O gallant chief of Otterburne! 12 And thine, dark Knight of Liddesdale! 13 O fading honours of the dead! O high ambition, lowly laid! XI. The moon on the east oriel shone Thou would'st have thought some fairy's hand In many a freakish knot, had twined; And trampled the Apostate's pride. The moonbeam kiss'd the holy pane, And threw on the pavement a bloody stain. XII. They sate them down on a marble stone, (A Scottish monarch slept below ;) Thus spoke the Monk, in solemn tone:-"I was not always a man of woe; For Paynim countries I have trod, And fought beneath the cross of God: Now, strange to my eyes thine arms appear, And their iron clang sounds strange to my ear. XIII. "In these far climes it was my lot To meet the wondrous Michael Scott;" A wizard, of such dreaded fame, That when, in Salamanca's cave, Him listed his magic wand to wave, The bells would ring in Notre Dame! Some of his skill he taught to me; And, Warrior, I could say to thee The words that cleft Eildon hills in three,15 And bridled the Tweed with a curb of stone: But to speak them were a deadly sin; And for having but thought them my heart within A treble penance must be done. XIV. "When Michael lay on his dying bed, He bethought him of his sinful deed, The words may not again be said, XV. "I swore to bury his Mighty Book, I buried him on St Michael's night, When the bell toll'd one, and the moon was bright, When the floor of the chancel was stained red, XVI. "It was a night of woe and dread, When Michael in the tomb I laid! Strange sounds along the chancel pass'd, The banners waved without a blast" -Still spoke the Monk, when the bell toll'd one!— I tell you, that a braver man Than William of Deloraine, good at need, Against a foe ne'er spurr'd a steed; Yet somewhat was he chill'd with dread, And his hair did bristle upon his head. XVII. Lo, Warrior! now the Cross of Red Until the eternal doom shall be." Slow moved the Monk to the broad flag-stone, He pointed to a secret nook; An iron-bar the Warrior took; And the Monk made a sign with his wither'd hand, The grave's huge portal to expand. XVIII. With beating heart to the task he went; His sinewy frame o'er the grave-stone bent; With bar of iron heaved amain, Till the toil-drops fell from his brows, like rain. It was by dint of passing strength, That he moved the massy stone at length. I would you had been there, to see How the light broke forth so gloriously Stream'd upward to the chancel roof, Show'd the Monk's cowl, and visage pale, XIX. Before their eyes the Wizard lay, The lamp was placed beside his knee: At which the fellest fiend had shook, They trusted his soul had gotten grace. XX. Often had William of Deloraine And the priest pray'd fervently and loud: He might not endure the sight to see, Of the man he had loved so brotherly XXI. And when the priest his death-prayer had pray'd, Thus unto Deloraine he said: "Now, speed thee what thou hast to do, Or, Warrior, we may dearly rue; For those, thou may'st not look upon, Are gathering fast round the yawning stone!" Then, Deloraine, in terror, took From the cold hand the Mighty Book, With iron clasp'd, and with iron bound: He thought, as he took it, the dead man frown'd; XXII. When the huge stone sunk o'er the tomb, D For the moon had gone down, and the stars were few; Because these spells were brought to day. I say the tale as 'twas said to me. XXIII. "Now, hie thee hence," the Father said, O may our dear Ladye, and sweet St John, And many a prayer and penance sped; Before the cross was the body laid, With hands clasp'd fast, as if still he pray'd. XXIV. The Knight breathed free in the morning wind, And strove his hardihood to find: He was glad when he pass'd the tombstones grey, For the mystic Book, to his bosom prest, Felt like a load upon his breast; And his joints, with nerves of iron twin'd, Full fain was he when the dawn of day He joy'd to see the cheerful light, And he said Ave Mary, as well as he might. XXV. The sun had brighten'd Cheviot grey, The sun had brighten'd the Carter's side; And soon beneath the rising day Smiled Branksome towers and Teviot's tido. The wild birds told their warbling tale, And waken'd every flower that blows; And peeped forth the violet pale, And spread her breast the mountain roso. And lovelier than the rose so red, Yet paler than the violet pale, She early left her sleepless bed, A mountain on the Border of England, above Jedburgh. XXVI. Why does fair Margaret so early awake, And the silken knots, which in hurry she would make, Why does she stop, and look often around, As she glides down the secret stair; The Ladye steps in doubt and dread, Lest her watchful mother hear her tread; The Ladye caresses the rough blood-hound, Lest his voice should waken the castle round; The watchman's bugle is not blown, For he was her foster-father's son; And she glides through the greenwood at dawn of light XXVIII. The Knight and Ladye fair are met, To meet beneath the hawthorn green. When her blue eyes their secret told, Though shaded by her locks of gold Where would you find the peerless fair, With Margaret of Branksome might compare. XXIX. And now, fair dames, methinks I see Your waving locks ye backward throw, And sidelong bend your necks of snow : Of two true lovers in a dale; And how the Knight, with tender fire, And how she blush'd and how she sigh'd, Margaret of Branksome's choice should be. |