CANTO I.1.2 Where many a bold retainer lay,1.3And with jocund din among them all,1.4 Her son pursued his infant play.1.5A fancied moss-trooper, the boy1.6 The truncheon of a spear bestrode,1.7And round the hall right merrily1.8 In mimic foray rode.1.9Even bearded knights, in arms grown old,1.10 Share in his frolic gambols bore,1.11Albeit their hearts of rugged mould1.12 Were stubborn as the steel they wore.1.13For the gray warriors prophesied1.14 How the brave boy, in future war,1.15Should tame the Unicorn's pride,1.16 Exalt the Crescent and the Star.
XX1.18 One moment and no more;1.19One moment gazed with a mother's eye,1.20 As she paused at the arched door:1.21Then from amid the armed train,1.22She called to her William of Deloraine.
XXI1.24As e'er couch'd Border lance by knee:1.25Through Solway sands, through Tarras moss,1.26Blindfold he knew the paths to cross;1.27By wily turns, by desperate bounds,1.28Had baffled Percy's best blood-hounds;1.29In Eske or Liddel, fords were none,1.30But he would ride them, one by one;1.31Alike to him was time or tide,1.32December's snow or July's pride;1.33Alike to him was tide or time,1.34Moonless midnight or matin prime:1.35Steady of heart and stout of hand1.36As ever drove prey from Cumberland;1.37Five times outlawed had he been1.38By England's King and Scotland's Queen.
XXII1.40Mount thee on the wightest steed;1.41Spare not to spur, nor stint to ride,1.42Until thou come to fair Tweedside;1.43And in Melrose's holy pile1.44Seek thou the Monk of St. Mary's aisle.1.45 Greet the father well from me;1.46 Say that the fated hour is come,1.47 And to-night he shall watch with thee,1.48 To win the treasure of the tomb:1.49For this will be St. Michael's night,1.50And, though stars be dim, the moon is bright;1.51And the Cross of bloody red1.52Will point to the grave of the mighty dead.
XXIII1.54Stay not thou for food or sleep:1.55Be it scroll or be it book,1.56Into it, knight, thou must not look;1.57If thou readest, thou art lorn!1.58Better hadst thou ne'er been born.'
XXIV1.60 Which drinks of the Teviot clear;1.61Ere break of day,' the warrior 'gan say,1.62 'Again will I be here:1.63And safer by none may thy errand be done,1.64 Than, noble dame, by me;1.65Letter nor line know I never a one,1.66 Were't my neck-verse at Hairibee.'
XXV1.68And soon the steep descent he past,1.69Soon cross'd the sounding barbican,1.70And soon the Teviot side he won.1.71Eastward the wooded path he rode,1.72Green hazels o'er his basnet nod;1.73He pass'd the Peel of Goldiland,1.74And cross'd old Borthwick's roaring strand;1.75Dimly he view'd the Moat-hill's mound,1.76Where Druid shades still flitted round:1.77In Hawick twinkled many a light;1.78Behind him soon they set in night;1.79And soon he spurr'd his courser keen1.80Beneath the tower of Hazeldean.
XXVI1.82'Stand, ho! thou courier of the dark.'1.83'For Branksome, ho!' the knight rejoin'd,1.84And left the friendly tower behind.1.85 He turned him now from Teviotside,1.86 And, guided by the tinkling rill,1.87 Northward the dark ascent did ride,1.88 And gained the moor at Horsliehill;1.89Broad on the left before him lay,1.90For many a mile, the Roman way.
XXVII1.92A moment breathed his panting steed;1.93Drew saddle-girth and corslet-band,1.94And loosen'd in the sheath his brand.1.95On Minto-crags the moonbeams glint,1.96Where Barnhill hew'd his bed of flint,1.97Who flung his outlaw'd limbs to rest1.98Where falcons hang their giddy nest,1.99Mid cliffs from whence his eagle eye1.100For many a league his prey could spy;1.101Cliffs doubling, on their echoes borne,1.102The terrors of the robber's horn;1.103Cliffs, which for many a later year1.104The warbling Doric reed shall hear,1.105When some sad swain shall teach the grove,1.106Ambition is no cure for love.
XXVIII1.108To ancient Riddel's fair domain,1.109 Where Aill, from mountains freed,1.110Down from the lakes did raving come;1.111Each wave was crested with tawny foam,1.112 Like the mane of a chestnut steed.1.113In vain! no torrent, deep or broad,1.114Might bar the bold moss-trooper's road.
