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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=519704" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Lay of the Last Minstrel: Canto IV.</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I<br>Sweet Teviot! on thy silver tide <br>The glaring bale-fires blaze no more; <br>No longer steel-clad warrior ride <br>Along thy wild and willow'd shore <br>Where'er thou wind'st, by dale or hill <br>All, all is peaceful, all is still, <br>As if thy waves, since Time was born <br>Since first they roll'd upon the Tweed, <br>Had only heard the shepherd's reed, <br>Nor started at the bugle-horn. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">II <br>Unlike the tide of human time, <br>Which, though it change in ceaseless flow <br>Retains each grief, retains each crime <br>Its earliest course was doom'd to know; <br>And, darker as it downward bears, <br>Is stain'd with past and present tears <br>Low as that tide has ebb'd with me, <br>It still reflects to Memory's eye <br>The hour my brave, my only boy <br>Fell by the side of great Dundee. <br>Why, when the volleying musket play'd <br>Against the bloody Highland blade, <br>Why was not I beside him laid! <br>Enough, he died the death of fame; <br>Enough, he died with conquering Graeme. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">III <br>Now over Border dale and fell <br>Full wide and far was terror spread; <br>For pathless marsh, and mountain cell, <br>The peasant left his lowly shed. <br>The frighten'd flocks and herds were pent <br>Beneath the peel's rude battlement; <br>And maids and matrons dropp'd the tear, <br>While ready warriors seiz'd the spear. <br>From Branksome's towers, the watchman's eye <br>Dun wreaths of distant smoke can spy, <br>Which, curling in the rising sun, <br>Show'd southern ravage was begun. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">IV <br>Now loud the heedful gate-ward cried- <br>'Prepare ye all for blows and blood! <br>Watt Tinlinn, from the Liddel-side <br>Comes wading through the flood. <br>Full oft the Tynedale snatchers knock <br>At his lone gate, and prove the lock; <br>It was but last St. Barnabright <br>They sieg'd him a whole summer night, <br>But fled at morning; well they knew <br>In vain he never twang'd the yew. <br>Right sharp has been the evening shower <br>That drove him from his Liddel tower; <br>And, by my faith,' the gate-ward said, <br>'I think 'twill prove a Warden-Raid.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">V <br>While thus he spoke, the bold yeoman <br>Enter'd the echoing barbican. <br>He led a small and shaggy nag, <br>That through a bog, from hag to hag, <br>Could bound like any Billhope stag. <br>It bore his wife and children twain; <br>A half-clothed serf was all their train; <br>His wife, stout, ruddy, and dark-brow'd, <br>Of silver brooch and bracelet proud, <br>Laugh'd to her friends among the crowd. <br>He was of stature passing tall, <br>But sparely form'd, and lean withal <br>A batter'd morion on his brow; <br>A leather jack, as fence enow <br>On his broad shoulders loosely hung; <br>A border axe behind was slung; <br>His spear, six Scottish ells in length, <br>Seem'd newly dyed with gore <br>His shafts and bow, of wondrous strength, <br>His hardy partner bore. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">VI <br>Thus to the Ladye did Tinlinn show <br>The tidings of the English foe: <br>'Belted Will Howard is marching here, <br>And hot Lord Dacre, with many a spear, <br>And all the German hackbut men,<br>Who have long lain at Askerten: <br>They cross'd the Liddel at curfew hour, <br>And burn'd my little lonely tower: <br>The fiend receive their souls therefore! <br>It had not been burnt this year and more. <br>Barn-yard and dwelling, blazing bright, <br>Serv'd to guide me on my flight; <br>But I was chas'd the livelong night. <br>Black John of Akeshaw and Fergus Graeme <br>Fast upon my traces came, <br>Until I turn'd at Priesthaugh Scrogg, <br>And shot their horses in the bog, <br>Slew Fergus with my lance outright <br>I had him long at high despite- <br>He drove my cows last Fastern's night.