THE EVE OF SAINT JOHN.

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 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 Buccleuch 'Gainst keen Lord Evers stood.

Yet was his helmet hacked and hewed,

His acton pierced and tore;

His axe and his dagger with blood embrued,
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;

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.

66 The bittern clamored from the moss,
The wind blew loud and shrill;
Yet the craggy pathway she did cross,
To the eiry beacon hill.

"I watched her steps, and silent came
Where she sat her on a stone

No watchmen 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 in 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, faint-hearted knight!

Thou should'st not say me nay;

For the eve is sweet, and when lovers meet,
Is worth the whole summer's day.

"And I'll chain the bloodhound, 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, be there!

เ

Though the bloodhounds be mute, and the rusa 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.'

"O fear not the priest, who sleepeth to the east!
For to Dryburgh 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 havo

power,

In thy chamber will I be.'

With that he was gone, and my lady left alone,
And no more did I see."

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."

"Thou est, thou 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 Eildon-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

stiff and stark

So I may not trust thy tale.

and the corpse

is

"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;

For the Dryburgh bells ring, and the white monks do

He passed the court-gate, and he oped the tower-grate, And he mounted the narrow stair

To the bartizan-seat, where, with maids that on her wait, He found his lady fair.