And stop not at the house of Merne, For then the Swathed Knight walks his rounds All swathed is he in coffin weeds, And a wound is in his breast, And he points still to the gloomy vault, The nightshade rank grows in the court, On it there shines no cheerful light, When the moon peers o'er the wood, No sweet bird's chirping there is heard, But the owlet hoots, and the pent blast sobs, No marvel! for within its walls Was done the deed unblest, And in its noisome vaults the bones He laid his father in the tomb As rumour tells, but righteous Heaven There rest his bones in the mouldering earth, But the foul, fell spirit that in them dwelt, "Another night," quoth Malcom's heir, Though the clouds of heaven my roof should be, "Your younger son has now your love, And my step-dame false your ear; And his are your hawks, and his are your hounds, And his your dark-brown deer. "To him you have given your noble steed, But me have you shamed before my friends, Then answered him the white-hair'd chief, "Proud son, thy anger is all too keen, "Yet rest this night beneath my roof, But nothing moved was Malcom's heir, But cursed his father in his heart, And sternly strode away. And his coal-black steed he mounted straight, Ran Swain, his faithful hound. Loud rose the blast, yet ne'ertheless Till night, like the gloom of a cavern'd mine, Loud rose the blast, thick fell the rain, At length full close before him shot And the high-arch'd gate of Glencromar's tower, His steed stood still, nor step would move, And wagg'd his tail, and feebly whined; Through porch and court he pass'd, and still Till beneath the hoofs of his trampling steed And other echoes answer gave Close to his horse and his faithful dog He took his fearful stand. The night-birds shriek'd from the creviced roof, As if waked from the hollow ground. And upward still it wore, Till it seem'd at the end of the farthest aisle To enter the eastern door. O! never did music of mortal make A horrid elrich dirge it seem'd,- The yell of pain, and the wail of wo, And the serpent's hiss, and the tiger's growl, Were mix'd at times, as with measured skill Up brizzled the locks of Malcom's heir, And his heart it quickly beat, And his trembling steed shook under his hand, And Swain cower'd close to his feet. When, lo! a faint light through the porch Still strong and stronger grew, And shed o'er the walls and the lofty roof And slowly entering then appear'd, As in honour of the dead. The first that walk'd were torchmen ten And each wore the face of an angry fiend, And the next that walk'd as mourners meet, Each with a cut-cord round his neck, And after these, in solemn state, There came an open bier, Borne on black, shapeless, rampant forms, That did but half appear. And on that bier a corse was laid, As corse could never lie, That did by decent hands composed In nature's struggles die. Nor stretch'd, nor swathed, but every limb In strong distortion lay, As in the throes of a violent death And in its breast was a broken knife, With the black blood bolter'd round; Its features were fix'd in horrid strength, But, oh! the horrid form to trace, In fashion of the chief mourner, In his lifted hand, with straining grasp, Was that in the corse's breast. In life's full prime were seen. ... gnash thy teeth and tear thy hair, And roll thine eyeballs wild, 1nou horrible, accursed son, With a father's blood defiled! Back from the bier with strong recoil, Doth he in vain his harrow'd head, And writhing body throw. For, closing round, a band of fiends Full fiercely with him deal, With their fangs of red-hot steel. But what of horror next ensued, No mortal tongue can tell, For the thrill'd life paused in Malcom's heir, The morning rose with cheerful light, They sought him east, they sought him west, And met him at last on the blasted heath, He will to no one utter his tale, But the priest of St. Cuthbert's cell, And aye, when the midnight warning sound He hastens his beads to tell. THE ELDEN TREE. A FEAST was spread in the baron's hall Each had fought in war's grim rank But who thinks now of blood or strife, "Fy, fy' sir knight, thy tongue is keen "Come, pledge me well, my lady gay, And louder still comes jeer and boast, As the flagons faster pour, Ay, certes, 'tis an hour of glee, For the baron himself doth smile, And nods his head right cheerily, And quaffs his cup the while. What recks he now of midnight fear, Or the night wind's dismal moan? As it tosses the boughs of that Elden Tree, Which he thinketh so oft upon? Long years have past since a deed was done, By its doer only seen, And there lives not a man beneath the sun, Who wotteth that deed hath been. So gay was he, so gay were all, They mark'd not the growing gloom; Nor wist they how the darkening hall Lower'd like the close of doom. Dull grew the goblet's sheen, and grim A flash of light pass'd through the place, Fierce glanced the momentary blaze O'er all the gallant train, And each visage pale, with dazzled gaze, And the thunder's rolling peal, from far, And varied its sound like the broil of war, Still glares the lightning blue and pale, And roars th' astounding din ; And rattle the windows with bickering hail, And cowering hounds the board beneath At length in the waning tempest's fall, "The