Meantime, kind Wycliffe, wilt thou try
Thy minstrel skill?-Nay, no reply-*
And look not sad!-I guess thy thought,
Thy verse with laurels would be bought;
And poor Matilda, landless now,
Has not a garland for thy brow.

True, I must leave sweet Rokeby's glades,
Nor wander more in Greta shades;
But sure, no rigid jailer, thou
Wilt a short prison-walk allow,

Where summer flowers grow wild at will,
On Marwood-chase and Toller Hill;t
Then holly green and lily gay
Shall twine in guerdon of thy lay."
The mournful youth, a space aside,
To tune Matilda's harp applied;
And then a low sad descant rung,
As prelude to the lay he sung.

XIII.

THE CYPRESS WREATH.S

O, Lady, twine no wreath for me,
Or twine it of the cypress-tree!
Too lively glow the lilies light,
The varnish'd holly's all too bright,
The May-flower and the eglantine
May shade a brow less sad than mine;
But, Lady, weave no wreath for me,
Or weave it of the cypress-tree!

Let dimpled Mirth his temples twine
With tendrils of the laughing vine;
The manly oak, the pensive yew,
To patriot and to sage be due;
The myrtle bow bids lovers live,
But that Matilda will not give;

Then, Lady, twine no wreath for me,
Or twine it of the cypress-tree!

Let merry England proudly rear
Her blended roses, bought so dear;
Let Albin bind her bonnet blue
With heath and harebell dipp'd in dew;
On favour'd Erin's crest be seen
The flower she loves of emerald green-
But, Lady, twine no wreath for me,
Or twine it of the cypress-tree.

Strike the wild harp, while maids prepare
The ivy meet for minstrel's hair:
And, while his crown of laurel-leaves,
With bloody hand the victor weaves,
Let the loud trump his triumph tell;
But when you hear the passing bell,
Then, Lady, twine a wreath for me,
And twine it of the cypress-tree.
[MS." what think'st thou

Of yonder harp --Nay, clear thy brow."] Marwood-chase is the old park extending along the Durham side of the Tees, attached to Barnard Castle. Toller Hill is an eminence on the Yorkshire side of the river, commanding a superb view of the ruins.

MS.-"Where rose and lily I will twine

In guerdon of a song of thine.")

5 [Mr Scott has imparted a delicacy, (we mean in the colouring, for of the design we cannot approve.) a sweetness and a melancholy smile to this parting picture,that really enchant us. Poor Wilfnd is sadly discomfited by the last instance of encouragement to Redmond; and Mat ida endeavours to cheer him by requesting, in the prettiest, and yet in the most touching manner, Kind Wyelife to try his minstrelsy. We will here just ask Mr. Scott, whether this would not be actual, infernal, and intolerable torture to a man who had any soul? Why, then, make his heroine even the unwilling cause of such misery? Matilda had talked of twining a wreath for her poet of holly green and lily gay, and he singa, broken-hearted, The Cypress Wreath." We have, however, inserted this as one of the best of Mr. Scott's songs."Monthly Review.Ï

■ {MS.—" I would not wish thee {i} degree

So lost to hope as falls to me;

But {wert thou such, in minstrel pride

if thou wert,

The land we'd traverse, side by side,
On prancing steeds, like minstrels old,
Bound for

That sought the halls of barons bold."]

¶ Drummond of Hawthornden was in the zenith of his reputation as a poet during the Civil Wars. He died in 1649.

MacCurtin, hereditary Ollamh of North Munster, and Filea to Donough, Earl of Thomond, and President of Munster. This nobleman was amongst those who were prevailed upon to join VOL. I.-3 P

Yes! twine for me the cypress bough:
But, O Matilda, twine not now!
Stay till a few brief months are past,
And I have look'd and loved my last!
When villagers my shroud bestrew
With panzies, rosemary, and rue,―
Then, Lady, weave a wreath for me,
And weave it of the cypress-tree.

XIV.

