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XXIV.

XXII.

But, were each dame a listening Unheard he prays; the death pang's knight,

o'er! I well could tell how warriors fight! Richard of Musgrave breathes no For I have seen war's lightning

flashing, Seen the claymore with bayonet clashing,

As if exhausted in the fight, Seen through red blood the war-horse Or musing o'er the piteous sight, dashing,

The silent victor stands; And scorn'd, amid the reeling strife,

His beaver did he not unclasp, To yield a step for death or life, Mark'd not the shouts, felt not the

grasp

Of gratulating hands. 'Tis done, 'tis done! that fatal blow

When lo! strange cries of wild Has stretch'd him on the bloody surprise, plain;

Mingled with seeming terror, rise He strives to rise-brave Musgrave, Among the Scottish bands; no!

And all, amid the throng'd array, Thence never shalt thou rise again! In panic haste gave open way He chokes in blood! some friendly To a half-naked ghastly man hand

Who downward from the castle Undo the visor's barred band,

ran : Unfix the gorget's iron clasp,

He crossd the barriers at a bound, And give him room for life to gasp ! And wild and haggard look'd around, o, bootless aid ! haste, holy Friar, As dizzy, and in pain ; Haste, ere the sinner shall expire ! And all, upon the armed ground, Of all his guilt let him be shriven, Knew William of Deloraine ! And smooth his path from earth to Each ladye sprung from seat with heaven!

speed;

Vaulted each marshal from his steed; In haste the holy Friar sped;

* And who art thou,' they cried, His naked foot was dyed with red

Who hast this battle fought and As through the lists he ran ;

won?' Unmindful of the shouts on high,

His plumed helm was soon undoneThat hail'd the conqueror's victory,

Cranstoun of Teviot-side! He rais'd the dying man ;

For this fair prize I've fought and Loose wav'd his silver beard and hair,

won;' As o'er him he kneeld down in And to the Ladye led her son.

prayer ; And still the crucifix on high

xxv. lle holds before his darkening eye ; Full oft the rescued boy she kiss'd, And still he bends an anxious car And often press'd him to her breast; His faltering penitence to hear ; For, under all her dauntless show,

Still props him from the bloody sod, Her heart had throbb'd at every blow ; Still, even when soul and body part, Yet not Lord Cranstoun deign'd she Pours ghostly comfort on his heart,

greet, And bids him trust in God

Though low he kneeled at her feet.

XXIII.

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XXVI.

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Me lists not tell what words were . How, in Sir William's armour dight, made,

Stolen by his page, while slept the What Douglas, Home, and Howard knight, said

He took on him the single fight. For Howard was a generous foe But half his tale he left unsaid, And how the clan united pray'd And linger'd till he join'd the maid.

The Ladye would the feud forego, ! Car'd not the Ladye to betray And deign to bless the nuptial hour Her mystic arts in view of day; Of Cranstoun's Lord and Teviot's | But well she thought, ere midnight Flower,

came, 1 Of that strange page the pride to

tame, She look'd to river, look'd to hill, From his foul hands the Book to save,

Thought on the Spirit's prophecy, And send it back to Michael's grave. Then broke her silence stern and Needs not to tell each tender word still

'Twixt Margaret and 'twixt Cran* Not you, but Fate, has vanquish'd stoun's lord ; me ;

Vor how she told of former woes, Their influence kindly stars may · And how her bosom fell and rose, shower

While he and Musgrave bandicd On Teviot's tide and Branksome's blows. tower,

Needs not these lovers' joy's to tell: For pride is quell'd, and love is , One day, fair maids, you 'll know them free.'

well. She took fair Margaret by the hand,

XXVIII. Who, breathless, trembling, scarce William of Deloraine some chance might stand ;

Had waken'd from his deathlike That hand to Cranstoun's lord gave

trance :

And taught that, in the listed plain, • As I am true to thee and thine,

Another, in his arms and shield, I)o thou be true to me and mine!

