Spear-heads, above the columns dun,
Glanced momentary to the sun;
And feudal banners fair displayed

The bands that moved to Branksome's aid.

IV.

Vails not to tell each hardy clan,

From the fair Middle Marches came; The Bloody Heart blazed in the van, Announcing Douglas, dreaded name ! Vails not to tell what hundreds more, From the rich Merse and Lammermore, And Tweed's fair borders, to the war, Beneath the crest of old Dunbar,

And Hepburn's mingled banners, come, Down the steep mountain glittering far, And shouting still," a Home! a Home!"

V.

Now squire and knight, from Branksome sent, On many a courteous message went;

To every chief and lord they paid
Meet thanks for prompt and powerful aid;
And told them how a truce was made,
And how a day of fight was ta'en
'Twixt Musgrave and stout Deloraine ;
And how the Ladye prayed them dear,
That all would stay the fight to see,
And deign, in love and courtesy,

To taste of Branksome cheer.

Nor, while they bade to feast each Scot,
Were England's noble Lords forgot;
Himself, the hoary Seneschal,

Rode forth, in seemly terms to call
Those gallant foes to Branksome Hall.
Accepted Howard, than whom knight
Was never dubbed, more bold in fight;
Nor, when from war and armour free,
More famed for stately courtesy :

But angry Dacre rather chose

In his pavilion to repose.

VI.

Now, noble Dame, perchance you ask,

How these two hostile armies met? Deeming it were no easy task

To keep the truce which here was set; Where martial spirits, all on fire,

Breathed only blood and mortal ire—
-By mutual inroads, mutual blows,
By habit, and by nation foes,

They met on Teviot's strand :

They met, and sate them mingled down,
Without a threat, without a frown,

As brothers meet in foreign land.
The hands, the spear that lately grasped,
Still in the mailed gauntlet clasped,

Were interchanged in greeting dear; Visors were raised, and faces shewn, And many a friend, to friend made known, Partook of social cheer.

Some drove the jolly bowl about;

With dice and draughts some chased the day;

And some, with many a merry shout,

In riot, revelry, and rout,

Pursued the foot-ball play.

VII.

Yet, be it known, had bugles blown,
Or sign of war been seen;

Those bands, so fair together ranged,
Those hands, so frankly interchanged,
Had dyed with gore the green:
The merry shout by Teviot-side

Had sunk in war-cries wild and wide,
And in the groan of death;

And whingers *, now in friendship bare,

The social meal to part and share,

Had found a bloody sheath.

*A sort of knife, or poniard.

'Twixt truce and war, such sudden change
Was nor unfrequent, nor held strange,
In the old Border-day ;

But yet on Branksome's towers and town,
In peaceful merriment, sunk down

The sun's declining ray.

VIII.

The blithesome signs of wassell gay
Decayed not with the dying day;
Soon through the latticed windows tall,
Of lofty Branksome's lordly hall,
Divided square by shafts of stone,
Huge flakes of ruddy lustre shone;
Nor less the gilded rafters rang
With merry harp and beakers' clang;
And frequent, on the darkening plain,
Loud hollo, whoop, or whistle ran,
As bands, their stragglers to regain,

Give the shrill watch-word of their clan;