XVIII.

With beating heart to the task he went ;
His sinewy frame o'er the grave-stone 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,

Shewed the monk's cowl, and visage pale,
Danced on the dark-brow'd warrior's mail,
And kissed his waving plume.

XIX.

Before their eyes the wizard lay,
As if he had not been dead a day.
His hoary beard in silver rolled,
He seemed some seventy winters old;
A palmer's amice wrapped him round,
With a wrought Spanish baldric bound,

Like a pilgrim from beyond the sea:
His left hand held his Book of Might;
A silver cross was in his right;

The lamp was placed beside his knee:
High and majestic was his look,
At which the fellest fiends had shook,
And all unruffled was his face :-

XXI.

And when the priest his death-prayer had prayed,
Thus unto Deloraine he said :-

"Now, speed thee what thou hast to do,
Or, warrior, we may dearly rue;

For those thou may'st not look upon,

Are gathering fast round the yawning stone!"—
Then Deloraine, in terror, took

From the cold hand the Mighty Book,

With iron clasped, and with iron bound:

He thought as he took it the dead man frowned;
But the glare of the sepulchral light,

Perchance had dazzled the warrior's sight.

XXII.

When the huge stone sunk o'er the tomb,

The night returned, in double gloom;

For the moon had gone down, and the stars were few; And, as the knight and the priest withdrew,

With wavering steps and dizzy brain,

They hardly might the postern gain.

'Tis said, as through the aisles they passed,

They heard strange noises on the blast;
And through the cloister-galleries small,
Which at mid-height thread the chancel wall,
Loud sobs, and laughter louder, ran,
And voices unlike the voice of man;
As if the fiends kept holiday,

Because these spells were brought to day.

I cannot tell how the truth may be ;

1

say the tale as 'twas said to me.

FORCE OF LOVE.

(From the Same.)

I.

And said I that my blood was cold,
And that my kindly fire was fled,
And my poor withered heart was dead,
And that I might not sing of love?-
How could I to the dearest theme,
That ever warmed a minstrel's dream,
So foul, so false, a recreant prove!
How could I name love's very name,
Nor wake my heart to notes of flame!

R

THE DOUGLAS TRAGEDY.

(From the Same.)

ISE up, rise up, now, lord Douglas," she says,
"And put on your armour so bright,

Let it never be said, that a daughter of thine

Was married to a lord under night.

"Rise up, rise up, my seven bold sons,
And put on your armour so bright,
And take better care of your youngest sister,
For your eldest's awa the last night.”

He's mounted her on a milk white steed,
And himself on a dapple grey,

With a bugelet horn hung down by his side,
And lightly they rode away.

Lord William look it o'er his left shoulder,
To see what he could see,

And there he spy'd her seven brethren bold

Come riding over the lec.

"Light down, light down, lady Marg'ret," he said, And hold my steed in your hand,

Until that against your seven brethren bold,

And your father, I mak a stand."

She held his steed in her milk-white hand,

And never shed one tear,

Until that she saw her seven brethren fa',

And her father aard fighting, who lov'd her so dear.

"O hold your hand, lord William!" she said, "For your strokes they are wond'rous sair; True lovers I can get many a ane,

But a father I can never get mair."

O she's ta'en out her handkerchief,
It was o' the Holland sae fine,

And ay she dighted her father's bloody wounds,
That were redder than the wine.

"O chuse

"O chuse, O chuse, lady Marg'ret," he said, O whether will ye gang or bide ?”

"I'll gang, I'll gang, lord William." she said, "For ye have left me no other guide.”

He's lifted her on a milk-white steed,
And himself on a dapple grey,

With a bugelet horn hung down by his side,
And slowly they baith rade away.

O they rade on, and on they rade,
Aud a' by the light of the moon,
Until they came to yon wan water,
And there they lighted down.

They lighted down to tak a drink,

Of the spring that ran sae clear;

And down the stream ran his gude heart's blood,
And sair she gan to fear.

"Hold up, hold up, lord William," she says, "For I fear that you are slain!"

"Tis naething but the shadow of my scarlet cloak, That shines in the water sae plain.”