16

The red cross, on a southern breast,

Is broader than the raven's nest;

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

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

XIV.

Well may you think, the wily page
Cared not to face the Ladye sage.
He counterfeited childish fear,

And shriek`d, and shed full many a tear,
And moan'd and plain'd 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 blush'd 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!»-

XV.

A heavy task Watt Tinliun had
To guide the counterfeited lad,
Soon as the palfrey felt the weight
Of that ill-omen'd elfish freight,
He bolted, sprung, and rear'd amain,
Nor heeded bit, not curb, nor rein.
It cost Watt Tinlinn mickle toil
To drive him but a Scottish mile;

But, as a shallow brook they cross'd,
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 laugh'd,
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 slaiu,
And though the wound soon heal'd again,
Yet, as he rau, he yell'd for pain;

And Watt of Tinhon, much aghast,

Rode back to Branksome fiery fast.

XVI.

Soon on the hill's steep verge he stood,
That looks o'er Branksome's towers and wood,
And martial murmurs, from below,
Proclaim'd the approaching southern for.
Through the dark wood, în ming ed tone,
Were Border-pipes and bugles biowa,

The coursers neighing he couli ken.

And measured tread of marching men,
We broke at times the solema hum,
The Almayns sailen kettle-drum,
And banners tell of crimson sheen,

Above the copse appear:

Anistering through the hawthorns green, Shine hein, and shield, and spear.

XVII.

Light foravers, first, to view the ground. Spurr & test fleet coursers loose'y reand,

Behind, in close array, and fast,

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

Advancing from the wood were seen. To back and guard the archer band, Lord Dacre's bill-men were at hand: A hardy race, on Irthing bred, With kirtles white, and crosses red, Array'd beneath the banner tall, That stream'd o'er Acre's conquer'd walk; And minstrels, as they marchd in order, Play'd «Noble Lord Dacre, he dwells on the B

XVHI Behind the English bili and bow, The mercenaries, firin 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, own'd no lord. (14) They were not arm'd 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: And, as they marched, in rugged tongue, Sounds of Teutonic feuds they sung.

XIX.

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

So rode they forth in fair array.
Til full their lengthen'd lines display;
Then calid a hair, and made a stand,
And cried, « St George for merry England.»

Now every English eye, intent,

On Branksomes armed towers was bent: So near they were, that they might know The straining harsh of each cross-bow; On battement and bartizan Gleamid axe, and spear, and partisan; Falcon and cuiver, 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 Reek'd, like a witch's cauldron red. While vet they gare, the bridges fall, The wicket opes, and from the wall Redes forth the hoary seneschal

XXI.

Armed he rode, all save the head,

His white beard o'er his breast-plate spread; Tabroke by age, erect his seat,

ruled his eager courser's gait;

red him, with chasten'd fire, to prance, A high curvetting, slow advance: in sign of truce, his better hand Inplay'd a peeled willow wand; Bis squire, attending in the rear, Bore high a gauntlet on a spear. (15) 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.

XXII.

Ye English warden lords, of you
Demands the Ladye of Buccleuch,
Why, painst the truce of Border-tide,
In hostile guise ye dare to ride,

With Kendal bow, and Gilsland brand,
And all yon mercenary band,
[pon the bounds of fair Scotland?
My Ladye redes 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.»

XXIII.

A wrathful man was Dacre's lord,

But calmer Howard took the word :-
May please thy dame, Sir Seneschal,
To seek the castle's outward wall,
far pursuivant-at-arms shall show,
With why we came, and when we go.»-
The message sped, the noble dame

the wall's outward circle came;
Lach chief around lean'd on his spear,

Ja see the pursuivant appear.
All in Lord Howard's livery dress'd,
The lion argent deck'd his breast;
He led a boy of blooming hue-
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:

Harried the lands of Richard Musgrave,
And slew his brother by dint of glaive.
Then, since a lone and widow'd dame
These restless riders may not tame,
Either receive within thy towers
Two hundred of my master's powers,
Or straight they sound their warrison,2
And storm and spoil thy garrison :
And this fair boy, to London led,
Shall good King Edward's page be bred.»-
XXV.

He ceased-and loud the boy did cry,
And stretch'd 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;
Gush'd to her eye the unbidden tear;
She gazed upon the leaders round,
And dark and sad each warrior frown'd;
Then, deep within her sobbing breast
She lock'd the struggling sigh to rest;
Unalter'd and collected stood,

And thus replied, in dauntless mood

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, (18)
When English blood swell'd Ancram ford; (19)
And but that Lord Dacre's steed was wight,
And bore him ably in the flight,
Himself had seen him dubb'd 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-wake3 dirge,

Our moat the grave where they shall lie.»

XXVII.

Proud she look'd round, applause to claim—
Then lighten'd Thirlestane's eye of flame,
His bugle Wat of Harden blew ;
Pensils and pennons wide were flung,
To heaven the Border slogan rung,

«St Mary for the young Buccleuch!» The English war-cry answer'd wide,

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

And drew the bow-string to his ear; Each minstrel's war-note loud was blown;But, ere a gray-goose shaft bad flown, A horseman gallop'd from the rear.

1 Plundered.

2 Note of assault.

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

XXVIII.

« Ah! noble lords!» he, breathless, said,"
"What treason has your march betray'd?
What make 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-shaw ;'
The lances, waving in his train,

Clothe the dun heath like autumn grain;
And on the Liddel'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 wander'd long;

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

XXIX.

« 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 display'd, Shall mock the rescue's lingering aid!— Level each harquebuss on row;

Draw, merry archers, draw the bow;

Up, bill-men, to the walls, and cry,
Dacre for England, win or die!»

XXX.

