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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.


The noble Dame, amid the broil,
Shared the gray Seneschal's high toil,
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 aught,
Nor in what time the truce he sought.

Some said, that there were thousands ten; And others weened that it was naught

But Leven Clans, or Tynedale men,
Who came to gather in black-mail;*
And Liddesdale, with small avail,

Might drive them lightly back agen.
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.

* Protection-money exacted by free-bootera.

Had he no friend—no daughter dear,
His wandering toil to share and cheer;
No son, to be his father's stay,
And guide him on the rugged way?
"Ay, 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.
Jn solemn measure, soft and slow,
Arose a father's notes of woe.






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