Nor, when from war and armour free,2
More famed for stately courtesy:
But angry Dacre rather chose
In his pavilion to repose.

Margaret from hall did soon retreat,
Despite the Dame's reproving eye;
Nor marked she, as she left her seat,
Full many a stifled sigh,—
For many a noble warrior strove
To win the Flower of Teviot's love,

And many a bold ally.—

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With throbbing head and anxious heart,

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All in her lonely bower apart,

In broken sleep she lay:

By times, from silken couch she rose;
While yet the bannered hosts repose,
She viewed the dawning day:
Of all the hundreds sunk to rest,
First woke the loveliest and the best.
She gazed upon the inner court,

Which in the tower's tall shadow lay;

Where coursers' clang, and stamp, and snort,
Had rung the live-long yesterday;

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Now still as death, till, stalking slow,

The jingling spurs announced his tread,—

A stately warrior passed below;

But when he raised his plumed head—
Blessed Mary! can it be?-

Secure, as if in Ousenam bowers,3

He walks through Branksome's hostile towers,

With fearless step and free.

She dared not sign, she dared not speak—

Oh! if one page's slumbers break,

His blood the price must pay!

Not all the pearls Queen Mary wears,
Not Margaret's yet more precious tears,
Shall buy his life a day.

Yet was his hazard small; for well

You may bethink you of the spell

Of that sly urchin page:

This to his lord he did impart,

And made him seem, by glamour art,1
A knight from Hermitage.

Unchallenged thus, the warder's post,

The court, unchallenged, thus he crossed,
For all the vassalage :5

But oh! what magic's quaint disguise
Could blind fair Margaret's azure eyes!

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She started from her seat;

While with surprise and fear she strove,

And both could scarcely master love—

Lord Henry's at her feet.

Now leave we Margaret and her Knight,
To tell of the approaching fight.

II.

Their warning blast the bugles blew,
The pipe's shrill port aroused each clan;6
In haste, the deadly strife to view,

The trooping warriors eager ran:
Thick round the lists their lances stood,
Like blasted pines in Ettrick wood;
To Branksome many a look they threw,
The combatants' approach to view;
And bandied many a word of boast,
About the knight each favoured most.
When for the lists they sought the plain,"
The stately Ladye's silken rein

Did noble Howard hold:

Unarmed by her side he walked,

And much, in courteous phrase, they talked

Of feats of arms of old.

Behind Lord Howard and the Dame,
Fair Margaret on her palfrey came,
Whose foot-cloth swept the ground:
White was her wimple, and her veil,
And her loose locks a chaplet pale
Of whitest roses bound:
The lordly Angus, by her side,
In courtesy to cheer her tried;

Without his aid, her hand in vain

Had strove to guide her broidered rein.

He deemed she shuddered at the sight
Of warriors met for mortal fight;
But cause of terror, all unguessed,
Was fluttering in her gentle breast,
When, in their chairs of crimson placed,
The Dame and she the barriers graced.
Prize of the field, the young Buccleuch,
An English knight led forth to view;
Scarce rued the boy his present plight,
So much he longed to see the fight.
Within the lists, in knightly pride,
High Home and haughty Dacre ride;
Their leading staffs of steel they wield,
As marshals of the mortal field;

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While to each knight their care assigned
Like vantage of the sun and wind.
Then heralds hoarse did loud proclaim,
In King, and Queen, and Warden's name,
That none, while lasts the strife,
Should dare, by look, or sign, or word,
Aid to a champion to afford,
On peril of his life;

And not a breath the silence broke,
Till thus the alternate Heralds spoke :-

English Herald.

"Here standeth Richard of Musgrave,
Good knight and true, and freely born,
Amends from Deloraine to crave,

For foul despiteous scathe and scorn."
He sayeth, that William of Deloraine
Is traitor false by Border laws;
This with his sword he will maintain,
So help him God, and his good cause!"

Scottish Herald.

"Here standeth William of Deloraine,
Good knight and true, of noble strain,
Who sayeth, that foul treason's stain,
Since he bore arms, ne'er soiled his coat;
And that, so help him God above,10
He will on Musgrave's body prove
He lies most foully in his throat."

"God defend the right!"

Then Teviot! how thine echoes rang,

When bugle-sound and trumpet-clang

Let loose the martial foes,

And in mid list, with shield poised high,
And measured step and wary eye,
The combatants did close.-

"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!—
As if exhausted in the fight,
Or musing o'er the piteous sight,
The silent victor stands;

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Vaulted each marshal from his steed; "And who art thou," they cried,

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"Who hast this battle fought and won?"
His plumed helm was soon undone—
"Cranstoun of Teviot-side!

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

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,12
What Douglas, Home, and Howard said-
For Howard was a generous foe;
And how the clan united prayed

The Ladye would the feud forego,

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And deign to bless the nuptial hour

Of Cranstoun's Lord and Teviot's Flower.

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She looked to river, looked to hill,
Thought on the Spirit's prophecy,13

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;
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;

:

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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,

While he and Musgrave bandied blows.

Needs not these lovers' joy to tell;

One day, fair maids, you'll know them well.

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CANTO SIXTH.

THE ARGUMENT.

THE spousal rites are over before noon, and are followed by a gorgeous festival, at which all is mirth and revelry. The Goblin-Page, still bent on mischief, tries to stir up strife between the English and the Scottish Borderers; but the Ladye checks the threatening fray by calling for the minstrels. While Scottish ballad alternates with English lay, every voice is hushed. Ere the last strains of "the dirge of lovely Rosabelle" have died away, the hall is involved in weird darkness. In the midst of it, the Dwarf falls to the ground, and, shuddering, mutters, "Found! found! found!" Suddenly a flash of lightning darts through the hall and breaks upon the elvish page. It is followed by a loud peal of thunder. This over, the Dwarf is seen no more. All are terror-stricken; but Deloraine's blood freezes and his brain burns, for he has seen what was hidden from other eyes-the apparition of Michael Scott.

Lord Angus then vows a pilgrimage to Melrose Abbey, for the sake of the Wizard's restless spirit. To this solemn ceremony-the bridal of Teviot's Flower and Cranstoun's heir having in the meantime taken place the pilgrim-chiefs in crowds repair. The Fathers of the Abbey join in procession, with taper, and book, and holy banner. As the pilgrims kneel, the Abbot blesses them, and the Monks sing a solemn requiem for the dead.