Wyseby

OF THE FIRST IRVINGS. 21
shoulders by a leathern belt, the badge of his profes-
sion, a huge harp. He was a strange-looking man
that minstrel ! Through his grey hair brilliantly
shone his large eyes as he entered the hall. Was it
the divine light of inspiration blazing there ? It
passed away.
" Chief," said the minstrel.
Why starts Catharine ? Why that flush on her
cheek — on her brow ? Why gazes she so earnestly
on that old man ? A moment she gazed — then slowly
turned away ; the flush left her cheek — her brow.
They grew pale ; her eyes dwelt on vacancy.
" Chief," said the minstrel, " thanks for thy timely
hospitality. If that fair maiden's ear, and thine, can
brook the rude lays of an aged minstrel, willingly
would I waken at your 'hest the voice of Border song.
" Thanks," cried the chief. " Sister," continued
he, turning to Catharine, w that lay which we heard
last night floating from the cave, still rings in mine
ear. Minstrel, heardest thou ever in thy wandering
of the Lay of Lord Walter the Bold ? "
The old man bowed, flung his fingers carelessly
amid the strings of his harp, and, in a voice powerful
for one of his years, sung the following wild chaunt : —
THE LAY OF LORD WALTER THE BOLD.
Lo ! the banner that flashed in the eye of the morn,
At the close of the evening lies trampled and torn ;
The warriors are scattered— quick, quick is their flight.
As the voice of the storm through the bosom of night
On his gallant black steed dashed Lord Walter the Bold,
And the fierce lightning stream'd, and the deep thunder roll'd ;
But he heeded not these ; on the wings of the wind
Came the shout of the foemen that followed behind :