THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS OF SIR WALTER SCOTT. Walter Scott

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СКАЧАТЬ For the death-stroke my brand I drew -

       Oh, then my helmdd head he knew,

       The palmer’s cowl was gone -

       Then had three inches of my blade

       The heavy debt of vengeance paid -

       My hand the thought of Austin stayed;

       I left him there alone.

       O good old man! even from the grave,

       Thy spirit could thy master save:

       If I had slain my foeman, ne’er

       Had Whitby’s Abbess, in her fear,

       Given to my hand this packet dear,

       Of power to clear my injured fame,

       And vindicate De Wilton’s name.

       Perchance you heard the Abbess tell

       Of the strange pageantry of Hell,

       That broke our secret speech -

       It rose from the infernal shade,

       Or featly was some juggle played,

       A tale of peace to teach.

       Appeal to Heaven I judged was best,

       When my name came among the rest.

       IX

      “Now here, within Tantallon Hold,

       To Douglas late my tale I told,

       To whom my house was known of old.

       Won by my proofs, his falchion bright

       This eve anew shall dub me knight.

       These were the arms that once did turn

       The tide of fight on Otterburne,

       And Harry Hotspur forced to yield,

       When the dead Douglas won the field.

       These Angus gave—his armourer’s care,

       Ere morn, shall every breach repair;

       For naught, he said, was in his halls,

       But ancient armour on the walls,

       And aged chargers in the stalls,

       And women, priests, and grey-haired men;

       The rest were all in Twisel Glen.

       And now I watch my armour here,

       By law of arms, till midnight’s near;

       Then, once again a belted knight,

       Seek Surrey’s camp with dawn of light.

       X

      “There soon again we meet, my Clare!

       This baron means to guide thee there;

       Douglas reveres his king’s command,

       Else would he take thee from his band

       And there thy kinsman Surrey, too,

       Will give De Wilton justice due.

       Now meeter far for martial broil,

       Firmer my limbs, and strung by toil,

       Once more”—”O Wilton! must we then

       Risk new-found happiness again,

       Trust fate of arms once more?

       And is there not an humble glen,

       Where we, content and poor,

       Might build a cottage in the shade,

       A shepherd thou, and I to aid

       Thy task on dale and moor? -

       That reddening brow!—too well I know,

       Not even thy Clare can peace bestow,

       While falsehood stains thy name:

       Go, then, to fight! Clare bids thee go!

       Clare can a warrior’s feelings know,

       And weep a warrior’s shame;

       Can Red Earl Gilbert’s spirit feel,

       Buckle the spurs upon thy heel,

       And belt thee with thy brand of steel,

       And send thee forth to fame!”

       XI

      That night, upon the rocks and bay,

       The midnight moonbeam slumbering lay,

       And poured its silver light, and pure,

       Through loophole, and through embrazure,

       Upon Tantallon’s tower and hall;

       But chief where arched windows wide

       Illuminate the chapel’s pride,

       The sober glances fall.

       Much was there need; though, seamed with scars,

       Two veterans of the Douglas’ wars,

       Though two grey priests were there,

       And each a blazing torch held high,

       You could not by their blaze descry

       The chapel’s carving fair.

       Amid that dim and smoky light,

       Chequering the silvery moonshine bright,

       A bishop by the altar stood,

       A noble lord of Douglas blood,

       With mitre sheen, and rocquet white.

       Yet showed his meek and thoughtful eye

       But little pride of prelacy;

       More pleased that, in a barbarous age,

       He gave rude Scotland Virgil’s page,

       Than that beneath his rule he held

       The bishopric of fair Dunkeld.

       Beside him ancient Angus stood,

       Doffed his furred gown, and sable hood:

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