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On many a cairn's* gray pyramid,
Where urns of mighty chiefs lie hid;
Till high Dunedin the blazes saw,
From Soltra and Dumpender Law;
And Lothian heard the regent's order,
That all should bownet them for the Border.

XXX.

The livelong night in Branksome rang
The ceaseless sound of steel;

The castle-bell, with backward clang,
Sent forth the larum peal;

Was frequent heard the heavy jar,
Where massy stone and iron bar
Were piled on echoing keep and tower,
To whelm the foe with deadly shower;
Was frequent heard the changing guard,
And watch-word from the sleepless ward;
While, wearied by the endless din,
Blood-hound and ban-dog yelled within.

XXXI.

The noble dame, amid the broil,
Shared the gray Seneschal's high toil,

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And spoke of danger with a smile;
Cheered the young knights, and council sage
Held with the chiefs of riper age.

No tidings of the foe were brought,
Nor of his numbers knew they ought,
Nor what in time of truce he sought.
Some said that there were thousands ten;
And others weened that it was nought,
But Leven clans, or Tynedale men,
Who came to gather in black mail
And Liddesdale, with small avail,
Might lightly drive them back again.
So passed the anxious night away,
And welcome was the peep of day.

Ceased the high sound-the listening throng
Applaud the master of the song ;
And marvel much, in helpless age,
So hard should be his pilgrimage.
Had he no friend-no daughter dear,
His wandering toil to share and cheer;

* Protection money exacted by free-booters, G

No son, to be his father's stay,
And guide him on the rugged way?-
"Aye once he had-but he was dead!"
Upon the harp he stooped his head,
And busied himself the strings withal,
To hide the tear that fain would fall.
In solemn measure soft and slow,
Arose a father's notes of woe.

THE

LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL.

CANTO FOURTH.

I.

SWEET Teviot! on thy silver tide,
The glaring bale-fires blaze no more;
No longer steel-clad warriors ride

Along thy wild and willowed shore ;
Where'er thou wind'st by dale or hill,
All, all is peaceful all is still,

As if thy waves, since Time was born, Since first they rolled their way to Tweed, Had only heard the shepherd's reed,

Nor started at the bugle-horn.

II.

Unlike the tide of human time,

Which, though it change in ceaseless flow, Retains each grief, retains each crime,

Its earliest course was doomed to know

And, darker as it downward bears,
Is stained with past and present tears.
Low as that tide has ebbed with me,
It still reflects to memory's eye
The hour, my brave, my only boy,

Fell by the side of great Dundee.
Why, when the volleying musket played
Against the bloody Highland blade,
Why was not I beside him laid-
Enough he died the death of fame;
Enough he died with conquering Graeme.

III.

Now over Border dale and fell,

Full wide and far, was terror spread;
For pathless marsh, and mountain cell,
The peasant left his lowly shed.

The frightened flocks and herds were pent
Beneath the peel's rude battlement;
And maids and matrons dropped the tear,
While ready warriors seized the spear.

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