His axe and his dagger with blood embrued,
But it was not English gore.

He lighted at the Chapellage,

He held him close and still,

And he whistled twice for his little foot page,
His name was English Will,

"Come thou hither, my little foot page,
"Come hither to my knee,

Though thou art young, and tender of age,
"I think thou art true to me.

"Come, tell me all that thou haft feen, "And look thou tell me true;

"Since I from Smaylho'me Tower have been, "What did thy Lady do?"

"My Lady each night, fought the lonely light,
"That burns on the wild Watchfold;

"For from height to height, the beacons bright,
"Of the English foemen told.

"The bittern clamour'd from the mofs,
"The wind blew loud and fhrill,
"Yet the craggy pathway she did cross

"To the eiry beacon hill.

Eiry is a Scotch expreffion, fignifying the feeling infpired by the dread of apparitions,

"I watch'd

"I watch'd her fteps, and filent came "Where the fate her on a ftone;

"No watchman ftood by the dreary flame, "It burned all alone.

"The fecond night I kept her in fight,

"Till to the fire fhe came;

"And by Mary's might, an armed knight "Stood by the lonely flame.

"And many a word that warlike lord "Did speak to my Lady there,

"But the rain fell fast, and loud blew the blaft, "And I heard not what they were.

"The third night there the sky was fair, "And the mountain blast was still,

"As again I watch'd the fecret pair, "On the lonesome beacon hill;

"And I heard her name the midnight hour,

"And name this holy eve;

"And fay, come that night to thy Lady's bower; "Afk no bold Baron's leave.

"He lifts his fpear with the bold Buccleuch,

"His Lady is alone;

"The door she'll undo, to her knight so true, "On the eve of good St. John."→→

-"I cannot

"I cannot come, I must not come,

"I dare not come to thee;

"On the eve of St. John I must wander alone, "In thy bower I may not be."

"Now out on thee, faint-hearted knight!

"Thou should'ft not fay me nay, "For the eve is fweet, and when lovers meet,

"Is worth the whole fummer's day.

"And I'll chain the blood-hound, and the warder shall

not found,

And rufhes fhall be ftrew'd on the stair,

"So by the rood-stone,* and by holy St. John,

"I conjure thee, my love, to be there.".

"Though the blood hound be mute, and the rush be

neath my foot,

"And the warder his bugle should not blow, "Yet there fleepeth a prieft in the chamber to the east, "And my footstep he would know."

"O fear not the priest who fleepeth to the east, "For to Dryburgh † the way he has ta'en;

The black-rood of Melrofe was a crucifix of black marble, and of fuperior fanctity.

+ Dryburgh Abbey is beautifully fituated on the banks of the Tweed. After its diffolution it became the property of the Haliburtons of Newmains, and is now the feat of the Right Honourable the Earl of Buchan.

"And

"And there to fay mafs, till three days do país, "For the foul of a knight that is flayne."

"He turn'd him around, and grimly he frown'd, "Then he laugh'd right fcornfully

-"He who fays the mafs rite, for the foul of that knight, May as well fay mafs for me.

"At the lone midnight hour, when bad Spirits have power, "In thy chamber will I be."

"With that he was gone, and my Lady left alone, "And no more did I fee."

Then changed I trow, was that bold Baron's brow,

From dark to blood-red high.

"Now tell me the mien of the knight thou haft feer, "For by Mary he shall die!"—

"His arms fhone full bright, in the beacon's red light, "His plume it was scarlet and blue;

"On his fhield was a hound in a filver leafh bound, "And his creft was a branch of the yew.".

"Thou lieft, thou lieft, thou little foot page, "Loud doft thou lie to me ;

"For that knight is cold, and low laid in the mould,

"All under the Eildon* tree.".

Eildon is a high hill, terminating in three conical fummits, immediately above the town of Melrofe, where are the admired ruins of a magnificent monaftery. Eildon tree was faid to be the spot where Themas the Rhymer uttered his prophecies.

"Yet hear but my word, my noble lord, "For I heard her name his name;

And that Lady bright she called the knight "Sir Richard of Coldinghame."

The bold Baron's brow then changed, I trow,

From high blood-red to pale.

"The grave is deep and dark, and the corpfe is stiff and

ftark;

"So I may not trust thy tale.

"Where fair Tweed flows round holy Melrofe,

"And Eildon flopes to the plain,

"Full three nights ago, by fome fecret foe,

"That gallant knight was flain.

"The varying light deceiv'd thy fight,

"And the wild winds drown'd the name,

"For the Dryburg bells ring, and the white Monks they fing, "For Sir Richard of Coldinghame."

He pafs'd the court-gate, and he oped the tower grate,
And he mounted the narrow ftair,

To the bartizan-feat, where, with maids that on her wait,
He found his Lady fair.

That Lady fat in mournful mood,

Look'd over hill and vale,

Over Tweed's fair flood, and Mertoun's wood,

And all down Tiviotdale.

Now