O'Neale observed the starting tear,
And spoke with kind and blithesome cheer-
"No, noble Wilfrid ! ere the day
When mourns the land thy silent lay,
Shall many a wreath be freely wove
By hand of friendship and of love.
I would not wish that rigid Fate
Had doom'd thee to a captive's state,
Whose hands are bound by honour's law,
Who wears a sword he must not draw;
But were it so, in minstrel pride
The land together would we ride,

On prancing steeds, like harpers old,
Bound for the halls of barons bold,
Each lover of the lyre we'd seek,

From Michael's Mount to Skiddaw's Peak,
Survey wild Albin's mountain strand,
And roam green Erin's lovely land,
While thou the gentler souls should move,
With lay of pity and of love,

And I, thy mate, in rougher strain,
Would sing of war and warriors slain.
Old England's bards were vanquish'd then,
And Scotland's vaunted Hawthornden, T
And, silenced on Iernian shore,

M'Curtin's harp should charm no more!"**
In lively mood he spoke, to wile

แ

From Wilfrid's wo-worn cheek a smile.

XV.

'But," said Matilda, "ere thy name,
Good Redmond, gain its destined fame,
Say, wilt thou kindly deign to call
Thy brother-minstrel to the hall ?
Bid all the household, too, attend,
Each in his rank an humble friend;

I know their faithful hearts will grieve,
When their poor Mistress takes her leave:
So let the horn and beaker flow
To mitigate their parting wo."

The harper came ;-in youth's first prime
Himself; in mode of olden time

His garb was fashion'd, to express
The ancient English minstrel's dress,tt
A seemly gown of Kendal green,
With gorget closed of silver sheen;

Elizabeth's forces. Soon as it was known that he had basely abandoned the interests of his country, MacCurtin presented an adulatory poem to MacCarthy, chief of South Munster, and of the Euginian line, who, with O'Neil, O'Donnel, Lacy, and others, were deeply engaged in protecting their violated country. In this poem he dwells with rapture on the courage and patriotism of MacCarthy; but the verse that should (according to an estab lished law of the order of the bards) be introduced in the praise of O'Brien, he turns into severe satire:- How am Tafflicted (says he) that the descendant of the great Brion Boiromh cannot furnish me with a theme worthy the honour and glory of his exalted race!' Lord Thomond, hearing this, vowed vengeance on the spirited bard, who fled for refuge to the county of Cork. One day observing the exasperated nobleman and his equipage at a small distance, he thought it was in vain to fly, and pretended to be suddenly seized with the pangs of death; directing his wife to lament over him, and tell his lordship, that the sight of him, by awakening the sense of his ingratitude, had so much affected him that he could not support it; and desired her at the same time to tell his lordship, that he entreated, as a dying request, his forgiveness. Soon as Lord Thomond arrived, the feigned tale was related to him. That nobleman was moved to compassion, and not only declared that he most heartily forgave him, but, opening his purse, presented the fair mourner with some pieces to inter him. This instance of his lordship's pity and generosity gave courage to the trembling bard; who, suddenly springing up, recited an extemporaneous ode in praise of Donough, and. re-entering into his service, became once more his favourite."-WALKER'S Memoirs of the Irish Bards. Lond. 1788. 4to. p. 141.

+ Among the entertainments presented to Elizabeth at Kenilworth Castle, was the introduction of a person designed to represent a travelling minstrel, who entertained her with a solemn story out of the Acts of King Arthur. Of this person's dress and appearance Mr. Laneham has given us a very accurate account, transferred by Bishop, Percy to the preliminary Dissertation on Minstrels, prefixed to his Reliques of Ancient Poetry, vol. i

His harp in silken scarf was slung,
And by his side an anlace hung.

It seem'd some masker's quaint array,
For revel or for holyday.

XVI.

He made obeisance with a free
Yet studied air of courtesy.

Each look and accent, framed to please,
Seem'd to affect a playful ease;
His face was of that doubtful kind,
That wins the eye, but not the mind;
Yet harsh it seem'd to deem amiss
Of brow so young and smooth as this.
His was the subtle look and sly,
That spying all, seems naught to spy:
Round all the group his glances stole,
Unmark'd themselves, to mark the whole.
Yet sunk beneath Matilda's look,
Nor could the eye of Redmond brook.*
To the suspicious, or the old,
Subtle and dangerous and bold
Had seem'd this self-invited guest;
But young our lovers,-and the rest,
Wrapt in their sorrow and their fear
At parting of their Mistress dear,
Tear-blinded to the Castle-hall,t
Came as to bear her funeral pall.
XVII.

