'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 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 grate, To the bartizan-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. 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. '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, The lady looked through the chamber fair By the light of a dying flame; 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 boody grave have I lain; The mass and the death-prayer are said for me, 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, 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 A covering on her wrist. 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, I'd rather rove with Edmund there, 'If, maiden, thou would'st wend with me To leave both tower and town, Thou first must guess what life lead we, And if thou canst that riddle read, Then to the greenwood shalt thou speed, Chorus. Yet sung she, 'Brignal banks are fair, 'I read you, by your bugle-horn, I read you for a ranger sworn, 'A ranger, lady, winds his horn, His blast is heard at merry morn, Chorus. Yet sung she, 'Brignall banks are fair, I would I were with Edmund there, 'With burnished brand and musketoon, So gallantly you come, I read you for a bold dragoon, But when the beetle sounds his hum, Chorus. And, O! though Brignall banks be fair, Yet mickle must the maiden dare, 'Maiden! a nameless life I lead, A nameless death I'll die; The fiend, whose lantern lights the mead, And when I'm with my comrades met, What once we were we all forget, Chorus. 'Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair, Would grace a summer queen.' |