Sir David Lindesay's Tale. Nor head, nor body, bowed nor bent, And words like these he said, In a low voice, but never tone So thrilled through vein, and nerve, and bone :— Sir King, to warn thee not to war,— If war thou wilt, of woman fair, Her witching wiles and wanton snare, James Stuart, doubly warned, beware: The wondering Monarch seemed 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 passed; But, lighter than the whirlwind's blast, He vanished from our eyes, Like sunbeam on the billow cast, While Lindesay told this marvel strange, He marked not Marmion's colour change, But, after a suspended pause, The Baron spoke :-" Of Nature's laws So strong I hold the force, That never superhuman cause Could e'er control their course; And, three days since, had judged your aim But, by that strong emotion pressed, To Lindesay did at length unfold At Gifford, to his train. Nought of the Palmer says he there, And nought of Constance, or of Clare: The thoughts, which broke his sleep, he seems To mention but as feverish dreams. "In vain," said he, "to rest I spread My burning limbs, and couched my head, Fantastic thoughts returned; And, by their wild dominion led, My heart within me burned. Sir David Lindesay's Tale. So sore was the delirious goad, I took my steed, and forth I rode, "Thus judging, for a little space I listened, ere I left the place ; Have borne me as a knight; But when this unexpected foe I care not though the truth I show, I trembled with affright; And as I placed in rest my spear, "Why need my tongue the issue tell? High o'er my head, with threatening hand, My dazzled eyes I upward cast,- 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 visor 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 prayed, Sir David Lindesay's Tale. (The first time e'er I asked his aid,) 'Twere long to tell what cause I have To know his face, that met me there, Dead or alive, good cause had he Marvelled Sir David of the Mount; In likeness of a Scottish knight, And trained him nigh to disallow "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 |