And the third blast rang with such a din, That the echoes answer'd from Pentounlinn, And all his riders came lightly in. For each scornful word the Galliard had said, A Beattison on the field was laid. Where the Beattisons' blood mix'd with the rill, The Galliard's Haugh men call it still. The Scotts have scatter'd the Beattison clan, In Eskdale they left but one landed man. The valley of Eske, 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-cleugh to Hindhaughswair, From Woodhouselie to Chester-glen. Troop'd 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 mark'd the aids come in, And high her heart of pride arose : And learn to face his foes. I saw him draw a cross-bow stiff, 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 wield, And o'er him hold his father's shield." XIV. Well may you think, the wily page The attendants to the Ladye told, That wont to be so free and bold. Then wrathful was the noble dame; She blush'd 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 ere be son of mine!" XV. A heavy task Watt Tinlinn had, It cost Watt Tinlinn mickle toil But as a shallow brook they cross'd, Full fast the urchin ran and laugh'd, Although the imp might not be slain, XVI. Soon on the hill's steep verge he stood, That looks o'er Branksome's towers and wood; And martial murmurs, from below, Proclaim'd the approaching southern foe. Through the dark wood, in mingled tone, And banners tall, of crimson sheen, Shine helm, and shield, and spear. XVII. Light forayers, first, to view the ground, Spurr'd 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, Array'd beneath the banner tall, That stream'd o'er Acre's conquer'd wall; And minstrels, as they march'd in order, Play'd, "Noble Lord Dacre, he dwells on the Border." XIX. But louder still the clamour grew, So rode they forth in fair array, XX. Now every English eye, intent On Branksome's armed towers was bent; Gleam'd axe, and spear, and partisan; XXI. Armed he rode, all save the head, Unbroke by age, erect his seat, A glove upon a lance was the emblem of faith among the ancient Borderers, who were wont, when any one broke his word, to expose this emblem, and proclaim him a faithless villain at the first Border meeting. This ceremony was much dreaded. When they espied him riding out, XXII. "Ye English warden lords, of you XXIII. A wrathful man was Dacre's lord, XXIV. "It irks, high Dame, my noble Lords, 'Gainst ladye fair to draw their swords; 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 flemens-firth.* We claim from thee William of Deloraine, That he may suffer march-treason pain. * An asylum for outlaws. It was but last St. Cuthbert's even XXV. He ceased-and loud the boy did cry, XXVI. ; Say to your Lords of high emprize, Who war on women and on boys, That either William of Deloraine Will cleanse him, by oath, of marchtreason stain, 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, When English blood swell'd Ancram's ford; And but Lord Dacre's steed was wight, And bare him ably in the flight, Himself had seen him dubb'd 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. "Ah! noble Lords!" he breathless said, "What treason has your march betray'd? And Jedwood, Eske, and Teviotdale, In Liddesdale I've wander'd long; And cannot brook my country's And hard I've spurr'd all night to show The mustering of coming foe.' XXIX. "And let them come!" fierce Dacre cried ; "For soon yon crest, my father's pride, Shall mock the rescue's lingering aid !- XXX. "Yet hear," quoth Howard, “ hear, calmly Nor deem my words the words of fear : Certes, were desperate policy. XXXI. Ill could the haughty Dacre brook XXXII. The pursuivant-at-arms again Before the castle took his stand; His trumpet call'd, with parleying strain, The leaders of the Scottish band; And he defied, in Musgrave's right, Shall hostage for his clan remain : Howe'er it falls, the English band, Unharming Scots, by Scots unharm'd, In peaceful march, like men unarm'd, Shall straight retreat to Cumberland." XXXIII. Unconscious of the near relief, 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 fix'd 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, Such combat should be made on horse, Should shiver in the course: But he, the jovial Harper, 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, In the old Douglas' day. He brook'd 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 stain'd 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, Wept till their eyes were dead and dim, He paused the listening dames again gone; Of chiefs, who under their grey stone So long had slept, that fickle Fame Had blotted from her rolls their name, And twined round some new minion's head The fading wreath for which they bled; In sooth, 'twas strange, this old man's verse Could call them from their marble hearse. |