Not so the Borderer:—bred to war, He knew the battle’s din afar, And joyed to hear it swell. His peaceful day was slothful ease; Nor harp, nor pipe, his ear could please Like the loud slogan yell. On active steed, with lance and blade, The light-armed pricker plied his trade— Let nobles fight for fame; Let vassals follow where they lead, Burghers to guard their townships bleed, But war’s the Borderer’s game. Their gain, their glory, their delight, To sleep the day, maraud the night O’er mountain, moss, and moor; Joyful to fight they took their way, Scarce caring who might win the day, Their booty was secure. These, as Lord Marmion’s train passed by, Looked on at first with careless eye, Nor marvelled aught, well taught to know The form and force of English bow; But when they saw the lord arrayed In splendid arms and rich brocade, Each Borderer to his kinsman said:— “Hist, Ringan! seest thou there! Canst guess which road they’ll homeward ride? Oh! could we but on Border side, By Eusedale glen, or Liddell’s tide, Beset a prize so fair! That fangless Lion, too, their guide, Might chance to lose his glistering hide; Brown Maudlin, of that doublet pied Could make a kirtle rare.” V. Next, Marmion marked the Celtic race, Of different language, form, and face— Avarious race of man; Just then the chiefs their tribes arrayed, And wild and garish semblance made The chequered trews and belted plaid, And varying notes the war-pipes brayed To every varying clan; Wild through their red or sable hair Looked out their eyes with savage stare On Marmion as he passed; Their legs above the knee were bare; Their frame was sinewy, short, and spare, And hardened to the blast; Of taller race, the chiefs they own Were by the eagle’s plumage known. The hunted red-deer’s undressed hide Their hairy buskins well supplied; The graceful bonnet decked their head; Back from their shoulders hung the plaid; A broadsword of unwieldy length, A dagger proved for edge and strength, A studded targe they wore, And quivers, bows, and shafts,—but, oh! Short was the shaft and weak the bow To that which England bore. The Islesmen carried at their backs The ancient Danish battle-axe. They raised a wild and wondering cry As with his guide rode Marmion by. Loud were their clamouring tongues, as when The clanging sea-fowl leave the fen, And, with their cries discordant mixed, Grumbled and yelled the pipes betwixt. VI.