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When, in their chairs of crimson placed,
The Daine and she the barriers graced.

XVIII.
Prize of the field, the young Buccleuch,
An English knight led forth to view ;
Scarce rued the boy his present plight,
So much he longed to see the fight.
Within the lists, in knightly pride,
High Home and hanghty Dacre ride;
Their leading staffs of steel they wield,
As marshals of the mortal tield;
While to each knight their care assigned
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 sign, 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 :--

XIX.

English Herald.
Here standeth Richard of Musgrave,

Good knight and true, and freely born,
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 !

XX.

Scottish Herald. Here standeth William of Deloraine, Good knight and true, of noble strain, Who sayeth, that foul treason's stain, Since he bore arms, ne'er soiled his coat;

And that, so help him God above,

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

Lord Dacre.
Forward, brave champions, to the fight !
Sound trumpets !

Lord Home.

"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.

XXI. Ill would it suit your gentle ear, Ye lovely listeners, to hear How to the axe the helms did sound, And blood poured 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 warrior's fight; 'For I have seen war's lightning flashing, Seen the claymore with bayonet clashing, Seen through red blood the war-horse dashing, And scorned, amid the reeling strife, To yield a step for death or life.

XXII. 'Tis done, 'tis done! that fatal blow

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

Thence never shalt thou rise again!
He chokes in blood-some friendly hand
Undo the visor's barred band,
Untix the gorget's iron clasp,
And give him room for life to gasp !
Oh, bootless aid !-haste, holy Friar,
Haste, ere the sinner shall expire !
Of all his guilt let him be shriven,

id smooth his path from earth to heaven !

XXIII. a haste the holy Friar sped ;sis naked foot was dyed with red,

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

He raised the dying man;
Loose waved his silver beard and bair,
As o'er him he kneelèd down in prayer ;
And still the crucifix on high
He holds before his darkening eye:
And still he bends an anxious ear,
His faltering penitence to hear;

Still 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.

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

The silent victor stands;

His beaver did he not unclasp,
Marked not the shouts, felt not the grasp

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

Among the Scottish bands;
And all, amid the thronged array,
In panic haste gave open way
To a half-naked ghastly man,
Who downward from the castle ran:
He erossed the barriers at a bound,
And wild and haggard looked 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 plumèd helm was soon undone-

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

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Full oft the rescued boy she kissed,
And often pressed him to her breast;
For, under all her dauntless show,
Her heart had throbbed at every blow;
Yet not Lord Cranstoun deigned she greet,
Though low he kneelèd at her feet.
Me lists not tell what words were made,
What Douglas, Home, and Howard said-

-For Howard was a generous foeAnd how the clan united prayed,

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

XXVI.

She looked to river, looked to hill,

Thought on the Spirit's prophecy, Then broke her silence stern and still,

“Not you, but Fate, has vanquished me; Their influence kindly stars may shower Un Teviot's tide and Branksome's tower,

For pride is quelled, 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,
Much 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 bis Page, while slept the knight,
He took on him the single fight.
But half his tale he left unsaid,
And lingered till he joined 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 bis foul hands the Book to save,
And send it back to Michael's grave.
Needs not to tell each tender word
'Twixt Margaret and 'twixt Cranstoun's lord ;
Nor 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.

XXVIII.
William of Deloraine, some chance
Had wakened froin bis deathlike trance ;

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

Under the name of Deloraine.
Hence, to the field, unarmed, he ran,
And hence his presence scared the clan,
Who held him for some fleeting wraith,
And not a man of blood and breath.

Not much this new ally he 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 hate,

Though rude, and scant of courtesy ; . In raids he spilt but seldom blood, Unless 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:

* The spectral apparition of a living person.

And so 'twas seen of him, e'en now,

When on dead Musgrave he looked down;
Grief darkened on bis rugged brow,

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

XXIX. “Now, Richard Musgrave, liest thou here!

I ween, my deadly enemy; For, if I slew thy brother dear,

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

Of Naworth Castle, long months three,
Till ransomed 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, Snafile, spur, and spear,
Thou wert the best to follow gear.
'Twas pleasure, as we looked behind,
To see how thou the chase couldst wind,
Cheer the dark blood-hound on his way,
And with the bugle rouse the fray !
I'd give the lands of Deloraine,
Dark Musgrave were alive again."-

XXX,
So mourned 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 levelled lances, four and four,
By turns, the noble burden bore.
Before, at times, upon the gale,
Was heard the Minstrel's plaintive wail ;
Behind, four priests, in sable stole,
Sung requiem for the warrior's scul:
Around, the horsemen slowly roue ;
With trailing pikes the spearmen trod;
And thus the gallant knight they bore,
Through Liddesdale, to Leven's shore :
Thence to Home Coltrame's lofty nave,
And laid him in his father's grave.

• The lands, that over Onse to Berwick forth do bear, Have for their blazon had, the snaffe, spur, and spear.

Poly-Albion, Song xill.

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