The Quair. 225 



" From Flodden ridge 



The Scots beheld the English host 



Leave Barmore-wood, their evening post, 



And heedful watch'd them as they cross'd 

 The Till by Twisel Bridge. 



High sight it is, and haughty, while 



They dive into the deep defile ; 



Beneath the cavern'd cliff they fall, 



Beneath the castle's airy wall. 

 By rock, by oak, by hawthorn-tree, 



Troop after troop are disappearing ; 



Troop after troop their banners rearing, 

 Upon the eastern bank you see. 

 Still pouring down the rocky den, 



Where flows the sullen Till, 

 And rising from the dim-wood glen, 

 Standards on standards, men on men, 



In slow succession still, 

 And, sweeping o'er the Gothic arch, 

 And pressing on, in ceaseless march, 



To gain the opposing hill. 

 That morn, to many a trumpet clang, 

 Twisel ! thy rock's deep echo rang ; 

 And many a chief of birth and rank, 

 Saint Helen ! at thy fountain drank. 

 Thy hawthorn glade, which now we see 

 In spring-tide bloom so lavishly, 

 Had then from many an axe its doom, 

 To give the marching columns room." 



As to Quair, it is surrounded by associations more 

 gently sad and sweet — touching, pathetic, and yet 

 pleasing. It is the symbol of love and wooing and 

 regretful memories of pure passion defeated or ele- 

 vated through disappointment and ill. Professor Veitch 

 has well apostrophised it : — 



Come, gentle Quair, thou dear loved stream of song ! 

 Long consecrate to passion's bootless prayer ; 

 By thee Love's hope has dawned and dwined and died, 

 From 'mid the spring, when tender birken boughs 



' P 



