Yet somewhat was he chilled with dread, And his hair did bristle upon his head.

XVII.

'Lo, warrior! now, the cross of red
Points to the grave of the mighty dead:
Within it burns a wondrous light,
To chase the spirits that love the night;
That lamp shall burn unquenchably,
Until the eternal doom shall be.'

Slow moved the monk to the broad flag

stone

Which the bloody cross was traced upon : He pointed to a secret nook;

An iron bar the warrior took;

And the monk made a sign with his withered hand,

The grave's huge portal to expand.

XVIII.

With beating heart to the task he went, His sinewy frame o'er the gravestone bent, With bar of iron heaved amain

Till the toil-drops fell from his brows like rain.

It was by dint of passing strength
That he moved the massy stone at length.
I would you had been there to see
How the light broke forth so gloriously,
Streamed upward to the chancel roof,
And through the galleries far aloof!
No earthly flame blazed e'er so bright;
It shone like heaven's own blessed light,
And, issuing from the tomb,

Showed the monk's cowl and visage pale,

When the half sigh her swelling breast
Against the silken ribbon pressed,
When her blue eyes their secret told,
Though shaded by her locks of gold
Where would you find the peerless fair
With Margaret of Branksome might com-
pare!

XXIX.

And now, fair dames, methinks I see
You listen to my minstrelsy;
Your waving locks ye backward throw,
And sidelong bend your necks of snow.
Ye ween to hear a melting tale
Of two true lovers in a dale;
And how the knight, with tender fire,
To paint his faithful passion strove,
Swore he might at her feet expire,

But never, never cease to love;

And how she blushed, and how she sighed, And, half consenting, half denied,

XXXI.

Beneath an oak, mossed o'er by eld,
The Baron's dwarf his courser held,

And held his crested helm and spear:
That dwarf was scarce an earthly man,
If the tales were true that of him ran

Through all the Border far and near. 'T was said, when the Baron a-hunting rode Through Reedsdale's glens, but rarely trod, He heard a voice cry, Lost! lost! lost!' And, like tennis-ball by racket tossed,

A leap of thirty feet and three Made from the gorse this elfin shape, Distorted like some dwarfish ape,

And lighted at Lord Cranstoun's knee. Lord Cranstoun was some whit dismayed; 'Tis said that five good miles he rade, To rid him of his company;

But where he rode one mile, the dwarf ran four.

And the dwarf was first at the castle door.