All that expression base was gone,
When waked the guest his minstrel tone;
It fled at inspiration's call,

As erst the demon fled from Saul.t
More noble glance he cast around,

More free-drawn breath inspired the sound,
His pulse beat bolder and more high,
In all the pride of minstrelsy!
Alas! too soon that pride was o'er,
Sunk with the lay that bade it soar!
His soul resumed, with habit's chain,
Its vices wild and follies vain,
And gave the talent, with him born,
To be a common curse and scorn.

Such was the youth whom Rokeby's Maid,
With condescending kindness pray'd
Here to renew the strains she loved,
At distance heard and well approved.

My youth, with bold Ambition's mood,
Despised the humble stream and wood,
Where my poor father's cottage stood,

To fame unknown;

What should my soaring views make good?
My harp alone!

Love came with all his frantic fire,
And wild romance of vain desire :S
The baron's daughter heard my lyre,

And praised the tone;

What could presumptuous hope inspire?
My harp alone!

At manhood's touch the bubble burst,
And manhood's pride the vision curst,
And all that had my folly nursed

Love's sway to own;
Yet spared the spell that lull'd me first,
My harp alone!

* [MS.-" Nor could keen Redmond's aspect brook."] [MS." Came blindfold to the Castle-hall,

As if to bear her funeral pall"]

"But the Spirit of the Lord departed from Saul, and an evil spirit from the Lord troubled him.

"And Saul said unto his servants, Provide me now a man that can play well, and bring him to me And it came to pass, when the evil spirit from God was upon Saul, that David took an harp, and played with his hand: So Saul was refreshed, and as well

Wo came with war, and want with wo;
And it was mine to undergo
Each outrage of the rebel foe :-
Can aught atone

My fields laid waste, my cot laid low?
My harp alone!

Ambition's dreams I've seen depart,
Have rued of penury the smart,
Have felt of love the venom'd dart,
When hope was flown:

Yet rests one solace to my heart,--
My harp alone!

Then over mountain, moor, and hill,
My faithful Harp, I'll bear thee still;
And when this life of want and ill
Is wellnigh gone,

Thy strings mine elegy shall thrill,
My harp alone!

XIX.

A pleasing lay!" Matilda said;
But Harpool shook his old gray head,
And took his baton and his torch,

To seek his guard-room in the porch.
Edmond observed-with sudden change,
Among the strings his fingers range,
Until they waked a bolder glee
Of military melody;

Then paused amid the martial sound,
And look'd with well-feign'd fear around;-¶
None to this noble house belong,"

He said, "that would a minstrel wrong,.
Whose fate has been, through good and ill,
To love his Royal Master still;

And, with your honour'd leave, would fain
Rejoice you with a loyal strain."
Then, as assured by sign and look,
The warlike tone again he took;

And Harpool stopp'd and turn'd to hear
A ditty of the Cavalier.

He has doff'd the silk doublet the breast-plate to bear,

He has placed the steel-cap o'er his long flowing hair,

From his belt to his stirrup his broadsword hangs down,

Heaven shield the brave Gallant that fights for the Grown!

For the rights of fair England that broadsword he draws,

Her King is his leader, her Church is his cause;
His watchword is honour, his pay is renown,
GOD strike with the Gallant that strikes for the
Crown!

They may boast of their Fairfax, their Waller, and

all

The roundheaded rebels of Westminster Hall;
But tell these bold traitors of London's proud town,
That the spears of the North have encircled the
Crown.**

There's Derby and Cavendish, dread of their foes:
There's Erin's high Ormond, and Scotland's Mon-

trose!

and the evil spirit departed from him."-1 SAMUEL, chap. xvi. 14, 17, 23.]

§ (MS.-" Love came, with all his ardent fire,
His frantic dream, his wild desire."]
[MS. And doom'd at once to undergo,
Each varied outrage of the foe."]
TIMS." And looking timidly around."]
** [MS.

-" of proud London town,
That the North has brave nobles to fight for the Crown."

XXI.

