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 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN S. C O
 
 MARMION 
 
 BY 
 
 SIR WALTER SCOTT, BART. 
 
 W/ TH ILL US TKA TIONS 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 
 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 
 
 Cbc if^iticrsitrc J^rcss, (JTambritigc 
 
 1894
 
 Copyright, 1SS4 and 1SS3, 
 By James R. Osgood and Company. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 ^^TH^5
 
 
 TO 
 
 The Right Honorable 
 HENRY, LORD MONTAGUE, 
 
 ETC., ETC., ETC., 
 
 2Cf}is l^omancr is Ensrrtbcti 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR.
 
 AMERICAN PUBLISHERS' PREFACE. 
 
 The text of tins edition is the same as that 
 of the Illustrated Students' Edition, prepared by 
 Mr. W. J. Rolfe. The following extracts from 
 Mr. Rolfe-'s preface serve to show the care he has 
 used and the need that existed for revision: — 
 
 " In tlie preface to The Lady of the Lake I said that 
 the poem had not been printed correctly for more than 
 fifty years. Marmion, so far as I can learn, has 7iever 
 been printed correctly. Scott appears to have overlooked 
 sundry bad misprints in the first edition (which I have 
 compared minutely with the fourth and all the more 
 recent editions, English and American, that I could get
 
 10 AMERICAN PUBLISHERS' PREFACE. 
 
 hold of) ; and these errors of the type have been pei-pet- 
 uated until now. Lockhart professes to have revised the 
 text carefully, Avith the aid of the author's interleaved 
 copy of the edition of 1830 ; and we must give him 
 credit for restoring one line (v. 947) accidentally omitted 
 in the early editions, and for incorporating one or two 
 trifling changes (as Badenoch-man for Hlghlandman in vi. 
 795) made by Scott in 1830 ; but he has not corrected 
 a single one of the old misprints, while he has over- 
 looked a number of new ones due to his own printers. 
 On the whole, he has marred the text far more than 
 he has mended it. 
 
 " As a sample of the corruptions that date from the 
 first publication of the poem, see the opening of Canto 
 II., where the printer put a period in place of the 
 comma Scott undoubtedly meant to have at the end 
 of the 5th line. He did not detect the error, and, 
 so. far as I am aware, it has been repeated in every 
 edition except this of mine. As the reader will see, it 
 alters the construction, and makes nonsense of the 
 passage. Again, in ii. 017, the first edition has a
 
 AMERICAN PUBLISriERS' PREFACE. 11 
 
 period instead of a comma at the end of the line, 
 spoiling the gruinnuir and the sense ; and the period 
 (or the colon, which is equally bad) has been retained 
 from that day to this. 
 
 " Of corruptions that appear (so far, at least, as my 
 collation of the texts enables me to decide ) for the 
 first time in Lockhart's edition, I may mention ii. 4G4, 
 where Scott wrote and printed ' They knew not how, 
 and knew not where,' while Lockhart reads ' )iO)- knew 
 not where.' Scott is free in his use of archaic words 
 and constructions, but I recall no instance in which 
 he has indulged in this old ' double negative.' Again, 
 in V. 212, Scott's ' For royal tvere his garb and mien' 
 is turned by Lockhart, or his printers, into ' Por 
 royal ivas,' etc. In iv, 597, Scott has ' peace and 
 wealth . . . has blessed ; ' but, as any schoolboy could 
 explain, that is not a parallel case. 
 
 " The archaisms to Avhich I have just referred have 
 proved, as in The Lady of the Lake, a stumbling-block 
 to editors or their proof-readers. I have seen an 
 edition of Sliakespeare in which every instance of the
 
 12 AMERICAN PUBLISHERS' PREFACE. 
 
 obsolete vail {= lower, let fall ) is ' corrected ' to veil, 
 the difference being assumed to be one of spelling 
 merely; and in Marmion, iii. 234, where the early 
 editions all have vad, the recent ones all have veil. In 
 vi. 608, where Scott uses the word again (if we may 
 trust the early editions), Lockhart prints 'vails. Here 
 a question may possibly be raised as to the true read- 
 ing ; but in iii. 194 I have no doubt that Scott's 
 word was sleigJits, as in all the early editions, and 
 not sligJits, as in Lockhart's and all the later ones. 
 Lockhart is also responsible, I believe, for the bad 
 corruption of 'For me,' etc. for 'From me,' etc., in iii. 
 ind. 228. 
 
