"Yet I will stay at Otterburn,
Where you shall welcome be;
And, if ye come not at three dayis end, A fause lord I'll ca' thee."
"Thither will I come," proud Percy said, "By the might of Our Ladie!"
"There will I bide thee," said the Douglas, "My troth I plight to thee."
They lighted high on Otterburn,
They lighted high on Otterburn,
And threw their pallions 11 down.
And he that had a bonny boy,
Sent out his horse to grass;
And he that had not a bonny boy,
His ain servant he was.
But up then spake a little page,
Before the peep of dawn:
"O waken ye, waken ye, my good lord,
For Percy's hard at hand.”
"But I have dreamed a dreary dream,
Beyond the Isle of Sky; 13
I saw a dead man win a fight,
And I think that man was I."
He belted on his guid braid sword,
And to the field he ran;
But he forgot the helmet good,
That should have kept his brain.
When Percy wi' the Douglas met,
I wat 14 he was fu' fain!
They swakked 15 their swords, till sair they swat,
And the blood ran down like rain.
But Percy with his good broad sword,
That could so sharply wound,
Has wounded Douglas on the brow,
Till he fell to the ground.
Then he called on his little foot-page,
And said, "Run speedilie,
And fetch my ain dear sister's son,
Sir Hugh Montgomery.
"My nephew good," the Douglas said,
"What recks the death of ane!
Last night I dreamd a dreary dream,
And I ken the day's thy ain.
"My wound is deep; I fain would sleep;
Take thou the vanguard of the, three,
And hide me by the braken bush,
That grows on yonder lilye lee.
13. Isle of Sky. An island of the Hebrides. 14. Wat. Know.
"O bury me by the braken-bush,
Beneath the blooming brier,
Let never living mortal ken,
That ere a kindly Scot lies here."
He lifted up that noble lord,
Wi' the saut tear in his ee;
He hid him in the braken bush,
That his merry men might not see.
The moon was clear, the day drew near,
The spears in flinders flew,
But mony a gallant Englishman
Ere day the Scotsmen slew.
The Gordons good, in English blood
They steeped their hose and shoon;
The Lindsays flew like fire about,
Till all the fray was done.
The Percy and Montgomery met;
That either of other were fain;
They swapped swords, and they twa swat,
And aye the blood ran down between.
"Now yield thee, yield thee, Percy," he said, "Or else I vow I'll lay thee low;"
"To whom must I yield," quoth Earl Percy, "Now that I see it must be so?"
"Thou shalt not yield to lord nor loun,1
Nor yet shalt thou yield to me;
But yield thee to the braken bush,
That grows upon yon lilye lee!"
16. Shoon. Shoes.
17. Loun. Person of low rank.
"I will not yield to a braken-bush,
Nor yet will I yield to a brier;
But I would yield to Earl Douglas,
Or Sir Hugh the Montgomery, if he were here."
As soon as he knew it was Montgomery,
He struck his sword's point in the gronde;
The Montgomery was a courteous knight,
And quickly took him by the honde.
This deed was done at Otterburn
About the breaking of the day;
Earl Douglas was buried 18 at the braken bush,
And the Percy led captive away.
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW
At Atri in Abruzzo,1 a small town
Of ancient Roman date, but scant renown,
One of those little places that have run
Half up the hill, beneath a blazing sun,
And then sat down to rest, as if to say,
"I climb no farther upward, come what may,"-
The Re Giovanni,2 now unknown to fame,
So many monarchs since have borne the name,
Had a great bell hung in the market-place,
Beneath a roof, projecting some small space
18. Buried. Earl Douglas was really buried in Melrose Abbey, where his tomb is still to be seen.
Abruzzo. A former division of central Italy.
By way of shelter from the sun and rain.
Then rode he through the streets with all his train,
And, with the blast of trumpets loud and long,
Made proclamation, that whenever wrong
Was done to any man, he should but ring
The great bell in the square, and he, the King,
Would cause the Syndic to decide thereon.
Such was the proclamation of King John.
How swift the happy days in Atri sped,
What wrongs were righted, need not here be said.
Suffice it that, as all things must decay,
The hempen rope at length was worn away,
Unravelled at the end, and, strand by strand,
Loosened and wasted in the ringer's hand,
Till one, who noted this in passing by,
Mended the rope with braids of briony,
So that the leaves and tendrils of the vine
Hung like a votive garland at a shrine.
By chance it happened that in Atri dwelt
A knight, with spur on heel and sword in belt,
Who loved to hunt the wild-boar in the woods,
Who loved his falcons with their crimson hoods,
Who loved his hounds and horses, and all sports
And prodigalities of camps and courts;—
Loved, or had loved them; for at last, grown old,
His only passion was the love of gold.
He sold his horses, sold his hawks and hounds,
Rented his vineyards and his garden-grounds,
Kept but one steed, his favorite steed of all,
To starve and shiver in a naked stall,
And day by day sat brooding in his chair,
Devising plans how best to hoard and spare.
3. Syndic. Chief Magistrate.
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