THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. Walter Scott

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СКАЧАТЬ But when this unexpected foe

       Seemed starting from the gulf below,

       I care not though the truth I show,

       I trembled with affright;

       And as I placed in rest my spear,

       My hand so shook for very fear,

       I scarce could couch it right.

       XXI

      “Why need my tongue the issue tell?

       We ran our course—my charger fell;

       What could he ‘gainst the shock of hell?

       I rolled upon the plain.

       High o’er my head, with threatening hand,

       The spectre took his naked brand -

       Yet did the worst remain:

       My dazzled eyes I upward cast -

       Not opening hell itself could blast

       Their sight, like what I saw!

       Full on his face the moonbeam strook -

       A face could never be mistook!

       I knew the stern vindictive look,

       And held my breath for awe.

       I saw the face of one who, fled

       To foreign climes, has long been dead -

       I well believe the last;

       For ne’er, from vizor raised, did stare

       A human warrior, with a glare

       So grimly and so ghast.

       Thrice o’er my head he shook the blade;

       But when to good Saint George I prayed,

       The first time e’er I asked his aid,

       He plunged it in the sheath;

       And, on his courser mounting light,

       He seemed to vanish from my sight;

       The moonbeam drooped, and deepest night

       Sunk down upon the heath.

       ‘Twere long to tell what cause I have

       To know his face, that met me there,

       Called by his hatred from the grave,

       To cumber upper air;

       Dead or alive, good cause had he

       To be my mortal enemy.”

       XXII

      Marvelled Sir David of the Mount;

       Then, learned in story, ‘gan recount

       Such chance had happed of old,

       When once, near Norham, there did fight

       A spectre fell of fiendish might,

       In likeness of a Scottish knight,

       With Brian Bulmer bold,

       And trained him nigh to disallow

       The aid of his baptismal vow.

       “And such a phantom, too, ‘tis said,

       With Highland broadsword, targe, and plaid,

       And fingers red with gore,

       Is seen in Rothiemurcus glade,

       Or where the sable pine-trees shade

       Dark Tomantoul, and Auchnaslaid,

       Dromunchty, or Glenmore.

       And yet whate’er such legends say,

       Of warlike demon, ghost, or fay,

       On mountain, moor, or plain,

       Spotless in faith, in bosom bold,

       True son of chivalry should hold

       These midnight terrors vain;

       For seldom hath such spirit power

       To harm, save in the evil hour,

       When guilt we meditate within,

       Or harbour unrepented sin.”

       Lord Marmion turned him half aside,

       And twice to clear his voice he tried,

       Then pressed Sir David’s hand -

       But nought at length in answer said,

       And here their farther converse stayed,

       Each ordering that his band

       Should bowne them with the rising day,

       To Scotland’s camp to take their way -

       Such was the King’s command.

       XXIII

      Early they took Dunedin’s road,

       And I could trace each step they trode;

       Hill, brook, nor dell, nor rock, nor stone,

       Lies on the path to me unknown.

       Much might it boast of storied lore;

       But, passing such digression o’er,

       Suffice it that their route was laid

       Across the furzy hills of Braid,

       They passed the glen and scanty rill,

       And climbed the opposing bank, until

       They gained the top of Blackford Hill.

       XXIV

      Blackford! on whose uncultured breast,

       Among the broom, and thorn, and whin,

       A truant-boy, I sought the nest,

       Or listed, as I lay at rest,

       While rose on breezes thin,

       The murmur of the city crowd,

       And, from his steeple jangling loud,

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