The beasts that roam over the plain Society, Friendship, and Love, And be cheer'd by the sallies of youth. Ye winds that have made me your sport, Of a land I shall visit no more! How fleet is a glance of the mind! And the swift-winged arrows of light. Soon hurries me back to despair. -But the seafowl is gone to her nest, And I to my cabin repair. W. COWPER. The Eve of St. John THE Baron of Smaylho'me rose with day, Without stop or stay, down the rocky way, He went not with the bold Buccleuch, He went not 'gainst the English yew, To lift the Scottish spear. Yet his plate-jack1 was braced, and his helmet was laced, And his vaunt-brace of proof he wore ; At his saddle-gerthe was a good steel sperthe, Full ten pound weight and more. The Baron return'd in three days' space, And his looks were sad and sour; He came not from where Ancram Moor Where the Douglas true, and the bold Buccleuch, Yet was his helmet hack'd and hew'd, His acton pierced and tore, His axe and his dagger with blood imbrued,— He lighted at the Chapellage, And he whistled thrice for his little foot-page, 'Come thou hither, my little foot-page; Come hither to my knee; Though thou art young, and tender of age, I think thou art true to me. 'Come, tell me all that thou hast seen, And look thou tell me true! Since I from Smaylho'me tower have been, What did thy lady do?' The plate-jack is coat-armour; the vaunt-brace, or wam-brace, armour for the body; the sperthe, a battle-axe. 'My lady, each night, sought the lonely light, That burns on the wild Watchfold; For, from height to height, the beacons bright 'The bittern clamour'd from the moss, 'I watched her steps, and silent came No watchman stood by the dreary flame; 'The second night I kept her in sight, And, by Mary's might! an Armed Knight 'And many a word that warlike lord But the rain fell fast, and loud blew the blast ‘The third night there the sky was fair. As again I watch'd the secret pair, 'And I heard her name the midnight hour, And name this holy eve; And say, "Come this night to thy lady's bower; Ask no bold Baron's leave. "He lifts his spear with the bold Buccleuch ; His lady is all alone; The door she'll undo, to her knight so true, On the eve of good St. John." "I cannot come ; must not come ; I dare not come to thee; On the eve of St. John I must wander alone : In thy bower I may not be." ""Now, out on thee, faint-hearted knight ! Thou should'st not say me nay; For the eve is sweet, and when lovers meet, Is worth the whole summer's day. 'And I'll chain the blood-hound, and the warder shall not sound, And rushes shall be strew'd on the stair; So, by the black rood-stone, and by holy St. John, "Though the blood-hound be mute, and the rush beneath my foot, And the warder his bugle should not blow, Yet there sleepeth a priest in the chamber to the east, O fear not the priest, who sleepeth to the east! 'He turn'd him around, and grimly he frown'd; 'He who says the mass-rite for the soul of that knight May as well say mass for me. 'At the lone midnight hour, when bad spirits have power, In thy chamber will I be." With that he was gone, and my lady left alone, And no more did I see.'-- Then changed, I trow, was that bold Baron's brow, Now, tell me the mien of the knight thou hast seen, His arms shone full bright, in the beacon's red light; On his shield was a hound, in a silver leash bound, 'Thou liest, thou liest, thou little foot-page, Loud dost thou lie to me ! For that knight is cold, and low laid in the mould 'Yet hear but my word, my noble lord! For I heard her name his name; And that lady bright, she called the knight The bold Baron's brow then changed, I trow, From high blood-red to pale 'The grave is deep and dark-and the corpse is stiff and stark So I may not trust thy tale. 'Where fair Tweed flows round holy Melrose, And Eildon slopes to the plain, Full three nights ago, by some secret foe, That gay gallant was slain. 'The varying light deceived thy sight, And the wild winds drown'd the name; For the Dryburgh bells ring, and the white monks do sing, For Sir Richard of Coldinghame! He pass'd the court-gate, and he oped the tower-grate, And he mounted the narrow stair, To the bartizan seat, where, with maids that on her wait, He found his lady fair. That lady sat in mournful mood; Look'd over hill and vale; Over Tweed's fair flood, and Mertoun's wood, And all down Teviotdale. 'Now hail, now hail, thou lady bright!' 'Now hail, thou Baron true! What news, what news, from Ancram fight? What news from the bold Buccleuch ?' "The Ancram moor is red with gore, For many a southern fell; And Buccleuch has charged us, evermore, To watch our beacons well.' The lady blush'd red, but nothing she said; Nor added the Baron a word : Then she stepp'd down the stair to her chamber fair, |