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In broken sleep she lay: By times, from silken couch she rose; While yet the banner'd hosts repose,

She view'd the dawning day: Of all the hundreds sunk to rest, First woke the loveliest and the best.

She gazed upon the inner court,

Which in the tower's tall shadow lay; Where coursers' clang, and stamp, and snort,

Had rung the livelung yesterday; Now still as death; till stalking slow,

The jingling spurs announced his tread, A stately warrior pass'd below; But when he raised his plumed head

Blessed Mary! can it be ?
Secure, as if in Ousenam bowers,
He walks through Branksome's hostile towers,

With fearless step and free.
She dared not sign, she dared not speak-
Oh ! if one page's slumbers break,

His blood the price must pay!
Not all the pearls Queen Mary wears,
Not Margaret's yet more precious tears.

Shall buy his life a day.

Sorrow, and sin, and shame; And death to Cranstoun's gallant Knight, And to the gentle ladye bright,

Disgrace, and loss of fame. But earthly spirit could not tell The heart of them that loved so well. True love's the gift which God has given To man alone beneath the heaven: It is not fantasy's hot fire,

Whose wishes, soon as granted, fly; It liveth not in fierce desire,

With dead desire it doth not die; It is the secret sympathy, The silver link,' the silken tie, Which heart to heart, and mind to mind, In body and in soul can bind.Now leave we Margaret and her Knight, To tell you of the approaching fight.

Their warning blasts the bugles blew,

The pipe's shrill porto aroused each clue: In haste, the deadly strife to view,

The trooping warriors eager ran :
Thick round the lists their lances stood,
Like blasted pines in Ettrick wood;
To Branksome many a look they threw,
The combatants' approach to view,
And bandied many a word of boast,
About the knight each favour'd most.

Yet was his hazard small; for well
You may bethink you of the spell

Of that sly urchin page;
This to his lord he did impart,
And made him seem, by glamour art,

A knight from Hermitage. Unchallenged thus, the warder's post, The court, unchallenged, thus he cross’d,

For all the vassalage: But 0! what magic's quaint disguise Could blind fair Margaret's azure eyes !

She started from her seat; While with surprise and fear she strove, And both could scarcely master love

Lord Henry's at her feet.

XV. Meantime full anxious was the Dame; For now arose disputed claim, Of who should fight for Deloraine, 'Twixt Harden and 'twixt Thirlestaine: 8

They 'gan to reckon kin and rent, And frowning brow on brow was bent;

But yet not long the strife-for, lo! Himself, the Knight of Deloraine, Strong, as it seem'd, and free from pain,

In armour sheath'd from top to toe, Appear'd, and craved the combat due. The Dame her charm successful knew, And the fierce chiefs their claims withdrew.

Oft have I mused, what purpose bad
That foul malicious urchin had

To bring this meeting round;
For happy love's a heavenly sight,
And by a vile malignant sprite

In such no joy is found; And oft I've deem'd, perchance he thought Their erring passion might have wrought

When for the lists they sought the plain,
The stately Ladye's silken rein

Did noble Howard hold;
Unarmed by her side he walk’d,
And much, in courteous phrase, they talk'd

Of feats of arms of old.

• In the first edition, “ the silver cord;"

“ Yes, love, indeed, is light from heaven;

A spark of that immortal fire
With angels shared, by Alla given,
To lift from earth our low desire," &c.

The Giaour. ? A martial piece of music, adapted to the bagpipes.

3 It may be noticed that the late Lord Napier, the represen. tative of the Scotts of Thirlestane, was Lord Lieutenant of Selkirkshire (of which the author was sheriff-depute) at the time when the poem was written; the competitor for the honour of supplying Deloraine's place was the poet's own ancestor.-ED.