"Alas!" Matilda said, "that strain,
Good harper, now is heard in vain!
The time has been, at such a sound,
When Rokeby's vassals gather'd round,
A hundred manly hearts would bound;
But now, the stirring verse we hear,
Like trump in dying soldier's ear!t
Listless and sad the notes we own,
The power to answer them is flown.
Yet not without his meet applause
Be he that sings the rightful cause,
Even when the crisis of its fate
To human eye seems desperate.
While Rokeby's heir such power retains,
Let this slight guerdon pay thy pains:-
And, lend thy harp; I fain would try,
If my poor skill can aught supply,
Ere yet I leave my father's hall,

To mourn the cause in which we fall."
XXII.

The harper, with a downcast look,
And trembling hand, her bounty took.-
As yet, the conscious pride of art

Had steel'd him in his treacherous part;
A powerful spring, of force unguess'd,
That hath each gentler mood suppress'd,
And reign'd in many a human breast;
From his that plans the red campaign,
To his that wastes the woodland reign.
The failing wing, the blood-shot eye,-
The sportsman marks with apathy,
Each feeling of his victim's ill
Drown'd in his own successful skill.
The veteran, too, who now no more
Aspires to head the battle's roar,s
Loves still the triumph of his art,
And traces on the pencill'd chart
Some stern invader's destined way,
Through blood and ruin to his prey;
Patriots to death, and towns to flame,
He dooms, to raise another's name,
And shares the guilt, though not the fame.
What pays him for his span of time
Spent in premeditating crime?
What against pity arms his heart?—
It is the conscious pride of art.ll
XXIII.

But principles in Edmund's mind
Were baseless, vague, and undefined.
His soul, like bark with rudder lost,
On Passion's changeful tide was tost;
Nor Vice nor Virtue had the power
Beyond the impression of the hour;
And, O! when Passion rules, how rare
The hours that fall to Virtue's share!
Yet now she roused her-for the pride,
That lack of sterner guilt supplied,
Could scarce support him when arose
The lay that mourn'd Matilda's woes.
SONG.

THE FAREWELL.

The sound of Rokeby's woods I hear.
They mingle with the song:
Dark Greta's voice is in mine ear,

I must not hear them long.

[In the MS. the last quatrain of this song is,

If they boast that fair Reading by treachery fell,

Of Stratton and Lansdoune the Cornish can tell,

And the North tell of Bramham and Adderton Down,

Where God bless'd the brave gallants who fought for the Crown."] (MS.-But now it sinks upon the ear,

Like dirge beside a hero's bier."]

[M8.- Marking, with sportive cruelty,

The failing wing, the blood shot eye."]

From every loved and native haunt
The native heir must stray,

And, like a ghost whom sunbeams daunt,
Must part before the day.

Soon from the halls my fathers rear'd,
Their scutcheons may descend,
A line so long beloved and fear'd'
May soon obscurely end.
No longer here Matilda's tone
Shall bid those echoes swell;
Yet shall they hear her proudly own
The cause in which we fell.
The Lady paused, and then again
Resumed the lay in lofter strain.T
XXIV.

Let our halls and towers decay,
Be our name and line forgot,
Lands and manors pass away,-
We but share our Monarch's lot.
If no more our annals show

Battles won and banners taken,
Still in death, defeat, and wo,
Ours be loyalty unshaken!
Constant still in danger's hour,
Princes own'd our father's aid;
Lands and honours, wealth and
Well their loyalty repaid.
Perish wealth, and power, and pride!
Mortal boons by mortals given;
But let Constancy abide,

Constancy's the gift of Heaven.
XXV.

power,*

While thus Matilda's lay was heard,
A thousand thoughts in Edmund stirr'd.
In peasant life he might have known
As fair a face, as sweet a tone:
But village notes could ne'er supply
That rich and varied melody;
And ne'er in cottage-maid was seen
The easy dignity of mien,

Claiming respect, yet waving state,
That marks the daughters of the great.
Yet not, perchance, had these alone
His scheme of purposed guilt o'erthrown;
But while her energy of mind
Superior rose to griefs combined,
Lending its kindling to her eye,
Giving her form new majesty,-

To Edmund's thought Matilda seem'd
The very object he had dream'd;

When, long ere guilt his soul had known,
In Winston bowers he mused alone,
Taxing his fancy to combine

The face, the air, the voice divine,

Of princess fair, by cruel fate

Reft of her honours, power, and state,tt

Till to her rightful realm restored

By destined hero's conquering sword.

