XXIV. "O swiftly can speed my dapple-grey steed, Ere break of day," the Warrior 'gan say, And safer by none may thy errand be done, Letter nor line know I never a one, Soon in his saddle sate he fast, And cross'd old Borthwick's roaring strand XXVI. The clattering hoofs the watchmen mark ; 16 'Stand, ho! thou courier of the dark.”- He turn'd him now from Teviotside, And gained the moor at Horsliehill; XXVII. A moment now he slack'd his speed, a Barbican, the defence of an outer gate of a feudal castle Peel, a Border tower. e An ancient Roman road, crossing through part of Roxburghshire. Cliffs, which, for many a later year, The warbling Doric reed shall hear, When some sad swain shall teach the grove, XXVIII. Unchallenged, thence pass'd Deloraine, XXIX. At the first plunge the horse sunk low, Scarce half the charger's neck was seen; Stemm'd a midnight torrent's force. Was daggled by the dashing spray; Yet, through good heart, and Our Ladye's grace, At length he gain'd the landing place. XXX. Now Bowden Moor the march-man won, And sternly shook his plumed head, As glanced his eye o'er Halidon; For on his soul the slaughter red Of that unhallow'd morn arose, When first the Scott and Carr were foes When Home and Douglas, in the van, XXXI. In bitter mood he spurred fast, Barded, or barbed,-applied to a horse accoutred with defensive armour c Lands, the midnight service of the Catholic Church The sound, upon the fitful gale, In solemn wise did rise and fail, Like that wild harp, whose magic tone Is waken'd by the winds alone. But when Melrose he reach'd, 'twas silence all; He meetly stabled his steed in stall, And sought the convent's lonely wall. 10 Here paused the harp; and with its swell Each after each, in due degree, Gave praises to his melody; His hand was true, his voice was clear, And much they longed the rest to hear, After meet rest, again began. CANTO SECOND. I. If thou wouldst view fair Melrose aright, When the broken arches are black in night, And each shafted oriel glimmers white; When the cold light's uncertain shower Streams on the ruined central tower; When buttress and buttress, alternately, Seem framed of ebon and ivory; When silver edges the imagery, And the scrolls that teach thee to live and die; When distant Tweed is heard to rave, And the owlet to hoot o'er the dead man's grave, Then go-but go alone the while Then view St David's ruin'd pile;" And, home returning, soothly swear, Was never scene so sad and fair! II. Short halt did Deloraine make there; "Who knocks so loud, and knocks so late?" Had gifted the shrine for their souls' repose. Bold Deloraine his errand said; IV. "The Ladye of Branksome greets thee by me; Says, that the fated hour is come, And that to-night I shall watch with thee, V. And strangely on the knight look'd he, And his blue eyes gleam'd wild and wide "And darest thou, Warrior! seek to see What heaven and hell alike would hide? My breast, in belt of iron pent, With shirt of hair and scourge of thorn; For threescore years, in penance spent, My knees those flinty stones have worn; For knowing what should ne'er be known.. In ceaseless prayer and penance drie, "Penance, father, will I none; Prayer know I hardly one; a Aventayle, visor of the helmet. For mass or prayer can I rarely tarry, When I ride on a Border foray. Other prayer can I none; So speed me my errand, and let me be gone.”— VII. Again on the Knight look'd the Churchman old, And again he sighed heavily; For he had himself been a warrior bold, And fought in Spain and Italy. And he thought on the days that were long since by, high: Now, slow and faint, he led the way, Where, cloister'd round, the garden lay; The pillar'd arches were over their head, And beneath their feet were the bones of the dead. VIII. Spreading herbs, and flowerets bright, Nor herb, nor floweret, glisten'd there, But was carved in the cloister-arches as fair. The Monk gazed long on the lovely moon, And red and bright the streamers light The youth in glittering squadrons start; And hurl the unexpected dart. He knew, by the streamers that shot so bright, IX. By a steel-clenched postern door, They enter'd now the chancel tall; The darken'd roof rose high aloof On pillars lofty and light and small: The key-stone, that lock'd each ribbed aisle, The corbells were carved grotesque and grim; And the pillars, with cluster'd shafts so trim, With base and with capital flourish'd around, Seem'd bundles of lances which garlands had bound. X. Full many a scutcheon and banner riven, And there the dying lamps did burn, Corbells, the projections from which the arches spring, usually cut in a fantastic face, or mask. |