University of Virginia Library

previous section Legends of the isles and Highland Gatherings
next section
68

LORD NITHSDALE'S DREAM IN THE TOWER OF LONDON.

[_]

[In the notes to Cromek's Remains of Nithsdale and Galloway Song will be found the full particulars of Lord Nithsdale's escape narrated in the simple and touching language of Winifred Lady Nithsdale, in a letter to her sister.]

I

“Farewell to thee, Winifred, dearest and best!
Farewell to thee, wife of a courage so high!
Come hither, and nestle again in my breast,
Come hither, and kiss me again ere I die!
And when I am laid bleeding and low in the dust,
And yield my last breath at a tyrant's decree,
Look up—be resign'd—and the God of the just
Will shelter thy fatherless children and thee.”

II

She wept on his breast, but, ashamed of her fears,
She dash'd off the drops that ran warm down her cheek—
“Be sorrow for those who have leisure for tears,
Oh, pardon thy wife, that her soul was so weak!
There is hope for us still, and I will not despair,
Though cowards and traitors exult at thy fate;
I'll show the oppressors what woman can dare—
I'll show them that love can be stronger than hate.”
69

III

Lip to lip—heart to heart—and their fond arms entwined—
He has clasp'd her again, and again, and again;—
“Farewell to thee, Winifred, pride of thy kind,
Sole ray in my darkness—sole joy in my pain.”
She has gone! He has heard the last sound of her tread—
He has caught the last glimpse of her robes at the door
She has gone! and the joy that her presence had shed,
Will cheer the sad heart of Lord Nithsdale no more.

IV

The prisoner pray'd in his dungeon alone,
And thought of the morn and its dreadful array;
Then rested his head on his pillow of stone,
And slumber'd an hour ere the dawning of day.
Oh, balm of the weary!—oh, soother of pain!
That still to the sad givest pity and dole,
How gently, O Sleep, lay thy wings on his brain!
How sweet were thy dreams to his desolate soul!

V

Once more on his green native braes of the Nith
He plucked the wild breckan, a frolicsome boy;
He sported his limbs in the waves of the frith;
He trod the green heather in gladness and joy;
70

On his gallant gray steed to the hunting he rode—
In his bonnet a plume, on his bosom a star—
And chased the red-deer to its mountain abode,
And track'd the wild roe to its covert afar.

VI

The vision has changed;—in a midsummer night
He roam'd with his Winifred blooming and young;
He gazed on her face by the moon's mellow light,
And loving and warm were the words on his tongue;
Through good and through evil he swore to be true,
And love through all fortune his Winnie alone—
And he saw the red blush o'er her cheek as it flew,
And heard her sweet voice that replied to his own.

VII

Once more it has changed; in his martial array
Lo! he rode at the head of his gallant young men,
For the pilroch was heard on the hills far away,
And the clans were all gathered from mountain and glen.
For the darling of Scotland, their exile adored;
They raised the loud slogan—they rushed to the strife,
Unfurl'd was the banner—unsheathed was the sword,
For the cause of their heart, that was dearer than life.
71

VIII

Again—and the vision was lost to his sight;
But the phantom that followed was darksome and dread—
The morn of his doom had succeeded the night,
And a priest by his side said the prayers for the dead.
He heard the dull sound of the slow muffled drum,
And the hoarse sullen boom of the death-tolling bell.
The block was prepared and the headsman had come,
And the victim, bareheaded, walked forth from his cell.

IX

No! no! 'twas but fancy—his hour was not yet—
And, waking, he turned on his pallet of straw,
And a form by his side he could never forget,
By the pale misty light of a taper he saw;—
“'Tis I—'tis thy Winifred!”—softly she said,
“Arouse thee, and follow—be bold—never fear;
There was danger abroad, but my errand has sped—
I promised to save thee, and lo—I am here!”

X

He rose at the summons; but little they spoke;—
The gear of a lady she placed on his head;
She covered his limbs with a womanly cloak,
And painted his cheeks of a maidenly red.
“One kiss, my dear lord—and begone—and beware—
Walk softly—I follow! O! guide us and save
From the open assault, from the intricate snare,
Thou Providence, friend of the suffering brave!”
72

XI

They passed unsuspected the guard at the cell,
And the sentinels weary that watched at the gate;
One danger remained—but they conquer'd it well—
Another—and Love triumphed still over Hate.
And long ere the morning, their ship was at sea,
Sailing down with fair winds, far away from the shore,
To the land of the Gaul, where their hearts might be free,
And the quarrels of monarchs disturb them no more.
previous section Legends of the isles and Highland Gatherings
next section