This Legend is founded upon a tradition current in Northumberland. Indeed, an adventure nearly similar to Sir Guy's, is said to have taken place in various parts of Great Britain, particularly on the Pentland Hills in Scotland, (where the prisoners are supposed to be King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table,) and in Lancashire, where an ale-house near Chorley still exhibits the sign of a Sir John Stauley following an old man with a torch, while his horse starts back in terror at the objects which are discovered through two immense iron gates the ale house is known by the name of the "IRON GATES," which are supposed to protect the entrance of an enchanted cavern in the neighbourhood-the female captive, we believe, is peculiar to Dunstanburgh Castle; and certain shining stones, which are occasionally found in its neighbourhood, and which are called "DUNSTANBURGH DIAMONDS," are supposed by the peasants to form part of that immense treasure, with which the lady will reward her deliverer.-In Wallis's "History of the Antiquities of Northumber. land," the castle is described as follows:-" It stands on an eminence of several acres, sloping gently to the sea, and on the north and north west edged with precipices in the form of a crescent: by the western termination of which are three natural stone pyramids of a considerable height, and by the eastern one an opening in the rocks made by the sea, under a frightful precipice, called Rumble Churn, from the breaking of the waves in tempestuous weather and high seas. Above this is the main entrance, and by it the ruins of the chapel: at the south-west corner is the draw-well, partly filled up. It is built with rag and whinstone." LIKE those in the head of a man just dead Are his eyes, and his beard's like snow; But when here he came, his glance was a flame, And his locks seemed the plumes of the crow. Since then are o'er forty summers and more; Nor sun nor snow from the ruins to go And still the pile, hall, chapel, and aisle, But find can be ne'er the winding stair, Which he past that beauty to see, Whom spells enthrall in the haunted hall, Where none but once may be. That once regret will not let him forget!— 'Twas night and pelting showers Did patter and splash when the lightning's flash Showed Dunstanburgh's grey towers. Raised high on a mound that castle frowned In ruined pagean-trie; And where to the north did rocks jut forth, Its towers hung o'er the sea. Proud they stood and darkened the flood; For the cliffs were so rugged and steep, Had a plummet been dropt from their summit unstopped That plummet had reached the deep. Nor flower there grew; nor tree e'er drew Loud was the roar on that sounding shore; With a strange turmoil did it bubble and boil, And echo from place to place; So strong was its dash, and so high did it splash, That it washed the castle's base. The spray as it broke appeared like smoke From a sea-volcano pouring; And still it did rumble, and grumble, and fumble, Rioting! raging! roaring! Up the hill Sir Guy made his courser fly, And hoped, from the wind and the rain That he there should find some refuge kind, But he sought it long in vain. For fast and hard each portal was barred, And against his efforts proof; Till at length he espied a porch spread wide The shelter of its roof. "Gramercy, St. George!" quoth glad Sir Guy, Aud sought the porch with speed; And fast to the yew, which near it grew, He bound his Barbary steed. And safety found on that sheltered ground The raiu off, that burthened its plume. Then long he stood in mournful mood Propped on his lance, and with indolent glance Watched the red lightning's glare. And sadly listened to the shower, On the clattering roof that fell; But scarce that bell could midnight tell, And lo! through the dark a glimmering spark He espied of lurid-blue; Soon struck his wondering view. Gigantic was his height; And his breast below there was seen to flow And flames o'erspread his hairless head, Of darkest grain, with flowing train, And this robe was bound his waist around Where stood Sir Guy, while his hair bristled high, And his breath he scarce could draw ; And he crost his breast, for I wot, he guest 'Twas Belzebub's self that he saw ! And full on the knight that ghastly wight Ere his words were heard to rise. "Sir Knight, Sir Knight! if your heart be right, And your nerves be firm and true, "But Sir Knight, Sir Knight! if you ever knew fright, That dame forbear to view; Or Sir Knight, Sir Knight! that you feasted your sight, While you live, you'll surely rue!"