Unchallenged, thence passed Deloraine, To ancient Riddel's fair domain. Where Aill, from mountains freed. Down from the lakes did raving come; Each wave was crested with tawny foam, Like the mane of a chestnut steed. In vain! no torrent, deep or broad, Might bar the bold moss-trooper's road. At the first plunge the horse sunk low, And the water broke o'er the saddlebow; Above the foaming tide, I ween, Scarce half the charger's neck was seen; For he was barded from counter to tail, And the rider was armed complete in mail; Never heavier man and horse Stemmed a midnight torrent's force. The warrior's very plume, I say Was daggled by the dashing spray: Yet, through good heart, and Our Ladye's grace, At length he gained the landing place.
Now Bowden Moor the march-man won, And sternly shook his plumed head, As glanced his eye o'er Halidon; For on his soul the slaughter red Of that unhallowed morn arose, When first the Scott and Carr were foes; When royal James beheld the fray, Prize to the victor of the day; When Home and Douglas, in the van, Bore down Buccleuch's retiring clan, Till gallant Cessford's heart-blood dear Reeked on dark Elliot's Border spear.
In bitter mood he spurred fast, And soon the hated heath was past; And far beneath, in lustre wan, Old Melros' rose, and fair Tweed ran: Like some tall rock with lichens gray, Seemed dimly huge, the dark Abbaye. When Hawick he passed, had curfew rung, Now midnight lauds were in Melrose sung. The sound, upon the fitful gale, In solemn wise did rise and fail, Like that wild harp, whose magic tone Is wakened by the winds alone. But when Melrose he reached, 'twas silence all; He meetly stabled his steed in stall, And sought the convent's lonely wall.