XXVI.

**

"Such was my vision!" Edmund thought: "And have I, then, the ruin wrought

Of such a maid, that fancy ne'er
In fairest vision form'd her peer?
Was it my hand that could unclose
The postern to her ruthless foes?
Foes, lost to honour, law, and faith,
Their kindest mercy sudden death!
Have I done this? I! who have swore,
That if the globe such angel bore,

I would have traced its circle broad,
To kiss the ground on which she trode!-
And now-O! would that earth would rive,
And close upon me while alive!-

(MS.-"The veteran chief, whose broken age,

No more can lead the battle's rage.")

["Surely, no poet has ever paid a finer tribute to the power of his art, than in the foregoing description of its effects on the mind of this unhappy boy! and none has ever more justly apprereason, and abandoned by virtue-Critical Review.] ciated the worthlessness of the sublimest genius, unrestrained by

This couplet is not in the MS]

**IMS.- Knightly titles, wealth and power."] tt [MS.-" Of some fair princess of romance, The guerdon of a hero's lance."]

Is there no hope? Is all then lost?-
Bertram's already on his post!

Even now, beside the Hall's arch'd door,
I saw his shadow cross the floor!
He was to wait my signal strain-

A little respite thus we gain;
By what I heard the menials say,
Young Wycliffe's troop are on their way-
Alarm precipitates the crime!

My harp must wear away the time."-
And then, in accents faint and low,
He falter'd forth a tale of wo.*

XXVII.

BALLAD.

"And whither would you lead me then ?" Quoth the Friar of orders gray;

And the Ruffians twain replied again,

64

By a dying woman to pray."

"I see," he said, "a lovely sight, A sight bodes little harm,

A lady as a lily bright,

With an infant on her arm.".

[The MS. has not this couplet.]

[MS. And see thy shrift be true,

Else shall the soul, that parts to-day

Fling all its guilt on you."]

The tradition from which the ballad is founded was supplied by a friend, (the late Lord Webb Seymour,) whose account I will not do the injustice to abridge, as it contains an admirable picture of an old English hall:-

"Littlecote House stands in a low and lonely situation. On three sides it is surrounded by a park that spreads over the adjoining hill, on the fourth, by meadows which are watered by the river Kennet. Close on one side of the house is a thick grove of lofty trees, along the verge of which runs one of the principal avenues to it through the park. It is an irregular building of great antiquity, and was probably erected about the time of the termi nation of feudal warfare, when defence came no longer to be an object in a country mansion. Many circumstances, however, in the interior of the house, seem appropriate to feudal times. The hall is very spacious, floored with stones, and lighted by large transom windows, that are clothed with casements. Its walls are hung with old military accoutrements, that have long been left a prey to rust. At one end of the hall is a range of coats of mail and helmets, and there is on every side abundance of oldfashioned pistols and guns, many of them with matchlocks. Immediately below the cornice hangs a row of leathern jerkins, made in the form of a shirt, supposed to have been worn as ar mour by the vassals. A large oak table, reaching nearly from one end of the room to the other, might have feasted the whole neighbourhood, and an appendage to one end of it made it answer at other times for the old game of shuffleboard. The rest of the furniture is in a suitable style, particularly an arm-chair of cumbrous workmanship, constructed of wood, curiously turned, with a high back and triangular seat, said to have been used by Judge Pop ham in the reign of Elizabeth. The entrance into the hall is at one end, by a low door, communicating with a passage that leads from the outer door in the front of the house to a quadrangle within; at the other, it opens upon a gloomy staircase, by which you ascend to the first floor, and, passing the doors of some bedchambers, enter a narrow gallery, which extends along the back front of the house from one end to the other of it, and looks upon an old garden. This gallery is hung with portraits, chiefly in the Spanish dresses of the sixteenth century. In one of the bedchambers, which you pass in going towards the gallery, is a bedstead with blue furniture, which time has now made dingy and threadbare, and in the bottom of one of the bed curtains you are shown a place where a small piece has been cut out and sewn in again, -a circumstance which serves to identify the scene of the following story