XXIX1.116And the water broke o'er the saddlebow;1.117Above the foaming tide, I ween,1.118Scarce half the charger's neck was seen:1.119For he was barded from counter to tail,1.120And the rider was armed complete in mail;1.121Never heavier man and horse1.122Stemm'd a midnight torrent's force.1.123The warrior's very plume, I say,1.124Was daggled by the dashing spray:1.125Yet, through good heart and Our Ladye's grace,1.126At length he gain'd the landing-place.
XXX1.128 And sternly shook his plumed head,1.129As glanced his eye o'er Halidon:1.130 For on his soul the slaughter red1.131Of that unhallow'd morn arose,1.132When first the Scott and Carr were foes;1.133When royal James beheld the fray,1.134Prize to the victor of the day;1.135When Home and Douglas in the van1.136Bore down Buccleuch's retiring clan,1.137Till gallant Cessford's heart-blood dear1.138Reek'd on dark Elliot's Border spear.
XXXI1.140And soon the hated heath was past:1.141And far beneath, in lustre wan,1.142Old Melros' rose, and fair Tweed ran:1.143Like some tall rock with lichens gray,1.144Seem'd dimly huge, the dark Abbaye.1.145When Hawick he pass'd, had curfew rung,1.146Now midnight lauds were in Melrose sung.1.147The sound upon the fitful gale1.148In solemn wise did rise and fail,1.149Like that wild harp whose magic tone1.150Is waken'd by the winds alone.1.151But when Melrose he reach'd, 'twas silence all:1.152He meetly stabled his steed in stall,1.153And sought the convent's lonely wall.
CANTO II.2.2Go visit it by the pale moonlight;2.3For the gay beams of lightsome day2.4Gild, but to flout, the ruins gray.2.5When the broken arches are black in night,2.6And each shafted oriel glimmers white;2.7When the cold light's uncertain shower2.8Streams on the ruin'd central tower;2.9When buttress and buttress, alternately,2.10Seem framed of ebon and ivory;2.11When silver edges the imagery,2.12And the scrolls that teach thee to live and die;2.13When distant Tweed is heard to rave,2.14And the owlet to hoot o'er the dead man's grave,2.15Then go--but go alone the while--2.16Then view St. David's ruin'd pile;2.17And, home returning, soothly swear,2.18Was never scene so sad and fair!
II2.20Little reck'd he of the scene so fair2.21With dagger's hilt on the wicket strong2.22He struck full loud, and struck full long.2.23The porter hurried to the gate--2.24'Who knocks so loud, and knocks so late?'2.25'From Branksome I,' the warrior cried;2.26And straight the wicket open'd wide:2.27For Branksome's chiefs had in battle stood2.28 To fence the rights of fair Melrose;2.29And lands and livings, many a rood2.30 Had gifted the shrine for their souls' repose.
III2.32The porter bent his humble head;2.33With torch in hand, and feet unshod,2.34And noiseless step the path he trod;2.35The arched cloister, far and wide,2.36Rang to the warrior's clanking stride,2.37Till, stooping low his lofty crest,2.38He enter'd the cell of the ancient priest,2.39And lifted his barred aventayle2.40To hail the Monk of St. Mary's aisle.
IV2.42 Says that the fated hour is come,2.43And that to-night I shall watch with thee,2.44 To win the treasure of the tomb.'2.45From sackcloth couch the monk arose,2.46 With toil his stiffen'd limbs he rear'd;2.47A hundred years had flung their snows2.48 On his thin locks and floating beard.
V2.50 And his blue eyes gleam'd wild and wide;2.51'And darest thou, warrior, seek to see2.52 What heaven and hell alike would hide?2.53My breast in belt of iron pent,2.54 With shirt of hair and scourge of thorn;2.55For threescore years, in penance spent,2.56 My knees those flinty stones have worn;2.57Yet all too little to atone2.58For knowing what should ne'er be known.2.59 Would'st thou thy every future year2.60 In ceaseless prayer and penance drie,2.61 Yet wait thy latter end with fear--2.62 Then, daring warrior, follow me!'
VI2.64Prayer know I hardly one;2.65For mass or prayer can I rarely tarry,2.66Save to patter an Ave Mary,2.67When I ride on a Border foray.2.68Other prayer can I none;2.69So speed me my errand, and let me be gone.'