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">VII <br>Now weary scouts from Liddesdale, <br>Fast hurrying in, confirm'd the tale; <br>As far as they could judge by ken, <br>Three hours would bring to Teviot's strand <br>Three thousand armed Englishmen; <br>Meanwhile, full many a warlike band, <br>From Teviot, Aill, and Ettrick shade, <br>Came in, their Chief's defence to aid. <br>There was saddling and mounting in haste, <br>There was pricking o'er moor and lea; <br>He that was last at the trysting-place <br>Was but lightly held of his gay ladye. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">VIII <br>From fair St. Mary's silver wave, <br>From dreary Gamescleugh's dusky height, <br>His ready lances Thirlestane brave <br>Array'd beneath a banner bright. <br>The treasured fleur-de-luce he claims <br>To wreathe his shield, since royal James, <br>Encamp'd by Fala's mossy wave, <br>The proud distinction grateful gave, <br>For faith 'mid feudal jars; <br>What time, save Thirlestane alone, <br>Of Scotland's stubborn barons none <br>Would march to southern wars; <br>And hence, in fair remembrance worn, <br>Yon sheaf of spears his crest has borne <br>Hence his high motto shines reveal'd - <br>' Ready, aye ready' for the field. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">IX <br>An aged Knight, to danger steel'd, <br>With manyaa moss-trooper came on; <br>And azure in a golden field, <br>The stars and crescent graced his shield, <br>Without the bend of Murdieston. <br>Wide lay his lands round Oakwood tower <br>And wide round haunted Castle-Ower; <br>High over Borthwick's mountain flood <br>His wood-embosom'd mansion stood; <br>In the dark glen, so deep below, <br>The herds of plunder'd England low - <br>His bold retainers' daily food, <br>And bought with danger, blows, and blood. <br>Marauding chief! his sole delight <br>The moonlight raid, the morning fight; <br>Not even the Flower of Yarrow's charms, <br>In youth, might tame his rage for arms <br>And still, in age, he spurn'd at rest, <br>And still his brows the helmet press'd, <br>Albeit the blanched locks below <br>Were white as Dinlay's spotless snow; <br>Five stately warriors drew the sword <br>Before their father's band; <br>A braver knight than Harden's lord <br>Ne'er belted on a brand. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">X <br>Scotts of Eskdale, a stalwart band, <br>Came trooping down the Todshaw-hill; <br>By the sword they won their land, <br>And by the sword they hold it still. <br>Hearken, Ladye, to the tale, <br>How thy sires won fair Eskdale. <br>Earl Morton was lord of that valley fair; <br>The Beattisons were his vassals there. <br>The Earl was gentle, and mild of mood; <br>The vassals vere warlike, and fierce, and rude; <br>High of heart, and haughty of word, <br>Little they reck'd of a tame liege lord. <br>The Earl into fair Eskdale came, <br>Homage and seignory to claim: <br>Of Gilbert the Galliard a heriot he sought, <br>Saying, 'Give thy best steed, as a vassal ought.' <br>'Dear to me is my bonny white steed, <br>Oft has he help d me at pinch of need; <br>Lord and Earl though thou be, I trow <br>I can rein Bucksfoot better than thou.' <br>Word on word gave fuel to fire, <br>Till so highly blazed the Beattison's ire, <br>But that the Earl the flight had ta'en, <br>The vassals there their lord had slain. <br>Sore he plied both whip and spur, <br>As he urged his steed through Eskdale muir; <br>And it fell down a weary weight, <br>Just on the threshold of Branksome gate. