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, trained to spoil and blood, Skilled 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 witnessed grim idolatry. And thus had Harold in his youth Learned many a Saga's rhyme uncouth, — Of that Sea-Snake, tremendous curled, 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, Ransacked the graves of warriors old, Their falchions wrenched 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 learned a milder minstrelsy; Yet something of the Northern spell Mixed with the softer numbers well.
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.
'Last night the gifted Seer did view
A wet shroud swathed round ladye gay; Then stay thee, fair, in Ravensheuch: Why cross the gloomy firth to-day?'
"T is not because Lord Lindesay's heir To-night at Roslin leads the ball, But that my ladye-mother there Sits lonely in her castle-hall.
"Tis not because the ring they ride, And Lindesay at the ring rides well, But that my sire the wine will chide, If 't is not filled by Rosabelle.'
O'er Roslin all that dreary night
A wondrous blaze was seen to gleam; 'T was broader than the watch-fire light, And redder than the bright moonbeam.
Then sudden through the darkened air A flash of lightning came;
So broad, so bright, so red the glare, The castle seemed 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 flashed the levin-brand, And filled the hall with smouldering smoke,
As on the elfish page it broke. It broke with thunder long and loud, Dismayed the brave, appalled 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 elfish dwarf was seen no more!
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 prayed and shook, And terror dimmed each lofty look.
His blood did freeze, his brain did burn, 'T was feared his mind would ne'er re- turn;
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 wrapped around, With a wrought Spanish baldric bound, 460 Like pilgrim from beyond the sea; And knew-but how it mattered not It was the wizard, Michael Scott.
HUSHED is 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 sheltered wanderers, by the blaze, Oft heard the tale of other days; For much he loved to ope his door, And give the aid he begged before. So passed the winter's day; but still, When summer smiled on sweet Bow- hill,
And July's eve, with balmy breath, Waved the blue-bells on Newark heath, 570 When throstles sung in Harehead-shaw, And corn was green on Carterhaugh, And flourished, 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 rolled along, Bore burden to the Minstrel's song.
JOHN JAMES, MARQUIS OF ABERCORN
THIS POEM IS INSCRIBED BY
THE scene of the following Poem is laid chiefly in the vicinity of Loch Katrine, in the Western Highlands of Perthshire. The time of Action includes Six Days, and the transactions of each Day occupy a Canto.
O, wake once more! how rude soe'er the hand That ventures o'er thy magic maze to
HARP of the North! that mouldering long O, wake once more! though scarce my
On the witch-elm that shades Saint Fillan's spring,
And down the fitful breeze thy numbers
But when the sun his beacon red Had kindled on Benvoirlich's head, The deep-mouthed bloodhound's heavy bay Resounded up the rocky way,
And faint, from farther distance borne, Were heard the clanging hoof and horn.
As Chief, who hears his warder call, To arms! the foeman storm the wall,' The antlered monarch of the waste Sprung from his heathery couch in haste. But ere his fleet career he took, The dew-drops from his flanks he shook;
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