'
One fancies him roaming solitary, after midnight, in the dark
deserted streets. He passes the deep porch of the College Church,
and the spot where Patrick Hamilton was burned. He goes down to the
Castle by the sea, where, some say, the murdered Cardinal may now
and again be seen, in his red hat. In South Street he hears the
roll and rattle of the viewless carriage which sounds in that
thoroughfare. He loiters under the haunted tower on Hepburn's
precinct wall, the tower where the lady of the bright locks lies,
with white gloves on her hands. Might he not share, in the desolate
Cathedral, La Messe des Morts, when all the lost souls of true
lovers are allowed to meet once a year. Here be they who were too
fond when Culdees ruled, or who loved young monks of the Priory;
here be ladies of Queen Mary's Court, and the fair inscrutable Queen
herself, with Chastelard, that died at St. Andrews for desire of
her; and poor lassies and lads who were over gay for Andrew Melville
and Mr. Blair; and Miss Pett, who tended young Montrose, and may
have had a tenderness for his love-locks. They are a triste good
company, tender and true, as the lovers of whom M.
Pages:
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52