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">XI <br>The Earl was a wrathful man to see, <br>Full fain avenged would he be. <br>In haste to Branksome's Lord he spoke, <br>Saying-'Take these traitors to thy yoke; <br>For a cast of hawks, and a purse of gold, <br>All Eskdale I'll sell thee, to have and hold: <br>Beshrew thy heart, of the Beattisons' clan <br>If thou leavest on Eske a landed man; <br>But spare Woodkerrick's lands alone, <br>For he lent me his horse to escape upon.' <br>A glad man then was Branksome bold, <br>Down he flung him the purse of gold; <br>To Eskdale soon he spurr'd amain, <br>And with him five hundred riders has ta'en <br>He left his merrymen in the mist of the hill <br>And bade them hold them close and still; <br>And alone he wended to the plain, <br>To meet with the Galliard and all his train. <br>To Gilbert the Galliard thus he said <br>'Know thou me for thy liege-lord and head; <br>Deal not with me as with Morton tame, <br>For Scotts play best at the roughest game. <br>Give me in peace my heriot due, <br>Thy bonny white steed, or thou shalt rue. <br>If my horn I three times wind, <br>Eskdale shall long have the sound in mind.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">XII <br>Loudly the Beattison laugh'd in scorn; <br>'Little care we for thy winded horn. <br>Ne'er shall it be the Galliard's lot <br>To yield his steed to a haughty Scott. <br>Wend thou to Branksome back on foot <br>With rusty spur and miry boot.' <br>He blew his bugle so loud and hoarse <br>That the dun deer started at fair Craikcross; <br>He blew again so loud and clear, <br>Through the grey mountain-mist there did lances appear; <br>And the third blast rang with such a din <br>That the echoes answer'd from Pentoun-linn <br>And all his riders came lightly in. <br>Then had you seen a gallant shock <br>When saddles were emptied and lances broke! <br>For each scornful word the Galliard had said <br>A Beattison on the field was laid. <br>His own good sword the chieftain drew, <br>And he bore the Galliard through and through; <br>Where the Beattisons' blood mix'dwith the rill, <br>The Galliard's-Haugh men call it still, <br>The Scotts have scatter'd the Beattison clan <br>In Eskdale they left but one landed man <br>The valley of Eske, from the mouth to the source <br>Was lost and won for that bonny white horse. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">XIII <br>Whitslade the Hawk, and Headshaw came <br>And warriors more than I may name; <br>From Yarrow-cleugh to Hindhaugh-swair, <br>From Woodhouselie to Chesterglen, <br>Troop'd man and horse, and bow and spear; <br>Their gathering word was Bellenden.<br>And better hearts o'er Border sod <br>To siege or rescue never rode. <br>The Ladye mark'd the aids come in, <br>And high her heart of pride arose: <br>She bade her youthful son attend, <br>That he might know his father's friend, <br>And learn to face his foes. <br>'The boy is ripe to look on war; <br>I saw him draw a cross-bow stiff, <br>And his true arrow struck afar <br>The raven s nest upon the cliff; <br>The red cross on a southern breast <br>Is broader than the raven s nest: <br>Thou, Whitslade, shalt teach him his weapon to wield, <br>And o'er him hold his father's shield.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">XIV <br>Well may you think the wily page <br>Car'd not to face the Ladye sage. <br>He counterfeited childish fear <br>And shriekd, and shed full many tear, <br>And moan'd and plain'd in manner wild. <br>The attendants to the Ladye told <br>Some fairy, sure, had chang'd the child, <br>That wont to be so free and bold. <br>Then wrathful was the noble dame; <br>She blush'd blood-red for very shame: <br>'Hence! ere the clan his faintness view; <br>Hence with the weakling to Buccleuch! <br>Watt Tinlinn, thou shalt be his guide <br>To Rangleburn s lonely side. <br>Sure some fell fiend has cursed our line <br>That coward should e'er be son of mine!' