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Seem'd all on fire, within, around,

Deep sacristy and altar's pale, Shone every pillar foliage-bound, And glimmer'd all the dead men's


Blazed battlement and pinnet high, Blazed every rose-carved buttress

fairSo still they blaze, when fate is nigh

The lordly line of high St. Clair.

There are twenty of Roslin's barons

bold Lie buried within that proud cha

pelle; Each one the holy vault doth hold

But the sea holds lovely Rosabelle !

-"Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant

crew! And, gentle ladye, deign to stay, Rest thee in Castle Ravensheuch,

Nor tempt the stormy firth to-day. “The blackening wave is edged with

white : To inch' and rock the sea-mews fly; The fishers have heard the Water-Sprite, Whose screams forebode that wreck

is nigh. “ Last night the gifted Seer did view A wet shroud swathed round ladye

gay; Then stay thee, Fair, in Ravensheuch:

Why cross the gloomy firth to-day?”– “ 'Tis not because Lord Lindesay's heir

To-night at Roslin leads the ball, But that my ladve-mother there

Sits lonely in her castle-hall. “ 'Tis not because the ring they ride,

And Lindesay at the ring rides well, But that my sire the wine will chide,

If ’tis not fill'd by Rosabelle." O'er Roslin all that dreary night

A wondrous blaze was seen to gleam; 'Twas broader than the watch-fire's

light, And redder than the bright moonbeam.

1 Inch, an island.

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When louder yet, and yet more dread, The battled towers, the donjon keep, Swells the high trump that wakes the The loophole grates, where captives dead,


The flanking walls that round it sweep, Oh! on that day, that wrathful day, In yellow lustre shone. When man to judgment wakes from The warriors on the turrets high, clay,

Moving athwart the evening sky, Be Thou the trembling sinner's stay, Seem'd forms of giant height: Though heaven and earth shall pass | Their armor, as it caught the rays, away.

Flash'd back again the western blaze,

In lines of dazzling light. Hush'd is the harp - the Minstrel

II. gone.

Saint George's banner, broad and gay, And did he wander forth alone?

Now faded, as the fading ray Alone, in indigence and age,

Less bright, and less, was flung; To linger out his pilgrimage?

The evening gale had scarce the power No; close beneath proud Newark's

To wave it on the Donjon Tower, tower,

So heavily it hung. Arose the Minstrel's lowly bower;

The scouts had parted on their search, A simple hut; but there was seen

The Castle gates were barr'd; The little garden hedged with green, Above the gloomy portal arch, The cheerful hearth, and lattice clean.

Timing his footsteps to a march, There shelter'd wanderers, by the blaze,

The Warder kept his guard; Oft heard the tale of other days;

Low humming, as he paced along, For much he loved to ope his door, Some ancient Border gathering song. And give the aid he begg'd before. So pass’d the winter's day; but still, When summer smiled on sweet Bowhill, | A distant trampling sound he hears; And July's eve, with balmy breath, He looks abroad, and soon appears, Waved the blue-bells on Newark heath; O'er Horncliff-hill a plump of spears, When throstles sung in Harehead-shaw, Beneath a pennon gay; And corn was green on Carterhaugh, A horseman, darting from the crowd, And flourish'd, broad, Blackandro's oak, Like lightning from a summer cloud, The aged Harper's soul awoke!

Spurs on his mettled courser proud, Then would he sing achievements high, Before the dark array. And circumstance of chivalry,

Beneath the sable palisade, Till the rapt traveller would stay,

That closed the Castle barricade, Forgetful of the closing day;

His bugle-horn he blew; And noble youths, the strain to hear, The warder hasted from the wall, Forsook the hunting of the deer;

And warn’d the Captain in the hall, And Yarrow, as he roll'd along,

For well the blast he knew; Bore burden to the Minstrel's song. And joyfully that knight did call,

To sewer, squire, and seneschal.


THE CASTLE OF NORHAM. (Marmion, Canto i.]


[Marmion, Canto iii.] DAY set on Norham's castled steep,

I. And Tweed's fair river, broad and deep, The lifelong day Lord Marmion rode :

And Cheviot's mountains lone: The mountain path the Palmer show'de


By glen and streamlet winded still,
Where stunted birches hid the rill.
They might not choose the lowland

For the Merse forayers were abroad,
Who, fired with hate and thirst of prey,
Had scarcely fail'd to bar their way.
Oft on the trampling band, from crown
Of some tall cliff, the deer look'd down;
On wing cf jet, from his repose
In the deep heath, the black-cock rose;
Sprung from the gorse the timid roe,
Nor waited for the bending bow;
And when the stony path began,
By which the naked peak they wan,
l'p flew the snowy ptarmigan.
The noon had long been pass'd before
They gain'd the height of Lammermoor;
Thence winding down the northern way
Before them, at the close of day,
Old Gifford's towers and hamlet lay.

The rafters of the sooty roof

Bore wealth of winter cheer;
Of sea-fowl dried, and solands store,
And gammons of the tusky boar,

And savory haunch of deer.
The chimney arch projected wide;
Above, around it, and beside,

Were tools for housewives' hand;
Nor wanted, in that martial day,
The implements of Scottish fray,

The buckler, lance, and brand.
Beneath its shade, the place of state,
On oaken settle Marmion sate,
And view'd around the blazing hearth.
His followers mix in noisy mirth;
Whom with brown ale, in jolly tide,
From ancient vessels ranged aside,
Full actively their host supplied.


II. No summons calls them to the tower, To spend the hospitable hour. To Scotland's camp the Lord was gone; His cautious dame, in bower alone, Dreaded her castle to unclose, So late, to unknown friends or foes. On through the hamlet as they paced, Before a porch, whose front was graced With bush and flagon trimly placed,

Lord Marmion drew his rein : The village inn seem'd large, though

rude; its cheerful fire and hearty food

Might well relieve his train. Down from their seats the horsemen

sprung, With jingling spurs the court-yard rung; They bind their horses to the stall, For forage, food, and firing call, And various clamor fills the hall: Weighing the labor with the cost, Toils everywhere the bustling host.

Theirs was the glee of martial breast,
And laughter theirs at little jest;
And oft Lord Marmion deign'd to aid,
And mingle in the mirth they made;
For though, with men of high degree,
The proudest of the proud was he,
Yet, train'd in camps, he knew the art
To win the soldier's hardy heart.
They love a captain to obey,
Boisterous as March, yet fresh as May:
With open hand, and brow as free,
Lover of wine and minstrelsy;
Ever the first to scale a tower,
As venturous in a lady's bower:-
Such buxom chief shall lead his host
From India's fires to Zembla's frost.


Resting upon his pilgrim staff,

Right opposite the Palmer stood; His thin dark visage seen but half,

Huf hidden by his hood. Still fix'd on Marmion was his look, Which he, who ill such gaze could

brook, Strove by a frown to quell; But not for that, though more than

once Full met their stern encountering

glance, The Palmer's visage fell.

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