These tidings caught Sir 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 thofe lonely towers,
Which flood in dale fo 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 said, 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 ftrain,
Such power fweet founds impart,
He won the churlish Porter's ear,
And moved his ftubborn heart.
Minstrel, he faid, thou play'ft fo fweet,
Fair entrance thou fhould'ft win;
But, alas! I am fworn upon the rood,
To let no ftranger in.
Yet, Minstrel, in yon rifing cliff
Thou'lt find a sheltering cave,
And here thou fhalt my fupper share,
And there thy lodging have.
All day he fits befide 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 hone 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 starting up, he feiz'd his fword,
And to the caftle hy'd.
When, lo he faw a ladder of
Depending from the wall;
And o'er the mote was newly laid
A poplar ftrong and tall.
And foon he faw his love defcend
Wrapt in a tartan plaid :
Affifted by a sturdy youth
In Highland garb y-clad.
Amaz'd confounded at the fight,
He lay unfeen and still;
And foon he faw them cross the stream,
And mount the neighbouring hill.
Unheard unknown of all within,
The youthful couple fly.
But what can 'fcape the lover's ken?
Or fhun his piercing eye?
With filent ftep he follows clofe
Behind the fling pair,
And faw her hang upon his arm,
With fond familiar air.
Thanks, gentle youth, fhe often faid;
My thanks thou well haft won :
For me what wiles haft thou contriv'd?
For me what dangers run?
And ever fhall my grateful heart
Thy fervices repay:
Sir Bertram would no further hear,
But cried, Vile traitor, stay!
Vile traitor, yield that Lady up!-
And quick his fword he drew,
The ftranger turn'd in fudden rage,
And at Sir Bertram flew.
With mortal hate their vigorous arms
Gave many a vengeful blow:
But Bertam's ftronger hand prevail'd,
And laid the franger low.
Die, traitor, die!-A deadly thruft
Attends each furious word.
Ah! then fair Isabel knew his voice,
And rush'd beneath his fword.
O ftop, fhe cried, O ftop thy arm!
Thou doft thy brother flay!
And here the Hermit paus'd and wept:
His tongue no more could say.
At length he cried, Ye lovely pair,
How fhall I tell the reft ?-
Ere I could ftop my piercing fword,
It fell and ftab'd her breaft.
Wert thou thyfelf that haplefs youth?
Ah! cruel fate! they faid,
The Hermit wept, and fo did they;
They figh'd; he hung his head.
O blind and jealous rage, he cried,
What evils from thee flow?
The Hermit paus'd; they filent mourn'd;
He wept, and they were woe.
Ah! when I heard my brother's name,
And faw my lady bleed,
I rav'd, I wept, I curft my arm,
That wrought the fatal deed.
In vain I clafp'd her to my breast,
And clos'd the ghastly wound;
In vain I prefs'd his bleeding corpfe,
And rais'd it from the ground.
My brother, alas! fpake never more;
His precious life was flown.
She kindly ftrove to footh my pain,
Regardless of her own.
Bertram, fhe faid, be comforted,
And live to think on me:
May we in heaven that union prove,
Which here was not to be.
Bertram, fhe faid, I ftill was true;
Thou only hadft my heart:
May we hereafter meet in blifs!
We now, alas! must part.
For thee I left my father's hall,
And flew to thy relief;
When, lo near Chiviot's fatal hills
I met a Scottish chief.
Lord Malcolm's fon, whofe proffered love
I had refus'd with fcorn;
He flew my guards and feiz'd on me
Upon that fatal morn;
And in thefe dreary hated walls
He kept me clofe confin'd;
And fondly fued and warmly prefs'd
To win me to his mind.
Each rifing morn increas'd my pain,
Each night increas'd my fear;
When wandering in this northern garb
Thy brother found me here.
He quickly form'd this brave defign
To fet me captive free;
And on the moor his horfes wait
Ty'd to a neighbouring tree.
Then hafte, my love, efcape away,
And for thyfelf provide;
And fometimes fondly think on her,
Who fhould have been thy bride.
Thus pouring comfort on my foul
Even with her latest breath,
She gave one parting fond embrace,
And clos'd her eyes death.
|