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They sought the beeves, that made their broth,
In Scotland and in England both.
In homely guise, as nature bade,
His simple song the Borderer said.

XL

£lhm dDraeme*

It was an English ladye bright,

(The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,)

And she would marry a Scottish knight,
For Love will still be lord of all.

Blithely they saw the rising sun,

When he shone fair on Carlisle wall,

But they were sad ere day was done,
Though Love was still die lord of all.

Her sire gave brooch and jewel fine,

Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall;

Her brother gave but a flask of wine,
For ire that Love was lord of all.

For she had lands, both meadow and lea,
Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,

And he swore her death, ere he would see
A Scottish knight the lord of all!

XII.

That wine she had not tasted well,

(The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall;)

When dead, in her true love's arms, she fell, For Love was still the lord of all.

He pierced her brother to the heart,

Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,

So perish all, would true love part,
That Love may still be lord of all!

And then he took the cross divine,

Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,

And died for her sake in Palestine,
So Love was still the lord of all.

Now all ye lovers, that faithful prove,
(The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,)

Pray for their souls who died for love,
For Love shall still be lord of all!

XIII.

As ended Albert's simple lay,

Arose a bard of loftier port;
For sonnet, rhyme, and roundelay,

Renowned in haughty Henry's court:
There rung thy harp, unrivalled long,
Fitztraver of the silver song!

The gentle Surrey loved his lyre—
Who has not heard of Surrey's fame?

His was the hero's soul of fire,

And his the bard's immortal name,
And his was love, exalted high
By all the glow of chivalry.

XIV.

They sought, together, climes afar,

And oft, within some olive grove, When evening came, with twinkling star,

They sung of Surrey's absent love. His step the Italian peasant staid,

And deemed, that spirits from on high, Round where some hermit saint was laid,

Were breathing heavenly melody; So sweet did harp and voice combine, To praise the name of Geraldine.

XV.

Fitztraver! O what tongue may say
The pangs thy faithful bosom knew,

When Surrey, of the deathless lay,
Ungrateful Tudor's sentence slew?

Regardless of the tyrant's frown,

His harp called wrath and vengeance down.

He left, for Naworth's iron towers,
Windsor's green glades, and courtly bowers,
And, faithful to his patron's name,
With Howard still Fitztraver came;
Lord William's foremost favourite he,
And chief of all his minstrelsy.

XVI.

'Twas All-soul's eve, and Surrey's heart beat high

He heard the midnight bell with anxious start, Which told the mystic hour, approaching nigh,

When wise Cornelius promised, by his art, To shew to him the ladye of his heart,

Albeit betwixt them roared the ocean grim; Yet so the sage had Light to play his part,

That he should see her form in life and limb, And mark, if still she loved, and still she thought of him.

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