Page:The Poetical Works of Sir Walter Scott, Bart.djvu/730

O where is Isolde's lilye hand,
 And where her soothing tongue?

She comes, she comes!—like flash of flame
 Can lovers' footsteps fly:
She comes, she comes!—she only came
 To see her Tristrem die.

She saw him die: her latest sigh
 Joined in a kiss his parting breath:
The gentlest pair that Britain bare,
 United are in death.

There paused the harp; its lingering sound
 Died slowly on the ear;
The silent guests still bent around,
 For still they seemed to hear.

Then woe broke forth in murmurs weak
 Nor ladies heaved alone the sigh;
But, half ashamed, the rugged cheek
 Did many a gauntlet dry.

On Leader's stream, and Learmont's tower,
 The mists of evening close;
In camp, in castle, or in bower
 Each warrior sought repose.

Lord Douglas in his lofty tent,
 Dreamed o'er the woeful tale;
When footsteps light, across the bent,
 The warrior's ears assail.

He starts, he wakes:—What, Richard, ho!
 Arise, my page, arise!
What venturous wight, at dead of night,
 Dare step where Douglas lies?"

Then forth they rushed: by Leader's tide,
 A selcouth^[1] sight they see—
A hart and hind pace side by side,
 As white as snow on Fairnalie.

Beneath the moon, with gesture proud,
 They stately move and slow;
Nor scare they at the gathering crowd,
 Who marvel as they go.

To Learmont's tower a message sped,
 As fast as page might run;
And Thomas started from his bed,
 And soon his clothes did on.

First he woxe pale, and then woxe red;
 Never a word he spake but three;—

1. Wondrous.