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Then sudden through the darken'd air
A flash of lightning came;

So broad, so bright, so red the glare,
The castle seem'd 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 flash'd the levinbrand,

And fill'd the hall with smouldering smoke,
As on the elfish page it broke.

It broke, with thunder long and loud, Dismay'd the brave, appall'd the proud, From sea to sea the larum rung; On Berwick wall, and at Carlisle withal, To arms the startled warders sprung. When ended was the dreadful roar, The elfish dwarf was seen no more!

XXVI.

Some heard a voice in Branksome Hall,
Some saw a sight, not seen by all;
That dreadful voice was heard by some,
Cry, with loud summons, "GYLBIN, COME!"
And on the spot where burst the brand,
Just where the page had flung him down,
Some saw an arm, and some a hand,

And some the waving of a gown.
The guests in silence pray'd and shook,
And terror dimm'd each lofty look.
But none of all the astonish'd train
Was so dismay'd as Deloraine:

His blood did freeze, his brain did burn,
'Twas fear'd his mind would ne'er return;
For he was speechless, ghastly, wan,
Like him of whom the story ran,
Who spoke the spectre-hound in Man.
At length by fits, he darkly told,
With broken hint, and shuddering cold-
That he had seen, right certainly,
A shape with amice wrapp'd around,
With a wrought Spanish baldrick bound,
Like pilgrim from beyond the sea;
And knew-but how it matter'd not-
It was the wizard, Michael Scott!

XXVII.

The anxious crowd, with horror pale,
All trembling, heard the 'wondrous tale.
No sound was made, no word was spoke,
Till noble Angus silence broke:

And he a solemn sacred plight

Did to St. Bride of Douglas make, That he a pilgrimage would take, To Melrose Abbey, for the sake Of Michael's restless sprite. Then each, to ease his troubled breast, To some bless'd saint his prayers address'd; Some to St. Modan made their vows, Some to St. Mary of the Lowes, Some to the holy Rood of Lisle, Some to our lady of the Isle; Each did his patron witness make, That he such pilgrimage would take, And monks should sing, and bells should toll, All for the weal of Michael's soul.

While vows were ta'en, and prayers were

pray'd,

Tis said the noble dame, dismay'd, Renounced, for aye, dark magic's aid.

XXVIII.

Nought of the bridal will I tell,
Which after in short space befell;
Nor how brave sons and daughters fair
Bless'd Teviot's flower, and Cranstoun's heir:
After such dreadful scene, 'twere vain,
To wake the note of mirth again.
More meet it were to mark the day
Of penitence and prayer divine,
When pilgrim chiefs, in sad array,
Sought Melrose' holy shrine.

XXIX.

With naked foot, and sackloth vest,
And arms enfolded on his breast,
Did every pilgrim go;

The standers-by might hear uneath,
Footstep, or voice, or highdrawn breath,

Through all the lengthen'd row:
No lordly look, nor martial stride,
Gone was their glory, sunk their pride,
Forgotten their renown;

Silent and slow, like ghosts, they glide
To the high altar's hallow'd side,

And there they knelt them down;
Above the suppliant chieftains wave
The banners of departed brave;
Beneath the letter'd stones were laid
The ashes of their fathers dead;
From many a garnish'd niche around,
Stern saints, and tortured martyrs frown'd.

XXX.

And slow up the dim aisle afar; With sable shroud and scapular, And snow-white stoles, in order due, The holy fathers, two and two, In long procession came; Taper, and host, and book they bare, And holy banner, flourish'd fair With the Redeemer's name : Above the prostrate pilgrim band The mitred abbot stretch'd his hand, And bless'd them as they kneel'd;

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Forgetful of the closing day;

And noble youths, the strain to hear,
Forsook the hunting of the deer;
And Yarrow, as he roll'd along,
Bore burden to the minstrel's song.

Hurries its waters to the weeu.

No longer Autumn's glowing red Upon our forest hills is shed;

No more, beneath the evening beam, Fair Tweed reflects their purple gleam:

62.5

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