4 See Canto III. Stanza xxiii.


Costly his garbhis Flemish ruff

He sayeth, that William of Deloraine Fell o'er his doublet, shaped of buff,

Is traitor false by Border laws; With satin slash'd and lined;

This with his sword he will maintain,
Tawny his boot, and gold his spur,

So help him God, and his good cause !'
His cloak was all of Poland fur,
His hose with silver twined;

Ilis Bilboa blade, by Marchmen felt,

SCOTTISH HERALD. Hung in a broad and studded belt;

“ Here standeth William of Deloraine, Hence, in rude phrase, the Borderers still

Good knight and true, of noble strain, Callid noble Howard, Belted Will.

Who sayeth, that foul treason's stain,

Since he bore arms, ne'er soil'd his cuat ;

And that, so help him God above!
Behind Lord Howard and the Dame,

He will on Musgrave's body prove, Fair Margaret on her palfrey came,

He lies most foully in his throat.” Whose foot-cloth swept the ground:

LORD DACRE. White was her wimple, and her veil,

“Forward, brave champions, to the fight! And her loose locks a chaplet pale

Sound trumpets!”-
Of whitest roses bound;
The lordly Angus, by her side,

-“ God defend the right!". In courtesy to cheer her tried;

Then, Teviot! how thine echoes rang, Without his aid, her hand in vain

When bugle-sound and trumpet-clang Had strove to guide her broider'd rein.

Let loose the martial foes, He deem'd, she shudder'd at the sight

And in mid list, with shield poised high, Of warriozs met for mortal fight;

And measured step and wary eye,
But cause of terror, all unguess’d,

The combatants did close.
Was futtering in her gentle breast,
When, in their chairs of crimson placed.

The Dame and she the barriers graced.

Ill would it suit your gentle ear,

Ye lovely listeners, to hear

How to the axe the helms did sound,
Prize of the field, the young Buccleuch,

And blood pour'd down from many a wound; An English knight led forth to view;

For desperate was the strife and long, Scarce rued the boy his present plight,

And either warrior fierce and strong. So much he long'd to see the fight.

But, were each dame a listening knight, Within the lists, in knightly pride,

I well could tell how warriors fight! High Home and haughty Dacre ride;

For I have seen war's lightning flashing, Their leading staffs of steel they wield,

Scen the claymore with bayonet clashing, As marshals of the mortal field;

Se through red blood the war-horse dash While to each knight their care assign'd

ing, Like vantage of the sun and wind."

And scorn'd, amid the reeling strife,
Then heralds hoarse did loud proclaim,

To yield a step for death or life.-
In King and Queen, and Warden's name,
That none, while lasts the strife,

Should dare, by look, or sign, or word,

'Tis done, 'tis done! that fatal blow 3 Aid to a champion to afford,

Has stretch'd him on the bloody plain; On peril of his life;

He strives to rise-Brave Musgrave, no! And not a breath the silence broke,

Thence never shalt thou rise again! Till thus the alternate Heralds spoke :

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 “ Here standeth Richard of Musgrave,

O, bootless aid !-haste, holy Friar, Good knight and true, and freely born,

Haste, ere the sinner shall expire ! Amends from Deloraine to crave,

Of all his guilt let him be shriven, For foul despiteous scathe and scorn.

And smooth his path from earth to heaven! " This couplet was added in the second edition.

ducted according to the strictest ordinances of chivalry, and 1 After this, in the first edition, we read only,

delineated with all the minuteness of an ancient romancer.

The modern reader will probably find it rather tedious; all “At the last words, with deadly blows,

but the concluding stanzas, which are in a loftier measureThe ready warriors fiercely close.”—ED.

" "Tis done! 'tis done!"&c.- JEFFREY. 9" To whole scene of the duel, or judicial combat, is con- + First Edition, In vain-In vain.' haste, holy FHar.“

The Ladye would the feud forego, And deign to bless the nuptial hour Of Cranstoun's Lord and Teviot's Flower.

