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The vigor of his fingle arm

Had well-nigh won the field;
When ponderous fell a Scottish axe,
And clove his lifted fhield.

Another blow his temples took,
And reft his helme in twain ;
That beauteous helme, his lady's gift!
-His blood bedewed the plain.

Lord PERCY faw his champion fall

Amid the unequal fight;

And now, my noble friends, he said,

Let's fave this gallant knight.

Then rushing in, with ftretch'd out fhield

He o'er the warrior hung;

As fome fierce eagle spreads her wing

To guard her callow young.

Three times they ftrove to feize their

Three times they quick retire :

prey,

What force could ftand his furious strokes,

Or meet his martial fire ?

Now gathering round on every part

The battle rag'd amain ;

And many a lady wept her lord

That hour untimely flain.

PERCY

PERCY and DOUGLAS, great in arms,
There all their courage fhow'd ;
And all the field was ftrew'd with dead,
And all with crimfon flow'd.

At length the glory of the day
The Scots reluctant yield,
And, after wonderous valour fhown
They flowly quit the field.

All pale extended on their fhields
And weltering in his gore

Lord PERCY's knights their bleeding friend
TO WARK's fair caftle bore*. .

Well haft thou earn'd my daughter's love:
Her father kindly faid;

And the herself fhall drefs thy wounds,

And tend thee in thy bed.

A message went, no daughter came;
Fair ISABEL ne'er appears :
Befhrew me, faid the aged chief,

Young maidens have their fears.

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* WARK caftle, a fortrefs belonging to the English, and of great note in ancient times, ftood on the fouthern bank of the river TWEED, a little to the east of Tiv10TDALE, and not far from Kelfo. It is now entirely destroyed.

Cheer up my fun, thou fhalt her fee

So foon as thou canst ride;

And fhe fhall nurfe thee in her bower.
And she shall be thy bride.

Sir Bertram, at her name reviv'd,
He blefs'd the foothing found;
Fond hope fupplied the nurfe's care,
And heal'd his ghaftly wound.

ON

FIT THE THIRD.

NE early morn while dewy drops
Hung trembling on the tree,

Sir Bertram from his fick bed rofe,
His bride he would go fee.

A brother he had in prime of youth,
Of courage firm and keen,
And he would tend him on the way
Because his wounds were green.

All day o'er mofs and moor they rode,
By many a lonely tower;
And 'twas the dew-fall of the night
Ere they drew near her bower.

Moft drear and dark the caftle feem'd,
That wont to shine so bright;
And long and loud Sir Bertram call'd

Ere he beheld a light.

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At length her aged nurse arofe

With voice fo fhrill and clear:

What wight is this, that calls fo loud,
And knocks fo boldly here?

'Tis Bertram calls, thy lady's love,
Come from his bed of care:

All day I've ridden o'er moor and mofs
To fee thy lady fair.

Now out alas! (the loudly fhrick'd)
Alas! how may this be?

For fix long days are gone and past,

Since the fet out to thee.

Sad terror feiz'd Sir Bertram's heart,

And ready was he to fall;

When now the draw-bridge was let down.
And gates were open'd alt.

Six days, young knight are paft and gone,
Since he fet out to thee;

And fure if no fad harm had hap'd
Long fince thou would'ft her fee.

For when she heard thy grievous chance
She tore her hair, and cried,
Alas! I've flain the comelief knight,

All thro' my folly and pride!

And

And now to atone for my fad fault,
And his dear health regain,

I'll go my felf, and nurse my love,
And footh his bed of pain.

Then mounted fhe her milk-white steed

One morn at break of day;
And two tall yeomen went with her
To guard her on the way.

Sad terror fmote Sir Bertram's heart,
And grief o'erwhelm'd his mind:
Truft me, faid he, I ne'er will reft,
'Till I thy lady find.

That night he spent in forrow and care;

And with fad boding heart

Or ever the dawning of the day

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Some Scottish carle hath feiz'd my love,

And borne her to his den;

And ne'er will I tread English ground

Till fhe is reftored agen.

The

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