In armour sheath'd from top to toe, Appear'd, and craved the combat due. The dame her charm successful knew, And the fierce chiefs their claims withdrew.

Of that sly urchin page;
This to his lord he did impart,
And made him seem, by glamour art,

A knight from Hermitage:
Carhallenged, thus, the warder's post,
The court, unchallenged, thus he cross d,

For all the vassalage : Pat, O! wbat magic's quaint disguise Could blind fair Margaret's azure eges!

She started from her seat ; While with surprise and fear she strove, And both could scarcely master love

Lord Henry's at hier feet.

Oft bave I mused, what purpose bad
That vile malicious urchin had

To bring this meeting round;
For happy love's a heavenly sight,
And by a vile malignant sprite

In such po joy is found :
And oft I've deem'd, perchance he thought
Their erring passion might have wrought

Sorrow, and sin, and shame:
And death to Cranstoun's gallant knight,
And to the gentle ladye bright,

Disgrace, and loss of fame.
Bat earthly spirit could not tell
The heart of them that loved so well.
True love 's the gift which God has given
To man alone beneath the heaven.
It is not fantasy's hot fire,

Wbose vishes, soon as granted, fly;
I liveth not in fierce desire,

Wich dead desire it doth not die ; It is the secret sympathy, The silver link, the silken tie, Which heart to heart, and mind to mind, In body and in soul can bind. Sow leave we Margaret and her knight, To tell you of the approaching fight.

xvi. When for the lists they sought the plain, The stately Ladye's silken rein

Did noble Howard hold;
Unarmed by her side he walka,
And much, in courteous phrase, they talk'd

Of feats of arms of old.
Costly his garb--his Flemish ruff
Fell o'er his doublet, shaped of buff,

With satin slash'd and lined;
Tawny his boot, and gold his spur,
His cloak was all of Poland fur;
• His hose with silver twined:
His Bilboa blade, by Marchmen felt,
Hung in a broad and studded belt;
Hence, in rude phrase, the Borderers still
Callid noble Howard, Belted Will.

Behind Lord Howard and the dame,
Fair Margaret on her palfrey came,
Whose foot-cloth swept the ground;
White was her wimple, and her veil,
And her loose locks a chaplet pale
Of whitest roses bound.
The lordly Angus, 'by her side,
In courtesy to cheer her tried;
Without his aid, her hand in vain
Had strove to guide her broider'd rein.
He deemd, she shudder'd at the sight
Of warriors met for mortal fight;
But cause of terror, all unguess'd,
Was fluttering in her gentle breast,
When, in their chairs of crimson placed,
The dame and she the barriers graced.

Prize of the field, the young Buccleuch,
An English knight led fomh to view;
Scarce rued the boy his present plight,
So much he long'd to see the fight.
Within the lists, in knightly pride,
High Home and haughty Dacre ride;
Their leading-staffs of steel they wield,
As marshals of the mortal field;
While to each knight their care assign'd
Like vantage of the sun and wind.
Then heralds hoarse did loud proclaim,
In king and queen, and warden's name,

That none, while lasts the strife,
Should dare, by look, or sigo, or word,
Aid to a champion to afford,

On peril of his life;
And not a breath the silence broke,
Till thus the alternate heralds spoke:

Their warning blast the bugles blew,

The pipe's shrill port aroused each clan; lo haste, the deadly strife to view,

The trooping warriors eager ran:
Thick round the lists their lances slood,
Like blasted pines in Ettrick wood;
To Branksome many a look they threw,
The combatants' approach to view,
And bandied many a word of boast,
About the knight each favour'd most.

XV. Meantime full anxious was the dame; For now arose disputed claim, Of who should fight for Deloraine, Twixt Harden and 'twixt Thirlestane ; Thary 'gan to reckon kin and rent, And frowning brow on brow was bent;

But yet not long the strife--for, lo! Himself, the Knight of Deloraine, Strong, as it seem'd, and free from pain,


Here staudeth Richard of Musgrave,

Good knight and true, and freely born,

& martial piece of music adapted to the bagpipes.

See p. 12, Stanza 23.

Amends from Deloraine to crave,

For foul despiteous scathe and scorn. He sayeth that William of Deloraine

Is traitor false by Border laws;
This with his sword he will maintain,

So help him God, and his good cause !

And still the crucifix on high
He holds before his darkening eye;
And still he bends an anxious ear,
His faltering penitence to hear;

Suill props him from the bloody sod,
Still, even when soul and body part,
Pours ghostly comfort on his heart,

And bids him trust in God! Unheard he prays;-the death-pang's o'er!Richard of Musgrave breathes no more.


