| |
| LOCK the door, Lariston, lion of Liddisdale, | |
| Lock the door, Lariston, Lowther come on, | |
| The Armstrongs are flying, | |
| The widows are crying, | |
| The Castletown’s burning, and Oliver’s gone! | 5 |
| |
| Lock the door, Lariston,—high on the weather-gleam, | |
| See how the Saxon plumes bob on the sky,— | |
| Yeoman and carbinier, | |
| Bilman and halberdier; | |
| Fierce is the foray, and far is the cry. | 10 |
| |
| Bewcastle brandishes high his broad scimitar; | |
| Ridley is riding his fleet-footed grey; | |
| Hidley and Howard there, | |
| Wandale and Windermere,— | |
| Lock the door, Lariston; hold them at bay. | 15 |
| |
| Why dost thou smile, noble Elliot of Lariston? | |
| Why do the joy-candles gleam in thine eye? | |
| Thou bold Border ranger, | |
| Beware of thy danger;— | |
| Thy foes are relentless, determined, and nigh. | 20 |
| |
| Jock Elliot raised up his steel bonnet and lookit, | |
| His hand grasped the sword with a nervous embrace; | |
| ‘Ah, welcome, brave foemen, | |
| On earth there are no men | |
| More gallant to meet in the foray or chase! | 25 |
| |
| ‘Little know you of the hearts I have hidden here; | |
| Little know you of our moss-troopers’ might— | |
| Lindhope and Sorbie true, | |
| Sundhope and Milburn too, | |
| Gentle in manner, but lions in fight! | 30 |
| |
| ‘I’ve Mangerton, Ogilvie, Raeburn, and Netherbie, | |
| Old Sim of Whitram, and all his array; | |
| Come, all Northumberland, | |
| Teesdale and Cumberland, | |
| Here at the Breaken tower end shall the fray.’ | 35 |
| |
| Scowl’d the broad sun o’er the links of green Liddisdale, | |
| Red as the beacon-light tipp’d he the wold; | |
| Many a bold martial eye, | |
| Mirror’d that morning sky, | |
| Never more oped on his orbit of gold! | 40 |
| |
| Shrill was the bugle’s note! dreadful the warriors’ shout! | |
| Lances and halberds in splinters were borne; | |
| Helmet and hauberk then | |
| Braved the claymore in vain, | |
| Buckler armlet in shivers were shorn. | 45 |
| |
| See how they wane—the proud files of the Windermere! | |
| Howard—ah! woe to thy hopes of the day! | |
| Hear the wide welkin rend, | |
| While the Scots’ shouts ascend, | |
| ‘Elliot of Lariston, Elliot for aye!’ | 50 |
| |
