Sir Peregrine's fury o'ershot his aim:
His sword breaks through--his arm is maim!
With nothing to wield, with nothing to ward.
No word of mercy or quarter heard;
With a breast-wound deep as his heart he lies,
A look of scorn--Sir Peregrine dies.
Behind the crumbling walls of Eaglestein,
The tomb of the old Yerls may still be seen,
And there long mouldering lay close side by side,
Sir Peregrine the bold and his fair bride;
Their ashes scattered now and blown away,
As thine and mine will be some coming day.
This world is surely an enchanted theme,
A thing of seims and shows--a wild fantastic dream.
III.
THE LEGEND OF ALLERLEY HALL.
The tower-bell has sounded the midnight hour,
Old Night has unfolded her sable pall,
Darkness o'er hamlet, darkness o'er hall,
Loud screams the raven on Allerley Tower;[A]
A glimmering gleam from yon casement high
Is all that is seen by the passer-by.
[Footnote A: In Ayrshire, as I have heard, but I know of no
trace of the family. The old distich may be traced to some other
county:
"The Allerley oak stands high, abune trees;
When the raven croaks there, an Allerley dees."
Such rhymes have generally something to rest upon, but I cannot
associate this with any county, far less a family.]
All things are neglected, time-smitten there,
Crazy and cobwebbed, mildewed and worn,
Moth-eaten, weeviled, dusty, forlorn,
Everything owning to waning and wear;
From the baron's hall to the lady's bower
NEGLECT is the watchword in Allerley Tower.
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