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When that dark castle, tower, and spire,
And redden'd all the Nine-stane Hill,
Made the warrior's heart-blood chill!
And ride to Lyulph's tow'r,
Greet well that sage of pow'r.
VII. The faithful
he mounts his stead, And soon he cross'd green Irthing's mead, Dash'd o'er Kirkoswald's verdant plain, And Eden barr'd bis course in vain. He pass'd red Penrith's Table Round, For feats of chivalry renown'd, Left Mayburgh's mound and stones of pow'r, By druids raised in magic hour, And traced the Eamont's winding way, Till Ulfo's lake beneath him lay.
He saw the druid sage :
A cushion fit for age ;
Then sprung young Henry from his selle,
To greet the prophet grave,-
his answer gave.
WALTER SCOTT, Esq.
Quid dignum memorare tuis, Hispania, terris, Vox humana valet !.