The wizard knew well that her eye was endowed With sight mortal vision surpassing-- _Now_ piercing the heart of Oblivion's cloud, The _Past_, in its depths, clearly glassing; _Anon_ sending glance through that curtain of dread Behind which the realm of the Future lies spread. He gave her a key to decipher dim scrolls, With characters wild, scribbled over; And taught her dark words that would summon back souls Of the dead round the living to hover; Or oped, high discourse with his pupil to hold, Old books of enchantment with clasps of bright gold. The elf queen had met her in green, haunted dells When stars in the zenith were twinkling, And time kept the tramp of her palfry to bells, At her bridle rein merrily tinkling: By Huntley Burn oft, in the gloaming, she strolled Weird shapes, that were not of this earth, to behold. One eve came true Thomas to Margaret's bower, In this wise the maiden addressing-- "No more will I visible be from this hour, Save to those sight unearthly possessing; But when I am seen at feast, funeral or fair Let the mortal who makes revelation beware!" Long years came and passed, and the Rhymer's dread seat Was vacant the Eildon Tree under, And oft would old friends by the ingle-side meet, And talk of his absence in wonder: Some thought that, afar from the dwellings of men, He had died in some lone Highland forest or glen: But others believed that in bright fairy land The mighty magician was living-- That newness of life to worn heart and weak hand, Soft winds and pure waters were giving; That back to the region of heather and pine Would he come unimpaired by old age or decline. Astir was all Scotland! from mountain and moor, With banner folds streaming in air, Proud lord and retainer, the wealthy and poor, Thronged forth in their plaids to the fair; Steeds, pricked by their riders, loud clattering made, And, cheered by his clansmen, the bag-piper played. Gay lassies with snoods from the border and hills In holyday garb hurried thither, With eyes like the crystal of rock-shaded rills, And cheeks like the bells of the heather; But fairest of all, in that goodly array, Was the Lily of Bemerside, Margaret Gray. While Ayr with a gathering host overflowed, She marked with a look of delight A white-bearded horseman who gallantly rode On a mettlesome steed black as night, And cried, forcing wildly her way through the throng, "_Oh! master, thy pupil hath mourned for thee long!_"