 " In iii. ind. 28, the first edition has ' Some tran- 
 sient fit of loftier rhyme : ' but every other edition 
 that I have seen has ' lofti/ rhyme.' We may be 
 sure that Scott wn'ote the former, and that he woukl 
 never have altered it to the latter. . . . 
 
 " T may add that Lockhart did not collate the early 
 editions with sufficient care while comparing the printed 
 trxt with the original MS. ; for in several instances
 
 AMERICAN PUBLISHERS' PREFACE. 13 
 
 (see, for exaiiiplc, on iv. (535, 647, etc.), as in The 
 Ladi) of the Lake, he gives readings us ibutid oulv in 
 tiie MS. vvbicli really occur in tlie lirst edition." 
 
 The Publishers therefore can confidently claim 
 lor these editions that they are the only correct 
 ones now in print. 
 
 Boston, August, 1885.
 
 AUTHOR'S PREFACE 
 
 TO 
 
 THE FIKST EDITION. 
 
 It is hardly to be expected that an author whom 
 the public have houored with some degree of applause 
 should not be again a trespasser on their kindness. 
 Yet the author of " Marmion " must be supposed to 
 feel some anxiety concerning its success, since he is 
 sensible that he hazards, by this second intrusion, any 
 reputation which his first poem may have procured 
 him. The present story turns upon the private 
 adventures of a fictitious character, but is called a 
 "Tale of Elodden Field," because the hero's fate is 
 connected with that memorable defeat and the causes 
 which led to it. The design of the author was, if 
 possible, to apprise his readers, at the outset, of the
 
 16 AUTHOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 date of his story, and to prepare tliein for the maimers 
 of the age in which it is hiid. Any historical narra- 
 tive, far more an attempt at epic composition, 
 exceeded his plan of a romantic tale ; yet he may 
 be permitted to hope, from the popularity of " The 
 Lay of the Last Minstrel," that an attempt to paint 
 the manners of the feudal times, upon a broader scale, 
 and in the course of a more interesting story, will not 
 be unacceptable to the public. 
 
 The poem ojiens about the commencement of 
 August, and conckidcs with the defeat of Flodden, 
 9th September, 1513. 
 
 ASHKSTIEL, 1808.
 
 AUTHOR'S PREFACE 
 
 TO 
 
 THE EDITION OF 1830. 
 
 What I have to say respecting this jioem may be 
 brielly told. In the Introduction to the " Lay of the 
 Last Minstrel " I have mentioned the circumstances, 
 so far as my literary life is concerned, which induced 
 me to resign the active pursuit of an honorable pro- 
 fession for the more precarious resources of literature. 
 My appointment to the SheriflTdom of Selkirk called 
 for a change of residence. I left, therefore, the 
 pleasant cottage I had upon tlie side of the Esk, for 
 the " pleasanter banks of the Tweed," in order to 
 comply with the law, which requires that the sheriff 
 shall be resident, at least during a certain number of 
 months, within his jurisdiction. We found a delight-
 
 18 AUTHOR'S PREFACE 
 
 fill retirement, by my becoming the tenant of my 
 intimate friend and cousin-german, Colonel Eussel, 
 in his mansion of Ashestiel, wliich was unoccnpied 
 during his absence on military service in India. The 
 house was adequate to our accommodation and the 
 exercise of a limited hosjntality. The situation is 
 uncommonly beautiful, by the side of a fine river 
 whose streams are there very favorable for angling, 
 surrounded by the remains of natural woods, and by 
 hills abounding in game. In point of society, accord- 
 ing to the heartfelt phrase of Scri])ture, we dwelt 
 " amongst our own people ; ''' and as the distance 
 from the metropolis was only thirty miles, we were 
 not out of reach of our Edinburgli friends, in which 
 city we spent the terms of the summer and winter 
 sessions of the court, that is, five or six months in 
 the year. 
 
