'A word of vulgar augury, That broke from me, I scarce knew why, Brought on a village tale; 235 Which wrought upon his moody sprite, And sent him armed forth by night. I borrow'd steed and mail, And weapons, from his sleeping band; And, passing from a postern door, 240 We met, and 'counter'd, hand to hand,-- He fell on Gifford-moor. For the death-stroke my brand I drew, (O then my helmed head he knew, The Palmer's cowl was gone,) 245 Then had three inches of my blade The heavy debt of vengeance paid,-- My hand the thought of Austin staid; I left him there alone.-- O good old man! even from the grave, 250 Thy spirit could thy master save: If I had slain my foeman, ne'er Had Whitby's Abbess, in her fear, Given to my hand this packet dear, Of power to clear my injured fame, 255 And vindicate De Wilton's name.-- Perchance you heard the Abbess tell Of the strange pageantry of Hell, That broke our secret speech-- It rose from the infernal shade, 260 Or featly was some juggle play'd, A tale of peace to teach. Appeal to Heaven I judged was best, When my name came among the rest. IX. 'Now here, within Tantallon Hold, 265 To Douglas late my tale I told, To whom my house was known of old. Won by my proofs, his falchion bright This eve anew shall dub me knight. These were the arms that once did turn 270 The tide of fight on Otterburne, And Harry Hotspur forced to yield, When the Dead Douglas won the field. These Angus gave--his armourer's care, Ere morn, shall every breach repair; 275 For nought, he said, was in his halls, But ancient armour on the walls, And aged chargers in the stalls, And women, priests, and grey-hair'd men; The rest were all in Twisel glen. 280 And now I watch my armour here, By law of arms, till midnight's near; Then, once again a belted knight, Seek Surrey's camp with dawn of light. X.