"It was on a dark rainy night in the month of November, that an old midwife sat musing by her cottage fire-side, when on a sudden she was startled by a loud knocking at the door. On opening it she found a horseman, who told her that her assistance was required immediately by a person of rank, and that she should be handsomely rewarded; but that there were reasons for keeping the affair a strict secret, and, therefore, she must submit to be blindfolded, and to be conducted in that condition to the bedchamber of the lady. With some hesitation the midwife consented; the horseman bound her eyes, and placed her on a pillion behind him. After proceeding in silence for many miles through rough and dirty lanes, they stopped, and the midwife was led into a house, which, from the length of her walk through the apartments, as well as the sounds about her, she discovered to be the Beat of wealth and power. When the bandage was removed from her eyes, she found herself in a bedchamber, in which were the Jady on whose account she had been sent for, and a man of a haughty and ferocious aspect. The lady was delivered of a fine boy. Immediately the man commanded the midwife to give him the child, and, catching it from her, he hurried across the room, and threw it on the back of the fire, that was blazing in the chimney. The child, however, was strong, and by its struggles rolled itself upon the hearth, when the ruffian again seized it with fury, and, in spite of the intercession of the midwife, and the more piteous entreaties of the mother, thrust it under the grate, and caking the live coals upon it, soon put an end to its life. The midwife, after spending some time in affording all the relief in her ⚫ I think there is a chapel on one side of it, but am not quite sure.

"Then do thine office, Friar gray,
And see thou shrive her free!t
Else shall the sprite, that parts to-night,
Fling all its guilt on thee.

"Let mass be said, and trentrals read,
When thou'rt to convent gone,
And bid the bell of St. Benedict
Toll out its deepest tone.'

The shrift is done, the Friar is gone,
Blindfolded as he came
Next morning, all in Littlecot Hall
Were weeping for their dame.

Wild Darrell is an alter'd man,

The village crones can tell;.
He looks pale as clay, and strives to pray,
If he hears the convent bell.

If prince or peer cross Darrell's way,
He'll beard him in his pride-
If he meet a Friar of orders gray,

He droops and turns aside.*

power to the wretched mother, was told that she must be gone. Her former conductor appeared, who again bound her eyes, and conveyed her behind him to her own home: he then paid her handsomely, and departed. The midwife was strongly agitated by the horrors of the preceding night; and she immediately made a deposition of the facts before a magistrate. Two circumstan ces afforded hopes of detecting the house in which the crime had been committed; one was, that the midwife, as she sat by the belside, had, with a view to discover the place, cut out a piece of the bed curtain, and sewn it in again; the other was, that as she had descended the staircase she had counted the steps. Some suspicious fell upon one Darrell, at that time the proprietor of Littlecote House, and the domain around it. The house was examined, and identified by the midwife, and Darrell was tried at Salisbury for the murder. By corrupting his judge, he escaped the sentence of the law; but broke his neck by a fall from his horse in hunting, in a few months after. The place where this happened is still known by the name of Darrell's style, a spot to be dreaded by the peasant whom the shades of evening have overtaken on his way.

"Littlecote-House is two miles from Hungerford, in Berkshire, through which the Bath road passes. The fact occurred in the reign of Elizabeth. All the important circumstances I have given exactly as they are told in the country; some trifles only are added, either to render the whole connected, or to increase the impression."

To Lord Webb's edition of this singular story the author can now add the following account, extracted from Aubrey's Corres pondence. It occurs among other particulars respecting Sir John Popham:

Sir Dayrell, of Littlecote, in Corn. Wilts, having gott his lady's waiting woman with child, when her travell care, sent a servant with a horse for a midwife, whom he was to bring hoodwinked. She was brought, and layd the woman, but as soon as the child was born, she sawe the knight take the child and murther it, and burn it in the fire in the chamber. She having done her businesse, was extraordinarily rewarded for her paynes, and sent blindfolded away. This horrid action did much run in her mind, and she had a desire to discover it, but knew not where 'twas. She considered with herself the time that she was riding. and how many miles she might have rode at that rate in that time, and that it must be some great person's house, for the roome was 12 foot high; and she should know the chamber if she sawe it. She went to a Justice of Peace, and search was made. The very chamber found. The Knight was brought to his tryall; and to be short, this judge had this noble house, parke and marner, and (I thinke) more, for a bribe to save his life.