 An important circumstance had, about the same 
 time, taken place in my life. Ho])es had been held 
 out to me from an influential quarter, of a nature to 
 relieve me from the anxiety which I must have other-
 
 TO THE EDITION OF 1S30. 19 
 
 wise felt, as one upon the precarious tenure of whose 
 own life rested the principal prospects of his family, 
 and especially as one who had necessarily some 
 dependence upon the favor of the public, which is 
 proverbially capricious; though it is but justice to 
 add that in my own case I have not found it so. Mr. 
 Pitt had expressed a wish to my personal friend, the 
 Right Honorable William Dundas, now Lord Clerk 
 Register of Scotland, that some fitting opportunity 
 should be taken to be of service to me ; and as my 
 views and wishes pointed to a future rather than an 
 immediate provision, an opportunity of accomplishing 
 this was soon found. One of the Principal Clerks 
 of Session, as they are called (official persons who 
 occupy an important and responsible situation, and 
 enjoy a considerable income), who had served up- 
 wards of thirty years, felt himself, from age and the 
 infirmity of deafness with whicli it was accompanied, 
 desirous of retiring from his official situation. As 
 the law then stood, such official persons were entitled 
 to bargain with their successors, either for a sum of
 
 20 AUTHOR'S PREFACE 
 
 money, which was usually a considerable onCj or for 
 an interest in the emoluments of the office during 
 their life. My predecessor, whose services had been 
 unusually meritorious, stipulated for the emoluments 
 of his office during his life, while I should enjoy the 
 survivorship, on the condition that I discharged the 
 duties of the office in the mean time. Mr. Pitt, how- 
 ever, having died in the interval, his administration 
 was dissolved, and was succeeded by that known by 
 the name of the Fox and Grenville Ministry. My 
 affair was so far completed that my commission lay 
 in the office subscribed by his Majesty ; but, from 
 hurry or mistake, the interest of my predecessor was 
 not expressed in it, as had been usual in such cases. 
 Although, therefore, it oidy required payment of the 
 fees, I could not in honor take out the connnission 
 in the present state, since, in tlie event of my dying 
 before him, the gentleman whom I succeeded must 
 have lost the vested interest which he had stipulated 
 to retain. I had the honor of an interview with 
 Earl Spencer on the subject, and he, in the most
 
 TO THE EDITION OF ISJO. 21 
 
 Inmdsoine manner, gave directions tliat the coin- 
 mission slioukl issue as originally intended ; adding, 
 that the matter liaving received the royal assent, he 
 regarded only as a claun of justice what he would 
 have willingly done as an act of favor. I never 
 saw Mr. Fox on this or on any other occasion, and 
 never made any application to him, conceiving that 
 in doing so I miglit have been supposed to express 
 political opinions contrary to those which I had 
 always professed. In his private capacity, there 
 is no man to whom I would have been more 
 proud to owe an obligation, had I been so distin- 
 guished. 
 
 By this arrangement I obtained the survivorship 
 of an office the Emoluments of which were fully 
 adequate to my wishes ; and as the law respecting 
 the mode of providing for superannuated officers 
 was, about five or six years after, altered from that 
 which admitted the arrangement of assistant and 
 successor, my colleague very handsomely took the 
 opportunity of the alteration to accept of the retirmg
 
 ^2 AUTHOR'S PREFACE 
 
 animitj provided in such cases, and admitted me to 
 the full benefit of the office. 
 
 But although the certainty of succeeding to a con- 
 siderable income, at the time I obtained it, seemed to 
 assure me of a quiet harbor in mj old age, I did not 
 esca])e my share of inconvenience from the contrary 
 tides and currents by which we are so often encoun- 
 tered in our journey through life, indeed, the pub- 
 lication of my next poetical attempt was prematurely 
 accelerated, from one of those unpleasant accidents 
 which can neither be foreseen nor avoided. 
 
