XXV. Soon in his saddle sate he fast, And soon the steep descent he past, Soon crossed the sounding barbican, * Eastward the wooded path he rode, He passed the Peel + of Goldiland, Dimly he viewed the Moat-hill's mound, In Hawick twinkled many a light; And soon he spurred his courser keen Beneath the tower of Hazeldean. XXVI. The clattering hoofs the watchmen mark ;— "Stand, ho! thou courier of the dark." * Barbican, the defence of the outer gate of a feudal castle. † Peel, a Border tower. "For Branksome, ho!" the knight rejoined, And left the friendly tower behind. He turned him now from Teviotside, And, guided by the tinkling rill, Northward the dark ascent did ride, And gained the moor at Horseliehill; Broad on the left before him lay, For many a mile, the Roman way. XXVII. A moment now he slacked his speed, For many a league his prey could spy; An ancient Roman road, crossing through part of Roxburghshire. Cliffs, doubling, on their echoes borne, Cliffs, which, for many a later year, The warbling Doric reed shall hear, When some sad swain shall teach the grove, Ambition is no cure for love. XXVIII. Unchallenged, thence past Deloraine To ancient Riddel's fair domain, Where Aill, from mountains freed, Down from the lakes did raving come; Each wave was crested with tawny foam, Like the mane of a chesnut steed, In vain! no torrent, deep or broad, Might bar the bold moss-trooper's road. XXIX. At the first plunge the horse sunk low, And the water broke o'er the saddle-bow; Above the foaming tide, I ween, Scarce half the charger's neck was seen; Stemmed a midnight torrent's force. The warrior's very plume, I say, Was daggled by the dashing spray; Yet, through good heart, and Our Ladye's grace, At length he gained the landing place. XXX. Now Bowden Moor the march-man won, And sternly shook his plumed head, As glanced his eye o'er Halidon ; † For on his soul the slaughter red * Barded, or barbed,—applied to a horse accoutered with defensive armour. + Halidon-Hill, on which the battle of Melrose was fought. Of that unhallowed morn arose, When first the Scott and Car were foes; When royal James beheld the fray, When Home and Douglas, in the van, XXXI. In bitter mood he spurred fast, And soon the hated heath was past; Old Melros' rose, and fair Tweed ran: * Lauds, the midnight service of the Catholic church. |