Whitsdale, the Hawk, and Headshaw came,
And warriors more than I may name;
But better hearts o'er Border sod
To siege or rescue never rode.
The ladye marked the aids come in,
And high her heart of pride arose ;
She bade her youthful son attend,
That he might know his father's friend,
And learn to face his father's foes.
"The boy is ripe to look on war;
I saw him draw a cross-bow stiff,
And his true arrow struck afar
The raven's nest upon the cliff;
The red cross, on a southern breast,
Is broader than the raven's nest;
Thou, Whitsdale, shall teach him his weapon to wield And o'er him hold his father's shield."
Well may you think the wily page
Cared not to face the ladye sage.
He counterfeited childish fear,
And shrieked and shed full many a tear,
And moaned and plained in manner wild.
The attendants to the ladye told,
Some fairy sure had changed the child,
That wont to be so free and bold.
Then wrathful was the noble dame ;
She blushed blood red for very shame-
"Hence, ere the clan his faintness view;
Hence with the weakling to Buccleuch ;
Watt Tinlinn thou shalt be his guide
To Rangleburn's lonely side.
Sure some fell fiend has cursed our line,
That coward should e're be son of mine!"
A heavy task Watt Tinlinn had,
To guide the counterfeited lad.
Soon as his palfrey felt the weight
Of that ill-omen'd elfish freight,
He bolted, sprung, and reared amain,
Nor heeded bit, nor curb, nor rein.
It cost Watt Tinlinn mickle toil
To drive him but a Scottish mile
But, as a shallow brook they crossed,
The elf, amid the running stream,
His figure changed, like form in dream,
And fled, and shouted, "Lost! lost! lost!"
Full fast the urchin ran and laughed,
But faster still a cloth-yard shaft
Whistled from startled Tinlinn's yew,
And pierced his shoulder through and through.
Although the imp might not be slain,
And though the wound soon healed again,
Yet, as he ran, he yelled for pain;
And Watt of Tinlinn, much aghast,
Rode back to Branksome fiery fast.
Soon on the hill's steep verge he stood,
That looks o'er Branksome's towers and wood
And martial murmurs, from below,
Proclaimed the approaching southern foe.
Through the dark wood, in mingled tone,
Were border-pipes and bugles blown ;
The coursers' neighing he could ken,
And measured tread of marching men ;
While broke at times the solemn hum,
The Almyn's sullen kettle drum ;
And banners tall, of crimson sheen,
Above the copse appear;
And, glistening through the hawthorns green, Shine helm, and shield, and spear.
Light forayers first, to view the ground,
Spurred their fleet coursers loosely round;
Behind in close array and fast,
The Kendal archers, all in green,
Obedient to the bugle blast,
Advancing from the wood were seen.
To back and guard the archer band,
Lord Dacre's bill-men were at hand;
A hardy race, on Irthing bred,
With kirtles white, and crosses red,
Arrayed beneath the banner tall,
That streamed o'er Acre's conquered wall;
And minstrels as they marched in order,
Played" Noble lord Dacre, he dwells on the border."
Behind the English bill and bow,
The mercenaries, firm and slow,
Moved on to fight, in dark array,
By Conrad led of Wolfenstein,
Who brought the band from distant Rhine,
And sold their blood for foreign pay:
The camp their home, their law the sword,
They knew no country, owned no lord ;
They were not armed like England's sons,
But bore the levin-darting guns;
Buff coats, all frounced and 'broidered o'er,
And morsing-horns* and scarfs they wore;
Each better knee was bared, to aid
The warriors in the escalade ;
All, as they marched, in rugged tongue,
Songs of Teutonic feuds they sung.
But louder still the clamour grew,
And louder still the minstrels blew,
When, from beneath the green-wood tree,
Rode forth lord Howard's chivalry;
His men at arms, with glaive and spear,
Brought up the battle's glittering rear.
There many a youthful knight, full keen
To gain his spurs, in arms was seen;
With favour in his crest or glove,
Memorial of his ladye-love.
So rode they forth in fair array,
Till full their lengthened lines display;
Then called a halt, and made a stand,
And cried, "Saint George, for merry England❤
|