Not for fair Devon's meads forsake
Bennevis grey, and Garry's lake.

Thus while I ape the measure wild
Of tales that charm'd me yet a child,
Rude though they be, still with the chime
Return the thoughts of early time;
And feelings, roused in life's first day,
Glow in the line, and prompt the lay.
Then rise those crags, that mountain tower,
Which charm'd my fancy's wakening hour.'
Though no broad river swept along,
To claim, perchance, heroic song;
Though sigh'd no groves in summer gale,
To prompt of love a softer tale;

Though scarce a puny streamlet's speed
Claim'd homage from a shepherd's reed;
Yet was poetic impulse given,

By the green hill and clear-blue heaven..
It was a barren scene, and wild,
Where naked cliffs were rudely piled;
But ever and anon between

Lay velvet tufts of loveliest green;
And well the lonely infant knew
Recesses where the wall-flower grew,
And honey-suckle loved to crawl
Up the low crag and ruin'd wall.

*

I deem'd such nooks the sweetest shade
The sun in all its round survey'd ;

[MS." The lonely hill, the rocky tower,

That caught attention's wakening hour."!

9 [MS." Recesses where the woodbine grew,”]

And still I thought that shatter'd tower1
The mightiest work of human power;
And marvell'd as the aged hind

With some strange tale bewitch'd my mind,
Of forayers, who, with headlong force,

Down from that strength had spurr'd their horse,
Their southern rapine to renew,

Far in the distant Cheviots blue,
And, home returning, fill'd the hall
With revel, wassel-rout, and brawl.
Methought that still with trump and clang,
The gateway's broken arches rang;
Methought grim features, seam'd with scars,
Glared through the window's rusty bars,
And ever, by the winter hearth,
Old tales I heard of woe or mirth,
Of lovers' slights, of ladies' charms,
Of witches' spells, of warriors' arms;
Of patriot battles, won of old

By Wallace wight and Bruce the bold;
Of later fields of feud and fight,

When, pouring from their Highland height,
The Scottish clans, in headlong sway,

Had swept the scarlet ranks away.

While stretch'd at length upon the floor,"

Again I fought each combat o'er,

[Smailholm Tower, in Berwickshire, the scene of the Author: infancy, is situated about two miles from Dryburgh Abbey.] ខ [The two next couplets are not in the MS.]

[MS.-"While still with mimic hosts of shells,

Again my sport the combat tells

Onward the Scottish Lion bore,

The scatter'd Southron fled before "1

Pebbles and shells, in order laid,
The mimic ranks of war display'd;

And onward still the Scottish Lion bore,
And still the scatter'd Southron fled before.1

Still, with vain fondness, could I trace,
Anew each kind familiar face,

That brighten'd at our evening fire!

From the thatch'd mansion's grey-hair'd Sire,'
Wise without learning, plain and good,
And sprung of Scotland's gentler blood;
Whose eye, in age, quick, clear, and keen,
Show'd what in youth its glance had been;
Whose doom discording neighbours sought,
Content with equity unbought ;3
To him the venerable Priest,
Our frequent and familiar guest,

Whose life and manners well could paint
Alike the student and the saint;4
Alas! whose speech too oft I broke
With gambol rude and timeless joke:
For I was wayward, bold, and wild,
A self-will'd imp, a grandame's child

[See notes on The Eve of St. John, in the Border Minstrelsy, vol. iv.; and the Author's Introduction to the Minstrelsy, vol. i., p. 101, ante.

2 [Robert Scott of Sandyknows, the grandfather of the Poet.] 3 Upon revising the Poem, it seems proper to mention that the lines,

"Whose doom discording neighbours sought,
Content with equity unbought:"

have been unconsciously borrowed from a passage in Dryden's beautiful epistle to John Driden of Chesterton.-1808. Note to Second Edit.

4 [MS.-" The student, gentleman, and saint."

The reverend gentleman alluded to was Mr. John Martin, minis ter of Mertoun, in which parish Smailholm Tower is situated.]

But half a plague, and half a jest,
Was still endured, beloved, caress'a.

For me, thus nurtured, dost thou ask The classic poet's well-conn'd task? Nay, Erskine, nay-On the wild hill Let the wild heath-bell flourish still; Cherish the tulip, prune the vine, But freely let the woodbine twine, And leave untrimm'd the eglantine : Nay, my friend, nay-Since oft thy prais Hath given fresh vigour to my lays; Since oft thy judgment could refine My flatten'd thought, or cumbrous line: Still kind, as is thy wont, attend, And in the minstrel spare the friend. Though wild as cloud, as stream, as gale, Flow forth, flow unrestrain'd, my Tale!

MARMION.

CANTO THIRD.

The Hostel, or Inn.

I.

THE livelong day Lord Marmion rode :
The mountain path the Palmer show'd
By glen and streamlet winded still,
Where stunted birches hid the rill.
They might not choose the lowland road,'
For the Merse forayers were abroad,
Who, fired with hate and thirst of prey,
Had scarcely fail'd to bar their way.
Oft on the trampling band, from crown
Of some tall cliff, the deer look'd down;
On wing of jet, from his repose
In the deep heath, the black-cock rose;
Sprung from the gorse the timid roe,
Nor waited for the bending bow;

[MS." They might not choose the easier road. For many a forayer w is abroad."]

G