The lady blush'd red, but nothing she said;
Nor added the Baron a word:
Then she stepp'd down the stair to her chamber fair,
And so did her moody lord.
In sleep the lady mourn'd, and the Baron toss'd and turn'd,
And oft to himself he said—
"The worms around him creep, and his bloody grave is deep.....
It cannot give up the dead!"
It was near the ringing of matin-bell,
The night was well nigh done,
When a heavy sleep on that Baron fell,
On the eve of good St John.
The lady looked through the chamber fair,
By the light of a dying flame;
And she was aware of a knight stood there—
Sir Richard of Coldinghame!
"Alas! away, away!" she cried,
"For the holy Virgin's sake!"
"Lady, I know who sleeps by thy side;
But, lady, he will not awake.
"By Eildon-tree, for long nights three,
"In bloody grave have I lain;
"The mass and the death-prayer are said for me,
"But, lady, they are said in vain.
"By the Baron's brand, near Tweed's fair strand,
"Most foully slain I fell;
"And my restless sprite on the beacon's height,
"For a space is doom'd to dwell.
"At our trysting-place,[61] for a certain space,
"I must wander to and fro;
"But I had not had power to come to thy bower,
"Had'st thou not conjured me so."
Love master'd fear—her brow she crossed;
"How, Richard, hast thou sped?
"And art thou saved, or art thou lost?"
The Vision shook his head!
"Who spilleth life, shall forfeit life;
"So bid thy lord believe:
"That lawless love is guilt above,
"This awful sign receive."