He pass'd the court-gate, and he oped the tower-gate,
And he mounted the narrow stair,
To the bartizan-seat, where, with maids that on her wait,
He found his lady fair.

That lady sat in mournful mood;
Look'd o'er hill and vale;
Over Tweed's fair flood, and Mertoun's wood,
And all down Teviotdale.

"Now hail, now hail, thou lady bright!"--
"Now hail, thou Baron, true!
What news, what news from Ancram fight?
What news from the bold Buccleuch?"

"The Ancram moor is red with gore,
For many a Southron fell;
And Buccleuch has charged us, evermore,
To watch our beacons well."--

The lady blush'd red, but nothing she said:
Nor added the Baron a word,
Then she stepp'd down the stair to her chamber fair,
And so did her moody lord.

In sleep the lady mourn'd and the Baron toss'd and turn'd,
And oft to himself he said:--
"The worms round him creep, and his bloody grave is deep.
It cannot give up the dead!"