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Of all his guilt let him be shriven,
Yet not Lord Cranstoun deign'd she greet,
-For Howard was a generous foe-
The Ladye would the feud forego, And deign to bless the nuptial hour Of Cranstoun's Lord and Teviot's Flower.
As through the lists he ran;
He raised the dying man ;
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.
Thought on the Spirit's prophecy,
“ 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 :-
This clasp of love our bond shall be;
To grace it with their company."
The silent victor stands;
Of gratulating hands.
Among the Scottish bands;
As dizzy, and in pain;
Knew William of Deloraine !
“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.
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 armor 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 join'd 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.
XXV. 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;
XXVIII. William of Deloraine, some chance Had waken'd from his deathlike trance;
i Orig.-" Unheard he prays ;-'tis o'er! 'tis o'er!"
I'd give the lands of Deloraine,
And taught that, in the listed plain,
Under the name of Deloraine.
Not much this new ally he loved,
He greeted him right heartilie:
Though rude, and scant of courtesy;
When on dead Musgrave he look'd down; Grief darkend on his rugged brow,
Though half disguised with a frown; And thus, while sorrow bent his head, His foeman's epitaph he made.
XXX. So mourn'd he, till Lord Dacre's band Were bowning back to Cumberland. They raised brave Musgrave from the field, And laid him on his bloody shield; On levellid lances, four and four, By turns, the noble burden bore. Before, at times, upon the gale, Was heard the Minstrels plaintive wail ; Behind, four priests, in sable stole, Sung requiem for the warrior's soul: Around, the horsemen slowly rode; With trailing pikes the spearmen trode; And thus the gallant knight they bore, Through Liddesdale to Leven's shore; Thence to Holme Coltrame's lofty nave, And laid him in his father's grave.
The harp's wild notes, though hush'd the song,
XXIX. “Now, Richard Musgrave, liest thou here !
I ween, my deadly enemy: For, if I slew thy brother dear,
Thou slew'st a sister's son to me And when I lay in dungeon dark,
Of Naworth Castle, long months three, Till ransom'd for a thousand mark,
Dark Musgrave, it was long of thee. And, Musgrave, could our fight be tried,
And thou were now alive, as I, No mortal man should us divide,
Till one, or both of us did die: Yet rest thee God! for well I know I ne'er shall find a nobler foe. In all the northern counties here, Whose word is Snaffle, spur, and spear, Thou wert the best to follow gear ! 'Twas pleasure, as we look'd behind, To see how thou the chase couldst wind, Cheer the dark blood-hound on his way, And with the bugle rouse the fray !
After due pause, they bade him tell, Why he, who touch'd the harp so well, Should thus, with ill-rewarded toil, Wander a poor and thankless soil, When the more generous Southern Land Would well requite his skilful hand.
The Aged Harper, howsoe'er His only friend, his harp, was dear, Liked not to hear it rank'd so high Above his flowing poesy : Less liked he still, that scornful jeer Misprised the land he loved so dear; High was the sound, as thus again The Bard resumed his minstrel strain.
1 The spectral apparition of a living person.
Poly-Albion, Song 13. 3 See Appendix, Note 3 W. * * The style of the old romancers has been very success
fully imitated in the whole of this scene; and the speech of Deloraine, who, roused from his bed of sickness rushes into the lists, and apostrophizes his fallen enemy, brought to our recollection, as well from the peculiar turn of expression in its commencement, as in the tone of sentiments which it conveys, some of the funebres orationes of the Mort Arthur."Critical Review.
The Lay of the Last Minstrel.
Of late, before each martial clan,
I. BREATHES there the man with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said,
This is my own, my native land ! Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd, As home his foosteps he hath turn'd, From wandering on a foreign strand ! If such there breathe, go, mark him well; For him no Minstrel raptures swell; High though his titles, proud his name, Boundless his wealth as wish can claim; Despite those titles, power, and pelf, The wretch, concentred all in self, Living, shall forfeit fair renown, And, doubly dying, shall go down To the vile dust, from whence he sprung, Unwept, unhonor'd, and unsung.
The splendor of the spousal rite,
Both maid and matron, squire and knight; 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; That lovely hue which comes and flies, As awe and shame alternate rise !
II. O Caledonial 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, Seems as, to me, of an bereft, Sole friends thy woods and streams were 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, Though there, forgotten and alone, The Bard may draw his parting groan.
The Ladye by the altar stood,
And on her head a crimson hood,
VI. 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 haste 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 crane,
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. 1" The Lady of the Lake has nothing so good as the address to Scotland.”—MCINTOSH.
* The preceding four lines now form the inscription on the monument of Sir Walter Scott in the market-place of Selkirk.-See Life, vol. x. p. 257.
3 The line “ Still lay my head,"' &c., was not in the first edition.- Ep.
+ See Appendix, Note 3 X. & Ibid. Note 3 Y.
