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And trampling hoofs, and iron coats,
And leaders' voices, mingled notes,
And out! and out!

In hasty route,

The horsemen galloped forth; Dispersing to the south to scout, And east, and west, and north, To view their coming enemies, And warn their vassals, and allies.

XXIX.

The ready page, with hurried hand, Awaked the need-fire's * slumbering brand, And ruddy blushed the heaven:

For a sheet of flame, from the turret high, Waved like a bloodflag on the sky,

All flaring and uneven;

And soon a score of fires, I ween,
From height, and hill, and cliff, were seen;
Each with warlike tidings fraught;

Each from each the signal caught;

Each after each they glanced to sight,
As stars arise upon the night.

They gleamed on many a dusky tarn,†
Haunted by the lonely earn,

On many a cairn's§ gray pyramid,
Where urns of mighty chiefs lie hid;

* Need-fire, beacon.

Tarn, a mountain lake.
Earn, the Scottish eagle;
Cairn, a pile of stones

Till high Dunedin the blazes saw,
From Soltra and Dumpender Law;
And Lothian heard the regent's order,
That all should bowne* them for the Border.
XXX.

The livelong night in Branksome rang
The ceaseless sound of steel;
The castle-bell, with backward clang,
Sent forth the larum peal;
Was frequent heard the heavy jar,
Where massy stone and iron bar
Were piled on echoing keep and tower,
To whelm the foe with deadly shower;
Was frequent heard the changing guard,
And watchword from the sleepless ward;
While, wearied by the endless din,
Blood-hound and ban-dog yelled within.

XXXI.

The noble dame, amid the broil,

Shared the gray Seneschal's high toil,
And spoke of danger with a smile;
Cheered the young knights, and council sage
Held with the chiefs of riper age.
No tidings of the foe were brought,
Nor of his numbers knew they ought,
Nor in what time the truce he sought.

Some said, that there were thousands ten;
And others weened that it was nought
But Leven clans, or Tynedale men,

*Bowne, make ready.

Who came together in black mail;*
And Liddesdale, with small avail,

Might drive them lightly back agen.
So passed the anxious night away,
And welcome was the peep of day.

CEASED the high sound-the listening throng
Applaud the Master of the Song;
And marvel much, in helpless age,
So hard should be his pilgrimage.
Had he no friend, no daughter dear,
His wandering toil to share and cheer;
No son, to be his father's stay,
And guide him on the rugged way?
66 Aye! once he had-but he was dead!"
Upon the harp he stooped his head,
And busied himself the strings withal,
To hide the tear, that fain would fall.
In solemn measure, soft and slow,
Arose a father's notes of woe.

*Protection money exacted by free-booters

End of Canto Third.

THE LAY

OF THE

LAST MINSTREL.

CANTO IV.

I.

SWEET Teviot! on thy silver tide
The glaring bale-fires blaze no more;
No longer steel-clad warriors ride
Along thy wild and willowed shore;
Where'er thou wind'st by dale or hill
All, all is peaceful, all is still,

As if thy waves, since time was born,
Since first they rolled their way to Tweed,
Had only heard the shepherd's reed,
Nor startled at the bugle-horn.

II.

Unlike the tide of human time,

Which, though it change in ceaseless flow, Retains each grief, retains each crime, Its earliest course was doomed to know; And, darker as it downward bears, Is stained with past and present tears:

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