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

442 MOMAS tHt RAYtME.
Nor goblets of the blood-red wine,
Nor mantling quaighs* of ale.
True Thomas rose with harp in hand,.
When as the feast was done;
(In minstrel strife, in Fairy Land,
The elfin harp he won.)
Hush'd were the throng, both limb and bbngue,
And harpers for envy pale;
And armed lords lean'd on their swords,
And hearken'd to the tale.
In numbers high, the witching tale
The prophet pour'd along;
No after bard might e'er avail
Those numbers to prolong.
Yet fragments of the lofty strain
Float down the tide of years,
As, buoyant on the stormy main,
A parted wreck appears.
He sung King Arthur's table round:
The warrior of the lake;
How courteous Gawaine met the wound,
And bled for ladies' sake.
But chief, in gentle Tristrem's praise,
The notes melodious swell;
Was none excell'd in Arthur's days,
The knight of Lionelle.
For Marke, his cowardly uncle's rights
A venom'd wound he bore;
When fierce Morholde he slew in fight
Upon the Irish shore.
No art the poison might withstand;
No med'cine could be found,
Till lovely Isolde's lily hand
Had prob'd the rankling wound.
With gentle hand and soothing tongea,
She bore the leech's part;
And, while she o'er his sick-bed hung,
Heo paid her with his heart.
a Quaighs.-Wo oden cups, composed of staves hooped
together.