 I had formed the prudent resolution to endeavor 
 to bestow a little more Inbor than I had yet done on 
 my productions, and to be in no hurry again to 
 aimounce myself as a candidate' for literary fame. 
 Accordnigly, particular passages of a ])oem Avhich 
 M^as finally called " Marmion " were labored with a 
 good deal of care by one by whom much care was 
 seldom bestowed. Whether the work was worth tiie 
 labor or not, I am no competent judge ; but I mny 
 be permitted to say that the period of its composition
 
 TO THE EDITION OF 1S30. 23 
 
 was a very happy one in my life; so mucli so, that 
 I remember with pleasure^ at this moment, some of 
 the spots in wliich particuhir passages were com- 
 posed. It is probably owing to this that the Intro- 
 ductions to the several cantos assumed the form of 
 familiar epistles to rny intimate friends, in which 
 I alluded, perhaps more than was necessary or grace- 
 ful, to my domestic occupations and amusements, — 
 a loquacity which may be excused by those who 
 remember that I was still young, light-headed, and 
 happy, and that " out of the abundance of the heart 
 the mouth speaketh/' 
 
 The misfortunes of a near relation and friend, which 
 happened at this tiine, led me to alter my prudent 
 determination, which had been to use great pre- 
 caution in sending this poem into the world ; and 
 made it convenient at least, if not absolutely neces- 
 sary, to hasten its publication. The publishers of 
 "The Lay of the Last Minstrel,^' emboldened by the 
 success of that poem, willingly offered a thousand 
 pounds for " Marmion/^ The transaction, being no
 
 24 AUTHOR'S PREFACE 
 
 secret, afforded Ijord Byron, who was then at general 
 war with all who blacked paper, an apology for 
 including me in his satire entitled " English Bards 
 and Scotch Reviewers." I never could conceive how 
 an arrangement between an author and his publishers, 
 if satisfactory to the persons concerned, could afford 
 matter of censure to any third party. I had taken 
 no unusual or ungenerous means of enhancing the 
 value of my merchandise, — I had never higgled a 
 moment about the bargain, but accepted at once 
 what I considered the handsome offer of my pub- 
 lishers. These gentlemen, at least, were not of 
 opinion that they had been taken advantage of in 
 the transaction, which indeed was one of their own 
 framing ; on the contrary, the sale of the poem was 
 so far beyond their expectation as to induce them to 
 supply the author^s cellars with what is always an 
 acceptable present to a young Scottish housekeeper, 
 namely, a hogshead of excellent claret. 
 
 The poem was finished in too much haste to allow 
 me an opportunity of softening down, if not remov-
 
 TO THE EDITION OF 18S0. 25 
 
 iiig-, some of its most prominent defects. 'V\\v. iiatui-c 
 of Ar;iriiii()ii's i^iiilt, although similar instances were 
 foundj and might be quoted, as existing in feudal 
 times, was nevertheless not sufficiently peculiar to 
 be indicative of tlie character of the period, forgery 
 being the crime of a commercial rather than a proud 
 and warbke age. This gross defect ought to have 
 been remedied or palliated. Yet I suttered the tree 
 to lie as it had fallen. I remember my friend. Dr. 
 Leyden, theii in the East, wrote me a furious remon- 
 strance on the subject. I have, nevertheless, always 
 been of opinion that corrections, however in them- 
 selves judicious, have a bad eflTect — after publica- 
 tion. An author is never so decidedly condemned 
 as on his own confession, and may long find a])olo- 
 gists and partisans until he gives up his own cause. 
 I was not, therefore, inclined to afford matter for 
 censure out of my own admissions ; and, by good 
 fortune, the novelty of the subject and, if I may say 
 so, some force and vivacity of description, were 
 allowed to atone for mauy imperfections. Thus the
 
 26 AUTHOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 second experiment on the public patience, generally 
 the most perilous, — for the public are then most apt 
 to judge with rigor what in the first instance they 
 had received perhaps with imprudent generosity, — 
 was in my case decidedly successful. I had the 
 good fortune to pass this ordeal favorably, and the 
 return of sales before me makes the copies amount to 
 thirty-six thousand printed between 1808 and 1825, 
 besides a considerable sale since that period. I shall 
 here pause upon the subject of " Marmion," and, in 
 a few prefatory words to " The Lady of the Lake," 
 the last poem of mine which obtained eminent suc- 
 cess, I will continue the task which I have imposed 
 on myself respecting the origin of my productions. 
 
 W. S 
 Abbotsford, April, 1830.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 — • — 
 
 FACE 
 
 AMERICAN PrjJPACE 9 
 
 Author's Preface to the First Edition ... 13 
 
 Author's Preface to the Edition op 1830 . . 15 
 
 Introduction to Canto First 37 
 
 Canto First. 
 
 The Castle 51 
 
 Introduction to Canto Second 79 
 
 Canto Second. 
 
