"My horse shall ride through ranks sae rude, As through the moorland fern,-- Then neer let the gentle Norman blude Grow cauld for Highland kerne." ----W. Scott. THE EVE OF ST. JOHN [Illustration: 9095] |The Baron of Smaylho'me rose with day, He spurr'd his courser on, Without stop or stay, down the rocky way, That leads to Brotherstone. He went not with the bold Buccleuch, His banner broad to rear; He went not gainst the English yew, To lift the Scottish spear. Yet his plate-jack was braced, and his helmet was laced, And his vaunt-brace of proof he wore: At his saddle-gerthe was a good steel sperthe, Full ten pound weight and more. The Baron returned in three days' space, And his looks were sad and sour; And weary was his courser's pace, As he reach'd his rocky tower. He came not from where Ancram Moor Ran red with English blood; Where the Douglas true, and the bold Buccleuch, 'Gainst keen Lord Evers stood. Yet was his helmet hack'd and hew'd His acton pierced and tore, His axe and his dagger with blood imbrued,-- But it was not English gore. He lighted at the Chapellage, He held him close and still; And he whistled thrice 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 hast seen, And look thou tell me true! Since I from Smaylhome tower have been, What did thy lady do?"-- "My lady, each night, sought 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 moss, The wind blew loud and shrill; Yet the craggy pathway she did cross, To the eiry Beacon Hill. "I watch'd her steps, and silent came Where she sat her on a stone;-- No watchman stood by the dreary flame, It burned all alone. "The second night I kept her in sight, Till to the fire she 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 blast, 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 secret pair, On the lonesome Beacon Hill. "And I heard her name the midnight hour, And name this holy eve; And say, 'Come this night to thy lady's bower; Ask no bold Baron's leave.' "'He lifts his spear with the bold Buccleuch; His lady is all alone; The door she'll undo, to her knight so true, On the eve of good St. John.'-- "' I cannot come; I must not come; I dare not come to thee; On the eve of St. John I must wander alone: