This boy's fair face, and courage free, Shews 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 Suthron, thou shalt dearly rue! 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 hanged 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, He lighted the match of his bandelier*, And woefully scorched the hackbutteer †. It may hardly be thought, or said, The mischief that the urchin made, Till many of the castle guessed, That the young Baron was possessed! XXII. Well I ween, the charm he held The noble Ladye had soon dispelled; But she was deeply busied then To tend the wounded Deloraine. Much she wondered to find him lie, On the stone threshold stretched along; She thought some spirit of the sky Had done the bold moss-trooper wrong Because, despite her precept dread, * Bandelier, belt for carrying ammunition. 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 staunched the blood; She bade the gash be cleansed and bound: And salved the splinter o'er and o'er. William of Deloraine, in trance, Whene'er she turned it round and round, Twisted, as if she galled 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 toiled; for she did rue Mishap to friend so stout and true. XXIV. So passed 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, Far more fair Margaret loved and blessed The hour of silence and of rest. On the high turret sitting lone, She waked at times the lute's soft tone; Touched a wild note, and all between Thought of the bower of hawthorns green; Her golden hair streamed 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, |