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 gleamed on many a dusky tarn,
Haunted by the lonely earn;t
On many a cairn's gray pyramid,
Where urns of mighty chiefs lie hid;"
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 din,
Blood-hound and ban-dog yelled within.
XXXI.

The noble dame, amid the broil,
Shared the gray seneschal's high toil,
And spoke of danger with a smile;
Cheered 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 weened that it was nought

But Leven clans, or Tynedale men,
Who came to gather in black mail,
And Liddesdale, with small avail,

Might drive them lightly back agen.
So passed the anxious night away,
And welcome was the peep of day.

CEASED the high sound-the listening throng
Applaud the Master of the song;
And marvel much, in helpless age,
So hard should be his pilgrimage.
Had he no friend, no daughter dear,
His wandering toil to share and cheer;
No son, to be his father's stay,
And guide him on the rugged way?
"Ay, once he had-but he was dead!"-
Upon the harp he stooped his head,
And busied himself the strings withal,
To hide the tear, that fain would fall.
In solemn measure, soft and slow,
Arose a father's notes of wo.

As if thy waves, since time was born, Since first they rolled their way to Tweed, Had only heard the shepherd's reed, Nor started at the bugle-horn.

II.

Unlike the tide of human time,

Which, though it change in ceaseless flow, Retains each grief, retains each crime,

Its earliest course was doomed to know
And, darker as it downward bears,
Is stained with past and present tears.
Low as that tide has ebbed with me,
It still reflects to memory's eye
The hour, my brave, my only boy,

Fell by the side of great Dundee.1
Why, when the volleying musket played
Against the bloody Highland blade,
Why was I not beside him laid!-
Enough-he died the death of fame;
Enough-he died with conquering Græme!
III.

Now over border, dale and fell,

Full wide and far was terror spread; For pathless march, and mountain cell, The peasant left his lowly shed.2 The frightened flocks and herds were pent Beneath the peel's rude battlement; And maids and matrons dropt the tear, While ready warriors seized the spear. From Branksome's towers, the watchman's eye Dun wreaths of distant smoke can spy, Which, curling in the rising sun, Showed southern ravages was begun.

IV.

Now loud the heedful gate-ward cried-
"Prepare ye all for blows and blood!
Wat Tinlinn,4 from the Liddel-side,
Comes wading through the fload.
Full oft the Tynedale snatchers knock
At his lone gate, and prove the lock;
It was but last Saint Barnabright
They sieged him a whole summer night,
But fled at morning; well they knew,
In vain he never twanged 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 'twill prove a Warden-raid."*

V.

While thus he spoke, the bold yeoman
Entered the echoing barbican.
He led a small and shaggy nag,
That through a bog, from hag to hagt
Could bound like any Bilhope stag,
It bore his wife and children twain.
A half-clothed serft was all their train:
His wife, stout, ruddy, and dark-browed,
Of silver brooch and bracelet proud,
Laughed to her friends among the crowd.
He was of stature passing tall,
But sparely formed, and lean withal:
A battered morion on his brow;
A leathern jack, as fence enow,
On his broad shoulders loosely hung;
A border axe behind was slung;

His spear, six Scottish ells in length,
Seemed newly died with gore;

His shafts and bow, of wonderous strength, His hardy partner bore.

An inroad commanded by the warden in person. †The broken ground in a bog. Bondsman,

VI.

Thus to the ladye did Tinlinn show
The tidings of the English foe.-
"Belted Will Howard is marching here,
And hot lord Dacre, with many a spear,
And all the German hagbut-men,9
Who long have lain at Äskerten:
They crossed the Liddel at curfew hour,
And burned my little lonely tower;
The fiend receive their souls therefor!
It had not been burned 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 turned at Priesthaughscrogg,
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, confirmed 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 chief's defence to aid.
There was saddling and mounting in haste,
There was pricking o'er moor and lee;
He that was last at the trysting place
Was but lightly held of his gay ladye.
VIII.

