How fleet is a glance of the mind! Compared with the speed of its flight, The tempest itself lags behind, And the swift-wingèd arrows of light. When I think of my own native land, In a moment I seem to be there; But alas! recollection at hand Soon hurries me back to despair. -But the seafowl is gone to her nest, The beast is laid down in his lair, And I to my cabin repair. And reconciles man to his lot. W. COWPER. THE EVE OF ST. JOHN THE Baron of Smaylho'me rose with day, Without stop or stay, down the rocky way, He went not with the bold Buccleuch, He went not 'gainst the English yew, To lift the Scottish spear. Yet his plate-jack1 was braced, and his helmet was laced, At his saddle-gerthe was a good steel sperthe, Full ten pound weight and more. The Baron return'd in three days' space, And weary was his courser's pace, He came not from where Ancram Moor Ran red with English blood; Where the Douglas true, and the bold Buccleuch, 'Gainst keen Lord Evers stood. 'The plate-jack is coat armour; the vaunt-brace, or wam-brace, armour for the body; the sperthe, a battle-axe. Yet was his helmet hack'd and hew'd, His acton pierced and tore, His axe and his dagger with blood imbrued,But it was not English gore. He lighted at the Chapellage, He held him close and still; And he whistled thrice for his little foot-page, His name was English Will. 'Come thou hither, my little foot-page; Come hither to my knee; Though thou art young, and tender of age, 'Come, tell me all that thou hast seen, And look thou tell me true! Since I from Smaylho'me tower have been, What did thy lady do?' 'My lady, each night, sought the lonely light, That burns on the wild Watchfold; For, from height to height, the beacons bright Of the English foemen told. The bittern clamour'd from the moss, The wind blew loud and shrill; 'I watched her steps, and silent came No watchman stood by the dreary flame; 'The second night I kept her in sight, Till to the fire she came, And, by Mary's might! an Armed Knight And many a word that warlike lord Did speak to my lady there; But the rain fell fast, and loud blew the blast The third night there the sky was fair, As again I watch'd the secret pair, On the lonesome Beacon Hill. And I heard her name the midnight hour, And say, "Come this night to thy lady's bower; Ask no bold Baron's leave. "He lifts his spear with the bold Buccleuch ; The door she'll undo, to her knight so true, "I cannot come; I must not come; I dare not come to thee; On the eve of St. John I must wander alone: 6.66 Now, out on thee, faint-hearted knight ! For the eve is sweet, and when lovers meet, Is worth the whole summer's day. "And I'll chain the blood-hound, and the warder shall not sound, And rushes shall be strew'd on the stair; So, by the black rood-stone, and by holy St. John, 6.66 I conjure thee, my love, to be there!" Though the blood-hound be mute, and the rush beneath my foot, And the warder his bugle should not blow, Yet there sleepeth a priest in the chamber to the east, And my footstep he would know.” "O fear not the priest, who sleepeth to the east! For the soul of a knight that is slayne." 'He turn'd him around, and grimly he frown'd; Then he laugh'd right scornfully- "He who says the mass-rite for the soul of that knight May as well say mass for me. "At the lone midnight hour, when bad spirits have power, In thy chamber will I be." With that he was gone, and my lady left alone, And no more did I see.' Then changed, I trow, was that bold Baron's brow, 'Now, tell me the mien of the knight thou hast seen, 'His arms shone full bright, in the beacon's red light ; On his shield was a hound, in a silver leash bound, Thou liest, thou liest, thou little foot-page, Loud dost thou lie to me! For that knight is cold, and low laid in the mould, All under the Eildon-tree.' 'Yet hear but my word, my noble lord! For I heard her name his name; And that lady bright, she called the knight Sir Richard of Coldinghame.' The bold Baron's brow then changed, I trow, From high blood-red to pale 'The grave is deep and dark--and the corpse is stiff and stark So I may not trust thy tale. |