me makes old;
The wattles have rotted while she was growing,
The wind is up and the waters rowing,
And to keep her feet she must use her hand.
"Come back! come back!" was the baron's command,
Too late!--go wattles--a piercing scream!
And the maid falls into the roaring stream!
Round and round, in eddying whirl,
Who shall save the perishing girl?
Round and round, and down and away,
Nothing to grasp, and nothing to stay.
The baron stands fixed and wrings his hands,
And looks to Sir Hubert, who trembling stands.
Sir Hubert! one moment now is thine--
The next! and a power no less than divine
Can save this maid of so many charms
From the grasp of Death's enfolding arms.
Spring! spring! Sir Hubert, the moment is thine
To save a life, and a love to win.
No! no! the dastard kestrel kite
Aye hugs the earth in his stealthy flight.
Hope gone! the pool at the otter's cave
Will prove the Ladye Tomasine's grave.
Ho! ho! see yonder comes rushing down
A lithe young hind, though a simple clown--
Off bonnet and shoes, and coat and vest,
A plunge! and he holds her round the waist!
Three strokes of his arm, with his beautiful prize
All safe, although faint, on the bank she lies!
A cottager's wife came running down,
"Take care of the ladye," said the clown.
He has donned his clothes, and away he has gone,
His name unuttered, his home unknown.

IV.

Up in the ancient Castle of Weir
Sat the baron, the knight, and the fair Tomasine;
And the baron he looked at his daughter dear,
While the salt tears bleared his aged eyne;
And then to the steward, with hat in hand:
"Make known unto all, from Tweed to Tyne,
A hundred rose nobles I'll give to the man
Who saved the life of my Tomasine."
Sir Hubert cried out, in an envious vein,
"Who is he that will vouch for the lurdan loon?
There's no one to say he would know him again,
And another may claim the golden boon."
Then said the ladye, "My eyes were closed,
And I never did see this wondrous man;
And the cottar woman she hath deposed
He was gone ere his features she could scan."
"Ho!" cried the baron, "I watched him then,
As I stood on the opposite bank afeared;
Of a hundred men I would ken him again,
Though he were to doff his dun-brown beard."

A year has passed at the Castle of Weir,
Yet no one has claimed the golden don;
Most wonderful thing to tell or to hear!
Was he of flesh and blood and bone?
Though golden nobles might not him wile,
Was there not something more benign?