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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.
“The third night there the sky was fair
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; And
say, “ Come this night to thy lady's bower ; Ask no hold 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.”
"“Now, out on thee, faint-hearted knight!
Thou should'st not say me nay;
Is worth the whole summer's day.
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-
And Eildon slopes to the plain,
That gay gallant was slain.
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,
He found his lady fair.
Look'd over hill and vale ;
And all down Teviotdale.
“Now hail, thou Baron true !
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 die her moody lord.
In sleep the lady mourn'd, and the Baron toss'd
and turn'd, And oft to himself he said “The worms around him creep, and his bloody
grave is deep
The night was well nigh done,
On the eve of good St. John.
By the light of a dying flame ;
Sir Richard of Coldinghame! * Alas! away, away !' she cried,
'For the holy Virgin's sake !'. 'Lady, I know who sleeps by thy side ;
But, lady, he will not awake. ‘By Eildon tree, for long nights three,
In bloody grave have I lain; The mass and the death-prayer are said for me,
But, lady, they are said in vain. * By the Baron's brand, near Tweed's fair strand,
Most foully slain, I fell ;
For a space is doom'd to dwell.
I must wander to and fro ;
Had'st thou not conjured me so.'-
‘How, Richard, hast thou sped ? And art thou saved, or art thou lost?'
The Vision shook his head !
So bid thy lord believe :
This awful sign receive.'
He laid his left palm on an oaken beam ;
His right upon her hand :
For it scorch'd like a fiery brand.
Remains on that board impress'd;
A covering on her wrist.
Ne'er looks upon the sun :
He speaketh word to none.
That monk, who speaks to none-
Leader Haughs SING Erlington and Cowdenknowes where Homes had
ance commanding, And Drygrange with the milk-white ewes, 'twixt Tweed
and Leader standing. The bird that flees through Reedpath trees, and Gledswood
banks ilk morrow, May chant and sing sweet Leader Haughs, and bonny
howms of Yarrow. But Minstrel Burn cannot assuage his grief while life
endureth, To see the changes of this age that fleeting time pro
cureth, For mony a place stands in hard case, where blyth folk
kenned nae sorrow, With Homes that dwelt on Leader braes, and Scott that dwelt on Yarrow.