Against fierce Musgrave axe did This clasp of love our bond shall

wield

L’nder the name of Deloraine. For this is your betrothing day, llence to the field unarm'd he ran, And all these noble lords shall stay And hence his presence scar'd the To grace it with their company:'

clan, Who held him for some fleeting

wraith, All as they left the listed plain, And not a man of blood and breath. Much of the story she did gain ;

Not much this new ally he lov'd, Ilow Cranstoun fought with Delo Yet, when he saw what hap hard raine,

prov'd, And of his page, and of the Book

Hle greeted him right heartilie : Which from the wounded knight he : He would not waken old debate, took;

For he was void of rancorous hate, And how he sought her castle high, Though rude, and scant of That morn, by help of gramarye ;

courtesy;

she:

bc;

XXVII.

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XXX.

XXIX.

spilt but seldom blood, when men-at-arms withstood, So mourn'd he, till Lord Dacre's , as was meet, for deadly feud.

band He ne'er bore grudge for stalwart Were bowning back to Cumberland. blow,

They rais'd brave Musgrave from the Ta'en in fair fight from gallant foe:

field, And so 'twas seen of him, c'en And laid him on his bloody shield; now,

On levellid lances, four and four, When on dead Musgrave he By turns, the noble burden bore. look'd down;

Before, at times, upon the gale, Grief darken'd on his rugged brow, Was heard the Minstrel's plaintive Though half disguised with a

wail; frown;

Behind, four priests, in sable stole, And thus, while sorrow bent his head, Sung requiem for the warrior's soul: His foeman's epitaph he made.

Around, the horsemen slowly rode;
With trailing pikes the spearmen

trode; • Now, Richard Musgrave, liest thou And thus the gallant knight they here!

borc I ween, my deadly enemy; Through Liddesdale to Leven's shore; For, if I slew thy brother dear,

Thence to Holme Coltrame's lofty Thou slew'st a sister's son to me;

nave, And when I lay in dungeon dark And laid him in his father's grave. Of Naworth Castle, long months

three, Till ransom'd for a thousand mark, The harp's wild notes, though hush'd Dark Musgrave, it was 'long of

the song, thec.

The mimic march of death prolong; And, Musgrave, could our fight be Now seems it far, and now a-near, tried,

Now meets, and now eludes the ear; And thou wert now alive, as I, Now seems some mountain side to No mortal man should us divide,

sweep, Till one, or both of us, did die:

Now faintly dies in valley deep; Yet, rest thee God! for well I know Seems now as if the Minstrel's wail, I ne'er shall find a nobler foe.

Now the sad requiem, loads the In all the northern counties here,

gale; Whose word is Snaffle, spur, and Last, o'er the warrior's closing grave, spear,

Rung the full choir in choral stave. Thou wert the best to follow gear! 'Twas pleasure, as we look'd behind, After due pause, they bade him tell, To see how thou the chase could'st | Why he, who touch'd the harp so wind,

well, Cheer the dark blood-hound on his Should thus, with ill-rewarded toil, way,

Wander a poor and thankless soil, And with the bugle rouse the fray! When the more generous Southern I'd give the lands of Deloraine,

land Dark Musgrave were alive again.' Would well requite his skilful hand.

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The aged Harper, howsoe'er Still as I view each well-known scene, His only friend, his harp, was dear, Think what is now, and what hath Lik'd not to hear it rank'd so high

been, Above his flowing poesy :

Seems as, to me, of all bereft, Less lik'd he still that scornful jeer Sole friends thy woods and streams Mispris'd the land he lov'd so dear;

were left;
High was the sound, as thus again And thus I love them better still,
The Bard resum'd his minstrel strain. Even in extremity of ill.

By Yarrow's stream still let me stray,
Though none should guide my feeble

way ;

Still feel the breeze down Ettrick Canto Sixth.

break, Although it chill my wither'd cheek;

III.

