O many a flower was round her spread,
And many a pearl and diamond bright,
And many a window round her head

Shed on her form a bootless light!

Lord Pringle sat on Maygill brae,

Pondering on war and vengeance meet;

The Cadan toiled in narrow way,

The Tweed rolled far beneath his feet.

Not Tweed, by gulf and whirlpool mazed, Through dark wood-glen, by him was seen;

For still his thought-set eye was raised

To Ettrick mountains, wild and green.

Sullen he sat, unstaid, unblest,

He thought of battle, broil, and blood;

He never crossed, he never wist

Till by his side a Palmer stood.

"Haste, my good lord, this letter read,

Ill bodes it listless thus to be;

Upon a die I've set my head,

And brought this letter far to thee."

Lord Pringle looked the letter on,

His face grew pale as winter sky; But, ere the half of it was done,

The tear of joy stood in his eye.

A purse he to the Palmer threw,
Mounted the cleft of aged tree,
Three times aloud his bugle blew,

And hasted home to Torwoodlee.

"Twas scarcely past the hour of noon When first the foray whoop began ; And, in the wan light of the moon,

Through March and Teviotdale it ran.

Far to the south it spread away,

Startled the hind by fold and tree;

And the watch-word of the fray aye

Was, "Ride for Ker and Torwoodlee !"

When next the day began to fade,

The warriors round their chieftains range;

And many a solemn vow they made,

And many an oath of fell

revenge.

The Pringles' plumes indignant dance-
It was a gallant sight to see;

And many a Ker, with sword and lance,

Stood rank and file on Torwoodlee.

As they fared up yon craigy glen,

Where Tweed sweeps round the Thorny-hill,

Old Gideon Murray and his men

The foray joined with right good-will.

They hasted up by Plora side,

And north above Mount-Benger turn,

And lothly forced with them to ride

Black Douglas of the Craigy-burn.

When they came nigh Saint Mary's lake The day-sky glimmered on the dew;

They hid their horses in the brake,

And lurked in heath and braken clough.

The lake one purple valley lay,

Where tints of glowing light were seen;

The ganza waved his cuneal way,

With yellow oar and quoif of green.

The dark cock bayed above the coomb,
Throned mid the wavy fringe of gold,
Unwreathed from dawning's fairy loom,
In many a soft vermilion fold.

The tiny skiffs of silver mist

Lingered along the slumbering vale; Belled the gray stag with fervid breast

High on the moors of Meggat-dale.

There hid in clough and hollow den,
Gazing around the still sublime,
There lay Lord Pringle and his men

On beds of heath and moorland thyme.

That morning found rough Tushilaw
In all the father's guise appear;

An end of all his hopes he saw

Shrouded in Mary's gilded bier.

No

eye

could trace without concern

The suffering warrior's troubled look;

The throbs that heaved his bosom stern,

No ear could bear, no heart could brook.

R