Part 10

Sir John he bent him on his knee, And the king's word ne'er did err, For the cup is called, to this blessed hour, "THE LUCK OF MUNCASTER."

PART SECOND.

"Oh haste, Sir William of Liddislee My kinsman good at need, Ere the Esk's dark ford thou hast passed by, In Muncaster rest thy steed;

"And say to my love and my lady bright, In Carlisle I must stay, For the foe is come forth from the misty north, And I cannot hence away;

"But I must keep watch on Carlisle's towers With the banner of Cumberland; Then bid her beware of the rebel host, Lest they come with sword and brand.

"But bid her, rather than house or land, Take heed of that cup of grace, Which King Henry gave to our ancestor, The 'LUCK' of our noble race.

"Bid her bury it deep at dead of night, That no eye its hiding see. Now do mine errand, Sir William, As thou wouldst prosperous be!"

Sir William stayed nor for cloud nor shrine, He stayed not for rest nor bait, Till he saw the far gleam on Esk's broad stream, And Muncaster's Castle gate.

"From whence art thou in such fearful haste?" The warder wondering said; "Hast thou 'scaped alone from the bloody fight, And the field of the gory dead?"

"I am not from the bloody fight, Nor a craven flight I flee; But I am come to my lady's bower, Sir William of Liddislee."

The knight to the lady's bower is gone: "A boon I crave from thee, Deny me not, thou lady bright," And he bent him on his knee.

"I grant thee a boon," the lady said, "If it from my husband be;" "There's a cup of grace," cried the suppliant knight, "Which thou must give to me."

"Now foul befa' thee, fause traitor, That with guile would our treasure win; For ne'er from Sir John of Pennington Had such traitrous message been."

"I crave your guerdon, fair lady, 'Twas but your faith to try, That we might know if the 'Luck' of this house Were safe in such custody.

"The message was thus, thy husband sent; He hath looked out from Carlisle wa', And he is aware of John Highlandman Come trooping down the snaw;

"And should this kilted papistry Spread hither upon their way, They'll carry hence that cup of grace, Though thou shouldst say them nay.

"And thy lord must wait for the traitor foe By the walls of merry Carlisle; Else he would hie to his lady's help, And his lady's fears beguile.

"Thy lord would rather his house were brent, His goods and his cattle harried, Than the cup should be broken,--that cup of grace, Or from Muncaster's house be carried."

The kinsman smiled on that fond lady, And his traitor suit he plied: "Give me the cup," the false knight said, "From these foemen fierce to hide."

The lady of Muncaster oped the box Where lay this wondrous thing; Sir William saw its beauteous form, All bright and glistering.

The kinsman smiled on that fond lady, And he viewed it o'er and o'er. "'Tis a jewel of price," said that traitor then, "And worthy a prince's dower.

"We'll bury the treasure where ne'er from the sun One ray of gladness shone, Where darkness and light, and day and night, And summer and spring are one:

"Beneath the moat we'll bury it straight, In its box of the good oak-tree; And the cankered carle, John Highlandman, Shall never that jewel see."

The kinsman took the casket up, And the lady looked over the wall: "If thou break that cup of grace, beware, The pride of our house shall fall!"

The kinsman smiled as he looked above, And to the lady cried, "I'll show thee where thy luck shall be, And the lord of Muncaster's pride."

The lady watched this kinsman false, And he lifted the casket high: "Oh! look not so, Sir William," And bitterly she did cry.

But the traitor knight dashed the casket down To the ground, that blessed token; "Lie there," then said that false one now, "Proud Muncaster's charm is broken!"

The lady shrieked, the lady wailed, While the false knight fled amain: But never durst Muncaster's lord, I trow, Ope that blessed shrine again!