Nor wholly yet had time defaced

Thy lordly gallery fair;

Nor yet the stony cord unbraced,
Whose twisted notes, with roses laced,
Adorn thy ruin'd stair.
Still rises unimpair'd below,
The court-yard's graceful portico;
Above its cornice, row and row
Of fair hewn facets richly show
Their pointed diamond form,
Though there but houseless cattle go,
To shield them from the storm.
And, shuddering, still may we explore,
Where oft whilom were captives
pent,

The darkness of thy Massy More;*
Or, from thy grass-grown battle-
ment,

May trace, in undulating line,
The sluggish mazes of the Tyne.

Sir Dabid Lindesay's Tale. "Of all the palaces so fair,

Built for the royal dwelling,
In Scotland far beyond compare,
Linlithgow is excelling;
And in its park, in jovial June,
How sweet the merry linnet's tune,

How blithe the blackbird's lay!
The wild-buck bells from ferny brake,
The coot dives merry on the lake;
The saddest heart might pleasure take
To see all nature gay.

But June is, to our Sovereign dear,
The heaviest month in all the year :
Too well his cause of grief you know,
June saw his father's overthrow.
Woe to the traitors, who could bring
The princely boy against his King!
Still in his conscience burns the sting.
In offices as strict as Lent,
King James's June is ever spent.

XVI.

"When last this ruthful month was come, And in Linlithgow's holy dome

The King, as wont, was praying; While, for his royal father's soul, The chanters sung, the bells did toll, The Bishop mass was sayingFor now the year brought round again The day the luckless king was slainIn Katharine's aisle the Monarch knelt, With sackcloth-shirt and iron belt,

And eyes with sorrow streaming; Around him, in their stalls of state, The Thistle's Knight-Companions sate, Their banners o'er them beaming. I too was there, and, sooth to tell, Bedeafen'd with the jangling knell, Was watching where the sunbeams fell, Through the stain'd

gleaming;

casement

But, while I marked what next befell,
It seem'd as I were dreaming.
Stepp'd from the crowd a ghostly wight,
In azure gown, with cincture white;
His forehead bald, his head was bare,
Down hung at length his yellow hair.
Now, mock me not, when, good my
Lord,-

I pledge to you my knightly word,
That, when I saw his placid grace,
His simple majesty of face,
His solemn bearing, and his pace
So stately gliding on,-
Seem'd to me ne'er did limner paint
So just an image of the Saint,
Who propp'd the Virgin in her faint,-
The loved Apostle John!

Woe waits on thine array;

If war thou wilt, of woman fair,
Her witching wiles and wanton snare,
James Stuart, doubly warn'd, beware:
God keep thee as he may !'-

The wondering Monarch seem'd to
seek

For answer, and found none;
And when he raised his head to speak,
The monitor was gone.

The Marshal and myself had cast
To stop him as he outward pass'd;
But, lighter than the whirlwind's blast,
He vanish'd from our eyes,
Like sunbeam on the billow cast,
That glances but, and dies."

Fantastic thoughts returned; And, by their wild dominion led, My heart within me burn'd. So sore was the delirious goad, I took my steed, and forth I rode, And, as the moon shone bright and cold, Soon reach'd the camp upon the wold. The southern entrance I pass'd through, And halted, and my bugle blew. Methought an answer met my ear,Yet was the blast so low and drear, So hollow, and so faintly blown, It might be echo of my own.

XX.

"Thus judging, for a little space I listen'd, ere I left the place;

But scarce could trust my eyes, Nor yet can think they serv'd me true, When sudden in the ring I view, In form distinct of shape and hue,

A mounted champion rise.— I've fought, Lord-Lion, many a day, In single fight, and mix'd affray, And ever, I myself may say,

Have borne me as a knight; But when this unexpected foe Seem'd starting from the gulf below,I care not though the truth I show,I trembled with affright; And as I placed in rest my spear, My hand so shook for very fear, I scarce could couch it right.

XXI.

'Why need my tongue the issue tell? We ran our course,-my charger fell ;What could he 'gainst the shock of hell?

I roll'd upon the plain.

High o'er my head, with threatening hand,

The spectre shook his naked brand,-
Yet did the worst remain :
My dazzled eyes I upward cast,-
Not opening hell itself could blast

Their sight, like what I saw !

Full on his face the moonbeam strook,—
A face could never be mistook!
I knew the stern vindictive look,
And held my breath for awe.

I saw the face of one who, fled
To foreign climes, has long been dead, --
I well believe the last;

For ne'er, from vizor raised, did stare
A human warrior, with a glare

So grimly and so ghast.

Thrice o'er my head he shook the blade ; But when to good Saint George I pray'd, (The first time e'er I ask'd his aid,)

He plunged it in the sheath; And, on his courser mounting light, He seem'd to vanish from my sight: The moonbeam droop'd, and deepest night

Sunk down upon the heath.— 'Twere long to tell what cause I have To know his face, that met me there, Call d by his hatred from the grave, To cumber upper air: Dead or alive, good cause had he To be my mortal enemy."

