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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 mosstrooper 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;

       She bade the gash be cleans’d and bound:

       No longer by his couch she stood;

       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.

       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

      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 lov’d 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 castleyard,

       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.

       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 bale 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 clamor dread,

       The ready horsemen sprung:

       And trampling hoofs, and iron coat,

       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

       Wav’d 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 glanc’d to sight

       As stars arise upon the night.

       They gleam d on many a dusky tarn,

       Haunted by the lonely earn;

       On many a cairn’s grey pyramid,

       Where urns of mighty chiefs lie hid;

       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.

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