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"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
A wet shroud swathed, round ladye gay;

Then stay thee, Fair, in Ravensheuch:
Why cross the gloomy firth to-day?"

"'Tis not because Lord Lindesay's heir
To-night at Roslin leads the ball,

But that my ladye-mother there
Sits lonely in her castle-hall.

Inclt, Isle.

"'Tis not because the ring they ride,
And Lindesay at the ring rides well,

But that my sire the wine will chide,
If'tis not filled by Rosabelle."—

O'er Roslin all that dreary night

A wondrous blaze was seen to gleam;

'Twas broader than the watch-fire light,
And redder than the bright moon-beam.

It glared on Roslin's castled rock,
It ruddied all the copse-wood glen;

'Twas seen from Dryden's groves of oak,
And seen from caverned Hawthornden.

Seemed all on fire that chapel proud,
Where Roslin's chiefs uncoffined he;

Each Baron, for a sable shroud,
Sheathed in his iron panoply.

Seemed all on fire within, around,

Deep sacristy and altar's pale; Shone every pillar foliage-bound,

And glimmered all the dead men's mail.

Blazed battlement and pinnet high,

Blazed every rose-carved buttress fair—

So still they blaze, when fate is nigh
The lordly line of high St Clair.

There are twenty of Roslin's barons bold
Lie buried within that proud chapelle;

Each one the holy vault doth hold—
But the sea holds lovely Rosabelle!

And each St Clair was buried there,

With candle, with book, and with knell;

But the sea-caves rung, and the wild winds sung, The dirge of lovely Rosabelle.


So sweet was Harold's piteous lay,

Scarce marked the guests the darkened hall, Though, long before the sinking day,

A wondrous shade involved them all:
It was not eddying mist or fog,
Drained by the sun from fen or bog:

Of no eclipse had sages told;
And yet, as it came on apace,
Each one could scarce his neighbour's face,

Could scarce his own stretched hand behold.
A secret horror checked the feast^
And chilled the soul of every guest;
Even the high Dame stood half aghast,
She knew some evil on the blast;
The elvish Page fell to the ground,
And, shuddering, muttered, "Found! found!


Then sudden, through the darkened air

A flash of lightning came;
So broad, so bright, so red the glare,

The castle seemed on flame. .
Glanced every rafter of the hall,
Glanced every shield upon the wall;
Each trophied beam, each sculptured stone,
Were instant seen, and instant gone;
Full through the guests' bedazzled band
Resistless flashed the levin-brand,
And filled the hall with smouldering smoke,
As on the elvish Page it broke.

It broke, with thunder long and loud,
Dismayed the brave, appalled the proud,—

From sea to sea the larum rung j
On Berwick wall, and at Carlisle withal,
To arms the startled warders sprung.
When ended was the dreadful roar,
The elvish Dwarf was seen no more!

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