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Both Scots, and Southern chiefs, prolong
For all of wonderful and wild
And much of wild and wonderful
Of those dread Maids, whose hideous yell Maddens the battle's bloody swell;Of chiefs, who, guided through the gloom By the pale death-lights of the tomb, Ransacked the graves of warriors old, Their faulchions wrenched from corpses' hold, Waked the deaf tomb with war's alarms, And bade the dead arise to arms!With war and wonder all on flame, To Roslin's bowers young Harold came, Where, by sweet glen and greenwood tree, He learned a milder minstrelsy;Yet something of the northern spell Mixed with the softer numbers well.
O listen, listen, ladies gay!
No haughty feat of arms I tell: Soft is the note, and sad the lay, That mourns the lovely Rosabelle.
—" Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant crew!
And, gentle ladye, deign to stay! Rest thee in Castle Ravensheuch,
Nor tempt the stormy firth to-day.
"The blackening wave is edged with white;
To inch * and rock the sea-mews fly; The fishers have heard the Water Sprite,
Whose screams forebode that wreck is nigh.
"Last night the gifted Seer did view
Then stay thee, Fair, in Ravensheuch:
"'Tis not because Lord Lindesay's heir To-night at Roslin leads the ball,
* Inch, Isle.
"'Tis not because the ring they ride,
But that my sire the wine will chide,
O'er Roslin all that dreary night A wondrous blaze was seen to gleam;
'Twas broader than the watch-fire light,
It glared on Roslin's castled rock,
Twas seen from Dreyden's groves of oak,
Seemed all on fire that chapel proud,
Each Baron, for a sable shroud,