I scarcely knew me in the glass. A chance most wond'rous did provide, That I should be that Baron's guide I will not name his name! Vengeance to God alone belongs; But, when I think on all my wrongs, And ne'er the time shall I forget, When, in a Scottish hostel set, Dark looks we did exchange: What were his thoughts I cannot tell; Its plans of dark revenge. VIII. "A word of vulgar augury, That broke from me, I scarce knew why, Brought on a village tale; Which wrought upon his moody sprite, And sent him armed forth by night. I borrow'd steed and mail, And weapons, from his sleeping band: And passing from a postern door, We met, and 'counter'd hand to hand, He fell on Gifford-moor. For the death-stroke my brand I drew, (O then my helmed head he knew, My hand the thought of Austin staid; O, good old man! even from the grave, That broke our secret speech It rose from the infernal shade, Or featly was some juggle play'd, Appeal to Heaven I judged was best, When my name came among the rest. IX. "Now here, within Tantallon Hold, To Douglas late my tale I told, To whom my house was known of old. Won by my proofs, his faulchion bright This eve anew shall dub me knight. These were the arms that once did turn The tide of fight on Otterburne, And Harry Hotspur forced to yield, These Angus gave-his armourer's care, But ancient armour on the walls, And aged chargers in the stalls, And women, priests, and grey-hair'd men ; The rest were all in Twizle glen.* And now I watch my armour here, By law of arms, till midnight's near; Seek Surrey's camp with dawn of light. X. "There soon again we meet, my Clare! Else would he take thee from his band. Now meeter far for martial broil, Firmer my limbs, and strung by toil, Once more"- "O, Wilton! must we then Risk new-found happiness again, * Where James encamped before taking post at Flodden. Trust fate of arms once more? And is there not a humble glen, Where we, content and poor, Might build a cottage in the shade, A shepherd thou, and I to aid Thy task on dale and moor?— That reddening brow!-too well I know, Not even thy Clare can peace bestow, Go then to fight! Clare bids thee go! And weep a warrior's shame; Can Red Earl Gilbert's spirit feel, And belt thee with thy brand of steel, And send thee forth to fame !". XI. That night, upon the rocks and bay, The midnight moon-beam slumbering lay, |