of that sly urchin page; This to his lord he did impart, And made him seem, by glamour art, A knight from Hermitage: Tallenged, thus, the warder's post, court, unchallenged, thus he cross'd, For all the vassalage: lut, 0! what magic's quaint disguise Could blind fair Margaret's azure eyes! She started from her seat; Whele with surprise and fear she strove, And both could scarcely master loveLord Henry's at her feet. XIII. Oft have I mused, what purpose bad To bring this meeting round; And oft I've deem'd, perchance he thought And death to Cranstoun's gallant knight, It is not fantasy's hot fire, Whose wishes, soon as granted, fly; It liveth not in fierce desire, With dead desire it doth not die; has the secret sympathy, The silver link, the silken tie, Which heart to heart, and mind to mind, body and in soul can bind. Jew leave we Margaret and her knight, tell you of the approaching fight. XIV. Their warning blast the bugles blew, The pipe's shrill port aroused each clan; In haste, the deadly strife to view, The trooping warriors eager ran: Thick round the lists their lances stood, Like blasted pines in Ettrick wood; To Branksome many a look they threw, The combatants' approach to view, And bandied many a word of boast, About the knight each favour'd most. XV. Heantime full anxious was the dame; A martial piece of music adapted to the bagpipes. In armour sheath'd from top to toe, Appear'd, and craved the combat due. The dame her charm successful knew,' And the fierce chiefs their claims withdrew. XVI. When for the lists they sought the plain, Did noble Howard hold; Costly his garb-his Flemish ruff His hose with silver twined: XVII. Behind Lord Howard and the dame, XVIII. Prize of the field, the young Buccleuch, On peril of his life; And not a breath the silence broke, Till thus the alternate heralds spoke: XIX. ENGLISH HERALD. Here standeth Richard of Musgrave, 1 See p. 12, Stanza 23. Amends from Deloraine to crave, For foul despiteous scathe and scorn. He sayeth that William of Deloraine Is traitor false by Border laws; This with his sword he will maintain, So help him God, and his good cause! XX. SCOTTISH HERALD. Here standeth William of Deloraine, LORD DACRE. Forward, brave champions, to the fight! Sound trumpets! LORD HOME. --« God defend the right!» Then, Teviot! how thine echoes And in mid list, with shield poised high, XXI. Ill would it suit your gentle ear, Ye lovely listeners, to hear How to the axe the helms did sound, And blood pour'd down from many a wound; For desperate was the strife and long, And either warrior fierce and strong. XXII. 'Tis done, 't is done! that fatal blow Has stretch'd him on the bloody plain; And smooth his path from earth to heaven! XXIII. In haste the holy friar sped ;- Loose waved his silver beard and hair, As if exhausted in the fight, Or musing o'er the piteous sight, His beaver did he not unclasp, Mark'd not the shouts, felt not the grasp Of gratulating hands. When lo! strange cries of wild surprise, Among the Scottish bands; And all, upon the armed ground, Knew William of Deloraine! Each ladye sprung from seat with speed; Vaulted each marshal from his steed; « And who art thou,» they cried, « Who hast this battle fought and won?» His plumed helm was soon undone<< Cranstoun of Teviot side! For this fair prize I 've fought and won,» And to the Ladye led her son. XXV. Full oft the rescued boy she kiss'd, The Ladye would the feud forego, XXVI. She look'd to river, look'd to hill, Thought on the Spirits' prophecy, Then broke her silence stern and still, «Not you, but Fate, has vanquish'd me; Their influence kindly stars may shower On Teviot's tide and Branksome's tower, For pride is quell'd, and love is free,»> She took fair Margaret by the hand, Who, breathless, trembling, scarce might stand; That hand to Cranstoun's lord « As I am true to thee and thine, Do thou be true to me and mine! Gave she This clasp of love our bond shall be, For this is your betrothing-day, And all these noble lords shall stay, To grace it with their company.» XXVII. Allas they left the listed plain, Which from the wounded knight he took; Stolen by his page, while slept the knight, He took on him the single fight. And linger'd till he join'd the maid.