XIII.

Whitslade the Hawk, and Headshaw came,

And warriors more than I may name;

From Yarrow-cleuch to Hindhaugh-swair, Froom Woodhouselie to Chester-glen, Trooped man and horse, and bow and spear; Their gathering word was Bellenden.

And better hearts o'er Border sod

To siege or rescue never rode.

The Ladye marked the aids come in,
And high her heart of pride arose :
She bade her youthful son attend,

That he might know his father's friend,
And learn to face his foes.

"The boy is ripe to look on war;

I saw him draw a cross-bow stiff,

And his true arrow struck afar

The raven's nest upon the cliff;

The Red Cross, on a southern breast,

Is broader than the raven's nest:

Thou, Whitslade, shalt teach him his weapon to

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 shrieked, and shed full many a tear,
And moaned and plained 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 blushed 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 Tinlinn had,
To guide the counterfeited lad.
Soon as his palfrey felt the weight
Of that ill-omened elvish freight,
He bolted, sprung, and reared amain,
Nor heeded bit, nor curb, nor rein.

It cost Watt Tinlinn mickle toil

To drive him but a Scottish mile;

But, as a shallow brook they crossed,

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 laughed,

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 slain,

And though the wound soon healed again,

Yet, as he ran, he yelled for pain;

And Watt of Tinlinn, 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,

Proclaimed the approaching southern foe.
Through the dark wood, in mingled tone,
Were Border-pipes and bugles blown;
The coursers' neighing he could ken,
And measured tread of marching men;
While broke at times the solemn hum,
The Almayn's sullen kettle-drum;

And banners tall, of crimson sheen,

Above the copse appear;

And, glistening through the hawthorns green, Shine helm, and shield, and spear.

XVII.

Light forayers, first, to view the ground,

Spurred their fleet coursers loosely round;

Behind, in close array, and fast,
The Kendal archers, all in green,

Obedient to the bugle blast,

Advancing from the wood are 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,
Arrayed beneath the banner tall,

That streamed o'er Acre's conquered wall;

And minstrels, as they marched in order,

Played, "Noble Lord Dacre, he dwells on the

Border."

XVIII.

Behind the English bill and bow,

The mercenaries, firm and slow,