Ilere standeth William of Deloraine,
Good knight and true, of noble strain,
Who saycth, that foul treason's stain,
Since he bore arms, ne'er soild his coat;

And that, so help him God above,

He will on Musgrave's body prove,
He lies most foully in his throat.

Forward, brave champions, to the fight!
Sound trumpets!


---«God defend the right!» Then, Teviot! how thine echoes rang When bugle-sound and trumpet-clang

Let loose the martial foes,
And in mid list, with shield poised high,
And measured step and wary eye,

The combatants did close.

As if exhausted in the fight,
Or musing o'er the piteous sight,

The silent victor stands;
His beaver did he not unclasp,
Mark'd not the shouts, felt not the grasp

Of gratulating hands.
When lo! strange eries of wild surprise,
Mingled with seeming terror, rise

Among the Scottish bands;
And all, amid the throng'd array,
In panic haste gave open way
To a half-naked ghastly man,
Who downward from the castle ran:
He cross'd the barriers at a bound,
And wild and haggard look'd around,

As dizzy, and in pain ;
And all, upon the armed ground,

Knew William of Deloraine!
Each ladye sprung from seat with speed;
Vaulted each marshal from his steed;

« And who art thou,» they cried, « Who hast this battle fought and won ?» His plumed helm was soon undone -

« Cranstoun of Teviot side! For this fair prize I've fought and won,» And to the Ladye led her son.

XXI. Ill would it suit your gentle ear, Ye lovely listeners, to hear How to the axe the helms did sound, And blood pour d down from many a wound; For desperate was the strife and long, And either warrior fierce and strong. But, were each dame a listening knight, I well could tell how warriors fight; For I have seen war's lightning flashing, Seen the claymore with bayonet clashing, Seen through red blood the war-horse dashing, And scorn'd, amid the reeling strife, To yield a step for death or life.

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XXII. "T is done, 't is done! that fatal blow

Has stretch'd him on the bloody plain ; He strives to rise--Brave Musgrave, no!

Thence never shalt thou r He chokes in blood-some friendly hand Undo the visor's barred band, Unfix the gorget's iron clasp, And give him room for life lo gasp;o, bootless aid!-haste, holy friar, Haste, ere the sinner shall expire! Of all his guilt let him be shriven, And smooth his path from earth to heaven!

Full oft the rescued boy she kiss'd,
And often press'd him to her breast;
For, under all her dauntless show,
Her heart had throbb'd at every blow;
Yet not Lord Cranstoun deigo'd she greet,
Though low he kneeled at her feet.
Me list not tell what words were made,
What Douglas, Home, and Howard said

--For Howard was a generous foeAnd how the clan united pray'd,

The Ladye would the feud forego, And deign to bless the nuptial bour Of Cranstoun's Lord and Teviot's Flower

In haste the holy friar sped ;-
His naked foot was dyed with red,

As through the lists he ran;
Unmindful of the shouts on high,
That haild the conqueror's victory,

He raised the dying man; Loose waved his silver beard and hair, As o'er him he kneeld down in prayer ;

She look d to river, look'd to hill,

Thought on the Spirits' prophecy,
Then broke her silence stern and still, -

« Not you, but Fate, has vanquish'd me; Their intluence kindly stars may shower On Teviot's tide and Branksome's tower,

For pride is quelld, and love is free.» She took fair Margaret by the hand, Who, breathless, trembling, scarce might stand,

That hand to Cranstoun's lord gave she-« As I am true to thee and thine, Do thou be true to me and mine!

This clasp of love our bond shall be, For this is your betrothing-day, And all these noble lords shall stay,

To grace it with their company.»

XXVII. All as they left the listed plain, Nach of the story she did gain; How Cranstoun fought with Deloraine, And of his page, and of the book Which from the wounded knight he took; And how he sought her castle high, That morn, by help of gramarye ; How, in Sir William's armour dight, Stolen by his page, while slept the knight, He took on him the single fight. But half his tale he left unsaid, And linger'd till he join'd the maid. — Cared not the Ladye to betray Her mystic arts in view of day; But well she thought, ere midnight came, Of that strange page the pride to tame, From his foul hands the book to save, And send it back to Michael's grave.Seeds not to tell each tender word Twist Margaret and 'twixt Cranstoun's lord; Sor how she told of former woes, And how her bosom fell and rose, While he and Musgrave bandied blows. . Needs not these lovers joys to tell; One day, fair maids, you 'll know them well.

