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"Forbear, my child, this desperate woe,
And turn to God and grace;
Well can devotion's heavenly glow
Convert thy bale to bliss."

"O mother, mother, what is bliss?
O mother, what is bale?
Without my William what were heaven,
Or with him what were hell?"

Wild she arraigns the eternal doom,
Upbraids each sacred power,
Till, spent, she sought her silent room,
All in the lonely tower.

She beat her breast, she wrung her hands,

Till sun and day were o'er,

And through the glimmering lattice shone

The twinkling of the star.

Then, crash! the heavy drawbridge fell
That o'er the moat was hung;
And, clatter! clatter! on its boards
The hoof of courser rung.

The clank of echoing steel was heard
As off the rider bounded;

And slowly on the winding stair
A heavy footstep sounded.

And hark! and hark! a knock
tap!

A rustling stifled noise ;

--

- tap!

Door-latch and tinkling staples ring;At length a whispering voice.

"Awake, awake, arise, my love! How, Helen, dost thou fare? Wak'st thou, or sleep'st! laugh'st thou, or weep'st?

Hast thought on me, my fair?"

"My love! my love!-so late by night!I waked, I wept for thee:

Much have I borne since dawn of morn; Where, William, couldst thou be?"

"We saddle late--from Hungary
I rode since darkness fell;

And to its bourne we both return
Before the matin-bell."

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Let the wind howl through hawthorn bush!

This night we must away; The steed is wight, the spur is bright; I cannot stay till day.'

"Busk, busk, and boune! Thou mount'st behind

Upon my black barb steed:
O'er stock and stile, a hundred miles,
We haste to bridal bed.”

"To-night-to-night a hundred miles !— O dearest William, stay!

The bell strikes twelve-dark, dismal hour!

O, wait, my love, till day!"

"Look here, look here-the moon shines clear

Full fast I ween we ride: Mount and away! for ere the day We reach our bridal bed.

"The black barb snorts, the bridle rings;

Haste, busk, and boune, and seat thee: The feast is made, the chamber spread, The bridal guests await thee.”

Strong love prevailed: she busks, she bounes,

She mounts the barb behind,

And round her darling William's waist
Her lily arms she twined.

And, hurry! hurry! off they rode,
As fast as fast might be ;

Spurned from the courser's thundering

heels

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He went not with the bold Buccleuch
His banner broad to rear;

He went not 'gainst the English yew
To lift the Scottish spear.

Yet his plate-jack was braced and his helmet was laced,

And his vaunt-brace of proof he wore; At his saddle-gerthe was a good steel sperthe,

Full ten pound weight and more.
The baron returned in three days' space
And his looks were sad and sour;
And weary was his courser's pace
As he reached his rocky tower.

He came not from where Ancram Moor
Ran red with English blood;
Where the Douglas true and the bold
Buccleuch

'Gainst keen Lord Evers stood.

Yet was his helmet hacked and hewed,
His acton pierced and tore,
His axe and his dagger with blood im-
brued,-

But it was not English gore.

He lighted at the Chapellage,

He held him close and still; And he whistled thrice for his little foot-page,

His name was English Will.

"Come thou hither, my little foot-page, Come hither to my knee;

Though thou art young and tender of

age,

I think thou art true to me.

"Come, tell me all that thou hast seen, And look thou tell me true! Since I from Smaylho'me tower have

been,

What did thy lady do?"

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"Yet hear but my word, my noble lord! For I heard her name his name; And that lady bright, she called the knight

Sir Richard of Coldinghame."

The bold baron's brow then changed, I trow,

From high blood-red to pale"The grave is deep and dark-and the corpse is stiff and starkSo I may not trust thy tale.

"Where fair Tweed flows round holy Melrose,

And Eildon slopes to the plain, Full three nights ago by some secret foe That gay gallant was slain.

“The varying light deceived thy sight, And the wild winds drowned the name;

For the Dryburgh bells ring and the white monks do sing

For Sir Richard of Coldinghame!"

He passed the court-gate and he oped the tower-gate,

And he mounted the narrow stair To the bartizan-seat where, with maids that on her wait,

He found his lady fair.

That lady sat in mournful mood;
Looked over hill and vale;

Over Tweed's fair flood and Mertoun's wood,

And all down Teviotdale.

"Now hail, now hail, thou lady bright!" Now hail, thou baron true!

What news, what news, from Ancram fight?

What news from the bold Buccleuch!"

"The Ancram moor is red with gore,
For many a Southern fell;
And Buccleuch has charged us evermore
To watch our beacons well."

The lady blushed red, but nothing she said:

Nor added the baron a word: Then she stepped down the stair to her chamber fair,

And so did her moody lord.

In sleep the lady mourned, and the baron tossed and turned,

And oft to himself he said,—

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Hadst thou not conjured me so.' Love mastered fear-her brow she crossed;

"How, Richard, hast thou sped? And art thou saved or art thou lost?" The vision shook his head!

"Who spilleth life shall forfeit life: So bid thy lord believe :

That lawless love is guilt above,

This awful sign receive."

He laid his left palm on an oaken beam
His right upon her hand;

The lady shrunk and fainting sunk,
For it scorched like a fiery brand.

The sable score of fingers four
Remains on that board impressed ;
And forevermore that lady wore
A covering on her wrist.

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