Gone was his brand, both sword and sheath;
And princely peacock's gilded train,"
VIII. The dwarf, who fear'd his master's eye Might his foul treachery espie, Now sought the castle buttery, Where many a yeoman, bold and free, Revell’d as merrily and well As those that sat in lordly selle. Watt Tinlinn, there, did frankly raise The pledge to Arthur Fire-the-Braes ;* And he, as by his breeding bound, To Howard's merry-men sent it round. To quit them, on the English side, Red Roland Forster loudly cried, “A deep carouse to yon fair bride !" At every pledge, from vat and pail, Foam'd forth in floods the nut-brown ale; While shout the riders every one: Such day of mirth ne'er cheer'd their clan, Since old Buccleuch the name did gain, When in the cleuch the buck was ta'en.
VII. The Goblin Page, omitting still No opportunity of ill, Strove now, while blood ran hot and high, To rouse debate and jealousy ; Till Conrad, Lord of Wolfenstein, By nature fierce, and warm with wine, And now in humor highly cross'd, About some steeds his band had lost, High words to words succeeding still, Smote, with his gauntlet, stout Hunthill ; 9 A hot and hardy Rutherford, Whom men call Dickon Draw-the-sword. He took it on the page's saye, Hunthill had driven these steeds away. Then Howard, Home, and Douglas rose, The kindling discord to compose : Stern Rutherford right little said, But bit his glove, and shook his head. A fortnight thence, in Inglewood, Stout Conrade, cold, and drench'd in blood, His bosom gored with many a wound, Was by a woodman's lyme-dog found; Unknown the manner of his death,
Remember'd him of Tinlinn's yew,
That ever he the arrow drew. First, he the yeoman did molest, With bitter gibe and taunting jest; Told, how he fled at Solway strife, And how Hob Armstrong cheer'd his wife; Then, shunning still his powerful arm, At unawares he wrought him harm; From trencher stole his cho est cheer, Dash'd from his lips his can of beer; Then, to his knee sly creeping on, With bodkin pierced him to the bone: The venom'd wound, and festering joint, Long after rued that bodkin's point. The startled yeoman swore and spurn'd, And board and flagons overturn'd." Riot and clamor wild began; Back to the hall the Urchin ran;
1 See Appendix, Note 3 Z.
9 There are often flights of wild swans upon St. Mary's Lake, at the head of the river Yarrow. See Wordsworth's Yarrow Visited.
“ The swan on stíll St. Mary's Lake
Floats double, swan and shadow."-ED. ? See Appendix, Note 4 A. 4 Ibid. Note 4 B.
5 The person bearing this redoutable nom de guerre was an Elliot, and resided at Thorleshope, in Liddesdale. He occurs in the list of Border riders, in 1597.
See Appendix, Note 4 C.
the chapel, and the description of the subsequent feast, in
Took in a darkling nook his post,
And died for her sake in Palestine,
So Love was still the lord of all.
Now all ye lovers, that faithful prove,
(The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall) Pray for their souls who died for love,
For Love shall still be lord of all !
By this, the Dame, lest farther fray
Arose a bard of loftier port;
Renown'd in haughty Henry's court:
Who has not heard of Surrey's fame?
And his the bard's immortal name,
It was an English ladye bright,
(The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,)' And she would marry a Scottish knight,
For Love will still be lord of all.
Blithely they saw the rising sun,
When he shone fair on Carlisle wall; But they were sad ere day was done,
Though Love was still the lord of all.
And oft, within some olive grove,
They sung of Surrey's absent love. His step the Italian peasant stay'd,
And deem'd, that spirits from on high, Round where some hermit saint was laid,
Were breathing heavenly melody; So sweet did harp and voice combine, To praise the name of Geraldine.
Her sire gave brooch and jewel fine,
When the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall; Her brother gave but a flask of wine,
For ire that Love was lord of all.
For she had lands, both meadow and lea,
Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall, And he swore her death, ere he would see
A Scottish knight the lord of all !
(The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,) When dead, in her true love's arms, she fell,
For Love was still the lord of all !
The pangs thy faithful bosom knew,
Ungrateful Tudor's sentence slew ? Regardless of the tyrant's frown, His harp call'd wrath and vengeance down. He left, for Naworth's iron towers, Windsor's green glades, and courtly bowers, And faithful to his patron's name, With Howard still Fitztraver came; Lord William's foremost favorite he, And chief of all his minstrelsy.
He pierced her brother to the heart,
Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall; So perish all would true love part,
That Love may still be lord of all!
FITZTRAVER. 'Twas All-soul's eve, and Surrey's heart beat
And then he took the cross divine,
(Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,) 1 See Appendix, Note 4 D.
9" It is the author's object, in these songs, to exemplify the different styles of ballad narrative which prevailed in this island at different periods, or in different conditions of society. The first (ALBERT's) is conducted upon the rude and simple model of the old Border ditties, and produces its effect by the
He heard the midnight bell with anxious start, direct and concise narrative of a tragical occurrence."-JerFREY
8 See Appendix, Note 4 E. 4 Ibid. Note 4 F. * First Edit.-"So sweet their harp and voices join." 8“ The second song, that of Fitztraver, the bard of the ao