 The Convent 89 
 
 Introduction to Canto Third 121 
 
 Canto Third. 
 
 The Hostel, or Inn 131 
 
 Introduction to Canto Fourth 161 
 
 Canto Fourth. 
 
 The Camp 169
 
 28 CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 Introduction to Canto Fifth 201 
 
 Canto Fifth. 
 
 The Court . 209 
 
 Introduction to Canto ISixth 255 
 
 Canto Sixth. 
 
 The Battle 265 
 
 L'Envoy. 
 
 To THE Header ... . . 314
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 Str Walter Scott Frontispiece 
 
 Abbotsford Engraved Title 
 
 Half Title 33 
 
 Headpikce to Introduction 37 
 
 Tailpiece to Introduction . . 49 
 
 " Day set on Norham's castled steep, 
 And Tweed's fair river, broad and deep, 
 
 And Cheviot's mountains lone " 51 
 
 A Loophole 53 
 
 " Two pursuivants, whom tabards deck, 
 With silver scutcheon round their neck. 
 
 Stood on the steps of stone " 59 
 
 " A mighty wassail-bowl he took, 
 
 And crowned it high with wine. 
 ' Now pledge me here. Lord Marmion ; 
 
 But first I pray thee fair ' " .63 
 
 " But strode across the hall of state, 
 And fronted Marmion where lie sate 
 
 As he his peer had been " 73
 
 30 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 Page 
 
 Headpiece to Introduction . 79 
 
 " Where, from high Whitby's cloistered pile "... 89 
 
 " She sate upon the galley's prow, 
 
 And seemed to mark the waves below " .... 93 
 
 LiNDISEAKNE AbBEY 100 
 
 " And there she stood so calm and pale, 
 
 That, but her breathing did not fail, 
 
 You might have thought a form of wax, 
 
 Wrought to tlie very life, was there ; 
 
 So still she was, so pale, so fair " . . . . . . 10/ 
 
 Tailpiece - 117 
 
 Headpiece to Introduction 121 
 
 " The village inu seemed large, though rude " . . 131 
 
 " And viewed around the blazing hearth 
 
 His followers niix iu noisy mirth ",...... 135 
 
 " Long since, beneath Dunfermline's nave, 
 
 King Alexander fills his grave "... .... 151 
 
 " In moonbeam half, and half in gloom. 
 
 Stood a tall form with nodding plume ; 
 
 But, ere his dagger Eustace drew, 
 
 His master Marmion's voice he knew " . .... 155 
 
 Headpiece to Introduction 161 
 
 " Down from his horse did Marniion spring 
 
 Soon as he saw the Lion-King ; 
 
 For well the stately baron knew 
 
 To him such courtesy was due " 177
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 81 
 
 Page 
 
 *' Full on liis face t !io inooubeiim strooK : — 
 
 A face could never be mistook ! 
 
 1 knew the stern vindictive look " . . , ■ . 187 
 
 " Where the huge Castle holds its state, 
 
 And all the steep slope down, 
 Whose ridgy back heaves to the sky, 
 Piled deep and massy, close and high " . . . . 195 
 
 Headpiece to Introduction .... ... 201 
 
 Tailpiece to Introduction 208 
 
 " Next, Marmion marked the Celtic race. 
 
 Of different language, form, and face " 213 
 
 " The monarch o'er the siren hung. 
 And beat the measure as she sung ; 
 And, pressing closer and more near, 
 He whispered praises in her car " 223 
 
 " On Derby Hills the paths are steep ; 
 
 In Ouse and Tyne the fords are <leep " 229 
 
 " The antique buildings, climbing high, 
 Whose Gothic frontlets sought the sky, 
 
 Were here wrapt deep in shade " 233 
 
 " At night, in secret, there they came, 
 
 The Palmer and the holy dame. 
 
 Ihe moon among the clouds rode high. 
 
