And thus, while sorrow bent his head, XXIX. "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; Of Naworth Castle, long months three, To see how thou the chase couldst wind, *The lands, that over Ouse to Berwick forth do bear, Have for their blazon had, the snafle, spur, and spear. Polyalbion, Song xxxiii, Cheer the dark blood-hound on his way, XXX. 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 Minstrel's 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 Leven's shore, Thence to Holme Coltrame's lofty nave, And laid him in his father's grave. The harp's wild notes, though hushed the song, The mimic march of death prolong; Now seems it far, and now a-near, Now meets, and now eludes the ear; After due pause they bade him tell, Why he, who touched the harp so well, Should thus, with ill rewarded toil, Wander a poor and thankless soil, When the more generous southern land Would well requite his skilful hand. The aged harper, howsoe'er His only friend, his harp, was dear, Less liked he still that scornful jeer THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. CANTO SIXTH. I. BREATHES there the man, with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land! From wandering on a foreign strand! Living, shall forfeit fair reknown, II. O Caledonia! stern and wild, Meet nurse for a poetic child! Land of brown heath and shaggy wood, That knits me to thy rugged strand! Sole friends thy woods and streams were left; Even in extremity of ill. By Yarrow's stream still let me stray, |