Till to her bidding she could bow

The viewless forms of air.1

And now she sits in secret bower,
In old Lord David's western tower,
And listens to a heavy sound,

That moans the mossy turrets round.
Is it the roar of Teviot's tide,

That chafes against the scaur's red side?
Is it the wind, that swings the oaks?
Is it the echo from the rocks?

What may it be, the heavy sound,

That moans old Branksome's turrets round?

XIII.

At the sullen, moaning sound,
The ban-dogs bay and howl;
And, from the turrets round,
Loud whoops the startled owl.
In the hall, both squire and knight
Swore that a storm was near,
And looked forth to view the night;
But the night was still and clear!

XIV.

From the sound of Teviot's tide,

Chafing with the mountain's side,

From the groan of the wind-swung oak,
From the sullen echo of the rock,

From the voice of the coming storm,
The Ladye knew it well!

It was the Spirit of the Flood that spoke,
And he call'd on the Spirit of the Fell.

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

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

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

XVI.

RIVER SPIRIT.

"Tears of an imprison'd maiden
Mix with my polluted stream;
Margaret of Branksome, sorrow-laden,
Mourns beneath the moon's pale beam.
Tell me, thou, who view'st the stars,
When shall cease these feudal jars?
What shall be the maiden's fate?
Who shall be the maiden's mate?"—

XVII.

MOUNTAIN SPIRIT.

"Arthur's slow wain his course doth roll, In utter darkness round the pole;

The Northern Bear lowers black and grim; Orion's studded belt is dim;

Twinkling faint, and distant far,

Shimmers through mist each planet star; VOL. I. -5

Ill may I read their high decree ! But no kind influence deign they shower On Teviot's tide, and Branksome's tower, Till pride be quell'd, and love be free."

XVIII.

The unearthly voices ceast,

And the heavy sound was still;
It died on the river's breast,
It died on the side of the hill.
But round Lord David's tower
The sound still floated near;
For it rung in the Ladye's bower,
And it rung in the Ladye's ear.
She raised her stately head,

And her heart throbb'd high with pride:"Your mountains shall bend,

And your streams ascend,

Ere Margaret be our foeman's bride!"

XIX.

The Ladye sought the lofty hall,

Where many a bold retainer lay,
And, with jocund din, among them all,
Her son pursued his infant play.
A fancied moss-trooper,' the boy

The truncheon of a spear bestrode,

And round the hall, right merrily,

In mimic foray" rode.

Even bearded knights, in arms grown old,
Share in his frolic gambols bore,

'See Appendix, Note G.

2

Foray, a predatory inroad.

Albeit their hearts of rugged mould,

Were stubborn as the steel they wore.
For the grey warriors prophesied,

How the brave boy, in future war,
Should tame the Unicorn's pride,'
Exalt the Crescent and the Star.2

XX.

The Ladye forgot her purpose high,
One moment, and no more;

One moment gazed with a mother's eye,
As she paused at the arched door:
Then from amid the armed train,

She call'd to her William of Deloraine.3

XXI.

A stark moss-trooping Scott was he,
As e'er couch'd Border lance by knee:
Through Solway sands, through Tarras moss,
Blindfold he knew the paths to cross;
By wily turns, by desperate bounds,
Had baffled Percy's best blood-hounds.1
In Eske, or Liddel, fords were none,
But he would ride them, one by one;

'[This line, of which the metre appears defective, would have its full complement of feet according to the pronunciation of the poet himself as all who were familiar with his utterance of the letter r will bear testimony. - ED.]

'The arms of the Kerrs of Cessford were, Vert on a cheveron, betwixt three unicorns' heads erased argent, three mullets sable, crest, a unicorn's head erased proper. The Scotts of Buccleuch bore, Or, on a bend azure; a star of six points betwixt two crescents of the first.

'See Appendix, Note H.

'See Appendix, Note L

Alike to him was time or tide,
December's snow, or July's pride;
Alike to him was tide or time,
Moonless midnight, or matin prime:
Steady of heart, and stout of hand,
As ever drove prey from Cumberland;
Five times outlawed had he been,
By England's King, and Scotland's Queen.

XXII.

"Sir William of Deloraine, good at need,
Mount thee on the wightest steed;
Spare not to spur, nor stint to ride,
Until thou come to fair Tweedside;
And in Melrose's holy pile

Seek thou the Monk of St. Mary's aisle.
Greet the Father well from me;
Say that the fated hour is come,
And to-night he shall watch with thee,
To win the treasure of the tomb:

For this will be St. Michael's night,

And, though stars be dim, the moon is bright And the Cross, of bloody red,

Will point to the grave of the mighty dead.

XXIII.

"What he gives thee, see thou keep; Stay not thou for food or sleep:

Be it scroll, or be it book,

Into it, Knight, thou must not look;

If thou readest, thou art lorn!

Better had'st thou ne'er been born."—