For, if I slew thy brother dear,

Thou siew'st a sister's son to me; And when I lay in dungeon dark,

Of Naworth Castle, long months three, Till ransom'd for a thousand mark,

Dark Musgrave, it was long of thee. And, Musgrave, could our fight be tried,

And thou wert now alive, as I, No mortal man should us divide,

Till one, or both of us, did die: Yet rest thee, God! for well I know I ne'er shall find a nobler foe. In all the northern counties here, Whose word is, snaffle, spur, and spear, Thou wert the best to follow gear. 'T was pleasure, as we look'd behind, To see how thou thc chase couldst wind, Cheer the dark blood-bound on his way, And with the bugle rouse the fray; (8) I'd give the lands of Deloraine, Dark Musgrave were alive again.»—

So mourn'd he, till Lord Dacre's band
Were bowning back to Cumberland.
They raised brave Musgrave from the field,
And laid him on his bloody shield;
On levella lances, four and four,
By turns, the noble burden bore.
Before, at times, upon the gale,
Was heard the minstrel's plaintive wail ;
Bebiad, four priests, in sable stole,
Sung requiem for the warrior's soul:
Around, the horsemen slowly rode;
With trailing pikes the spearmen trode;
And thus the gallant knight they bore,
Through Liddesdale to Leven's shore;
Thence to Holme Coltrame's lofty nave,
And laid him in his father's grave.

William of Deloraine, some chance
Had waken'd from his deathlike trance;

And taught that, in the listed plain,
Another, in his arms and shield,
Against fierce Musgrave axe did wield,

Cnder the name of Deloraine.
Heace, to the field, unarm'd, he ran,
And hence, bis presence scared the clan,
Who held him for some fleeting wraith,
And not a man of blood and breath.
Not much this new ally be loved,
Yet, when he saw what hap had proved,

He greeted him right heartilie:
He would not waken old debate,
For he was void of rancorous bate,

Though rude, and scant of courtesy;
la raids he spilt but seldom blood,
Chless when men-at-arms withstood,
Or, as was meet, for deadly feud.
He ne'er bore grudge for stalwart blow,
Ta'en in fair fight from gallant foe :
And so 't was seen of him, e'en now,

When on dead Musgrave he look'd down; Grief darken'd on his rugged brow,

Though half disguised with a frown; And thus, wlule sorrow bent his head, His foeman's epitaphi he made.

Tue harp's wild notes, though hush'd the song, The mimic march of death prolong. Now seems it far, and now a-near, Now meets, and now eludes the ear; Now seems some mountain side to sweep, Now faintly dies in valley deep; Seems now as if the minstrel's wail, Now the sad requiem, loads the gale; Last, o'er the warrior's closing grave, Rung the full choir in choral stave.


XXIX. Now, Richard Musgrave, liest thou here! I ween, my deadly enemy;

The spectral apparition of a living person.

Liked not to hear it rank'd so high
Above his flowing poesy;
Less liked he still, that scornful jeer
Misprised the land he loved so dear,
High was the sound, as thus again
The bard resumed his minstrel strain.

Me lists not at this tide declare

· The splendour of the spousal rite, How muster'd in the chapel fair

Both maid and matron, squire and knight; Me lists not tell of owcbes rare, Of mandles green, and braided hair, . . And kirtles furr'd with miniver; What plumage waved the altar round, How spurs and ringing chaiplets sound : And hard it were for bård to speak The changeful hue of Margaret's cheek, That lovely hue which comes and flies, As awe and shame alternate rise.


BREATHES there the man, with soul so dead, (1)
Who never to himself hath said,

This is my own, my native land!
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd
As home bis footsteps he hath turn d,

From wandering on a foreign strand ?
Jf such there breathe, go, mark him well;
For him no minstrel raptures swell;
High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim;
Despite those titles, power, and pelf,
The wretch, concentred all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust, from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonour'd, and unsung.

Some bards have sung, the Ladye high
Chapel or altar came not nigh;
Nor durst the rites of spousal grace,
So much she fear'd each holy place.
False slanders these :-) trust right well
She wrought not by forbidden spell : (2)
For mighty words and signs have power
O'er sprites in planetary hour:
Yet scarcel praise their venturous part,
Who tamper with such dangerous art.
But this for faithful truth I say,

The Ladye by the altar stood,
Of sable velvet her array,

And on her head a crimson hood, With pearls embroider'd and entwined, Guarded with gold, with ermine lined; A merlin sat upon her wrist, (3) Held by a leash of silken twist.

O Caledonia! stern and wild,
Meet nurse for a poetic child!
Land of brown heath and shaggy wood,
Land of the mountain and the flood,
Land of my sires! what mortal hand
Can e'er untie the filial band,
That knits me to thy rugged strand !
Still, as I view each well-known scene,
Think what is now, and what hath been,
Seems as, to me, of all bereft,
Sole friends thy woods and streams are left;
And thus I love them better still,
Even in extremity of ill.
By Yarrow's stream still let me stray,
Though none should guide my feeble way;
Still feel the breeze down Ettrick break,
Although it chill my wither'd cheek;
Still lay my head by Teviot stone,
Though there, forgotten and alone,
The bard may draw his parting groan.