"Sir John Popham gave sentence according to lawe, but being a great person, and a favourite, he procured a noli prosequi." With this tale of terror the author has combined some circumstances of a similar legend, which was current at Edinburgh du ring his childhood.

About the beginning of the eighteenth century, when the large castles of the Scottish nobles, and even the secluded hotels, like those of the French neblesse, which they possessed in Edinburgh, were sometimes the scenes of strange and mysterious transac tions, a divine of singular sanctity was called up at midnight to pray with a person at the point of death This was no unusual summons; but what followed was alanning: He was put into a sedan-chair, and after he had been transported to a remote part of the town, the bearers insisted upon his being blindfolded. The request was enforced by a cocked pistol, and submitted to; but employed by the chairmen, and from some part of their dress, not in the course of the discussion, he conjectured, from the phrases completely concealed by their cloaks, that they were greatly above the menial station they had assumed. After many turns and windings, the chair was carried up stairs into a lodging. where his eyes were uncovered, and he was introdued into a bedroom, where he found a lady, newly delivered of an infant. He was commanded by his attendants to say such prayers by her bedside as were fitting for a person not expected to survive a mortal disorder. He ventured to remonstrate, and observe, that her safe delivery warranted better hopes. But he was sternly commanded to obey the orders first given, and with difficulty re collected himself sufficiently to acquit himself of the task imposed on him. He was then again hurried into the chair; but as they

XXVIII. "Harper! methinks thy magic lays," Matilda said, "can goblins raise! Wellnigh my fancy can discern, Near the dark porch, a visage stern; E'en now in yonder shadowy nook, I see it!-Redmond, Wilfrid, look!A human form distinct and clearGod, for thy mercy!-It draws near!" She saw too true. Stride after stride, The centre of that chamber wide Fierce Bertram gain'd; then made a stand, And, proudly waving with his hand, Thunder'd-" Be still, upon your lives!He bleeds who speaks, he dies who strives." Behind their chief, the robber crew Forth from the darken'd portal drew, In silence-save that echo dread Return'd their heavy measured tread.* The lamp's uncertain lustre gave

Their arms to gleam, their plumes to wave;
File after file in order pass,

Like forms on Banquo's mystic glass.
Then, halting at their leader's sign,

At once they form'd and curved their line,
Hemming within its crescent drear
Their victims, like a herd of deer.
Another sign, and to the aim
Level'd at once their muskets came,
As waiting but their chieftain's word,
To make their fatal volley heard.

XXIX.

Back in a heap the menials drew;
Yet, even in mortal terror, true,
Their pale and startled group oppose
Between Matilda and the foes.

"O. haste thee, Wilfrid!" Redmond cried;
"Undo that wicket by thy side!
Bear hence Matildat-gain the wood--
The pass may be awhile made good-
Thy band, ere this, must sure be nigh-
O speak not-dally not-but fly!"
While yet the crowd their motions hide,
Through the low wicket door they glide.
Through vaulted passages they wind,
In Gothic intricacy twined;
Wilfrid half led, and half he bore,
Matilda to the postern-door,
And safe beneath the forest tree,
The lady stands at liberty.

The moonbeams, the fresh gale's caress,
Renew'd suspended consciousness ;-
"Where's Redmond?" eagerly she cries:
"Thou answer'st not-he dies! he dies!
And thou hast left him, all bereft
Of mortal aid-with murderers left!
I know it well-he would not yield
His sword to man-his doom is seal'd!
For my scorn'd life, which thou hast bought
At price of his, I thank thee not."

