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Fly from our country pastimes, fly,
Sad troops of human misery,

Come, serene looks,

Clear as the crystal brooks,
Or the pure azured heaven that smiles to see
The rich attendance on our poverty ;

Peace and a secure mind,
Which all men seek, we only find.

Here are no entrapping baits
To hasten to, too hasty fates ;

Unless it be

The fond credulity
Of silly fish, which (worlding like) still look
Upon the bait, but never on the hook ;

Nor envy, ʼless among
The birds, for price of their sweet song.

Abused mortals ! did you know

Go, let the diving negro seek
Where joy, heart's ease, and comforts grow, For gems, hid in some forlorn creek:
You 'd scorn proud towers

We all pearls scorn
And seek them in these bowers,

Save what the dewy morn
Where winds, sometimes, our woods perhaps may Congeals upon each little spire of grass,

Which careless shepherds beat down as they pass ;
But blustering care could never tempest make ; And gold ne'er here appears,
Nor murmurs e'er come nigh us,

Save what the yellow Ceres bears.
Saving of fountains that glide by us.

Blest silent groves, 0, may you be,
Here's no fantastic mask nor dance,

Forever, mirth's best nursery !
But of our kids that frisk and prance ;

May pure contents
Nor wars are seen,

Forever pitch their tents
Unless upon the green

Upon these downs, these meads, these rocks, these Two harmless lambs are butting one the other,

mountains ! Which done, both bleating run, cach to his mother; And peace still slumber by these purling fountains, And wounds are never found,

Which we may every year
Save what the ploughshare gives the Meet, when we come a-fishing here.



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[The ruinous castle of Norham (anciently called Ubbanford) is situated on the southern bank of the Tweed, about six miles above Berwick, and where that river is still the boundary between Eng. land and Scotland. The extent of its ruins, as well as its historical importance, shows it to have been a place of magnificence as well as strength. Edward I. resided there when he was created umpire of the dispute concerning the Scottish succession. It was repeat. edly taken and retaken during the wars between England and Scotland, and, indeed, scarce any happened in which it had not a principal share. Norham Castle is situated on a steep bank. which overhangs the river. The ruins of the castle are at present considerable, as well as picturesque. They consist of a large shattered tower, with many vaults, and fragments of other edifices, enclosed within an outward wall of great circuit.)

A horseman, darting from the crowd,
Like lightning from a summer cloud,
Spurs on his mettled courser proud

Before the dark array.
Beneath the sable palisade,
That closed the castle barricade,

His bugle-horn he blew ;
The warder hasted from the wall,
And warned the captain in the hall,

For well the blast he knew ; And joyfully that knight did call To sewer, equire, and seneschal.

DAY set on Norham's castled steep,
And Tweed's fair river, broad and deep,

And Cheviot's mountains lone :
The battled towers, the donjon keep,
The loop-hole grates where captives weep,
The Nanking walls that round it sweep,

In yellow lustre shone.
The warriors on the turrets high,
Moving athwart the evening sky,

Seemed forms of giant height;
Their armor, as it caught the rays,
Flashed back again the western blaze,

In lines of dazzling light.

Now broach ye pipe of Malvoisie,

Bring pasties of the doe,
And quickly make the entrance free,
And bid my heralds ready be,
And every ininstrel sound his glee,

And all our trumpets blow;
And, from the platform, spare ye not
To fire a noble salvo-shot:

Lord Marmion waits below." Then to the castle's lower ward

Sped forty yeomen tall, The iron-studded gates unbarred, Raised the portcullis' ponderous guard, The lofty palisade unsparred,

And let the drawbridge fall.

St. George's banner, broad and gay,
Now faded, as the fading ray

Less bright, and less, was flung; The evening gale had scarce the power To wave it on the donjon tower,

So heavily it hung. The scouts had parted on their search,

The castle gates were barred ; Above the gloomy portal arch, Timing his footsteps to a march,

The warder kept his guard ; Low humming, as he paced along, Some ancient Border gathering-song.

