She never found fault with you, never implied Your wrong by her right; and yet men at her side Grew nobler, girls purer, as through the whole town The children were gladder that pulled at her gown— My Kate. 25 VI. None knelt at her feet confessed lovers in thrall; They knelt more to God than they used,—that was all; If you praised her as charming, some asked what you meant, But the charm of her presence was felt when she went— My Kate. 30 VII. The weak and the gentle, the ribald and rude, She took as she found them, and did them all good; It always was so with her—see what you have! She has made the grass greener even here with her grave— My Kate. 35 VIII. My dear one!—when thou wast alive with the rest, I held thee the sweetest and loved thee the best; And now thou art dead, shall I not take thy part As thy smiles used to do for thyself, my sweet Heart My Kate. 40 * * * * * =ROSABELLE.= Oh listen, listen, ladies gay! No haughty feat of arms I tell; Soft is the note and sad the lay That mourns the lovely Rosabelle. “Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant crew! 5 And, gentle ladye, deign to stay! Rest thee in Castle Ravensheuch, Nor tempt the stormy firth to-day. “The blackening wave is edged with white; To inch and rock the sea-mews fly; 10 The fishers have heard the Water-Sprite, Whose screams forbode that wreck is nigh. “Last night the gifted Seer did view A wet shroud swathed round ladye gay; Then stay thee, Fair, in Ravensheuch; 15 Why cross the gloomy firth to-day?”— “’Tis not because Lord Lindesay’s heir To-night at Roslin leads the ball, But that my ladye-mother there Sits lonely in her castle-hall. 20 “’Tis not because the ring they ride, And Lindesay at the ring rides well, But that my sire the wine will chide If ’tis not fill’d by Rosabelle.”— O’er Roslin all that dreary night 25 A wondrous blaze was seen to gleam; ’Twas broader than the watch-fire’s light, And redder than the bright moonbeam. It glared on Roslin’s castled rock, It ruddied all the copse-wood glen; 30 ’Twas seen from Dryden’s groves of oak, And seen from cavern’d Hawthornden. Seem’d all on fire that chapel proud, Where Roslin’s chiefs uncoffin’d lie, Each Baron, for a sable shroud, 35 Sheathed in his iron panoply. Seem’d all on fire, within, around, Deep sacristy and altar’s pale; Shone every pillar foliage-bound, And glimmer’d all the dead men’s mail. 40