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The Earl was a wrathful man to see, Full fain avenged would he be.

In haste to Branksome's Lord he spoke,

To Gilbert the Galliard thus he said: 'Know thou me for thy liege-lord and head;

Deal not with me as with Morton tame,

For Scotts play best at the roughest game.

Give me in peace my heriot due,
Thy bonny white steed, or thou shalt

rue.

If my horn I three times wind, Eskdale shall long have the sound in mind.'

XII.

Loudly the Beattison laugh'd in scorn; 'Little care horn.

we for thy winded

Ne'er shall it be the Galliard's lot
To yield his steed to a haughty Scott.
Wend thou to Branksome back on
foot

With rusty spur and miry boot.' Saying-Take these traitors to thy He blew his bugle so loud and hoarse

yoke ;

For a cast of hawks, and a purse of

gold,

That the dun deer started at fair Craikcross;

He blew again so loud and clear,

All Eskdale I'll sell thee, to have and Through the grey mountain-mist there did lances appear;

hold:

Beshrew thy heart, of the Beattisons' And the third blast rang with such a

clan

If thou leavest on Eske a landed man ; But spare Woodkerrick's lands alone, For he lent me his horse to escape upon.'

A glad man then was Branksome bold, Down he flung him the purse of gold; To Eskdale soon he spurr'd amain, And with him five hundred riders has ta'en.

din

That the echoes answer'd from Pentoun-linn,

And all his riders came lightly in. Then had you seen a gallant shock When saddles were emptied and lances broke !

For each scornful word the Galliard had said,

A Beattison on the field was laid.

He left his merrymen in the mist of His own good sword the chieftain

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The Scotts have scatter'd the Beattison clan,

In Eskdale they left but one landed

man.

The valley of Eske, from the mouth

to the source,

And moan'd and plain'd in manner wild.

The attendants to the Ladye told Some fairy, sure, had chang'd the child,

That wont to be so free and bold.

Was lost and won for that bonny Then wrathful was the noble dame;

white horse.

XIII.

Whitslade the Hawk, and Headshaw came,

And warriors more than I may name; From Yarrow-cleugh to Hindhaughswair,

From Woodhouselie to Chesterglen,

Troop'd man and horse, and bow and spear;

Their gathering word was Bellenden.

And better hearts o'er Border sod
To siege or rescue never rode.
The Ladye mark'd the aids come
in,

And high her heart of pride arose :
She bade her youthful son attend,
That he might know his father's
friend,

And learn to face his foes. 'The boy is ripe to look on war; I saw him draw a cross-bow stiff,

And his true arrow struck afar

The raven's nest upon the cliff; The red cross on a southern breast Is broader than the raven's nest : Thou, Whitslade, shalt teach him his weapon to wield,

And o'er him hold his father's shield.'

XIV.

Well may you think the wily page
Car'd not to face the Ladye sage.
He counterfeited childish fear,
And shriek'd, and shed full many a

tear,

She blush'd blood-red for shame :

very

'Hence ! ere the clan his faintness view;

Hence with the weakling to Buccleuch !

Watt Tinlinn, thou shalt be his guide
To Rangleburn's lonely side.
Sure some fell fiend has cursed our

line,

That coward should e'er be son of mine !'

XV.

A heavy task Watt Tinlinn had,
To guide the counterfeited lad.
Soon as the palfrey felt the weight
Of that ill-omen'd elfish freight,
He bolted, sprung, and rear`d amain,
Nor heeded bit, nor curb, nor rein.

It cost Watt Tinlinn mickle toil
To drive him but a Scottish mile;
But as a shallow brook they
cross'd,

The elf, amid the running stream,
His figure chang'd, like form in
dream,

And fled, and shouted, 'Lost! lost! lost!'

Full fast the urchin ran and laugh'd, But faster still a cloth-yard shaft Whistled from startled Tinlinn's yew, And pierc'd his shoulder through and through.

Although the imp might not be slain,

And though the wound soon heal'd again,

Yet, as he ran, he yell'd for pain;
And Wat of Tinlinn, much aghast,
Rode back to Branksome fiery fast.