VII2.71 And again he sighed heavily;2.72For he had himself been a warrior bold,2.73 And fought in Spain and Italy.2.74And he thought on the days that were long since by,2.75When his limbs were strong, and his courage was high:2.76Now, slow and faint, he led the way2.77Where, cloister'd round, the garden lay;2.78The pillar'd arches were over their head,2.79And beneath their feet were the bones of the dead,
VIII2.81Glisten'd with the dew of night;2.82Nor herb nor floweret glisten'd there,2.83But was carved in the cloister-arches as fair.2.84 The monk gazed long on the lovely moon,2.85 Then into the night he looked forth;2.86 And red and bright the streamers light2.87 Were dancing in the glowing north.2.88 So had he seen in fair Castile2.89 The youth in glittering squadrons start;2.90 Sudden the flying jennet wheel,2.91 And hurl the unexpected dart.2.92He knew, by the streamers that shot so bright,2.93That spirits were riding the northern light.
IX2.95 They enter'd now the chancel tall;2.96The darken'd roof rose high aloof2.97 On pillars lofty and light and small:2.98The key-stone that lock'd each ribbed aisle,2.99Was a fleur-de-lys or a quatre-feuille;2.100The corbells were carved grotesque and grim;2.101And the pillars, with cluster'd shafts so trim,2.102With base and with capital flourish'd around,2.103Seem'd bundles of lances which garlands had bound.
X2.105Shook to the cold night-wind of heaven,2.106 Around the screened altar's pale;2.107And there the dying lamps did burn2.108Before thy low and lonely urn,2.109O gallant chief of Otterburne!2.110 And thine, dark knight of Liddesdale!2.111O fading honours of the dead!2.112O high ambition lowly laid!
XI2.114Through slender shafts of shapely stone,2.115 By foliaged tracery combined;2.116Thou would'st have thought some fairy's hand2.117'Twixt poplars straight the osier wand2.118 In many a freakish knot had twined;2.119Then framed a spell when the work was done,2.120And changed the willow wreaths to stone.2.121The silver light, so pale and faint,2.122Show'd many a prophet and many a saint,2.123 Whose image on the glass was dyed;2.124Full in the midst, his Cross of Red2.125Triumphant Michael brandished,2.126 And trampled the Apostate's pride.2.127The moon-beam kiss'd the holy pane,2.128And threw on the pavement a bloody stain.
XII2.130 A Scottish monarch slept below;--2.131Thus spoke the monk, in solemn tone:2.132 'I was not always a man of woe;2.133For Paynim countries I have trod,2.134And fought beneath the Cross of God:2.135Now, strange to my eyes thine arms appear,2.136And their iron clang sounds strange to my ear.
XIII2.138To meet the wondrous Michael Scott;2.139 A wizard of such dreaded fame2.140That when, in Salamanca's cave,2.141Him listed his magic wand to wave,2.142 The bells would ring in Notre Dame!2.143Some of his skill he taught to me;2.144And, warrior, I could say to thee2.145The words that cleft Eildon hills in three,2.146 And bridled the Tweed with a eurb of stone:2.147But to speak them were a deadly sin;2.148And for having but thought them my heart within,2.149 A treble penance must be done.
XIV2.151His conscience was awakened;2.152He bethought him of his sinful deed,2.153And he gave me a sign to come with speed:2.154I was in Spain when the morning rose,2.155But I stood by his bed ere evening close.2.156The words may not again be said2.157That he spoke to me, on death-bed laid;2.158They would rend this Abbaye's messy nave,2.159And pile it in heaps above his grave.
XV2.161That never mortal might therein look;2.162And never to tell where it was hid,2.163Save at his Chief of Branksome's need:2.164And when that need was past and o'er,2.165Again the volume to restore.2.166I buried him on St. Michael's night,2.167When the bell toll'd one, and the moon was bright,2.168And I dug his chamber among the dead2.169When the floor of the chancel was stained red,2.170That his patron's cross might over him wave,2.171And scare the fiends from the wizard's grave.
XVI2.173When Michael in the tomb I laid;2.174Strange sounds along the chancel pass'd,2.175The banners waved without a blast'--2.176Still spoke the monk, when the bell toll'd one!--2.177I tell you that a braver man2.178Than William of Deloraine, good at need,2.179Against a foe ne'er spurr'd a steed;2.180Yet somewhat was he chill'd with dread,2.181And his hair did bristle upon his head.
