Among these, Waverley distinguished one of his own, a small copy of Ariosto, and gathered it as a treasure, though wasted by the wind and rain.
While, plunged in the sad reflections which the scene excited, he was looking around for some one who might explain the fate of the inhabitants, he heard a voice from the interior of the building singing, in well-remembered accents, an old Scottish song: They came upon us in the night, And brake my bower and slew my knight: My servants a' for life did flee, And left us in extremitie, They slew my knight, to me sae dear; They slew my knight, and drave his gear; The moon may set, the sun may rise, But a deadly sleep has closed his eyes.
[The first three couplets are from an old ballad, called the Border Widow's Lament.] 'Alas!' thought Edward, 'is it thou?
Poor helpless being, art thou alone left, to gibber and moan, and fill with thy wild and unconnected scraps of minstrelsy the halls that protected thee ?'--He then called, first low, and then louder, 'Davie--Davie Gellatley!' The poor simpleton showed himself from among the ruins of a sort of greenhouse, that once terminated what was called the Terrace-walk, but at first sight of a stranger retreated, as if in terror.

Waverley, remembering his habits, began to whistle a tune to which he was partial, which Davie had expressed great pleasure in listening to, and had picked up from him by the ear.

Our hero's minstrelsy no more equalled that of Blondel, than poor Davie resembled Coeur de Lion; but the melody had the same effect of producing recognition.

Davie again stole from his lurking-place, but timidly, while Waverley, afraid of frightening him, stood making the most encouraging signals he could devise.--'It's his ghaist,' muttered Davie; yet, coming nearer, he seemed to acknowledge his living acquaintance.

The poor fool himself appeared the ghost of what he had been.