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, 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 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 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 And high her heart of pride arose : 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 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 line, That coward should e'er be son of mine !' XV. A heavy task Watt Tinlinn had, It cost Watt Tinlinn mickle toil The elf, amid the running stream, 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; 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 Were Border pipes and bugles blown ; And banners tall of crimson sheen By Conrad led of Wolfenstein, And sold their blood for foreign pay. The camp their home, their law the sword, They knew no country, own'd no lord: sons, But bore the levin-darting guns; And morsing-horns and scarfs they Each better knee was bared, to aid 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, And minstrels, as they march'd in Play'd Noble Lord Dacre, he dwells on the Border.' XVIII. Behind the English bill and bow, Moved on to fight, in dark array, XIX. But louder still the clamour grew, Rode forth Lord Howard's chivalry; Brought up the battle's glittering rear. To gain his spurs, in arms was seen; So rode they forth in fair array, XX. Now every English eye, intent So near they were, that they might The straining harsh of each cross-bow; 'Ye English warden lords, of you And all yon mercenary band, XXIII. A wrathful man was Dacre's lord, To seek the castle's outward wall, XXIV. 'It irks, high Dame, my noble Lords, 'Gainst ladye fair to draw their swords; But yet they may not tamely see, That he may suffer march-treason pain. It was but last St. Cuthbert's even |