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He faced the blood-hound manfully,

And held his little bat on high;
So fierce he struck, the dog, afraid,
At cautious distance hoarsely bay'd,

But still in act to spring;

When dash'd an archer through the glade, And when he saw the hound was stay'd,

He drew his tough bow-string;

But a rough voice cried, "Shoot not, hoy! Ho! shoot not, Edward-Tis a boy!"

XVI.

The speaker issued from the wood,
And check'd his fellow's surly mood,
And quell'd the ban-dog's ire:
He was an English yeoman good,
And born in Lancashire.

Well could he hit a fallow-deer

Five hundred feet him fro;

With hand more true, and eye more clear,

No archer bended bow.

Ilis coal-black hair, shorn round and close,
Set off his sun-burn'd face:
Old England's sign, St George's cross,
His barret-cap did grace;
His bugle-horn hung by his side,

All in a wolf-skin baldric tied;
And his short falchion, sharp and clear,
Had pierced the throat of many a deer.

XVII.

His kirtle, made of forest green,
Reach'd scantly to his knee;
And, at his belt, of arrows keen

A furbish'd sheaf bore he;

His buckler, scarce in breadth a span,

No larger fence had he;

He never counted him a man,
Would strike below the knee:1
His slacken'd bow was in his hand,

And the leash, that was his blood-hound's band.

XVIII.

He would not do the fair child harm,
But held him with his powerful arm,
That he might neither fight nor flee;
For when the Red-Cross spied he,
The boy strove long and violently.
"Now, by St. George," the archer cries,
"Edward, methinks we have a prize!
This boy's fair face, and courage free,
Show he is come of high degree."-

XIX.

"Yes! I am come of high degree,

For I am the heir of bold Buccleuch; And, if thou dost not set me free,

False Southron, thou shalt dearly rue!

1 See Appendix, Note 2 P.

Bandelier, belt for carrying ammunition.

For Walter of Harden shall come with speed,
And William of Deloraine, good at need,
And every Scott, from Esk to Tweed;
And, if thou dost not let me go,
Despite thy arrows, and thy bow,

I'll have thee hang'd to feed the crow!"-

XX.

"Gramercy, for thy good-will, fair boy!

My mind was never set so high;
But if thou art chief of such a clan,
And art the son of such a man,

And ever comest to thy command,

Our wardens had need to keep good order; My bow of yew to a hazel wand,

Thou'lt make them work upon the Border.
Meantime, be pleased to come with me,
For good Lord Dacre shalt thou see;

I think our work is well begun,
When we have taken thy father's son."

XXI.

Although the child was led away,
In Branksome still he seem'd to stay,
For so the Dwarf his part did play;
And, in the shape of that young boy,
He wrought the castle much annoy.
The comrades of the young Buccleuch
He pinch'd, and beat, and overthrew ;
Nay, some of them he wellnigh slew.
He tore Dame Maudlin's silken tire,
And, as Sym Hall stood by the fire,
He lighted the match of his bandelier,
And wofully scorch'd the hack buteer.3
It may be hardly thought or said,
The mischief that the urchin made,
Till many of the castle guess'd,
That the young Baron was possess'd!

XXII.

Well I ween the charm he held
The noble Ladye had soon dispell'd;
But she was deeply busied then
To tend the wounded Deloraine.
Much she wonder'd to find him lie,
On the stone threshold stretch'd along;
She thought some spirit of the sky

Had done the bold moss-trooper wrong;
Because, despite her precept dread,
Perchance he in the Book had read;
But the broken lance in his bosom stood,
And it was earthly steel and wood.

XXIII.

She drew the splinter from the wound,

And with a charm she stanch'd the blood;4 She bade the gash be cleansed and bound: No longer by his couch she stood;

3 Hackbuteer, musketeer.

4 See Appendix, Note 2 Q.

But she has ta'en the broken lance,
And wash'd it from the clotted gore,
And salved the splinter o'er and o'er.1
William of Deloraine, in trance,

Whene'er she turn'd it round and round,
Twisted as if she gall'd his wound.

