Himself, the hoary Seneschal, Rode forth, in seemly terms to call Was never dubbed, more bold in fight; But angry Dacre rather chose In his pavilion to repose. VI. Now, noble Dame, perchance you ask, How these two hostile armies met? Deeming it were no easy task To keep the truce which here was set ; Where martial spirits, all on fire, Breathed only blood and mortal ire.- By habit, and by nation, foes, They met on Teviot's strand: They met, and sate them mingled down, Without a threat, without a frown, As brothers meet in foreign land: Were interchanged in greeting dear; Visors were raised, and faces shewn, And many a friend, to friend made known, Partook of social cheer. Some drove the jolly bowl about; With dice and draughts some chased the day; And some, with many a merry shout, In riot, revelry, and rout, Pursued the foot-ball play. VII. Yet, be it known, had bugles blown, Or sign of war been seen, Those bands, so fair together ranged, Had dyed with gore the green: The merry shout by Teviot-side Had sunk in war-cries wild and wide, And in the groan of death; And whingers,* now in friendship bare, The social meal to part and share, Had found a bloody sheath, "Twixt truce and war, such sudden change Was not unfrequent, nor held strange, In the old Border-day : But yet on Branksome's towers and town, In peaceful merriment, sunk down The sun's declining ray. VIII. The blithesome signs of wassel gay Decayed not with the dying day; * A sort of knife, or poniard. Soon through the latticed windows tall Of lofty Branksome's lordly hall, As bands, their stragglers to regain, Give the shrill watch-word of their clan; And revellers, o'er their bowls, proclaim Douglas or Dacre's conquering name. IX. Less frequent heard, and fainter still, The challenge of his watch could tell; And save, where, through the dark profound, The clanging axe and hammer's sound Rung from the nether lawn; For many a busy hand toiled there, Strong pales to shape, and beams to square, The lists' dread barriers to prepare Against the morrow's dawn. X. 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.— With throbbing head and anxious heart, All in her lonely bower apart, |