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And Lothian heard the Regent's order,
That all should browne* 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,
Bloodhound and bandog 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,
Who came to gather in black mail;†
And Liddisdale, with small avail,

Might drive them nightly 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?—
"Ay! once he had-but he was dead!"
Upon the harp he stooped his head,
And busied himself the strings withal,
To hide the tears that fain would fall.
In solemn measure, soft and slow,
Arose a father's notes of woe.

CANTO FOURTH.

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 upon the Tweed, Had only heard the shepherd's reed, Nor started 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.
Low as that tide has ebbed with me,

It still reflects to memory's eye
The hour, my brave, my only boy,
Fell by the side of great Dundee.

*Browne, make ready.

† Protection-money exacted by freebooters,

Why, when the volleying musket played
Against the bloody Highland blade,
Why was not I beside him laid!-
Enough-he died the death of fame;
Enough he died with conquering Græme.

III.

Now over Border dale and fell,

Full wide and far was terror spread; For pathless marsh and mountain cell, The peasant left his lowly shed. The frightened flocks and herds were pent Beneath the peel's rude battlement; And maids and matrons dropped the tear, While ready warriors seized the spear. From Branksome's towers, the watchman's eye Dun wreaths of distant smoke can spy, Which, curling in the rising sun, Showed southern ravage was begun.

IV.

Now loud the heedful gate-ward cried"Prepare ye all for blows and blood! Watt Tinlinn, from the Liddle-side,

Comes wading through the flood. Full oft the Tynedale snatchers knock At his lone gate, and prove the lock; It was but last St. Barnabright, They sieged him a whole summer night, But fled at morning; well they knew, In vain he never twanged the yew. Right sharp has been the evening shower, That drove him from his Liddle tower; And by my faith," the gate-ward said, "I think t'will prove a Warden-Raid."*

V.

While thus he spoke, the bold yeoman
Entered the echoing barbican.
He led a small and shaggy nag,
That through a bog, from hag to hag,t
Could bound like any Bilihope stag;
It bore his wife and children twain;
A half-clothed serft was all their train:
His wife, stout, ruddy, and dark-browed
Of silver brooch and bracelet proud,
Laughed to her friends among the crowd
He was of stature passing tall,
But sparely formed, and lean withal:
A battered morion on his brow;

A leathern jack, as fence enow,

On his broad shoulders loosely hung;

A border-axe behind was slung;

His spear, six Scottish ells in length, Seemed newly dyed with gore;

His shafts and bow, of wondrous strength, His hardy partner bore.

VI.

Thus to the Ladye did Tinlinn show
The tidings of the English foe:-
"Belted Will Howard is marching here,
And hot Lord Dacre, with many a spear,
And all the German hagbut-men,§
Who have long lain at Äskerten:"
They crossed the Liddle at curfew hour,
And burned my little lonely tower;

The fiend receive their souls therefor!

It had not been burned this year and more.
Barn-yard and dwelling, blazing bright,
Served to guide me on my flight;

But I was chased the live-long night.
Black John of Askeshaw, and Fergus Græme,
Fast upon my traces came.

Until I turned at Priesthangh-Scrogg,

And shot their horses in the bog,

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Slew Fergus with my lance outright-
I had him long at high despite:
He drove my cows last Fastern's night."

VII.

Now weary scouts from Liddisdale,
Fast hurrying in, confirmed the tale;
As far as they could judge by ken,

Three hours would bring to Tevoit's strand Three thousand armed Englishmen.

Meanwhile full many a warlike band, From Tevoit, Aill, and Ettrick shade, Came in, their Chief's defence to aid. There was saddling and mounting in haste, There was pricking o'er moor and lea; He that was last at the trysting-place

Was but lightly held of his gay ladye.

VIII.

From fair St. Mary's silver wave,

From dreary Gamescleuch's dusky height, His ready lances Thirlestane brave'

Arrayed beneath a banner bright.
The treasured fleur-de-luce he claims

To wreathe his shield, since Royal James,
Encamped by Fala's mossy wave,
The proud distinction grateful gave,
For faith mid feudal jars;

What time, save Thirlestane alone,
Of Scotland's stubborn baron's none
Would march to southern wars;
And hence, in fair remembrance worn,
Yon sheaf of spears his crest has borne;
Hence his high motto shines revealed-
"Ready, ay, ready," for the field.

