L'owillingly himself he address'd
To do his master's high behest:
He lifted up the living corse,
And laid it on the weary horse;
He led him into Branksome-hall,
Before the beards of the warders all;
And each did after swear and say,
There only pass'd a wain of hay.
He took him to Lord David's tower,
Even to the Ladye's secret bower;
And, but that stronger spells were spread,
And the door might not be opened,
He had laid him on her very bed.
Whate er he did of gramarye,'
Was always done maliciously;
He flung the warrior on the ground,

And the blood well'd freshly from the wound.

XII.

As he repass'd the outer court,

He spied the fair young child at sport:
Be thought to train him to the wood;
Ferat a word, be it understood,

He was always for ill, and never for good.
Seem'd to the boy, some comrade gay
Led him forth to the woods to play;
On the draw-bridge the warders stout
Saw a terrier and lurcher passing out.

XIII.

He led the boy o'er bank and fell,

Until they came to a woodland brook;
The running stream dissolved the spell, (5),
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 amazed at the wond'rous 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,
He flew at him right furiouslie.

I ween you would have seen with joy
The bearing of the gallant boy,
When, worthy of his noble sire,
His wet cheek glow'd 'twixt fear and ire!
He faced the blood-hound manfully,
And held his little bat on high;
So fierce he struck, the dog, afraid,
At cautious distance hoarsely bay'd,

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-'t is a boy!»>

XVI.

The speaker issued from the wood,
And check'd his fellow's surly mood,
And quell'd the ban-dog's ire :
He was an English yeoman good,
And born in Lancashire.
Well could he hit a fallow deer

Five hundred feet him fro;

With hand more true, and eye more clear,

No archer bended bow.

His coal-black hair, shorn round and close,
Set off his sunburnt face;

Old England's sign, St George's cross,
His barret-cap did grace;

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.

XVII.

His kirtle, made of forest green, Reach'd scantly to his knee;

And, at his belt, of arrows keen

A furbish'd sheaf bore he:

His buckler scarce in breadth a span,

No larger fence had he;

He never counted him-a man

Would strike below the knee; (6)

His slacken'd bow was in his hand,

And the leash, that was his blood-hound's band.

XVIII.

He would not do the fair child harm,
But held him with his powerful arm,
That he might neither fight nor flee;
For when the red cross spied he,
The boy strove long and violently.
«Now, by St George,» the archer cries,
« Edward, methinks we have a prize!
This boy's fair face, and courage free,
Show he is come of high degree.»>

XIX.

«Yes! I am come of high degree,

For I am the heir of bold Buccleuch;

And if thou dost not set me free,

False southron, thou shalt dearly rue! For Walter of Harden shall come with speed, And William of Deloraine, good at need, And every Scott from Esk to Tweed; And, if thou dost not let me go, Despite thy arrows and thy bow,

I'll have thee hang'd to feed the crow!»

XX.

Gramercy, for thy good will, fair boy!
My mind was never set so high;
But if thou art chief of such a clap,
And art the son of such a man,
And ever comest to thy command,

Our wardens had need to keep good order: My bow of yew to a hazel wand,

Thou 'It make them work upon the Border. Meantime, be pleased to come with me, For good Lord Dacre shalt thou see: I think our work is well begun, When we have taken thy father's son.»>

XXI.

Although the child was led away,
In Branksome still he seem'd to stay,
For so the Dwarf his part did play;
And, in the shape of that young boy,
He wrought the castle much annoy.
The comrades of the young Buccleuch
He pinch'd, and beat, and overthrew ;
Nay, some of them he well nigh slew.
He tore Dame Maudlin's silken tire,
And, as Sym Hall stood by the fire,
He lighted the match of his bandelier,'
And woefully scorch'd the hackbutteer ̧2
It may be hardly thought or said,
The mischief that the urchin made,
Till many of the castle guess'd
That the young baron was possess'd!

Bandelier, belt for carrying ammunition.
Hackintteer, musketeer.

XXII.

Well I ween, the charm he held
The noble Ladye had soon dispell'd;
But she was deeply busied then
To tend the wounded Deloraine..
Much she wonder'd to find him lie,

On the stone threshold stretch'd along; She thought some spirit of the sky

Had done the bold moss-trooper wrong; Because, despite her precept dread, Perchance he in the book had read; But the broken lance in his bosom stood, And it was earthly steel and wood.

ΧΧΠΙ.