In haste the holy Friar sped ;-
His naked foot was dyed with red,

As through the lists he ran;
Unmindful of the shouts on high.
That hail'd the conqueror's victory,

He raised the dying man;
Loose waved his silver beard and hair,
As o'er him he kneel'd down in prayer ;
And still the crucifix on high
He holds before his darkening eye;
And still he bends an anxious ear,
His faltering penitence to hear;

Still props him from the bloody sod,
Still, even when soul and body part,
Pours ghostly comfort on his heart,

And bids him trust in God! Unheard he prays ;—the death-pang's oer!! Richard of Musgrave breathes no more.

She look”d to river, look`d to hill,

Thought on the Spirit’s prophecy,
Then broke her silence stern and still,

“ Not you, but Fate, has vanquish'd me Their influence kindly stars may shower On Teviot's tide and Branksome's tower,

For pride is quell’d, and love is free.”— She took fair Margaret by the hand, Who, breathless, trembling, scarce might stand

That hand to Cranstoun's lord gave she :“ As I am true to thee and thine, Do thou be true to me and mine!

This clasp of love our bond shall be;
For this is your betrothing day,
And all these noble lords shall stay,

it with their company.”

As if exhausted in the fight,
Or musing o'er the piteous sight,

The silent victor stands;
His beaver did he not unclasp,
Mark'd not the shouts, felt not the grasp

Of gratulating hands.
When lo! strange cries of wild surprise,
Mingled with seeming terror, rise

Among the Scottish bands;
And all, amid the throng'd array,
In panic haste gave open way
To a half-naked ghastly man,
Who downward from the castle ran :
He cross'd the barriers at a bound,
And wild and haggard look`d around,

As dizzy, and in pain ;
And all, upon the armed ground,

Knew William of Deloraine !
Each ladye sprung from seat with speed;
Vaulted each marshal from his steed;

“ And who art thou,” they cried, w 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.

XXVII. All as they left the listed plain, Much of the story she did gain ; How Cranstoun fought with Deloraine, And of his page, and of the Book Which from the wounded knight he took; And how he sought her castle high, That morn, by help of gramarye ; How, in Sir William's armour dight, Stolen by his page, while slept the knight, He took on him the single fight. But half his tale he left unsaid, And linger'd till he joind the maid.Cared not the Ladye to betray Her mystic arts in view of day; But well she thought, ere midnight came, Of that strange page the pride to tame, From his foul hands the Book to save, And send it back to Michael's grave.Needs not to tell each tender word 'Twixt Margaret and 'twixt Cranstoun's lord ; Nor how she told of former woes, And how her bosom fell and rose, While he and Musgrave bandied blows.Needs not these lovers' joys to tell: One day, fair maids, you'll know them well.

Full oft the rescued boy she kiss'd,
And often press'd him to her breast;
For, under all her dauntless show,
Her heart had throbb'd at every blow;
Yet not Lord Cranstoun deign'd she greet,
Though low he kneeled at her feet.
Me lists not tell what words were made,
What Douglas, Home, and Howard, said

- For Howard was a generous foeAnd how the clan united pray'd

Orig.--"Unheard he prays; -'lis o'er / 'tis o'er !!

XXVIII. William of Deloraine, some chance Had waken'd from his deathlike trance;

And taught that, in the listed plain, Another, in his arms and shield, Against fierce Musgrave axe did wield,

Under the name of Deloraine. Hence, to the field, unarm’d, he ran, And hence his presence scared tlie clan, Who held him for some fleeting wraith,

9 The spectral apparition of a living person,

And not a man of blood and breath.

Around, the horsemen slowly rode; Not much this new ally he loved,

With trailing pikes the spearmen trode; Yet, when he saw what hap had proved,

And thus the gallant knight they bore, He greeted him right heartilie:

Through Liddesdale to Leven's shore; He would not waken old debate,

Thence to Holme Coltrame's lofty nave,
For he was void of rancorous hate,

And laid him in his father's grave.
Though rude, and scant of courtesy;
In raids he spilt but seldom blood,

The harp's wild notes, though hush'd the song, Unless when men-at-arms withstood,

The mimic march of death prolong; Or, as was meet; for deadly feud.