IX.

An aged knight to danger steeled,

With many a moss-trooper, came on;
And azure in a golden field,
The stars and crescent graced his shield,
Without the bend of Murdieston.
Wide lay his hands round Oakwood Tower,
And wide round haunted Castle Ower:
High over Borthwick's mountain flood
His wood-embosomed mansion stood;
In the dark glen, so deep below,
The herds of plundered England low;
His bold retainers' daily food,

And bought with danger, blows, and blood.
Marauding chief! his sole delight
The moonlight raid, the morning fight.
Not even the Flower of Yarrow's charms
In youth might tame his rage for arms;
And still in age he spurned at rest,
And still his brows the helmet pressed-
Albeit the blanched locks below
Were white as Dinlay's spotless snow.
Five stately warriors drew the sword
Before their father's band;

A braver knight than Harden's lord
Ne'er belted on a brand.

X.

Whitslade the Hawk, and Headshaw came,
And warriors more than I may name;
From Yarrow-cleuch to Hindhaugh-swair,
From Woodhonselie to Chester-glen,
Trooped man and horse, and bow, and spear;
Their gathering-word was Bellenden.
And better hearts o'er Border sod
To siege or rescue never rode.

The Ladye marked the aids come in,
And high her heart of pride arose;
She bade her youthful son attend
That he might know his father's friend,
And learn to face his foes.

The boy is ripe to look on war-
I saw him draw a crossbow stiff,
And his true arrow struck afar
The raven's nest upon the cliff.
The Red Cross on a southern breast
Is broader than the raven's nest.

Thou, Whitslade, shall teach him his weapon to wield,

And o'er him hold his father's shield."

XI.

Well may you think the wily Page
Cared not to face the Ladye sage.
He counterfeited childish fear,
And shrieked, and shed full many a tear,
And moaned and plained in manner wild.
The attendants to the Ladye told
Some fairy, sure, had changed the child,
That wont to be so free and bold.
Then wrathful was the noble dame;
She blushed blood-red for very shame.
"Hence! ere the clan his faintness view;
Hence with the weakling to Buccleuch!
Watt Tinlinn, thou shalt be his guide
To Rangleburn's lonely side.

Sure some fell fiend has cursed our line,
That coward should e'er be son of mine!"

XII.

A heavy task Watt Tinlinn had
To guide the counterfeited lad.
Soon as his palfrey felt the weight
Of that ill-omened elvish freight,
He bolted, sprung, and reared amain,
Nor heeded bit, nor curb, nor rein.
It cost Watt Tinlinn mickle toil
To drive him but a Scottish mile.

But, as a shallow brook they crossed,
The elf, amid the running stream,

His figure changed, like form in dream,
And fled, and shouted, "Lost! lost! lost!"
Full fast the urchin ran and laughed,
But faster still a cloth-yard shaft
Whistled from startled Tinlinn's yew,

And pierced his shoulder through and through.
Although the imp might not be slain,
And though the wound soon healed again,
Yet as he ran he yelled for pain,
And Watt, of Tinlinn, much aghast,
Rode bade to Branksome fiery fast.

XIII.

Soon on the hill's steep verge he stood
That looks o'er Branksome's towers and wood;
And martial murmurs from below
Proclaimed the approaceing southern foe.
Through the dark wood, in mingled tone,
Were Border-pipes and bugles blown;
The coursers' neighing he could ken,
And measured tread of marching men;
While broke at times the solemn hum
The Almayn's sullen kettle-drum-
And banners tall, of crimson sheen,
Above the copse appear;

And, glistening through the hawthorns green,
Shine helm, and shield, and spear.

XIV.

