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The beasts that roam over the plain
My form with indifference see; They are so unacquainted with man,
Their tameness is shocking to me. Society, Friendship, and Love,
Divinely bestow'd upon man, Oh, had I the wings of a dove
How soon would I taste you again ! My sorrows I then might assuage
In the ways of religion and truth, Might learn from the wisdom of age,
And be cheer'd by the sallies of youth. Ye winds that have made me your sport,
Convey to this desolate shore
Of a land I shall visit no more !
A wish or a thought after me?
Though a friend I am never to see. How fleet is a glance of the mind !
Compared with the speed of its flight, The tempest itself lags behind,
And the swift-winged arrows of light. When I think of my own native land,
In a moment I seem to be there ; But alas ! recollection at hand
Soon hurries me back to despair. -But the seafowl is gone to her nest,
The beast is laid down in his lair, Even here is a season of rest,
And I to my cabin repair.
And mercy, encouraging thought !
The Eve of St. John
THE Baron of Smaylho'me rose with day,
He spurr'd his courser on,
That leads to Brotherstone.
His banner broad to rear;
To lift the Scottish spear.
And his vaunt-brace of proof he wore ;
Full ten pound weight and more.
And his looks were sad and sour ;
As he reach'd his rocky tower.
Ran red with English blood ;
'Gainst keen Lord Evers stood.
His acton pierced and tore,
But it was not English gore.
He held him close and still ;
His name was English Will.
Come hither to my knee ;
I think thou art true to me.
And look thou tell me true !
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
Of the English foemen told.
The wind blew loud and shrill ;
To the eiry Beacon Hill.
'I watched her steps, and silent came
Where she sat her on a stone;
It burned all alone.
'The second night I kept her in sight,
Till to the fire she came,
Stood by the lonely flame.
Did speak to my lady there ;
And I heard not what they were.
And the mountain-blast was still, As again I watch'd the secret pair,
On the lonesome Beacon Hill. ' And I heard her name the midnight hour, And name this holy eve;
“ 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 ;
On the eve of good St. John.”
I dare not come to thee;
In thy bower I may not be."
6“ Now, out on thee, faint-hearted knight !
Thou should'st not say me nay;
Is worth the whole summer's day.
not sound, And rushes shall be strew'd on the stair ; So, by the black rood-stone, and by holy St. John,
I conjure thee, my love, to be there !" “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,
And my footstep he would know.”
For to Dryburgh the way he has ta’en ;
For the soul of a knight that is slayne.”
Then he laugh’d right scornfully“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
And no more did I see.--
From the dark to the blood-red high ;
For, by Mary, he shall die !!
His plume it was scarlet and blue ;
And his crest was a branch of the yew.'
Loud dost thou lie to me!
All under the Eildon-tree.'
• Yet hear but my word, my noble lord !
For I heard her name his name ;
Sir Richard of Coldinghame.'
From high blood-red to pale“The grave is deep and dark—and the corpse is stiff and
And Eildon slopes to the plain,
That gay gallant was slain.
And the wild winds drown'd the name ;
sing, For Sir Richard of Coldinghame ! He pass'd the court-gate, and he oped the tower-grate,
And he mounted the narrow stair,
He found his lady fair.
Look'd over hill and vale ;
now hail, thou lady bright !'
What news from the bold Buccleuch ?" “The Ancram moor is red with gore,
For many a southern fell ;
To watch our beacons well.'
Nor added the Baron a word :
And so did her moody lord,