The Poetical Works of Sir Walter Scott

II.

FROM GUY MANNERING.

THE NATIVITY CHANT.

(BY MEG MERRILIES.)
CANNY moment, lucky fit;
Is the lady lighter yet?
Be it lad, or be it lass,

Sign wi' cross, and sain wi' mass.

Trefoil, vervain, John's-wort, dill,
Hinders witches of their will;
Weel is them, that weel may
Fast upon Saint Andrew's day.

Saint Bride and her brat,
Saint Colme and her cat,
Saint Michael and his spear,
Keep the house frae reif and wear.
Chap. III.

THE SPINDLE SONG.

(BY MEG MERRILIES.)

TWIST ye, twine ye! even so
Mingle shades of joy and woe,
Hope, and fear, and peace, and strife,
In the thread of human life.

While the mystic twist is spinning,
And the infant's life beginning,
Dimly seen through twilight bending,
Lo, what varied shapes attending!

Passions wild, and follies vain,
Pleasures soon exchanged for pain;
Doubt, and jealousy, and fear,
In the magic dance appear.

Now they wax, and now they dwindle,
Whirling with the whirling spindle.
Twist ye, twine ye! even so
Mingle human bliss and woe.
Chap. III.

THE GIPSY'S DIRGE.

(BY MEG MERRILIES.) WASTED, weary, wherefore stay, Wrestling thus with earth and clay? From the body pass away ;

Hark! the mass is singing.
From thee doff thy mortal weed,
Mary Mother be thy speed,
Saints to help thee at thy need ;-
Hark! the knell is ringing.

Fear not snowdrift driving fast,
Sleet, or hail, or levin blast;
Soon the shroud shall lap thee fast,
And the sleep be on thee cast

That shall ne'er know waking. Haste thee, haste thee, to be gone, Earth flits fast, and time draws on,Gasp thy gasp, and groan thy groan, Day is near the breaking.

Open locks, end strife,
Come death, and pass life.

Chap. XXVII.

THE PROPHECY.

(BY MEG MERRILIES.)

THE dark shall be light,
And the wrong made right,
When Bertram's right and Bertram's
might

Shall meet on Ellangowan's height.
Chap. XLI.

GLOSSIN sings:

GIN by pailfuls, wine in rivers,
Dash the window-glass to shivers,
For three wild lads were we, brave
boys,

And three wild lads were we;
Thou on the land, and I on the sand,
And Jack on the gallows-tree!

Chap. XXXIV.

OLD ELSPETH sings:

III.

FROM THE ANTIQUARY.

THE AGED CARLE.

'WHY sit'st thou by that ruin'd hall, Thou aged carle so stern and grey? Dost thou its former pride recall,

Or ponder how it pass'd away?'

'Know'st thou not me?' the Deep Voice cried ;

'So long enjoy'd, so oft misusedAlternate, in thy fickle pride,

Desired, neglected, and accused!

'Before my breath, like blazing flax,

Man and his marvels pass away! And changing empires wane and wax,

Are founded, flourish, and decay.

Redeem mine hours-the space is

brief

While in my glass the sand-grains shiver,

And measureless thy joy or grief When TIME and thou shall part for ever!'

Chap. x.

ΑΝ ΕΡΙΤΑΡΗ.

HEIR lyeth John o' ye Girnell;
Erth has ye nit and heuen ye kirnell.
In hys tyme ilk wyfe's hennis clokit,
Ilk gud mannis herth wi' bairnis was
stokit.

He deled a boll o' bear in firlottis fyve, Four for ye halie kirke and ane for pure mennis wyvis.

Chap. XI.

1441

'THE herring loves the merry moonlight,

The mackerel loves the wind, But the oyster loves the dredging sang, For they come of a gentle kind.'

Now haud your tongue, baith wife and carle,

And listen, great and sma',
And I will sing of Glenallan's Earl
That fought on the red Harlaw.

The cronach 's cried on Bennachie,
And doun the Don and a',

And hieland and lawland may mournfu' be

For the sair field of Harlaw. They saddled a hundred milk-white steeds,

They hae bridled a hundred black, With a chafron of steel on each horse's head,

And a good knight upon his back.

