A meffage went, no daughter came;
Fair ISABEL ne'er appears:
Befhrew me faid the aged chief,
Young maidens have their fears.

Cheer up, my fon, thou shalt her fee
So foon as thou canst ride;
And the fhall nurfe thee in her bower,
And the fhall be thy bride.

Sir Bertram, at her name reviv'd,
He blefs d the foothing found;
Fond hope fupplied the Nurfe's care,
And heal'd his ghaftly wound.

WARK caftle, a fortrefs belonging to the English, and of great note in antient times, ftood on the fouthern bank of the river Tweed, a little to the east of Tiviotdale, and not far from Kelfo. It is now entirely destroyed.

THE END OF THE SECOND PART.

THE

HERMIT of WARK WORTH.

A

Northumberland BALLA D.

FIT THE THIR D.

NE early morn while dewy drops
Hung trembling on the tree,
Sir Bertram from his fick bed rose,
His bride he would go fee.

A brother he had in prime of youth,
Of courage firm and keen,
And he would tend him on the way
Because his wounds were green.

All day o'er mofs and moor they rode,
By many a lonely tower;

And 'twas the dew-fall of the night
Ere they drew near her bower.

Moft drear and dark the caftle feem'd,
That wont to fhine fo bright;
And long and loud Sir Bertram call'd
Ere he beheld a light.

At length her aged Nurse arofe
With voice fo fhrill and clear:
What wight is this, that calls fo loud,
And knocks fo boldly here?..

'Tis Bertram calls, thy Lady's love, Come from his bed of care:

All day I've ridden o'er moor and mofs To fee thy lady fair.

Now out alas! (fhe loudly fhriek'd)
Alas! how may this be?

For fix long days are gone and past
Since the fet out to thee.

Sad terror feiz'd Sir Bertram's heart,
And ready was he to fall;~

When now the draw-bridge was let down,
And gates were open'd all.

Six days, young knight, are paft and gone,
Since the fet out to thee;

And fure if no fad harm had hap'd
Long fince thou would'ft her fee.

For when she heard thy grievous chance
She tore her hair, and cried,
Alas! I've flain the comelieft knight,
All thro' my folly and pride!

And now to atone for my fad fault,
And his dear health regain,

I'll

go myself, and nurfe my love, And footh his bed of pain.

Then mounted fhe her milk-white steed

One morn at break of day;

And two tall yeomen went with her

To guard her on the way.

Sad terror fmote Sir Bertram's heart,
And grief o'erwhelm'd his mind :
Truft me, faid he, I ne'er will reft
'Till I thy lady find.

That night he spent in forrow and care;
And with fad boding heart

Or ever the dawning of the day
His brother and he depart.

Now, brother, we'll our ways divide,
O'er Scottish hills to range :

Do thou go north, and I'll

go weft;

And all our drefs we'll change.

Some Scottish carle hath feiz'd my love, And borne her to his den;

And ne'er will I tread English ground

Till fhe is reftored agen.

The brothers ftrait their paths divide,
O'er Scottish hills to range;

And hide themselves in quaint disguise,
And oft their drefs they change.

Sir Bertram clad in gown of
Moft like a palmer poor,

gray,

To halls and caftles wanders round,
And begs from door to door.

Sometimes a Minstrel's garb he wears,
With pipes fo fweet and fhrill;
And wends to every tower and town;
O'er every dale and hill.

One day as he fate under a thorn
All funk in deep despair,
An aged Pilgrim pass'd him by,
Who mark'd his face of care.

All Minstrels yet that ever I saw,
Are full of game and glee:
But thou art fad and woe-begone!
I marvel whence it be !

Father, I ferve an aged Lord,
Whofe grief afflicts my mind;
His only child is ftol'n away,
And fain I would her find.

Cheer up, my fon; perchance, (he faid)
Some tidings I may bear :
For oft when human hopes have fail'd,
Then heavenly comfort's near.

Behind yon hills fo fteep and high,
Down in a lowly glen,
There ftands a castle fair and strong,
Far from th' abode of men.

As late I chanc'd to crave an alms
About this evening hour,
Me-thought I heard a Lady's voice
Lamenting in the tower.

And when I afk'd, what harm had hap'd,
What lady fick there lay?

They rudely drove me from the gate,
And bade me wend away.