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 Stanley 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 Northumberland," 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." : Up the hill Sir Guy made his courser By, 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, "Gramercy, St. George!" quoth glad Sir Guy, And 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 With listless sullen air, Propped on his lance, and with indolent glance Watched the red lightning's glare. And sadly listened to the shower, But scarce that bell could midnight tell, And lo! through the dark a glimmering spark He espied of lurid-blue; "Twas an ancient man of visage wan, And his breast below there was seen to flow And flames o'erspread his hairless head, Of darkest grain, with flowing train, With many a charm to work man's harm And this robe was bound his waist around And prepared on the warrior to spring. But the wizard's hand extended his wand And now the gate is heard to grate, Till on either side the valves yawn wide, 'Twas a spacious hall, whose sides were all And of marble black as the raven's bask And a hundred shafts of laboured brouze 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 That on the right holds a faulchion bright, And crowns of jet with jewels beset And both these grim colossal kings Point tow'rds the tomb, within whose womb A form more fair than that prisoner's, ne'er 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, And her lips of love seemed fast to move, 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! "But such keen woe, as never can know Oblivion's balmy power, With fixed despair your soul will share, Till comes your dying hour. "Your choice now make for yon beauty's sake; 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 Sir Guy, and gazed around; Now he turned his sight to the left, to the right, Now he fixed it on the ground. " 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 he snatched his hand away! And the lid bears a name-Young Knight Now his steps he address'd tow'rd the North and the West; the same Is stamped on Satan's throne; Now he turned tow'rds the East and the South: "But hark, Sir Knight! and riddle aright See'st yonder sword, with jewels rare, "That horn to sound, or sword to draw, For you never will find it again : "And that once lost, all hopes are crost, with force, And from sleep the warriors spring! And frightful stares each stoney eye, At this strange attack full swift sprang back But soon as the horn his grasp forsook, And straight each light was extinguished quite, Save the flame so Jurid 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, L "Now shame on the coward who sounded | Whence the neighbours all the knight now MILES COLVINE, THE CUMBERLAND MARINER. A Tale of the English Coast. William Glen was our captain's name, call By "Guy, the Seeker's" name;. But still he seeks, and aye he seeks, Which words he follows with a groan, 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! Old Ballad. On the English side of the sea of ❘tion, namely, the cottage of Miles Col 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 vine, the Cumberland mariner. The owner of this rude dwelling, once a seaman, a soldier, a scholar, and a gen❘tleman, was shipwrecked on the coast about thirty years ago, and was the |