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He gains for us; but if he's crossed,
"Tis but a single warrior lost.
The rest retreating as they came,
Avoid defeat, and death, and shame.”


Ill could the haughty Dacre brook
His brother-warden's sage rebuke;
And yet his forward step he stayed ;
And slow and sullenly obeyed.
But ne'er again the Border side,
Did these two lords in friendship ride;
And this slight discontent, men say,
Cost blood upon another day.

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The pursuivant-at-arms again
Before the castle took his stand ;
His trumpet called with parleying strain,
The leaders of the Scottish band;
And he defied, in Musgrave's right,
Stout Deloraine to single fight;
A gauntlet at their feet he laid,
And thus the terms of fight he said-

“If in the lists good Musgrave's sword
Vanquish the knight of Deloraine,
Your youthful chieftain, Branksome's lord,
Shall hostage for his clan remain :
If Deloraine foil good Musgrave,
The boy his liberty shall have.
Howe'er it falls, the English band,
Unharming Scots, by Scots unharmed,
In peaceful march like men unarmed,
Shall straight retreat to Cumberland.”

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Unconscious of the near relief, -
The proffer pleased each Scottish chief,
Though much the ladye sage gainsayed :
For though their hearts were brave and true,
From Jedwood's recent sack they knew,
How tardy was the regent's aid;
And you may guess the noble dame
Durst not the secret prescience own,
Sprung from the art she might not name,
By which the coming help was known.
Closed was the compact, and agreed
That lists should be inclosed with speed :

Beneath the castle, on a lawn, They fixed the morrow for the strife, On foot, with Scottish axe and knife,

At the fourth hour from peep of dawn; When Deloraine, from sickness freed, Or else a champion in his stead, Should for himself and chieftan stand, Against stout Musgrave, hand to hand.


I know right well that, in their lay,
Full many minstrels sing and say,
Such combat should be made on horse,
On foaming steed, in full career,
With brand to aid, when as the spear
Should shiver in the course :
But he, the jovial harper, taught
Me, yet a youth how it was fought,
In guise which now I say:
He knew each ordinance and clause
Of black lord Archibald's battle laws,
In the old Douglas' day. -
He brooked not, he, that scoffing tongue .
Should tax his minstrelsy with wrong,

Or call his song untrue:
For this, when they the goblet plied,
And such rude taunt had chafed his pride,

The bard of Reull he slew.
On Teviot's side, in fight, they stood,
And tuneful hands were stained with blood;
Where still the thorn's white branches wave,
Memorial o'er his rival's grave,


Why should I tell the rigid doom,
That dragged my master to his tomb;
How Ousenams maidens tore their hair,
Wept till their eyes were dead and dim,
And wrung their hands for love of him,
Who died at Jedwood Air:
He died —his scholars, one by one,
To the cold silent grave are gone;
And, I alas! survive alone,
To muse o'er rivalries of yore,
And grieve that I shall hear no more
The strains with envy heard before;
For, with my minstrel brethren fled,
My jealousy of song is dead.

He paused—the listening dames again
Applaud the hoary minstrel's strain ;
With many a word of kindly cheer,
In pity half, and half sincere,
Marvelled the duchess how so well
His legendary song could tell—
Of ancient deeds so long forgot ;
Of feuds, whose memory was not;
Of forests, now laid waste and bare ;
Of towers, which harbour now the hare;
Of manners, long since changed and gone;
Of chiefs who under their gray stone
So long had slept, that fickle Fame
Had blotted from her rolls their name,
And twined round some new minion's head
The fading wreath for which they bled—
In sooth, 'twas strange this old man's verse
Could call them from their marble hearse.
The harper smiled well pleased ; for ne'er
Was flattery lost on poet's ear:
A simple race they waste their toil
For the vain tribute of a smile;
E’en when in age their flame expires,
Her dulcet breath can fan its fires; -

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