II. The tables were drawn, it was idlesse all; Knight, and page, and household squire, Loitered through the lofty hall, Or crowded round the ample fire: And urged, in dreams, the forest race, III. Nine and twenty knights of fame Hung their shields in Branksome Hall; Nine and twenty squires of name Brought them their steeds from bower to stall; Nine and twenty yeomen tall Waited, duteous, on them all; They were all knights of metal true, Kinsmen to the bold Buccleuch. IV. Ten of them were sheathed in steel, With belted sword, and spur on heel: They quitted not their harness bright, They lay down to rest With corslet laced, Pillowed on buckler cold and hard; They carved at the meal With gloves of steel, And they drank the red wine through the helmet barred. V. Ten squires, ten yeomen, mail-clad men, Waited the beck of the warders ten; A hundred more fed free in stall : Such was the custom of Branksome Hall. VI. Why do these steeds stand ready dight? Why watch these warriors, armed, by night ?- They watch, against Southern force and guile, From Warkworth, or Naworth, or merry Carlisle. 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! When startled burghers fled, afar, The furies of the Border war; Then the Chief of Branksome fell. VIII. Can piety the discord heal, Or stanch the death-feud's enmity? Can Christian lore, can patriot zeal, In mutual pilgrimage, they drew ; For chiefs, their own red falchions slew: While Cessford owns the rule of Car, While Ettrick boasts the line of Scott, The slaughtered chiefs, the mortal jar, The havoc of the feudal war, Shall never, never be forgot! IX. In sorrow, o'er Lord Walter's bier, And many a flower, and many a tear, The Ladye dropped nor flower nor tear! Had locked the source of softer woe; And burning pride, and high disdain, Forbade the rising tear to flow; Until, amid his sorrowing clan, 66 Her son lisped 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, All loose her golden hair, |