On his broad shoulders loosely hung;
A border-axe behind was slung;

His spear, six Scottish ells in length,
Seemed newly dyed with gore;

His shafts and bow, of wondrous strength,
His hardy partner bore.

6. Thus to the Ladye did Tinlinn show
The tidings of the English foe :-
"Belted Will Howard is marching here,
And hot Lord Dacre, with many a spear.
And all the German hagbut men,
Who have long lain at Askerten:
They crossed the Liddel at curfew hour,
And burned my little lonely tower;
The fiend receive their souls therefor!
It had not been burned this year and more.
Barn-yard and dwelling, blazing bright,
Served to guide me on my flight;

But I was chased the live-long night.
Black John of Akeshaw, and Fergus Græme,
Fast upon my traces came,

Until I turned at Priesthaugh-Scrogg,
And shot their horses in the bog,
Slew Fergus with my lance outright-
I had him long at high despite;

He drove my cows last Fastern's night."

7. Now weary scouts from Liddesdale, Fast hurrying in, confirmed the tale; As far as they could judge by ken,

Three hours would bring to Teviot's strand
Three thousand armed Englishmen.-
Meanwhile, full many a warlike band,

From Teviot, Aill, and Ettricke shade,
Came in, their Chief's defence to aid.
There was saddling and mounting in haste,
There was pricking o'er moor and lee;
IIe, that was last at the trysting-place,
Was but lightly held of his gay ladye.

8. From fair St Mary's silver wave,

From dreary Gamescleuch's dusky height,
His ready lances Thirlestane brave
Arrayed beneath a banner bright.
The tressured fleur-de-luce he claims
To wreathe his shield, since royal James,
Encamped by Fala's mossy wave,
The proud distinction grateful gave,
For faith 'mid feudal jars ;

What time, save Thirlestane alone,
Of Scotland's stubborn barons none
Would march to southern wars;

And hence, in fair remembrance worn,
Yon sheaf of spears his crest has borne ;
Hence his high motto shines revealed,-
Ready, aye ready," for the field.

66

9. An aged knight, to danger steeled,
With many a moss trooper came on;
And azure in a golden field,

The stars and crescent graced his shield,
Without the bend of Murdieston.
Wide lay his lands round Oakwood tower,
And wide round haunted Castle-Ower;
High over Borthwick's mountain flood
His wood-embosomed mansion stood;
In the dark glen, so deep below,
The herds of plundered England low;
His bold retainers' daily food,

And bought with danger, blows, and blood.
Marauding chief! his sole delight

The moonlight raid, the morning fight;
Not even the Flower of Yarrow's charms,
In youth, might tame his rage for arms;
And still, in age, he spurned at rest,
And still his brows the helmet pressed,
Albeit the blanchèd locks below
Were white as Dinlay's spotless snow:
Five stately warriors drew the sword
Before their father's band;

A braver knight than Harden's lord
Ne'er belted on a brand.

10. Scotts of Eskdale, a stalwart band,

Came trooping down the Todshaw hill;
By the sword they won their land,

And by the sword they hold it still,
Hearken, Ladye, to the tale,
How thy sires won fair Eskdale.—
Earl Morton was lord of that valley fair,
The Beattisons were his vassals there.
The Earl was gentle, and mild of mood,

The vassals were warlike, and fierce, and rude;
High of heart, and haughty of word,

Little they recked of a tame liege-lord.

The Earl to fair Eskdale came,

Homage and seignory to claim:

Of Gilbert the Galliard, a heriot he sought,

Saying, "Give thy best steed, as a vassal ought."—
"Dear to me is my bonny white steed,
Oft has he helped me at pinch of need;
Lord and Earl though thou be, I trow,
I can rein Bucksfoot better than thou.
Word on word gave fuel to fire,
Till so highly blazed the Beattison's ire,

But that the Earl the flight had ta'en,
The vassals there their lord had slain.
Sore he plied both whip and spur,

As he urged his steed through Eskdale muir;
And it fell down a weary weight,

Just on the threshold of Branksome gate.
II. The Earl was a wrathful man to see!
Full fain avengèd would he be.

In haste to Branksome's Lord he spoke,
Saying, "Take these traitors to thy yoke;
For a cast of hawks, and a purse of gold,
All Eskdale I'll sell thee, to have and hold:
Beshrew thy heart, of the Beattisons' clan,
If thou leavest on Eske a landed man!
But spare Woodkerrick's lands alone,
For he lent me his horse to escape upon."-
A glad man then was Branksome bold,
Down he flung him the purse of gold;
To Eskdale soon he spurred anain,
And with him five hundred riders has ta'en.
He left his merry men in the mist of the hill,
And bade them hold them close and still;
And alone he wended to the plain,

To meet with the Galliard and all his train.
To Gilbert the Galliard thus he said :-
"Know thou me for thy liege-lord and head;
Deal not with me as with Morton tame,
For Scotts play best at the roughest game.
Give me in peace my heriot due,

Thy bonny white steed, or thou shalt rue.
If my horn I three times wind,

Eskdale shall long have the sound in mind."