Along the bridge Lord Marmion rode,
Proudly his red-roan charger trode,
His helm hung at the saddle-bow ;
Well by his visage you might know
He was a stalworth knight, and keen,
And had in many a battle been.
The scar on his brown cheek revealed
A token true of Bosworth field ;
His eyebrow dark, and eye of fire,
Showed spirit proud, and prompt to ire.
Yet lines of thought upon his cheek
Did deep design and counsel speak.
His forehead, by his casque worn bare,
His thick mustache, and curly hair,
Coal-black, and grizzled here and there,

But more through toil than age;

A distant trampling sound he hears ; He looks abroad, and soon appears, O'er Horncliff hill, a plump of spears,

Beneath a pennon gay ;

His square-turned joints, and strength of limb,
Showed him no carpet-knight so trim,
But in close fight a champion grim,

In camps a leader sage.

Well was he armed from head to heel,
In mail and plate of Milan steel ;
But his strong helm, of mighty cost,
Was all with burnished gold embossed ;
Amid the plumage of the crest,
A falcon hovered on her nest,
With wings outspread, and forward breast;
E'en such a falcon, on his shield,
Soared sable in an azure field :
The golden legend bore aright,
TUho checks at me to death is dight.
Blue was the charger's broidered rein ;
Blue ribbons decked his arching mane ;
The knightly housing's ample fold
Was velvet blue, and trapped with gold.

Behind him rode two gallant squires
Of noble name and knightly sires ;
They burned the gilded spurs to claim ;
For well could each a war-horse tame,
Could draw the bow, the sword could sway,
And lightly bear the ring away' ;
Nor less with courteous precepts stored,
Could dance in hall, and carve at board,
And frame love-ditties passing rare,
And sing them to a lady fair.

Four men-at-arms came at their backs,
With halbert, bill, and battle-axe ;
They bore Lord Marmion's lance so strong,
And led his sumpter-mules along,
And ambling palfrey, when at need
Him listed ease his battle-steed.
The last and trustiest of the four
On high his forky pennon bore ;
Like swallow's tail, in shape and hue,
Fluttered the streamer glossy blue,
Where, blazoned sable, as before,
The towering falcon seemed to soar.
Last, twenty yeomen, two and two,
In hosen black, and jerkins blue,
With falcons broidered on each breast,
Attended on their lord's behest :
Each, chosen for an archer good,
Knew hunting-craft by lake or wood;
Each one a six-foot bow could bend,
And far a cloth-yard shaft could send ;
Each held a boar-spear tough and strong,
And at their belts their quivers rung.
Their dusty palfreys and array
Showed they had marched a weary way.


IF thou wouldst view fair Melrose aright,
Go visit it by the pale moonlight;
For the gay beams of lightsome day
Gild, but to flout, the ruins gray.
When the broken arches are black in night,
And each shafted oriel gliminers 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 ruined pile ;
And, home returning, soothly swear,
Was never scene so sad and fair !

The pillared arches were over their head,
And beneath their feet were the bones of the dead.

Spreading herbs and flowerets bright
Glistened with the dew of night;
Nor herb nor floweret glistened there,
But was carved in the cloister-arches as fair.
The monk gazed long on the lovely moon,

Then into the night he looked forth;
And red and bright the streamers light

Were dancing in the glowing north.

He knew, by the streamers that shot so bright, That spirits were riding the northern light.

By a steel-clenched postern door,

They entered now the chancel tall; The darkened roof rose high aloof

On pillars lofty and light and small ; The keystone, that locked each ribhed aisle, Was a fleur-de-lis, or a quatre-feuille : The corbells were carved grotesque and grim; And the pillars, with clustered shafts so trim, With base and with capital flourished around, Seemed bundles of lances which garlands had


Full many a scutcheon and banner, riven,
Shook to the cold night-wind of heaven,

Around the screened altar's pale ;
And there the dying lamps did burn,
Before thy low and lonely urn,
O gallant chief of Otterburne !

And thine, dark Knight of Liddesdale!
O fading honors of the dead !
O high ambition, lowly laid !


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