Who brought the band from distant Rhine,
And sold their blood for foreign pay; The camp their home, their law the sword, They knew no country, own'd no lord. They were not arm'd like England's sons, But bore the levin-darting guns;
Buff coats, all frounced and 'broider'd o'er,
And morsing-horns* and scarfs they wore;
Each better knee was bared, to aid
The warriors in the escalade:
And, as they march'd in rugged tongue,
Songs of Teutonic feuds they sung.
But louder still the clamour gew,
And louder still the minstrels blew,
When, from beneath the greenwood tree,
Rode forth Lord Howard's chivalry;
His men at arms, with glaive and spear,
Brought up the battle's glittering rear.
There many a youthful knight, full keen
To gain his spurs, in arms was seen;
With favour in his crest, or glove,
Memorial of his ladye-love.
So rode they forth in fair array,
Till full their lengthen 'd lines display;
Then call'd a halt, and made a stand,
And cried, "Saint George for merry England!"
Now every English eye, intent,
On Branksome's armed towers was bent:
So near they were, that they might know
The straining harsh of each cross bow;
On battlement and bartizan
Gleam'd axe, and spear, and partizan;
Falcon and culver,† on each tower,
Stood prompt their deadly hail to shower;
And flashing armour frequent broke
From eddying whirls of sable smoke,
Where, upon tower and turret head,
The seathing pitch and molten lead
Reek'd, like a witch's cauldron red.
While yet they gaze, the bridges fall,
The wicket opes, and from the wall
Rides forth the hoary seneschal.
Armed he rode, all save the head,
His white beard o'er his breastplate spread;
Unbroke by age, erect his seat,
He ruled his eager courser's gait;
Forced him, with chasten'd fire, to prance,
And, high curvetting, slow advance:
In sign of truce, his better hand
Display'd a peeled willow wand;
His squire, attending in the rear,
Bore high a gauntlet on a spear.
When they espied him riding out,
Lord Howard and Lord Dacre stout
Sped to the front of their array,
To hear what this old knight should say.
*Powder flasks.
† Ancient pieces of Artillery.
"Ye English warden lords, of you
Demands the ladye of Buccleuch,
Why, 'gainst the truce of Border tide,
In hostile guise ye dare to ride,
With Kendal bow, and Gilsland brand,
And all yon mercenary band,
Upon the bounds of fair Scotland?
My ladye redes you swithe return;
And, if but one poor straw you burn,
Or do our towers so much molest,
As scare one swallow from her nest,
Saint Mary! but we'll light a brand,
Shall warm your hearths in Cumberland."
A wrathful man was Dacre's lord,
But calmer Howard took the word:
"May't please thy dame, sir seneschal,
To seek the castle's outward wall,
Our pursuivant-at-arms shall show,
Both why we came, and when we go."
The message sped, the noble dame
To the wall's outward circle came;
Each chief around lean'd on his spear
To see the pursuivant appear.
All in Lord Howard's livery dress'd,
The lion argent deck'd his breast;
He led a boy of blooming hue—
O sight to meet a mother's view!
It was the heir of great Buccleuch.
Obeisance meet the herald made,
And thus his master's will he said:
"It irks, high dame, my noble lords, 'Gainst ladye fair to draw their swords; But yet they may not tamely see, All through the western wardenry, Your law-contemning kinsmen ride, And burn and spoil the Border-side; And ill beseems your rank and birth To make your towers a flemen's firth.* We claim from thee William of Deloraine, That he may suffer march-treason pain; It was but last Saint Cuthbert's even He prick'd to Stapleton on Leven, Harried the lands of Richard Musgrave, And slew his brother by dint of glaive. Then, since a lone and widow'd dame These restless riders may not tame, Either receive within thy towers Two hundred of my master's powers, Or straight they sound their warrison; And storm and spoil thy garrison; And this fair boy, to London led, Shall good king Edward's page be bred."
A moment changed that ladye's cheer;
Gush'd to her eye the unbidden tear;
She gazed upon the leaders round,
And dark and sad each warrior frown'd;
Then deep within her sobbing breast
She lock'd the struggling sigh to rest;
Unalter'd and collected stood,
And thus replied in dauntless mood:-
"Say to your lords of high emprise, Who war on women and on boys That either William of Deloraine
Will cleanse him, by oath, of march-treason stain,
Or else he will the combat take
'Gainst Musgrave, for his honour's sake.
No knight in Cumberland so good,
But William may count with him kin and blood.
Knighthood he took of Douglas' sword,
When English blood swell'd Ancram ford;
And but that Lord Dacre's steed was wight,
And bore him ably in the flight,
Himself had seen him dubb'd a knight.