From fair Saint Mary's silver wave,
From dreary Gamescleugh's dusky height,
His ready lances Thirlestane10 brave

Arrayed beneath a banner bright.
The treasured fleur-de-luce he claims
To wreath his shield, since royal James,
Encamped 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 revealed-
'Ready, aye ready," for the field.

IX.

An aged knight, to danger steeled,
With many a moss-trooper, came on:
And azure in a golden field,
The stars and crescent graced his shield,
Without the bend of Murdieston, 11
Wide lay his lands round Oakwood tower,
And wide round haunted Castle Ower;
High over Borthwick's mountain flood,
His wood-embosomed mansion stood;
In the dark glen, so deep below,
The herds of plundered England low,
His bold retainers' daily food,
And bought with danger, blows, and blood.
Marauding chief! his sole delight
The moonlight 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 spurned at rest,
And still his brows the helmet pressed,

Albeit the blanched locks below
Were white as Dinlay's spotless snow:
Five stately warriors drew the sword
Before their father's band;

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

X.

Scotts of Eskdale, 12 a stalwart band,
Came trooping down the Todshawhill;
By the sword they won their land,

And by the sword they hold it still.
Hearken, 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 vassals were warlike, and fierce, and rude,
High of heart, and haughty of word,
Little they recked of a tame liege lord.
The earl to fair Eskdale came,
Homage and seignory to claim:

Of Gilbert the Galliard, a heriot* he sought,
Saying, "Give thy best steed, as a vassal ought.
"Dear to me is my bonny white steed,
Oft has he helped me at pinch of need;
Lord and earl though thou be, I trow,
I can rein Bucksfoot better than thou."
Word on word gave fuel to fire,
Till so highly blazed the Beattisons' ire,
But that the earl to 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,
Just on the threshold of Branksome gate.

XI.

The earl was a wrathful man to see,
Full fain avenged would he be.
In haste to Branksome's lord he spoke,
Saying "Take these traitors to thy yoke:
For a cast of hawks, and a purse of gold,
All Eskdale I'll sell thee, to have and hold:
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 spurred amain,
And with him five hundred riders has ta'en.
He left his merrymen in the midst 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 1 three times wind,

Eskdale shall long have the sound in mind."

appear;

And the third blast rang with such a din,
That the echoes answered 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 Beattisons" blood mixed with the rill,
The Galliard's Haugh, men call it still.
The Scotts have scattered the Beattison clan,
In Eskdale they left but one landed man.

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

Whitslade the Hawk, and Headshaw came,
And warriors more than I may name;
From Yarrow-cleuch to Hindhaug-swair,

From Woodhouselie to Chester-glen,
Trooped man and horse, and bow and spear;
Their gathering word was Bellenden. 13
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 sliff; The red cross, on a southern breast, Is broader than the raven's nest:

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 Wat 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,
The coursers' neighing he could ken,
Were border-pipes and bugles blown:
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 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,
Arrayed beneath the banner tall,

That streamed o'er Acre's conquered wall.

wield,

And over 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!-
Wat 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 Wat Tinlinn had,
To guide the counterfeited lad.
Soon as the palfrey felt the weight
Of that ill-omen'd elfish freight,
He bolted, sprung, and reared amain,
Nor heeded bit, nor curb, nor rein.
It cost Wat Tinlinn mickle toil
To drive him but a Scottish mile;

Played, "Noble lord Dacre, he dwells on tha Border."

XVIII.

Behind the English bill and bow,
The mercenaries, firm 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 owned no lord. 14
They were not armed like England's son,
But bore the levin-darting guns;

Buff coats, all frounced and 'broidered o'en
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,
Songs of Teutonic feuds they sung.

