« PreviousContinue »
'Tis done, 'tis done! that fatal blow
Has stretched him on the bloody plain j He strives to rise—Brave Musgrave, no!
Thence never shalt thou rise again! He chokes in blood—some friendly hand Undo the visor's barred band, Unfix the gorget's iron clasp, And give him room for life to gasp !— O, bootless aid !—haste, holy Friar, Haste, ere the sinner shall expire! Of all his guilt let him be shriven, And smooth his path from earth to heaven!
In haste the holy Friar sped;—
As through the lists he ran;
He raised the dying man;
Loose waved his silver beard and hair,
Still props him from the bloody sod,
And bids him trust in God! Unheard he prays;—the death-pang's o'er !— Richard of Musgrave breathes no more.
As if exhausted in the fight,
Or musing o'er the piteous sight,
The silent victor stands j
Of gratulating hands.
When lo! strange cries of wild surprise,
Among the Scottish bands;
And wild and hagard looked around,
And all, upon the armed ground,
"And who art thou," they cried, "Who hast this battle fought and won?" His plumed helm was soon undone—
"Cranstoun of Teviot-side! For this fair prize I've fought and won,"— And to the Ladye led her son.
Full oft the rescued boy she kissed,
—For Howard was a generous foe— And how the clan united prayed,
The Ladye would the feud forego, And deign to bless the nuptial hour Of Cranstoun's Lord and Teviot's Flower,
She looked to river, looked to hill,
Then broke her silence stern and still,—
That hand to Cranstoun's lord gave she :—
This clasp of love our bond shall be;