IV. Ten of them were sheathed in steel, Pillow'd on buckler cold and hard; They carv'd at the meal With gloves of steel, And they drank the red wine through the helmet barr'd. V. Ten squires, ten yeomen, mail-clad men, VI. Why do these steeds stand ready dight? From Warkworth, or Naworth, or merry Carlisle. VII. Such is the custom of Branksome Hall. Many a valiant knight is here; But he, the chieftain of them all, His sword hangs rusting on the wall, Beside his broken spear. Bards long shall tell, When startled burghers fled, afar, The furies of the Border war; When the streets of high Dunedin a Saw lances gleam, and falchions redden, And heard the slogan's deadly yell- VIII. Can piety the discord heal, • Edinburgh. Or staunch the death-feud's enmity? The war-cry or gathering word of a Border clan. Can Christian lore, can patriot zeal, For chiefs, their own red falchions slew: While Cessford owns the rule of Carr, While Ettrick boasts the line of Scott, The slaughter'd chiefs, the mortal jar, The havoc of the feudal war, Shall never, never be forgot! IX. In sorrow o'er Lord Walter's bier Old Teviot's maids and matrons lent. Her son lisp'd from the nurse's knee-"And if I live to be a man, My father's death revenged shall be !" Then fast the mother's tears did seek To dew the infant's kindling cheek. X. All loose her negligent attire, All loose her golden hair, Hung Margaret o'er her slaughter'd sire, And wept in wild despair, But not alone the bitter tear Had filial grief supplied; For hopeless love, and anxious fear, Had lent their mingled tide: Nor in her mother's alter'd eye And well she knew, her mother dread, Of noble race the Ladye came, Of Bethune's line of Picardie: He learned the art that none may name, Men said, he changed his mortal frame, His form no darkening shadow traced XII. And of his skill, as bards avow, And now she sits in secret bower, That moans the mossy turrets round. Is it the roar of Teviot's tide, That chafes against the scaur's red side? Is it the wind that swings the oaks? Is it the echo from the rocks? What may it be, the heavy sound, That moans old Branksome's turrets round? XIII. At the sullen, moaning sound, Loud whoops the startled owl. XIV. From the sound of Teviot's tide, From the groan of the wind-swung oak, It was the Spirit of the Flood that spoke, XV. RIVER SPIRIT. "Sleep'st thou brother?"— MOUNTAIN SPIRIT. -"Brother, nay On my hills the moonbeams play. By every rill, in every glen, Emerald rings on brown heath tracing, Trip it deft and merrily. Up, and mark their nimble feet! XVI. RIVER SPIRIT. "Tears of an imprison'd maiden XVII. MOUNTAIN SPIRIT. "Arthur's slow wain his course doth roll, In utter darkness, round the pole; The Northern Bear lowers black and grir; Orion's studded belt is dim; Twinkling faint, and distant far, Shimmers through mist each planet star; Ill may I read their high decree ! But no kind influence deign they shower On Teviot's tide, and Branksome's tower, Till pride be quell'd, and love be free." XVIII. The unearthly voices ceast, It died on the side of the hill. And her heart throbb'd high with pride: "Your mountains shall bend, And your streams ascend, Ere Margaret be our foeman's bride!" XIX. The Ladye sought the lofty hall, Even bearded knights, in arms grown old, Albeit their hearts, of rugged mould, Were stubborn as the steel they wore. For the grey warriors prophesied, How the brave boy, in future war, Should tame the unicorn's pride, Exalt the Crescent and the Star. XX. The Ladye forgot her purpose high, XXI. A stark moss-trooping Scott was he, By England's King, and Scotland's Queen. XXII. "Sir William of Deloraine, good at need, Seek thou the Monk of St Mary's aisle. Say that the fated hour is come, And to-night he shall watch with thee, For this will be St Michael's night, And, though stars be dim, the moon is bright; And the Cross, of bloody red, Will point to the grave of the mighty dead. XXIII. "What he gives thee, see thou keep ; Into it, Knight, thou must not look; Better hadst thou ne'er been born!" |