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">XV <br>A heavy task Watt Tinlinn had, <br>To guide the counterfeited lad. <br>Soon as the palfrey felt the wight <br>Of that ill-omen'd elfish freight, <br>He bolted, sprung, and rear'd amain, <br>Nor heeded bit nor curb, nor rein. <br>It cost Watt Tinlinn mickle toil <br>To drive him but a Scottish mile; <br>But as a shallow brook they cross'd, <br>The elf, amid the running stream, <br>His figure chang'd, like form in dream, <br>And fled, and shouted, 'Lost! lost! lost!' <br>Full fast the urchin ran and laugh'd, <br>But faster still a cloth-yard shaft <br>Whistled from startled Tinlinn's yew <br>And pierc'd his shoulder through and through. <br>Although the imp might not be slain, <br>And though the wound soon heal'd again <br>Yet, as he ran, he yell'd for pain; <br>And Wat of Tinlinn, much aghast, <br>Rode back to Branksome fiery fast. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">XVI <br>Soon on the hill's steep verge he stood, <br>That looks o'er Branksome's towers and wood; <br>And martial murmurs, from below, <br>Proclaim'd the approaching southern foe. <br>Through the dark wood, in mingled tone, <br>Were Border pipes and bugles blown; <br>The coursers' neighing he could ken, <br>A measured tread of marching men; <br>While broke at times the solemn hum <br>The Almayn's sullen kettle-drum; <br>And banners tall of crimson sheen <br>Above the copse appear; <br>And, glistening through the hawthorns green, <br>Shine helm, and shield, and spear. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">XVII <br>Light forayers, first, to view the ground, <br>Spurr'd their fleet coursers loosely round; <br>Behind, in close array, and fast, <br>The Kendal archers, all in green, <br>Obedient to the bugle blast, <br>Advancing from the wood were seen. <br>To back and guard the archer band, <br>Lord Dacre's bill-men were at hand: <br>A hardy race on Irthing bred, <br>With kirtles white, and crosses red, <br>Array'd beneath the banner tall, <br>That stream'd o'er Acre's conquer'd wall; <br>And minstrels, as they march'd in order, <br>Play'd 'Noble Lord Dacre, he dwells on the Border.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">XVIII <br>Behind the English bill and bow, <br>The mercenaries, firm and slow, <br>Moved on to fight, in dark array, <br>By Conrad led of Wolfenstein, <br>Who brought the band from distant Rhine, <br>And sold their blood for foreign pay. <br>The camp their home, their law the sword, <br>They knew no country, own'd no lord : <br>They were not arm'd like England's sons, <br>But bore the levin-darting guns; <br>Buff coats, all frounc'd and 'broider'd o'er, <br>And morsing-horns and scarfs they wore; <br>Each better knee was bared, to aid <br>The warriors in the escalade; <br>All as they march'd, in rugged tongue, <br>Songs of Teutonic feuds they sung. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">XIX <br>But louder still the clamour grew, <br>And louder still the minstrels blew, <br>When fom beneath the greenwood tree, <br>Rode forth Lord Howard's chivalry; <br>His men-at-arms, with glaive and spear, <br>Brought up the battle's glittenng rear. <br>There many a youthful knight, full keen <br>To gain his spurs, in arms was seen; <br>With favor in his crest, or glove, <br>Memorial of his ladye-love. <br>So rode they forth in fair array, <br>Till full their lengthen'd lines display; <br>Then call'd a halt, and made a stand, <br>And cried 'St. George for merry England!' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">XX <br>Now every English eye intent <br>On Branksome's armed towers was bent; <br>So near they were, that they might know <br>The straining harsh of each cross-bow; <br>On battlement and bartizan <br>Gleam'd axe, and spear, and partisan; <br>Falcon and culver, on each tower, <br>Stood prompt their deadly hail to shower; <br>And flashing armor frequent broke <br>From eddying whirls of sable smoke, <br>Where upon tower and turret-head, <br>The seething pitch and molten lead <br>Reek'd, like a witch's caldron red. <br>While yet they gaze, the bridges fall, <br>The wicket opes, and from the wall <br>Rides forth the hoary Seneschal. