press'd on that gallant Gael:
On, on, beside his regal foe, with eyes which more express'd
Than _words_, expecting favour still, from him who _once_ caress'd!

"_'Tis_," quoth the prince, "my poor Graysteil!" and spurr'd his steed
amain,
Striving, ere toiling Kilspindie, the fortalice to gain;
But Douglas, (and his wither'd heart, with hope and dread, beat high)
Stood at proud Stirling's castle-gate, as soon as royalty!

Stood, on his ingrate _friend_ to gaze; no answ'ring love-look came;
Then, mortal grief his spirit shook, and bow'd his war-worn frame;
Faith, _innocence_, avail'd not _him!_ he suffer'd for his line,
And fainting by the gate he sunk, but feebly call'd for _wine!_

The menials came, "_wine?_ up! begone! _we_ marvel who thou art!
Our _monarch_ bids to France, Graysteil, his trusty _friend_ depart!"
Blood to the Douglas' cheek uprush'd: proud blood! away he hied,
And soon afar, the "poor Graysteil," the _broken hearted_, DIED!

M.L.B.

_Note_--Graysteil (so called after the champion of a romance then popular)
had returned from banishment in the hope, as he was perfectly innocuous,
of renewing his ancient friendship with the Scottish king; and James
declared that he would again have received him into his service, but for
his oath, never more to countenance a Douglas. He blamed his servants for
refusing refreshment to the veteran, but did not escape censure from our
own Henry VIII. for his cruel conduct towards his "poor Graysteil," upon
this occasion.

[1] Archibald, of Kilspindie, a noble Douglas, and until the disgrace of
his clan, a personal friend and favourite of James V. of Scotland. For
the incidents of this ballad, vide _Tales of a Grandfather_, 1st
Series, vol. 3.

* * * * *

TO THE MEMORY OF SIR HUMPHRY DAVY, BART.

(_For the Mirror._)

To this low orb is lost a shining light.
Useful, resplendent, and tho' transient, bright!
For scarce has soaring genius reach'd the blaze
Of fleeting life's meridian hour,
Than Death around the naming meteor plays,
And spreads its cypress o'er the short liv'd flower.
The great projector of that grand design,[1]
In time's remotest annals, long will shine;
While sons of toil aloud proclaim his name,
And _life preserv'd_ perpetuate his _fame_.

[1] The Safety Lamp

* * * * *

SODA WATER.

(_To the Editor of