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These tidings caught Sir Bertram's ear,
He thank'd him for his tale ; And foon he hasted o'er the hills,
And foon he reach'd the vale.
Then Jrawing near those lonely towers,
Which stood in dale so low, And fitting down beside the gate,
His pipes he 'gan to blow.
Sir Porter, is thy lord at home
To hear a Minstrel's song? Or may I crave a lodging here?
Without offence or wrong?
My Lord, he said, is not at home
To hear a Minstrel's song:
My life would not be long.
He play'd again, so soft a strain,
Such power sweet sounds impart, He won the churlish Porter's ear,
And moved his stubborn heart.
Minstrel, he said, thou play'st so sweet,
Fair entrance thou should'st win; But, alas ! I am sworn upon the rood,
To let no stranger in.
Yet, Minstrel, in yon rifing cliff
Thou'lt find a sheltering cave, And here thou shalt my supper share,
And there thy lodging have. All day he fits befide the gate,
And pipes both loud and clear : All night he watches round the walls,
In hopes his love to hear.
The first night, as he filent watchd,
All at the midnight hour,
Lamenting in the tower.
The second night the moon lone clear,
And gilt the spangled dew;
But 'twas a transient view.
The third night wearied out he Nept
'Till near the morning tide ; When starting up, he feiz'd his fword,
And to the castle hy'd.
When, lo i he saw a ladder of ropes
Depending from the wall ;
A poplar strong and tall.
And foon he saw his love descend
Wrapt in a tartan plaid : Afifted by a sturdy youth
In Highland garb y-clad.
Amaz'd confounded at the fight,
He lay unseen and still ;
And mount the neighbouring hill.
Unheard unknown of all within,
The youthful couple fly.
Or Thun his piercing eye?
Behind the flying pair,
With fond familiar air.
Thanks, gentle yooth, the often said;
My thanks thou well haft won :
For me what dangers run ?
And ever shall my grateful heart
Thy services repay :
But cried, Vile traitor, stay!
Vile traitor, yield that Lady up!
And quick his sword he drew,
And at Sir Bertram fiew.
With mortal hate their vigorous arms
Gave many a vengeful blow:
And laid the ftranger low.
Die, traitor, die! - A deadly thrust
Attends each furious word.
And rush'd beneath his sword.
O ftop, she cried, O atop thy arm!
Thou dost thy brother Day!
His tongue no more could say.
At length he cried, Ye lovely pair,
How shall I tell the rest
It fell and ftab'd her breast.
Wert thou thyself that hapless youth ?
Ah! cruel fate! they said,
They fighd; he hung his head.
O blind and jealous rage, he cried,
What evils from thee flow? The Hermit paus’d ; they filent mourn'd;
He wept, and they were woe.
Ah! when I heard
brother's name, And saw my lady bleed, I rav’l, I wept, I curft my arm,
That wrought the fatal deed.
In vain 1 clafp'd her to my breast,
And clos'd the ghaftly wound;
And rais'd it from the ground.
My brother, alas! fpake never more ;
His precious life was flown.
Regardless of her own.
Bertram, she said, be comforted,
And live to think on me :
Which here was not to be.
Bertram, she said, I still was true ;
Thou only hadft my heart : May we hereafter meet in bliss !
We now, alas ! must part.
For thee I left my father's hall,
And few to thy relief;
I met a Scottish chief.
Lord Malcolm's son, whose proffered love
I had refus'd with scorn ;
Upon that fatal morn;
And in these dreary hated walls
He kept me close confin'd;
To win me to his mind.
Each rising morn increas'd my pain,
Each night increas'd my fear ; When wandering in this northern garb
Thy brother found me here.
He quickly form'd this brave design
To set me captive free;
Ty'd to a neighbouring tree.
Then hafte, my love, escape away,
And for thyself provide ;
Who should have been thy bride.
Thus pouring comfort on my soul
Even with her latest breath,
And clos'd her eyes death.