THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. Walter Scott

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       Smil’d then, well pleas’d, the aged man

       And thus his tale continued ran.

Canto V

       Table of Contents

       I

      Call it not vain; they do not err,

       Who say, that when the Poet dies,

       Mute Nature mourns her worshipper,

       And celebrates his obsequies:

       Who say, tall cliff and cavern lone

       For the departed Bard make moan;

       That mountains weep in crystal rill;

       That flowers in tears of balm distill;

       Through his lov’d groves that breezes sigh,

       And oaks, in deeper groan, reply;

       And rivers teach their rushing wave

       To murmur dirges round his grave

       II

      Not that, in sooth, o’er mortal urn

       Those things inanimate can mourn;

       But that the stream, the wood, the gale

       Is vocal with the plaintive wail

       Of those, who, else forgotten long,

       Liv’d in the poet’s faithful song,

       And with the poet’s parting breath,

       Whose memory feels a second death.

       The Maid’s pale shade, who wails her lot,

       That love, true love, should be forgot,

       From rose and hawthorn shakes the tear

       Upon the gentle Minstrel’s bier:

       The phantom Knight, his glory fled,

       Mourns o’er the field he heap’d with dead;

       Mounts the wild blast that sweeps amain,

       And shrieks along the battle-plain.

       The Chief, whose antique crownlet long

       Still sparkled in the feudal song,

       Now, from the mountain’s misty throne,

       Sees, in the thanedom once his own,

       His ashes undistinguish’d lie,

       His place, his power, his memory die:

       His groans the lonely caverns fill,

       His tears of rage impel the rill:

       All mourn the Minstrel’s harp unstrung,

       Their name unknown, their praise unsung.

       III

      Scarcely the hot assault was staid,

       The terms of truce were scarcely made,

       When they could spy, from Branksome’s towers,

       The advancing march of martial powers.

       Thick clouds of dust afar appear’d,

       And trampling steeds were faintly heard;

       Bright spears, above the columns dun,

       Glanced momentary to the sun;

       And feudal banners fair display’d

       The bands that moved to Branksome’s aid.

       IV

      Vails not to tell each hardy clan,

       From the fair Middle Marches came;

       The Bloody Heart blaz’d in the van,

       Announcing Douglas, dreaded name!

       Vails not to tell what steeds did spurn,

       Where the Seven Spears of Wedderburne

       Their men in battle-order set;

       And Swinton laid the lance in rest,

       That tamed of yore the sparkling crest

       Of Clarence’s Plantagenet.

       Nor list I say what hundreds more,

       From the rich Merse and Lammermore,

       And Tweed’s fair borders to the war,

       Beneath the crest of Old Dunbar.

       And Hepburn’s mingled banners come,

       Down the steep mountain glittering far

       And shouting still, “A Home! a Home!”

       V

      Now squire and knight, from Branksome sent,

       On many a courteous message went;

       To every chief and lord they paid

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