Then to her maidens she did say, That he should be whole man and sound, Within the course of a night and day. Full long she toil'd; for she did rue Mishap to friend so stout and true.

XXIV.2

So pass'd the day-the evening fell,
'Twas near the time of curfew bell;
The air was mild, the wind was calm,
The stream was smooth, the dew was balm;
E'en the rude watchman, on the tower,
Enjoy'd and bless'd the lovely hour.
Far more fair Margaret loved and bless'd
The hour of silence and of rest.
On the high turret sitting lone,
She waked at times the lute's soft tone;
Touch'd a wild note, and all between
Thought of the bower of hawthorns green.
Her golden hair stream'd free from band,
Her fair cheek rested on her hand,
Her blue eyes sought the west afar,
For lovers love the western star.

XXV.

Is yon the star, o'er Penchryst Pen,
That rises slowly to her ken,

And, spreading broad its wavering light,
Shakes its loose tresses on the night?
Is yon red glare the western star?—
O, 'tis the beacon-blaze of war!

Scarce could she draw her tighten'd breath,
For well she knew the fire of death!

XXVI.

The Warder view'd it blazing strong,
And blew his war-note loud and long,
Till, at the high and haughty sound,
Rock, wood, and river, rung around.
The blast alarm'd the festal hall,
And startled forth the warriors all;
Far downward, in the castle-yard,
Full many a torch and cresset glared;
And helms and plumes, confusedly toss'd,
Were in the blaze half-seen, half-lost;
And spears in wild disorder shook,
Like reeds beside a frozen brook.

1 See Appendix, Note 2 R.

"As another illustration of the prodigious improvement which the style of the old romance is capable of receiving from a more liberal admixture of pathetic sentiments and gentle affections, we insert the following passage, [Stanzas xxiv. to xxvii.,] where the effect of the picture is finely assisted by the contrast of its two compartments."-JEFFREY.

XXVII.

The Seneschal, whose silver hair
Was redden'd by the torches' glare,
Stood in the midst, with gesture proud,
And issued forth his mandates loud:-
"On Penchryst glows a bale3 of fire,
And three are kindling on Priesthaughswire;
Ride out, ride out,

The foe to scout!

Mount, mount for Branksome, every man!
Thou, Todrig, warn the Johnstone clan,
That ever are true and stout-
Ye need not send to Liddesdale;
For when they see the blazing bale,
Elliots and Armstrongs never fail.-
Ride, Alton, ride, for death and life!
And warn the Warder of the strife.
Young Gilbert, let our beacon blaze,
Our kin, and clan, and friends, to raise.""

XXVIII.

Fair Margaret, from the turret head,
Heard, far below, the coursers' tread,
While loud the harness rung,
As to their seats, with clamour dread,
The ready horsemen sprung:
And trampling hoofs, and iron coats,
And leaders' voices, mingled notes,

And out! and out!

In hasty route,

The horsemen gallop'd forth; Dispersing to the south to scout,

And east, and west, and north, To view their coming enemies, And warn their vassals and allies.

XXIX.

The ready page, with hurried hand,"
Awaked the need-fire's slumbering brand,
And ruddy blush'd the heaven:
For a sheet of flame, from the turret high,
Waved like a blood-flag on the sky,

All flaring and uneven ;

And soon a score of fires, I ween,

From height, and hill, and cliff, were seen;
Each with warlike tidings fraught;
Each from each the signal caught;
Each after each they glanced to sight,
As stars arise upon the night.
They gleam'd on many a dusky tarn,9
Haunted by the lonely earn;"
On many a cairn's 10 grey pyramid,
Where urns of mighty chiefs lie hid;

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Till high Dunedin the blazes saw,

From Soltra and Dumpender Law;

And Lothian heard the Regent's order,

That all should bowne' them for the Border.

XXX.

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 yell'd within.

XXXI.

The noble Dame, amid the broil,
Shared the grey Seneschal's high toil,
And spoke of danger with a smile;

Cheer'd 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 what in time of truce he sought.

