NAY, smile not, Lady, when I speak of witchcraft,
And say, that still there lurks amongst our glens
Some touch of strange enchantment.-Mark that
fragment,
I mean that rough hewn block of massive stone,
Placed on the summit of this mountain-pass,
Commanding prospect wide o'er field and fell,
And peopled village and extended moorland,
And the wide ocean and majestic Tay,
To the far distant Grampians.-Do not deem it
A loosen'd portion of the neighbouring rock,
Detach'd by storm and thunder,-'twas the pedestal
On which, in ancient times, a cross was rear'd,
Carved o'er with words which foil'd philologists;
And the events it did commemorate
Were dark, remote, and undistinguishable,
As were the mystic characters it bore.
But, mark, a wizard born on Avon's bank,
Tuned but his harp to this wild northern theme,
And, lo! the scene is hallow'd. None shall pass,
Now or in after days, beside that stone,
But he shall have strange visions; thoughts
words
That shake, or rouse, or thrill the human heart,
Shall rush upon his memory when he hears
The spirit-stirring name of this rude symbol;-
Oblivious ages, at that simple spell,
Shall render back their terrors with their woes,
Alas! and with their crimes-and the proud phan-
Shall move with step familiar to his eye,
And accents, which, once heard, the ear forgets not,
Though ne'er again to list them. Siddons, thine,
Thou matchless Siddons! thrill upon our ear;
And on our eye thy lofty Brother's form
Rises as Scotland's monarch.-But, to thee,
Joanna, why to thee speak of such visions?
Thine own wild wand can raise them.
Yet since thou wilt an idle tale of mine,
Take one which scarcely is of worth enough
To give or to withhold.--Our time creeps on,
Fancy grows colder as the silvery hair
Tells the advancing winter of our life.
But if it be of worth enough to please,
That worth it owes to her who set the task;
If otherwise, the fault rests with the author.
Here stands the Cross, good brother, consecrated
By the bold Thane unto his patron saint
Magridius, once a brother of our house.
Canst thou not spare an ave or a creed?
Or hath the steep ascent exhausted you?
You trode it stoutly, though 'twas rough and toil-
I spoke not of the literal path, good father,
But of the road of life which I have travell'd,
Ere I assumed this habit; it was bounded,
Hedged in, and limited by earthly prospects,
As ours beneath was closed by dell and thicket.
Here, we see wide and far, and the broad sky,
With wide horizon, opens full around,
While earthly objects dwindle. Brother Ninian,
Fain would I hope that mental elevation
Could raise me equally o'er worldly thoughts,
And place me nearer heaven.
How? know you the towers of Edzell ?
The summit of a Rocky Pass near to Newburgh,
about two miles from the ancient Abbey of Lin-
dores, in Fife. In the centre is MacDuff's Cross,
an antique Monument; and, at a small distance, I've heard of them.
on one side, a Chapel, with a lamp burning.
Enter, as having ascended the Pass, NINIAN and
WALDHAVE, Monks of Lindores. NINIAN crosses
himself, and seems to recite his devotions.-WALD-
HAVE stands gazing on the prospect, as if in deep
contemplation.
Which when he tells, the peasant shakes his head,
And shuns the mouldering and deserted walls.
Then have you heard a tale,
Why, and by whom, deserted?
Most true! you are but newly come from Rome,
And do not know our ancient usages.
Know then, when fell Macbeth beneath the arm
Of the predestined knight, unborn of woman,
Three boons the victor ask'd, and thrice did Mal-
co'ra,
Stooping the sceptre by the Thane restored,
Assent to his request. And hence the rule,
That first when Scotland's King assumes the crown,
MacDuff's descendant rings his brow with it:
And hence, when Scotland's King calls forth his
host,
MacDuff''s descendant leads the van in battle:
And last, in guerdon of the crown restored,
Red with the blood of the usurping tyrant,
The right was granted in succeeding time,
That if a kinsman of the Thane of Fife
Commit a slaughter on a sudden impulse,
And fly for refuge to this Cross MacDuff,
For the Thane's sake he shall find sanctuary;
For here must the avenger's step be staid,
And here the panting homicide find safety.
![[blocks in formation]](https://books.google.co.uk/books/content?id=yRMeAAAAMAAJ&output=html_text&pg=PA728&img=1&zoom=3&hl=en&q=sword&cds=1&sig=ACfU3U2rPMQFUllJ-TfVzITI8liC7mAH1Q&edge=0&edge=stretch&ci=56,937,511,362)
It is not with me, and alas! alas!
I know not where to seek it:-This monk's mind
Is with his cloister match'd, nor lacks more room.
Its petty duties, formal ritual,
Its humble pleasures and its paltry troubles,
Fill up his round of life; even as some reptiles,
They say are moulded to the very shape,
And all the angles of the rocky crevice,
In which they live and die. But for myself,
Retired in passion to the narrow cell,
Couching my tired limbs in its recesses,
So ill-adapted am I to its limits,
That every attitude is agony.-
How now! what brings him back?
See how they gallop down the opposing hill!
Yon gray steed bounding down the headlong path,
As on the level meadow; while the black,
Urged by the rider with his naked sword,
Stoops on his prey, as I have seen the falcon
Dashing upon the heron.-Thou dost frown
And clench thy hand as if it grasp'd a weapon?
'Tis but for shame to see a man fly thus
While only one pursues him.-Coward, turn !—
Turn thee, I say! thou art as stout as he,
And well mayst match thy single sword with his-
Shame, that a man should rein a steed like thee,
Yet fear to turn his front against a foe!-
I am ashamed to look on them.
Yet look again,-they quit their horses now,
Unfit for the rough path:-the fugitive
Keeps the advantage still.-They strain towards us.
I'll not believe that ever the bold Thane
How now, Sir Priest! (fiercely)-Forgive me (re- Rear'd up his cross to be a sanctuary
collecting himself)-1 was dreaming
Of an old baron who did bear about him
Some touch of your Lord Reynold.
To the base coward, who shunn'd an equal combat.
How's this?-that look-that mien-mine eyes grow dizzy!
His frantic jealousy prepared for me.
He fix'd a quarrel on me, and we fought.
Can I forget the form that came between us,
Who art thou, stranger? speak thy name and pur- And perish'd by his sword? 'Twas then I fought
For vengeance, -until then I guarded life, But then I sought to take it, and prevail'd.
Do not press me further.
The hunted stag, even when he seeks the thicket
Compell'd to stand at bay, grows dangerous!
Most true thy brother perish'd by my hand,
And if you term it murder--I must bear it.
Thus far my patience can; but if thou brand
The purity of yonder martyr'd saint,
Whom then my sword but poorly did avenge,
With one injurious word, come to the valley,
And I will show thee how it shall be answer'd!
NINIAN.
This heat, Lord Berkeley, doth but ill accord
With thy late pious patience.
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