I swore to bury his Mighty Book,
That never mortal might therein look;
And never to tell where it was hid,
Save at his Chief of Branksome's need:
And when that need was past and o'er,
Again the volume to restore.

Lo, Warrior! now the Cross of Red
Points to the grave of the mighty dead:
Within it burns a wondrous light,

60

To chase the spirits that love the night;-
That lamp shall burn unquenchably,

70

Until the eternal doom shall be."

Slow moved the Monk to the broad flag-stone
Which the bloody cross was traced upon:

He pointed to a secret nook;

An iron bar the Warrior took;

And the Monk made a sign with his withered hand,
The grave's huge portal to expand.

With beating heart to the task he went;

With bar of iron heaved amain,

His sinewy frame o'er the grave-stone bent;

80

Till the toil-drops fell from his brows, like rain.

It was by dint of passing strength

That he moved the massy stone at length.

I would you had been there, to see
How the light broke forth so gloriously,-
Streamed upward to the chancel roof,
And through the galleries far aloof!
No earthly flame blazed ere so bright:
It shone like heaven's own blessed light,
And, issuing from the tomb,

Shewed the Monk's cowl, and visage pale,
Danced on the dark-browed Warrior's mail,
And kissed his waving plume.

Before their eyes the Wizard lay,
As if he had not been dead a day.
His hoary beard in silver rolled,
He seemed some seventy winters old;
A palmer's amice wrapped him round,
With a wrought Spanish baldric bound,
Like a pilgrim from beyond the sea:
His left hand held his Book of Might;
A silver cross was in his right;

The lamp was placed beside his knee.
Then Deloraine, in terror, took

From the cold hand the Mighty Book,
With iron clasped, and with iron bound:

He thought, as he took it, the dead man frowned;

90

100

But the glare of the sepulchral light,
Perchance, had dazzled the Warrior's sight.
The Monk returned him to his cell,

And many a prayer and penance sped:
When the convent met at the noontide bell-
The Monk of St. Mary's aisle was dead!
The Knight breathed free in the morning wind,
And strove his hardihood to find: 11

He was glad when he passed the tombstones grey
Which girdle round the fair Abbaye;

For the Mystic Book, to his bosom pressed,
Felt like a load upon his breast.

III.

The sun had brightened Cheviot grey,

The sun had brightened the Carter's side; 12

And soon beneath the rising day

Smiled Branksome towers and Teviot's tide.—

Why does fair Margaret so early awake,

And don her kirtle so hastilie;

110

And the silken knots, which in hurry she would make, Why tremble her slender fingers to tie?

The Ladye steps in doubt and dread,

Lest her watchful mother hear her tread;

To meet Baron Henry, her own true knight.-

120

And she glides through the greenwood at dawn of light,

The Knight and Ladye fair are met,

And under the hawthorn's boughs are set.
A fairer pair were never seen

To meet beneath the hawthorn green.-
Beneath an oak, mossed o'er by eld,
The Baron's Dwarf his courser held,

And held his crested helm and spear:
That Dwarf was scarce an earthly man,
If the tales were true that of him ran

13

Through all the Border, far and near.
He was waspish, arch, and litherlie,18
But well Lord Cranstoun servèd he:
And he of his service was full fain;
For once he had been ta'en or slain,14
An it had not been his ministry. 15

All between Home and Hermitage 16
Talked of Lord Cranstoun's Goblin-Page.
And now, in Branksome's good green wood,
As under the aged oak he stood,

As if a distant noise he hears.

The Baron's courser pricks his ears,

The Dwarf waves his long lean arm on high,
And signs to the lovers to part and fly;

131

140

150

No time was then to vow or sigh.
Fair Margaret through the hazel grove
Flew like the startled cushat-dove.17
The Dwarf the stirrup held and rein;
Vaulted the Knight on his steed amain,
And, pondering deep that morning's scene,
Rode eastward through the hawthorns green.

160

CANTO THIRD

THE ARGUMENT.

CRANSTOUN has hardly time to recover from his surprise, and, warned by his GoblinPage of the approach of an armed knight, to don his helmet, when he sees William of Deloraine descending the hill. Few words are needed to express their feudal hate, and to make a combat inevitable. Their meeting is "like the bursting thunder-cloud." The Borderer's spear shaft is shivered against Cranstoun's heart; but the Baron's point pierces Deloraine's mail, and rider and horse are hurled to the ground by the shock. Deeming it unsafe to remain longer in the neighbourhood of Branksome, the Baron, after instructing his page to tend the wounded man and lead him to the Castle gate, pursues his way alone. On removing the Knight's corslet, the page discovers the Mighty Book. He tries to open it, but fails to do so until he smears it over with the blood of the wounded Knight. He reads in it one short spell, by which he is able to make a lady seem a knight, a hut seem a palace, and youth seem age. Before he can read further, he receives from an unseen hand a buffet so strong that it stretches him on the plain. The Book closes, and the clasps shut faster than before. The page recovers, conceals the Book under his cloak, and lays Deloraine on his weary horse and leads him to Branksome. He flings him on the ground, at the entrance of the Ladye's secret bower. Repassing the outer court, the Dwarf sees the young heir of Branksome at play, and, assuming the form of a playmate, decoys him to the wood. Here, taking again his elvish shape, he darts away, crying, "Lost! lost! lost!" The child wanders through the forest, trying in vain to find the way to Branksome. He falls at last into the hands of some English yeomen, who, recognizing him, carry him off to Lord Dacre, the English Warden of the Marches. Meantime the Dwarf has returned to Branksome, and has assumed there the form of the lost boy; but he works so much unwonted mischief, that every one in the Castle believes that the young Baron is possessed by an evil spirit. The Ladye is too busy tending William of Deloraine's wounds to notice the change in her son. The same evening the beacon-blaze of war is seen to glare on the top of Pen chryst-hill. Every one knows that an English marauding party has crossed the Border, and all is bustle and excitement. Scouts are sent out in every direction to reconnoitre the enemy, and to summon their allies. Soon the Castle beacon is lighted, and the message is carried from tower to tower, and from hill to hill, till it reaches the Regent in the Capital, who orders a general march to the Border.

