For mass or prayer can I rarely tarry, When I ride on a Border foray.1 So speed me my errand, and let me be gone." VIL Again on the Knight look'd the Churchman old, And again he sighed heavily; 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, And beneath their feet were the bones of the dead." VIII. Spreading herbs, and flowerets bright, The youth in glittering squadrons start;" Sudden the flying jennet wheel, And hurl the unexpected dart. He knew, by the streamers that shot so bright, That spirits were riding the northern light. 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; And the pillars, with cluster'd shafts so trim, 1 See Appendix, Note X. 2 The cloisters were frequently used as places of sepulture. An instance occurs in Dryburgh Abbey, where the cloister has an inscription, bearing, Hie jacet frater Archibaldus. 3 See Appendix, Note Y. 4 Corbelis, the projections from which the arches spring, nsually cut in a fantastic face, or mask. With plinth and with capital flourish'd around." See Appendix, Note Z. Ibid. Note 2 A. Ibid. Note 2 B. 9.6 Bombay, September 25, 1805.-I began last night to read Walter Scott's Lay of the Last Minstrel, as part of my evening readings to my children. I was extremely delighted by the Detical beauty of some passages, the Abbey of Melrose for With base and with capital flourish'd around," Seem'd bundles of lances which garlands had bound. X. Full many a scutcheon and banner riven, And thine, dark Knight of Liddesdale !" XI. The moon on the east oriel shone By foliaged tracery combined; Thou wouldst have thought some fairy's hand 'Twixt poplars straight the ozier wand, In many a freakish knot, had twined; Then framed a spell, when the work was done, And changed the willow-wreaths to stone. The silver light, so pale and faint, Show'd many a prophet, and many a saint, Whose image on the glass was dyed; Full in the midst, his Cross of Red Triumphant Michael brandished, And trampled the Apostate's pride. The moonbeam kiss'd the holy pane, And threw on the pavement a bloody stain.® XIL They sate them down on a marble stone,1o. For Paynim countries I have trod, XIII. "In these far climes it was my lot To meet the wondrous Michael Scott;" The cos example, and most of the prologues to the cantos. tume, too, is admirable. The tone is antique; and it might be read for instruction as a picture of the manners of the mid dle ages." "November 2, 1805.-We are perfectly enchanted with Walter Scott's Lay of the Last Minstrel. He is surely the man born at last to translate the Iliad. Are not the good parts of his poem the most Homeric of any thing in our lan guage? There are tedious passages, and so are there in Ho mer."-SIR JAMES MACKINTOSH, Life, vol. i. pp. 254, 262, 10 A large marble stone, in the chancel of Melrose, is pointed out as the monument of Alexander II., one of the greatest of our early kings; others say, it is the resting-place of Waldere, one of the early abbots, who died in the odor of sanctity. 11 See Appendix, Note 2 C. A wizard, of such dreaded fame, The bells would ring in Notre Dame ! The words that cleft Eildon hills in three,' 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, His conscience was awakened : He bethought him of his sinful deed, And he gave me a sign to come with speed: 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, And I dug his chamber among the dead, When the floor of the chancel was stained red, That his patron's cross might over him wave, And scare the fiends from the Wizard's grave. XVII. "Lo, Warrior! now, the Cross of Red To chase the spirits that love the night: Slow moved the Monk to the broad flag-stone, 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; Till the toil-drops fell from his brows, like rain That he moved the massy stone at length. I would you had been there, to see Show'd the Monk's cowl, and visage pale, XIX. Before their eyes the Wizard lay, Like a pilgrim from beyond the sea: His left hand held his Book of Might; A silver cross was in his right; The lamp was placed beside his knee. High and majestic was his look, At which the fellest fiends had shook, And all unruffled was his face: They trusted his soul had gotten grace. XX. Often had William of Deloraine And neither known remorse nor awe; he had loved with brotherly affection-the horror of Deloraine, and his belief that the corpse frowned, as he withdrew the magic volume from its grasp, are, in a succeeding part of the narrative, circumstances not more happily conceived than exquisitely wrought."