See Lockhart's life of Scott, Vol I, Chapter 8, and the Century Magazine, July, 1899.

THE violet in her green-wood bower, Where birchen boughs with hazels mingle,

May boast itself the fairest flower

In glen or copse or forest dingle.

Though fair her gems of azure hue, Beneath the dewdrop's weight reclining;

I've seen an eye of lovelier blue,

More sweet through watery lustre shining.

The summer sun that dew shall dry
Ere yet the day be past its morrow,
Nor longer in my false love's eye
Remained the tear of parting sorrow.
1797. 1810.

THE Baron of Smaylho'me rose with day,

He spurred his courser on, Without stop or stay, down the rocky way,

That leads to Brotherstone.

He went not with the bold Buccleuch
His banner broad to rear ;

He went not 'gainst the English yew
To lift the Scottish spear.

Yet his plate-jack was braced and his helmet was laced,

And his vaunt-brace of proof he wore; At his saddle-gerthe was a good steel sperthe,

Full ten pound weight and more.

The baron returned in three days' space
And his looks were sad and sour;
And weary was his courser's pace
As he reached his rocky tower.

He came not from where Ancram Moor
Ran red with English blood;
Where the Douglas true and the bold
Buccleuch

'Gainst keen Lord Evers stood.

Yet was his helmet hacked and hewed, His acton pierced and tore,

His axe and his dagger with blood imbrued,

But it was not English gore.

He lighted at the Chapellage,

He held him close and still; And he whistled thrice for his little foot-page,

His name was English Will.

"Come thou hither, my little foot-page, Come hither to my knee;

Though thou art young and tender of age,

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I think thou art true to me.

Come, tell me all that thou hast seen, And look thou tell me true!

Since I from Smaylho'me tower have

been,

What did thy lady do?"

"And many a word that warlike lord Did speak to my lady there;

But the rain fell fast and loud blew the blast,

And I heard not what they were. "The third night there the sky was fair, And the mountain-blast was still, As again I watched the secret pair On the lonesome Beacon Hill.

"And I heard her name the midnight hour,

And name this holy eve;

And say, Come this night to thy lady's bower;

Ask no bold baron's leave.

"He lifts his spear with the bold Buccleuch ;

His lady is all alone;

The door she 'll undo to her knight so

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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 Saint 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,

And my footstep he would know.'

"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

"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 stark

So 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-gate,

And he mounted the narrow stair To the bartizan-seat where, with maids that on her wait,

He found his lady fair.

That lady sat in mournful mood;
Looked over hill and vale;

Over Tweed's fair flood and Mertoun's wood,

And all down Teviotdale.

"Now hail, now hail, thou lady bright!" "Now hail, thou baron true!

What news, what news, from Ancram fight?

What news from the bold Buccleuch !"

"The Ancram moor is red with gore,
For many a Southern 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,

And so did her moody lord.

In sleep the lady mourned, and the baron tossed and turned,

And oft to himself he said,—

"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;

"How, Richard, hast thou sped? And art thou saved or art thou lost?" The vision shook his head!

"Who spilleth life shall forfeit life;
So bid thy lord believe:

That lawless love is guilt above,
This awful sign receive."

He laid his left palm on an oaken beam,
His right upon her hand;

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 forevermore that lady wore
A covering on her wrist.