Semir'amis of England,[1] hail! thy crime secures thy sway; But when thine eyes shall scan the tale those hireling scribes convey, When thou shalt read, with late remorse, how one poor slave was found Beside thy butchered rival's corse, the headless and discrowned, Shall not thy soul foretell thine own unloved, expiring hour, When those who kneel around the throne shall fly the falling tower?-- When thy great heart shall silent break; when thy sad eyes shall strain Through vacant space, one thing to seek, one thing that loved--in vain? Though round thy parting pangs of pride shall priest and noble crowd, More worth the grief that mourned beside thy victim's gory shroud! [1] Elizabeth. Master Lewis continued the general subject of the meeting. "What, Frank, has been the most interesting object you have seen?" "The Cannongate. I read its history in the guide-book, and I spent an hour in the place. One could seem in fancy to live there hundreds of years." "King James rode through this street on his way to Flodden," said Master Lewis. "Montrose was dragged here upon a hurdle. It was in a church here that Jenny Geddes bespoke the sentiment of the people by hurling her stool at the head of the Dean, who attempted to enforce the Episcopal service. "'I will read the Collect,' said the Dean. "'Colic, said ye? The De'il colic the wame of ye!' "Here came John Knox, after his interview with Queen Mary, cold and grim, and unmoved by her tears. Here rode the Pretender. Here dwelt the great Dukes of Scotland and the Earls of Moray and Mar." [Illustration: THE DEATH-BED OF FRANCIS II.] "I wished I were a poet, a painter, or an historian, when I was there," said Frank. "It is said Sir Walter Scott used to ride there slowly, and that almost every gable recalled to him some scene of triumph or of bloodshed." "I cannot begin to tell you stories of Cannongate," said Master Lewis. "Such stories would fill volumes, and give a view of the whole of Scottish history. What, Ernest, has impressed you most?" "The view of Edinburgh at night is the most beautiful sight I have seen. But the charm that Scott's poetry has given to Melrose Abbey, haunts me still, notwithstanding my disappointment at the ruin. This was the tomb of the Douglases and of the heart of Bruce." "I will tell you a story of one of the Douglases, whose castle still stands, not far from Melrose," said Master Lewis; "a story which I think is one of the most pleasing of the Border Wars. I will call the story THE BLACK DOUGLAS.