They hadna ridden a mile, a mile,
A mile, but barely ten,
When Donald came branking down
the brae

Wi' twenty thousand men.

Their tartans they were waving wide,
Their glaives were glancing clear,
The pibrochs rung frae side to side,
Would deafen ye to hear.

The great Earl in his stirrups stood,
That Highland host to see;
Now here a knight that's stout and
good

May prove a jeopardie:

'What would'st thou do, my squire

To turn the rein were sin and shame, To fight were wond'rous peril ;

'Be brave,' she cried, 'you yet may be our guest.

What would ye do now, Roland Our haunted room was ever held the

Cheyne,

Were ye Glenallan's Earl?'
'Were I Glenallan's Earl this tide,
And ye were Roland Cheyne,
The spur should be in my horse's side,
And the bridle upon his mane.

If they hae twenty thousand blades,
And we twice ten times ten,
Yet they hae but their tartan plaids,
And we are mail-clad men.

'My horse shall ride through ranks sae rude,

As through the moorland fern,Then ne'er let the gentle Norman blude Grow cauld for Highland kerne.'

He turn'd him right and round again, Said-Scorn na at my mither; Light loves I may get mony a ane, But minnie ne'er anither.

Chap. XL.

MOTTOES.

I KNEW Anselmo. He was shrewd and prudent,

Wisdom and cunning had their shares of him;

IF you fail honour here, Never presume to serve her any more; Bid farewell to the integrity of arms, And the honourable name of soldier

But he was shrewish as a wayward Fall from you, like a shiver'd wreath

child,

And pleased again by toys which

childhood please;

As-book of fables graced with print

of wood,

Or else the jingling of a rusty medal, Or the rare melody of some old

ditty,

of laurel

By thunder struck from a desertlesse forehead.

? A Faire Quarrel.

Chap. xx.

THE Lord Abbot had a soul

That first was sung to please King Subtile and quick, and searching as

Pepin's cradle.

On Title-page.

the fire:

By magic stairs he went as deep as hell,

And if in devils' possession gold be Then in our lair, when Time hath chill'd our joints,

kept, He brought some sure from thence And maim'd our hope of combat, or 'tis hid in caves,

of flight,

We hear her deep-mouth'd bay,
announcing all,

Of wrath, and woe, and punishment,
that bides us.
Old Play.

Chap. XXXIII.

STILL in his dead hand clench'd remain the strings

That thrill his father's heart-e'en as the limb,

Lopp'd off and laid in grave, retains, they tell us,

Strange commerce with the mutilated
stump,

Whose nerves are twingeing still in
maim'd existence.
Old Play.

TELL me not of it, friend-when the young weep,

Their tears are lukewarm brine;from our old eyes

Sorrow falls down like hail-drops of

the North,

Chilling the furrows of our wither'd : cheeks,

Cold as our hopes, and harden'd as our feeling:

Theirs, as they fall, sink sightless-ours recoil,

Heap the fair plain, and bleaken all before us.

Old Play.

Chap. xxxiv.

LIFE, with you,

Glows in the brain and dances in the

arteries;

'Tis like the wine some joyous guest hath quaff'd,

That glads the heart and elevates the fancy:

Mine is the poor residuum of the cup,

Vapid, and dull, and tasteless, only soiling

With its base dregs the vessel that contains it.

Through the wild labyrinth of youthful But, since the good dame 's blind, she

shall excuse me

frenzy, Unheard, perchance, until old age If, time and reason fitting, I prove dumb ;

hath tamed us;

LIFE ebbs from such old age, unmark'd and silent,

As the slow neap-tide leaves yon stranded galley.

Late she rock'd merrily at the least impulse

That wind or wave could give; but now her keel

Is settling on the sand, her mast has ta'en

An angle with the sky, from which it shifts not.

Each wave receding shakes her less and less,

Till, bedded on the strand, she shall remain Useless as motionless.

Chap. XI.

Old Play.

So, while the Goose, of whom the fable told,

Incumbent, brooded o'er her eggs of gold,

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