 And all the city hum was by " 235 
 
 '' Then took the squire her rein, 
 And gently led away her steed, 
 And by each courteous word and deed 
 
 To cheer her strove in vain "..... , 249
 
 :]-Z LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 Page 
 
 Headpiece to Introduction ........ 255 
 
 Tailpiece to Introduction 263 
 
 '' She raised her eyes in mounifiil inndd. — 
 
 Wilton himself before her stood ! " 271 
 
 " The rest were all in Twisel glen " 277 
 
 " ' Lord Angus, thou hast lied ! ' — 
 On the earl's cheek tlie flush of rage 
 O'ercanie the ashen hue of age " 283 
 
 " The steed along the drawbridge flies 
 
 Just as it trembled on the rise " • 285 
 
 Flodden Field ... 299 
 
 " A light on Marmion's visage spread, 
 
 And fired his glazing eye ; 
 Witli dying hand above his head 
 He shook the fragment of his blade, 
 
 And shouted 'Victory !' — " ...... .305 
 
 " There erst was martial Marmiou found, 
 His feet upon a couchant hound, 
 
 His hands to heaven upraised ; 
 And all around, on scutcheon rich, 
 And tablet carvca, and iVetted niche, 
 
 His arms and feats were blazed" ... . 811
 
 CANTO FIEST 
 
 THE CASTLE.
 
 MA EM ION. 
 
 INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FIRST. 
 
 TO WILLIAM STEWART ROSE, ESQ. 
 
 Ashesflel, Eltrlck Forest. 
 
 November's sky is cliill and drear, 
 November's leaf is red and sear : 
 Late, gazing down the steepy linn 
 That hems our little garden in, 
 Low in its dark and narrow glen, 
 You scarce the rivulet might ken, 
 So thick the tangled greeuAvood grew. 
 So feeble trilled the streamlet through ; 
 Now, murmuring hoarse, and frequent seen 
 Through bush and brier, no longer green, 
 An angry brook, it sweeps the glade, 
 Brawls over rock and wild cascade,
 
 38 MARMION. 
 
 And, foaming broAvii with double speed, 
 Hurries its waters to the Tweed. 
 
 No longer autumn's glowing red 
 Upon our Forest hills is shed; 
 No more, beneath the evening beam, 
 Fair Tweed refleets their purple gleam. 
 Away hath passed the heather-bell 
 Tiiat bloomed so rich on Needpath-fell ; 
 Sallow iiis brow, and russet bare 
 Are now the sister-heiglits of Yair. 
 The sheep, before the pinching heaven, 
 To sheltered dale and down are driven, 
 Where yet some faded herbage pines, 
 And yet a watery sunbeam shines ; 
 In meek despondency they eye 
 The withered sward and wintry sky. 
 And far beneatli their summer hill 
 Stray sadly by Glenkinnon's rill. 
 The shepherd shifts his mantle's fold, 
 And wraps him closer from the cold : 
 His dogs no merry circles Avheel, 
 But shivering follow at his heel ; 
 A cowering glance they often cast, 
 As deeper moans the gathering blast. 
 
 My imps, though liardy, bold, and wild. 
 As best befits the mountain child, 
 Feel tlie sad influence of the hour, 
 And wail the daisy's vanished flower,
 
 INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FIRST. 39 
 
 Tlicir summer gambols tell, and mourn, 
 And anxious ask, — Will spring return, 
 And birds and lambs again be gay, 
 And blossoms clot.lu; the luivvtliorn spray? 
 
 Yes, prattlers, yes. The daisy's flower 
 Again shall paint your summer bower; 
 Again the hawthorn shall supply 
 The garlands you delight to tie ; 
 Tiie lambs upon the lea shall bound. 
 The wild birds carol to the round; 
 And while you frolic light as they, 
 Too short shall seem the summer day. 
 
 To mute and to material things 
 New life revolving summer brings ; 
 The geidal call dead Nature hears. 
 And in her glory reappears. 
 But oh ! my country's wintry state 
 What second spring shall renovate? 
 What powerful call shall bid arise 
 The buried warlike and the wise. 
 The mind that thought for Britain's weal. 
 The hand that grasped the victor steel ? 
 The vernal sun new life bestows 
 Even on the meanest flower that blows ; 
 But vainly, vainly may he shine 
 Where Glory weeps o'er Nelson's shrine. 
 And vainly pierce the solemn gloom 
 That shrouds, Pitt, thy hallowed tomb!
 
