THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. CANTO FOURTH. I. SWEET Teviot! on thy silver tide The glaring bale-fires blaze no more; No longer steel-clad warriors ride Along thy wild and willowed shore; As if thy waves, since Time was born, Since first they rolled upon the Tweed, Had only heard the shepherd's reed, Nor started at the bugle-horn. II. Unlike the tide of human time, Which, though it change in ceaseless flow, Retains each grief, retains each crime, Its earliest course was doomed to know; And, darker as it downward bears, Is stained with past and present tears. It still reflects to Memory's eye Fell by the side of great Dundee. Why was not I beside him laid! Enough-he died the death of fame; Enough-he died with conquering Græme. III. Now over Border dale and fell, Full wide and far was terror spread ; For pathless marsh, and mountain cell, The frightened flocks and herds were pent And maids and matrons dropped the tear, While ready warriors seized the spear. From Branksome's towers, the watchman's eye Shewed southern ravage was begun. IV. Now loud the heedful gate-ward cried- Watt Tinlinn, from the Liddel-side, |