Still lay my head by Teviot Stone, BREATHES there the man, with soul

Though there, forgotten and alone, so dead,

The Bard may draw his parting groan. Who never to himself hath said,

This is my own, my native land! Whose heart hath ne'er within him

Not scorn'd like me, to Branksome burn'd,

Hall As home his footsteps he hath turn’d, The Minstrels came at festive call; From wandering on a foreign

Trooping they came, from near and strand!

far, If such there breathe, go, mark him

The jovial priests of mirth and war ; well;

Alike for fcast and fight prepar'd, For him no Minstrel raptures swell ;

Battle and banquet both they shar'ds High though his titles, proud his

Of late, before each martial clan, name,

They blew their death-note in the Boundless his wealth as wish can

van, claim; Despite those titles, power, and pelf

, Rose the portcullis’ iron grate ;

But now, for every merry mate, The wretch, concentred all in self,

They sound the pipe, they strike the Living, shall forfeit fair renown,

string, And, doubly dying, shall go down

They dance, they revel, and they To the vile dust, from whence he

sing, sprung,

Till the rude turrets shake and ring. Unwept, unhonour'd, and unsung.

II.

IV.

O Caledonia ! stern and wild,

Me lists not at this tide declare Meet nurse for a poetic child !

The splendour of the spousal rite, Land of brown heath and shaggy How muster'd in the chapel fair wood,

Both maid and matron, squire and Land of the mountain and the flood,

knight; Land of my sires! what mortal hand Me lists not tell of owches rare, Can e'er untie the filial band,

Of mantles green, and braided hair, That knits me to thy rugged strand ! And kirtles furr'd with miniver;

What plumage wav'd the altar round, Then rose the riot and the din, How spurs and ringing chainlets Above, beneath, without, within ! sound;

For, from the lofty balcony, And hard it were for bard to speak Rung trumpet, shalm, and psaltery : The changeful hue of Margaret's Their clanging bowls old warriors cheek

quaff'd, That lovely hue which comes and flies Loudly they spoke, and loudlylaugh’d; As awe and shame alternate rise ! Whisper'd young knights, in tone

more mild, Some bards have sung the Ladye The hooded hawks, high perch'd on

To ladies fair, and ladies smil'd. high

beam, Chapel or altar came not nigh;

The clamour join'd with whistling Nor durst the rites of spousal grace,

scream, So much she fear'd each holy place.

And flapp'd their wings, and shook False slanders these: I trust right well

their bells She wrought not by forbidden spell ; For mighty words and signs have Round go the flasks of ruddy wine,

In concert with the stag-hounds' yells. power

From Bordeaux, Orleans, or the O'er sprites in planetary hour :

Rhine;
Yet scarce I praise their venturous Their tasks the busy sewers ply,
part,

And all is mirth and revelry.
Who tamper with such dangerous art.
But this for faithful truth I say,

VII.
The Ladye by the altar stood;
Of sable velvet her array,

The Goblin Page, omitting still
And on her head a crimson hood, Strove now, while blood ran hot and

No opportunity of ill,
With pearls embroider'd and entwin’d,

high, Guarded with gold, with ermine lin'd;

To rouse debate and jealousy ; A merlin sat upon her wrist

Till Conrad, Lord of Wolfenstein, Held by a leash of silken twist.

By nature fierce, and warm with VI.

wine, The spousal rites were ended soon : And now in humour highly cross'd 'Twas now the merry hour of noon, About some steeds his band had And in the lofty arched hall

lost, Was spread the gorgeous festival. High words to words succeeding still, Steward and squire, with heedful haste, Smote with his gauntlet stout HuntMarshall'd the rank of every guest;

hillPages, with ready blade, were there, A hot and hardy Rutherford, The mighty meal to carve and share: Whom men called Dickon Draw-theO'er capon, heron-shew, and crane,

sword. And princely peacock's gilded train, He took it on the page's saye, And o'er the boar-head, garnish'd Hunthill had driven these steeds brave,

away. And cygnet from St. Mary's wave ; Then Howard, Home, and Douglas O'er ptarmigan and venison

rose, The priest had spoke his benison. The kindling discord to compose :

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