Interlude after Kilmeny

He ceased ; and all with kind concern
Blessed in their hearts the bard of Ern.

But that the chill and piercing air,
The pallid hue of ladies fair,
The hidden yawn, and drumbly eye,
Loudly announced the morning nigh :
Beckoned the Queen with courteous smile,
And breathless silence gazed the while : —
" I hold it best, my lords," she said,
" For knight, for dame, and lovely maid,
At wassail, wake, or revel hall,
To part before the senses pall.
Sweet though the draught of pleasure be,
Why should we drain it to the lee ?
Though there the minstrel's fancy play,
Light as the breeze of summer day ;
Though here in solemn cadence flow,
Smooth as the night-wind o'er the snow ;
Now bound away with rolling sweep,
Like tempest o'er the raving deep :
High on the mornings golden screen,
Or casemate of the rainbow lean ; —
Such beauties were in vain prolonged,
The soul is cloyed, the minstrel wronged.

" Loud is the morning blast and chill,
The snow-drift speeds along the hill ;
Let ladies of the storm beware,
And knights of ladies take a care ;
From lanes and alleys guard them well,
Where lurking ghost or sprite may dwell ;
But most avoid the dazzling flare,
And spirit of the morning air ;
Hide from their eyes that hideous form,
The ruthless angel of the storm.
I wish, for every gallant's sake —
That none may rue our Royal Wake- —
I wish what most his heart approves,
And every lady what she loves, —
Sweet be her sleep on bed of down,
And pleasing be her dreams till noon.
And when you hear the bugle's strain,
I hope to see you all again." —
Whether the Queen to fear inclined,
Or spoke to cheer the minstrel's mind,
Certes, she spoke with meaning leer,
And ladies smiled her words to hear.
Yet, though the dawn of morning shone,
No lady from that night-wake gone,
Not even the queen, durst sleep alone.

And scarce had Sleep, with throb and sigh,
O'er breast of snow, and moistened eye,
Outspread his shadowy canopy,
When every fervid female mind,
Or sailed with witches on the wind,
In Carlisle drank the potent wine,
Or floated on the foamy brine.

Some strove the land of thought to win,
Impelled by hope, withstood by sin ;
And some with angry spirit stood
By lonely stream, or pathless wood.

And oft was heard the broken sigh,
The half-formed prayer, and smothered cry :
So much the minds of old and young
Were moved by what the minstrels sung.

What Lady Gordon did or said
Could not be learned from lady's maid,
And Huntly swore and shook his head :
But she and all her buskined train
Appeared not at the Wake again.