A simple race! they waste their toil The phantom Knight, his glory fled, Mourns o'er the field he heap'd with dead; Mounts the wild blast that sweeps amain, And shrieks along the battle-plain. The Chief, whose antique crownlet long Smil'd then, well pleas'd, the aged Still sparkled in the feudal song, 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, Down the steep mountain glittering Without a threat, without a frown, 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; Now squire and knight, from Brank- Visors were raised, and faces shown, 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 And how the Ladye pray'd them That all would stay the fight to see, To taste of Branksome cheer. Nor, while they bade to feast each Scot, Were England's noble Lords forgot. Rode forth, in seemly terms to call 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, Had dyed with gore the green : 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 peaceful merriment, sunk down VIII. The blithsome signs of wassel gay To keep the truce which here was Decay'd not with the dying day : Soon through the lattic'd windows tall Of lofty Branksome's lordly hall, And revellers, o'er their bowls, pro- Where coursers' clang, and stamp, claim Douglas or Dacre's conquering name. IX. Less frequent heard, and fainter still, At length the various clamours died : And you might hear, from Branksome hill, No sound but Teviot's rushing tide; Save when the changing sentinel The challenge of his watch could tell; And save where, through the dark profound, and snort Had rung the livelong yesterday; A stately warrior pass'd below; Bless'd Mary! can it be? With fearless step and free. The clanging axe and hammer's Oh! if one page's slumbers break, While with surprise and fear she Thick round the lists their lances And oft I've deem'd perchance he 'Twixt Harden and 'twixt Thirlestaine: thought They 'gan to reckon kin and rent, Their erring passion might have And frowning brow on brow was 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 liveth not in fierce desire, With dead desire it doth not die; It is the secret sympathy, 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; Of feats of arms of old. Now leave we Margaret and her Fell o'er his doublet, shap'd of buff, Knight, With satin slash'd and lin'd; To tell you of the approaching fight. Tawny his boot, and gold his spur, 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; 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 : |