Page:Traditional Tales of the English and Scottish Peasantry - 1887.djvu/215

Rh The blue heaven above, and below the green earth,

Seem proud of his presence, and burst into mirth.

Then come, thou proud fair one, in meek modest mood—

The bridal bed's ready—unloosen thy snood!

The bridal bed's ready; but hearken, high lord!

Though strong be thy right arm, and sharp be thy sword,

Mock not Beatrice Maxwell! else there shall be sorrow

Through Helvellyn's valleys, ere sunrise to morrow:

Away, haste away! Can a gallant groom falter

When the bridal wine's poured and the bride's at the altar!

"During this minstrel salutation the barge floated into the bosom of Preston Bay; and through all its woody links and greenwood nooks the song sounded mellow and more mellow, as it was flung from point to point over the sunny water. The barge soon approached the greensward, which, sloping downwards from the Hall, bordering with its livelier hue the dull deep green of the ocean, presented a ready landing-place. When we were within a lance's length of the shore there appeared, coming towards us from a deep grove of holly, a female figure, attired in the manner of the farmer matrons of Scotland—with a small plaid, or mantle, fastened over her grey lint-and-woollen gown, and a white cap, or mutch, surmounting, rather than covering, a profusion of lyart locks which came over her brow and neck, like remains of winter snow. She aided her steps with a staff, and descending to the prow of the barge, till the sea touched her feet, stretched her staff seaward, and said, with a deep voice and an unembarrassed tone: 'What wouldest thou, William Forster, the doomed son of a doomed house, with Beatrice Maxwell, the blessed child of a house whose name shall live, and whose children shall breathe, while green woods grow and clear streams run? Return as thou camest, nor touch a shore hostile to thee and thine. If thy foot displaces but one blade of grass, thy life will be as brief as the endurance of thy name, which that giddy boy is even now writing on the sand within sea-mark—the next tide will pass over thee, and blot it out for ever and for ever! Thy father, even now watching thy course from his castle-top, shall soon cease to be the warder of his house's destiny; and the Cumberland boor, as he gazes into the bosom of the Solway, shall sigh for the ancient and valiant name of Forster.'

"While this singular speech was uttering I gazed on the