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A message went, no daughter came;
Fair ISABEL ne'er appears : Behrew me said the aged chief,
Young maidens have their fears.
up, my son, thou shalt her fee So soon as thou canst ride ; And she shall nurse thee in her bower,
And she shall be thy bride.
Sir Bertram, at her name reviv'd,
He bless d the foothing found ; Fond hope supplied the Nurse's care,
And heal d his ghastly wound.
WARx caftle, a fortress belonging to the English, and of great note in antient times, stood on the foạthern bank of the river Tweed, a little to the east of Tiviotdale, and not far from Kelso. It is now entirely destroyed.
THE END OF THE SECOND Part.
Τ Η Ε
HERMIT of WARK WORTH.
Northumberland BAL L A D.
FIT THE THIRD.
Hung trembling on the tree,
A brother he had in prime of youth,
Of courage firm and keen,
Because his wounds were green.
All day o'er moss and moor they rode,
By many a lonely tower ;
Ere they drew near her bower.
Most drear and dark the castle feemid,
That wont to shine so bright;
At length her aged Nurse arose
With voice so thrill and clear : What wight is this, that calls so loud,
And knocks so boldly here?
'Tis Bertram calls, thy Lady's love,
Come from his bed of care :
To see thy lady fair.
Now out alas! (the loudly shriek'd)
Alas ! how may this be ?
Since she set out to thee.
Sad terror seiz'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 past and gone,
Since the set out to thee ;
Long since thou would'st her fee.
For when she heard thy grievous chance
She tore her hair, and cried,
All thro' my folly and pride!
And now to atone for my fad fault,
And his dear health regain, I'll
go myself, and nurse my love, And footh his bed of pain.
Then mounted she her milk-white steed
One morn at break of day;
To guard her on the way.
Sad terror (mote Sir Bertram's heart,
And grief o'erwhelm’d his mind : Truft
said he, I ne'er will rest 'Till I thy lady find.
That night he spent in forrow and care ;
And with sad bodipg 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
And all our dress we'll change.
Some Scottish carle hath seiz'd my love,
And borne her to his den ;
Till she is restored agen.
The brothers ftrait their paths divide,
range ; And hide themselves in quaint disguise,
And oft their dress they change.
Sir Bertram clad in gown of gray,
Moft like a palmer poor,
And begs from door to door.
Sometimes a Minstrel's garb he wears,
With pipes so sweet and shrill ; And wends to every tower and town;
O’er every dale and hill.
Cheer up, my fon; perchance, (he faid)
Some tidings I may bear :
Then heavenly comfort's near.
Behind yon hills fo fteep and high,
Down in a lowly glen,
Far from th' abode of men.
As late I chanc'd to crave an alms
About this evening hour,
Lamenting in the tower.
And when I ask'd, what harm had hap'd,
What lady fick there lay?
And bade me wend away.