VI. The spousal rites were ended soon; 'T was now the merry hour of noon, And in the lofty arched hall. Was spread the gorgeous festival. Steward and squire, with heedful haste, Marshallid the rank of every guest; Pages, with ready blade, were there, The mighty meal to carve and share : O'er capon, heron-shew, and crane, And princely peacock's gilded train, (4) And o'er the boar-head, garnish'd brave, (5) And cygnet from St Mary's wave, (6) O'er ptarmigan and venison, The priest had spoke his benison, Then rose the riot and the din, Above, beneath, without, within! For, from the lofty balcony, Rung trumpet, shalm, and psaltery; Their clanging bowls old warriors quaffd, Loudly they spoke, and loudly laugh'd; Whisper'd young knights, in tone more mild, To ladies Fair, and ladies smiled. The hooded hawks, high perch'd on beam, The clamour join'd with whistling scream, And tlapp'd their wings, and shook their bells. In concert with the stag-hounds' yells. Round go the flasks of ruddy wine, From Bourdeaux, Orleans, or the Rhine; Their tasks the busy sewers ply, And all is mirth and revelry.


The startled yeoman swore and spurn'd,
And board and flagons overturn'd,
Riot and clamour wild began :
Back to the hall the urchin ran;
Took in a darkling nook his post,
And grina'd, and mutter'd, « Lost ! lost! lost!»

VII. The goblin-page, omitting still to opportunity of ill, strove bow, while blood ran hot and high, rouse debate and jealousy;

Courad, lord of Wolfenstein, Ar mature fierre, and warm with wine, bad bow in humour highly cross'd, About some steeds his band had lost, high words to words succeeding still, Smole, with his gauntler, stout Hunthill; 6) A hot and hardy Rutherford, il bon men call Diccon Draw-the-sword. He took it on the page's saye, Banthill had driven these steeds away. Thea Howard, Home, and Douglas rose, The kiodling discord to compose : Stera Ratherford right litde said, Bat bir his glove, and shook his head.-(8) A fortnight thence, in Inglewood, Slout Conrad, cold, and drench'd in blood, His bosom gored with many a wound, Was by a woodman's lyme-dog found; Cakpovo the manner of bis death, Code was his brand, both sword and sheath; Put ever from that time, 't was said, That Diccoo wore a Cologne blade.

X. By this, the dame, lest farther fray Should mar the concord of the day, Had bid the minstrels tune their lay. And first stept forth old Albert Grame, The minstrel of that ancient name: (m) Was none who struck the harp so well, Within the Land Debateable; Well-friended too, his hardy kin, Whoever lost, were sure to win;. They sought the beeves that made their broth In Scotland and in England both. Io homely guise, as nature bade, . His simple song the Borderer said..

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VJÚ. The Dwarf, who feard his master's eye flight his foul treachery espie, bor sought the castle buttery, Where many a geoman bold and free, Levelled as merrily and well As those that sat in lordly selle.

att Tinlion, there, did frankly raise The pledge to Arthur Fire-the-Braes; (9) And le, as by his breeding bound, lo Howard's merry-men sent it round. le quit them, on the English side, Bed Roland Forster loudly cried, A drep carouse to yon fair bride!» di every pledge, from val and pail, Feam'd forth, in floods, the pu:-brown ale; While shout the riders every one, Such day of mirth ne'er cheer'd their clan, Since old Buccleuch the name did gain, When in the eleuch the buck was ta'en. (10)

Her sire gave brooch and jewel fine,

Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall, Her brother gave but a flask of wine,

For ire that Love was lord of all.

For, she had lands, both meadow and lea,

Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall, And he swore her death, ere he would see

A Scottish knight the lord of all!

That wine she had not tasted well,

(The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall) When dead, in her true love's arms, she fell,

For Love was still the lord of all.


He pierced her brother to the heart,

Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall, So perish all would true love part,

That Love may still be lord of all!

The wily page, with vengeful thought,

Remember'd him of Tinlinn's yew, Aed swore, it should be dearly bought,

That ever he the arrow drew. First, be the yeoman did molest, With bitter gibe and taunting jest; Told, how he fled at Solway strife, And how llob Armstrong cheer'd his wife : Then, shunning still his powerful arm, Al unawares he wrought him harm; From trencber stole his choicest cheer, Dash'd from his lips his can of beer; Then to his knee sly creeping on, With bodkin pierced him to the bone; The venom'd wound, and festering joint, Long after rued the bodkin's point.

And then he took the cross divine,

Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall, And he died for her sake in Palestine,

So Love was still the lord of all. .

Now all you lovers, that faithful prove,

(The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall) Pray for their souls who died for love,

For Love shall still be lord of all!

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