For mass or prayer can I rarely tarry, When I ride on a Border foray. Other prayer can I none; So speed me my errand, and let me be gone.”— VII. Again on the Knight look'd the Churchman old, For he had himself been a warrior bold, And fought in Spain and Italy. And he thought on the days that were long since by, When his limbs were strong, and his courage was high : Now, slow and faint, he led the way, Where, cloister'd round, the garden lay; And beneath their feet were the bones of the dead. VIII. Spreading herbs, and flowerets bright, Nor herb, nor floweret, glisten'd there, The youth in glittering squadrons start; And hurl the unexpected dart. He knew, by the streamers that shot so bright, IX. By a steel-clenched postern door, They enter'd now the chancel tall; The darken'd roof rose high aloof On pillars lofty and light and small: The key-stone, that lock'd each ribbed aisle, Was a fleur-de-lys, or a quatre-feuille; . The corbells were carved grotesque and grim; Seem'd bundles of lances which garlands had bound. X. Full many a scutcheon and banner riven, a Corbells, the projections from which the arches spring, usually cut in a fantastic face, or mask. O gallant chief of Otterburne! 12 And thine, dark Knight of Liddesdale! 13 O fading honours of the dead! O high ambition, lowly laid! XI. The moon on the east oriel shone Thou would'st have thought some fairy's hand In many a freakish knot, had twined; And trampled the Apostate's pride. The moonbeam kiss'd the holy pane, And threw on the pavement a bloody stain. XII. They sate them down on a marble stone, Now, strange to my eyes thine arms appear, XIII. "In these far climes it was my lot To meet the wondrous Michael Scott; 14 That when, in Salamanca's cave, The bells would ring in Notre Dame! The words that cleft Eildon hills in three,15 And bridled the Tweed with a curb of stone: But to speak them were a deadly sin; And for having but thought them my heart within, A treble penance must be done. XIV. "When Michael lay on his dying bed, The words may not again be said, XV. "I swore to bury his Mighty Book, I buried him on St Michael's night, When the bell toll'd one, and the moon was bright, When the floor of the chancel was stained red, XVI. "It was a night of woe and dread, When Michael in the tomb I laid! Strange sounds along the chancel pass'd, The banners waved without a blast" -Still spoke the Monk, when the bell toll'd one!— I tell you, that a braver man Than William of Deloraine, good at need, Against a foe ne'er spurr'd a steed; Yet somewhat was he chill'd with dread, XVII. "Lo, Warrior! now the Cross of Red Slow moved the Monk to the broad flag-stone, Which the bloody Cross was traced upon: He pointed to a secret nook; An iron-bar the Warrior took; And the Monk made a sign with his wither'd hand, The grave's huge portal to expand. XVIII. With beating heart to the task he went; His sinewy frame o'er the grave-stone bent; With bar of iron heaved amain, Till the toil-drops fell from his brows, like rain. That he moved the massy stone at length. How the light broke forth so gloriously, Stream'd upward to the chancel roof, Show'd the Monk's cowl, and visage pale, XIX. Before their eyes the Wizard lay, The lamp was placed beside his knee : They trusted his soul had gotten grace. XX. Often had William of Deloraine And the priest pray'd fervently and loud: He might not endure the sight to see, Of the man he had loved so brotherly. XXI. And when the priest his death-prayer had pray'd, Thus unto Deloraine he said: "Now, speed thee what thou hast to do, Or, Warrior, we may dearly rue; For those, thou may'st not look upon, Are gathering fast round the yawning stone!" Then, Deloraine, in terror, took From the cold hand the Mighty Book, With iron clasp'd, and with iron bound: He thought, as he took it, the dead man frown'd; But the glare of the sepulchral light, Perchance, had dazzled the warrior's sight. XXII. When the huge stone sunk o'er the tomb, D For the moon had gone down, and the stars were few; Because these spells were brought to day. I cannot tell how the truth may be; I say the tale as 'twas said to me. XXIII. "Now, hie thee hence," the Father said, O may our dear Ladye, and sweet St John, And many a prayer and penance sped; Before the cross was the body laid, With hands clasp'd fast, as if still he pray'd XXIV. The Knight breathed free in the morning wind, And strove his hardihood to find: He was glad when he pass'd the tombstones grey, For the mystic Book, to his bosom prest, Felt like a load upon his breast; And his joints, with nerves of iron twin'd, And he said Ave Mary, as well as he might. XXV. The sun had brighten'd Cheviot grey, The sun had brighten'd the Carter's" side; And soon beneath the rising day Smiled Branksome towers and Teviot's tide. The wild birds told their warbling tale, And waken'd every flower that blows; And peeped forth the violet pale, And spread her breast the mountain rose. And lovelier than the rose so red, A mountain on the Border of England, above Jedburgh. |