Loose waved his silver beard and hair,
As o'er him he kneeled down in prayer
And still the crucifix on high,
He holds before his darkening eye,
And still he bends an anxious ear,
His faultering penitence to hear;
Still props him from the bloody sod,
Still even when soul and body part,
Pours ghostly comfort on his heart,
And bids him trust in God!
Unheard he prays; 'tis o'er, 'tis 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 thronged 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 Teviotside!
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 pressed him to her breast;
For, under all her dauntless show,
Her heart had throbbed at every blow;
Yet not lord Cranstoun deign 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 prophecy,
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 stand;
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 his 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 'twixt 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 death-like trance;
And taught that, in the listed plain,
Another, in his arms and shield,
Against fierce Musgrave axe 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 from gallant foe:
e'en
And so 'twas seen of him; now,
When on dead Musgrave he looked down,
Grief darkened on his rugged brow,
Though half disguised with a frown;
The spectral apparition of a living person
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