Now seems it far, and now a-near, lle ne'er bore grudge for stalwart blow,

Now meets, and now eludes the ear; Ta'en in fair fight from gallant foe:

Now seems some mountain side to sweep, And so 'twas seen of him, e'en now,

Now faintly dies in valley deep; When on dead Musgrave he look'd down; Seems now as if the Minstrel's wail, Grief darken'd on his rugged brow,

Now the sad requiem, loads the gale; Though balf disguised with a frown;'

Last, o'er the warrior's closing grave, And thus, while sorrow bent his head,

Rung the full choir in choral stave.
His foeman's epitaph he made.

After due pause, they bade him tell,

Why he, who touch'd the harp so well, “Now, Richard Musgrave, liest thou here!

Should thus, with ill-rewarded toil, I ween, my deadly enemy;

Wander a poor and thankless soil, For, if I slew thy brother dear,

When the more generous Southern Land
Thou slew'st a sister's son to me;

Would well requite his skilful hand.
And when I lay in dungeon dark,
Of Naworth Castle, long months three,

The Aged Harper, howsoe'er
Till ransom'd for a thousand mark.

His only friend, his harp, was dear, Dark Musgrave, it was long of thee.

Liked not to hear it rank'd so high And, Musgrave, could our fight be tried,

Above his flowing poesy: And thou wert now alive, as I,

Less liked he still, that scornful jeer No mortal man should us divide,

Misprised the land he loved so dear; Till one, or both of us, did die:

High was the sound, as thus again
Yet rest thee God! for well I know

The Bard resumed his minstrel strain.
I ne'er shall find a nobler foe.
In all the northern counties here,
Whose word is Snaffle, spur, and spear,'

The Lay of the Last Minstrel
Thou wert the best to follow gear!
Twas pleasure, as we look'd behind,
To see how thou the chase could'st wind,
Cheer the dark blood-hound on his way,
And with the bugle rouse the fray !2

I. I'd give the lands of Deloraine,

BREATHES there the man, with soul so dead, Dark Musgrave were alive again.”_3

Who never to himself hath said,

This is my own, my native land!

Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd,
So mourn'd he, till Lord Dacre's band

As home his footsteps he hath turn'd, Were bowning back to Cumberland.

From wandering on a foreign strand ! They raised brave Musgrave from the field,

If such there breathe, go, mark him well; And laid him on his bloody shield;

For him no Minstrel raptures swell; On leveli'd lances, four and four,

High though his titles, proud his name, By turns, the noble burden bore.

Boundless his wealth as wish can claim; Before, at times, upon the gale,

Despite those titles, power, and pelf, Was heard the Minstrel's plaintive wail;

The wretch, concentred all in self, Bobind, four priests, in sable stole,

Living, shall forfeit fair renown, Sung requiem for the warrior's soul:

And, doubly dying, shall go down | “The lands, that over Ouse to Berwick forth do bear, Deloraine, who, roused from his bed of sickness, rushes into Have for their blazon had, the snaffle, spur, and spear." the lists, and apostrophizes his fallen enemy, brougnt to on

Poly-Albion, Song 13 recollection, as well from the peculiar turn of expression in ? See Appendix, Note 3 W

its commencement, as in the tone of sentiments which it con8 “The style of the old romancers has been very success- veys, some of the funebres orationes of the Mort Arthur.". fully imitated in the whole of this scene; and the speech of Critical Revier.


To the vile dust, from whence he sprung, Unwept, unhonour'd, and unsung.

That lovely hue which comes and flies, As awe and shame alternate rise!

