Interlude before King Edward's Dream

Scarce had the closing measure rung,
When from the ring the minstrel sprung,
O'er foot of maid, and cane of man,
Three times he foundered as he ran,
And his gilt harp, of flowery frame,
Left ready for the next that came.

Loud were the plaudits, — all the fair
Their eyes turned to the royal chair :
They looked again, — no bard was there !
But whisper, smile, and question ran,
Around the ring anent the man !
While all the nobles of the south
Lauded the generous stranger youth.

The next was bred on southern shore,
Beneath the mists of Lammermore;
And long, by Nith and crystal Tweed,
Had taught the Border youth to read:
The strains of Greece, the bard of Troy,
Were all his theme, and all his joy.

Well toned his voice of wars to sing ;
His hair was dark as raven's wing ;
His eye an intellectual lance ;
No heart could bear its searching glance :
But every bard to him was dear ;
His heart was kind, his soul sincere.

When first of Royal Wake he heard,
Forthwith it chained his sole regard :
It was his thought, his hourly theme,
His morning prayer, his midnight dream.
Knights, dames, and squires of each degree,
He deemed as fond of songs as he,
And talked of them continually.
But when he heard the Highland strain,
Scarce could his breast his soul contain ;
'Twas all unequaled, and would make
Immortal Bards ! immortal Wake !

About Dunedin streets he ran,
Each knight he met, each maid, each man,
In field, in alley, tower, or hall,
The Wake was first, the Wake was all.

Alike to him the south or north,
So high he held the minstrel worth,
So high his ardent mind was wrought,
Once of himself he scarcely thought.
Dear to his heart the strain sublime,
The strain admired in ancient time ;
And of his minstrel honours proud,
He strung his harp too high, too loud.