""And I'll chain the blood-hound, and the warder shall not sound, And rushes shall be strewed on the stair; So, by the black rood-stone', and by holy St. John, I conjure thee, my love, to be there!" "Though the blood-hound be mute, and the rush beneath my foot, And the warder his bugle should not blow, Yet there sleepeth a priest in the chamber to the east, ""O fear not the priest, who sleepeth to the east ; For to Dryburgh the way he has ta'en; And there to say mass, till three days do pass, 'He turned him around, and grimly he frowned; Then he laughed right scornfully "He who says the mass-rite for the soul of that knight, May as well say mass for me: ""At the lone midnight hour, when bad spirits have power, In thy chamber will I be.”— With that he was gone, and my lady lest alone, And no more did I see.' Then changed, I trow, was that bold Baron's brow, 'Now tell me the mien of the knight thou hast seen, 'His arms shone full bright, in the beacon's red light; On his shield was a hound, in a silver leash bound, 1 The black-rood of Melrose was a crucifix of black marble, and of superior sanctity. 'Thou liest, thou liest, thou little foot-page, Loud dost thou lie to me! For that knight is cold, and low laid in the mould, 'Yet hear but my word, my noble lord! For I heard her name his name; And that lady bright, she called the knight, Sir Richard of Coldinghame.' The bold Baron's brow then changed, I trow, From high blood-red to pale 'The grave is deep and dark—and the corpse is stiff and starkSo I may not trust thy tale. 'Where fair Tweed flows round holy Melrose, And Eildon slopes to the plain, Full three nights ago, by some secret foe, That gay gallant was slain. 'The varying light deceived thy sight, And the wild winds drowned the name; For the Dryburgh bells ring, and the white monks do sing, For Sir Richard of Coldinghame!' He passed the court-gate, and he oped the tower grate, To the bartizan1-seat, where, with maids that on her wait, That lady sat in mournful mood; Looked over hill and vale; Over Tweed's fair flood, and Mertoun's wood, And all down Teviotdale. 1 Eildon is a high hill, terminating in three conical summits, immediately above the town of Melrose, where are the admired ruins of a magnificent monastery. Eildon-tree is said to be the spot where Thomas the Rhymer uttered his prophecies. • battlement. 'Now hail, now hail, thou lady bright!'— What news, what news from Ancram fight? 'The Ancram Moor is red with gore, For many a Southron fell; And Buccleuch has charged us, evermore To watch our beacons well.' The lady blushed red, but nothing she said; Nor added the Baron a word; Then she stepped down the stair to her chamber fair, In sleep the lady mourned, and the Baron tossed and turned, And oft to himself he said— 'The worms around him creep, and his bloody grave is deep... It cannot give up the dead!' It was near the ringing of matin-bell, When a heavy sleep on that Baron fell, On the eve of good St. John. The lady looked through the chamber fair And she was aware of a knight stood there- 'Alas! away, away!' she cried, 'For the holy Virgin's sake!'— 'Lady, I know who sleeps by thy side; But, lady, he will not awake. 'By Eildon-tree, for long nights three, In bloody grave have I lain; The mass and the death-prayer are said for me, 'By the Baron's brand, near Tweed's fair strand, Most foully slain I fell; And my restless sprite on the beacon's height For a space is doomed to dwell. 'At our trysting-place, for a certain space I must wander to and fro; But I had not had power to come to thy bower, Hadst thou not conjured me so.' Love mastered fear-her brow she crossed; 'Who spilleth life, shall forfeit life, So bid my lord believe; That lawless love is guilt above, This awful sign receive.' He laid his left palm on an oaken beam; The lady shrunk, and fainting sunk, For it scorched like a fiery brand. The sable score, of fingers four, Remains on that board impressed; And for evermore that lady wore There is a Nun in Dryburgh bower, There is a Monk in Melrose tower, That Nun, who ne'er beholds the day, EDMUND'S SONG. [From Rokeby.] O, Brignall banks are wild and fair, And as I rode by Dalton-hall. A Maiden on the castle wall Chorus. 'O, Brignall banks are fresh and fair, 'If, maiden, thou would'st wend with me, To leave both tower and town, Thou first must guess what life lead we, That dwell by dale and down: And if thou canst that riddle read, As read full well you may, Then to the greenwood shalt thou speed, As blithe as Queen of May.'— Chorus. Yet sung she, 'Brignall banks are fair, I'd rather rove with Edmund there, 'I read you, by your bugle-horn, I read you for a ranger sworn, |