The Countess turned her face to the Yerl; It was true what was said by the dying girl; It _was_ Sir Peregrine's horn they heard, And they both sat mute, nor whispered a word, For they wondered much, and were sore afraid Of mysteries working about the maid, Who, as she lay in her ecstasie, Kept muttering slow an Ave Marie: "Oh, Lady sweet! the sign hath come, Happy the maid whom her knight calls home; It is the nightingale that I hear, The golden sun is shining clear; And I've heard tell in time past gone, Blessed is the bier that the sun shines on." And, as they listened, there came to their ear The grating of the portcullis gear, And a cry of fear from the ballion green, As if the retainers a ghost had seen: Tramp and tramp on the scalière, And along the corridor leading there; The door is opened, and lo! comes in The leal and the living Sir Peregrine. "Holy Maria!" the Countess cried, "Holy Maria!" the Yerl replied; The maid looked up, then sank her head, As an Ave Marie again she said: "Ave Marie! my sweet ladye, Ave Marie! I come to thee. Ah, soft and clear those eyes of thine, That look so kindly into mine; Oh Ladye sweet! stretch forth thy hand To welcome me to yon happy land; Oh Virgin! open thy bosom fair, That thy poor child may nestle there;" Then she laid her arms across her breast, And gently, softly, sank to rest. The throstle-cock's voice rang out more clear On the linden tree there growing near, And the sun burst forth with brighter ray On the couch where her spirit had passed away. V. Over hollow, and over height, Sir Peregrine sought that caitiff knight Who had wrought such woe to Eaglestein-- To him and the Lady Etheline. The time has come and the wish made good, The villain he met in the Calder Wood. "Hold, hold, thou basest dastard Theou, For Ceorl's a name thou'rt far below; Ten lives like thine would not suffice To be to my soul a sacrifice; There is the glaive, it is thine to try. Or with it or without it thou must die." But the caitiff laughed a laugh of scorn: "Come on, thou bastard of bastards born." Their falchions are gleaming in bright mid-day: They rushed like tigers upon their prey; Sir Peregrine's eyes flashed liquid fire, The caitiff's shone out with unholy ire; But victory goes not aye with right, Nor the race to those the quickest in flight. Sir Peregrine's fury o'ershot his aim: His sword breaks through--his arm is maim! With nothing to wield, with nothing to ward. No word of mercy or quarter heard; With a breast-wound deep as his heart he lies, A look of scorn--Sir Peregrine dies. Behind the crumbling walls of Eaglestein, The tomb of the old Yerls may still be seen, And there long mouldering lay close side by side, Sir Peregrine the bold and his fair bride; Their ashes scattered now and blown away, As thine and mine will be some coming day. This world is surely an enchanted theme, A thing of seims and shows--a wild fantastic dream. III. THE LEGEND OF ALLERLEY HALL.