She drew the splinter from the wound,
And with a charm she staunch'd the blood; (2)
She bade the gash be cleansed and bound:
No longer by his couch she stood;

But she has ta'en the broken lance,
And wash'd it from the clotted gore,

And salved the splinter o'er and o'er. (8)
William of Deloraine, in trance,
Whene'er she turn'd it round and round,
Twisted as if she gall'd his wound.

Then to her maidens she did say,

That he should be whole man and sound,

Within the course of a night and day. Full long she toil'd; for she did rue Mishap to friend so stout and true.

XXIV.

So pass'd the day-the evening fell.
'T was near the time of curfew bell;
The air was mild, the wind was calm,
The stream was smooth, the dew was balm;
E'en the rude watchman, on the tower,
Enjoy'd and bless'd the lovely hour;
Far more fair Margaret loved and bless'd
The hour of silence and of rest.
On the high turret sitting lone,

She waked at times the lute's soft tone;
Touch'd a wild note, and, all between,
Thought of the bower of hawthorns green.
Her golden hair stream'd free from band,
Her fair check rested on her hand,
Her blue eyes sought the west afar,
For lovers love the western star.

XXV.

Is you the star, o'er Penchryst Pen,
That rises slowly to her ken,
And, spreading broad its wavering light,
Shakes its loose tresses on the night?

Is yon red glare the western star?—
O, 't is the beacon-blaze of war!

Scarce could she draw her tighten'd breath,
For well she knew the fire of death!

XXVI.

The warder view'd it blazing strong,
And blew his war-note loud and long,
Till, at the high and haughty sound,
Rock, wood, and river, rung around.
The blast alarm'd the festal hall,
And startled forth the warriors all;

Our kin, and clan, and friends to raise.»—(10)
XXVIII.

Fair Margaret, from the turret-head,
Beard, far below, the coursers' tread,
While loud the harness rang,
As to their seats, with clamour dread,
The ready horsemen sprang;
And trampling hoofs, and iron coats,
And leaders' voices, mingled notes,
And out and out!

In hasty route,

The horsemen gallop'd forth; Bersing to the south to scout,

And east, and west, and north,

new their coming enemies,

And warn their vassals and allies.

XXIX.

The ready page, with hurried hand,

Aviked the need-fire's3 slumbering brand, And ruddy blush'd the heaven;

For a sheet of flame, from the turret high, Waved like a blood-flag 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 gleam'd on many a dusky tarn,4
Haunted by the lonely earn;5

On many a cairn's gray pyramid,

Where urns of mighty chiefs lie hid; (11)

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 dia,
Blood-hound and ban-dog yell'd within.

XXXI.

The noble dame, amid the broil,

Shared the gray seneschal's high toil,
And spoke of danger with a smile;
Cheer'd 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 aught,
Nor in what time the truce he sought.

Some said, that there were thousands ten,
And others ween'd that it was nought
But Leven Claus, or Tynedale men,
Who came to gather in black-mail;2
And Liddesdale, with small avail,
Might drive them lightly back agen.
So pass'd the anxious night away,
And welcome was the peep
of day.

Now loud the heedful gate-ward cried-
<< Prepare ye all for blows and blood!
Watt Tinlinn, (4) from the Liddel 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 twang'd the yew.
Right sharp has been the evening shower,
That drove him from his Liddel tower;
And, by my faith,» the gate-ward said,
« I think 't will prove a warden-raid.»>1

V.

While thus he spoke, the bold yeoman
Enter'd the echoing barbican.
He led a small and shaggy nag,
That through a bog, from hag to hag,
Could bound like any Bilhope stag. (5)
It bore his wife and children twain;
A half-clothed serf3 was all their train.
His wife, stout, ruddy, and dark-brow'd,
Of silver broach and bracelet proud, (6)
Laugh'd to her friends among the crowd.

An inroad commanded by the warden in person. 2 The broken ground in a bog.

3 Bondsman.

He was of stature passing tall

But sparely form'd, and lean wiikal;
A batter'd morion on his brow

A leathern jack, as fence enom

On his broad shoulders loosery g:
A Border-axe behind was siung;

His spear, six Scottish ells in length....

Seem'd 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 (7 is marching here, And hot Lord Dacre, (S) with many a spear, And all the German hackbut-men,' 9,

Who have long lain at Askerten.

They cross'd the Liddel at curfew hour,
And burnt my little lonely tower;

The fiend receive their souls therefor!
It had not been burnt this year and more.
Barn-yard and dwelling, blazing bright,
Served to guide me on my flight;

But I was chased the livelong night.