Some said, that there were thousands ten; And others ween'd that it was nought

But Leven Clans, or Tynedale men,
Who came to gather in black-mail;2
And Liddesdale, with small avail,

Might drive them lightly back agen.
So pass'd the anxious night away,
And welcome was the peep of day.

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* Protection money exacted by freebooters. 3" Nothing can excel the simple concise pathos of the close of this Canto-nor the touching picture of the Bard when, with assumed business, he tries to conceal real sorrow. How well the poet understands the art of contrast-and how judiciously it is exerted in the exordium of the next Canto, where our mourning sympathy is exchanged for the thrill of pleasure!"-ANNA SEWARD.

"What luxury of sound in this line!"-ANNA SEWARD. 5 Orig. "Since first they rolled their way to Tweed."

6 The Viscount of Dundee, slain in the battle of Killicrankie.

7" Some of the most interesting passages of the poem are

And busied himself the strings withal, To hide the tear that fain would fall. In solemn measure, soft and slow, Arose a father's notes of woe.3

The Lay of the Last Minstrel.

CANTO FOURTH.

I.

SWEET Teviot! on thy silver tide

The glaring bale-fires blaze no more; No longer steel-clad warriors ride

Along thy wild and willow'd shore ;^ Where'er thou wind'st, by dale or hill, All, all is peaceful, all is still,

As if thy waves, since Time was born, Since first they roll'd upon the Tweed, Had only heard the shepherd's reed, Nor started at the bugle-horn.

II.

Unlike the tide of human time,

Which, though it change in ceaseless flow, Retains each grief, retains each crime

Its earliest course was doom'd to know; And, darker as it downward bears, Is stain'd with past and present tears. Low as that tide has ebb'd with me, It still reflects to Memory's eye The hour my brave, my only boy,

Fell by the side of great Dundee. Why, when the volleying musket play'd Against the bloody Highland blade, Why was not I beside him laid !--Enough he died the death of fame; Enough—he died with conquering Græme.7

III.

Now over Border, dale and fell,

Full wide and far was terror spread; For pathless marsh, and mountain cell, The peasant left his lowly shed." The frighten'd flocks and herds were pent Beneath the peel's rude battlement;

those in which the author drops the business of his story to moralize, and apply to his own situation the images and reflections it has suggested. After concluding one Canto with an account of the warlike array which was prepared for the reception of the English invaders, he opens the succeeding one with the following beautiful verses, (Stanzas i. and ii.)

"There are several other detached passages of equal beauty, which might be quoted in proof of the effect which is produced by this dramatic interference of the narrator."JEFFREY.

8 See Appendix, Note 2 V.

9 No one will dissent from this, who reads, in particular, the first two and heart-glowing stanzas of Canto VI.-now, by association of the past, rendered the more affecting.-ED

And maids and matrons dropp'd the tear,
While ready warriors seized the spear.

From Branksome's towers, the watchman's eye
Dun wreaths of distant smoke can spy,
Which, curling in the rising sun,
Show'd southern ravage was begun.'

IV.

Now loud the heedful gate-ward cried"Prepare ye all for blows and blood! Watt Tinlinn, from the Liddel-side, Comes wading through the flood.3 Full oft the Tynedale snatchers knock

At his lone gate, and prove the lock; It was but last St. Barnabright

They sieged him a whole summer night,
But fled at morning; well they knew,
In vain he never twang'd the yew.
Right sharp has been the evening shower,
That drove him from his Liddel tower;
And, by my faith," the gate-ward said,
"I think 'twill prove a Warden-Raid. "4

V.