Light forayers first, to view the ground,
Spurred their fleet coursers loosely round;
Behind, in close array and fast,

The Kendal archers, all in green,
Obedient to the bugle blast,

Advancing from the wood are seen.
To back and guard the archer band
Lord Dacre's billmen were at hand:
A hardy race, on Irthing bred,
With kirtles white, and crosses red,
Arrayed beneath the banner tall

That streamed o'er Acre's conquered wall;
And minstrels, as they marched in order,
Played, "Noble Lord Dacre, he dwells on the
Border."

XV.

Behind the English bill and bow,
The mercenaries firm and slow,

Moved on to fight, in dark array,
By Conrad led of Wolfenstein,

Who brought the band from distant Rhine, And sold their blood for foreign pay.

The camp their home, their law the sword,
They knew no country, owned no lord:
They were not armed like England's sons,
But bore the levin-darting guns;

Buff coats, all frounced and 'broidered o'er,
And morsing-horns* and scarfs they wore;
Each better knee was bared, to aid
The warriors in the escalade;

All, as they marched, in rugged tongue,
Songs of Teutonic feuds they sung.

XVI.

But louder still the clamour grew,
And louder still the minstrels blew,
When, from beneath the greenwood tree,
Rode forth Lord Howard's chivalry;
His men-at-arms, with glaive and spear,
Brought up the battle's glittering rear.
There many a youthful knight, full keen
To gain his spurs, in arms was seen;
With favour in his crest, or glove,
Memorial of his ladye-love.

So rode they forth in fair array,

Till full their lengthened lines display;
Then called a halt, and made a stand,

And cried, "St. George, for merry England!"

XVII.

Now every English eye intent

On Branksome's armed tower was bent;
So near they were, that they might know
The straining harsh of each crossbow;
On battlement and bartizan,
Gleamed axe, and spear, and partizan;
Falcon and culver,† on each tower,
Stood prompt their deadly hail to shower;
And flashing armour frequent broke
From eddying whirls of sable smoke,
Where, upon tower and turret head,
The seething pitch and molten lead
Reeked, like a witch's cauldron red.
While yet they gaze, the bridges fall,
The wicket opes, and from the wall
Rides forth the hoary Seneschal.

XVIII.

Armed he rode, all save the head,
His white beard o'er his breastplate spread;
Unbroke by age, erect his seat,
He ruled his eager courser's gait;
Forced him, with chastened fire, to prance,
And, high curvetting, slow advance;
In sign of truce, his better hand
Displayed a peeled willow wand;
His squire, attending in the rear,
Bore high a gauntlet on a spear.
When they espied him riding out,
Lord Howard and Lord Dacre stout
Sped to the front of their array,

To hear what this old knight should say.

XIX.

"Ye English warden lords, of you
Demands the Ladye of Buccleuch,
Why, 'gainst the truce of Border-tide,
In hostile guise ye dare to ride,
With Kendal bow, and Gilsland brand,
And all yon mercenary band,
Upon the bounds of fair Scotland?
My Ladye reads you swith return;
And, if but one poor straw you burn,
Or do our towers so much molest,
As scare one swallow from her nest,
St. Mary! but we'll light a brand,
Shall warm your hearths in Cumberland."

XX.

A wrathful man was Dacre's lord, But calmer Howard took the word:

Powder-flasks.

† Ancient pieces of artillery.

"May't please thy Dame, Sir Seneschal,
To seek the castle's outward wall;
Our pursuivant-at-arms shall show,
Both why we came, and when we go."
The message sped, the noble Dame
To the walls' outward circle came;
Each chief around leaned on his spear,
To see the pursuivant appear.
All in Lord Howard's livery dressed,
The lion argent decked his breast;
He led a boy of blooming hue-
O sight to meet a mother's view!
It was the heir of great Buccleuch.
Obeisance meet the herald made,
And thus his master's will he said.

XXI.

