Imágenes de páginas

How blithe the blackbird's lay!
The wild-buck bellst from ferny brake,
The coot dives merry on the lake,
The saddest heart might pleasure take

To see all nature gay.
But June is to our Sovereign dear
The heaviest month in all the year :
Too well his cause of grief you know,-
June saw his father's overthrow.t:
Woe to the traitors, who could bring
The princely boy against his King !
Still in his conscience burns the sting.
In offices as strict as Lent,
King James's June is ever spent.

HEN last this ruthful month was


And in Linlithgow's holy dome

The King, as wont, was praying ;
While, for his royal father's soul,
The chanters sung, the bells did toll,

The Bishop mass was saying-
For now the year brought round again

The day the luckless King was slain-
In Katharine's aisle the Monarch knelt,
With sackcloth-shirt, and iron belt,

And eyes with sorrow streaming ;
Around him in their stalls of state,
The Thistle's Knight-Companions sate,

Their banners o'er them beaming.
I too was there, and, sooth to tell,
Bedeafen'd with the jangling knell,
Was watching where the sunbeams fell,

Through the stain’d casement gleaming; But, while I mark'd what next befell,

It seem'd as I were dreaming. Stepp'd from the crowd a ghostly wight, In azure gown, with cincture white; His forehead bald, his head was bare, Down hung at length his yellow hair.Now, mock me not, when, good my Lord,I pledge to you my knightly word, That, when I saw his placid grace, His simple majesty of face, His solemn bearing, and his pace

So stately gliding on,

Seem'd to me ne'er did limner paint
So just an image of the Saint,
Who propp'd the Virgin in her faint,-

The loved Apostle John !


E stepp'd before the Monarch's chair,

And stood with rustic plainness there, And little reverence made ; Nor head, nor body, bow'd nor bent, But on the desk his arm he leant,

And words like these he said, In a low voice,-but never tone So thrill’d through vein, and nerve, and

bone :-
‘My mother sent me from afar,
Sir King, to warn thee not to war,-

Woe waits on thine array ;
If war thou wilt, of woman fair,
Her witching wiles and wanton snare,
James Stuart, doubly warn'd, beware :

God keep thee as he may !'-
The wondering Monarch seem'd to seek

For answer, and found none;

[ocr errors]

And when he raised his head to speak,

The monitor was gone.
The Marshal and myself had cast
To stop him as he outward pass'd ;
But, lighter than the whirlwind's blast,

He vanish'd from our eyes,
Like sunbeam on the billow cast,

That glances but, and dies.”


HILE Lindesay told his marvel

strange, The twilight was so pale, He mark'd not Marmion's colour change,

While listening to the tale :
But, after a suspended pause,
The Baron spoke “Of Nature's laws

So strong I held the force,
That never superhuman cause

Could e'er control their course ; And, three days since, had judged your aim Was but to make your guest your game. But I have seen, since past the Tweed, What much has changed my sceptic creed,

And made me credit aught.—” He staid,
And seem'd to wish his words unsaid :
But, by that strong emotion press'd,
Which prompts us to unload our breast,

Even when discovery's pain,
To Lindesay did at length unfold
The tale his village host had told,

At Gifford, to his train. Nought of the Palmer says he there, And nought of Constance, or of Clare ; The thoughts, which broke his sleep, he seems To mention but as feverish dreams.


N vain," said he, “ to rest I spread
My burning limbs, and couch'd my

head :
Fantastic thoughts returned ;
And, by their wild dominion led,

My heart within me burn'd.
So sore was the delirious goad,
I took my steed, and forth I rode,
And, as the moon shone bright and cold,
Soon reach'd the camp upon the wold.

« AnteriorContinuar »