- "That mortal ne'er drew vital air, Who witnessed fear in me : Come what come will, come good come ill, Lead on! I'll follow thee !" And now they go both high and low, The storm is hushed, and lets them hear With beckoning hand, which flamed like a brand, Still on the wizard led; And well could Sir Guy hear a sob and a sigh, As up the first flight he sped! While the second he past with footsteps fast He heard a death bell toll! While he climbed the third, a whisper he beard, "God's mercy on thy soul!" And now at the top the wanderers stop Of massive make; and a living snake In many a fold round the staple 'twas rolled When the monster beheld Sir Guy, he swelled With fury, and threw out his sting; Sparks flashed from each eye, and he reared him on high, And prepared on the warrior to spring. But the wizard's hand extended his wand And now the gate is heard to grate, "Twas a spacious hall, whose sides were all With sable hangings dight; And whose echoing floor was diamonded o'er With marble black and white. And of marble black as the raven's bask And a hundred shafts of laboured brouze The fretted roof upheld; And the ponderous gloom of that vaulted room A hundred lights dispelled. And a dead man's arm by a magic charm Each glimmering taper bore, And where it was lopp'd, still dropp'd and dropp'd Thick gouts of clotted gore. Where ends the room, doth a chrystal tomb And on each hand two skeletons stand, That on the right holds a faulchion bright, And crowns of jet with jewels beset And both these grim colossal kings A form more fair than that prisoner's, ne'ér Since the days of Eve were known; Every glance that flew from her eyes of blue, Was worth an emperor's throne, And one sweet kiss from her roseate lips Would have melted a bosom of stone. Soon as Sir Guy had met her eye, Then her hands did she join in suppliant sign, Her hands more white than snow; And like dews that streak the rose's cheek, Her tears began to flow. The warrior felt his stout heart melt, When he saw those fountains run: "Oh! what can I do," he cried," for you? What mortal can do shall be done!" Then out and speaks the wizard; Hollow his accents fall! "Was never man, since the world began, Could burst that chrystal wall, "For the hand which raised its magic frame · Had oft clasped Satan's own ; And the lid bears a name-Young Knight the same Is stamped on Satan's throne; "At its maker's birth long trembled the earth; The skies dropp'd showers of gore; And she, who to light gave the wonderous wight, Had died seven years before; "And at Satan's right hand while keeping his stand, The foulest fiend of fire Shrunk back with awe, when the babe he saw, For it shocked its very sire! "But hark, Sir Knight! and riddle aright See'st yonder sword, with jewels rare, "That horn to sound, or sword to draw, Now, youth, your choice explain; But that which you choose, beware how you lose, For you never will find it again : "And that once lost, all hopes are crost, Which now you fondly form; And that once gone, the sun ne'er shone sadder wight to warm ; "But such keen woe, as never can know With fixed despair your soul will share, "Your choice now make for yon beauty's To burst her bonds endeavour; But that which you choose, beware how you lose; Once lost, 'tis lost for ever!" In pensive mood awhile now stood Now he fixed it on the ground. Now the faulchion's blaze attracted his gaze But he heard fear cry-" You're wrong, And he snatched his hand away! Now his steps he address'd tow'rd the Now he turned tow'rds the East and the Till with desperate thought the horn be caught, And press'd it to his mouth. Hark! the blast is a blast so strong and so shrill, That the vaults like thunder ring; And each marble horse stamps the floor with force, And from sleep the warriors spring! And frightful stares each stoney eye, At this strange attack full swift sprang back Away he threw the horn, and drew His faulchion keen and bright. But soon as the horn his grasp forsook, It seemed the yell of a soul in bell And straight each light was extinguished quite, Save the flame so lurid blue On the wizard's brow, (whose flashings now Assumed a bloody hue,) And those sparks of fire, which grief and ire From his glaring eye-balls drew! And he stamped in rage, and he laughed in scorn, While in thundering tone he roared, Whence the neighbours all the knight now call By "Guy, the Seeker's" name; But still he seeks, and aye he seeks, And oh that groan has so strange a tone, The villagers round know well its sound, Twice twenty springs on their fragrant wings For his wound have brought no balm ; For still he's found. But hark! what sound Disturbs the midnight calm? Good peasants tell, why rings that knell ? ""Tis the Seeker-Guy's we toll: "His race is run; his search is done." God's mercy on his soul! MILES COLVINE, THE CUMBERLAND MARINER. A Tale of the English Coast. William Glen was our captain's name, ON the English side of the sea of Solway lies a long line of flat and unelevated coast, where the sea-fowl find refuge from the gun of the fowler, and which, save the head-land and the deep sea, presents but one object of attrac Old Ballad. tion, namely, the cottage of Miles Colvine, the Cumberland mariner. The owner of this rude dwelling, once a seaman, a soldier, a scholar, and a gentleman, was shipwrecked on the coast about thirty years ago, and was the |