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXI <br>Armed he rode, all save the head, <br>His white beard o'er his breast-plate spread; <br>Unbroke by age, erect his seat, <br>He rul'd his eager courser's gait; <br>Forc'd him, with chasten'd fire to prance, <br>And, high curvetting, slow advance; <br>In sign of truce, his better hand <br>Display'd a peeled willow wand; <br>His squire, attending in the rear, <br>Bore high a gauntlet on a spear. <br>When they espied him riding out, <br>Lord Howard and Lord Dacre stout <br>Sped to the front of their array, <br>To hear what this old knight should say. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXII <br>'Ye English warden lords, of you <br>Demands the Ladye of Buccleuch <br>Why, 'gainst the truce of Border tide, <br>In hostile guise ye dare to ride, <br>With Kendal bow, and Gilsland brand, <br>And all yon mercenary band, <br>Upon the bounds of fair Scotland? <br>My Ladye redes you swith return; <br>And, if but one poor straw you burn <br>Or do our towers so much molest <br>As scare one swallow from her nest, <br>St. Mary! but we'll light a brand <br>Shall warm your hearths in Cumberland.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXIII <br>A wrathful man was Dacre's lord, <br>But calmer Howard took the word: <br>'May 't please thy Dame, Sir Seneschal, <br>To seek the castle's outward wall, <br>Our pursuivant-at-arms shall show <br>Both why we came, and when we go.' <br>The message sped, the noble Dame <br>To the wall's outward circle came; <br>Each chief around lean'd on his spear <br>To see the pursuivant appear. <br>All in Lord Howard's livery dress'd, <br>The lion argent deck-d his breast; <br>He led a boy of blooming hue- <br>O sight to meet a mother's view! <br>It was the heir of great Buccleuch <br>Obeisance meet the herald made, <br>And thus his master's will he said: </div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXIV <br>'It irks, high Dame, my noble Lords, <br>'Gainst ladye fair to draw their swords; <br>But yet they may not tamely see, <br>All through the Western Wardenry, <br>Your law-contemning kinsmen ride, <br>And burn and spoil the Border-side; <br>And ill beseems your rank and birth <br>To make your towers a flemens-firth <br>We claim from thee William of Deloraine <br>That he may suffer march-treason pain. <br>It was but last St. Cuthbert's even <br>He bunny'd to Stapleton on Leven, <br>Harried the lands of Richard Musgrave, <br>And slew his brother by dint of glaive. <br>Then, since a lone and widow'd Dame <br>These restless riders may not tame, <br>Either receive within thy towers <br>Two hundred of my master's powers, <br>Or straight they sound their warrison, <br>And storm and spoil thy garrison: <br>And this fair boy, to London led, <br>Shall good King Edward's page be bred.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXV <br>He ceased-and loud the boy did cry, <br>And stretch'd his little arms on high; <br>Implor'd for aid each well-known face, <br>And strove to seek the Dame's embrace. <br>A moment chang'd that Ladye's cheer, <br>Gush'd to her eye the unbidden tear; <br>She gaz'd upon the leaders round, <br>And dark and sad each warrior frown'd; <br>Then, deep within her sobbing breast <br>She lock'd the struggling sigh to rest; <br>Unalter'd and collected stood, <br>And thus replied in dauntless mood: </div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXVI <br>'Say to your Lords of high emprize, <br>Who war on women and on boys, <br>That either William of Deloraine <br>Will cleanse him by oath of march-treason stain <br>Or else he will the combat take <br>'Gainst Musgrave, for his honor's sake. <br>No knight in Cumberland so good, <br>But William may count with him kin and blood. <br>Knighthood he took of Douglas' sword,<br>When English blood swell'd Ancram's ford; <br>And but Lord Dacre's steed was wight, <br>And bare him ably in the flight, <br>Himself had seen him dubb'd a knight. <br>For the young heir of Branksome's line, <br>God be his aid, and God be mine; <br>Through me no friend shall meet his doom; <br>Here, while I live, no foe finds room. <br>Then, if thy Lords their purpose urge <br>Take our defiance loud and high; <br>Our slogan is their lyke-wake dirge, <br>Our moat the grave where they shall lie.