T my Which charmed my fancy's wakening hour: Though no broad river swept along, To claim, perchance, heroic song; Though sighed no groves in summer gale, Though scarce a puny streamlet's speed Claimed homage from a shepherd's reed, Yet was poetic impulse given, By the green hill and clear blue heaven. It was a barren scene, and wild, But ever and anon between Lay velvet tufts of loveliest green ; And well the lonely infant knew I deemed such nooks the sweetest shade And still I thought that shattered tower And marvelled as the aged hind With some strange tale bewitched my mind Of forayers, who, with headlong force, Down from that strength had spurred their horse, Their southern rapine to renew, Far in the distant Cheviots blue, And, home returning, filled the hall With revel, wassel-rout, and brawl.- And ever, by the winter hearth, Old tales I heard of woe or mirth, Smailholm Tower. Of lovers' sleights, of ladies' charms, By Wallace wight and Bruce the bold; Of later fields of feud and fight, When, pouring from their Highland height, The Scottish clans, in headlong sway, Had swept the scarlet ranks away. While stretched at length upon the floor, Again I fought each combat o'er, Pebbles and shells, in order laid, The mimic ranks of war displayed; And onward still the Scottish Lion bore, SCENES FROM "MARMION.” Crichtoun Castle. THAT castle rises on the steep Of the green vale of Tyne; And far beneath, where slow they creep From pool to eddy, dark and deep, Where alders moist, and willows weep, You hear her streams repine. The towers in different ages rose; The builders' various hands; A mighty mass, that could oppose, Crichtoun! though now thy miry court Of mouldering shields the mystic sense, Crichtoun Castle. Quartered in old armorial sort, Remains of rude magnificence: Nor wholly yet hath time defaced Thy lordly gallery fair; Nor yet the stony cord unbraced, Whose twisted knots, with roses laced, Adorn thy ruined stair. Still rises unimpaired, below, The courtyard'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 whilome were captives pent, The darkness of thy Massy More;1 Or, from thy grass-grown battlement, May trace, in undulating line, The sluggish mazes of the Tyne. Another aspect Crichtoun showed, 1 The pit, or prison vault. |