He saw the Douglas to the death was dight; He rode upon a courser Through a hundred archery, He never stinted, nor never blane,, Till he came to the good Lord Percy. T He set upon the Lord Percy A dint that was full sore; With a sure spear of a mighty tree Clean thorough the body he the Percy bore, O'the tother side that a man might see A large cloth-yard and mair: Two better captains were not in Christianty An archer of Northumberland Saw slain was the Lord Percy; 175 180 He bare a bend-bow in his hand, That he of Montgomery set; The swan-feathers that his arrow bare 190 There was never a freke one foot would flee, dree, co rojas' orse amb hi! 195 With many a baleful brand. This battle began in Cheviot An hour before the noon, And when even-song bell was rang, They took [the way?] on either hand? By the light of the moon; Many had no strength for to stand In Cheviot the hills aboon. ! Of fifteen hundred archers of England But all were slain Cheviot within; 200 205 They had no streng [th] to stand on hie; 210 The child may rue that is unborn, It was the more pity,... There was slain with the Lord Percy, Sir George, the worthy Lumley, A knight of great renown, Sir Raff, the rich Rugby, With dints were beaten down. For Witherington my heart was woe, For when both his legs were hewn in two, 220 There was slain with the doughty Douglas, 225 Sir Davy Liddale, that worthy was, Sir Charles o' Murray in that place, 230 So on the morrow they made them biers Many widows, with weeping tears, Tivydale may carp of care, 235 Northumberland may make great moan, For two such captains as slain were there On the March-party shall never be none. 240 Word is comen to Edinborough, To Jamie, the Scottish king, That doughty Douglas, lieutenant of the Marches, He lay slain Cheviot within. His hands did he weal and wring: Word is comen to lovely London, 245 250 That Lord Percy, lieutenant of the Marches, He lay slain Cheviot within, “God have mercy on his soul," said King Harry, "Good Lord, if Thy will it be! I have a hundred captains in England," he said, "As good as ever was he: But, Percy, an I brook my life, As our noble king made his avow, Where six-and-thirty Scottish knights 255 260 Glendale glittered on their armor bright, 265 Over castle, tower, and town. This was the hunting of the Cheviot, That tear began this spurn; Old men that knowen the ground well enough Call it the battle of Otterburn. At Otterburn began this spurn Upon a Monenday; There was the doughty Douglas slain, The Percy never went away. 270 There was never a time on the March-parties 275 As the rain does in the street. Jesu Christ our bales bete, And to the bliss us bring! 280 Thus was the hunting of the Cheviot: God send us all good ending! Child, Pop. Bal., 162A (modernized). THE SKELETON IN ARMOR "SPEAK! speak! thou fearful guest!. Comest to daunt me! |