Of years fcant twenty-five was he, And comely was his face; His yellow locks, in ringlets free, Blue were his eyes, and ftreams of fire, His cheeks were red, for health was there, Stout Hume to youthful Murray said, Thy faith I mean to prove. Oft haft thou told me, truft In any bold emprize; my aid, Quoth Murray, what he once hath said, Accurs'd be who denies ! The word which once I promis'd have, I fill will keep to death: Thou fhalt not frown upon my grave;. I'm thine while I have breath. Then faddle ftraight thy dapple steed, And take thy bow in hand; And let us ftraight to Langley's hafte, He is a knight of Percy's train ; O Rofaline! how paffing fair, Like cluft'ring bloffoms waves thy hair Thy forehead mocks the mountain fnow, Thy lips the fcarlet thread; 1 Thy cheeks, where blooming rofes grow, In her fweet eyes his form he fhrouds, Her eyebrows are the heav'nly clouds Her teeth the iv'ry laugh to fcorn, Her neck the chrystal clear, Thro' which, in azure channels borne, The down of whiteft fwans 'twere fhame Why fit we here, quoth Murray, then, Let us together call our men, And bid them take their fwords. Nay, Murray, nay, but thou and I Let us, brave Murray anfwered, fly, The deed it fhall be done. Each mounted then his dapple fleed, Thro' Langley's wood they now procced, They reach'd the gate at morning tide, The gate of Langley place: When thro' a window Rofaline spy'd Her ftately lover's pace. Wha light difpels the morning gloom! Then to the ditch-fide hafted Hume, With speed fhe thro' the window past, And lit upon the ground; While Hume he crofs'd the ditch with hafte, He did not flay to found. He bore her down the bank fo fleep, He crofs'd the ditch, both wide and deep, They fpurr'd their dapple fleeds along, Langley awake! the porter cries, Then Langley call'd his four bold fons,. As bold as bold could be; They fpur each fleed, which fwiftly runs,, They fpur their fleeds with mickle might, Till on a rifing hill, They see the lovers full in fight, Yet onward prick they fill. They fee the lovers ford the Tweed, Nay, Heav'n forefend! brave Hume reply'd, I'll fix my feet thy feet befide, Fly on, fly on, bold Murray cries, O, fpare my father's valu'd life, The lovers fled-His bow he drew, |