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Now gathering round on every part,
The battle rag’d amain;
And many a lady wept her lord,
That hour untimely slain.
Percy and Douglas, great in arms,
There all their courage showed;
And all the field was strew’d with dead,
And all with crimson flowed.
At length the glory of the day
The Scots reluctant yield;
And after wond’rous valour shown,
They slowly quit the field.
All pale extended on their shields,
And weltering in his gore.
Lord Percy’s knights their bleeding friend
To Wark’s fair castle bore.(ll)
Well hast thou earn’d my daughter’s love,
Her father kindly said:
And she herself shall dress thy wounds,
And tend thee in thy bed.
A message went; no maiden came;
Fair Isabel ne’er appears:
Beshrew me, said the aged chief,
Young maidens have their fears.
Cheer up, my son, thou shall her see,
So soon as thou canst ride:
And she shall nurse thee in her bower,
And she shall be thy bride.
Sir Bertram at her name reviv’d.
He bless’d the soothing sound;
Fond hope supply’d the nurse’s care,
And heal’d his ghastly wound.
THE HERMIT OF WARKWORTH.
PART THIRD
One early morn, while dewy drops
Hung trembling on the tree,
Sir Bertram from his sick-bed rose,
His bride he would go see.
A brother he had in prime of youth,
Of courage firm and keen,
And he would tend him on the way,
Because his wounds were green.
