Divided square by shafts of stone, Give the shrill watch-word of their clan; And revellers, o'er their bowls proclaim IX. Less frequent heard, and fainter still, The challenge of his watch could tell; And save, where, through the dark profound, The clanging axe and hammer's sound Rung from the nether lawn; For many a busy hand toiled there, Strong pales to shape, and beams to square, Against the morrow's dawn. X. Margaret from hall did soon retreat, For many a noble warrior strove With throbbing head and axious heart, By times, from silken couch she rose, Of all the hundreds sunk to rest, XI. She gazed upon the inner court, Which in the tower's tall shadow lay; Where coursers' clang, and stamp, and snort, Had rung the live-long yesterday. Now still as death-till, stalking slowThe jingling spurs announce his tread A stately warrior passed below, But when he raised his plumed head Blessed Mary! can it be? Secure, as if in Ousenam bowers, He walks through Branksome's hostile towers, She dare not sign, she dare not speak- You may bethink you of the spell Of that sly urchin page ; This to his lord he did impart, And made him seem, by glamour art, But, O what magic's quaint disguise K She started from her seat; While with surprise and fear she strove, XII. Oft have I mused what purpose bad To bring this meeting round; 'And oft I've deemed, perchance he thought Their erring passion might have wrought Sorrow, and sin, and shame; -And death to Cranstoun's gallant knight, But earthly spirit could not tell The heart of them that loved so well: True love 's the gift which God has given To man alone beneath the heaven. It is not Fantasy's hot fire, Whose wishes, soon as granted, fly; It liveth not in fierce desire, With dead desire it doth not die It is the secret sympathy, The silver cord, the silken tie, Which heart to heart, and mind to mind, Now leave we Margaret and her knight XIV. Their warning blast the bugles blew, XV. Meantime full anxious was the dame; Of who should fight for Deloraine, Twixt Harden and 'twixt Thirlestaine; A martial piece of music adapted to the bagpipes, |