THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. CANTO FOURTH. I. SWEET Teviot! on thy silver tide, Along thy wild and willowed shore; As if thy waves, since Time was born, Since first they rolled their way to Tweed, Had only heard the shepherd's reed, Nor started at the bugle-horn. II. Unlike the tide of human time, Which, though it change in ceaseless flow, Retains each grief, retains each crime, Its earliest course was doomed to know; It still reflects to memory's eye III. Now over Border dale and fell, Full wide and far, was terror spread; The frightened flocks and herds were pent And maids and matrons dropped the tear, Shewed southern ravage was begun. IV. Now loud the heedful gate-ward cried— 66 Prepare ye all for blows and blood! Wat Tinlinn, from the Liddle-side, Comes wading through the flood. |