For the young heir of Branksome's line,
God be his aid, and God be mine;
Through me no friend shall meet his doom;
Here, while I live, no foe finds room.
Then, if thy lords their purpose urge,
Take our defiance loud and high;
Our slogan is their lyke-wake* dirge, Our moat, the grave where they shall lie."
Proud she look'd round, applause to claim-
Then lighten'd Thirlestane's eye of flame;
His bugle Wat of Harden blew:
Pensils and pennons wide were flung,
To heaven the Border slogan rung,
"Saint Mary for the young Buccleuch !"
The English war-cry answered wide,
And forward bent each southern spear;
Each Kendal archer made a stride,
And drew the bow-string to his ear;
Each minstrel's war-note loud was blown:-
But, ere a gray goose shaft had flown,
A horseman gallop'd from the rear.
"Ah! noble lords!" he, breathless, said,
"What treason has your march betray'd?
What make you here, from aid so far,
Before you walls, around you war?
Your foemen triumph in the thought,
That in the toils the lion's caught.
Already on dark Ruberslaw
The Douglas holds his weapon-schaw,t
The lances, waving in his train,
Clothe the dun heap like autumn grain ;
And on the Liddel's northern strand,
To bar retreat to Cumberland,
Lord Maxwell ranks his merry men good,
Beneath the eagle and the rood;
* Lyke-wake, the watching a corpse previous to inter. ment.
+ Weapon-schaw, the military array of a country.
And Jedwood, Esk, and Teviotdale,
Have to proud Angus come;
And all the Merse and Lauderdale
Have risen with haughty Home.
An exile from Northumberland,
In Liddesdale I've wander'd long;
But still my heart was with merry England,
And cannot brook my country's wrong;
And hard I've spurr'd all night to show
The mustering of the coming foe."
"And let them come!" fierce Dacre cried;
"For soon yon crest, my father's pride,
That swept the shores of Judah's seas,
And waved in gales of Galilee,
From Branksome's highest towers display'd,
Shall mock the rescue's lingering aid !”—
Level each harquebuss on row;
Draw, merry archers, draw the bow;
Up, bill-men, to the walls, and cry,
Dacre, for England, win or die !"
"Yet hear," quoth Howard," calmly hear,
Nor deem my words the words of fear:
For who, in field or foray slack,
Saw the blanche lion e'er fall back?
But thus to risk our Border flower
In strife against a kingdom's power,
Ten thousand Scots 'gainst thousands three,
Certes, were desperate policy.
Nay, take the terms the ladye made,
Ere conscious of the advancing aid;
Let Musgrave meet fierce Deloraine
In single fight, and if he gain,
He gains for us; but if he's cross'd,
'Tis but a single warrior lost:
The rest, retreating as they came,
Avoid defeat, and death, and shame."
Howe'er it falls, the English band,
Unharming Scots, by Scots unharm❜d,
In peaceful march, like men unarm❜d,
Shall straight retreat to Cumberland."
XXXIII.
Unconscious of the near relief,
The proffer pleased each Scottish chief,
Though much their ladye sage gainsay'd, For though their hearts were brave and true, From Jedwood's recent sack they knew,
How tardy was the regent's aid:
And you may guess the noble dame
Durst not the secret prescience own,
Sprung from the art she might not name,
By which the coming help was known.
Closed was the compact, and agreed,
That lists should be enclosed with speed,
Beneath a castle, on a lawn:
They fix'd the morrow for the strife,
On foot, with Scottish axe and knife,
At the fourth hour from peep of dawn;
When Deloraine, from sickness freed,
Or else a champion in his stead,
Should for himself and chieftain stand,
Against stout Musgrave, hand to hand.
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 brook'd not, he, that scoffing tongue
Should tax his minstrelsy with wrong,
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 stain'd with blood;
Where still the thorn's white branches wave
Memorial o'er his rival's grave.
Why should I tell the rigid doom,
That dragg'd my master to his tomb;
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,
And grieve that I shall hear no more
The strains, with envy heard before;
For, with my minstrel brethren fled,
My jealousy of song is dead.
He paused: the listening dames again
Applaud the hoary minstrel's strain;
With many a word of kindly cheer,-
In pity half, and half sincere,-
Marvell'd the dutchess how so well
His legendary song could tell,-
Of ancient deeds, so long forgot;
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
So long had slept, that fickle fame
Had blotted from her rolls their name,
And twined round some new minion's head
The fading wreath for which they bled;
In sooth, 'twas strange, this old man's verse
Could call them from their marble hearse.
The harper smiled, well pleased; for ne'er Was flattery lost on poet's ear.
A simple race! they waste their toil
For the vain tribute of a smile;
E'en when in age their flame expires,
Her dulcet breath can fan its fires:
Their drooping fancy wakes at praise,
And strives to trim the shortlived blaze.
