The spirit laughed in that odd way Which spirits do when they are gay; For there are spirits good and bad-- The good are aye a merry squad. No body-pains their hearts to vex, No worldly cares their minds perplex. "Nae ghaist am I, Maid Marion dear, My soul's well cased in fleshly gear; I have a heart still warm and free, Enough of gowd for thee and me; And if thou wilt give up thy scorn, Trow-la! I'll marry thee the morn." XVIII. THE BALLAD OF ROSEALLAN CASTLE. Yonder Roseallan's Castle old! Which time has changed to iron grey, Whose high crenelles, o'ergrown with mould, Are crumbling silently away. Soft comes the thought that, years before, Now hid by time's obscuring pall, Some tiny foot had tript the floor, Some silver voice had filled the hall. There was a time in long past years-- It seems to me an age of dreams-- My grandam filled my itching ears With all Roseallan's storied themes: Of how Sir Baldwin dearly loved The last of all Roseallan's maids; And how in moonlight nights they roved Among Roseallan's sylvan shades. But there was one with envious eyes, Deep set in visage pale and wan, Resolved, whoe'er should win the prize, Sir Baldwin should not be the man. He took his aim--too deadly straight, Yet not unseen by Annabel, Who sprang before her favoured knight, And died for him she loved so well. How she who thus so bravely died Was last of all her honoured name, The only hope that fate supplied To keep alive her house's fame. And then the screeching bird of night Would mope upon the crumbling walls, And chirking whutthroats claim the right To gambol in the ancient halls. In yonder vault, deep down below, Half choked with hoary eglantine, Sleep side by side in lengthened row The proud Roseallan's noble line. The hairy wing-mouse flutters there, The owl mopes as in days of yore, Strange eldritch sounds salute the ear, Unholy things crawl on the floor. How oft alone at midnight hour I stand within that silent tomb, What time the moon with waning power Is struggling through increasing gloom, On one sole bier _his_ tears would fall, For _her_ his groans come evermore, Whose silver voice once filled the hall, Whose feet once lightly tript the floor. XIX. THE BALLAD OF THE TOURNAY. In the castle of Kildrennie, Up in her chamber high, There sat the fair Burde Annie, And with her County Guy-- Come lately from the east, As far as Palestine, Where he had sent to his long rest Many a bold Saracen. Sir Guy his burning love hath told, And a favour he hath won, For lo! a ring of virgin gold Shines there his finger on. And they have pledged the solemn yea, Each on the bended knee, That on the coming Beltane day They two shall wedded be. Burde Annie viewed, to hide her tears, The red sun setting still, And lo! behold two cavaliers Came riding up the hill: The one he was Sir Hudibras Come of a noble clan; The other no less noble was-- The brave Sir Gallachan.