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 warriors 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!

T

He chokes in blood-some friendly hand Undo the visor's barred band,

Unfix the gorget's iron clasp,

And give him room for life to gasp !—
In vain, in vain-haste, holy friar,
Haste, ere the sinner shall expire!

Of all his guilt let him be shriven,

And smooth his path from earth to heaven.

XXIII.

In haste the holy friar sped,

His naked foot was dyed with red,
As through the lists he ran;
Unmindful of the shouts on high,

That hailed the conqueror's victory,
He raised the dying man;

Loose waved his silver beard and hair,
As o'er him he kneeled down in prayer.
And still the crucifix on high,

He holds before his darkening eye,

And still he bends an anxious ear,
His faultering 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; 'tis o'er, 'tis 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 crossed the barriers at a bound,

And wild and hagard 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 plumed helm was soon undone"Cranstoun of Teviotside!

For this fair prize I've fought and won," And to the Ladye led her son.

XXV.

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 kneeled at her feet.

Me lists not tell what words were made,
What Douglas, Home, and Howard said—
-For Howard was a generous foe—

And 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
On 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;