XVI.

Soon on the hill's steep verge he stood,

That looks o'er Branksome's towers

and wood;

And martial murmurs, from below, Proclaim'd the approaching southern foe.

Through the dark wood, in mingled
tone,

Were Border pipes and bugles blown ;
The coursers' neighing he could ken,
A measured tread of marching men ;
While broke at times the solemn hum
The Almayn's sullen kettle-drum ;

And banners tall of crimson sheen
Above the copse appear;

By Conrad led of Wolfenstein,
Who brought the band from distant
Rhine,

And sold their blood for foreign pay. The camp their home, their law the sword,

They knew no country, own'd no lord:
They were not arm'd like England's

sons,

But bore the levin-darting guns;
Buff coats, all frounc'd and 'broider'd
o'er,

And morsing-horns and scarfs they
wore ;

Each better knee was bared, to aid
The warriors in the escalade;

All as they march'd, in rugged tongue,

And, glistening through the haw- Songs of Teutonic feuds they sung.

thorns green,

Shine helm, and shield, and spear.

XVII.

Light forayers, first, to view the ground,

Spurr'd their fleet coursers loosely round;

Behind, in close array, and fast,

The Kendal archers, all in green, Obedient to the bugle blast,

Advancing from the wood were

seen.

To back and guard the archer band,
Lord Dacre's bill-men were at hand:
A hardy race, on Irthing bred,
With kirtles white, and crosses red,
Array'd beneath the banner tall,
That stream'd o'er Acre's conquer'd
wall;

And minstrels, as they march'd in
order,

Play'd Noble Lord Dacre, he dwells on the Border.'

XVIII.

Behind the English bill and bow,
The mercenaries, firm and slow,

Moved on to fight, in dark array,

XIX.

But louder still the clamour grew,
And louder still the minstrels blew,
When, from beneath the greenwood
tree,

Rode forth Lord Howard's chivalry;
His men-at-arms, with glaive and
spear,

Brought up the battle's glittering rear.
There many a youthful knight, full
keen

To gain his spurs, in arms was seen;
With favour in his crest, or glove,
Memorial of his ladye-love.

So rode they forth in fair array,
Till full their lengthen'd lines display;
Then call'd a halt, and made a stand,
And cried 'St. George for merry
England!'

XX.

Now every English eye, intent
On Branksome's armed towers was
bent;

So near they were, that they might
know

The straining harsh of each cross-bow;
On battlement and bartizan
Gleam'd axe, and spear, and partisan ;

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'Ye English warden lords, of you
Demands the Ladye of Buccleuch,
Why, 'gainst the truce of Border tide,
In hostile guise ye dare to ride,
With Kendal bow, and Gilsland
brand,

And all yon mercenary band,
Upon the bounds of fair Scotland?
My Ladye reads you swith return;
And, if but one poor straw you burn
Or do our towers so much molest
As scare one swallow from her nest,
St. Mary! but we'll light a brand
Shall warm your hearths in Cumber-
land.'

XXIII.

A wrathful man was Dacre's lord,
But calmer Howard took the word:
'May 't please thy Dame, Sir Senes-
chal,

To seek the castle's outward wall,
Our pursuivant-at-arms shall show
Both why we came, and when we go.'
The message sped, the noble Dame
To the wall's outward circle came;
Each chief around lean'd on his spear
To see the pursuivant appear.
All in Lord Howard's livery dress'd,
The lion argent deck'd his breast;
He led a boy of blooming hue—
O sight to meet a mother's view!
It was the heir of great Buccleuch.
Obeisance meet the herald made,
And thus his master's will he said:

XXIV.

'It irks, high Dame, my noble Lords, 'Gainst ladye fair to draw their swords;

But yet they may not tamely see,
All through the Western Wardenry,
Your law-contemning kinsmen ride,
And burn and spoil the Border-side;
And ill beseems your rank and birth
To make your towers a flemens-firth.
We claim from thee William of
Deloraine,

That he may suffer march-treason pain.

It was but last St. Cuthbert's even
He prick'd to Stapleton on Leven,
Harried the lands of Richard Mus-

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