XXXI. Beneath an oak, moss'd o'er by eld, And held his crested helm and spear: That Dwarf was scarce an earthly man, If the tales were true that of him ran Through all the Border, far and near. 'Twas said, when the Baron a-hunting rode Through Reedsdale's glens, but rarely trode, He heard a voice cry, "Lost! lost! lost!" And, like tenis-ball by racket toss'd, A leap, of thirty feet and three, Made from the gorse this elfin shape, Distorted like some dwarfish ape, And lighted at Lord Cranstoun's knee. Lord Cranstoun was some whit dismay'd; 'Tis said that five good miles he rade, To rid him of his company; But where he rode one mile, the Dwarf ran four, And the Dwarf was first at the castle door. XXXII. Use lessens marvel, it is said: An it had not been for his ministry. All between Home and Hermitage, Talk'd of Lord Cranstoun's Goblin-Page. XXXIII. For the Baron went on pilgrimage, And he would pay his vows. But the Ladye of Branksome gather'd a band WHILE thus he pour'd the lengthen'd tale, The Minstrel's voice began to fail : The precious juice the Minstrel quaff'd; And he, embolden'd by the draught, Look'd gaily back to them, and laugh'd. The cordial nectar of the bowl Swell'd his old veins, and cheer'd his soul; A lighter, livelier prelude ran, Ere thus his tale again began. CANTO THIRD. I. AND said I that my limbs were old, In peace, Love tunes the shepherd's reed; III. So thought Lord Cranstoun, as I ween, While, pondering deep the tender scene, He rode through Branksome's hawthorn green. But the Page shouted wild and shrill, And scarce his helmet could he don, When downward from the shady hill A stately knight came pricking on. That warrior's steed, so dapple-grey, Was dark with sweat, and splash'd with clay; His armour red with many a stain: He seem'd in such a weary plight, As if he had ridden the live-long night; For it was William of Deloraine. IV. But no whit weary did he seem, When, dancing in the sunny beam, He mark'd the crane on the Baron's crest; * For his ready spear was in his rest. Few were the words, and stern and high, That marked the foeman's feudal hate; For question fierce, and proud reply, Gave signal soon of dire debate. Their very coursers seem'd to know That each was other's mortal foe, And snorted fire when wheel'd around, To give each knight his vantage-ground. V. In rapid round the Baron bent; He sigh'd a sigh, and pray'd a prayer; The prayer was to his patron saint, The sigh was to his ladye fair. Stout Deloraine nor sighed nor pray'd, Nor saint, nor ladye, call'd to aid; But he stoop'd his head, and couch'd his spear, And spurr'd his steed to full career. The meeting of these champions proud Seem'd like the bursting thunder-cloud. VI. Stern was the dint the Borderer lent! The tough ash spear, so stout and true, But Cranstoun's lance, of more avail, * The crest of the Cranstouns, in allusion to their name, is a crane dormant, holding a stone in his foot, with an emphatic Border motto: Thou shalt want ere I want. VII. But when he rein'd his courser round, Lie senseless as the bloody clay, VIII. Away in speed Lord Cranstoun rode; The dwarf espied the Mighty Book! Until the secret he had found. IX. The iron band, the iron clasp, All was delusion, nought was truth. X. He had not read another spell, * Magical delusion. ↑ A shepherd's hut. So fierce, it stretch'd him on the plain, Shut faster than they were before. XI. Unwillingly himself he address'd XII. As he repass'd the outer court, Seem'd to the boy, some comrade gay XIII. He led the boy o'er bank and fell, Until they came to a woodland brook; * Magic. The running stream dissolved the spell, And his own elvish shape he took. Could he have had his pleasure vilde, He had crippled the joints of the noble child; Or, with his fingers long and lean, Had strangled him in fiendish spleen : But his awful mother he had in dread, And also his power was limited; So he but scowl'd on the startled child, And darted through the forest wild; The woodland brook he bounding cross'd, And laugh'd, and shouted, "Lost! lost! lost!" XIV. Full sore amaz'd at the wondrous change, And frighten'd as a child might be, At the wild yell and visage strange, And the dark words of gramarye, The child, amidst the forest bower, Stood rooted like a lily flower; And when at length, with trembling pace, He sought to find where Branksome lay, He fear'd to see that grisly face, Glare from some thicket on his way. Thus, starting oft, he journey'd on, And deeper in the wood is gone,For aye the more he sought his way, The farther still he went astray,Until he heard the mountains round Ring to the baying of a hound. XV. And hark! and hark! the deep-mouth'd bark Comes nigher still, and nigher: Bursts on the path a dark blood-hound, His tawny muzzle track'd the ground, And his red eye shot fire. Soon as the wilder'd child saw he, But still in act to spring; When dash'd an archer through the glade, And when he saw the hound was stay'd, He drew his tough bow-string; But a rough voice cried, "Shoot not, hoy! Ho! shoot not, Edward-'Tis a boy!" XVI. The speaker issued from the wood, Five hundred feet him fro; His coal-black hair, shorn round and close, His bugle-horn hung by his side, All in a wolf-skin baldric tied; And his short falchion, sharp and clear, Had pierced the throat of many a deer. Although the child was led away, XXII. Well I ween the charm he held * Bandelier, belt for carrying ammunition. + Hackbuteer, musketeer. She drew the splinter from the wound, And with a charm she stanch'd the blood; She bade the gash be cleansed and bound: No longer by his couch she stood; Twisted as if she gall'd his wound. Within the course of a night and day. Full long she toil'd; for she did rue Mishap to friend so stout and true. |