'O fear not the priest, who sleepeth to the east! pass, He turned him around, and grimly he frowned; 'He who says the mass-rite for the soul of that knight, At the lone midnight hour, when bad spirits have power, With that he was gone, and my lady left alone, 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, "Thou liest, thou liest, thou little foot-page, 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, The bold Baron's brow then changed, I trow, "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, The 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, He passed the court-gate, and he oped the tower grate, To the bartizan-seat, where, with maids that on her wait. That lady sat in mournful mood; Over Tweed's fair flood, and Mertoun's wood, "Now hail, now hail, thou lady bright!" What news, what news, from Ancram fight? "The Ancram moor is red with gore, And Buccleuch has charged us, evermore 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, The lady looked through the chamber fair, And she was aware of a knight stood there "Alas! away, away!" she cried, "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, But, lady, they are said in vain. By the Baron's brand near Tweed's fair strand, And my restless sprite on the beacon's height 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 Love mastered fear--her brow she crossed; "Who spilleth life, shall forfeit life, That lawless love is guilt above, He laid his left palm on an oaken beam; The lady shrunk, and fainting sunk, The sable score, of fingers four, There is a Nun in Dryburgh bower, He speaketh word to none. That Nun, who ne'er beholds the day, CADYOW CASTLE. ADDRESSED TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE LADY ANNE HAMILTON. THE ruins of Cadyow, or Cadzow Castle, the ancient baronial residence of the family of Hamilton, are situated upon the precipitous banks of the river Evan, about two miles above its junction with the Clyde. The situation of the ruins, embosomed in wood, darkened by ivy and creeping shrubs, and overhanging the brawling torrent, is romantic in the highest degree. In the immediate vicinity of Cadyow is a grove of immense oaks, the remains of the Caledonian Forest, which anciently extended through the south of Scotland, from the Eastern to the Atlantic Ocean. Some of these trees measure twenty-five feet, and upwards, in circumference; and the state of decay, in which they now appear, shows that they may have witnessed the rites of the Druids. The whole scenery is included in the magnificent and extensive park of the Duke of Hamilton. In this forest was long preserved the breed of the Scottish wild cattle, until their ferocity led to their extirpation, about forty years ago. Their appearance was beantiful, being milk-white, with black muzzles, horns, and hoofs. The bulls are described by ancient authors as having white manes; but those of latter days had lost that peculiarity, perhaps by intermixture with the tame breed. WHEN princely Hamilton's abode Ennobled Cadyow's Gothic towers, Then, thrilling to the harp's gay sound, As mirth and music cheered the hall. But Cadyow's towers, in ruins laid, Yet still, of Cadyow's faded fame, For thou, from scenes of courtly pride, And mark the long-forgotten urn. Then, noble maid! at thy command, Where with the rock's wood-covered side And feudal banners flaunt between: Where the rude torrent's brawling course The ashler buttress braves its force, "Tis night-the shade of keep and spire Fades slow their light; the east is grey; The drawbridge falls-they hurry out- Urge the shy steed, and slack the rein. First of his troop, the chief rode on; Was fleeter than the mountain wind. From the thick copse the roebucks bound, Through the huge oaks of Evandale, Mightiest of all the beasts of chase The Mountain Bull comes thundering on. Fierce, on the hunters' quivered band, Spurns, with black hoof and horn, the sand, Aimed well, the chieftain's lance has flown; "Tis noon-against the knotted oak The hunters rest the idle spear; Curls through the trees the slender smoke, Where yeomen dight the woodland cheer. Proudly the chieftain marked his clan, "Why fills not Bothwellhaugh his place, Stern Claud replied, with darkening face, No more the warrior shalt thou see. |