O Caledonia! stern and wild,'
Meet nurse for a poetic child !
Land of brown heath and shaggy wood,
Land of the mountain and the flood,
Land of my sires! what mortal hand
Can e'er untie the filial band,
That knits me to thy rugged strand!
Still, as I view each well-known scene,
Think what is now, and what hath been,


of all bereft, Sole friends thy woods and streams were

V. Some bards have sung, the Ladye biglı Chapel or altar came not nigh; Nor durst the rites of spousal grace, So much she fear'd each holy place. False slanders these :- I trust right wel! She wrought not by forbidden spell;" For mighty words and signs have power O'er sprites in planetary hour: Yet scarce I praise their venturous part, Who tamper with such dangerous art. But this for faithful truth I say,

The Ladye by the altar stood, Of sable velvet her array,

And on her head a crimson hood, With pearls embroider'd and entwined, Guarded with gold, with ermine lined; A merlin sat upon her wrist 5 Held by a leash of silken twist.

Seems as,

left ;

And thus I love them better still,
Even in extremity of ill.
By Yarrow's streams still let me stray,
Though none should guide my feeble way;
Still feel the breeze down Ettrick break,
Although it chill my wither'd cheek ;.
Still lay my head by Teviot Stone,3
Though there, forgotten and alone,
The Bard may draw his parting groan.

III. Not scorn'd like me! to Branksome Hall The Minstrels came, at festive call; Trooping they came, from near and far, The jovial priests of mirth and war; Alike for feast and fight prepared, Battle and banquet both they shared. Of late, before each martial clan, They blew their death-note in the van, But now, for every merry mate, Rose the portcullis’ iron grate; They sound the pipe, they strike the string, They dance, they revel, and they sing, Till the rude turrets shake and ring.

The spousal rites were ended soon :
'Twas now the merry hour of noon,
And in the lofty arched hall
Was spread the gorgeous festival.
Steward and squire, with heedful baste,
Marshall’d the rank of every guest;
Pages, with ready blade, were there,
The mighty meal to carve and share:
O'er capon, heron-shew, and

And princely peacock’s gilded train,"
And o'er the boar-head, garnish'd bravo,
And cygnet from St. Mary's wave;?
O’er ptarmigan and venison,
The priest had spoke his benison.
Then rose the riot and the din,
Above, beneath, without, within !
For, from the lofty balcony,
Rung trumpet, shalm, and psaltery:
Their clanging bowls old warriors quaff'd,
Loudly they spoke, and loudly laugh’d;
Whisper'd young knights, in tone more mild,
To ladies fair, and ladies smiled.
The hooded hawks, high perch'd on beam,
The clamour join'd with whistling scream,
And flapp'd their wings, and shook their bells,
In concert with the stag-hounds' yelle.
Round go the flasks of ruddy wine,
From Bourdeaux, Orleans, or the Rhine;
Their tasks the busy sewers ply,
And all is mirth and revelry.

Me lists not at this tide declare

The splendour of the spousal rite,
How muster'd in the chapel fair
Both maid and matron, squire and

Me lists not tell of owches rare,
Of mantles green, and braided hair,
And kirtles furr'd with miniver;
What plumage waved the altar round,
How spurs and ringing chainlets sound;
And hard it were for bard to speak
The changeful hue of Margaret's cheek;

1 “The Lady of the Lake has nothing so good as the address to Scotland."-MACINTOSH.

2 The preceding four lines now form the inscription on the monument of Sir Walter Scott in the market-place of Sel. kirk.-See Life, vol. x. p. 257.

3 The line Still lay my head," &c., was not in the first edition.. ED.

• See Appendix, Note 3 X. 6 Ibid. Note 3 Y. 6 Sce Appendix, Note 3 Z.

7 There are often flights of wild swans upon St. Maryi Lake, at the head of the river Yarrow. See Wordsworth's Yarrow Visited.

“The swan on still St. Mary's Lake

Floats double, swan and shadow."-ED

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