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All minstrels yet that e'er I saw Are full of game and glee; But thou art sad and woe-begone! I marvel whence it be!"

"Father, I serve an aged lord, Whose grief afflicts my mind; His only child is stolen away,

And fain I would her find."

"Cheer up, my son; perchance," he said, "Some tidings I may bear: For oft when human hopes have fail'd, Then heavenly comfort's near.

"Behind yon hills so steep and high,

Down in a lowly glen,

There stands a castle fair and strong,
Far from the abode of men.

"As late I chanc'd to crave an alms,
About this evening hour,
Methought I heard a lady's voice
Lamenting in the tower.

"And when I ask'd what harm had happ'd,
What lady sick there lay?
They rudely drove me from the gate,
And bade me wend away."

These tidings caught Sir Bertram's ear,
He thank'd him for his tale;
And soon he hasted o'er the hills,
And soon he reach'd the vale.

Then drawing near those lonely towers,
Which stood in dale so low,
And sitting down beside the gate,
His pipes he 'gan to blow.

"Sir Porter, is thy lord at home,
To hear a minstrel's song;
Or may I crave a lodging here,
Without offence or wrong?"

"My lord," he said, "is not at home,
To hear a minstrel's song;
And, should I lend thee lodging here,
My life would not be long."

He play'd again so soft a strain,

Such power sweet sounds impart, He won the churlish porter's ear, And mov'd his stubborn heart.

"Minstrel," he said, "thou play'st so sweet,
Fair entrance thou should'st win;
But, alas! I'm sworn upon the rood
To let no stranger in.

Yet, minstrel, in yon rising cliff Thou'lt find a sheltering cave; And here thou shalt my supper share, And there thy lodging have."

All day he sits beside the gate,
And pipes both loud and clear :
All night he watches round the walls,
In hopes his love to hear.

The first night, as he silent watch'd
All at the midnight hour,

He plainly heard his lady's voice
Lamenting in the tower.

The second night, the moon shone clear,
And gilt the spangled dew;

He saw his lady through the grate,
But 'twas a transient view.

The third night, wearied out, he slept 'Till near the morning tide;

When, starting up, he seiz'd his sword, And to the castle bied.

When, lo! he saw a ladder of ropes
Depending from the wall:

And o'er the moat was newly laid
A poplar strong and tall.

And soon he saw his love descend,
Wrapt in a tartan plaid,
Assisted by a sturdy youth
In Highland garb y-clad.

Amaz'd, confounded at the sight,
He lay unseen and still;

And soon he saw them cross the stream,
And mount the neighbouring hill.

Unheard, unknown of all within,
The youthful couple. fly;
But what can 'scape the lover's ken,
Or shun his piercing eye?

With silent step he follows close
Behind the flying pair,

And saw her hang upon his arm
With fond familiar air.

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At length he cried, "Ye lovely pair,
How shall I tell the rest?
Ere I could stop my piercing sword,
It fell, and stabb'd her breast."

"Wert thou thyself that hapless youth?

Ah! cruel fate!" they said.
The Hermit wept, and so did they :
They sigh'd; he hung his head.

"O blind and jealous rage," he cried,
"What evils from thee flow?"
The Hermit paus'd; they silent mourn'd:
He wept, and they were woe.

Ah! when I heard my brother's name,
And saw my lady bleed,

I rav'd, I wept, I curst my arm
That wrought the fatal deed.

In vain I clasp'd her to my breast,
And clos'd the ghastly wound ;
In vain I press'd his bleeding corpse,
And rais'd it from the ground.

My brother, alas! spake never more,
His precious life was flown:
She kindly strove to soothe my pain,
Regardless of her own.

"Bertram," she said, "be comforted,
And live to think on me:
May we in heaven that union prove,
Which here was not to be!

"Bertram," she said, "I still was true; Thou only hadst my heart:

May we hereafter meet in bliss!
We now, alas! must part.

"For thee I left my father's hall,

And flew to thy relief,

When, lo! near Cheviot's fatal hills I met a Scottish chief,

"Lord Malcolm's son, whose proffer'd love I had refus'd with scorn;

He slew my guards, and seiz'd on me
Upon that fatal morn;

"And in these dreary hated walls

He kept me close confin'd;
And fondly sued, and warmly press'd,
To win me to his mind.

"Each rising morn increas'd my pain,
Each night increas'd my fear!
When, wandering in this northern garb,
Thy brother found me here.

"He quickly form'd the brave design
To set me, captive, free;
And on the moor his horses wait,
Tied to a neighbouring tree.

"Then haste, my love, escape away,
And for thyself provide;
And sometimes fondly think on her
Who should have been thy bride."

Thus, pouring comfort on my soul,
Even with her latest breath,
She gave one parting, fond embrace,
And clos'd her eyes in death.

In wild amaze, in speechless woe,
Devoid of sense, I lay :
Then sudden, all in frantic mood,
I meant myself to slay.

And, rising up in furious haste,
I seiz'd the bloody brand * :
A sturdy arm here interpos'd,
And wrench'd it from my hand.

A crowd, that from the castle came, Had miss'd their lovely ward; And seizing me, to prison bare, And deep in dungeon barr'd.

It chanc'd that on that very morn Their chief was prisoner ta'en; Lord Percy had us soon exchang'd, And strove to soothe my pain.

And soon those honour'd dear remains
To England were convey'd ;
And there within their silent tombs,
With holy rites, were laid.

For me, I loath'd my wretched life,
And long to end it thought;
Till time, and books, and holy men,
Had better counsels taught.

They rais'd my heart to that pure source
Whence heavenly comfort flows:
They taught me to despise the world,
And calmly bear its woes.

No more the slave of human pride,
Vain bope, and sordid care,

I meekly vow'd to spend my life
In penitence and prayer.

The bold Sir Bertram, now no more
Impetuous, haughty, wild;

But poor and humble Benedict,
Now lowly, patient, mild.

My lands I gave to feed the poor,
And sacred altars raise;

And here, a lonely anchorite,
I came to end my days.

This sweet sequester'd vale I chose,
These rocks, and hanging grove;
For oft beside that murmuring stream
My love was wont to rove.

My noble friend approv'd my choice;
This blest retreat he gave:
And here I cary'd her beauteous form,
And scoop'd this holy cave.

Full fifty winters, all forlorn,
My life I've linger'd here;

And daily o'er this sculptur'd saint
I drop the pensive tear.

i.e. sword.

And thou, dear brother of my heart!

So faithful and so true,
The sad remembrance of thy fate
Still makes my bosom rue!

Yet not unpitied pass'd my life,
Forsaken or forgot,
The Percy and his noble sons
Would grace my lowly cot;

Oft the great Earl, from toils of state
And cumbrous pomp of power,
Would gladly seek my little cell,
To spend the tranquil hour.

Bit length of life is length of woe! 1 liv'd to mourn his fall:

I liv'd to mourn his godlike sons
And friends and followers all.

But thou the honours of thy race, Lov'd youth, shalt now restore; And raise again the Percy name More glorious than before.

He ceas'd; and on the lovely pair
His choicest blessings laid :
While they, with thanks and pitying tears,
His mournful tale repaid.

And now what present course to take
They ask the good old sire ;
And, guided by his sage advice,
To Scotland they retire.

Meantime their suit such favour found
At Raby's stately hall,

Earl Neville and his princely spouse
Now gladly pardon all.

She, suppliant, at her nephew's throne
The royal grace implor'd:

To all the honours of his race
The Percy was restor❜d.

The youthful Earl still more and more
Admir'd his beauteous dame :
Nine noble sons to him she bore,

All worthy of their name.

King Henry V. Anno 1414.

THE END.

GLOSSARY.

The Scottish words are denoted by s., French by f., Latin by l., Anglo-Saxon by a. s., Icelandic by isl., &c. For the etymology of the words in this volume, the reader is referred to Junii Etymologicum Anglicanum, Edidit Ed. Lye.

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Oxon, 1743, folio.

Ath, p. 2, col. 2, Athe, p. 3, col. 1, o'th', of the

Attowre s.out over, over and above A Twyde, p. 2, col. 2, of Tweed Auld, s. old

Aureat, golden

Austerne, p. 75, col. 1, stern,

austere

Avowe, p. 8, col. 1, vow
Avowe, vow

Avoyd, p. 54, col. 2, void, vacate
Awa', s. away
Axed, asked

Ayance, p. 73, col. 1, against
Aye, ever, also, ab, alas
Azein, Agein, against
Azont, s. beyond

Azont the ingle, s. beyond the fire. The fire was in the middle of the room.

In the west of Scotland, at this present time, in many cottages they pile their peats and turfs upon stones in the middle of the room. There is a hole above the fire in the ridge of the house to let the smoke ont at. In some places are cottage-houses, from the front of which a very wide chimney projects like a bow window: the fire is in a grate like a malt-kiln grate, round which the people sit: sometimes they draw this grate into the middle of the room.-Mr. Lambe.

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Aras, p. 2, col. 2, Arros, p. 3, col. Bale, evil, mischief, misery

1, arrows

Arcir, p. 21, col. 1, archer
Argabushe, harquebusse, an old
fashioned kind of musket
Ase, as

Assinde, assigned
Assoyl'd, Assoyled, absolved
Astate, estate, also a great person
Astonied, astonished, stunned
Astound, Astonyed, stunned, asto-
nished, confounded

Balow, s. a nursery term, hush, lullaby, &c.

Balysbete, p. 5, col. 2, Better our bales, i. e. remedy our evils Bane, bone

Ban, curse, Banning, cursing Banderolles, streamers, little flags Band, p. 13, col. 2, bond, covenant Bar, bare

Bar-hed, bare-head, or perhaps bared

Barne, p. 2, col. 2, Berne, p. 6, col. 2, man, person

Base court, the lower court of a castle

Basnete, Basnite, Basnyte, Basonet,
Bassonette, helmet
Buttes, heavy sticks, clubs
Baud, s. bold

Bauzen, s. Skinne, p. 80, col. 1, perhaps sheep's leather dressed and coloured red, f. Barane, sheep's leather. In Scotland, sheepskin mittens, with the wool on the inside, are called bauson mittens. Bauson also signifies a badger, in old English, it may therefore signify perhaps badger's skin

Bayard, a noted blind horse in the old romances. The horse on which the four sons of Avmon rode is called Bayard Montalbon, by Skelton, in his "Phillip Sparrow."

Bearing arrow, an arrow that carries well. Or perhaps bearing or birring, i. e. whirling or whirring arrow, from isl. Bir. ventus, or a. s. Bene, fremitus

Bearn, Bairn, s. child, also human

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