XVII2.183Points to the grave of the mighty dead;2.184Within it burns a wondrous light,2.185To chase the spirits that love the night:2.186That lamp shall burn unquenchably,2.187Until the eternal doom shall be.'2.188Slow moved the monk to the broad flag-stone2.189Which the bloody Cross was traced upon:2.190He pointed to a secret nook;2.191An iron bar the warrior took;2.192And the monk made a sign with his wither'd hand,2.193The grave's huge portal to expand.
XVIII2.195His sinewy frame o'er the grave-stone bent;2.196With bar of iron heaved amain2.197Till the toil-drops fell from his brows like rain.2.198It was by dint of passing strength2.199That he moved the messy stone at length.2.200I would you had been there to see2.201How the light broke forth so gloriously,2.202Stream'd upward to the chancel roof,2.203And through the galleries far aloof!2.204No earthly flame blazed e'er so bright:2.205It shone like heaven's own blessed light,2.206 And, issuing from the tomb,2.207Show'd the monk's cowl and visage pale,2.208Danced on the dark-brow'd warrior's mail,2.209 And kiss'd his waving plume.
XIX2.211As if he had not been dead a day.2.212His hoary beard in silver roll'd,2.213He seem'd some seventy winters old;2.214 A palmer's amice wrapp'd him round,2.215 With a wrought Spanish baldric bound,2.216 Like a pilgrim from beyond the sea:2.217 His left hand held his Book of Might,2.218 A silver cross was in his right,2.219 The lamp was placed beside his knee:2.220High and majestic was his look,2.221At which the fellest fiend had shook,2.222And all unruffled was his face:2.223They trusted his soul had gotten grace.
XX2.225Rode through the battle's bloody plain,2.226And trampled down the warriors slain,2.227 And neither known remorse nor awe;2.228Yet now remorse and awe he own'd;2.229His breath came thick, his head swam round,2.230 When this strange scene of death he saw,2.231Bewilder'd and unnerv'd he stood,2.232And the priest pray'd fervently and loud:2.233With eyes averted prayed he;2.234He might not endure the sight to see2.235Of the man he had loved so brotherly.
XXI2.237Thus unto Deloraine he said:2.238'Now, speed thee what thou hast to do,2.239Or, warrior, we may dearly rue;2.240For those thou may'st not look upon,2.241Are gathering fast round the yawning stone!'2.242Then Deloraine in terror took2.243From the cold hand the Mighty Book,2.244With iron clasp'd and with iron bound:2.245He thought, as he took it, the dead man frown'd;2.246But the glare of the sepulchral light2.247Perchance had dazzled the warrior's sight.
XXII2.249The night return'd in double gloom;2.250For the moon had gone down, and the stars were few;2.251And, as the knight and priest withdrew,2.252With wavering steps and dizzy brain,2.253They hardly might the postern gain.2.254'Tis said, as through the aisles they pass'd,2.255They heard strange noises on the blast;2.256And through the cloister-galleries small,2.257Which at mid-height thread the chancel wall,2.258Loud sobs, and laughter louder ran,2.259And voices unlike the voice of man;2.260As if the fiends kept holiday2.261Because these spells were brought to day.2.262I cannot tell how the truth may be;2.263I say the tale as 'twas said to me.
XXIII2.265`And when we are on death-bed laid,2.266O may our dear Ladye and sweet St. John2.267Forgive our souls for the deed we have done!2.268 The monk returned him to his cell,2.269 And many a prayer and penance sped;2.270 When the convent met at the noontide bell,2.271 The Monk of St. Mary's aisle was dead!2.272Before the cross was the body laid2.273With hands clasp'd fast, as if still he pray'd.
XXIV2.275And strove his hardihood to find:2.276He was glad when he pass'd the tombstones gray2.277Which girdle round the fair Abbaye;2.278For the mystic book, to his bosom prest,2.279Felt like a load upon his breast;2.280And his joints, with nerves of iron twined,2.281Shook like the aspen leaves in wind.2.282Full fain was he when the dawn of day2.283Began to brighten Cheviot gray;2.284He joy'd to see the cheerful light,2.285And he said Ave Mary as well as he might.
