| |
| THE WATER-WRAITH shrieked over Clyde, | |
| The winds through high Dumbarton sighed, | |
| When to the trumpet’s call replied | |
| The deep drum from the square; | |
| And in the midnight’s misty shade, | 5 |
| With helm, and cloak, and glancing blade, | |
| Two hundred horsemen stood arrayed | |
| Beneath the torch’s glare. | |
| |
| Around a huge sepulchral van | |
| They took their station, horse and man. | 10 |
| The outer gateway’s bolts withdrawn, | |
| In haste the drawbridge fell; | |
| And out, with iron clatter, went | |
| That sullen midnight armament, | |
| Alone the leader knew where bent, | 15 |
| With what—he might not tell. | |
| |
| Into the darkness they are gone: | |
| The blinded wagon thundered on, | |
| And, save of hoof-tramp, sound was none: | |
| Hurriedly on they scour | 20 |
| The eastward track—away—away; | |
| To none they speak, brook no delay, | |
| Till farm-cocks heralded the day, | |
| And hour had followed hour. | |
| |
| Behind them, mingling with the skies, | 25 |
| Westward the smoke of Glasgow dies.— | |
| The pastoral hills of Campsie rise | |
| Northward in morning’s air,— | |
| By Kirkintilloc, Cumbernold, | |
| And Castlecary, on they hold, | 30 |
| Till Lythgo shows, in mirrored gold, | |
| Its palaced loch so fair. | |
| |
| Brief baiting-time;—the bugle sounds, | |
| Onwards the ponderous van rebounds | |
| Mid the grim squadron, which surrounds | 35 |
| Its path with spur and spear. | |
| Thy shrine, Dumanie, fades on sight, | |
| And, seen from Niddreff’s hazelly height, | |
| The Forth, amid its islands bright, | |
| Shimmers with lustre clear. | 40 |
| |
| The Maiden Castle next surveyed, | |
| Across the furzy hills of Braid, | |
| By Craig-Milor, through Wymet’s glade | |
| To Inneresc they wound; | |
| Then o’er the Garlton crags afar, | 45 |
| Where, oft a check to England’s war, | |
| Cospatrick’s stronghold of Dunbar | |
| In proud defiance frowned. * * * * * | |
| The password given, o’er bridge of Tweed | |
| The cavalcade, with slackened speed, | 50 |
| Rolled on, like one from nightmare freed, | |
| That draws an easier breath; | |
| But o’er and round it hung the gloom | |
| As of some dark, mysterious doom,— | |
| Shadows cast forward from the tomb, | 55 |
| And auguries of death. | |
| |
| Scotland receded from the view, | |
| And, on the far horizon blue, | |
| Faded her last, dear hills,—the mew | |
| Screamed to its sea-isle near. | 60 |
| As day-beams ceased the west to flout, | |
| Each after each the stars came out, | |
| Like camp-fires heaven’s high hosts about, | |
| With lustre calm and clear. | |
| |
| And on, through many a Saxon town | 65 |
| Northumbrian, and of quaint renown, | |
| Before the morning star went down, | |
| With thunderous reel they hied; | |
| While from the lattices aloof, | |
| Of many an angled, gray-stone roof, | 70 |
| Rose sudden heads, as sound of hoof | |
| And wheel to southward died. | |
| |
| Like Hope’s voice preaching to Despair, | |
| Sweetly the chimes for matin prayer | |
| Melted upon the dewy air | 75 |
| From Hexham’s holy pile; | |
| But, like the adder deaf, no sound, | |
| Or stern or sweet, an echo found | |
| Mid that dark squadron, as it wound | |
| Still onward, mile on mile. * * * * * | 80 |
| Bright are thy shadowy forest-bowers, | |
| Fair Ashby-de-la-Zouche! with flowers; | |
| The wild-deer in its covert cowers, | |
| And, from its pine-tree old, | |
| The startled cushat, in unrest, | 85 |
| Circles around its airy nest, | |
| As forward, on its route unblest, | |
| Aye on that wagon rolled. | |
| |
| And many a grove-encircled town, | |
| And many a keep of old renown, | 90 |
| That grimly watched o’er dale and down, | |
| They passed unheeding by; | |
| Prone from the rocks the waters streamed, | |
| And, mid the yellow harvests, gleamed | |
| The reapers’ sickles, but all seemed | 95 |
| Mere pictures to the eye. * * * * * | |
| Hundreds and hamlets far from sight, | |
| By lonely granges through the night | |
| They camped; and, ere the morning light | |
| Crimsoned the orient, they, | 100 |
| By royal road or baron’s park, | |
| Waking the watchful ban-dog’s bark, | |
| Before the first song of the lark, | |
| Were on their southward way. | |
| |
| By Althorpe, and by Oxendon, | 105 |
| Without a halt they hurried on, | |
| Nor paused by that fair cross of stone. | |
| Now for the first time seen, | |
| (For death’s dark billows overwhelm | |
| Both jewelled braid and knightly helm!) | 110 |
| Raised, by the monarch of the realm, | |
| To Eleanor his queen. | |
| |
| Five times through darkness and through day, | |
| Since crossing Tweed, with fresh relay | |
| Ever in wait, their forward way | 115 |
| That cavalcade had held; | |
| Now joy! for on the weary wights | |
| Loomed London from the Hampstead heights, | |
| As, by the opal morning, night’s | |
| Thin vapors were dispelled. | 120 |
| |
| With spur on heel and spear in rest, | |
| And bucklered arm and trellised breast, | |
| Closer around their charge they pressed,— | |
| On whirled, with livelier roll, | |
| The wheels begirt with prancing feet, | 125 |
| And arms, a serried mass complete, | |
| Until, by many a stately street, | |
| They reached their destined goal. | |
| |
| Grim Westminster! thy pile severe | |
| Struck to the heart like sudden fear; | 130 |
| “Hope flies from all that enter here!” | |
| Seemed graven on its crest. | |
| The moat o’erpassed, at warn of bell, | |
| Down thundering the portcullis fell, | |
| And clanged the studded gates,—a knell | 135 |
| Despairing and unblest. | |
| |
| Ye guardian angels! that fulfil | |
| Heaven’s high decrees, and work its will,— | |
| Ye thunderbolts! launched forth to kill,— | |
| Where was it then ye slept, | 140 |
| When, foe-bemocked, in prison square, | |
| To death foredoomed, with dauntless air, | |
| From out that van, a shackled man, | |
| Sir William Wallace stept! | |
| |
