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No son to be his father's stay, The livelong night in Branksome rang
And guide him on the rugged way? The ceaseless sound of steel ;
* Ay, once he had—but he was dead!' The castle-bell, with backward clang, Upon the harp he stoop'd his head, Sent forth the larum peal;
And busicd himself the strings withal Was frequent heard the heavy jar,
To hide the tear that fain would fall. Where massy stone and iron bar
In solemn measure, soft and slow, Were piled on echoing keep and Arose a father's notes of woe.
tower, To whelm the foe with deadly shower; Was frequent heard the changing guard,
Canto Fourth. And watch-word from the sleepless
ward; While, wearied by the endless din, Sweet Teviot! on thy silver tide Blood-hound and ban-dog yell’d with. The glaring bale-fires blaze no in.
No longer steel-clad warriors ride
Along thy wild and willow'd shore; The noble Dame, amid the broil,
Where'er thou wind'st, by dale or hill, Shared the grey Seneschal's high toil, All, all is peaceful, all is still, And spoke of danger with a smile ;
As if thy waves, since Time was Cheer'd the young knights, and
born, council sage
Since first they roll'd upon the Tweed, Held with the chiefs of riper age. Had only heard the shepherd's reed, No tidings of the foe were brought,
Nor started at the bugle-horn.
Which, though it change in ceaseAnd others ween'd that it was less flow, nought
Retains cach grief, retains cach crime But Leven clans, or Tynedale men, Its carliest course was doom'd to Who came to gather in black-mail ;
know; And Liddesdale, with small avail, And, darker as it downward bears,
Might drive them lightly back agen. Is stain'd with past and present tears. So pass’d the anxious night away, Low as that tide has ebb’d with me, And welcome was the poep of day. It still reflects to Memory's cyc
The hour my brave, my only boy
Fell by the side of great Dundee. Ceas'd the high sound. The listening Why, when the volleying musket throng
play'd Applaud the Master of the Song ; Against the bloody Highland blade, And marvel much, in helpless age, Why was not I beside him laid: So hard should be his pilgrimage. Enough, he dicd the death of faine; Had he no friend, no daughter dear, Enough, he died with conquering His wandering toil to share and cheer; 1 Grame.
His wife, stout, ruddy, and darkNow over Border dale and fell
brow'd, Full wide and far was terror spread; Of silver brooch and bracelet proud, For pathless marsh, and mountain Laugh’d to her friends among the cell,
crowd. The peasant left his lowly shed. He was of stature passing tall, The frighten'd flocks and herds were
But sparely form’d, and lean withal; pent
A batter'd morion on his brow; Beneath the peel's rude battlement;
A leather jack, as fence enow, And maids and matrons dropp'd the On his broad shoulders loosely hung; tear,
A border axe behind was slung ; While ready warriors seiz’d the spear. His spear, six Scottish ells in length, From Branksome's towers, the watch
Seem'd newly dyed with gore; man's eye
His shafts and bow, of wondrous Dun wreaths of distant smoke can
His hardy partner bore.
Thus to the Ladye did Tinlinn show
The tidings of the English foe: Now loud the heedful gate-ward Belted Will Howard is marching cried
here, • Prepare ye all for blows and And hot Lord Dacre, with many a blood !
spear, Watt Tinlinn, from the Liddel-side,
And all the German hackbut-men, Comes wading through the flood.
Who have long lain at Askerten : Full oft the Tynedale snatchers knock They cross'd the Liddel at curfew At his lone gate, and prove the lock;
hour, It was but last St. Barnabright
And burn'd my little lonely tower : They sieg'd him a whole summer
The fiend receive their souls therenight,
for! But fled at morning; well they knew It had not been burnt this year and In vain he never twang'd the yew. Right sharp has been the evening Barn-yard and dwelling, blazing shower
bright, That drove him from his Liddel tower; Serv'd to guide me on my flight ; And, by my faith,' the gate-ward said, But I was chas'd the livelong night. I think ’twill prove a Warden-Raid.' Black John of Akeshaw and Fergus
Fast upon my traces came, While thus he spoke, the bold yeoman Until I turn'd at Priesthaugh Scrogg, Enter'd the echoing barbican.
And shot their horses in the bog, He led a small and shaggy nag, Slew Fergus with my lance outThat through a bog, from hag to hag, right; Could bound like any Billhope stag. I had him long at high despiteIt bore his wife and children twain ; He drove my cows last Fastern's A half-clothed serf was all their train; night.'
Wide lay his lands round Oakwood Now weary scouts from Liddesdale,
tower, Fast hurrying in, confirmod the tale ;
And wide round haunted CastleAs far as they could judge by ken,
High over Borthwick's mountain flood
His wood-embosom'd mansion stood; Three thousand armed Englishmen;
In the dark glen, so deep below, Meanwhile, full many a warlike The herds of plunder'd England lowband,
His bold retainers' daily food, From Teviot, Aill, and Ettrick shade, And bought with danger, blows, and
blood. Came in, their Chief's defence to aid. There was saddling and mounting Marauding chief! his sole delight in haste,
The moonlight raid, the morning fight; There was pricking o'er moor and Not even the Flower of Yarrow's
charms, He that was last at the trysting-place | In youth, might tame his rage for Was but lightly held of his gay
And still, in age, he spurn'd at rest,
Albeit the blanched locks below
sword His ready lances Thirlestane brave
Before their father's band ; Array'd beneath a banner bright.
