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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 his 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 his 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,

Whilst 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 from his 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 his rugged brow,

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

66

XXIX.

Now, Richard Musgrave, liest thou here!

I ween my deadly enemy,

For if I slew thy brother dear,

Thou slewest 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 :

U

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, Snafle, spur, and spear*,
Thou wert the best to follow gear;
'Twas pleasure, as we looked behind,
To see how thou the chace 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;

* The lands that over Ouse to Berwick forth do bear, Have for their blazon had, the snafle, spur, and spear. Poly-albion, Song xxxiii.

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