V. Ten squires, ten yeomen, mail-clad men, And with Jedwood-axe at saddle-bow: (3) VI. Why do these steeds stand ready dight? From Warkworth, or Naworth, or merry Carlisle.(4) VII. Such is the custom of Branksome-hall.—— Many a valiant knight is here; But he, the chieftain of them all, His sword hangs rusting on the wall, Beside his broken spear. Bards long shall tell How Lord Walter fell! (5) When startled burghers fled, afar, The furies of the Border war; When the streets of high Dunedin Saw lances gleam, and falchions redden, And heard the slogan's deadly yellThen the Chief of Branksome fell. VIII. Can piety the discord heal, Or staunch the death-feud's enmity? In mutual pilgrimage they drew; (6) For chiefs their own red falchions slew: While Cessford owns the rule of Car, (7) While Ettrick boasts the line of Scott, The slaughter'd chiefs, the mortal jar, The havoc of the feudal war, Shall never, never be forgot! IX. In sorrow o'er Lord Walter's-bier The warlike foresters had bent; But o'er her warrior's bloody bier The Ladye dropp'd nor flower nor tear! Vengeance, deep brooding o'er the slain, Had lock'd the source of softer woe; And burning pride, and high disdain, Forbade the rising tear to flow; The war-cry, or gathering word of a Border clan. Until, amid his sorrowing clan, Her son lisp'd from the nurse's knee « And if I live to be a man, My father's death revenged shall be!» Then fast the mother's tears did seek To dew the infant's kindling cheek. X. All loose her negligent attire, Hung Margaret o'er her slaughter'd sire, But not alone the bitter tear Had filial grief supplied; For hopeless love, and anxious fear, XI. Of noble race the Ladye came; Of Bethune's line of Picardie: (9) His form no darkening shadow traced Upon the sunny wall! (11) XH. And of his skill, as bards avow, He taught that Ladye fair, The viewless forms of air. (12) That moans the mossy turrets round. Is it the roar of Teviot's tide, That chafes against the scaur's red side? Is it the wind, that swings the oaks? Is it the echo from the rocks? What may it be, the heavy sound, That moaus old Branksome's turrets round? XIII. At the sullen, moaning sound, Loud whoops the startled owl. Scaur, a precipitous bank of earth. XIV. From the sound of Teviot's tide, The Ladye knew it well! It was the Spirit of the Flood that spoke, And he call'd on the Spirit of the Fell. XV. RIVER SPIRIT. Sleep'st thou, brother?»> MOUNTAIN SPIRIT. -« Brother, nay— On my hills the moon-beams play, Emerald rings on brown heath tracing, Up, and mark their nimble feet! XVI. RIVER SPIRIT. «Tears of an imprison'd maiden Mourns beneath the moon's pale beam. XVII. MOUNTAIN SPIRIT. « Arthur's slow wain his course doth roll But no kind influence deign they shower On Teviot's tide, and Branksome's tower, Till pride be quell'd, and love be free.» XVIII. The unearthly voices ceased, And the heavy sound was still:It died on the river's breast, It died on the side of the hill. But round Lord David's tower The sound still floated near; For it rung in the Ladye's bower, And it rung in the Ladye's ear. She raised her stately head, And her heart throbb'd high with pride:Your mountains shall bend, And your streams ascend, Ere Margaret be our foeman's bride!»> XIX. The Ladye sought the lofty hall, Where many a bold retainer lay, And, with jocund din, among them all, In mimic foray' rode. The Ladye forgot her purpose high XXI. A stark moss-trooping Scott was he, By wily turns, by desperate bounds, In Eske, or Liddel, fords were none, XXII. << Sir William of Deloraine, good at need, Until you come to fair Tweedside; And in Melrose's holy pile Seek thou the monk of St Mary's aisle. Say, that the fated hour is come, For this will be St Michael's night, And, though stars be dim, the moon is bright; And the cross, of bloody red, Will point to the grave of the Mighty Dead. Soon in his saddle sate he fast, And cross'd old Borthwick's roaring strand; XXVI. The clattering hoofs the watchmen mark ;« Stand, ho! thou courier of the dark.» << For Branksome, ho!» the knight rejoin'd, And, guided by the tinkling rill, XXVII. A moment now he slack'd his speed, When some sad swain shall teach the grove, Ambition is no cure for love! XXVIII. Unchallenged, thence pass'd Deloraine To ancient Riddel's fair domain, (20) Where Aill, from mountains freed, Hairibee, the place of executing the Border marauders, at Carlisle. The neck-verse is the beginning of the 51st psalm, Miserere mei, etc., anciently read by criminals claiming the benefit of clergy. 2 Barbican, the defence of the outer gate of a feudal castle. 