Now enter thou, the bauld Syr Hew, for treason do we feare; Now entir first, as Captaine thou, of your brithern knichtis sae dier;

For syne the gude Lord Archibald was laid aneth the stane, Our manlyke courage has yfled, and al our hertis have gane.

The dark Syr Hew gade on before, and ane yreful man was

he;

"Oh, schame upon your manheidis al, and dishonour on ye

be;

"Quhat fleyis ye sua that nane may daur to threw this chalmer lok ;"

Then wi' his iron gauntlet he that aiken dore has broke.

"Come in, Syr Hew; come in, Syr Hew;" a voice cryit fra within ;

"Come in, Syr Hew, my buirdly bairn, quhilk are sua wicht and grim,

"But nevir nane sal entir here bot an yoursel alane;

"Now welcum blythe to dark Syr Hew in this puir lodge of stane."

Ilk knicht did hear the lonsum voyce, but the speiker nane

did see,

And dark Syr Hew waxit deadlie pale, quhyl the mist cam owre his ee.

"Now turn wi' me, my merrie men al, to hald us on our

way,

"For in this ugsum lodge this nicht nae pilgrimer may stay." "Come back, Syr Hew, my knicht of grace, and come hither my trusty fere;

"For thou hast wan a gudely fee, though nae lerges ye mote

spere :

"Oh, three woundis were on your britheris face, and three abune his knee,

"But the deepest wound was throu his hert, and that was gi'en be thee."

Ilk ane has heard the lonesum voyce, for it was schil and hie; Ilk ane has heard its eerie skreich as it gaed souning by ; Yet mervailous dul that lodge dois seem, and bot anie bruit

or din ;

Nae liand wicht dois herbour here but an that voyce within.

And everie knicht has turnit him round to leave that hauntit ha',

And muntit on his swelterand stede, and pricket richt sune awa';

And quhan this gallant cumpanye auld Askelon had nearit, The wan mune had gane fra the lift, and the grai daylight apperit.

Then did they count thair numberis, and thay countit wyse and true,

And everilk ane was thair convenit bot and the dark Syr

Hew;

But in the press his horse was kythit wi' ane saddil toom and

bare;

Och and alace, its maister sure liggis in som lanelie lair.

Back hae thay ridden league and myl, but nevir Syr Hew

thai see;

Back hae thay ridden league and myl til quhare that lodge suld be ;

Och and alace, nae lodge is thair, nouthir of stane nor wud, But quhair it was lay the dark Syr Hew amid thick clotterit blude.

His lyre was wan, his teeth were clenchit, and his eyne did open stare,

And wonderouslie lyke stiffened cordis stude up his coalblack hair,

And his hand was glewit until the haft of his swerd sue scharp

and trew,

Bot the blade was broke, and on the grund it lay in pieces

two.

He streiket was upon the garse, and it was red of blee,

Wi' the drappyng of the ruddie blude that trinklit doun his knee;

And his brunie bricht was dintit sair, and heart in pieces ten, O nevir was a knicht sae hackit by armis of mortal men.

Thay sayit to raise him, bot alace, thai culd not muve a limm ; But heavie as the lead he lay, that Captaine dark and brym; And his eye was luik, and fierslie fell, and his hand was rased a lite,

Albeit no lyf was in the corps of that cauld paly knighte.

Then did thay leave him on that spot to rot and fal away, And thay put na stane upon his heid, and on his corps nae

clay,

For thay had lerit in ferly wise that hindernicht I rede, That dark Syr Hew, by felon means, did make his brither bleed.

LXIV.

AND HAVE I GAZED?

AND have I gazed on this bright form
While it was fast decaying?

And have I looked on these pale lips
While ghastly death and woman's love
Thereon with smiles were playing?
And do I see that lustrous eye
Now quenched in hopeless night?
And was that feebly-murmured sigh
Thy spirit's heavenward flight?

A moment since that eye was bright,
A moment since it beamed on me,

And now that lovely orb of light

Is fixed on dull vacuity;

That bosom throbb'd, that cheek was warm,
And in that round and polish'd arm

The thin blue veins were filled with life;
Now motionless and pale they lie ;

Sad beauteous wrecks of that stern strife
In which a soul escaped on high !
Can I forget thy sad sweet smile,
Thy last, thy long impassioned look?
Can I forget the last farewell
It then so fondly took?

Oh no-methinks thy lips still seem
That smile of deepest love to beam,
And these eyes that now calmly sleep

Beneath their half-closed thin transparent covers,
Have all the lustre in their slumber deep
They had in life, and proud dominion keep
With light and sunshine over hearts and lovers.
Vain thought! Imagination's hollow trick
To wean the heart from brooding o'er its sorrow,
Away! Death's blighting dews have fallen thick
On that dear maiden's pale and bloodless cheek.
She smiled to-day; some gentle words did speak,
But not one smile nor syllable will break
The silence of to-morrow!

Feast, feast mine eyes on happiness forelore,
Banquet on loveliness that hath not died,
A beauty slumbers there as heretofore,

A soul made to be deified.

What though the rose, like coward base, hath fled

From this cold cheek; the lily still is there;
And mark how its pure white is softly spread,
Where not one vagrant rose shall dare
Again to blossom on this maiden's cheek,
Or its bright innocence with shame to streak.

U

LXV.

SHE IS NOT DEAD.

SHE is not dead-oh! do not say she's dead.

Good friends, she lives! what though the rose hath fled From her sweet face, doth not the lily there

As beautiful a form and 'semblance bear?

Good friends, I say she lives! her beauty lives!
And death destroys all loveliness of hue ;
And were she dead, that lustre life but gives,
From her, methinks, would have evanished too.

Good friends, join with me-do but give me space
To feast upon the beauties of this face.
She lives in death, she triumphs in the tomb,
And, like a grave's flower, springs in fresher bloom
The nearer it is planted to the dead!

Raise, raise a little more her drooping head;
Her bosom heaves not-'tis, like marble, white,
And, like it, cold. But mark how exquisite
And finely fashioned is this pale stiff arm
Which sleeps upon it; touch it, it will not harm.
No, not one finger moves; they're locked in sleep,
And very cold withal; pray do not weep,
Else I would weep too, that I could not break
Her pleasant slumbers for your pity's sake.

Good friends, I pray withdraw that veil once more,
And say, is she not lovely as before;

Hath not this brow, this cheek, this neck, this arm,
And this fair body all some goodly charm
Hovering around them, though the soul is gone
On some far pilgrimage from this bright one?
Men say this maiden loved me—simple me,
Even from the cradle and sweet infancy,
Till we had learned speech to speak our loves
As others do, by streams and shaded groves;