— But well she thought, ere midnight came, One day, fair maids, you'll know them well. XXVIII. William of Deloraine, some chance Had waken'd from his deathlike trance; And taught that, in the listed plain, Another, in his arms and shield, Against fierce Musgrave axe did wield, Under the name of Deloraine. Hence, to the field, unarm'd, he ran, And hence, his presence scared the clan, Who held him for some fleeting wraith,' And not a man of blood and breath. Not much this new ally he loved, Yet, when he saw what hap had proved, He greeted him right heartilie: He would not waken old debate, For he was void of rancorous hate, Though rude, and scant of courtesy ; la raids he spilt but seldom blood, Unless when men-at-arms withstood, Or, as was meet, for deadly feud. He ne'er bore grudge for stalwart blow, Ta'en in fair fight from gallant foe: And so 't was seen of him, e'en now, When on dead Musgrave he look'd down; Grief darken'd on his rugged brow, Though half disguised with a frown; And thus, while sorrow bent his head, His foeman's epitaph he made. For, if I slew thy brother dear, Thou siew'st a sister's son to me; And when I lay in dungeon dark, Of Naworth Castle, long months three, Till ransom'd for a thousand mark, Dark Musgrave, it was long of thee. And, Musgrave, could our fight be tried, And thou wert now alive, as I, No mortal man should us divide, Till one, or both of us, did die: Yet rest thee, God! for well I know I ne'er shall find a nobler foe. In all the northern counties here, Whose word is, snaffle, spur, and spear,' Thou wert the best to follow gear. 'Twas pleasure, as we look'd behind, To see how thou the chase couldst wind, Cheer the dark blood-hound on his way, And with the bugle rouse the fray; (8) I'd give the lands of Deloraine, Dark Musgrave were alive again.»> XXX. So mourn'd he, till Lord Dacre's band 23 THE harp's wild notes, though hush'd the song, Now faintly dies in valley deep; After due pause they bade him tell, The aged harper, howsoc'er The lands, that over Onse to Berwick forth do bear, Liked not to hear it rank'd so high Less liked he still, that scornful jeer CANTO VI. BREATHES there the man, with soul so dead, (1) This is my own, my native land! From wandering on a foreign strand? II. O Caledonia! stern and wild, Meet nurse for a poetic child! Land of brown heath and shaggy wood, Sole friends thy woods and streams are left; By Yarrow's stream still let me stray, III. Not scorn'd like me! to Branksome-hall They sound the pipe, they strike the string, The spousal rites were ended soon; C V1. The goblin-page, omitting still Ne opportunity of ill, rove now, while blood ran hot and high, Troase debate and jealousy; To Courad, lord of Wolfenstein, nature fierce, and warm with wine, And now in humour highly cross'd, About some steeds his band had lost, High words to words succeeding still, Smote, with his gauntlet, stout Hunthill; (7) A bet and hardy Rutherford, Whom men call Diccon Draw-the-sword. He took it on the page's saye, Benthill had driven these steeds away. Thes Howard, Home, and Douglas rose, But bit his glove, and shook his head.-(8) Stout Conrad, cold, and drench'd in blood, Gene was his brand, both sword and sheath; IX. The wily page, with vengeful thought, Remember'd him of Tinlinn's yew, And swore, it should be dearly bought, That ever he the arrow drew. First, he the yeoman did molest, With bitter gibe and taunting jest; Told, how he fled at Solway strife, And how Hob Armstrong cheer'd his wife: Then, shunning still his powerful arm, At unawares he wrought him harm; From trencher stole his choicest cheer, Dash'd from his lips his can of beer; Then to his knee sly creeping on, With bodkin pierced him to the bone; The venom'd wound, and festering joint, Long after rued the bodkin's point. The startled yeoman swore and spurn'd, Riot and clamour wild began: Back to the hall the urchin ran; And grinn'd, and mutter'd, «Lost! lost! lost!»> X. By this, the dame, lest farther fray They sought the beeves that made their broth In homely guise, as nature bade, His simple song the Borderer said. XI. ALBERT GREME. It was an English ladye bright, (The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall) (12) And she would marry, a Scottish knight, For Love will still be lord of all. Blithely they saw the rising sun, When he shone fair on Carlisle wall,. But they were sad ere day was done, Though Love was still the lord of all. Her sire gave brooch and jewel fine, For, she had lands, both meadow and lea, XII. That wine she had not tasted well, He pierced her brother to the heart, That Love may still be lord of all! And then he took the cross divine, Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall, And he died for her sake in Palestine, So Love was still the lord of all. Now all you lovers, that faithful prove, (The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall) Pray for their souls who died for love, For Love shall still be lord of all! |