conducted him down stairs, he heard the report of a pistol. He was safely conducted home; a purse of gold was forced upon him; but he was warned, at the same time, that the least allsion to this dark transaction would cost him his life. He betook himself to rest, and, after long and broken musing, fell into a deep sleep. From this he was awakened by his servant, with the dismal news that a fire of uncommon fury had broken out in the house of ****, near the head of the Canongate, and that it was totally consumed; with the shocking addition, that the daughter of the proprietor, a young lady eminent for beauty and accom plishments, had perished in the flames. The clergyman had his suspicions, but to have made them public would have availed nothing. He was timid; the family was of the first distinction; above all, the deed was done, and could not be amended. Time wore away, however, and with it his terrors. He became unhappy at being the solitary depositary of this fearful mystery, and mentioned it to some of his brethren, through whom the anecdote acquired a sort of publicity. The divine, however, had been long dead, and the story in some degree forgotten. when a fire broke Gut again on the very same spot where the house of**** had formerly stood, and which was now occupied by buildings of an inferior description. When the flames were at their height, the tumult, which usually attends such a scene, was suddenly suspended by an unexpected apparition. A beautiful female, in a

"Lady," he said, "my band so near,

In safety thou mayst rest thee here.
For Redmond's death thou shalt not mourn,
If mine can buy his safe return.'

He turn'd away-his heart throbb'd high,
The tear was bursting from his eye;
The sense of her injustice press'd
Upon the Maid's distracted breast,-

Stay, Wilfrid, stay! all aid is vain!"
He heard, but turn'd him not again;
He reaches now the postern-door,
Now enters-and is seen no more.
XXXI.

With all the agony that e'er

Was gender'd 'twixt suspense and fear,
She watch'd the line of windows tall,
Whose Gothic lattice lights the Hall,
Distinguish'd by the paly red

The lamps in dím reflection shed,§
While all beside in wan moonlight
Each grated casement glimmer'd white.
No sight of harm, no sound of ill,
It is a deep and midnight still.
Who look'd upon the scene had guess'd
All in the Castle were at rest:
When sudden on the windows shone
A lightning flash, just seen and gone!!!
A shot is heard-Again the flame
Flash'd thick and fast-a volley came!
Then echo'd wildly, from within,
Of shout and scream the mingled din,
And weapon-clash and maddening cry,
Of those who kill, and those who die!
As fill'd the hall with sulphurous smoke,
More ret, more dark, the death-flash broke;
And forms were on the lattice cast,
That struck, or struggled, as they past.

XXXII.

What sounds upon the midnight wind
Approach so rapidly behind?
It is, it is, the tramp of steeds,
Matilda hears the sound, she speeds,
Seizes upon the leader's rein-‍
"O, haste to aid, ere aid be vain!
Fly to the postern-gain the Hall!"
From saddle spring the troopers all; T
Their gallant steeds, at liberty,,
Run wild along the moonlight lea.
But, ere they burst upon the scene,
Full stubborn had the conflict been.
When Bertram mark'd Matilda's flight,

It gave the signal for the fight;

And Rokeby's veterans, seam'd with scars Of Scotland's and of Erin's wars,

Their momentary panic o'er,

Stood to the arms which then they bore;
(For they were weapon'd, and prepar'd**
Their Mistress on her way to guard.)
Then cheer'd them to the fight O'Neale,
Then peal'd the shot, and clash'd the steel;
The war-smoke soon with sable breath
Darken'd the scene of blood and death,
While on the few defenders close
The Bandits, with redoubled blows,

night dress, extremely rich, but at least half a century old, ap-
peared in the very midst of the fire, and uttered these tremendous
words in her vernacular idiom: "Anes burned, twice burned;
the third time I'll scare you all!" The belief in this story was
formerly so strong, that on a fire breaking out, and seeming to
approach the fatal spot, there was a good deal of anxiety testi-
fied, lest the apparition should make good her denunciation.
* [MS.

Behind him came his savage crew,
File after file in order due;

Silent from that dark portal pass,
Like forms on Banquo's magic glass."]
+ IMS." Conduct Matilda," &c.]
I [MS." Matilda, shrouded by the trees,
The line of lofty windows sees."]
$IMS." The dying lamp's reflection shed,

While all around the moon's wan light,
On tower and casement glimmer'd white;
No sights bode harm, no sounds bode ill,
It is as calin as midnight still."]
TMS.-"A brief short flash," &c.]
TIMS.-" Haste to postern-gain the Hall!'

Sprung from their steeds the troopers all."1 ** [MS.-" For as it hap'd they were prepared."]