XXIX. The pursuivant-at-arms again Before the castle took his stand; His trumpet called, with parleying strain, A gauntlet at their feet he laid, And thus the terms of fight he said :— : "If in the lists good Musgrave's sword Your youthful chieftain, Branksome's lord, Howe'er it falls, the English band, Shall straight retreat to Cumberland." 1 XXX. Unconscious of the near relief, The proffer pleased each Scottish chief, Though much the Ladye sage gainsayed: For though their hearts were brave and true, From Jedwood's recent sack they knew, How tardy was the regent's aid; They fixed the morrow for the strife, At the fourth hour from peep of dawn; Or else a champion in his stead, Should for himself and chieftain stand, Against stout Musgrave, hand to hand. XXXI. I know right well, that, in their lay, Full many minstrels sing and say, Such combat should be made on horse, On foaming steed, in full career, With brand to aid, when as the spear Should shiver in the course: But he, the jovial Harper, taught Me, yet a youth, how it was fought, In guise which now I say; He knew each ordinance and clause Of black Lord Archibald's battle laws, In the old Douglas' day. He brooked not, he, that scoffing tongue Should tax his minstrelsy with wrong, I Or call his song untrue: For this, when they the goblet plied, And such rude taunt had chafed his pride, The bard of Reull he slew. On Teviot's side, in fight, they stood, And tuneful hands were stained with blood; Where still the thorn's white branches wave, Memorial o'er his rival's grave. XXXII. Why should I tell the rigid doom, How Ousenam's maidens tore their hair, Wept till their eyes were dead and dim, And wrung their hands for love of him, Who died at Jedwood Air? He died!-his scholars, one by one, To the cold silent grave are gone; And I, alas! survive alone, To muse o'er rivalries of yore, The strains, with envy heard before; For, with my minstrel brethren fled, He paused the listening dames again In pity half, and half sincere,— His legendary song could tell- Of feuds, whose memory was not; Of forests, now laid waste and bare; Of towers, which harbour now the hare; Of manners, long since changed and gone; Of chiefs, who under their gray stone |