XX.

'Gramercy for thy good-will, fair boy!

My mind was never set so high;
But if thou art chief of such a clan,
And art the son of such a man,
And ever comest to thy command,
Our wardens had need to keep good
order;

My bow of yew to a hazel wand,
Thou 'lt make them work upon the

Border.

Meantime, be pleased to come with

me,

For good Lord Dacre shalt thou see;
I think our work is well begun,
When we have taken thy father's son.'

XXI.

Although the child was led away,
In Branksome still he seem'd to stay,
For so the Dwarf his part did play;
And, in the shape of that young boy,
He wrought the castle much annoy.
The comrades of the young Buccleuch
He pinch'd, and beat, and overthrew;
Nay, some of them he wellnigh slew.
He tore Dame Maudlin's silken tire,
And, as Sym Hall stood by the fire,
He lighted the match of his bandelier,
And wofully scorch'd the hackbuteer.
It may be hardly thought or said,
The mischief that the urchin made,
Till many of the castle guess'd,
That the young Baron was possess'd!

XXII.

Well I ween the charm he held
The noble Ladye had soon dispell'd;
But she was deeply busied then
To tend the wounded Deloraine.
Much she wonder'd to find him lie
On the stone threshold stretch'd
along;

She thought some spirit of the sky
Had done the bold moss-trooper

wrong;

Because, despite her precept dread, Perchance he in the Book had read; But the broken lance in his bosom stood,

And it was earthly steel and wood.

XXIII.

She drew the splinter from the wound, And with a charm she stanch'd the blood;

She bade the gash be cleans'd and bound:

No longer by his couch she stood; But she has ta'en the broken lance, And wash'd it from the clotted gore, And salved the splinter o'er and o'er. William of Deloraine, in trance, Whene'er she turn'd it round and round,

Twisted as if she gall'd his wound.

Then to her maidens she did say That he should be whole man and sound

Within the course of a night and

day.

Full long she toil'd; for she did rue Mishap to friend so stout and true.

XXIV.

So pass'd the day; the evening fell, 'Twas near the time of curfew bell; The air was mild, the wind was calm, The stream was smooth, the dew was balm;

E'en the rude watchman on the tower | Enjoy'd and bless'd the lovely hour. Far more fair Margaret lov'd and bless'd The hour of silence and of rest. On the high turret sitting lone, She waked at times the lute's soft tone; Touch'd a wild note, and all between Thought of the bower of hawthorns green.

Her golden hair stream'd free from band,

Her fair cheek rested on her hand, Her blue eyes sought the west afar, For lovers love the western star.

XXX.

The livelong night in Branksome rang
The ceaseless sound of steel;
The castle-bell, with backward clang,

Sent forth the larum peal;
Was frequent heard the heavy jar,
Where massy stone and iron bar
Were piled on echoing keep and
tower,

To whelm the foe with deadly shower; Was frequent heard the changing guard,

And watch-word from the sleepless ward;

While, wearied by the endless din, Blood-hound and ban-dog yell'd with

in.

XXXI.

The noble Dame, amid the broil,
Shared the grey Seneschal's high toil,
And spoke of danger with a smile;
Cheer'd the young knights, and
council sage

Held with the chiefs of riper age.
No tidings of the foe were brought,
Nor of his numbers knew they aught,
Nor what in time of truce he sought.
Some said that there were thou-
sands ten;

And others ween'd that it was nought

But Leven clans, or Tynedale men, Who came to gather in black-mail; And Liddesdale, with small avail,

Might drive them lightly back agen. So pass'd the anxious night away, And welcome was the peep of day.

throng Applaud the Master of the Song; And marvel much, in helpless age, So hard should be his pilgrimage. Had he no friend, no daughter dear, His wandering toil to share and cheer;

play'd

Against the bloody Highland blade, Why was not I beside him laid! Enough, he died the death of fame; Enough, he died with conquering Græme.

III.

Now over Border dale and fell

Full wide and far was terror spread; For pathless marsh, and mountain cell,

The peasant left his lowly shed. The frighten'd flocks and herds were pent

Beneath the peel's rude battlement; And maids and matrons dropp'd the tear,

While ready warriors seiz'd the spear. From Branksome's towers, the watchman's eye

Dun wreaths of distant smoke can spy,

Which, curling in the rising sun, Show'd southern ravage was begun.

IV.

Now loud the heedful gate-ward

cried

His wife, stout, ruddy, and darkbrow'd,

Of silver brooch and bracelet proud, Laugh'd to her friends among the

crowd.

He was of stature passing tall,
But sparely form'd, and lean withal;
A batter'd morion on his brow;
A leather jack, as fence enow,
On his broad shoulders loosely hung;
A border axe behind was slung;
His spear, six Scottish ells in length,
Seem'd newly dyed with gore;
His shafts and bow, of wondrous
strength,

His hardy partner bore.

VI.

VII.

Now weary scouts from Liddesdale,
Fast hurrying in, confirm'd the tale;
As far as they could judge by ken,
Three hours would bring to
Teviot's strand

Three thousand armed Englishmen ;
Meanwhile, full many a warlike

band,

From Teviot, Aill, and Ettrick shade, Came in, their Chief's defence to aid. There was saddling and mounting

in haste,

There was pricking o'er moor and lea;

He that was last at the trysting-place Was but lightly held of his gay ladye.

VIII.

From fair St. Mary's silver wave, From dreary Gamescleugh's dusky height,

His ready lances Thirlestane brave Array'd beneath a banner bright. The treasured fleur-de-luce he claims To wreathe his shield, since royal James,

Encamp'd by Fala's mossy wave, The proud distinction grateful gave,

For faith 'mid feudal jars ; What time, save Thirlestane alone, Of Scotland's stubborn barons none Would march to southern wars; And hence, in fair remembrance worn, Yon sheaf of spears his crest has borne ;

Hence his high motto shines reveal'd— 'Ready, aye ready' for the field.

IX.

An aged Knight, to danger steel'd, With many a moss-trooper came on; And azure in a golden field,

The stars and crescent graced his shield,

Without the bend of Murdieston.

Wide lay his lands round Oakwood

tower,

And wide round haunted Castle-
Ower;

High over Borthwick's mountain flood
His wood-embosom'd mansion stood;
In the dark glen, so deep below,
The herds of plunder'd England low-
His bold retainers' daily food,

And bought with danger, blows, and blood.

Marauding chief! his sole delight
The moonlight raid, the morning fight;
Not even the Flower of Yarrow's
charms,

In youth, might tame his rage for

arms;

And still, in age, he spurn'd at rest,
And still his brows the helmet press'd,
Albeit the blanched locks below
Werewhite as Dinlay's spotless snow;
Five stately warriors drew the
sword

Before their father's band;
A braver knight than Harden's lord
Ne'er belted on a brand.

X.

Scotts of Eskdale, a stalwart band, Came trooping down the Todshawhill;

By the sword they won their land,

And by the sword they hold it still. Hearken, Ladye, to the tale, How thy sires won fair Eskdale. EARL Morton was lord of that valley

fair;

The Beattisons were his vassals there. The Earl was gentle, and mild of

mood;

The vassals were warlike, and fierce,

and rude;

High of heart, and haughty of word, Little they reck'd of a tame liege

lord.

The Earl into fair Eskdale came, Homage and seignory to claim :