Above the foaming tide, I ween, Scarce half the charger's neck was seen ; And the rider was armed complete in mail; Stemmed a midnight torrent's force. The warrior's very plume, I say, Was daggled by the dashing spray; Yet, through good heart, and our Ladye's grace, At length he gained the landing place. XXX. Now Bowden Moor the march-man won, And sternly shook his plumed head, As glanced his eye o'er Halidon; + For on his soul the slaughter red * Barded, or barbed,-applied to a horse accoutered with defensive armour. + Halidon-Hill, on which the battle of Melrose was fought. Of that unhallowed morn arose, When first the Scott and Car were foes; When royal James beheld the fray, Prize to the victor of the day; When Home and Douglas, in the van, XXXI. In bitter mood he spurred fast, And soon the hated heath was past; Old Melros' rose, and fair Tweed ran: Now midnight lauds were in Melrose sung. * Lauds, the midnight service of the Catholic church. The sound, upon the fitful gale, In solemn wise did rise and fail, Like that wild harp, whose magic tone Is wakened by the winds alone. But when Melrose he reached, 'twas silence all; He meetly stabled his steed in stall, And sought the convent's lonely wall. HERE paused the harp and with its swell And, gazing timid on the crowd, And how old age, and wandering long, Had done his hand and harp some wrong. The Duchess, and her daughters fair, And every gentle ladye there, Each after each, in due degree, Gave praises to his melody; His hand was true, his voice was clear, And much they longed the rest to hear. Encouraged thus, the Aged Man, |