 150 When the fight of grace is fought v. 354 When the gledd's in the blue cloud v. 353 When the heathen trumpet's clang v. 301 When the tempest's at the loudest v. 482 When the lone pilgrim views afar v. 300 Where corpse-light v. 415 Wherefore come ye not to court ...... v. 425 Where shall the lover rest ii. 77 Whet the bright steel v. 367 While the dawn on the mountain was misty and grey iii. 181 Why sit'st thou by that ruined hall v. 340 Why weep ye by the tide, ladie v. 279 Within that awful volume lies v. 381 Within the bounds of Annandale v. 465 Woman's faith and woman's trust v. 443 Yes, thou may'st sigh v. 464 Young men will love thee more fair and more fast v. 331 Youth of the dark eye, wherefore didst thou call me V. 379 Youth ! thou wear'st to manhood now .... v. 394 CHISWICK PRESS :— C. 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