At length her aged Nurfe arofe
With voice fo fhrill and clear:
What wight is this, that calls fo loud,
And knocks fo boldly here?

'Tis Bertram calls, thy Lady's love,
Come from his bed of care:

All day I've ridden o'er moor and moss
To fee thy Lady fair.

Now out alas! (fhe loudly fhriek'd)
Alas! how may this be?

For fix long days are gone and paft

Since the fet out to thee.

Sad terror feiz'd fir Bertram's heart,
And ready was he to fall;

When now the draw-bridge was let down,
And gates were open'd all.

Six days, young knight, are past and gone,
Since the fet out to thee;
And fure if no fad harm had hap'd

Long fince thou wouldft her fee.

For when he heard thy grievous chance
She tore her hair, and cried,
Alas! I've flain the comelieft knight,
All thro' my folly and pride!

And now to atone for my

fad fault,

And his dear health regain,

I'll go myself, and nurfe my love,
And footh his bed of pain.

Then

Then mounted the her milk-white fteed
One morn at break of day;

And two tall yeomen went with her

To guard her on the way.

Sad terror fmote fir Bertram's heart,
And grief o'erwhelm'd his mind :
Truft me, faid he, I ne'er will reft
"Till I thy Lady find.

That night he spent in forrow and care;
And with fad boding heart

Or ever the dawning of the day
His brother and he depart.

Now, brother, we'll our ways divide,

O'er Scottish hills to range:
Do thou go north, and I'll go weft;
And all our drefs we'll change.

Some Scottish carle hath feized my love,
And borne her to his den;

And ne'er will I tread English ground
Till fhe is reftored agen.

The brothers ftrait their paths divide,
O'er Scottish hills to range;

And hide themselves in queint disguise,
And oft their drefs they change.

Sir Bertram clad in gown of gray,
Most like a Palmer poor,

To halls and castles wanders round,
And begs from door to door.

Sometimes

Sometimes a Minstrel's garb he wears,
With pipes fo fweet and fhrill;
And wends to every tower and town;
O'er every dale and hill.

One day as he fate under a thorn
All funk in deep despair,
An aged Pilgrim pass'd him by,
Who mark'd his face of care.

All Minstrels yet that ever I saw,
Are full of game and glee:
But thou art fad and woe-begone!
I marvel whence it be!

Father, I ferve an aged Lord,
Whose grief afflicts my mind;
His only child is ftol'n away,
And fain I would her find.

Cheer up, my fon; perchance, (he faid)
Some tidings I may bear :
For oft when human hopes have fail'd,
Then heavenly comfort's near.

Behind yon hills fo fteep and high,
Down in a lowly glen,

There ftands a castle fair and fstrong,
Far from th' abode of men.

As late I chanc'd to crave an alms
About this evening hour,
Me-thought I heard a Lady's voice
Lamenting in the tower.

And

And when I afk'd, what harm had hap'd,
What Lady fick there lay?

They rudely drove me from the gate,

And bade me wend away.

These tidings caught fir Bertram's ear,

He thank'd him for his tale;

And foon he hafted o'er the hills,
And foon he reach'd the vale.

Then drawing near those lonely towers,
Which stood in dale so low,

And fitting down befide the gate,
His pipes he 'gan to blow.

Sir Porter, is thy lord at home
To hear a Minstrel's fong?
Or may I crave a lodging here,
Without offence or wrong;

My Lord, he faid, is not at home
To hear a Minstrel's fong:
And should I lend thee lodging here,
My life would not be long.

He play'd again fo foft a strain,
Such power fweet founds impart,
He won the churlish Porter's ear,
And moved his ftubborn heart.

Minstrel, he faid, thou play'st so sweet,
Fair entrance thou fhould'ft win;
But, alas, I am fworn upon the rood
To let no stranger in.

E

Yet

1

Yet, Minstrel, in yon rifing cliff
Thou'lt find a fheltering cave;
And here thou shalt my fupper fhare,
And there thy lodging have.

All day he fits beside the gate,
And pipes both loud and clear;
All night he watches round the walls,
In hopes his love to hear.

The first night, as he filent watch'd,
All at the midnight hour,
He plainly heard his Lady's voice
Lamenting in the tower.

The fecond night the moon fhone clear,
And gilt the fpangled dew;

He faw his Lady thro' the grate,

But 'twas a tranfient view.

"The third night wearied out he slept
"Till near the morning tide;
When ftarting up, he feiz'd his fword,

And to the caftle hy'd.

When, lo he saw a ladder of ropes
Depending from the wall;

And o'er the mote was newly laid
A poplar strong and tall.

And foon he saw his love defcend

Wrapt in a Tartan plaid; Affifted by a sturdy youth In highland garb y-clad.

Amaz❜d,