"It irks, high Dame, my noble Lords,
'Gainst ladye fair to draw their swords;
But yet they may not tamely see,
All through the western wardenry.
Your law-contemning kinsmen ride,
And burn and spoil the Border-side;
And ill beseems your rank and birth
To make your towers a flemens-firth.*
We claim from thee William of Deloraine,
That he may suffer march-treason pain:†'
It was but last St. Cuthbert's even
He pricked to Stapleton on Leven,
Harried the lands of Richard Musgrave,
And slew his brother by dint of glaive.
Then, since a lone and widowed Dame
These restless riders may not tame,
Either receive within thy towers
Two hundred of my master's powers,
Or straight they sound their warison,§
And storm and spoil thy garrison;
And this fair boy, to London led,
Shall good King Edward's page be bred."

XXII.

He ceased-and loud the Boy did cry,
And stretched his little arms on high;
Implored for aid each well-known face,
And strove to seek the Dame's embrace.
A moment changed that Ladye's cheer,
Gushed to her eye the unbidden tear;
She gazed upon the leaders round,
And dark and sad each warrior frowned;
Then, deep within her sobbing breast
She locked the struggling sigh to rest;
Unaltered and collected stood,

And thus replied, in dauntless mood.

XXIII.

"Say to your Lords of high emprize,
Who war on women and on boys,
That either William of Deloraine
Will cleanse him, by oath, of march-treason stain,
Or else he will the combat take

'Gainst Musgrave, for his honour's sake.
No knight in Cumberland so good,

But William may count with him kin and blood.
Knighthood he took of Douglas' sword,
When English blood swelled Ancram ford;
And but that Lord Dacre's steed was wight,
And bare him ably in the flight,
Himself had seen him dubbed a knight.
For the young heir of Branksome's line,
God be his aid, and God be mine;
Through me no friend shall meet his doom;
Here, while I live, no foe finds room.
Then, if thy lords their purpose urge,
Take our defiance loud and high;
Our slogan is their lyke-wake dirge,

Our moat, the grave where they shall lie."

*An asylum for outlaws. Border treason.

Plundered.

Note of assault.

Lyke-wake, the watching a corpse previous to interment.

XXIV.

Proud she looked round, applause to claimThen lightened Thirlestane's eye of flame;

His bugle Watt of Harden blow; Pensils and pennons wide were flung, To heaven the Border slogan ruug,

"St. Mary for the young Buccleuch!" The English war-cry answered wide,

And forward bent each southern speur; Each Kendal archer made a stride,

And drew the bow-string to his ear; Each minstrel's war-note loud was blown;But, e'er a gay goose shaft had flown, A horseman galloped from the rear.

XXV.

"Ah! noble lord!" he, breathless, said,
"What treason has your march betrayed?
What makes you here, from aid so far,
Before you walls, around you war?
Your foemen triumph in the thought,
That in the toils the lion's caught.
Already on dark Ruberslaw

The Douglas holds his weapon-schaw ;*
The lances, waving in his train,
Clothe the dun heath like autumn grain;
And on the Liddle's northern strand,
To bar retreat to Cumberland,

Lord Maxwell ranks his merry men good,
Beneath the eagle and the rood;

And Jedwood, Eske, and Teviotdale,
Have to proud Angus come;
And all the Merse and Lauderdale
Have risen with haughty Home.
An exile from Northumberland,

In Liddesdale I've wandered long:

But still my heart was with merry England, And cannot brook my country's wrong; And hard I've spurred all night, to show The mustering of the coming foe."

XXVI.

"And let them come!" fierce Dacre cried; "For soon yon crest, my father's pride, That swept the shores of Judah's sea, And waved in gales of Galilee,

From Branksome's highest towers displayed,
Shall mock the rescue's lingering aid!-
Level each harquebuss on row;

Draw, merry archers, draw the bow;
Up, billmen, to the walls, and cry,
Dacre for England, win or die!"

XXVII.

"Yet hear," quoth Howard,-" calmly hear,
Nor deem my words the words of fear:
Nor who, in field or foray slack,
Saw the blanche lion e'er fall black?
But thus to risk our Border flower

In strife against a kingdom's power,

Ten thousand Scots 'gainst thousand three,
Certes, were despèrate policy.