6

While thus he spoke, the bold yeoman5
Enter'd the echoing barbican.
He led a small and shaggy nag,
That through a bog, from hag to hag,
Could bound like any Billhope stag.7
It bore his wife and children twain;
A half-clothed serfs was all their train;
His wife, stout, ruddy, and dark-brow'd,
Of silver brooch and bracelet proud,9
Laugh'd to her friends among the crowd.
He was of stature passing tall,

But sparely form'd, and lean withal;

A batter'd morion on his brow;

A leather jack, as fence enow,

On his broad shoulders loosely hung;

A border axe behind was slung;

1 See Appendix, Note 2 W. 2 See Appendix, Note 2 X.
3" And when they cam to Branksome ha',
They shouted a' baith loud and hie,
Till up and spak him auld Buccleuch,
Said-' Whae's this brings the fraye to me?'-
It's I, Jamie Telfer, o' the fair Dodhead,
And a harried man I think I be,'" &c.
Border Minstrelsy, vol. ii. p. 8.

4 An inroad commanded by the Warden in person.

5 "The dawn displays the smoke of ravaged fields, and shepherds, with their flocks, flying before the storm. Tidings brought by a tenant of the family, not used to seek a shelter on light occasions of alarm, disclose the strength and object of the invaders. This man is a character of a lower and of a rougher cast than Deloraine. The portrait of the rude retainer is sketched with the same masterly hand. Here, again, Mr. Scott has trod in the footsteps of the old romancers, who confine not themselves to the display of a few personages who stalk over the stage on stately stilts, but usually reflect all the varieties of character that marked the era to which they belong. The interesting example of manners thus preserved to us is not the only advantage which results from this peculiar

His spear, six Scottish ells in length,
Seem'd newly dyed with gore;
His shafts and bow, of wondrous strength,
His hardy partner bore.

VI.

Thus to the Ladye did Tinlinn show
The tidings of the English foe:-
"Belted Will Howard 10 is marching here,
And hot Lord Dacre," with many a spear,
And all the German hackbut-men,"
Who have long lain at Askerten:
They cross'd the Liddel at curfew hour,
And burn'd my little lonely tower:
The fiend receive their souls therefor!
It had not been burnt this year and more.
Barn-yard and dwelling, blazing bright,
Served to guide me on my flight;

But I was chased the livelong night.

Black John of Akeshaw, and Fergus Græme, Fast upon my traces came,

Until I turn'd at Priesthaugh Scrogg,

And shot their horses in the bog,

Slew Fergus with my lance outright—

I had him long at high despite :
He drove my cows last Fastern's night.

VII.

Now weary scouts from Liddesdale,
Fast hurrying in, confirm'd the tale;
As far as they could judge by ken,
Three hours would bring to Teviot's strand
Three thousand armed Englishmen—-
Meanwhile, full many a warlike band,

From Teviot, Aill, and Ettrick shade,
Came in, their Chief's defence to aid.
There was saddling and mounting in haste,
There was pricking o'er moor and lea;
He that was last at the trysting-place

Was but lightly held of his gaye ladye.13

structure of their plan. It is this, amongst other circumstances, which enables them to carry us along with them, under I know not what species of fascination, and to make us, as it were, credulous spectators of their most extravagant scenes. In this they seem to resemble the painter, who, in the delineation of a battle, while he places the adverse heroes of the day combating in the front, takes care to fill his background with subordinate figures, whose appearance adds at once both spirit and an air of probability to the scene."Critical Review, 1805.

6 The broken ground in a bog.

7 See Appendix, Note 2 Y. 8 Bondsman.

9 As the Borderers were indifferent about the furniture of their habitations, so much exposed to be burned and plur dered, they were proportionally anxious to display splendour in decorating and ornamenting their females.-See LESLEY

de Moribus Limitaneorum.

10 See Appendix, Note 2 Z. 11 See Appendix, Note 3 A. 12 Musketeers. See Appendix, Note 3 B.

13 The four last lines of stanza vii. are not in the 1st Edition -ED.

VIII.

From fair St. Mary's silver wave,

From dreary Gamescleugh's dusky height,
His ready lances Thirlestane brave
Array'd beneath a banner bright.

The tressured fleur-de-luce he claims,
To wreathe his shield, since royal James,
Encamp'd by Fala's mossy wave,
The proud distinction grateful gave,
For faith 'mid feudal jars;
What time, save Thirlestane alone,
Of Scotland's stubborn barons none
Would march to southern wars;
And hence, in fair remembrance worn,
Yon sheaf of spears his crest has borne;
Hence his high motto shines reveal'd-
"Ready, aye ready," for the field.1

IX.

