Sir Richard of Coldinghame.”—
The bold Baron’s brow then changed, I trow,
From high blood-red to pale—
“The grave is deep and dark—and the corpse is stiff and stark—
So I may not trust thy tale.
“Where fair Tweed flows round holy Melrose,
And Eildon slopes to the plain,
Full three nights ago, by some secret foe,
That gay gallant was slain.