Nay, take the terms the Ladye made,
E'er conscious of the advancing aid:
Let Musgrave meet fierce Deloraine
In single fight; and if he gain,
He gains for us; but if he's crossed,
"Tis but a single warrior lost;

The rest, retreating as they came,
Avoid defeat, and death, and shame."

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XXIX.

The pursuivant-at-arms again

Before the castle took his stand:
His trumpet called, with parleying strain.
The leaders of the Scottish band;
And he defled, in Musgrave's right,
Stout Deloraine to single fight;

A gauntlet at their feet he laid,
And thus the terms of fight he said:-
"If in the lists good Musgrave's sword
Vanquish the knight of Deloraine,
Your youthful chieftain, Branksome's lord,
Shall hostage for his clan remain;
If Deloraine foil good Musgrave,
The boy his liberty shall have.

Howe'er it falls, the English band, Unharming Scots, by Scots unharmed, Shall straight retreat to Cumberland."

XXX.

Unconscious of the near relief.

The proffer pleased each Scottish chief, Though much the Ladye sage gainsayed: For though their hearts were brave and true, From Jedwood's recent sack they knew,

How tardy was the regent's aid:

And you may guess the noble Dame
Durst not the secret prescience owl,
Sprung from the art she might not name,
By which the coming help was known.
Closed was the compact, and agreed,
That lists should be enclosed with speed,
Beneath the castle, on a lawn:
They fixed the morrow for the strife,
On foot, with Scottish axe and knife,

At the fourth hour from peep of dawn;
When Deloraine, from sickness freed,
Or else a champion in his stead,
Should for himself and chieftain stand,
Against stout Musgrave, hand to hand.

XXXI.

I know right well, that, in their ay,
Full many a minstrel sing and say.

Such combat should be made on horse,
On foaming steed, in full career,
With brand to aid, when as the spear
Should shiver in the course:

But he, the jovial harper, taught
Me, yet a youth, how it was fought,
In guise, which now I say:

He knew each ordinance and clause
Of Black Lord Archibald's battle laws,
In the old Douglas's day.

He brooked not, he, that scoffing tongue
Should tax his ininistrelsy with wrong,

Or call his song untrue:

For this, when they the goblet plied,
And such rude taunt had chafed his pride,
The bard of Renll he slew.

On Teviot's side, in fight, they stood,

And tuneful hands were stained with blood; Where still the thorn's white branches wave, Memorial o'er his rival's grave.

XXXII.

Why should I tell the rigid doom,
That dragged my master to his tomb:

How Ousenam's maidens tore their hair, Wept till their eyes were dead and dim, And wrung their hands for love of him, Who died at Jedwood Air?

He died!-his scholars, one by one,
To the cold silent grave are gone;
And I, alas! survive alone,

To muse o'er rivalries of yore,
And grieve that I shall hear no more
The strains, with envy heard before;
For, with my minstrel brethren fled,
My jealousy of song is dead.

He paused:-the listening dames again Applaud the hoary Minstrel's strain;

With many a word of kindly cheer,-
In pity half, and half sincere,-
Marvelled the Duchess how so well
His legendary song could tell-
Of ancient deeds, so long forgot;
Of fends, whose memory was not;
Of forests, now laid waste and bare;
Of towers, which harbour now the hare;
Of manners, long since changed and gone;
Of chiefs, who under their gray stone
So long had slept, that fickle Fame
Had blotted from her rolls their name,
And twined round some new minion's head
The fading wreath for which they bled!-
In sooth, 'twas strange, this old man's verse
Could call them from their marble hearse,

The Harper smiled, well-pleased, for ne'er
Was flattery lost on poet's ear:
A simple race! they waste their toil
For the vain tribute of a smile;
E'en when in age their flame expires,
Her dulcet breath can fan its fires:
Their drooping fancy wakes at praise,
And strives to trim the short-lived blaze.

Smiled then, well-pleased, the aged Man, And thus his tale continued ran.

CANTO FIFTH.

I.

