And how a day of fight was ta'en That all would stay the fight to see, To taste of Branksome cheer. 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 To keep the truce which here was set ; Where martial spirits, all on fire, Breathed only blood and mortal ire.By mutual inroads, mutual blows, By habit, and by nation, foes, They met on Teviot's strand; They met and sate them mingled down, 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 interchanged in greeting dear; Visors were raised, and faces shown, And many a friend, to friend made known, Partook of social cheer. And some, with many a merry shout, Pursued the foot-ball play. VII. Yet, be it known, had bugles blown, Or sign of war been seen, Those bands, so fair together ranged, Those hands, so frankly interchanged, Had dyed with gore the green: The merry shout by Teviot-side For many a noble warrior strove With throbbing head and anxious heart, In broken sleep she lay : By times, from silken couch she rose; XI. She gazed upon the inner court, Which in the tower's tall shadow lay; Where coursers' clang, and stamp, and snort, Had rung the livelong yesterday; Now still as death; till stalking slow,The jingling spurs announced his tread, A stately warrior pass'd below; But when he raised his plumed head— Blessed Mary! can it be?Secure, as if in Õusenam bowers, He walks through Branksome's hostile towers, With fearless step and free. She dared not sign, she dared not speakOh! if one page's slumbers break, His blood the price must pay! Not all the pearls Queen Mary wears, Not Margaret's yet more precious tears, Shall buy his life a day. XII. Yet was his hazard small; for well Of that sly urchin page; But O! what magic's quaint disguise XIII. Oft have I mused, what purpose bad To bring this meeting round; Their erring passion might have wrought And to the gentle ladye bright, But earthly spirit could not tell The heart of them that loved so well. Whose wishes, soon as granted, fly ; With dead desire it doth not die; It is the secret sympathy, The silver link, the silken tie, Which heart to heart, and mind to mind, In body and in soul can bind.— Now leave we Margaret and her Knight, To tell you of the approaching fight. XIV. Their warning blasts the bugles blew, The pipe's shrill port* aroused each clan; In haste, the deadly strife to view, The trooping warriors eager ran : Thick round the lists their lances stood, Like blasted pines in Ettrick Wood; To Branksome many a look they threw The combatants' approach to view, And bandied many a word of boast, About the knight each favour'd most XV. Meantime full anxious was the Dame; * A martial piece of music, adapted to the bagpipes. 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 craved 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; Unarmed by her side he walk'd, And much, in courteous phrase, they talk'd Of feats of arms of old. His hose with silver twined; Call'd noble Howard, Belted Will. XVII. Benind Lord Howard and the Dame, Whose foot-cloth swept the ground : XVIII. Prize of the field, the young Buccleuch, An English knight led forth to view; Scarce rued the boy his present plight, So much he long'd to see the fight. 'Tis done, 'tis done! that fatal blow Has stretch'd him on the bloody plain; He strives to rise-Brave Musgrave, no! Thence never shalt thou rise again! He chokes in blood-some friendly hand Undo the visor's barred band, Unfix the gorget's iron clasp, And give him room for life to gasp! O, bootless aid !-haste, holy Friar, Haste, ere the sinner shall expire! Of all his guilt let him be shriven, And smooth his path from earth to heaven! XXIII. In haste the holy Friar sped: Loose waved his silver beard and hair, He holds before his darkening eye; Still props him from the bloody sod, Still, even when soul and body part, Pours ghostly comfort on his heart, And bids him trust in God! Unheard he prays;-the death-pang's o'er ! Richard of Musgrave breathes no more. XXIV. As if exhausted in the fight, When lo! strange cries of wild surprise, Among the Scottish bands; And all, upon the armed ground, "And who art thou," they cried, "Who hast this battle fought and won?" His plumed helm was soon undone— Cranstoun of Teviot-side! For this fair prize I've fought and won," 66 And to the Ladye led her son. XXV. Full oft the rescued boy she kiss'd, Though low he kneeled at her feet. -For Howard was a generous foeAnd how the clan united pray'd The Ladye would the feud forego, And deign to bless the nuptial hour Of Cranstoun's Lord and Teviot's Flower. XXVI. She look'd to river, look'd to hill, Thought on the Spirit's prophecy, Then broke her silence stern and still,"Not you, but Fate, has vanquish'd me; Their influence kindly stars may shower That hand to Cranstoun's lord gave she: "As I am true to thee and thine, Do thou be true to me and mine! This clasp of love our bond shall be; For this is your betrothing day, And all these noble lords shall stay, To grace it with their company. XXVII. All as they left the listed plain, And how he sought her castle high, Nor how she told of former woes, XXVIII. William of Deloraine, some chance Had waken'd from his deathlike trance; And taught that, in the listed plain, Another, in his arms and shield, Against fierce Musgrave axe did wield, Under the name of Deloraine. * Hence, to the field, unarm'd, he ran, He greeted him right heartilie: Though rude, and scant of courtesy ; In raids he spilt but seldom blood, Unless when men-at arms withstood, Or, as was meet, for deadly feud. He ne'er bore grudge for stalwart blow. Ta'en in fair fight from gallant foe: And so 'twas seen of him, e'en now, When on dead Musgrave he look'd down; Grief darkened on his rugged brow, Though half disguised with a frown; And thus, while sorrow bent his head, His foeman's epitaph he made :- XXIX. "Now, Richard Musgrave, liest thou here! I ween, my deadly enemy; For, if I slew thy brother dear, Thou slew'st a sister's son to me; And when I lay in dungeon dark, Of Naworth Castle, long months three, Till ransom'd for a thousand mark, Dark Musgrave, it was long of thee. And, Musgrave, could our fight be tried, And thou wert now alive, as I, No mortal man should us divide, Till one, or both of us, did die : Yet rest thee God! for well I know I ne'er shall find a nobler foe. In all the northern counties here, Whose word is Snaffle, spur, and spear, Thou wert the best to follow gear! 'Twas pleasure, as we look'd behind, To see how thou the chase could'st wind, Cheer the dark blood-hound on his |