CANTO FOURTH.

THE ARGUMENT.

EARLY the next morning Watt Tinlinn of Liddelside arrives at Branksome with news of the enemy, who have burned his little lonely tower. Three thousand Englishmen, led by Lord Dacre and Lord Howard-called Belted Will—and accompanied by a body of German musketeers, are marching with all speed to Branksome. The retainers and

allies meantime crowd into the Castle. In their midst the Ladye extols with pride the bravery of her son. But the wily page, afraid to meet her gaze, feigns fear, shrinks from her sight, shrieks, and weeps. She, ashamed of his cowardice, orders Wat Tinlinn to conduct him to Buccleuch. As they cross a shallow brook, the water of which breaks his spell, the elf, discovered, flees, shouting, "Lost! lost! lost!" Tinlinn sends an arrow after him, which wounds him in the shoulder, and rides back to Branksome in hot haste, in time to see the marshalling of the enemy within sight of the Castle. From the Castle wall the Ladye holds parley with Lord Howard's pursuivant, who leads her son by the hand. He demands the surrender of William of Deloraine for plundering the lands of Musgrave; else they will storm the Castle, and lead her son to London to be page to King Edward. The Ladye, undismayed by her son's danger, defies the English lords, but proposes that Deloraine and Musgrave should engage in single combat to settle the dispute. Before answering the proposal, the English hear that the Regent is approaching with ten thousand Scots. The haughty Dacre wishes to decline the challenge, and attack the Castle at once; but he is overruled by the calmer counsels of Howard. The challenge is accepted, and the combat is fixed for the morrow.

I.

Now over Border, dale and fell,

Full wide and far was terror spread;
For pathless marsh and mountain cell
The peasant left his lowly shed.

The frightened flocks and herds were pent
Beneath the peel's rude battlement;1
And maids and matrons dropped the tear,
While ready warriors seized the spear.

From Branksome's towers the watchman's eye
Dun wreaths of distant smoke can spy;
Which, curling in the rising sun,
Showed Southern ravage was begun.
Now loud the heedful gate-ward cried-2
"Prepare ye all for blows and blood!
Watt Tinlinn, from the Liddel-side,
Comes wading through the flood."
While thus he spoke, the bold yeoman
Entered the echoing barbican.
He led a sinall and shaggy nag,

That through a bog, from hag to hag,3
Could bound like any Billhope stag.
It bore his wife and children twain:
A half-clothed serf was all their train.-
Thus to the Ladye did Tinlinn show
The tidings of the English foe:
"Belted Will Howard is marching here,*
And hot Lord Dacre, with many a spear,
And all the German hackbut-men,5
Who have long lain at Askerten :
They crossed the Liddel at curfew hour,
And burned my little lonely tower."-
Now weary scouts from Liddesdale,
Fast hurrying in, confirmed the tale:

As far as they could judge by ken,

Three hours would bring to Teviot's strand Three thousand armèd Englishmen ;—

Meanwhile, full many a warlike band,

From Teviot, Aill, and Ettrick shade,
Came in, their Chief's defence to aid.
There was saddling and mounting in
haste,

There was pricking o'er moor and lea;
He that was last at the trysting-place
Was but lightly held of his gay ladye.
From fair St. Mary's silver wave,6

From dreary Gamescleuch's dusky height, His ready lances Thirlestane brave?

Arrayed beneath a banner bright.— An agèd knight, to danger steeled,

With many a moss-trooper came on;
And azure in a golden field,

The stars and crescent graced his shield,
Without the bend of Murdieston:
And still, in age, he spurned at rest;
And still his brows the helmet pressed,
Albeit the blanched locks below
Were white as Dinlay's spotless snow.8
Five stately warriors drew the sword

Before their father's band:

40

50

A braver knight than Harden's lord
Ne'er belted on a brand.-

60

Scotts of Eskdale, a stalwart band,

Came trooping down the Todshaw-hill:

By the sword they won their land,

And by the sword they hold it still.—
Whitslade the Hawk, and Headshaw came,
And warriors more than I may name;
From Yarrow-cleugh to Hindhaugh-swair,9
From Woodhouselie to Chester-glen,

Trooped man and horse, and bow and spear:
Their gathering-word was Bellenden.10
And better hearts o'er Border sod

To siege or rescue never rode.

The Ladye marked the aids come in,
And high her heart of pride arose:
She bade her youthful son attend,
That he might know his father's friend,
And learn to face his foes.

Well may you think the wily page
Cared not to face the Ladye sage.

70

He counterfeited childish fear,

80

And shrieked, and shed full many a tear,