That, if she loved the harp to hear, He could make music to her ear.

The humble boon was soon obtain'd;
The Aged Minstrel audience gain'd.
But, when he reach'd the room of state,
Where she, with all her ladies, sate,
Perchance he wished his boon denied:
For, when to tune his harp he tried,
His trembling hand had lost the case,
Which marks security to please;
And scenes, long past, of joy and pain,
Came wildering o'er his aged brain-
He tried to tune his harp in vain!
The pitying Duchess praised its chime,
And gave him heart, and gave him time,
Till every string's according glee
Was blended into harmony.
And then, he said, he would full fain
He could recall an ancient strain,
He never thought to sing again.
It was not framed for village churls,
But for high dames and mighty carls;
He had play'd it to King Charles the Good,
When he kept court in Holyrood,
And much he wish'd, yet fear'd to try
The long-forgotten melody
Amid the strings his fingers stray'd,
And an uncertain warbling made,
And oft he shook his hoary head.
But when he caught the measure wild,
The old man raised his face, and smiled;
And lighten'd up his faded eye,
With all a poet's ecstasy!

In varying cadence, soft or strong,
He swept the sounding chords along :
The present scene, the future lot,
His toils, his wants, were all forgot:
Cold diffidence, and age's frost,
In the full tide of song were lost;
Each blank in faithless memory void,
The poet's glowing thought supplied;
And, while his harp responsive rung,
"Twas thus the LATEST MINSTREL sung.

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 By feat of magic mystery; For when, in studious mode, he paced St. Andrew's cloister'd hall, His form no darkening shadow traced Upon the sunny wall!"

XII.

And of his skill, as bards avow,

He taught that Ladye fair,
Till to her bidding she could bow
The viewless forms of air.

And now she sits in secret bower,
In old Lord David's western tower,
And listens to a heavy sound,
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,
The ban-dogs bay and howl;
And, from the turrets round,

Loud whoops the startled owl.
In the hall, both squire and knight
Swore that a storm was near,
And looked forth to view the night?
But the night was still and clear!

XIV.

From the sound of Teviot's tide,
Chafing with the mountain's side,
From the groan of the wind-swung oak,
From the sullen echo of the rock,
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.

A steep embankment.

XV.

RIVER SPIRIT.

"Sleep'st thou, brother!"

MOUNTAIN SPIRIT.

"Brother, nay—

On my hills the moon-beams play.
From Craik-cross to Skelfhill-pen,
By every rill, in every glen,

Merry elves their morris pacing,
To aërial minstrelsy,

Emerald rings on brown heath tracing,
Trip it deft and merrily.
Up, and mark their nimble feet!
Up, and list their music sweet !"-

XVI.

RIVER SPIRIT.

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;

Ill may I read their high decree!
But no kind influence deign they shower
On Teviot's tide, and Branksome's tower,
Till pride be quell'd, and love be frec.'
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,

By wily turns, by desperate bounds,

The Lady sought the lofty hall,

Where many a bold retainer lay, And, with jocund din, among them all, Her son pursued his infant play. A fancied moss-trooper, the boy The truncheon of a spear bestrode, And round the hall, right merrily, In mimic foray rode,

Even bearded knights, in arms grown old, Share in his frolic gambols bore, Albeit their hearts of rugged mould, Were stubborn as the steel they wore. For the grey warriors prophesied,

How the brave boy, in future war, Should tame the Unicorn's pride,+ Exalt the Crescent and the Star.

In Eske or Liddel, fords were none,
But he would ride them, one by one;
Alike to him was time or tide,
December's snow, or July's pride;
Alike to him was tide or time,
Moonless midnight, or matin prime;
Steady of heart, and stout of hand,
As ever drove prey from Cumberland;
Five times outlawed had he been,

By England's King, and Scotland's Queen.

XXII.

"Sir William of Deloraine, good at necd,
Mount thee on the wightest steed;
Spare not to spur, nor stint to ride,
Until thou come to fair Tweedside;
And in Melrose's holy pile
Seek thou the Monk of St. Mary's aisle.
Greet the Father well from me;

Say that the fated hour is come,
And to-night he shall watch with thee,
To win the treasure of the tomb.
For this will be St. Michael's night,
And, though stars be dim, the moon is
bright;

And the Cross, of bloody red,

Will point to the grave of the mighty dead.

XXIII.

"What he gives thee, see thou keep;
Stay not thou for food or sleep :
Be it scroll, or be it book,

Into it, Knight, thou must not look;
If thou readest, thou art lorn!
Better hadst thou ne'er been born."-

XXIV.

"O swiftly can speed my dapple-grey steed,
Which drinks of the Teviot clear;
Ere break of day," the Warrior 'gan say,
"Again will I be here:

And safer by none may thy errand be done,
Than, noble dame, by me;
Letter nor line know I never a one,
Wer't my neck-verse at Hairibee."§

Hairibee, the place on Carlisle wall where