The Tweeddale Raide

Pate PORTEOUS sat in Hawkshaw tower,
An' O right douf an' dour was he ;
Nae voice of joy was i' the ha',
Nae sound o' mirth or revelry.

His brow was hung wi' froward scowl,
His e'e was dark as dark could be j
An' aye he strade across the ha',
An' thus he spoke right boisterouslye :
" Yestreen, on Hawkshaw hills o' green,
My flocks in peace an' safety strayed ;
To-day, nor ewe, nor steer, is seen
On a' my baronie sae braid :
" But I will won, an baud my ain,
Wi' ony wight on Border side ;
Make ready then, my merry men a',
Make ready, swiftly we maun ride.

" Gae saddle me my coal-black steed,
Gae saddle me my bonnie gray,
An' warder, sound the rising note,
For we hae far to ride or day."

The slogan jar was heard afar,
An' soon owre hill, owre holt, an' brae,
His merry men came riding in,
All armed an' mounted for the fray.

As they fared oure the saddle-yoke,
The moon rase owre the Merk-side bree ;
" Welcome, auld dame," Pate Porteous cried,
" Aft hae ye proved a friend to me.

" Gin thou keep on, but clud or mist,
Until Glendarig steps we won,
I'll let you see as brave a chace
As ever down the Esk was run."

As they rade down by Rangecleuch ford,
They met Tarn Bold o' Kirkhope town ;
" Now whar gang ye, thou rank reaver,
Beneath the ae light o' the moon ?"

" When ye were last at Hawkshaw ha',
Tarn Bold, I had a stock right guid ;
Now I hae neither cow nor ewe
On a' the bonnie braes o' Fruid."

" O, ever alak!" quo' auld Tam Bold,
" Now, Pate, for thee my heart is wae ;
I saw your flocks gang owre the muir
O' Wingate by the skreigh o' day.

" Pate, ye maun ride for Liddel side,
An' tarry at the Tarras lair
Gin they get owre the Border line,
Your ewes an' kye you'll see nae mair."

As they rade owre by Sorbie-swire.

The day-light glimmered on the lea ;
" O, lak-a-day ! my bonnie gray,
I find ye plaittin' at the knee.

" Streek gin ye dow to Tarras flow,
On you depends your master's a',
An' ye's be fed wi' bread an' wine,
When ye gang hame to Hawkshaw ha'."

They spurred owre moss, owre muir an' fell,
Till mony a naig he swarf 'd away ;
At length they wan the Tarras moss,
An' lightit at the skreigh o' day.

The stots came rowtin' up the bent,
Tossin' their white horns to the sun ;
" Now, by my sooth !" Pate Porteous cried,
" My owsen will be hard to won."

Up came the captain o' the gang,
I wat a stalwart lad was he ;
" What lowns are ye," he bauldly cried,
" That dare to stop my kye an' me?"

" Light down, light down, thou fause Southron,
An' sey a skelp or twa wi' me,
For ye hae reared my flocks an' kye,
An', by my sooth, revenged I'll be.

" It's ne'er be said a Tweeddale knight
Was tamely harried o' his gear,
That Pate o' Hawkshaw e'er was cowed,
Or braved by Southron arm in wen:."

Then up an' spak the English chief,
A dauntless blade I wat was he,
" Now wha are ye, ye saucy lown,
That speaks thus haughtilye to me ':"

" My name it is Pate Porteous hight,
Light down an' try your hand wi' me,
For, by my sooth, or thou shalt yield,
Or one of us this day shall die."

The Southron turned him round about,
An' lightly on the ground lap he ;
" I rede thee, Scot, thou meet'st thy death
If thou dar'st cross a sword wi' me ;
" Have ye ne'er heard i' reife or raide,
O' Ringan's Rab o' Thorlberrye?

If ye hae not, ye hae excuse
For cracking here sae crabbedlye.

" But I can tell thee, muirland Pate,
Wi' hmgin' mou an' blirtit ee,
Ye'll tell your wife an' bairns at hame,
How Ringan's Robin yerkit thee."

Pate Porteous was a buirdly wight,
An arm o' strength an' might had he,
He brooked nae fear, but made his bragg
In deeds o' desperate devilrye.

