The wily page with vengeful thought,
Remembered him of Tinlinn's yew,
And swore, it should be dearly bought,
That ever he the arrow drew.
First, he the yeoman did molest,
With bitter gibe, and taunting jest ;
Told how he fled at Solvay strife,
And how Hob Armstrong cheered his wife,
Then, shunning still his powerful arm,
At unawares he wrought him harm;
From trencher stole his choicest cheer,
Dashed from his lips his can of beer,
Then, to his knee sly creeping on,
With bodkin pierced him to the bone:
The venomed wound, and festering joint,
Long after rued that bodkin's point.
The startled yeoman swore and spurned,
And board and flaggons overturned;
Riot and clamour wild began ;
Back to the hall the urchin ran;
Took, in a darkling nook, his post,
And grinned and muttered, "Lost! lost! lost!"
By this, the dame, lest further fray
Should mar the concord of the day,
Had bid the Minstrels tune their lay.
And first stept forth old Albert Graeme,
The minstrel of that ancient name :
Was none who struck the harp so well,
Within the land debateable;
Well friended too, his hardy kin,
Whoever lost, were sure to win;
They sought the beeves that made their broth,
In Scotland and in England both.
In homely guise, as nature bade,
His simple song the Borderer said.
ALBERT GRAEME.
It was an English ladye bright,
The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall, And she would marry a Scottish knight, For love will still be lord of all!
Blithly they saw the rising sun,
When he shone fair on Carlisle wall, But they were sad ere day was done, Though love was still the lord of all! M
Her sire gave brooch and jewel fine,
Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall;
Her brother gave but a flask of wine,
For ire that love was lord of all!
For she had lands, both meadow and lea, Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall, And he swore her death ere he would see A Scottish knight the lord of all !
That wine she had not tasted well,
The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall; When dead, in her true lovers arms, she fel1, For love was still the lord of all!
He pierced her brother to the heart,
Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall;
So perish all would true love part,
That love may still be lord of all!
And then he took the cross divine,
Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,
And died for her sake in Palestine,
So love was still the lord of all!
Now all ye lovers that faithful prove,
The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,
Pray for their souls who died for love,
For love shall still be lord of all!
As ended Albert's simple lay,
Arose a bard of loftier port;
For sonnet, rhyme, or roundelay,
Renowned in haughty Henry's court:
There rung thy harp unrivalled long,
Fitztraver of the silver song.
The gentle Surrey loved his lyre,
(Who has not heard of Surrey's fame ?)
His was the hero's soul of fire,
And his the bard's immortal name;
And his was love exalted high,
By all the glow of chivalry.
They sought, together, climes afar,
And oft, within some olive grove,
When evening came, with twinkling star,
They sung of Surrey's absent love,
His step the Italian peasant staid,
And deemed, that spirits from on high,
Round where some hermit saint was laid,
Were breathing heavenly melody;
So sweet did harp and voice combine,
To praise the name of Geraldine.
Fitztraver! O what tongue may say,
The pangs thy faithful bosom knew,
When Surrey of the deathless lay,
Ungrateful Tudor's sentence slew?
Regardless of the tyrant's frown,
His harp called wrath and vengeance down;
He left, for Naworth's iron towers,
Windsor's green glades, and courtly bowers;
And, faithful to his patron's name,
With Howard, still, Fitztraver came ;
Lord William's foremost favourite he,
And chief of all his minstrelsy,
'Twas all souls' eve, and Surrey's heart beat high? He heard the midnight bell with anxious start, Which told the mystic hour, approaching nigh, When wise Cornelius promised, by his art,
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