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When that dark castle, tower, and spire,
Rose to the skies a pile of fire,

And redden'd all the Nine-stane Hill,
And the shrieks of death, that wildly broke
Through devouring fame and smothering smoke,

Made the warrior's heart-blood chill!
The trustiest thou of all my train,
My fleetest courser thou must rein,

And ride to Lyulph's tow'r,
And from the baron of Triermain

Greet well that sage of pow'r.
He is sprung from druid sires,
And British bards that tuned their lyres
To Arthur's and Pendragon's praise,
And his who sleeps at Dunmailraise.
Gifted like his gifted race,
He the characters can trace,
Graven deep in elder time
Upon Helvellyn's cliffs sublime ;
Sign and sigil well doth he know,
And can bode of weal and woe,
Of kingdoms' fall, and fate of wars,
From mystic dreams and course of stars.
He shall tell me if nether earth
To that enchanting shape gave birth,
Or if 'twas but an airy thing
Such as fantastic slumbers bring,
Fram'd from the rain-bow's varying dyes,
Or fading tints of western skies.
For, by the blessed rood I swear,
If that fair form breathes vital air,
No other maiden by my side
Shall ever rest De Vaux's bride !"-

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.

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VIII.
Onwards he rode, the path-way still
Winding betwixt the lake and' hill ;
Till on the fragment of a rock,
Struck from its base by lightning shock,

He saw the druid sage :
The silver moss and lichen twined,
With the red deer-hair check'd and lined,

A cushion fit for age ;
And o'er him shook the aspin tree,
A restless rustling canopy:

Then sprung young Henry from his selle,

To greet the prophet grave,-
But, ere his errand he could tell,
The
sage

his answer gave.

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THE

VISION

OF

DON RODERICK;

A POEM.

BY

WALTER SCOTT, Esq.

Quid dignum memorare tuis, Hispania, terris, Vox humana valet !.

-CLAUDIAN.

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