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How blithe the blackbird's lay!
To see all nature gay.
And in Linlithgow's holy dome
The King, as wont, was praying ;
The Bishop mass was saying-
The day the luckless King was slain-
And eyes with sorrow streaming ;
Their banners o'er them beaming.
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
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
Woe waits on thine array ;
God keep thee as he may !'-
For answer, and found none;
And when he raised his head to speak,
The monitor was gone.
He vanish'd from our eyes,
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 :
So strong I held the force,
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,
Even when discovery's pain,
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 heart within me burn'd.