XIII. Whitslade the Hawk, and Headshaw came, And warriors more than I may name; From Yarrow-cleuch to Hindhaugh-swair, Froom 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, That he might know his father's friend, "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 And o'er him hold his father's shield." XIV. Well may you think, the wily Page Cared not to face the Ladye sage. He counterfeited childish fear, And shrieked, and shed full many a tear, Some fairy, sure, had changed the child, 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 !- To Rangleburn's lonely side: Sure some fell fiend has cursed our line, That coward should e'er be son of mine!" XV. A heavy task Watt Tinlinn had, 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. XVI. Soon on the hill's steep verge he stood, That looks o'er Branksome's towers and wood; Proclaimed the approaching southern foe. And banners tall, of crimson sheen, Above the copse appear; And, glistening through the hawthorns green, Shine helm, and shield, and spear. XVII. Light forayers, first, to view the ground, Spurred their fleet coursers loosely round; Behind, in close array, and fast, Obedient to the bugle blast, Advancing from the wood are seen. A hardy race, on Irthing bred, That streamed o'er Acre's conquered wall; And minstrels, as they marched in order, Played, "Noble Lord Dacre, he dwells on the Border." XVIII. Behind the English bill and bow, The mercenaries, firm and slow, |