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXVII <br>Proud she look'd round, applause to claim- <br>Then lighten'd Thirlestane's eye of flame <br>His bugle Wat of Harden blew; <br>Pensils and pennons wide were flung, <br>To heaven the Border slogan rung, <br>'St. Mary for the young Buccleuch!' <br>The English war-cry answer'd wide, <br>And forward bent each southern spear; <br>Each Kendal archer made a stride, <br>And drew the bowstring to his ear; <br>Each minstrel's war-note loud was blown; <br>But, ere a grey-goose shaft had flown <br>A horseman gallop'd from the rear. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXVIII <br>'Ah! noble Lords!' he breathless said, <br>'What treason has your march betray'd ? <br>What make you here, from aid so far, <br>Before you walls, around you war? <br>Your foemen triumph in the thought <br>That in the toils the lion's caught. <br>Already on dark Ruberslaw <br>The Douglas holds his weapon-schaw; <br>The lances, waving in his train, <br>Clothe the dun heath like autumn grain; <br>And on the Liddel's northern strand, <br>To bar retreat to Cumberland, <br>Lord Maxwell ranks his merry-men good, <br>Beneath the eagle and the rood; <br>And Jedwood, Eske, and Teviotdale, <br>Have to proud Angus come; <br>And all the Merse and Lauderdale <br>Have risen with haughty Home. <br>An exile from Northumberland, <br>In Liddesdale I've wander'd long; <br>But still my heart was with merry England, <br>And cannot brook my country's wrong; <br>And hard I've spurr'd all night, to show <br>The mustering of the coming foe.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXIX <br>'And let them come!' fierce Dacre cried; <br>'For soon yon crest, my father's pride, <br>That swept the shores of Judah's sea, <br>And wav'd in gales of Galilee, <br>From Branksome's highest towers display'd, <br>Shall mock the rescue's lingering aid!- <br>Level each harquebuss on row; <br>Draw, merry archers, draw the bow; <br>Up, bill-men, to the walls, and cry, <br>Dacre for England, win or die!' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXX <br>'Yet hear,' quoth Howard, 'calmly hear <br>Nor deem my words the words of fear: <br>For who, in field or foray slack, <br>Saw the blanche lion e'er fall back?<br>But thus to risk our Border flower <br>In strife against a kingdom's power, <br>Ten thousand Scots 'gainst thousands three, <br>Certes, were desperate policy. <br>Nay, take the terms the Ladye made, <br>Ere conscious of the advancing aid: <br>Let Musgrave meet fierce Deloraine <br>In single fight, and, if he gain, <br>He gains for us; but if he's cross'd, <br>'Tis but a single warrior lost: <br>The rest retreating as they came, <br>Avoid defeat, and death, and shame.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXXI <br>Ill could the haughty Dacre brook <br>His brother Warden's sage rebuke; <br>And yet his forward step he stay'd, <br>And slow and sullenly obey'd. <br>But ne'er again the Border side <br>Did these two lords in friendship ride; <br>And this slight discontent, men say, <br>Cost blood upon another day. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXXII <br>The pursuivant-at-arms again <br>Before the castle took his stand; <br>His trumpet call'd, with parleying strain <br>The leaders of the Scottish band; <br>And he defied in Musgrave's right, <br>Stout Deloraine to single fight; <br>A gauntlet at their feet he laid, <br>And thus the terms of fight he said: <br>'If in the lists good Musgrave's sword <br>Vanquish the Knight of Deloraine, <br>Your youthful chieftain, Branksome's Lord <br>Shall hostage for his clan remain: <br>If Deloraine foil good Musgrave, <br>The boy his liberty shall have. <br>Howe'er it falls the English band, <br>Unharming Scots, by Scots unharm'd, <br>In peaceful march, like men unarm'd, <br>Shall straight retreat to Cumberland.