‘Yield thee, O yield thee, Percy!’ he said, ‘Or else I vow I’ll lay thee low!’ ‘Whom to shall I yield,’ said Earl Percy, ‘Now that I see it must be so?’
‘Thou shalt not yield to lord nor loun, Nor yet shalt thou yield to me; But yield thee to the braken bush, That grows upon yon lilye lee!’
‘I will not yield to a braken bush, Nor yet will I yield to a briar; But I would yield to Earl Douglas, Or Sir Hugh the Montgomery, if he were here.’
As soon as he knew it was Montgomery, He stuck his sword’s point in the gronde; And the Montgomery was a courteous knight, And quickly took him by the honde.
This deed was done at Otterbourne, About the breaking of the day; Earl Douglas was buried at the braken bush, And the Percy led captive away. . . . . . . . . .
Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border.
[ LYCIDAS]
ELEGY ON A FRIEND DROWNED IN THE IRISH CHANNEL Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more, Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere, I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, And with forc’d fingers rude Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year. Bitter constraint, and sad occasion dear, Compels me to disturb your season due: For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime, Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer: Who would not sing for Lycidas? he knew Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhime. He must not float upon his watery bier Unwept, and welter to the parching wind, Without the meed of some melodious tear.
Begin then, Sisters of the sacred well, That from beneath the seat of Jove doth spring, Begin, and somewhat loudly sweep the string. Hence with denial vain and coy excuse, So may some gentle Muse With lucky words favour my destin’d urn; And as he passes turn And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud.