The vigor of his fingle arm Had well-nigh won the field; Another blow his temples took, 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, At length the glory of the day All pale extended on their fhields Lord PERCY's knights their bleeding friend Well haft thou earn'd my daughter's love: And the herself fhall drefs thy wounds, And tend thee in thy bed. A message went, no daughter came; Young maidens have their fears. * 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. Sir Bertram, at her name reviv'd, ON FIT THE THIRD. NE early morn while dewy drops Sir Bertram from his fick bed rofe, A brother he had in prime of youth, All day o'er mofs and moor they rode, Moft drear and dark the caftle feem'd, Ere he beheld a light. At length her aged nurse arofe With voice fo fhrill and clear: What wight is this, that calls fo loud, 'Tis Bertram calls, thy lady's love, All day I've ridden o'er moor and mofs Now out alas! (the loudly fhrick'd) 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. Six days, young knight are paft and gone, And fure if no fad harm had hap'd For when she heard thy grievous chance All thro' my folly and pride! And And now to atone for my fad fault, I'll go my felf, and nurse my love, Then mounted fhe her milk-white steed One morn at break of day; Sad terror fmote Sir Bertram's heart, That night he spent in forrow and care; And with fad boding heart Or ever the dawning of the day 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 |