A braver knight than Harden's lord The treasured fleur-de-luce he claims
Ne'er belted on a brand. To wreathc his shield, since royal
Scotts of Eskdale, a stalwart band, The proud distinction grateful gave,
Camc trooping down the TodshawFor faith 'mid feudal jars;
hill; What time, save Thirlestane alone,
By the sword they won thcir land, Of Scotland's stubborn barons none
And by the sword they hold it still. Would march to southern wars;
Hearken, Ladye, to the tale, And hence, in fair remembrance worn,
How thy sires won fair Eskdale. Yon sheaf of spears his crest has Earl Morton was lord of that valley bornc;
fair; Hence his high mottoshines reveal'd The Beattisons were his vassals there. 'Ready, aye ready' for the field.
The Earl was gentle, and mild of
The vassals were warlike, and fierce, An aged Knight, to danger steeld,
and rude ; With manya moss-trooper came on; High of heart, and haughty of word, And azure in a golden field,
Little they reck'd of a tame liege The stars and crescent graced his
The Earl into fair Eskdale came, Without the bend of Murdieston. Homage and scignory to claim :
Of Gilbert the Galliard a heriot he To Gilbert the Galliard thus he said: sought,
• Know thou me for thy liege-lord Saying, "Give thy best steed, as a
and head; vassal ought.'
Deal not with me as with Morton * Dear to me is my bonny white steed, tame, Oft has he help'd me at pinch of need; For Scotts play best at the roughest Lord and Earl though thou be, I trow
game. I can rein Bucksfoot better than thou.' Give me in peace my heriot due, Word on word gave fuel to fire, Thy bonny white steed, or thou shalt Till so highly blazed the Beattison'sire, rue. But that the Earl the flight had ta'en, If my horn I three times wind, The vassals there their lord had slain. Eskdale shall long have the sound in Sore he plied both whip and spur,
mind.' As he urged his steed through Eskdale muir;
Loudly the Beattison laugh'd in And it fell down a weary weight, Just on the threshold of Branksome Little care we for thy winded gate.
Ne'er shall it be the Galliard's lot The Earl was a wrathful man to see, | To yield his steed to a haughty Scott. Full fain avenged would he be. Wend thou to Branksome back on In haste to Branksome's Lord he
With rusty spur and miry boot.' Saying—' Take these traitors to thy He blew his bugle so loud and hoarse yoke;
That the dun deer started at fair For a cast of hawks, and a purse of Craikcross ; gold,
He blew again so loud and clear, All Eskdale I'll sell thee, to have and | Through the grey mountain-mist there hold :
did lances appear ; Beshrew thy heart, of the Beattisons' And the third blast rang with such a clan
din If thou leavest on Eske a landed man; | That the echocs answer'd from PenBut spare Woodkerrick's lands alone, toun-linn, For he lent me his horse to escape And all his riders came lightly in. upon.'
Then had you seen a gallant shock A glad man then was Branksome bold, When saddles were emptied and Down he flung him the purse of gold; lances broke! To Eskdale soon he spurr'd amain, For cach scornful word the Galliard And with him five hundred riders has had said, ta'cn.
A Beattison on the field was laid. He left his merrymen in the mist of His own good sword the chieftain the hill,
drew, And bade them hold them close and And he bore the Galliard through still ;
and through; And alone he wended to the plain, Where the Beattisons' blood mix'd To meet with the Galliard and all his with the rill, train.
The Galliard's-Haugh men call it still.
The Scotts have scatter'd the Beatti And moan'd and plain'd in manner son clan,
wild. In Eskdale they left but one landed The attendants to the Ladye told man.
Some fairy, sure, had chang’d the The valley of Eske, from the mouth to the source,
That wont to be so free and bold. Was lost and won for that bonny Then wrathful was the noble dame; white horse.
She blush'd blood-red for very
· Hence! ere the clan his faintness Whitslade the Hawk, and Headshaw
Hence with the weakling to BucAnd warriors more than I may name;
cleuch! From Yarrow-cleugh to Hindhaugha Watt Tinlinn, thou shalt be his guide swair,
To Rangleburn's lonely side. From Woodhouselic to Chester- Sure some fell fiend has cursed our glen,
line, Troop'd man and horse, and bow and That coward should e'er be son of spear;
mine!' Their gathering word was Bellen
A heavy task Watt Tinlinn had, And better hearts o'er Border sod To guide the counterfeited lad. To siege or rescue never rode. Soon as the palfrey felt the weight The Ladye mark'd the aids come Of that ill-omen'd elfish freight, in,
He bolted, sprung, and rear'd amain, And high her heart of pride arose : Nor heeded bit, nor curb, nor rein. She bade her youthful son attend, It cost Watt Tinlinn mickle toil That he might know his father's To drive him but a Scottish mile; friend,
But as a shallow brook they And learn to face his foes.
cross'd, • The boy is ripe to look on war ; The elf, amid the running stream, I saw him draw a cross-bow His figure chang'd, like form in stiff,
dream, And his true arrow struck afar
And fled, and shouted, 'Lost! The raven's nest upon the cliff;
lost! lost!' The red cross on a southern breast Full fast the urchin ran and laugh'd, Is broader than the rayen's nest : But faster still a cloth-yard shaft Thou, Whitslade, shalt teach him his Whistled from startled Tinlinn's yew; weapon to wield,
And pierc'd his shoulder through and And o'er him hold his father's shield.' through.
Although the imp might not be
slain, Well may you think the wily page And though the wound soon heal'd Car'd not to face the Ladye sage.
again, He counterfeited childish fear, Yet, as he ran, he yell’d for pain; And shriek d, and shed full many a And Wat of Tinlinn, much aghast, tear,
Rode back to Branksome fiery fast.