Call it not vain:-they do not err, Who say that, when the poet dies, Mute nature mourns her worshipper, And celebrates his obsequies; Who say, tall cliff, and cavern lone, For the departed bard make moan: That mountains weep in crystal rill; That flowers in tears of balm distil; Through his loved groves that breezes sigh, And oaks, in deeper groan reply: And rivers teach their rushing wave To murmur dirges round his grave.

II.

Not that, in sooth, o'er mortal urn
Those things inanimate can mourn;
But that the stream, the wood, the gale,
Is vocal with the plaintive wail
Of those, who, else forgotten long,
Lived in the poet's faithful song,
And, with the poet's parting breath,
Whose memory feels a second death.
The maid's pale shade, who wails her lot,
That love, true love, should be forgot,
From rose and hawthorn shakes the tear
Upon the gentle minstrel's bier:
The phantom knight, his glory fled,
Mourns o'er the field he heaped with dead;
Mounts the wild blast that sweeps amain,
And shrieks along the battle-plain:
The chief, whose antique crownlet long
Still sparkled in the feudal song,

Now from the mountain's misty throne,

Sees, in the thanedom once his own,

His ashes undistinguished lie,

His place, his power, his memory die:

His groans the lonely caverns fill,

His tears of rage impel the rill;

All mourn the minstrel's harp unstrung. Their name unknown, their praise unsung.

III.

Scarcely the hot assault was staid,
The terms of truce were scarcely made,
When they could spy, from Branksome's towers,
The advancing march of martial powers;
Thick clouds of dust afar appeared,
And trampling steeds were faintly heard;

Bright spears, above the columns dun.
Glanced momentary to the sun;

And feudal banners fair displayed

The bands that moved to Branksome's aid.

IV.

Vails not to tell each hardy clan,

From the fair Middle Marches came
The Bloody Heart blazed in the van,

Announcing Douglas' dreaded name!
Vails not to tell what steed did spurn,
Where the Seven Spears of Wedderburn
There men in battle-order set;
And Swinton laid the lance in rest,
That tamed of yore the sparkling crest
Of Clarence's Plantagenet.
Nor list, I say, what hundreds more,
From the rich Merse and Lammermore,
And Tweed's fair borders, to the war,
Beneath the crest of old Dunbar,

And Hepburn's mingled banners come, Down the steep mountain glittering far, And shouting still, "A Home! a Home!"

V.

Now squire and knight, from Branksome sent,
On many a courteous message went;
To every chief and lord they paid
Meet thanks for prompt and powerful aid;
And told them,-how a truce was made,
And how a day of fight was ta'en
"Twixt Musgrave and stout Deloraine;
And how the Ladye prayed them dear
That all would stay the fight to see,
And deign, in love and courtesy,

To taste of Branksome cheer.
Nor, while they bade to feast each Scot,
Were England's noble lords forgot:
Himself, the hoary Seneschal,

Rode forth, in seemly terms to call
Those gallant foes to Branksome Hall.
Accepted Howard, than whom knight
Was never dubbed more bold in fight;
Nor, when from war and armour free,
More famed from stately courtesy:
But angry Dacre rather chose
In his pavilion to repose.

VI.

Now, noble Dame, perchance you ask.
How these two hostile armies met?
Deeming it were no easy task

To keep the truce which here was set;
Where martial spirts, all on fire,
Breathed only blood and martial ire.
By mutual inroads, mutual blows,
By habit, and by nation, foes,

They met on Teviot's strand:
They met, and sate them mingled down,
Without a threat, without a frown,

As brothers meet in foreign land:
The hands, the spear that lately grasped,
Still in the mailed gauntlet clasped,

Were interchanged in greeting dear;
Visors were raised, and faces shown,
And many a friend, to friend made known,
Partook of social cheer.

Some drove the jolly bowl about;

With dice and draughts some chased the day; And some, with many a merry shout,

In riot, revelry, and rout,
Pursued the foot-ball play.

VII.

Yet, be it known, had bugles blown,
Or sign of war been seen,
Those bands, so fair together ranged.
Those hands, so frankly interchanged,
Had dyed with gore the green:
The merry shout by Teviot-side
Had sunk in war-cries wild and wide,

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