Proud, ruthless man, by vengeance driven,

Regardless hears a brother plead; Regardless sees the brand of Heaven

Red quivering o'er his guilty head:

But once let woman's soothing tongue
Implore his help or clemency,
Around him let her arms be flung,
Or at his feet her bended knee;

The world's a shadow! vengeance sleeps! The child of reason stands revealed

When beauty pleads, when woman weeps, He is not man who scorns to yield.

Stern Tushilaw is gone to sleep,

Laughing at woman's dread of sin;

But first he bade his warriors keep
All robbers out, and abbots in.

The abbot from his casement high
Looked out to see the peep of day;
The scene that met the abbot's eye

Filled him with wonder and dismay.

"Twas not the dews of dawning mild,

The mountain's hues of silver gray,

Nor yet the Ettrick's windings wild,
By belted holm and bosky brae;

Nor moorland Rankleburn, that raved

By covert, clough, and greenwood shaw; Nor dappled flag of day, that waved

In streamers pale from Gilmans-law:

But many a doubted ox there lay
At rest upon the castle lea;
And there he saw his gallant gray,

And all the steeds of Torwoodlee.

"Beshrew the wont !" the abbot said,

"The charge runs high for lodging here; The guard is deep, the path way-laid,

My homilies shall cost me dear.

"Come well, come woe, with dauntless core

I'll kneel, and con my breviary;

If Tushilaw is versed in lore,

"Twill be an awkward game with me."

Now Tushilaw he waked and slept,

And dreamed and thought till noontide hour;

But aye this query upmost kept,

"What seeks the abbot in my tower ?"

Stern Tushilaw came down the stair

With doubtful and indignant eye,

And found the holy man at prayer,

With book, and cross, and rosary.

"To book, to book, thou reaver red,

Of absolution thou hast need ;

The sword of Heaven hangs o'er thy head, Death is thy doom and hell thy meed !”—

"I'll take my chance, thou priest of sin,
Thy absolutions I disdain;

But I will noose thy bearded chin,
If thus thou talkest to me again.

"Declare thy business and thy name, Or short the route to thee is given !". "The abbot I of Coldinghame,

My errand is the cause of Heaven.”

"That shalt thou prove ere we two part; Some robber thou, or royal spy: But, villain, I will search thy heart,

And chain thee in the deep to lie !

Hence with thy rubbish, hest and ban,

Whinyards to keep the weak in awe;

The scorn of Heaven, the shame of manNo books nor beads for Tushilaw !"

"Oh! lost to mercy, faith, and love! Thy bolts and chains are nought to me; I'll call an angel from above,

That soon will set the pris'ner free."

Bold Tushilaw, o'er strone and steep,
Pursues the roe and dusky deer;

The abbot lies in dungeon deep,

The maidens wail, the matrons fear.

The sweetest flower on Ettrick shaw

Bends its fair form o'er grated keep;

Young Mary Scott of Tushilaw

Sleeps but to sigh, and wakes to weep.

Q