thunder hath stricken your tree so fair, And wherefore starest thou on me so, White bones are found in the mould below, Pale he became as the shrouded dead, And down on his bosom dropp'd his head, Then from the board, each guest amazed, Sprang up, and curiously Upon his sudden misery gazed, And wonder'd what might be. Out spoke the ancient seneschal, Both gentle dames and nobles all, "Go, call St. Cuthbert's monk with speed, "No, fetch me a priest," the baron said, In a voice that seem'd utter'd with pain; And he shudder'd and shrunk, as he faintly bade His noble guests remain. "Heaven's eye each secret deed doth scan, Heaven's justice all should fear : What I confess to the holy man, Both heaven and you shall hear." And soon St. Cuthbert's monk stood by And cast on the baron a piteous eye, And the baron knelt low at his feet. "O, father! I have done a deed A brother's blood these hands have shed, "For fiends lent strength like a powerful charm, And my youthful breast impell'd, And I laugh'd to see beneath my arm "A mattock from its pit I took, Dug deep for the Elden Tree, "The woodmen to their meal were gone, I had planted that tree with my strength alone, "Ah! gladly smiled my father then, And seldom he smiled on me, When he heard that my skill, like the skill of men, "But where was his eldest son so dear, Who under his cold eye lives! My lot was with the happy cast, My heart it could not scan. "O! I have heard in the dead of night, "My very miners, pent in gloom, Whose toil my coffers stored, And cursed belike their cheerless doom, "O, holy man! my tale is told With pain, with tears, with shame; May penance hard, may alms of gold, Some ghostly favour claim? "The knotted scourge shall drink my blood, The earth my bed shall be, And bitter tears my daily food, To earn Heaven's grace for me." Its sharp spires brightening in the sun, And the meek'st monk, whose life is there Still spent on bended knee, Is he who built that abbey fair, THE GHOST OF FADON. ON Gask's deserted ancient hall All sounds of life, now reft and bare, From its walls had pass'd away, But the stir of small birds shelter'd there, Dull owl, or clattering jay. Loop-hole and window, dimly seen, With faint light passing through, When the trampling sound of banded men, But mingled echoes from within A mimic mockery made, And the bursting door, with furious din, An eager band, press'd rear on van, And their chief, the goodliest, bravest man Then spoke forthwith that leader bold, "We war with wayward fate: These walls are bare, the hearth is cold, And all is desolate. "With fast unbroke and thirst unslaked, "Hard hap this day in bloody field, Ye bravely have sustain'd, Some homely store, but good at need, "Cheer up, my friends! still heart in hand, We are the pith of our native land, And we shall still be free. "Cheer up! though scant and coarse our meal, In this our sad retreat, We'll fill our horn to Scotland's weal, And that will make it sweet." Then all, full cheerly, as they could, Some broke the boughs, some heap'd the wood, And a fire they kindled speedily, Where the hall's last fire had been, Red gleam on each tall buttress pour'd And tall and black behind them lower'd Their scanty meal was on the ground, Spread by the friendly light, And they made the brown horn circle round, Some talk of horses, weapons, mail, Some of their late defeat, By treachery caused, and many a tale "Ay, well," says one, “my sinking heart Beguiled us from the road." "But well repaid by Providence And cursed let him be." "O! curse him not! I needs must rue If he to us were false or true, Is known to righteous Heaven." "Rouse ye, my friends!" the chieftain said, "And bring me tidings. Speed ye well!" Out pass'd three warriors more; then shrill Till from their chief each war-mate good And he, who fear'd not flesh and blood, He stood, wrapp'd in a musing dream, Then to the fitful fire he turn'd, Which higher and brighter grew, Till the flame like a baleful meteor burn'd Then wist the chief, some soul unblest, Of spirit of power was near; But he felt a strange, unearthly breath And he heard at the gate, like a blast of wrath, Owls, bats, and swallows, fluttering, out As loud and long it blew. His noble hound sprang from his lair, He hid, and with strange piteous wail The porch seem'd void, but vapour dim Well Wallace knew that form, that head, But when the spectre raised its arm, And brandish'd its glittering blade, The threaten'd combat was to him Then the spectre smiled with a ghastly grin, The head a further moment crown'd, Back shrunk the noble chief aghast, But quickly to the portal pass'd, To shun the horrid spot. But in the portal, stiff and tall, And Wallace turn'd and cross'd the hall, By other door he hoped to snatch, Whose pent arch darkly lower'd, The dreadful phantom tower'd. O'er wall and ditch he quickly got, Through brake and bushy stream, He look'd behind, and that lurid light Red glow'd each window, slit, and door The walls and steepy moat. But soon it rose with brightening power, And wall-flower, fringing breach and tower, Then a spreading blaze with eddying sweep, And then aloft on the stately keep, A burning rafter, blazing bright, And its warrior forin, of human height, With tints sulphureous blent, |