Should for himself and chieftain stand Against stout Musgrave, hand to hand. XXXIV I know right well that in their lay Full many minstrels sing and say Such combat should be made on horse, On foaming steed, in full career, He knew each ordinance and clause He brooked not, he, that scoffing tongue Or call his song untrue: For this, when they the goblet plied, And such rude taunt had chafed his pride, The bard of Reull he slew. On Teviot's side in fight they stood, And tuneful hands were stained with blood, Where still the thorn's white branches wave, Memorial o'er his rival's grave. 1 See Note 114. See Note 115. XXXV Why should I tell the rigid doom How Ousenam's maidens tore their hair, Wept till their eyes were dead and dim, And wrung their hands for love of him Who died at Jedwood Air? He died! his scholars, one by one, To the cold silent grave are gone; And I, alas! survive alone, To muse o'er rivalries of yore, And grieve that I shall hear no more He paused: the listening dames again Of feuds, whose memory was not; Of forests, now laid waste and bare; Of towers, which harbour now the hare; Of manners, long since changed and gone; Of chiefs, who under their grey stone The harper smiled, well pleased; for ne'er A simple race! they waste their toil E'en when in age their flame expires, Smiled then, well pleased, the aged man, CANTO FIFTH CALL it not vain: I they do not err, Who say that when the poet dies Who say tall cliff and cavern lone And rivers teach their rushing wave To murmur dirges round his grave. II Not that, in sooth, o'er mortal urn But that the stream, the wood, the gale, The maid's pale shade, who wails her lot, That love, true love, should be forgot, From rose and hawthorn shakes the tear The phantom knight, his glory fled, Mourns o'er the field he heaped with dead, The chief, whose antique crownlet long Now, from the mountain's misty throne, His place, his power, his memory die; His groans the lonely caverns fill, His tears of rage impel the rill; All mourn the minstrel's harp unstrung, III Scarcely the hot assault was stayed, The terms of truce were scarcely made, When they could spy, from Branksome's towers, And trampling steeds were faintly heard; |