3 Peel, a Border tower, 4 An ancient Roman road, crossing through part of Roxburghshire. Down from the lakes did raving come, Cresting each wave with tawny foam, Like the mane of a chesnut steed. In vain! no torrent, deep or broad, Might bar the bold moss-trooper's road. XXIX. At the first plunge the horse sunk low, Yet, through good heart and Our Ladye's grace, ΧΧΧ. Now Bowden Moor the march-man won, XXXI. In bitter mood he spurred fast, Old Melros' rose, and fair Tweed ran: :(22) In solemn wise did rise and fail, Like that wild harp, whose magic tone Is waken'd by the winds alone. But when Melrose he reach'd, 't was silence ali; He meetly stabled his steed in stall, And sought the convent's lonely wall. 6 The duchess, and her daughters fair, And every gentle ladye there, Each after each, in due degree, Gave praises to his melody; His hand was true, his voice was clear, CANTO II. If thou wouldst view fair Melrose aright, When the broken arches are black in night, And the scrolls that teach thee to live and die; (1) And the owlet to loot o'er the dead man's grave; Then go-but go alone the while-- II. Short halt did Deloraine make there; "Who knocks so loud, and knocks so late?»>- For Branksome's chiefs had in battle stood, Had gifted the shrine for their souls' repose. (3) III. Bold Deloraine his errand said; He enter'd the cell of the ancient priest, To hail the Monk of St Mary's aisle. IV.. «The Ladye of Branksome greets thee by me; Says, that the fated hour is come, Aventagle, visor of the helmet. And that to-night I shall watch with thee, V. And strangely on the knight look'd he, And his blue eyes gleam'd wild and wide; « And darest thou, warrior, seek to see What heaven and hell alike would hide? My breast, in belt of iron pent, With shirt of hair and scourge of thorn, For threescore years, in penance spent, My knees those flinty stones have worn; Yet all too little to atone For knowing what should ne'er be known. Wouldst thou thy every future year In ceaseless prayer and penance drie, Yet wait thy latter end with fearThen, daring warrior, follow me!»> VI. « Penance, father, will I none; For mass or prayer can I rarely tarry, When I ride on a Border foray: (4) So speed me my errand, and let me be gone.»> . VII. Again on the knight look'd the churchman old, And again he sighed heavily; For he had himself been a warrior bold, And fought in Spain and Italy. And he thought on the days that were long since by, When his limbs were strong, and his courage was high Now slow and faint, he fed the way, And beneath their feet were the bones of the dead (5) VIII. Spreading herbs and flowerets bright Nor herb nor floweret glisten'd there, But was carved in the cloister'd arches as fair. The monk gazed long on the lovely moon, Then into the night he looked forth; And red and bright the streamers light Were dancing in the glowing north. So had he seen, in fair Castile, The youth in glittering squadrons start; Sudden the flying jennet wheel, And hurl the unexpected dart. (6) He knew, by the streamers that shot so bright, That spirits were riding the northern light. IX. By a steel-clenched postern door, They enter'd now the chancel tall; The darken'd roof rose high aloof On pillars, lofty, and light, and small: The key-stone, that lock'd each ribbed aisle, The corbells were carved grotesque and grim; X. Full many a scutcheon and banner, riven, Shook to the cold night-wind of heaven, Around the screened altar's pale; And there the dying lamps did burn Before thy low and lonely urn, O gallant chief of Otterburne! (7) And thine, dark knight of Liddesdale! (8) O fading honours of the dead! O high ambition, lowly laid! XI. The moon on the east oriel shone (9) Thou wouldst have thought some fairy's hand "Twixt poplars straight the ozier wand, In many a freakish knot, had twined; Show'd many a prophét, and many a saint, And trampled the Apostate's pride. XII. They sate them down on a marble stone, <<I was not always a man of woe; XIII. << In these far climes, it was my lot The bells would ring in Notre Dame! (13) The words that cleft Eildon hills in three, And bridled the Tweed with a curb of stone: :(14) But to speak them were a deadly sin; And for having but thought them my heart within, A treble penance must be done. XIV. "When Michael lay on his dying bed, His conscience was awakened; Corbells, the projections from which the arches spring, usually cut in a fantastic face, or mask. He bethought him of his sinful deed, XV. « I swore to bury his mighty book, That never mortal might therein look; And never to tell where it was hid, Save at bis chief of Branksome's need; And when that need was past and o'er, Again the volume to restore. I buried him on St Michael's night, When the bell told one, and the moon was bright, XVI. « It was a night of woe and dread, The banners waved without a blast»-- I tell you, that a braver man Than William of Deloraine, good at need, XVII. «< Lo, warrior! now the cross of red He pointed to a secret nook; An iron bar the warrior took; And the monk made a sign with his wither'd hand, The grave's huge portal to expand. XVIII. With beating heart to the task he went; Till the toil-drops fell from his brows, like rain. That he moved the massy stone at length. I would you had been there to see |