Now brave Sir Delaval's penance was done,
He homeward sought his way,

From the battle plain, across the main,
To fair England's welcome bay;

To see his lone bride to the north he hied,
Withouten stop or stay.

Once more is merrie the border land,
Hark! through the midnight gale
The bagpipes again play a wassail strain,
Round round flies the joyous tale :
Many a joke of the friar's poke
Is passed o'er hill and dale.

The Ladye Delaval once more smiled,
And sang to her wean on her knee,
And prayed her knight in fond delight
While he held her lovinglie:

Nor grieved he more of his dolours sore,
Tho' stripped of land and fee.

At Warkworth castle which proudly looks
O'er the stormy northern main,
The Percy greeted the Border knight,
With his merriest minstrel strain :
Thronged was the hall with nobles all,
To welcome the knight again.

Now at this day while years roll on,
And the knight doth coldly lie,
A stone doth stand on the silent land,
To tellen the strangers nigh,

That a horrid deede for a pig his hede
Did thence to heavenward cry.

[This ballad was written by Matthew Gregory Lewis, the well-known author of The Monk,' and other tales and ballads of the wild and marvellous; and first appeared in his Romantic Tales,' London, 1808, 12mo. It is founded,' he says, upon a tradition current in Northumberland. Indeed, an adventure nearly similar to Sir Guy's, is said to have taken place in various parts of Great Britain, particularly on the Pentland Hills, in Scotland, (where the prisoners are supposed to be King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table,) and in Lancashire, where an ale-house near Chorley still exhibits the sign of a Sir John Stanley following an old man with a torch, while his horse starts back in terror at the objects, which are discovered through two immense iron gates-the ale-house is known by the name of the Iron Gates,' which are supposed to protect the entrance of an enchanted cavern in the neighbourhood. The female captive, I believe, is peculiar to Dunstanburgh Castle; and certain thining stones, which are occasionally found in its neighbourhood, and which are called Dunstanburgh Diamonds,' are supposed by the peasants to form part of that immense treasure, with which the Lady will reward her deliverer. With regard to the castle itself, the interest attaching to it is by no means lessened by the circumstance of the ballad having been written in its neighbourhood, during Mr. Lewis' residence at Howick, the seat of Earl Grey; to whose ancestor, Sir William Grey, it was granted by James the First. The Rumble Churn is a vortex immediately below the eminence on which the ruins stand, and so called from the noise made by the breaking of the waves against the rocks.]

IKE those in the head of a man just dead

Are his eyes, and his beard's like snow; But when here he came, his glance was a flame,

And his locks seemed the plumes of the crow

Since then are o'er forty summers and more ;
Yet he still near the castle remains,
And pines for a sight of that lady bright,
Who wears the wizard's chains.

Nor sun nor snow from the ruins to go
Can force that aged wight;

And still the pile, hall, chapel, and aisle,
He searches day and night:

But find can he ne'er the winding stair,
Which he past that beauty to see,
Whom spells enthrall in the haunted hall,
Where none but once may be.

That once, regret will not let him forget!—
'Twas night, and pelting showers

Did patter and splash, when the lightning's flash
Showed Dunstanburgh's grey towers.

Raised high on a mound that castle frowned
In ruined pagean-trie;

And where to the north did rocks jut forth,
Its towers hung o'er the sea.

Proud they stood, and darkened the flood;
For the cliffs were so rugged and steep,
Had a plummet been dropt from their summit unstopt
That plummet had reached the deep.

Nor flower there grew; nor tree e'er drew
Its nurture from that ground;

Save a lonely yew, whose branches threw
Their baleful shade around.

Loud was the roar on that sounding shore:
Yet still could the Knight discern,
Louder than all, the swell and the fall
Of the bellowing Rumble Churn!

With strange turmoil did it bubble and boil,
And echo from place to place;

So strong was its dash, and so high did it splash,
That it washt the castle's base:

The spray, as it broke, appeared like smoke
From a sea-volcano pouring;

And still did it rumble, and grumble, and tumble,

Up the hill Sir Guy made his courser fly,
And hoped, from the wind and the rain,
That he there should find some refuge kind;
But he sought it long in vain ;

For fast and hard each portal was barred,
And against his efforts proof;

Till at length he espied a porch spread wide
The shelter of its roof.

-'Gramercy, St. George!' quoth glad Sir Guy,
And sought the porch with speed;
And fast to the which near it grew,

yew,

He bound his Barbary steed;

And safety found on that sheltered ground
From the sky's increasing gloom;

From his brow he took his casque, and he shook
The rain off, that burthened its plume.

Then long he stood in mournful mood,

With listless sullen air,

Propt on his lance, and with indolent glance
Watcht the red lightning's glare;

And sadly listened to the shower,
On the clattering roof that fell;
And counted twice the lonely hour,
Tolled by some distant bell.

But scarce that bell could midnight tell,
When louder roared the thunder,

And the bolt so red whizzed by his head,

And burst the gates asunder.

And, lo! through the dark a glimmering spark He espied of lurid blue;

Onward it came, and a form all flame

Soon struck his wondering view!

'Twas an ancient man of visage wan,

Gigantic was his height;

And his breast below there was seen to flow
A beard of grizzled white :

And flames o'er-spread his hairless head,
And down his beard they streamed;

And in his hand a radiant wand

Of darkest grain, with flowing train,
A wondrous robe he wore,

With many a charm, to work man's harm,
In fire embroidered o'er ;

And this robe was bound his waste around
With a triple chain red-hot!—

And still came nigher that phantom of fire,
Till he reacht the self-same spot,

Where stood Sir Guy, while his hair bristled high,
And his breath he scarce could draw ;
And he crost his breast, for, I wot, he guesst,
'Twas Belzebub's self that he saw !

And full on the Knight that ghastly wight
Fixt his green and glassy eyes;

And he clanked his chain, and he howled with pain,
Ere his words were heard to rise.

-Sir Knight, Sir Knight! if your heart be right,
And your nerves be firm and true,

Sir Knight, Sir Knight! a beauty bright

In durance waits for you.

But, Sir Knight, Sir Knight! if you ever knew fright, That Dame forbear to view;

Or, Sir Knight, Sir Knight! that you feasted your sight, While you live, you'll sorely rue!'

-That mortal ne'er drew vital air,

Who witnessed fear in me :

Come what come will, come good, come ill,

Lead on! I'll follow thee!"

And now they go both high and low,
Above and under ground,

And in and out, and about and about,

And round, and round, and round!

The storm is husht, and lets them hear
The owlet's boding screech,

As now through many a passage drear
A winding stair they reach.

With beckoning hand, which flamed like a brand,

Still on the Wizard led;

And well could Sir Guy hear a sob and a sigh,