And Tweed's fair borders, to the war, Beneath the crest of Old Dunbar,

And Hepburn's mingled banners

come,

By mutual inroads, mutual blows,
By habit, and by nation, foes,
They met on Teviot's strand;
They met and sate them mingled down,

As brothers meet in foreign land: The hands the spear that lately

grasp'd,

Still in the mailed gauntlet clasp'd, Were interchang'd in greeting dear;

some sent,

On many a courteous message went; To every chief and lord they paid Meet thanks for prompt and powerful aid;

And told them,-how a truce was made,

And how a day of fight was ta'en
'Twixt Musgrave and stout Delo-
raine;

And how the Ladye pray'd them
dear,

That all would stay the fight to see,
And deign, in love and courtesy,

To taste of Branksome cheer. Nor, while they bade to feast each Scot,

Were England's noble Lords forgot.
Himself, the hoary Seneschal

Rode forth, in seemly terms to call
Those gallant foes to Branksome Hall.
Accepted Howard, than whom knight
Was never dubb'd, more bold in fight;
Nor, when from war and armour free,
More fam'd for stately courtesy:
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

And many a friend, to friend made known,

Partook of social cheer.

Some drove the jolly bowl about; With dice and draughts some chas'd 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 rang'd,
Those hands, so frankly interchang'd,

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 infrequent, 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 blithsome signs of wassel gay

Soon through the lattic'd windows

tall

Of lofty Branksome's lordly hall,

thought

They 'gan to reckon kin and rent,

wrought

Sorrow, and sin, and shame; And death to Cranstoun's gallant Knight,

And to the gentle ladye bright

Disgrace and loss of fame. But earthly spirit could not tell

The heart of them that lov'd so well. True love's the gift which God has given

To man alone beneath the heaven:
It is not fantasy's hot fire,
Whose wishes, soon as granted,
fly;

It liveth not in fierce desire,

With dead desire it doth not die;

It is the secret sympathy,
The silver link, the silken tie,

Which heart to heart, and mind to

mind,

In body and in soul can bind.

bent;

But yet not long the strife-for, lo! Himself, the Knight of Deloraine, Strong, as it seem'd, and free from pain,

In armour sheath'd from top to toe, Appear'd and crav'd the combat due. The Dame her charm successful knew, And the fierce chiefs their claims withdrew.

XVI.

When for the lists they sought the plain,

The stately Ladye's silken rein

Did noble Howard hold;
Unarmed by her side he walk'd,
And much, in courteous phrase, they
talk'd

Of feats of arms of old.
Costly his garb; his Flemish ruff

Knight,

With satin slash'd and lin'd;

XIV.

Their warning blasts the bugles blew, The pipe's shrill port arous'd each

clan;

In haste, the deadly strife to view,

The trooping warriors eager ran :

His cloak was all of Poland fur,

His hose with silver twin'd; His Bilboa blade, by Marchmen felt, Hung in a broad and studded belt; Hence, in rude phrase, the Borderers still

Call'd noble Howard, Belted Will.

XVII.

Behind Lord Howard and the Dame, Fair Margaret on her palfrey came, Whose foot-cloth swept the ground:

White was her wimple, and her veil, And her loose locks a chaplet pale

Of whitest roses bound; The lordly Angus, by her side, In courtesy to cheer her tried; Without his aid, her hand in vain Had strove to guide her broider'd rein.

He deem'd she shudder'd at the sight

Of warriors met for mortal fight;
But cause of terror, all unguess'd,
Was fluttering in her gentle breast,
When, in their chairs of crimson
plac'd,

The Dame and she the barriers grac'd.

XVIII.

Prize of the field, the young Buc

cleuch,

An English knight led forth to view; Scarce rued the boy his present plight,

So much he long'd to see the fight. Within the lists, in knightly pride, High Home and haughty Dacre ride; Their leading staffs of steel they wield As marshals of the mortal field; While to each knight their care assign'd

Like vantage of the sun and wind. Then heralds hoarse did loud proclaim,

In King and Queen and Warden's name,

That none, while lasts the strife, Should dare, by look, or sign, or word, Aid to a champion to afford,

On peril of his life;

And not a breath the silence broke, Till thus the alternate Heralds spoke :