Love master'd fear--her brow she cross'd;
"How, Richard, hast thou sped?
And art thou saved or art thou lost?"--
The vision shook his head!

"Who spilleth life, shall forfeit life;
So bid thy lord believe:
That lawless love is guilt above,
This awful sign receive."

He laid his left hand on an oaken beam,
His right upon her hand,
The lady shrunk, and fainting sunk,
For it scorched like a fiery brand.

The sable score, of fingers four,
Remains on that board impress'd,
And forever more that lady wore
A covering on her wrist.

There is a nun in Dryburgh bower,
Ne'er looks upon the sun,
There is a monk in Melrose tower,
He speaketh word to none.

That nun, who ne'er beholds the day,
That monk that speaks to none,--
That Nun was Smaylho'me's Lady gay,
That monk the bold Baron.