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Wide lay his lands round Oakwood tower,
And wide round haunted Castle-Ower;
High over Borthwick's mountain flood,
His wood-embosom'd mansion stood;
In the dark glen, so deep below,
The herds of plunder'd England low;
His bold retainer's daily food,

And bought with danger, blows, and blood.
Marauding chief! his sole delight

The moonlight raid, the morning fight;
Not even the Flower of Yarrow's charms,
In youth, might tame his rage for arms;
And still, in age, he spurn'd at rest,
And still his brows the helmet press'd,
Albeit the blanched locks below
Were white as Dinlay's spotless snow:
Five stately warriors drew the sword
Before their father's band;

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

X.

Scotts of Eskdale, a stalwart band,
Came trooping down the Todshawhill;
By the sword they won their land,
And by the sword they hold it still.
Hearken, Ladye, to the tale,
How thy sires won fair Eskdale.-
Earl Morton was lord of that valley fair,
The Beattisons were his vassals there.
The Earl was gentle, and mild of mood,
The vassals were warlike, and fierce, and rude;
High of heart, and haughty of word,
Little they reck'd of a tame liege Lord.
The Earl into fair Eskdale came

Homage and seignory to claim:

Of Gilbert the Galliard a heriot " he sought,
Saying, "Give thy best steed, as a vassal ought."

"Dear to me is my bonny white steed,

Oft has he help'd me at pinch of need;
Lord and Earl though thou be, I trow
I can reign Bucksfoot better than thou."-
Word on word gave fuel to fire,

Till so highly blazed the Beattison's ire,
But that the Earl the flight had ta'en,
The vassals there their lord had slain.
Sore he plied both whip and spur,

As he urged his steed through Eskdale muir;
And it fell down a weary weight,

Just on the threshold of Branksome gate.

XI.

The Earl was a wrathful man to see,
Full fain avenged would he be.

a The feudal superior, in certain cases, was entitled to the best horse of the vassal, in name of Heriot, or Herezeld.

In haste to Branksome's Lord he spoke,
Saying, "Take these traitors to thy yoke;
For a cast of hawks, and a purse of gold,
All Eskdale I'll sell thee, to have and hold:
Beshrew thy heart, of the Beattisons' clan
If thou leavest on Eske a landed man;

But

For he lent me his horse to escape upon."
A glad

spare Woodkerrick's lands alone,

man then was Branksome bold, Down he flung him the purse of gold; To Eskdale soon he spurr'd amain,

And with him five hundred riders has ta'en.
He left his merrymen in the midst of the hill,
And bade them hold them close and still;
And alone he wended to the plain,

To meet with the Galliard and all his train.
To Gilbert the Galliard thus he said:
"Know thou me for thy liege-lord and head;
Deal not with me as with Morton tame,
For Scotts play best at the roughest game.
Give me in peace my heriot due,

Thy bonny white steed, or thou shalt rue.
If my horn I three times wind,

Eskdale shall long have the sound in mind.”

XII.

Loudly the Beattison laugh'd in scorn; "Little care we for thy winded horn. Ne'er shall it be the Galliard's lot,

To yield his steed to a haughty Scott.
Wend thou to Branksome back on foot,
With rusty spur and miry boot."-

He blew his bugle so loud and hoarse,

That the dun-deer started at fair Craikcross;

He blew again so loud and clear,

Through the grey mountain-mist there did lances appear

And the third blast rang with such a din,

That the echoes answer'd from Pentoun-linn,

And all his riders came lightly in.

Then had you seen a gallant shock,

When saddles were emptied, and lances broke!
For each scornful word the Galliard had said,
A Beattison on the field was laid.

His own good sword the chieftain drew,
And he bore the Galliard through and through;
Where the Beattisons' blood mix'd with the rill,
The Galliard's-Haugh men call it still.
The Scotts have scatter'd the Beattison clan,
In Eskdale they left but one landed man.
The valley of Eske, from the mouth to the source,
Was lost and won for that bonny white horse.

XIII.

Whitslade the Hawk, and Headshaw came,
And warriors more than I may name,

From Yarrow-cleugh to Hindhaugh-swair,
From Woodhouselie to Chester-glen.
Troop'd man and horse, and bow and spear;
Their gathering word was Bellenden.29
And better hearts o'er Border sod
To siege or rescue never rode.

The Ladye mark'd 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.
"The boy 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 wield 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 shriek'd, and shed full many a tear,
And moan'd and plain'd in manner wild.
The attendants to the Ladye told,
Some fairy, sure, had changed the child,
That wont to be so free and bold.
Then wrathful was the noble dame;
She blush'd blood-red for very shame:-
"Hence! ere the clan his faintness view;
Hence with the weakling to Buccleuch!--
Watt Tinlinn, thou shalt be his guide
To Rangleburn's lonely side.-

Sure some fell fiend has cursed our line,
That coward should ere be son of mine".

XV.

A heavy task Watt Tinlinn had,
To guide the counterfeited lad.
Soon as the palfrey felt the weight
Of that ill-omen'd elfish freight,
He bolted, sprung, and rear'd amain,
Nor heeded bit, nor curb, nor rein.
It cost Watt Tinlinn mickle toil
To drive him but a Scottish mile;

But as a shallow brook they cross'd,

The elf, amid the running stream,
His figure chang'd, like form in dream,
And fled, and shouted, "Lost! lost! lost!"

Full fast the urchin ran and laugh'd,

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 heal'd again,
Yet, as he ran, he yell'd for pain;
And Wat 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;
And martial murmurs, from below,
Proclaim'd the approaching southern foe.
Through the dark wood, in mingled tone,
Were Border pipes and bugles blown;
The coursers' neighing he could ken,
A measured tread of marching men;
While broke at times the solemn hum,
The Almayn's sullen kettle-drum;
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,
Spurr'd their fleet coursers loosely round;
Behind, in close array, and fast,

The Kendal archers, all in green,
Obedient to the bugle blast,

Advancing from the wood were seen.

To back and guard the archer band,
Lord Dacre's bill-men were at hand:
A hardy race, on Irthing bred,
With kirtles white, and crosses red,
Array'd beneath the banner tall,

That stream'd o'er Acre's conquer❜d wall;

And minstrels, as they march'd in order,

Play'd, "Noble Lord Dacre, he dwells on the Border."

XVIII.

Behind the English bill and bow,

The mercenaries, firm and slow,

Moved on to fight, in dark array,

By Conrad led of Wolfenstein,

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 leven-darting guns;

Buff coats, all frounced and 'broider'd o'er,
And morsing-horns a and scarfs they wore;
Each better knee was bared, to aid
The warriors in the escalade;

a Powder-flasks.

All, as they march'd, in rugged tongue,
Songs of Teutonic feuds they sung.
XIX.

But louder still the clamour grew,
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, "St George, for merry England!"

XX.

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 partisan;
Falcon and culver,a 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 seething 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.

XXI.

Armed he rode, all save the head,

His white beard o'er his breast-plate spread;

Unbroke by age, erect his seat,

He rul'd 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

a Ancient pieces of artillery.

A glove upon a lance was the emblem of faith among the ancient Bor derers, who were wont, when any one broke his word, to expose this emblem, and proclaim him a faithless villain at the first Border meeting. This cere mony was much dreaded.

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