But not alone the bitter tear Had filial grief supplied; For hopeless love, and anxious fear, And well she knew, her mother dread, XI. Of noble race the Ladye came, Her father was a clerk of fame, Of Bethune's line of Picardie: He learn'd the art that none may name, In Padua, far beyond the sea. Men said, he changed his mortal frame For when, in studious mood he paced His form no darkening shadow traced XII. And of his skill, as bards avow, And now she sits in secret bower, That moans the mossy turrets round. Is it the roar of Teviot's tide, That chafes against the scaur's red side? Is it the wind that swings the oaks? Is it the echo from the rocks? What may it be, the heavy sound, That moans old Branksome's turrets round? XIII. At the sullen, moaning sound, Loud whoops the startled owl. But the night was still and clear! XIV. From the sound of Teviot's tide, From the voice of the coming storm, The Ladye knew it well! It was the Spirit of the Flood that spoke, And he called on the Spirit of the Fell. XV. RIVER SPIRIT. "Sleep'st thou, brother?" MOUNTAIN SPIRIT. -"Brother, nay On my hills the moonbeams play. From Craik-cross to Skelfhill-pen, By every rill, in every glen, Merry elves their morris pacing, Emerald rings on brown heath tracing, Up, and mark their nimble feet! Up, and list their music sweet!” XVI. RIVER SPIRIT. "Tears of an imprison'd maiden XVII. MOUNTAIN SPIRIT. "Arthur's slow wain his course doth roll, In utter darkness round the pole; The Northern Bear lowers black and grim; Orion's studded belt is dim; Twinkling faint, and distant far, Shimmers through mist each planet star; Till pride be quell'd, and love be free." XVIII. The unearthly voices ceast, And the heavy sound was still; It died on the river's breast, It died on the side of the hill. But round Lord David's tower The sound still floated near; For it rung in the Ladye's bower, And it rung in the Ladye's ear. She raised her stately head, And her heart throbb'd high with pride :"Your mountains shall bend, And your streams ascend, Ere Margaret be our foeman's bride!" XIX. The Ladye sought the lofty hall, Where many a bold retainer lay, A fancied moss-trooper, the boy The truncheon of a spear bestrode, And round the hall, right merrily, Even bearded knights, in arms grown old, Share in his frolic gambols bore, |