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXXIII <br>Unconscious of the near relief <br>The proffer pleased each Scottish chief, <br>Though much the Ladye sage gainsay'd; <br>For though their hearts were brave and true, <br>From Jedwood's recent sack they knew <br>How tardy was the Regent's aid: <br>And you may guess the noble Dame <br>Durst not the secret prescience own, <br>Sprung from the art she might not name, <br>By which the coming help was known. <br>Clos'd was the compact, and agreed <br>That lists should be enclos'd with speed, <br>Beneath the castle, on a lawn: <br>They fix'd the morrow for the strife, <br>On foot, with Scottish axe and knife, <br>At the fourth hour from peep of dawn; <br>When Deloraine, from sickness freed, <br>Or else a champion in his stead, <br>Should for himself and chieftain stand <br>Against stout Musgrave, hand to hand. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">XIV <br>I know right well, that, in their lay, <br>Full many minstrels sing and say, <br>Such combat should be made on horse, <br>On foaming steed, in full career, <br>With brand to aid, when as the spear <br>Should shiver in the course: <br>But he, the jovial Harper, taught <br>Me, yet a youth, how it was fought, <br>In guise which now I say; <br>He knew each ordinance and clause <br>Of Black Lord Archibald s battle-laws, <br>In the old Douglas' day. <br>He brook'd not, he, that scoffing tongue <br>Should tax his minstrelsy with wrong, <br>Or call his song untrue: <br>For this, when they the goblet plied, <br>And such rude taunt had chaf'd his pride, <br>The Bard of Reull he slew. <br>On Teviot's side, in fight they stood, <br>And tuneful hands were stain'd with blood; <br>Where still the thorn's white branches wave, <br>Memorial o'er his rival's grave. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXXV <br>Why should I tell the rigid doom <br>That dragg'd my master to his tomb; <br>How Ousenam's maidens tore their hair <br>Wept till their eyes were dead and dim <br>And wrung their hands for love of him <br>Who died at Jedwood Air? <br>He died!-his scholars, one by one, <br>To the cold silent grave are gone; <br>And I, alas! survive alone, <br>To muse o'er rivalries of yore, <br>And grieve that I shall hear no more <br>The strains, with envy heard before; <br>For, with my minstrel brethren fled, <br>My jealousy of song is dead. <br>He paused: the listening dames again <br>Applaud the hoary Minstrel's strain. <br>With many a word of kindly cheer, <br>In pity half, and half sincere, <br>Marvell'd the Duchess how so well <br>His legendary song could tell <br>Of ancient deeds, so long forgot; <br>Of feuds, whose memory was not; <br>Of forests, now laid waste and bare; <br>Of towers, which harbor now the hare; <br>Of manners, long since chang'd and gone; <br>Of chiefs, who under their grey stone <br>So long had slept, that fickle Fame <br>Had blotted from her rolls their name, <br>And twin'd round some new minion's head <br>The fading wreath for which they bled; <br>In sooth,'twas strange, this old man's verse <br>Could call them from their marble hearse. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Harper smil'd, well-pleas'd; for ne'er <br>Was flattery lost on poet's ear: <br>A simple race! they waste their toil <br>For the vain tribute of a smile; <br>E'en when in age their flame expires, <br>Her dulcet breath can fan its fires: <br>Their drooping fancy wakes at praise, <br>And strives to trim the short-liv'd blaze. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Smil'd then, well pleas'd, the aged man <br>And thus his tale continued ran.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Sir+Walter+Scott">Sir Walter Scott</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=519704" data-title="The Lay of the Last Minstrel: Canto IV. de Sir Walter Scott" data-description="I
Sweet Teviot! on thy silver tide 
The glaring bale-fires blaze no more; 
No longer steel-clad warrior 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 Ti..."></div>
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