The poetical works of Sir Walter Scott ... Notes & life of the author.

Lacks there such charnel?-kill a slave,
Or pris'ner, on the treasure grave;
And. bid, his discontented ghost
Stalk nightly on his lonely post.Such was his tale. Its truth, I ween
s in my mornling vision seen."-=
XIx.
IVilfrid, who scorn'd the legend wild,
In mingled mirth and pity smil'd,'Iuch marv'lli-ng that a breast so bold
In such fond tale belief' should hold;
But yet of Bertram sought to know'he apparition's form and show.-==
the pow'r within the guilty breast,
O)ft vanquish'd, never quite suppress'd,
That unsubdued and lurking lies
To take the felon by surprise,
And force him, as by magic spell
an his despite his guilt to tell,That pow'r in Bertram's breast awoke;
Scarce conscious he was heard, he spoke:
1"'Twas Mortham's form, from foot to head!
His morion, with the plume of red,
His shape, his mien-'twas Mortham, right
As when I slew him in the fight.""4Thou slay him? —thou?" —- With conscious start
Hieheard, then mann'd his haughty heart"I slew him?-I!-I had forget
Thou, stripling, knew'st not of the plot
But it is spoken-nor will I
Deed done, or spoken word, deny.
K slew him; I fbor thankless pride; —'Twas by this hand that Mortham died."
Wilfrid, of gentle hand and hearts
Averse to every active part,
But most averse to martial broil,
From danger shrunk, and turn'd from toil;
Yet the meek lover of the lyle
Nurs'd one brave spark of noble fire;
Against inustice, fraud, or wrong,
Hiis blood beat high, his hand wax'd strong.
Not his the nerves that could sustain
Unshaken, danger. toil, and pain;
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