XXV. Is yon the star, o'er Penchryst Pen, For well she knew the fire of death! XXVI. The warder view'd it blazing strong, ! Were in the blaze half-seen, half-lost; And spears in wild disorder shook, Like reeds beside a frozen brook. While loud the harness rung, As to their seats, with clamour dread, The horsemen gallop'd forth; And east, and west, and north, To view their coming enemies, And warn their vassals and allies. XXIX. The ready page, with hurried hand, Awaked the need-fire's slumbering brand, And ruddy blush'd the heaven: For a sheet of flame, from the turret high, Waved like a blood-flag on the sky All flaring and uneven; And soon a score of fires, I ween, seen; Each with warlike tidings fraught; XXX. The livelong night in Branksome rang * Need-fire, beacon. + Tarn, a mountain lake. Earn, a Scottish eagle. Bowne, make ready. Was frequent heard the changing guard, And watch-word from the sleepless ward; While, wearied by the endless din, Blood-hound and ban-dog yell'd within. XXXI. The noble Dame, amid the broil, Held with the chiefs of riper age. And others ween'd that it was nought But Leven Clans, or Tynedale men, Who came to gather in black mail; And Liddesdale, with small avail, Might drive them lightly back agen. So pass'd the anxious night away, And welcome was the peep of day. CEASED the high sound-the listening throng Applaud the Master of the Song; CANTO FOURTH. I. SWEET Teviot! on thy silver tide Along thy wild and willow'd shore; Where'er thou wind'st, by dale or hill, All, all is peaceful, all is still, * Protection money exacted by freebooters. As if thy waves, since Time was born, Since first they roll'd upon the Tweed, Had only heard the shepherd's reed, Nor started at the bugle-horn. II. Unlike the tide of human time, Which, though it change in ceaseless flow, Retains each grief, retains each crime Its earliest course was doom'd to know; And, darker as it downward bears, Is stained with past and present tears. Low as that tide has ebb'd with me, It still reflects to Memory's eye The hour my brave, my only boy, Fell by the side of great Dundee. Why, when the volleying musket play'd Against the bloody Highland blade, Why was not I beside him laid?Enough he died the death of fame; Enough-he died with conquering Græme. And, by my faith," the gate-ward said, "I think 'twill prove a Warden-Raid." V. While thus he spoke, the bold yeoman His hardy partner bore. VI. Thus to the Ladye did Tinlinn show Fast upon my traces came, | Until I turn'd at Priesthaugh Scrogg, * An inroad commanded by the Warden in From fair St Mary's silver wave, His ready lances Thirlestane brave For faith 'mid feudal jars ; Would march to southern wars; ་་ IX. An aged Knight, to danger steel'd, With many a moss-trooper came on; And wide round haunted Castle-Ower; His bold retainer's daily food, Marauding chief! his sole delight charms, In youth, might tame his rage for arms ; A braver knight than Harden's lord X. Scotts of Eskdale, a stalwart band, Came trooping down the Todshawhill; 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 reck'd of a tame liege Lord. The Earl into 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 help'd 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 ; *The feudal superior, in certain cases, was entitled to the best horse of the vassal, in name of Heriot, or Herezeld. And it fell down a weary weight, XI. The Earl was a wrathful man to see, " Beshrew thy heart, of the Beattisons' clan He left his merrymen in the midst of the hill, And bade them hold them close and still; To Gilbert the Galliard thus he said: Deal not with me as with Morton tame, For Scotts play best at the roughest game. Give me in peace my heriot due, XII. Loudly the Beattison laugh'd in scorn; cross; He blew again so loud and clear, Through the grey mountain-mist there did lances appear; And the third blast rang with such a din, That the echoes answer'd from Pentoun linn, And all his riders came lightly in. 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 mix'd with the rill, The Galliard's-Haugh men call it still. The Scotts have scatter'd the Beattison clan, Ia 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. XIII. Whitslade the hawk, and Headshaw came, And warriors more than I may name, From Yarrow-cleugh to Hindhaughswair, From Woodhouselie to Chester-glen. Troop'd 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 mark'd 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." XIV. Well may you think, the wily page The attendants to the Ladye told, That wont to be so free and bold. Then wrathful was the noble dame; She blush'd 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 ere be son of mine!" XV. A heavy task Watt Tinlinn had, But as a shallow brook they cross'd, Full fast the urchin ran and laugh'd, Although the imp might not be slain, XVI. Soon on the hill's steep verge he stood, That looks o'er Branksome's towers and wood; And martial murmurs, from below, Proclaim'd the approaching southern foe. |