POETRY. 929 
He ceased—and cries of rage and grief 
Burst mingling from,the kindred band, 
And half arose the kindling chief, 
And half unsheath’d his Arran brand. 
But who o’er bush, o’er stream and rock 
Rides headlong, with resistless speed, 
Whose bloody poniard’s frantic stroke 
Drive to the leap his jaded steed ? 
Whose cheek is pale, whose eye-balls glare, 
As one some vision’d sight that saw, 
Whose hands are bloody, loose his-hair ?— 
’Tis he! ’tis he! ’tis Bothwellhaugh. 
From gory selle,* and reeling steed, 
Sprung the fierce horseman with a bound, 
And, reeking from the recent deed, 
He dash’d his carbine on the ground. 
Sternly he spoke—“‘ ’Tis sweet to hear 
In good Greenwood the bugle blown, 
But sweeter to Revenge’s ear, 
To drink a tyrant’s dying groan. 
‘¢ Your slaughter’d quarry proudly trod, 
At dawning morn, o’er dale and down, 
But prouder base-born Murray rode 
Thro’ old Linlithgow’s crowded town. 
*¢ From the wide border’s humbled side, 
In haughty triumph, marched he, 
While Knox relax’d his bigot pride, 
And smil’d, the traitorous pomp to see. 
** But, can stern Power, with all his vaunt, 
Or Pomp, with all her courtly glare, 
The settled heart of Vengeance daunt, 
Or ’change the purpose of Despair ? 
*¢ With hackbut bent,+ my secret stand, 
Dark as the purpos’d deed I chose, 
And mark’d, where, mingling in his band, 
Troop’d Scottish pikes and English bows. 
74 Dark 
* Selle, saddle. A word used by Spenser and other ancient authors. ; 
+ Hackbut bent—gun cocked, 
Vor. XLY. 30 
