Then rushing in, with ftretch'd out shield As fome fierce eagle fpreads her wing Three times they frove to feize their Three times they quick retire: prey, What force could ftand his furious Arokes, Or meet his martial fire? Now gathering round on every part The battle rag'd amain; And many a lady wept her lord PERCY and DOUGLAS, great in arms, There all their courage show'd; 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; Her father kindly fed; And the herself fhall drefs thy wounds, And tend thee in thy bed. A meffage went, no daughter came; Cheer up, my fon, thou fhalt her fee And the fhall nurfe thee in her bower, Sir Bertram, at her name reviv'd, WARK caftle, a fortrefs belonging to the English, and of great note in antient times, ftood on the fouthern bank of the river Tweed, a little to the east of Tiviotdale, and not far from Kelfo. It is now entirely deftroyed. THE END OF THE SECOND PART. THE HERMIT of WARK WORTH. A Northumberland BALLA D. ONE FIT THE THIRD.· NE early morn while dewy drops A brother he had in prime of youth, way And he would tend him on the All day o'er mofs and moor they rode, And 'twas the dew-fall of the night Moft drear and dark the castle feem'd, At length her aged Nurse arose 'Tis Bertram calls, thy Lady's love, All day I've ridden o'er moor and mofs Now out alas (fhe loudly fhriek'd) For fix long days are gone and past Sad terror feiz'd Sir Bertram's heart, 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 he heard thy grievous chance And now to atone for my fad fault, 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, That night he spent in forrow and care; Now, brother, we'll our ways divide, west; Do thou go north, and I'll go 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 restored agen. The brothers ftrait their paths divide, Sir Bertram clad in gown of gray, Sometimes a Minstrel's garb he wears, |