That favor'd strain was Surrey's raptured line,

That fair and lovely form, the Lady Geraldine!

XX.

Slow roll'd the clouds upon the lovely form,

And swept the goodly vision all awaySo royal envy roll'd the murky storm O'er my beloved Master's glorious day. Thou jealous, ruthless tyrant! Heaven repay

On thee, and on thy children's latest line,

The wild caprice of thy despotic sway,

The gory bridal bed, the plunder'd shrine,

The murder'd Surrey's blood, the tears of Geraldine.

XXI.

Both Scots and Southern chiefs prolong
Applauses of Fitztraver's song;
These hated Henry's name as death,
And those still held the ancient faith-
Then, from his seat, with lofty air,
Rose Harold, bard of brave St. Clair;
St. Clair, who, feasting high at Home,
Had with that lord to battle come.
Harold was born where restless seas
Howl round the storm-swept Orcades;
Where erst St. Clairs held princely sway
O'er isle and islet, strait and bay; -
Still nods their palace to its fall,
Thy pride and sorrow, fair Kirkwall!-
Thence oft he mark'd fierce Pentland rave,
As if grim Odin rode her wave;

And watch'd, the whilst, with visage pale,
And throbbing heart, the struggling sail;
For all of wonderful and wild
Had rapture for the lonely child.

XXII.

And much of wild and wonderful
In these rude isles might fancy cull!
For thither came, in times afar,
Stern Lochlin's sons of roving war,
The Norsemen, train'd to spoil and blood,
Skill'd to prepare the raven's food;
Kings of the main their leaders brave,
Their barks the dragons of the wave.

And there, in many a stormy vale,
The Scald had told his wondrous tale;
And many a Runic column high
Had witness'd grim idolatry.
And thus had Harold, in his youth,
Learn'd many a Saga's rhyme uncouth,—
Of that Sea-Snake* tremendous curl'd,
Whose monstrous circle girds the world;
Of those dread Maids † whose hideous yell
Maddens the battle's bloody swell;
Of Chiefs, who, guided through the gloom
By the pale death-lights of the tomb,
Ransack'd the graves of warriors old,
Their falchions wrench'd from corpses'
hold,

Waked the deaf tomb with war's alarms,
And bade the dead arise to arms!
With war and wonder all on flame,
To Roslin's bowers young Harold came,
Where, by sweet glen and greenwood
tree,

He learn'd a milder minstrelsy;
Yet something of the Northern spell
Mix'd with the softer numbers well.

XXII. HAROLD.

O listen, listen, ladies gay!

No haughty feat of arms I tell; Soft is the note, and sad the lay, That mourns the 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.

The jormungandr or snake of the ocean, whose folds surround the earth. It was very nearly caught by the god Thor, who went to fish for it with a hook baited with a bull's head. See the " Edda," or Mallet's "Northern Antiquities," p. 445.

The Valkyriur or Scandinavian Fates, or Fatal Sisters.

Inch, an island.

XXIV.

So sweet was Harold's piteous lay, Scarce mark'd the guests the darken'd hall,

Though, long before the sinking day,

A wondrous shade involved them all: It was not eddying mist or fog, Drain'd by the sun from fen or bog;

Of no eclipse had sages told;
And yet, as it came on apace,
Each one could scarce his neighbor's face,
Could scarce his own stretch'd hand
behold.

A secret horror check'd the feast,
And chill'd the soul of every guest;
Even the high Dame stood half aghast,
She knew some evil on the blast;
The elvish page fell to the ground,
And, shuddering, mutter'd,
found! found!"

XXV.

"Found!

Then sudden, through the darken'd air,
A flash of lightning came;

So broad, so bright, so red the glare,
The castle seem'd on flame.
Glanced every rafter of the hall,
Glanced every shield upon the wall;
Each trophied beam, each sculptured
stone,

Were instant seen, and instant gone:
Full through the guests' bedazzled band
Resistless flash'd the levin-brand,
And fill'd the hall with smouldering
smoke,

As on the elvish page it broke.

It broke, with thunder long and loud, Dismay'd the brave, appall'd the proud,

From sea to sea the larum rung; On Berwick wall, and at Carlisle withal, To arms the startled warders sprung: When ended was the dreadful roar, The elvish dwarf was seen no more.

XXVI.

Some heard a voice in Branksome Hall,
Some saw a sight, not seen by all;
That dreadful voice was heard by some,
Cry, with loud summons, "GYLBIN,
COME!"

