Francis T. Palgrave, ed. (1824–1897). The Golden Treasury. 1875.Sir Walter Scott CCXXXVI. Rosabelle
No haughty feat of arms I tell;
Soft is the note and sad the lay
That mourns the lovely Rosabelle.
And, gentle ladye, deign to stay!
Rest thee in Castle Ravensheuch,
Nor tempt the stormy firth to-day.
To inch and rock the sea-mews fly;
The fishers have heard the water-sprite,
Whose screams forebode that wreck is nigh.
A wet shroud swathed round ladye gay;
Then stay thee, Fair, in Ravensheuch;
Why cross the gloomy firth to-day?”
To-night at Roslin leads the ball,
But that my ladye-mother there
Sits lonely in her castle-hall.
And Lindesay at the ring rides well,
But that my sire the wine will chide
If ’tis not fill’d by Rosabelle.”
A wondrous blaze was seen to gleam;
’Twas broader than the watch-fire’s light,
And redder than the bright moonbeam.
It ruddied all the copsewood glen;
’Twas seen from Dryden’s groves of oak,
And seen from cavern’d Hawthornden.
Where Roslin’s chiefs uncoffin’d lie,
Each baron, for a sable shroud,
Sheath’d in his iron panoply.
Deep sacristy and altar’s pale;
Shone every pillar foliage-bound,
And glimmer’d all the dead men’s mail.
Blazed every rose-carved buttress fair—
So still they blaze, when fate is nigh
The lordly line of high Saint Clair.
Lie buried within that proud chapelle;
Each one the holy vault doth hold—
But the sea holds lovely Rosabelle.
With candle, with book, and with knell;
But the sea-caves rung and the wild winds sung
The dirge of lovely Rosabelle.