XXII.

Marvell'd Sir David of the Mount;
Then, learn'd in story, 'gan recount
Such chance had happ'd of old,
When once, near Norham, there did
fight

A spectre fell of fiendish might,
In likeness of a Scottish knight,
With Brian Bulmer bold,
And train'd him nigh to disallow
The aid of his baptismal vow.
'And such a phantom, too, 'tis said,
With Highland broadsword, targe, and
plaid,

And fingers red with gore,
Is seen in Rothiemurcus glade,
Or where the sable pine-trees shade
Dark Tomantoul, and Auchnaslaid,
Dromouchty, or Glenmore.*
And yet whate'er such legends say,
Of warlike demon, ghost, or fay,

On mountain, moor, or plain,
Spotless in faith, in bosom bold,
True son of chivalry should hold
These midnight terrors vain;

* See the traditions concerning the spectre called Lhamdeary, or Bloody-hand, in a note on Canto iii., Appendix, Note 40.

For seldom have such spirits power
To harm, save in the evil hour,
When guilt we meditate within,
Or harbour unrepented sin.”—
Lord Marmion turn'd him half aside,
And twice to clear his voice he tried,
Then press'd Sir David's hand,—
But nought, at length, in answer said,
And here their farther converse staid,

Each ordering that his band
Should bowne them with,the rising day,
To Scotland s camp to take their way,-
Such was the King's command.

XXIII.

Early they took Dun-Edin's road,
And I could trace each step they trode :
Hill, brook, nor dell, nor rock, nor
stone,

Lies on the path to me unknown.
Much might it boast of storied lore;
Bat, passing such disgression o'er,
Suffice it that their route was laid
Across the furzy hills of Braid.
They pass'd the glen and scanty rill,
And climb'd the opposing bank, until
They gain'd the top of Blackford Hill.
XXIV.

Blackford!
breast,
Among the broom, and thorn, and
whin,

on whose uncultured

A truant-boy, I sought the nest,
Or listed, as I lay at rest,

While rose on breezes thin,
The murmur of the city crowd,
And, from his steeple jangling loud,
Saint Giles's mingling din.
Now, from the summit to the plain,
Waves all the hill with yellow grain;
And o'er the landscape as I look,
Nought do I see unchanged remain,
Save the rude cliffs and chiming
brook.

To me they make a heavy moan,
Of early friendships past and gone.

XXV.

But different far the change has been,
Since Marmion, from the crown
Of Blackford, saw that martial scene
Upon the bent so brown :

Lord Marmion view'd the landscape bright,

He view'd it with a chief's delight,Until within him burn'd his heart, And lightning from his eye did part, As on the battle-day;

Such glance did falcon never dart,

When stooping on his prey. "Oh! well, Lord-Lion, hast thou said, Thy King from warfare to dissuade

Were but a vain essay:

For, by St George, were that host mine,
Not power infernal, nor divine,
Should once to peace my soul incline,
Till I had dimm'd their armour's shine
In glorious battle-fray!"
Answer'd the Bard, of milder mood,-
"Fair is the sight, and yet 'twere good,
That Kings would think withal,
When peace and wealth their land has
bless'd,

'Tis better to sit still at rest,

Than rise, perchance to fall."

*Each of these feudal ensigns intimated the different rank of those entitled to display them.

XXX.

Still on the spot Lord Marmion stay'd, For fairer scene he ne'er survey'd. When sated with the martial show That peopled all the plain below, The wandering eye could o'er it go, And mark the distant city glow

With gloomy splendour red; For on the smoke-wreaths, huge and slow,

That round her sable turrets flow,

The morning beams were shed, And tinged them with a lustre proud, Like that which streaks a thunder

cloud.

Such dusky grandeur clothed the height,
Where the huge Castle holds its state,
And all the steep slope down,
Whose ridgy back heaves to the sky,
Piled deep and massy, close and high,
Mine own romantic town!
But northward far, with purer blaze,
On Ochil mountains fell the rays,
And as each heathy top they kiss'd,
It gleam'd a purple amethyst.
Yonder the shores of Fife you saw;
Here Preston-Bay and Berwick-Law:

And, broad between them roll'd,
The gallant Frith the eye might note,
Whose islands on its bosom float,

Like emeralds chased in gold.
Fitz-Eustace' heart felt closely pent;
As if to give his rapture vent,
The spur he to his charger lent,

And raised his bridle hand,
And making demi-volte in air,
Cried, "Where's the coward that would
not dare

To fight for such a land!" The Lindesay smiled his joy to see; Nor Marmion's frown repress'd his glee.

XXXI.

Thus while they look'd, a flourish proud,
Where mingled trump, and clarion loud,
And fife, and kettle-drum,
And sacbut deep, and psaltery,
And war-pipe with discordant cry,
And cymbal clattering to the sky,
Making wild music bold and high,
Did up the mountain come;