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An aged Knight, to danger steel'd,
With many a moss-trooper, came on:
And azure in a golden field,

The stars and crescent graced his shield,
Without the bend of Murdieston.2
Wide lay his lands round Oakwood tower,
And wide round haunted Castle-Ower;
High over Borthwick's mountain flood,
His wood-embosom'd mansion stood;
In the dark glen, so deep below,
The herds of plunder'd England low;
His bold retainers' daily food,

And bought with danger, blows, and blood.
Marauding chief! his sole delight
The moonlight raid, the morning fight;
Not even the Flower of Yarrow's charms,
In youth, might tame his rage for arms;
And still, in age, he spurn'd at rest,
And still his brows the helmet press'd,
Albeit the blanched locks below
Were white as Dinlay's spotless snow;
Five stately warriors drew the sword
Before their father's band;

A braver knight than Harden's lord
Ne'er belted on a brand.3

X.4

Scotts of Eskdale, a stalwart band,"

Came trooping down the Todshawhill; By the sword they won their land,

And by the sword they hold it still. Hearken, Ladye, to the tale, How thy sires won fair Eskdale.Earl Morton was lord of that valley fair, The Beattisons were his vassals there.

1 See Appendix, Note 3 C. 2 See Appendix, Note 3 D.

3 See, besides the note on this stanza, one in the Border Minstrelsy, vol. ii. p. 10, respecting Wat of Harden, the Author's ancestor.

A satirical piece, entitled "The Town Eclogue," which made much noise in Edinburgh shortly after the appearance of the Minstrelsy, has these lines :

The Earl was gentle, and mild of mood,

The vassals were warlike, and fierce, and rude;
High of heart, and haughty of word,
Little they reck'd of a tame liege lord.
The Earl into fair Eskdale came,

Homage and seignory to claim:

Of Gilbert the Galliard a heriot he sought, Saying, "Give thy best steed, as a vassal ought.” "Dear to me is my bonny white steed,

Oft has he help'd me at pinch of need;
Lord and Earl though thou be, I trow,
I can rein Bucksfoot better than thou."-
Word on word gave fuel to fire,
Till so highly blazed the Beattison's ire,
But that the Earl the flight had ta'en,
The vassals there their lord had slain.
Sore he plied both whip and spur,

As he urged his steed through Eskdale muir;
And it fell down a weary weight,

Just on the threshold of Branksome gate.

XI.

The Earl was a wrathful man to see,
Full fain avenged would he be.
In haste to Branksome's Lord he spoke,
Saying "Take these traitors to thy yoke;
For a cast of hawks, and a purse of gold,
All Eskdale I'll sell thee, to have and hold:
Beshrew thy heart, of the Beattisons' clan
If thou leavest on Eske a landed man;
But spare Woodkerrick's lands alone,
For he lent me his horse to escape upon."
A glad man then was Branksome bold,
Down he flung him the purse of gold;
To Eskdale soon he spurr'd amain,
And with him five hundred riders has ta'en.
He left his merrymen in the mist of the hill,
And bade them hold them close and still;
And alone he wended to the plain,
To meet with the Galliard and all his train.
To Gilbert the Galliard thus he said:--
"Know thou me for thy liege-lord and head
Deal not with me as with Morton tame,
For Scotts play best at the roughest game.
Give me in peace my heriot due,

Thy bonny white steed, or thou shalt rue.

If my horn I three times wind,

Eskdale shall long have the sound in mind."

XII.

Loudly the Beattison laugh'd in scorn; "Little care we for thy winded horn. Ne'er shall it be the Galliard's lot,

To yield his steed to a haughty Scott.

"A modern author spends a hundred leaves, To prove his ancestors notorious thieves. '-ED.

4 Stanzas x. xi. xii. were not in the first Edition. See Appendix, Note 3 E.

6 The feudal superior, in certain cases, was entitled to the best horse of the vassal, in name of Heriot, or Herczeld.

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