And on the spot where burst the brand, Just where the page had flung him down,

Some saw an arm, and some a hand,

And some the waving of a gown. The guests in silence pray'd and shook, And terror dimm'd each lofty look. But none of all the astonish'd train Was so dismay'd as Deloraine; His blood did freeze, his brain did burn, 'Twas fear'd his mind would ne'er return; For he was speechless, ghastly, wan, Like him of whom the story ran, Who spoke the spectre-hound in Man. At length, by fits, he darkly told, With broken hint, and shuddering cold

That he had seen, right certainly, A shape with amice wrapp'd around, With a wrought Spanish baldric bound, Like pilgrim from beyond the sea; And knew-but how it matter'd not It was the wizard, Michael Scott.

XXVII.

The anxious crowd, with horror pale,
All trembling heard the wondrous tale;
No sound was made, no word was spoke,
Till noble Angus silence broke;

And he a solemn sacred plight
Did to St. Bride of Douglas make,
That he a pilgrimage would take
To Melrose Abbey, for the sake
Of Michael's restless sprite.
Then each, to ease his troubled breast,
To some bless'd saint his prayers ad-
dress'd:

Some to St. Modan made their vows,

Some to St. Mary of the Lowes,
Some to the Holy Rood of Lisle,
Some to our Ladye of the Isle;
Each did his patron witness make,
That he such pilgrimage would take,
And monks should sing, and bells should
toll,

All for the weal of Michael's soul. While vows were ta'en, and prayers were pray'd,

'Tis said the noble dame, dismay'd, Renounced, for aye, dark magic's aid.

XXVIII.

Naught of the bridal will I tell, Which after in short space befell;

Nor how brave sons and daughters fair Bless'd Teviot's Flower, and Cranstoun's heir:

After such dreadful scene, 'twere vain
To wake the note of mirth again.
More meet it were to mark the day

Of penitence and prayer divine
When pilgrim chiefs, in sad array,
Sought Melrose' holy shrine.

XXIX.

With naked foot, and sackcloth vest,
And arms enfolded on his breast,
Did every pilgrim go;

The standers-by might hear uneath,*
Footstep, or voice, or high-drawn breath,
Through all the lengthen'd row.
No lordly look, nor martial stride,
Gone was their glory, sunk their pride,
Forgotten their renown;

Silent and slow, like ghosts they glide
To the high altar's hallow'd side,

And there they knelt them down: Above the suppliant chieftains wave The banners of departed brave; Beneath the letter'd stones were laid The ashes of their fathers dead; From many a garnish'd niche around, Stern saints and tortured martyrs frown'd.

ΧΧΧ.

And slow up the dim aisle afar,
With sable cowl and scapular,
And snow-white stoles, in order due,
The holy Fathers, two and two,

In long procession came;
Taper, and host, and book they bare,
And holy banner, flourish'd fair

With the Redeemer's name.
Above the prostrate pilgrim band
The mitred Abbot stretch'd his hand,

And bless'd them as they kneel'd; With holy cross he sign'd them all, And pray'd they might be sage in hall, And fortunate in field.

Then mass was sung and prayers were said.
And solemn requiem for the dead;
And bells toll'd out their mighty peal,
For the departed spirit's weal;
And ever in the office close
The hymn of intercession rose:

* Scarcely hear.

And far the echoing aisles prolong
The awful burden of the song, -
DIES IRÆ, DIES ILLA,

SOLVET SÆCLUM IN FAVILLA;
While the pealing organ rung.

Were it meet with sacred strain To close my lay, so light and vain, Thus the holy Fathers sung:

XXXI.

HYMN FOR THE DEAD.

That day of wrath, that dreadful day, When heaven and earth shall pass away, What power shall be the sinner's stay? How shall he meet that dreadful day?

When, shrivelling like a parched scroll, The flaming heavens together roll; When louder yet, and yet more dread, Swells the high trump that wakes the dead,

Oh! on that day, that wrathful day, When man to judgment wakes from clay, Be THOU the trembling sinner's stay, Though heaven and earth shall pass away.

HUSH'Dis the harp-the Minstrel gone,
And did he wander forth alone?
Alone, in indigence and age,
To linger out his pilgrimage?

No; close beneath proud Newark's tower,
Arose the Minstrel's lowly bower;
A simple hut; but there was seen
The little garden hedged with green,
The cheerful hearth, and lattice clean.
There shelter'd wanderers, by the blaze,
Oft heard the tale of other days;
For much he loved to ope his door,
And give the aid he begg'd before.
So pass'd the winter's day; but still,
When summer smiled on sweet Bowhill,
And July's eve, with balmy breath,
Waved the blue-bells on Newark heath;
When throstles sung in Harehead-shaw,
And corn was green on Carterhaugh,
And flourish'd, broad, Blackandro's oak,
The aged Harper's soul awoke!
Then would he sing achievements high,
And circumstance of chivalry.
Till the rapt traveller would stay,
Forgetful of the closing day;
And noble youths, the strain to hear,
Forsook the hunting of the deer;
And Yarrow, as he roll'd along,
Bore burden to the Minstrel's song.