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Till high Dun-edin the blazes saw,
From Soltra and Dumpender Law;
And Lothian heard the Regent's order,
That all should bownet them for the Border.

XXX.
HE 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 watch-word from the sleepless ward
While, wearied by the endless din,
Blood-hound and ban-dog yell’d within.

XXXI.
HE noble Dame, amid the broil,
U Shared the grey Seneschal's high toil,
And spoke of danger with a smile ;
Cheer'd 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 ween’d 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 pass'd the anxious night away,
And welcome was the peep of day.

SPEASED 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 stoop'd 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 woe.

Tanto Fourth.

WEET Teviot ! on thy silver tide

The glaring bale-fires blaze no more; 6 No longer steel-clad warriors ride Along thy wild and willow'd shore ; Where'er thou wind'st, by dale or hill, All, all is peaceful, all is still,

As if thy waves, since Time was born, Since first they rolld upon the Tweed, Had only heard the shepherd's reed,

Nor started at the bugle-horn.

II.

DINLIKE the tide of human time,

Which, though it change in ceaseless

flow,

Retains each grief, retains each crime

Its earliest course was doom'd to know ;
And, darker as it downward bears,
Is stain'd with past and present tears.

Low as that tide has ebb’d with me,
It still reflects to Memory's eye
The hour my brave, my only boy,

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

III. NOW over Border dale and fell, A Full wide and far was terror spread; For pathless marsh, and mountain cell,

The peasant left his lowly shed.+ The frighten'd flocks and herds were pent Beneath the peel's rude battlement; And maids and matrons dropp'd the tear, While ready warriors seized the spear. From Branksome's towers, the watchman's

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