Now every English eye, intent,

On Branksome's arined towers was bent:
So near they were, that they might know
The straining harsh of each cross bow:
On battlement and bartizan
Gleamed axe, and spear, and partizan;
Falcon and culver, 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 seathing pitch and molten lead
Reeked, like a witch's cauldron red.
While yet they gaze, the bridges fall,
The wicket opes, and from the wall
Rides forth the noary seneschal.
XXI.

Armed he rode, all save the head,
His white beard o'er his breast-plate spread;
Unbroke by age, erect his seat,
He ruled his eager courser's gait;
Forced him, with chastened fire, to prance,
And, high curvetting, slow advance:
In sign of truce, his better hand
Displayed a peeled willow wand;
His 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, 'gainst the truce of Border-tide,
In hostile guise ye dare to ride,
With Kendal bow, and Gilsland brand,
And all yon mercenary band,
Upon 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,
Saint Mary! but we'll light a brand,
Shall warm your hearths in Cumberland."

He led a boy of blooming hue-
O 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:

XXIV.

'Gainst ladye fair to draw their swords;
"It irks, high dame, my noble lords,
But yet they may not tamely see,
All through the western wardenry,
Your law-contemning kinsmen ride,
And burn and spoil the Border-side;
And ill beseems your rank and birth
To make your towers a flemen's-firth.*
We claim from thee William of Deloraine,
That he may suffer march-treason pain;16
It was but last Saint Cuthbert's even
He pricked to Stapleton on Leven,
Harried+ the lands of Richard Musgrave,
And slew his brother by dint of glaive.
Then, since a lone and widowed 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,‡
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;
Implor'd for aid each well-known face,
And strove to seek the dame's embrace.
A moment changed that ladye's cheer;
Gushed to her eye the unbidden tear;
She gazed upon the leaders round,
And dark and sad each warrior frowned;
Then, deep within her sobbing breast
She locked the struggling sigh to rest;
Unaltered and collected stood,
And thus replied in dauntless mood:-
XXVI.

"Say to your lords of high emprise,
Who war on women and on boys

That either William of Deloraine

Will cleanse him, by oath, of march-treason stain,17 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 swelled Ancram ford;19
And but that lord Dacre's steed was wight,
And bore him ably in the flight,
Himself had seen him dubbed 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-wake dirge,
Our moat, the grave where they shall lie."

XXVII.

Proud she looked round, applause to claimThen lightened Thirlestane's eye of flame;

An asylum for outlaws. + Plundered. Note of assault. || Lyke-wake, the watching a corpse previous to interment.

His bugle Wat of Harden blew: Pensils and pennons wide were flung, To Heaven the Border slogan rung,

"Saint Mary for the young Buccleuch!" The English war-cry answered 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 had flown,

A horseman galloped from the rear.
XXVIII.

"Ah! noble lords!" he, breathless, said,
"What treason has your march betrayed?
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-schaw,*
The lances, waving in his train,
Clothe the dun heap 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, Esk, and Teviot dale,
Have to proud Angus come;
And all the Merse and Lauderdale
Have risen with haughty Home.
An exile from Northumberland,

In Liddesdale I've wandered long;
But still my heart was with merry England,

And cannot brook my country's wrong; And hard I've spurred 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 displayed,

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 lion20 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:
Lot Musgrave meet fierce Deloraine
In single fight,21 and if he gain,
He gains for us; but if he's crossed,
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 stayed,
And slow and sullenly obeyed.

• Weapon-schaw, the military array of a country.

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.
XXXII.

The pursuivant-at-arms again

Before the castle took his stand;
His trumpet called, 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 unharmed,
In peaceful march, like men unarmed,
Shall straight retreat to Cumberland.”
XXXIII.

Unconscious of the near relief,
The proffer pleased each Scottish chief,

Though much the Ladye sage gainsayed,
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 enclosed with speed,
Beneath the castle, on a lawn:
They fixed 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,23
In the old Douglas' day.

He brooked 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 stained 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 dragged my master to his tomb;