" Have done," he cried, " Thou stalwart lown,
Thou Southron thief o' gallows fame,
I only ken that I am wranged,
An' thou shalt answer for the same."

They tied their horses to the birk,
An" drew their swords o' mettle keen ;
But sic a fray, as chanced that day,
On Border-side was never seen.

Pate Porteous was the first ae man
That shawed the red blude to the e'e,
Out o' the Southron's brawny thigh
He carved a slice right dextrouslye.

" Now tat thou that, fause Ringan's Rab,
An' muckle good may't do to thee,
'Twill learn ye how to slice the hams
O' my guid kye at Thorlberrye.'

" It's but a scart," quo' Ringan's Rab,
" The stang o' a wasp is waur to bide ;
But, or that we twa part again,
I'll pay it on thy ain backside."

" Now, fy lay on !" quo' Hawkshaw Pate,
" Now, fy lay on, an' dinna spare ;
If frae a Southron e'er I flinch,
I'se never wield a weapon mair."

They fought it lang, they fought it sair,
But scarcely doubtfu' was the day,
When Southrons round their captain closed,
An' shouted for the gen'ral fray.

Clash went the swords along the van ;
It was a gallant sight to see :
" Lay on them, lads," cried Hawkshaw Pate,
"Or, faith, we'll sup but spairinglye."

" Now, fy lay on !" quo' Ringan's Rab,
" Lay on them, lads o' English blude,
The Scottish brand i' dalesmen's hand
'Gainst Southland weapon never stude."

" Lay on them, lads," cried Hawkshaw Pate,
" Our horses lack baith hay an' corn ;
An' we maun a' hae English naigs
Out owre the Penraw Cross the morn."

The Tweedies gart their noddles crack, ' ,
Like auld pot-metal, yank for yank ;
Montgomery, wi' his spearmen guid,
He bored them trimly i' the flank.

An' Sandy Welsh, he fought an' swore,
An" swore an" fought fu' desperatelye ;
But Jockie o' Talla got a skelp
That cluve him to the left e'e-bree.

The Hurrays fought like dalesmen true,
An' stude i' reid blude owre the shoon ;
The Johnstons, an' the Frazers too,
Made doughty wark or a' was done.

The Tods an' Kerrs gaed hand an' gluve,
An' bathed i' blude their weapons true ;
An' Jamie o' Carterhope was there,
An' Harstane stout, an' young Badlewe.

Brave Norman Hunter o' Polmood,
He stood upon the knowe sae hie,
An', wi' his braid-bow in his hand,
He blindit mony a Southron e'e.

The blude ran down the Tarras bank ;
An' reddened a' the Tarras burn ;
" Now, by my South," said Hawkshaw Pate,
" I never stood sae hard a turn.

" I never saw the Southrons stand
An' brave the braidsword half so weel."

" Deil tak the dogs !" cried Sandy Welsh,
" I trow their hides are made o' steel.

" My sword is worn unto the back,
An' jagged and nickit like a thorn ;
It ne'er will ser' another turn,
But sawin through an auld toop-horn.

" But, by this swovd, an' by the rood,
An' by the deil an' a' his kin, — "
" Lord ! stop your gab," quo' auld Will Tod,
" Sic swearin' is a deadly sin.

" Haud still your gab, an' ply your sword,
Then swear like hell when a' is done ;
If I can rightly judge or guess,
The day's our ain, an' that right soon."

They beat them up the Tarras bank,
An' down the back o' Birkhope brae ;
Had it not been the Tarras flow,
Nae Englishman had 'scaped that day.

There were three an thirty Englishmen
Lay gasping on the Tarras moss,
An' three and thirty mae were ta'en,
An' led out owre the Penraw Cross.

The Tweeddale lads gat horse an' kye,
An' ransom gowd, an' gear their fill,
An' aye sin syne they bless the day
They fought sae weel on Tarras hill.

Pate Porteous drave his ewes an' kye
Back to their native hills again :
He hadna lost a man but four,
An' Jockie o' Talla he was ane.

Stout Ringan's Rab gat hame wi' life,
O he was yetherit an' yerkit sair ;
But he came owre the Penraw Cross
To herry Tweeddale glens nae mair.