«Yet hear,» quoth Howard, « calmly hear,
Nor deem my words the words of fear;
For who, in field or foray slack,
Saw the blanche lion (20) e'er fall back?
But thus to risk our Border flower

In strife against a kingdom's power,

Ten thousand Scots 'gainst thousands three,
Certes, were desperate policy.

Nay, take the terms the Ladye made,
Ere conscious of the advancing aid:
Let Musgrave meet fierce Deloraine
In single fight, (21) and if he gain,
He gains for us; but if he 's cross'd,
'Tis but a single warrior lost:
The rest, retreating as they came,
Avoid defeat, and death, and shame.»-

XXXI.

Ill could the haughty Dacre brook
His brother-warden's sage rebuke;
And yet his forward step he staid,
And slow and sullenly obey'd
But ne'er again the Border side

Did these two lords in friendship ride;
And this slight discontent, men say,
Cost blood upon another day.
Weapon-shaw, the military array of a country.

XXXII.

The pursuivant-at-arms again

Before the castle took his stand;
His trumpet call'd, with parleying strain,
The leaders of the Scottish band;
And he defied, 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 unharm'd,
In peaceful march, like men unarm'd,
Shall straight retreat to Cumberland.»

XXXIII.

Unconscious of the near relief,

The proffer pleased each Scottish chief,

Though much the Ladye sage gainsaid; 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 own, 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 inclosed with speed,

Beneath the castle, on a lawn:
They fix'd 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.

XXXIV.

I know right well, that, in their lay,
Full many minstrels 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, (22) 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' day. (23)

He brook'd not, he, that scoffing tongue
Should tax his minstrelsy 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 Reull he slew.

On Teviot's side in fight they stood,
And tuneful hands were stain'd with blood;
Where still the thorn's white branches wave,
Memorial o'er his rival's grave.

XXXV.

Why should I tell the rigid doom,
That dragg'd my master to his tomb;

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

& died!-his scholars, one by one, To the cold silent graye 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;
Fer, with my minstrel brethren fled,
My jealousy of song is dead.

Is paused: the listening dames again
Applaud the hoary Minstrel's strain.
With many a word of kindly cheer,-
Ja pity half, and half sincere,-
Marvell d the duchess how so well
His legendary song could tell-
Of ancient deeds, so long forgot;
Of feuds, 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, 't was strange, this old man's verse;
Could call them from their marble hearse.

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 heap'd 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 undistinguish'd lie,

His place, his power, his memory die:

'Vails not to tell each hardy clan,

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

Announcing Douglas, dreaded name! (1)
'Vails not to tell what steeds did spurn,
Where the Seven Spears of Wedderburne (2)
Their men in battle-order set;
And Swinton laid the lance in rest,
That tamed of yore the sparkling crest
Of Clarence's Plantagenet. (3)

Nor lists 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!»> (4)

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 pray'd 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 dubb'd more bold in fight;
Nor, when from war and armour free,
More famed for 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 spirits, all on fire,
Breathed only blood and mortal 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 grasp'd,
Still in the mailed gauntlet clasp'd,

Were interchanged in greeting dear;
Visors were rais'd, 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; with many a merry shout,

And some,

In riot, revelry, and rout,

Pursued the foot-ball play. (5)

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,
And in the groan of death;

And whingers,' now in friendship bare,
The social meal to part and share,

Had found a bloody sheath.
"Twixt truce and war such sudden change
Was not infrequent, nor held strange,
In the old Border day: (6)

But yet on Branksome's towers and town,
In peaceful merriment, sunk down
The sun's declining ray.

VIII.

The blithesome signs of wassel gay Decay'd not with the dying day; A sort of knife, or poniard.

Soon through the latticed windows tall
Of lofty Branksome's lordly hall,
Divided square by shafts of stone,
Huge flakes of ruddy lustre shone;
Nor less the gilded rafters rang
With merry harp and beakers' clang:
And, frequent, on the darkening plain,
Loud hollo, whoop, or whistle ran,
As bands, their stragglers to regain,

Gave the shrill watch-word of their clan; (7; And revellers, o'er their bowls, proclaim Douglas' or Dacre's conquering name.

IX.

Less frequent heard, and fainter still,
At length the various clamours died;
And you might hear, from Branksome hill,
No sound but Teviot's rushing tide:
Save, when the changing sentinel
The challenge of his watch could tell;
And save where, through the dark profound,
The clanging axe and hammer's sound

Rung from the nether lawn;

For many a busy hand toil'd there,
Strong pales to shape, and beams to square
The lists dread barriers to prepare
Against the morrow's dawn.
X.

Margaret from hall did soon retreat,
Despite the dame's reproving eye;
Nor mark'd she, as she left her seat,
Full many a stifled sigh:
For many a noble warrior strove
To win the Flower of Teviot's love,
And
many a bold ally.-
With throbbing head and anxious heart,
All in her lonely bower apart,

In broken sleep she lay :

By times, from silken couch she rose;
While yet the banner'd hosts repose,
She view'd the dawning day:

Of all the hundreds sunk to rest,
First woke the loveliest and the best.

XI.

She gazed upon the inner court,

Which in the tower's tall shadow lay; Where coursers' clang, and stamp, and snort, Had rung the livelong yesterday;

Now still as death; till, stalking slow,The jingling spurs announced his tread,A stately warrior pass'd below;

But when he raised his plumed head-
Blessed Mary! can it be?—
Secure, as if in Ousenam bowers,
He walks through Branksome's hostile towers,
With fearless step and free.

She dared not sign, she dared not speak-
Oh! if one page's slumbers break,

His blood the price must pay!
Not all the pearls Queen Mary wears,
Not Margaret's yet more precious tears,
Shall buy his life a day.

XII.

Yet was his hazard small; for well You may bethink you of the spell