For forty days and nights so drear, Amid the penitential flock, Seem'd none more bent to pray; But, when the Holy Father spoke, He rose and went his way. Again unto his native land His weary course he drew, To Lothian's fair and fertile strand, And lords to meet the pilgrim came, And vassals bent the knee; For all 'mid Scotland's chiefs of fame, And boldly for his country, still, In battle he had stood, There the rapt poet's step may rove, There Beauty, led by timid Love, And the convent bell did vespers tell, And mingled with the solemn knell The heavy knell, the choir's faint swell, As his wonted path he did find. Deep sunk in thought, I ween, he was, Until he came to that dreary place, Hegazed on the walls, so scathed with fire, And there was aware of a Gray Friar, "Now, Christ save thee !" said the Gray Brother; "Some pilgrim thou seemest to be." But in sore amaze did Lord Albert gaze, Nor answer again made he. "O come ye from east, or come ye from west, Or bring reliques from over the sea; Or come ye from the shrine of St. James the divine, Or St. John of Beverley?"— "I come not from the shrine of St. James the divine, Nor bring reliques from over the sea; I bring but a curse from our father, the Pope, Which for ever will cling to me."— From that fair dome, where suit is paid, "Now, woeful pilgrim, say not so! By blast of bugle free,* To Auchendinny's hazel glade,* And haunted Woodhouselee. Who knows not Melville's beechy grove,* And Roslin's rocky glen,* Dalkeith, which all the virtues love,* And classic Hawthornden ?* Yet never a path, from day to day, Save but the solitary way To Burndale's ruin'd grange. A woeful place was that, I ween, As sorrow could desire; [wall, For nodding to the fall was each crumbling And the roof was scathed with fire. It fell upon a summer's eve, But kneel thee down to me, And shrive thee so clean of thy deadly sin, That absolved thou mayest be."— "And who art thou, thou Gray Brother, That I should shrive to thee, When He, to whom are given the keys of earth and heaven, Has no power to pardon me?"— "O I am sent from a distant clime, The pilgrim kneel'd him on the sand, When on his neck an ice-cold hand "Sit fast-dost fear?-The moon shines "See there, see there! What yonderswings clear Fleet goes my barb-keep hold! Fear'st thou?"-"O no!" she faintly said; "But why so stern and cold? XL. "What yonder rings? what yonder sings? Why shrieks the owlet grey?" "'Tis death-bells' clang, 'tis funeral song, The body to the clay. XLI. "With song and clang, at morrow's dawn, Ye may inter the dead: To-night I ride, with my young bride, XLII. And creaks 'mid whistling rain?""Gibbet and steel, th' accursed wheel; A murderer in his chain. LI. "Hollo! thou felon, follow here: To bridal bed we ride; And thou shalt prance a fetter-dance Before me and my bride." LII. And, hurry! hurry! clash, clash, clash! And fleet as wind through hazel bush LIII. Tramp! tramp! along the land they rode, Splash! splash! along the sea; "Come with thy choir, thou coffin'd The scourge is red, the spur drops blood, guest, To swell our nuptial song! The flashing pebbles flee. LIV. Come, priest, to bless our marriage feast! How fled what moonshine faintly show'd! Come all, come all along!" How fled what darkness hid! How fled the earth beneath their feet, The heaven above their head! Reluctant on its rusty hinge And by the pale moon's setting beam With many a shriek and cry whiz round AN IMITATION OF THE "WILD JAGER" OF THE POET burger. THE Wildgrave winds his bugle horn, His fiery courser snuffs the morn, Dash through the bush, the brier, the Loud, long, and deep the bell had toll'd: Two Stranger Horsemen join the train. The left, the swarthy hue of hell. Shot midnight lightning's lurid ray. To match the princely chase, afford?" "Cease thy loud bugle's changing knell," Cried the fair youth, with silver voice; "And for devotion's choral swell, Exchange the rude unhallow'd noise. "To-day the ill-omen'd chase forbear, Yon bell yet summons to the fane; To-day the Warning Spirit hear, To-morrow thou mayst mourn in vain." "Away, and sweep the glades along!" The Sable Hunter hoarse replies; "To muttering monks leave matin-song, And bells, and books, and mysteries." The Wildgrave spurr'd his ardent steed, And, launching forward with a bound, "Who, for thy drowsy priestlike rede, Would leave the jovial horn and hound? "Hence, if our manly sport offend! With pious fools go chant and pray:Well hast thou spoke, my dark-brow'd friend; Halloo, halloo ! and, hark away!" The Wildgrave spurr'd his courser light, Each stranger Horseman follow'd still. "Hark forward, forward! holla, ho!" A heedless wretch has cross'd the way; He gasps the thundering hoofs below;- A field with Autumn's blessings crown'd; |