Smiled then, well pleased, the aged man, And thus his tale continued ran.
CALL it not vain :-they do not err, Who say, that when the poet dies, Mute nature mourns her worshipper, And celebrates his obsequies; Who say tall cliff, and cavern lone, For the departed bard make moan; That mountains weep in crystal rill; That flowers in tears of balm distil; Through his loved groves that breezes sigh, And oaks, in deeper groan, reply; And rivers teach their rushing wave To murmur dirges round his grave.
Not that, in sooth, o'er mortal urn
Those things inanimate can mourn;
But that the stream, the wood, the gale,
Is vocal with the plaintive wail
Of those, who, else forgotten long,
Lived in the poet's faithful song,
And, with the poet's parting breath,
Whose memory feels a second death.
The maid's pale shade, who wails her lot,
That love, true love, should be forgot,
From rose and hawthorn shakes the tear
Upon the gentle minstrel's bier:
The phantom knight, his glory fled,
Mourns o'er the field he heap'd with dead;
Mounts the wild blast that sweeps amain,
And shrieks along the battle-plain:
The chief, whose antique crownlet long
Still sparkled in the feudal song,
Now, from the mountain's misty throne,
Sees, in the thanedom once his own,
His ashes undistinguish'd lie,
His place, his power, his memory die:
His groans the lonely caverns fill,
His tears of rage impel the rill;
All mourn the minstrel's harp unstrung,
Their name unknown, their praise unsung.
Scarcely the hot assault was staid,
The terms of truce were scarcely made,
When they could spy, from Branksome's towers,
The advancing march of martial
powers;
Thick clouds of dust afar appear'd,
And trampling steeds were faintly heard;
Bright spears, above the column's dun,
Glanced momentary to the sun;
And feudal banners fair display'd
The bands that moved to Branksome's aid.
Vails not to tell each hardy clan,
From the fair Middle Marches came; The Bloody Heart blazed in the van,
Announcing Douglas' dreaded name! Vails not to tell what steeds did spurn, Where the Seven Spears of Wedderburne The men in battle-order set; And Swinton laid the lance in rest, That tamed of yore the sparkling crest Of Clarence's Plantagenet. Nor lists, I say what hundreds more, From the rich Merse and Lammermore, And Tweed's fair borders, to the war, Beneath the crest of Old Dunbar,
And Hepburn's mingled banners come, Down the steep mountain glittering far,
And shouting still," a home! a home!"
Now squire and knight, from Branksome tent,
On many a courteous message went;
To every chief and lord they paid
Meet thanks for prompt and powerful aid;
And told them,-how a truce was made,
And how a day of fight was ta'en
"Twixt Musgrave and stout Deloraine;
And how the ladye pray'd them dear,
That all would stay the fight to see,
And deign, in love and courtesy,
To taste of Branksome cheer.
Nor, while they bade to feast each Scot,
Were England's noble lords forgot;
Himself, the hoary seneschal,
Rode forth, in seemly terms to call
Those gallant foes to Branksome hall.
Accepted Howard, than whom knight
Was never dubb'd more bold in fight;
Nor, when from war and armour free,
More famed for stately courtesy.
But angry Dacre rather chose
In his pavilion to repose.
Now, noble dame, perchance you ask,
How these two hostile armies met?
Deeming it were no easy task
To keep the truce which here was set;
Where martial spirits, all on fire,
Breathed only blood and mortal ire.
By mutual inroads, mutual blows,
By habit, and by nation, foes,
They met on Teviot's strand:
They met, and sate them mingled down,
Without a threat, without a frown,
As brothers meet in foreign land:
The hands, the spear that lately grasp'd,
Still in the mailed gauntlet clasp'd;
Were interchanged in greeting dear;
Visors were raised, and faces shown,
And many a friend, to friend made known,
Partook of social cheer.
Some drove the jolly bowl about;
With dice and draughts some chased the day; And some, with many a merry shout, In riot, revelry, and rout,
Pursued the foot-ball play.
Yet, be it known, had bugles blown,
Or sign of war been seen,
Those bands, so fair together ranged,
Those hands, so frankly interchanged,
Had died with gore the green.
The merry shout by Teviot side
Had sunk in war-cries wild and wide,
And in the groan of death;
And whingers,* now in friendship bare,
The social meal to part and share,
Had found a bloody sheath.
"Twixt truce and war, such sudden change
Was not infrequent, nor held strange,
In the old Border-day;
But yet on Branksome's towers and town,
In peaceful merriment sunk down
The sun's declining ray.