-Critical Review Yet now remorse and awe he own'd; He might not endure the sight to see, XXI. And when the priest his death-prayer had pray'd, For those, thou mayst not look upon, Are gathering fast round the yawning stone!" He thought, as he took it, the dead man frown'd ;' XXII. When the huge stone sunk o'er the tomb, For the moon had gone down, and the stars were few; And, as the Knight and Priest withdrew, They hardly might the postern gain. "Tis said, as through the aisles they pass'd, XXIII. "Now, hie thee hence," the Father said, "And when we are on death-bed laid, O may our dear Ladye, and sweet St. John, Forgive our souls for the deed we have done !”— The Monk return'd him to his cell, And many a prayer and penance sped; When the convent met at the noontide bell The Monk of St. Mary's aisle was dead! 1 See Appendix, Note 2 H. 2 A mountain on the Border of England, above Jedburgh. 3 How lovely and exhilarating is the fresh, cool morning landscape which relieves the mind after the horrors of the spellrua ded tom!"-ANNA SEWARD. XXVIII. The Knight and ladye fair are met, And under the hawthorn's boughs are set. A fairer pair were never seen To meet beneath the hawthorn green. And she, when love, scarce told, scarce hid, XXIX. And now, fair dames, methinks I see And how the Knight, with tender fire, But never, never cease to love; And how she blush'd, and how she sigh'd, And, half consenting, half denied, And said that she would die a maid;— Yet, might the bloody feud be stay'd, Henry of Cranstoun, and only he, Margaret of Branksome's choice should be. XXX. Alas! fair dames, your hopes are vain! XXXI. Beneath an oak, moss'd o'er by eld, 1 See Appendix, Note 2 1. The idea of the imp domesticating himself with the first person he met, and subjecting himself to that one's authority, #perfectly consonant to old opinions. Ben Jonson, in his play of The Devil is an Ass," has founded the leading incident of that comedy upon this article of the popular creed. A fiend, styled Pug, is ambitious for figuring in the world, and petitions his superior for permission to exhibit himself upon earth. The devil grants him a day-rule, but clogs it with this condition, "Satan-Only thus more, I bind you To serve the first man that vou meet: and him That Dwarf was scarce an earthly man, A leap, of thirty feet and three, And lighted at Lord Cranstoun's knee. Lord Cranstoun was some whit dismay'd; "Tis said that five good miles he rade, To rid him of his company; But where he rode one mile, the Dwarf ran four, And the Dwarf was first at the castle door. XXXII. Use lessens marvel, it is said: This elvish Dwarf with the Baron staid; An it had not been for his ministry. All between Home and Hermitage, Talk'd of Lord Cranstoun's Goblin-Page. XXXIII. For the Baron went on pilgrimage, To Mary's Chapel of the Lowes; But the Ladye of Branksome gather'd a band I'll show you now; observe him, follow him; It is observable that in the same play, Pug alludes to the spareness of his diet. Mr. Scott's goblin, though "waspish, arch, and litherlie," proves a faithful and honest retainer to the lord, into whose service he had introduced himself. This sort of inconsistency seems also to form a prominent part of the diabolic cnaracter. Thus, in the romances of the Round Table, we find Merlin, the son of a devil, exerting himself most zealously in the cause of virtue and religion, the friend and counsellor of King Arthur, the chastiser of wrongs, and the scourge of the infidels. See Appendix, Note 2 K. Through Douglas-burn, up Yarrow stream,1 XXXIV.. And now, in Branksome's good green wood, The Dwarf waves his long lean arm on high, WHILE thus he pour'd the lengthen'd tale, And that I might not sing of love?— How could I to the dearest theme, That ever warm'd a minstrel's dream, So foul, so false a recreant prove! How could I name love's very name, Nor wake my heart to notes of flame! II. In peace, Love tunes the shepherd's reed, In hamlets, dances on the green. Love rules the court, the camp, the grove, And men below, and saints above; III. So thought Lord Cranstoun, as I ween, And scarce his helmet could he don, A stately knight came pricking on. That warrior's steed, so dapple-gray, Was dark with sweat, and splashed with clay, His armor red with many a stain: He seem'd in such a weary plight, As if he had ridden the live-long night; For it was William of Deloraine. IV. But no whit weary did he seem, Few were the words, and stern and high, Gave signal soon of dire debate. In rapid round the Baron bent; He sigh'd a sigh, and pray'd a prayer; But he stoop'd his head, and couch'd his spear, And spurr'd his steed to full career. The crest of the Cranstouns, in allusion to their name, is crane dormant, holding a stone in his foot, with an emphat border motto, Thou shalt want ere I went. |