Page:Marmion - Walter Scott (ed. Bayne, 1889).pdf/180

Her stately prose, her verse's charms,
To hear the clash of rusty arms:
In Fairy Land or Limbo lost,
140To jostle conjurer and ghost,
Goblin and witch!'—Nay, Heber dear,
Before you touch my charter, hear;
Though Leyden aids, alas! no more,
My cause with many-languaged lore,
145This may I say:—in realms of death
Ulysses meets Alcides' wraith;
Aeneas, upon Thracia's shore,
The ghost of murder'd Polydore;
For omens, we in Livy cross,
150At every turn, locutus Bos.
As grave and duly speaks that ox,
As if he told the price of stocks;
Or held, in Rome republican,
The place of Common-councilman.

155 All nations have their omens drear,
Their legends wild of woe and fear.
To Cambria look—the peasant see,
Bethink him of Glendowerdy,
And shun 'the Spirit's Blasted Tree.'
160The Highlander, whose red claymore
The battle turn'd on Maida's shore,
Will, on a Friday morn, look pale,
If ask'd to tell a fairy tale:
He fears the vengeful Elfin King,
165Who leaves that day his grassy ring:
Invisible to human ken,
He walks among the sons of men.

 Did'st e'er, dear Heber, pass along
Beneath the towers of Franchémont,
170Which, like an eagle's nest in air,
Hang o'er the stream and hamlet fair?
Deep in their vaults, the peasants say,
A mighty treasure buried lay,