Black John of Akeshaw, and Fergus Græme,

Full fast upon my traces came,

Until I turn'd at Priesthaugh Scrogg,

And shot their horses in the bog,

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 Liddesdale,
Fast hurrying in, confirm'd the tale;
As far as they could judge by ken,

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

Meanwhile, full many a warlike band,
From Teviot, Aill, and Ettrick shade,
Came in, their chiefs 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 Gamescleugh's dusky height, His ready lances Thirlestane brave

Array'd beneath a banner bright. (10)
The tressured fleur-de-luce he claims
To wreathe his shield, since royal James,
Encamp'd by Fala's mossy wave,
The proud distinction grateful gave,

For faith 'mid feudal jars;
What time, save Thirlestane alone,
Of Scotland's stubborn barons 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 reveal'd-
Ready, aye ready,» for the field.

Musketeers.

IX.

An aged knight, to danger steel'd,

With many a moss-trooper, came on; ad azure in a golden field,

De stars and crescent graced his shield, Bithout the bend of Murdieston. (11) The lay his lands round Oakwood tower, And wide round haunted Castle-Ower; High over Borthwick's mountain-flood His wood-embosom'd mansion stood; In the dark glen, so deep below, The herds of plunder'd England low, Ha bold retainers' daily food,

And bought with danger, blows, and blood.
Marauding chief! his sple delight

The moon-light 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 spurn'd at rest,
And still his brows the helmet press'd,
Albeit the blanched locks below

Were white as Dinlay's spotless suow:
Five stately warriors drew the sword
Before their father's band;

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

X.

Scots of Eskdale, a stalwart band, (12)
Came trooping down the Todshawhill;
the sword they won their land,
And by the sword they hold it still.
Harken, ladye, to the tale,

How thy sires won fair Eskdale.

Earl Morton was lord of that valley fair,

The Beattisons were his vassals there.
The earl was gentle, and mild of mood,

The assals were warlike, and fierce, and rude;

Eg of heart, and haughty of word,

e they reck'd of a tame liege-lord.

The earl to fair Eskdale came,

Berage and seignory to claim:

Of Gilbert the Galliard a heriot' he sought,

Sing Give thy best steed, as a vassal ought.»>

Dear to me is my bonny white steed,

Oft has he help'd me at pinch of need;
Lord and earl though thou be, I trow,
Ian rein Bucksfoot better than thou.»-
Word on word gave fuel to fire,

Till so highly blazed the Beattisons' ire,
But that the earl his flight had ta'en,
The vassals there their lord had slain.

Sore he plied both whip and spur,

As he urged his steed through Eskdale muir;

And it fell down a weary weight,

Jay on the threshold of Branksome gate.

Beshrew thy heart, of the Beattisons' clan
If thou leavest on Esk a landed man;
But spare Woodkerrick's lands alone,
For he lent me his horse to escape upon.»>—
A glad man then, was Branksome bold,
Down he flung him the purse of gold;
To Eskdale soon he spurr'd amain,
And with him five hundred riders has ta'en.
He left his merry-men in the mist of the hill,
And bade them hold them close and still;
And alone he wended to the plain,

To meet with the Galliard and all his train.
To Gilbert the Galliard thus he said :-
«Know thou me for thy liege-lord and head;
Deal not with me as with Morton tame,
For Scotts play best at the roughest game.
Give me in peace my heriot due,

Thy bonny white steed, or thou shalt rue.
If my horn I three times wind,

Eskdale shall long have the sound in mind.»-
XII.

Loudly the Beattison laugh'd in scorn;

<< Little care we for thy winded horn.
Ne'er shall it be the Galliard's lot,
To yield his steed to a haughty Scott.
Wend thou to Branksome back on foot,
With rusty spur and miry boot.»>-

He blew his bugle so loud and hoarse,

That the dun deer started at far Craikcross;

He blew again so loud and clear,

Through the gray mountain-mist there did lances

appear;

And the third blast rang with such a din,
That the echoes answer'd from Pentoun-linn,
And all his riders came lightly in.

Then had you seen a gallant shock,

When saddles were emptied, and lances broke!
For each scornful word the Galliard had said,
A Beattison on the field was laid.

His own good sword the chieftain drew,
And he bore the Galliard through and through;
Where the Beattison's blood mix'd with the rill,
The Galliard's Haugh, men call it still.
The Scotts have scatter'd the Beattison clan,
In Eskdale they left but one landed man.

The valley of Eske, from the mouth to the source,
Was lost and won for that bonny white horse.