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So thus did both these nobles die,
Whose courage none could stain.
An English archer then perceived
The noble earl was slain.

He had a bow bent in his hand,
Made of a trusty tree;
An arrow of a cloth-yard long
To the hard head haled he.

Against Sir Hugh Montgomery
So right the shaft he set,
The gray goose wing that was thereon
In his heart's blood was wet.

This fight did last from break of day
Till setting of the sun;

For when they rung the evening-bell
The battle scarce was done.

With stout Earl Percy there was slain
Sir John of Egerton,

Sir Robert Ratcliff, and Sir John,
Sir James, that bold baron.

And with Sir George and stout Sir James,
Both knights of good account,
Good Sir Ralph Raby there was slain,
Whose prowess did surmount.

For Witherington my heart is woe
That ever he slain should be,

For when his legs were hewn in two,
He knelt and fought on his knee.

And with Earl Douglas there was slain Sir Hugh Mountgomery,

Sir Charles Murray, that from the field One foot would never flee.

Sir Charles Murray of Ratcliff, too,—
His sister's son was he;

Sir David Lamb, so well esteemed,
But saved he could not be.

And the Lord Maxwell in like case
Did with Earl Douglas die:
Of twenty hundred Scottish spears,
Scarce fifty-five did fly.

Of fifteen hundred Englishmen,
Went home but fifty-three;
The rest in Chevy-Chase were slain,
Under the greenwood tree.

Next day did many widows come,
Their husbands to bewail;

They washed their wounds in brinish tears,
But all would not prevail.

Their bodies, bathed in purple blood,

They bore with them away;

They kissed them dead a thousand times, Ere they were clad in clay.

The news was brought to Edinburgh,
Where Scotland's king did reign,
That brave Earl Douglas suddenly
Was with an arrow slain:

"O heavy news," King James did say;
"Scotland can witness be

I have not any captain more
Of such account as he."

Like tidings to King Henry came

Within as short a space,

That Percy of Northumberland

Was slain in Chevy-Chase:

"Now God be with him," said our King,

"Since 'twill no better be;

I trust I have within my realm
Five hundred as good as he:

"Yet shall not Scots or Scotland say But I will vengeance take;

I'll be revengèd on them all

For brave Earl Percy's sake."

This vow full well the King performed
After at Humbledown;

In one day fifty knights were slain
With lords of high renown;

And of the rest, of small account,
Did many hundreds die:

Thus endeth the hunting of Chevy-Chase,
Made by the Earl Percy.

God save the king, and bless this land, With plenty, joy and peace;

And grant, henceforth, that foul debate "Twixt noblemen may cease.

THE ATTACK ON THE CASTLE'

By SIR WALTER SCOTT

MOMENT of peril is often also a moment of open-hearted kindness and affection. We are thrown off our guard by the general agitation of our feelings, and betray the intensity of those which, at more tranquil periods,

our prudence at least conceals, if it cannot altogether suppress them. In finding herself once more by the side of Ivanhoe, Rebecca was astonished at the keen sensation of pleasure which she experienced, even at a time when all around them both was danger, if not despair. As she felt his pulse, and inquired after his health, there was a softness in her touch and in her accents, implying a kinder interest than she would herself have been pleased to have voluntarily expressed. Her voice faltered and her hand trembled, and it was only the cold question of Ivanhoe, "Is it you, gentle maiden?" which recalled her to herself, and reminded her the sensations which she felt were not and could not be mutual. A sigh escaped, but it was scarce audible; and the questions which she asked the knight concerning his state of health were put in the tone of calm friendship. Ivanhoe answered her hastily that he was, in point of health, as well, and better, than he could have expected. "Thanks," he said, "dear Rebecca, to thy helpful skill."

1. The Attack on the Castle is from Scott's novel of Ivanhoe.

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"He calls me dear Rebecca," said the maiden to herself, "but it is in the cold and careless tone which ill suits the word. His war-horse, his hunting hound, are dearer to him than the despised Jewess!"

"My mind, gentle maiden," continued Ivanhoe, "is more disturbed by anxiety than my body with pain. From the speeches of these men who were my warders just now, I learn that I am a prisoner, and, if I judge aright of the loud hoarse voice which even now despatched them hence on some military duty, I am in the castle of Front-de-Bœuf. If so, how will this end, or how can I protect Rowena and my father?"

"He names not the Jew or Jewess," said Rebecca, internally; "yet what is our portion in him, and how justly am I punished by Heaven for letting my thoughts dwell upon him!" She hastened after this brief self-accusation to give Ivanhoe what information she could; but it amounted only to this, that the Templar Bois-Guilbert and the Baron Frontde-Boeuf were commanders within the castle; that it was beleaguered from without, but by whom she knew not.

The noise within the castle, occasioned by the defensive preparations, which had been considerable for some time, now increased into tenfold bustle and clamor. The heavy yet hasty step of the men-atarms traversed the battlements, or resounded on the narrow and winding passages and stairs which led to the various bartizans and points of defense. The voices of the knights were heard, animating their followers, or directing means of defense, while their

2. A bartizan is a sort of small overhanging balcony, built for defense or for lookout.

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