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Behind Lord Howard and the dame,
Fair Margaret on her palfrey came,
Whose foot cloth swept the ground;
White was her wimple and her veil,
And her loose locks a chaplet pale
Of whitest roses bound.
The lordly Angus, by her side,
In courtesy to cheer her tried;
Without his aid, her hand in vain
Had strove to guide her broidered rein.
He deemed she shuddered at the sight
Of warriors met for mortal fight;
But cause of terror, all unguessed,
Was fluttering in her gentle breast,
When, in their chairs of crimson placed,
The dame and she the barriers graced.

Prize of the field, the young Buccleuch
An English knight led forth to view:
Scarce rued the boy his present plight,
So much he longed to see the fight.
Within the lists, in knightly pride,
High Home and haughty Dacre ride;
Their leading staffs of steel they wield,
As marshals of the mortal field;
While to each knight their care assigned
Like vantage of the sun and wind.
Then heralds hoarse did loud proclaim,
In king and queen, and wardens' name,
That none, while lasts the strife,
Should dare, by look, or sign, or word,
Aid to a champion to afford,

On peril of his life;

And not a breath the silence broke,
Till thus the alternate heralds spoke :-

ENGLISH HERALD.

“Here standeth Richard of Musgrave, Good knight and true, and freely born, Amends from Deloraine to crave,

For foul despiteous scathe and scorn; He sayeth, that William of Deloraine Is traitor false by border laws:

This with his sword he will maintain,
So help him God, and his good cause!".

SCOTTISH HERALD.

"Here standeth William of Deloraine,
Good knight and true, of noble strain,
Who sayeth, that foul treason's stain,
Since he bore arms, ne'er soiled his coat :
And that, so help him God above!
He will on Musgrave's body prove,
He lies most foully in his throat."-

LORD DACRE.

"Forward, brave champions, to the fight Sound trumpets!"

LORD HOME.

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"God defend the right!"—

Then, Teviot! how thine echoes rang,
When bugle-sound and trumpet-clang
Let loose the martial foes,

And in mid list, with shield poised high,
And measured step and wary eye,
The combatants did close.

Ill would it suit your gentle ear,
Ye lovely listeners, to hear

How to the axe the helms did sound,

And blood poured down from many a wound;
For desperate was the strife and long,
And either warrior fierce and strong.
But, were each dame a listening knight,
I well could tell how warriors fight;
For I have seen war's lightning flashing,
Seen the claymore with bayonet clashing,
Seen through red blood the war-horse dashing,
And scorned, amid the reeling strife,
To yield a step for death or life.

"T is done, 't is done! that fatal blow
Has stretched him on the bloody plain;
He strives to rise-brave Musgrave, no!
Thence never shalt thou rise again!

He chokes in blood-some friendly hand
Undo the visor's barred band,
Unfix the gorget's iron clasp,
And give him room for life to gasp!-
O, bootless aid!—haste, holy friar,
Haste, ere the sinner shall expire!
Of all his guilt let him be shriven,

And smooth his path from earth to heaven!

-

In haste the holy friar sped ;-
His naked foot was dyed with red,
As through the lists he ran;
Unmindful of the shouts on high,
That hailed the conqueror's victory.
He raised the dying man;

Loose waved his silver beard and hair,
As o'er him he kneeled down in prayer;
And still the crucifix on high

He holds before his darkening eye;
And still he bends an anxious ear,

His faultering penitence to hear;

Still props him from the bloody sod,

Still, even when soul and body part,
Pours ghostly comfort on his heart,
And bids him trust in God!

Unheard he prays;-the death-pang's o'er!-
Richard of Musgrave breathes no more.

As if exhausted in the fight,
Or musing o'er the piteous sight,

The silent victor stands ;
His beaver did he not unclasp,

Marked not the shouts, felt not the grasp
Of gratulating hands.

When lo strange cries of wild surprise,
Mingled with seeming terror, rise
Among the Scottish bands;
And all, amid the thronged array,
In panic haste gave open way
To a half-naked, ghastly man,
Who downward from the castle ran:
He crossed the barriers at a bound,

And wild and haggard looked around,
As dizzy and in pain;

And all, upon the armed ground,

Knew William of Deloraine!

Each ladye sprung from seat with speed;
Vaulted each marshal from his steed;
"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.

Full oft the rescued boy she kissed,
And often pressed him to her breast :
For, under all her dauntless show,
Her heart had throbbed at every blow;
Yet not Lord Cranstoun deigned to greet,
Though low he kneeled at her feet.

Me list not tell what words were made,
What Douglas, Home, and Howard said—
For Howard was a generous foe-
And how the clan united prayed,
The ladye would the feud forego,

And deign to bless the nuptial hour

Of Cranstoun's lord and Teviot's flower.

THE HEALING OF THE DAUGHTER OF JAIRUS.-WILLIS.

Freshly the cool breath of the coming eve
Stole through the lattice, and the dying girl
Felt it upon her forehead. She had lain
Since the hot noontide in a breathless trance,
Her thin pale fingers clasped within the hand
Of the heart broken Ruler, and her breast,
Like the dead marble, white and motionless.
The shadow of a leaf lay on her lips,
And as it stirred with the awakening wind,
The dark lids lifted from her languid eyes,
And her slight fingers moved, and heavily
She turned upon her pillow. He was there-

The same loved, tireless watcher, and she looked
Into his face until her sight grew dim

With the fast-falling tears, and, with a sigh
Of tremulous weakness, murmuring his name,
She gently drew his hand upon her lips,

And kissed it as she wept. The old man sunk
Upon his knees, and in the drapery

Of the rich curtains buried up his face

And when the twilight fell, the silken folds
Stirred with his prayer, but the slight hand he held
Had ceased its pressure, and he could not hear
In the dead, utter silence, that a breath
Came through her nostrils, and her temples gave
To his nice touch no pulse, and at her mouth
He held the lightest curl that on her neck
Lay with a mocking beauty, and his gaze
Ached with its deathly stillness.

*

* * It was nightAnd softly o'er the sea of Galilee

Danced the breeze-ridden ripples to the shore,
Tipped with the silver sparkles of the moon.
The breaking waves played low upon the beach
Their constant music, but the air beside
Was still as starlight, and the Savior's voice,
In its rich cadences unearthly sweet,
Seemed like some just-born harmony in the air,
Waked by the power of wisdom. On a rock,
With the broad moonlight falling on his brow,
He stood and taught the people. At his feet
Lay his small scrip, and pilgrim's scallop-shell,
And staff, for they had waited by the sea
Till he came o'er from Gadarene, and prayed
For his wont teachings as he came to land.
His hair was parted meekly on his brow,
And the long curls from off his shoulders fell
As he leaned forward earnestly, and still
The same calm cadence, passionless and deep,
And in his looks the same mild majesty,
And in his mien the sadness mixed with power,
Filled them with love and wonder. Suddenly,
As on his words entrancedly they hung,
The crowd divided, and among them stood

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