As he gaed up the Tennies bank I wot he gaed with sorrow, Till down in a den he spied nine armed men, On the dowie houms of Yarrow. "O come ye here to part your land, The bonnie forest thorough? Or come ye here to wield your brand, On the dowie houms of Yarrow?" "I come not here to part my land, And neither to beg nor borrow, I come to wield my noble brand On the bonnie banks of Yarrow. "If I see all, ye’re nine to ane; And that’s an unequal marrow; Yet will I fight, while lasts my brand, On the bonnie banks of Yarrow." Four has he hurt, and five has slain, On the bloody braes of Yarrow, Till that stubborn knight came him behind, And ran his body thorough. "Gae hame, gae hame, good brother John, And tell your sister Sarah, To come and lift her leafu’[#] lord; He’s sleepin’ sound on Yarrow." [#] Lawful. "Yestreen I dreamed a dolefu’ dream, I fear there will be sorrow! I dreamed I pu’d the heather green, Wi’ my true love on Yarrow. "O gentle wind, that bloweth south, From where my love repaireth, Convey a kiss from his dear mouth, And tell me how he fareth! "But in the glen strive armed men; They’ve wrought me dole and sorrow; They’ve slain—the comeliest knight they’ve slain, He bleeding lies on Yarrow." As she sped down yon high, high hill, She gaed wi’ dole and sorrow, And in the den spied ten slain men, On the dowie banks of Yarrow. She kissed his cheek, she kaim’d his hair, She searched his wounds all thorough, She kiss’d them till her lips grew red, On the dowie houms of Yarrow. "Now haud[#] your tongue, my daughter dear, For a’ this breeds but sorrow; I’ll wed ye to a better lord, Than him ye lost on Yarrow." [#] Hold. "O haud your tongue, my father dear! Ye mind me but of sorrow; A fairer rose did never bloom Than now lies cropp’d on Yarrow." [Illustration: "_She kissed his cheek, she kaim’d his hair, She searched his wounds all thorough._"] *Chapter XL* *Belted Will and the Baronry of Gilsland* "When for the lists they sought the plain The stately lady’s silken rein Did noble Howard hold; Unarmed by her side he walk’d And much, in courteous phrase they talk’d Of feats of arms of old. Costly his garb; his Flemish ruff Fell o’er his doublet, shaped of buff, With satin slashed and lined; Tawny his boot and gold his spur, His cloak was all of Poland fur, His hose with silver twined. His Bilboa blade, by Marchmen felt, Hung in a broad and studded belt; Hence, in rude phrase, the Borderers still Call’d noble Howard, Belted Will." SCOTT, _Lay of the Last Minstrel_.