'I know,' he said-his voice was hoarse,
And broken seem'd its hollow force,-
'I know the cause, although untold,
Why the King seeks his vassal's hold:
Vainly from me my liege would know
His kingdom's future weal or woe;
But yet, if strong his arm and heart,
His courage may do more than art.
"Of middle air the demons proud,
Who ride upon the racking cloud,
Can read, in fixed or wandering star,
The issue of events afar;
But still their sullen aid withhold,
Save when by mightier force controll'd.
Such late I summon'd to my hall;
And though so potent was the call,
That scarce the deepest nook of hell
I deem'd a refuge from the spell,
Yet, obstinate in silence still,
The haughty demon mocks my skill.
But thou,-who little know'st thy might,
As born upon that blessed night'
When yawning graves, and dying groan,
Proclaim'd hell's empire overthrown,—
1 It is a popular article of faith, that those who are born on Christmas, or Good Friday, have the power of seeing spirits, and even of commanding them. The Spaniards imputed the haggard and downcast looks of their Philip II. to the disagreeable visions to which this privilege subjected him.
With untaught valour shalt compel
Response denied to magic spell.'—
'Gramercy,' quoth our Monarch free,
'Place him but front to front with me,
And, by this good and honour'd brand,
The gift of Coeur-de-Lion's hand,
Soothly I swear, that, tide what tide,
The demon shall a buffet bide.'-
His bearing bold the wizard view'd,
And thus, well pleased, his speech renew'd :-
There spoke the blood of Malcolm !—mark : Forth pacing hence, at midnight dark, The rampart seek, whose circling crown Crests the ascent of yonder down : A southern entrance shalt thou find; There halt, and there thy bugle wind, And trust thine elfin foe to see,
In guise of thy worst enemy:
Couch then thy lance, and spur thy steed-
Upon him! and Saint George to speed!
If he go down, thou soon shalt know
Whate'er these airy sprites can show :-
If thy heart fail thee in the strife,
I am no warrant for thy life.'
"Soon as the midnight bell did ring, Alone, and arm'd, forth rode the King To that old camp's deserted round:
Sir Knight, you well might mark the mound,
Left hand the town,-the Pictish race,
The trench, long since, in blood did trace;
The moor around is brown and bare,
The space within is green and fair,
The spot our village children know,
For there the earliest wild-flowers grow;
But woe betide the wandering wight,
That treads its circle in the night!
The breadth across, a bowshot clear,
Gives ample space for full career;
Opposed to the four points of heaven,
By four deep gaps are entrance given.
The southernmost our Monarch past,
Halted, and blew a gallant blast;
And on the north, within the ring,
Appear'd the form of England's King,
Who then a thousand leagues afar,
In Palestine waged holy war:
Yet arms like England's did he wield,
Alike the leopards in the shield,
Alike his Syrian courser's frame,
The rider's length of limb the same:
Long afterwards did Scotland know,
Fell Edward' was her deadliest foe.
"The vision made our Monarch start, But soon he mann'd his noble heart,
1 Edward I., surnamed Longshanks.
And in the first career they ran,
The Elfin Knight fell, horse and man;
Yet did a splinter of his lance
Through Alexander's visor glance,
And razed the skin-a puny wound.
The King, light leaping to the ground,
With naked blade his phantom foe
Compell'd the future war to show.
Of Largs he saw the glorious plain,
Where still gigantic bones remain
Memorial of the Danish war;
Himself he saw, amid the field,
On high his brandish'd war-axe wield,
And strike proud Haco from his car,
While all around the shadowy kings
Denmark's grim ravens cower'd their wings.
'Tis said, that, in that awful night,
Remoter visions met his sight,
Foreshowing future conquest far,
When our sons' sons wage northern war;
A royal city, tower and spire,
Redden'd the midnight sky with fire,
And shouting crews her navy bore,
Triumphant to the victor shore.1
Such signs may learned clerks explain,
They pass the wit of simple swain.
1 For an account of the expedition to Copenhagen in 1801, see Southey's Life of Nelson, chap. vii.
"The joyful King turn'd home again,
Headed his host, and quell'd the Dane;
But yearly, when return'd the night
Of his strange combat with the sprite,
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