And, spreading broad its wavering light, Shakes its loose tresses on the night? Is yon red glare the western star? O, 'tis the beacon-blaze of war! Scarce could she draw her tightened breath, For well she knew the fire of death! XXVI. The Warder viewed it blazing strong, Till, at the high and haughty sound, Full many a torch and cresset glared; Were in the blaze half-seen, half-lost; Like reeds beside a frozen brook. XXVII. The Seneschal, whose silver hair Was reddened by the torches' glare, " On Penchryst glows a bale* of fire, And three are kindling on Priesthaughswire; Ride out, ride out, The foe to scout! Mount, mount for Branksome, † every man! Thou, Todrig, warn the Johnstone clan, That ever are true and stout. Ye need not send to Liddesdale; For, when they see the blazing bale, Elliots and Armstrongs never fail.— Our kin, and clan, and friends, to raise.”— * Bale, beacon-faggot. † Mount for Branksome was the gathering word of the Scotts. XXVIII. Fair Margaret, from the turret head, Heard, far below, the coursers' tread, While loud the harness rung, As to their seats, with clamour dread, And trampling hoofs, and iron coats, And out! and out! In hasty route, The horsemen galloped forth; Dispersing to the south to scout, And east, and west, and north, To view their coming enemies, And warn their vassals, and allies. XXIX. The ready page, with hurried hand, Awaked the need-fire's slumbering brand, * Need-fire, beacon. And ruddy blushed the heaven: For a sheet of flame, from the turret high, Waved like a blood-flag on the sky, All flaring and uneven; And soon a score of fires, I ween, From height, and hill, and cliff, were seen; Each with warlike tidings fraught; Each from each the signal caught; Each after each they glanced to sight, As stars arise upon the night. They gleamed on many a dusky tarn,* On many a cairn's ‡ gray pyramid, From Soltra and Dumpender Law ; And Lothian heard the Regent's order, That all should bowne || them for the Border. * Tarn, a mountain lake. ‡ Cairn, a pile of stones. † Earn, a Scottish eagle. Bowne, make ready. XXX. The livelong night in Branksome rang The ceaseless sound of steel; The castle-bell, with backward clang, Was frequent heard the heavy jar, Were piled on echoing keep and tower, XXXI. The noble Dame, amid the broil, Shared the gray Seneschal's high toil, And spoke of danger with a smile; Cheered the young knights, and council sage Held with the chiefs of riper age. |