12. Loudly the Beattison laughed in scorn;-
"Little care we for thy winded horn.
Ne'er shall it be the Galliard's lot
To yield his steed to a haughty Scott.
Wend thou to Branksome back on foot,
With rusty spur and miry boot."-

He blew his bugle so loud and hoarse,

That the dun deer started at fair Craikcross;

He blew again so loud and clear,

Through the gray mountain-mist there did lances appear;

And the third blast rang with such a din,

That the echoes answered from Pentoun-linn,

And all his riders came lightly in.

Then had you seen a gallant shock,

When saddles were emptied, and lances broke!
For each scornful word the Galliard had said,

A Beattison on the field was laid.

His own good sword the chieftain drew,

And he bore the Galliard through and through;

Where the Beattisons' blood mixed with the riil,
The Galliard's Haugh men call it still.
The Scotts have scattered the Beattison clan,
In Eskdale they left but one landed man.
The valley of Eske, from the mouth to the source,
Was lost and won for that bonny white horse.
13. Whitslade the Hawk, and Headshaw came,
And warriors more than I may name;
From Yarrow-cleuch to Hindhaugh-swair,
From Woodhouselie to Chester-glen,
Trooped man and horse, and bow and spear;
Their gathering word was 'Bellenden!"
And better hearts o'er Border sod

To siege or rescue never rode.

The Ladye marked the aids come in,
And high her heart of pride arose;
She bade her youthful son attend,
That he might know his father's friend,
And learn to face his foes.

"The boy is ripe to look on war;
I saw him draw a cross-bow stiff,
And his true arrow struck afar

The raven's nest upon the cliff;

The Red Cross, on a southern breast,

Is broader than the raven's nest;

Thou, Whitslade, shalt teach him his weapon to wield,

And o'er him hold his father's shield."

14. Well may you think, the wily Page
Cared not to face the Ladye sagc.
He counterfeited childish fear,

And shrieked, and shed full many a tear,
And moaned and plained in manner wild.
The attendants to the Ladye told,
Some fairy, sure, had changed the child,
That wont to be so free and bold.
Then wrathful was the noble dame;
She blushed blood-red for very shame:-
"Hence! ere the clan his faintness view;
Hence with the weakling to Buccleuch!-
Watt Tinlinn, thou shalt be his guide
To Rangleburn's lonely side.--

Sure some fell fiend has cursed our line,

That coward should e'er be son of mine!"

15. A heavy task Watt Tinlinn had,
To guide the counterfeited lad.
Soon as the palfrey felt the weight
Of that ill-omened elvish freight,
He bolted, sprung, and reared amain,
Nor heeded bit, nor curb, nor rein.
It cost Watt Tinlinn mickle toil
To drive him but a Scottish mile;

But, as a shallow brook they crossed,
The elf, amid the running stream,
His figure changed, like form in dream,
And fled, and shouted, "Lost! lost! lost!''
Full fast the urchin ran and laughed,

But faster still a cloth-yard shaft

Whistled from startled Tinlinn's yew,

And pierced his shoulder through and through
Although the imp might not be slain,
And though the wound soon healed again,
Yet, as he ran, he yelled for pain;
And Watt of Tinlinn, much aghast,
Rode back to Branksome fiery fast.

16. Soon on the hill's steep verge he stood,

That looks o'er Branksome's towers and wood,
And martial murmurs, from below,
Proclaimed the approaching southern foe.
Through the dark wood, in mingled tone,
Were Border-pipes and bugles blown ;
The coursers' neighing he could ken,
And measured tread of marching men ;
While broke at times the solemn hum,
The Almayn's sullen kettle-drum :
And banners tall, of crimson sheen,
Above the copse appear;

And glistening through the hawthorns green,
Shine helm, and shield, and spear.

17. Light forayers first, to view the ground,
Spurred their fleet coursers loosely round;
Behind, in close array, and fast,

The Kendal archers, all in green,
Obedient to the bugle blast,

Advancing from the wood are seen.
To back and guard the archer band,
Lord Dacre's bill-men were at hand
A hardy race, on Irthing bred,
With kirtles white, and crosses red,
Arrayed beneath the banner tall

That streamed o'er Acre's conquered wall;

And minstrels, as they marched in order,

Played, "Noble Lord Dacre, he dwells on the Border."

8. Behind the English bill and bow,

The mercenaries, firm and slow,
Moved on to fight, in dark array,

By Conrad led of Wolfenstein,

Who brought the band from distant Rhine,
And sold their blood for foreign pay.
The camp their home, their law the sword,
They knew no country, owned no lord:
They were not armed like England's sons,
But bore the levin-darting guns;