Unheard he prays;-the death-pangs's o'er Richard of Musgrave breathes no more.
As if exhausted in the fight,
Or musing o'er the piteous sight, The silent victor stands;
His beaver did he not unclasp,
Marked not the shouts, felt not the grasp
Of gratulating hands.
When lo! strange cries of wild surprise, Mingled with seeming terror, rise Among the Scottish bands; And all, amid the throng'd array, In panic haste gave open way To a half-naked ghastly man, Who downward from the castle ran: He crossed the barriers at a bound, And wild and haggard looked around, As dizzy, and in pain;
And all, upon the armed ground, Knew William of Deloraine!
Each Ladye sprung from seat with speed; Vaulted each marshal from his steed; "And who art thou," they cried, "Who hast this battle fought and won?" His plumed helm was soon undone- "Cranstoun of Teviot-side!
For this fair prize I've fought and won,”. And to the Ladye led her son.
Full oft the rescued boy she kissed, And often she pressed him to her breast;
For, under all her dauntless show, Her heart had throbbed at every blow;
Yet not Lord Cranstoun deigned she greet, Though low he kneeled at her feet.
Me lists not tell what words were made, What Douglas, Home, and Howard said— -For Howard was a generous foe- And how the clan united prayed,
The Ladye would the feud forego, And deign to bless the nuptial hour Of Cranstoun's Lord and Teviot's Flower.
She looked to river, looked to hill, Thought on the Spirit's prophesy, Then broke her silence stern and still,— "Not you, but Fate, has vanquished me; Their influence kindly stars may shower On Teviot's tide and Branksome's tower, For pride is quelled, and love is free." She took fair Margaret by the hand, Who, breathless, trembling, scarce might stanđ; That hand to Cranstoun's lord gave she:—
"As I am true to thee and thine,
Do thou be true to me and mine!
This clasp of love our bond shall be;
For this is your betrothing day, And all these noble lords shall stay, To grace it with their company."
All as they left the listed plain, Much of the story she did gain; How Cranstoun fought with Deloraine,
And of the Page, and of the Book
Which from the wounded knight he took; And how he sought her castle high,
That morn, by help of gramarye; How, in Sir William's armour dight, Stolen by his Page, while slept the knight, He took on him the single fight.
But half his tale he left unsaid, And lingered till he joined the maid.-- Cared not the Ladye to betray
Her mystic arts in view of day;
But well she thought, ere midnight came, Of that strange Page the pride to tame, From his foul hands the Book to save, And send it back to Michael's grave.- Needs not to tell each tender word 'Twixt Margaret and Cranstoun's lord; Nor how she told of former woes, And how her bosom fell and rose, While he and Musgrave bandied blows.- Needs not these lovers' joys to tell; One day, fair maids, you'll know them well.
William of Deloraine, some chance Had wakened from his deathlike trance; And taught that, in the listed plain, Another, in his arms and shield, Against fierce Musgrave ax did wield, Under the name of Deloraine. Hence, to the field, unarmed he ran, And hence his presence scared the clan,
Who held him for some fleeting wraith,* And not a man of blood and breath. Not much this new ally he loved, Yet, when he saw what hap had proved, He greeted him right heartilie:
He would not waken old debate For he was void of rancorous hate Though rude, and scant of courtesy.
In raids he spilt but seldom blood, Unless when men at arms withstood, Or, as was meet, for deadly feud. He ne'er bore grudge for stalwart blow, Ta'en in fair fight with gallant foe: And so 'twas seen of him, e'en now, When on dead Musgrave he looked down; Grief darkened on his rugged brow,
Though half disguised with a frown; And thus, while sorrow bent his head, His foeman's epitaph he made.
"Now, Richard Musgrave, liest thou here!
I ween, my deadly enemy;
For, if I slew thy brother dear,
Thou slewest a sister's son to me; And when I lay in dungeon dark,
Of Naworth Castle, long months three, Till ransomed for a thousand mark, Dark Musgrave, it was long of thee. And, Musgrave, could our fight be tried, And thou wert now alive, as I,
*The spectral apparition of a living person. E 2
No mortal man should us divide,
Till one, or both of us, did die: Yet rest thee God! for well I know I ne'er shall find a nobler foe. In all the northern counties here, Whose word is Snafle, spur, and spear,* Thou wert the best to follow gear. 'Twas pleasure, as we looked behind, To see how thou the chace couldst wind, Cheer the dark blood-hound on his way, And with the bugle rouse the fray! I'd give the lands of Deloraine, Dark Musgrave were alive again."-
So mourned he, till Lord Dacre's band Were bowning back to Cumberland. They raised brave Musgrave from the field, And laid him on his bloody shield; On levelled lances, four and four, By turns, the noble burden bore. Before, at times, upon the gale, Was heard the Minstrels' plaintive wail; Behind, four priests, in sable stole, Sung requiem for the warrior's soul: Around, the horsemen slowly rode; With trailing pikes the spearmen trod; And thus the gallant knight they bore, Through Liddesdale, to Levan's shore;
*The lands that over Ouse to Berwick forth do bear, Have for their blazon had, the Snafle, spur, and spear. Poly-Albion, Song xiii.
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