The blithsome signs of wassel gay
Decay'd not with the dying day;
Soon through the latticed windows tall
Of lofty Branksome's lordly hall,
Divided square by shafts of stone,
Huge flakes of ruddy lustre shone;
Nor less the gilded rafters rang
With merry harp and beaker's clang:
And frequent, on the darkening plain,
Loud hollo, whoop, or whistle ran,
As bands, their stragglers to regain,
Give the shrill watchword of their clan; And revellers o'er their bowls proclaim Douglas or Dacre's conquering name.
Less frequent heard, and fainter still,
At length, the various clamours died;
And you might hear, from Branksome hill,
No sound but Teviot's rushing tide;
Save, when the changing sentinel
The challenge of his watch could tell;
And save, where, through the dark profound,
The clanging axe and hammer's sound
* A sort of knife, or poniard.
Rung from the nether lawn;
For many a busy hand toil'd there,
Strong pales to shape, and beams to square,
The lists' dread barriers to prepare
Against the morrow's dawn.
Margaret from hall did soon retreat,
Despite the dame's reproving eye;
Nor mark'd she, as she left her seat,
Full many a stifled sigh:
For many a noble warrior strove
To win the flower of Teviot's love,
And many a bold ally.
With throbbing head and anxious heart, All in her lonely bower apart,
In broken sleep she lay ;
By times, from silken couch she rose;
While yet the banner'd hosts repose,
She view'd the dawning day:
Of all the hundreds sunk to rest,
First woke the loveliest and the best.
She gazed upon the inner court,
Which in the tower's tall shadow lay; Where coursers' clang, and stamp, and snort, Had rung the livelong yesterday; Now still as death; till, stalking slow,The jingling spurs announced his tread,A stately warrior pass'd below;
But when he raised his plumed head
Blessed Mary! can it be?
Secure, as if in Ousenam bowers,
He walks through Branksome's hostile towers,
With fearless step and free.
She dared not sign, she dared not speak-
O! if one page's slumbers break,
His blood the price must pay!
Not all the pearls queen Mary wears,
Not Margaret's yet more precious tears,
Shall buy his life a day.
Yet was his hazard small; for well
You may bethink you of the spell
Of that sly urchin page;
This to his lord he did impart,
And made him seem, by glamour art,
A knight from hermitage. Unchallenged, thus, the warder's post, The court, unchallenged, thus he cross'd, For all the vassalage:
But, O! what magic's quaint disguise Could blind fair Margaret's azure eyes! She started from her seat;
While with surprise and fear she strove, And both could scarcely master love— Lord Henry's at her feet.
Oft have I mused, what purpose bad That foul malicious urchin had
To bring this meeting round; For happy love's a heavenly sight, And by a vile malignant sprite In such no joy is found;
And oft I've deem'd, perchance he thought Their erring passion might have wrought
Sorrow, and sin, and shame;
And death to Cranstoun's gallant knight, And to the gentle ladye bright,
Disgrace, and loss of fame. But earthly spirit could not tell The heart of them that love so well. True love's the gift which God has given To man alone beneath the heaven.
It is not fantasy's hot fire,
Whose wishes, soon as granted, fly; It liveth not in fierce desire,
With dead desire it doth not die;
It is the secret sympathy,
The silver link, the silken tie,
Which heart to heart, and mind to mind,
In body and in soul can bind.-
Now leave we Margaret and her knight,
To tell you of the approaching fight.
Their warning blast the bugles blew,
The pipe's shrill port aroused each clan:
In haste, the deadly strife to view,
The trooping warriors eager ran:
Thick round the lists their lances stood,
Like blasted pines in Ettrick wood;
To Branksome many a look they threw,
The combatants' approach to view,
And bandied many a word of boast,
About the knight each favour'd most.
Meantime full anxious was the dame;
For now arose disputed claim,
Of who should fight for Deloraine,
"Twixt Harden and 'twixt Thirlestane:
They 'gan to reckon kin and rent,
And frowning brow on brow was bent;
But yet not long the strife-for, lo!
Himself, the knight of Deloraine,
Strong, as it seem'd, and free from pain,
In armour sheath'd from top to toe,
Appear'd, and craved the combat due.
The dame her charm successful knew,t
And the fierce chiefs their claims withdrew.
When for the lists they sought the plain, The stately ladye's silken rein
Did noble Howard hold;
Unarmed by her side he walk'd,
And much in courteous phrase they talk'd
Of feats of arms of old.
Costly his garb-his Flemish ruff
Fell o'er his doublet, shaped of buff,
With satin slash'd and lined;
Tawny his boot, and gold his spur,
His cloak was all of Poland fur,
His hose with silver twined;
His Bilboa blade, by Marchmen felt,
Hung in a broad and studded belt;
*A martial piece of music, adapted to the bagpipes.
+ See p. 609, stanza XXIII.
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