Fair Margaret’s Bower - Canto The Third Poem by Robert Anderson

``Sir Hugh! Fair Margaret! Sir Hugh!''
The servants call around;
In vain, Fair Margaret, Sir Hugh,
Around the servants loudly call,
Deep echo round each ivied wall,
Did only mock the sound.

``Where goest thou, little trembling page?
Pale is thy face, what aileth thee?
Why dost thou weep? Speak quickly, page?''
He sighing said, ``Ah! follow me!''

He led them to his lady's Bower,
And first they saw a milk--white horse;
And next, they saw a faded flower
Embrace her lover's stiffen'd corse:
Sad was the sight, each shrunk to view
Fair Margaret slain,
Alas! what pain
'Twill cause her father, proud Sir Hugh!

His bowmen on Sir Edward call,
And mourn along the glen;
The maidens from the gilded hall,
Now on the highest castle wall,
Look and sigh, but all in vain.

Weep, weep, ye hardy bowmen bold;
Mourn, mourn, along the glen;
Ye maidens, quit the castle wall,
Go hang with black the gilded hall;
Your master's manly form is cold,
And long with sorrow 'twill be told,
How all untimely he was slain.

The trusty band range thro' the wood,
And careful seek the gloomy dale;
Now sound in vain the dark deep flood,
Now eye the far extended vale,
Then search the forest thro';
When 'neath a wither'd pine tree stood
The murderer, Sir Hugh.

``Oh! misery! Oh! misery!
No happiness is left for me!''

``What ho! Who's he that moans so loud?
What ails thee? Say, thou baron proud?
Thy face is wan and thin!
Thy teeth they chatter, eyes are sunk,
Thy body from they garb is shrunk!
Who art thou? say?
A--well--a--day!
Thy bones have cut the skin!''

``Oh! misery! Oh! misery!
Sir Edward's murderer you see!''

``O mercy! Canst thou hope for rest?
No! no! Hell rages in thy breast!
Soon wither'd be thy coward arm,
That slew a knight so bold;
And nipt Northumbria's fairest flower,
A maid possest of every charm--
Thy daughter, wretch, lies cold,
Near her own Bower!''

``Oh! misery! Oh! misery!
One hellish deed has ruin'd me!''

``Speak, man of guilt, and say,
Dost see his ghost ride on the storm?
Or thy fair daughter's saint--like form?
Yes! yes! and conscience, gnawing worm,
On thee doth keenly prey!''

``Oh! misery! Oh! misery!
There is no hope, alas! for me!''

``Thou tremblest, now thine eye--balls roll;
Methinks we see the sinner die:
Peace, murderer, to thy troubled soul!
The ravens smell thy carcase foul,
But screaming from thee fly!''

``Oh! misery! Oh! misery!
The grave can give no rest to me!''

``For thee, no one will dig a grave!
For thee, no one will wail or weep!
No grass will o'er that body wave,
Base murderer of the good and brave!
Still far, far from thy whiten'd bones,
That moulder mid' the heath's grey stones,
The traveller will keep:
And babes unborn their babes will tell
The deed of base Sir Hugh;
How by thy arm Sir Edward fell:
And hoary minstrels in the hall,
Or near the ivied castle wall,
Will strike the string, and curse the hour,
And loudly sing of Margaret's Bower--
Thou man of guilt, adieu!''