 40 MARMION. 
 
 Deep graved in every British heart. 
 Oh, never let those names depart ! 
 Say to your sons, — Lo, here his grave 
 Who victor died on Gadite wave ! 
 To liim, as to the burning levin, 
 Short, bright, resistless course was given ; 
 Where'er his country's foes were found, 
 Was heard the fated thunder's souiul, 
 Till burst the bolt on yonder shore, 
 Eolled, blazed, destroyed, — and was no more. 
 
 Nor mourn ye less his perished worth 
 
 Who bade the conqueror go forth. 
 
 And launched that thunderbolt of war 
 
 On Egypt, Hafnia, Trafiilgar ; 
 
 AVho, born to guide such high emprise, 
 
 For Britain's weal was early wise ; 
 
 Alas ! to whom the Almighty gave, 
 
 For Britain's sins, an early grave ! 
 
 His worth who, in his mightiest hour, 
 
 A bauble held the pride of power, 
 
 Spurned at the sordid lust of pelf. 
 
 And served his Albion for herself; 
 
 Who, when the frantic crowd amain 
 
 Strained at subjection's l)ursting rein, 
 
 O'er their wild mood full conquest gained. 
 
 The pride, he would not crush, restrained. 
 
 Showed their fierce zeal a worthier cause, 
 
 And brought the freeman's arm to aid the freeman's 
 laws.
 
 INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FIRST. 41 
 
 Hadst tlioii but lived, thougli stripped of power, 
 A watcliinau on the lonely tower, 
 Tliy thrilling trump had roused tiie laud, 
 When fraud or danger were at hand ; 
 By thee, as by the beacon-light, 
 Our pilots had kept course aright; 
 As some proud column, thongh alone, 
 'Y\\y strength had propped the tottering throne. 
 Now is the stately column broke, 
 The beacon-light is quenched in smoke, 
 The trumpet's silver sound is still, 
 The warder silent on the hill ! 
 
 Oil, think, how to his latest day. 
 When death, just hovering, claimed his prey, 
 With Palinure's unaltered mood, 
 Firm at his dangerous post he stood, 
 Each call for needful rest repelled, 
 With dying hand the rudder held, 
 Till, in his fall, with fateful sway. 
 The steerage of the realm gave way ! 
 Then, while on Britain's thousand plains 
 One unpolluted church remains, 
 Whose peaceful bells ne'er sent around 
 The bloody tocsin's maddening sound. 
 But still, upon the hallowed day. 
 Convoke the swains to praise and pray ; 
 While faith and civil peace are dear, 
 Grace this cold marble Avith a tear, — 
 He who preserved them, Pitt, lies here.
 
 42 MAimiON. 
 
 Nor yet suppress the generous sigh 
 Because his rival slumbers nigh, 
 Nor be thy requiescat (huub 
 Lest it be said o'er Pox's tomb ; 
 Por talents mourn, untimely lost, 
 When best employed and wanted most ; 
 Mourn genius high, and lore profound. 
 And wit that loved to play, not wound ; 
 And all the reasoning powers divine. 
 To penetrate, resolve, combine ; 
 And feelings keen, and fancy's glow. 
 They sleep with him who sleeps below : 
 And, if thou mourn'st they could not save 
 From error him who owns this grave, 
 Be every harsher thought suppressed, 
 And sacred be the last long rest. 
 Here, where the end of earthly things 
 Lays heroes, patriots, bards, and Icings ; 
 Where stiff the hand, and still the tongue. 
 Of those who fought, and spoke, and sung : 
 Here, where the fretted aisles prolong 
 The distant notes of holy song. 
 As if some angel spoke again, 
 'All peace on earth, good-will to men;' 
 If ever from an English heart. 
 Oh, here let prejudice depart. 
 And, partial feeling cast aside. 
 Record that Fox a Briton died ! 
 When Europe crouched to France's yoke. 
 And Austria bent, and Prussia broke.
 
 INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FIRST. 43 
 
 And the firm Russian's purpose brave 
 Was bartered by a timorous slave, 
 Even tlieu dishonor's peace he spurned, 
 Tiie sullied olive-braneh returned, 
 Stood for his country's glory fast, 
 And nailed her colors to the mast ! 
 Heaven, to rcAvard his firmness, gave 
 A portion in this honored grave, 
 And ne'er held marble in its trust 
 Of two such wondrous men the dust. 
 
 With more than mortal powers endowed, 
 How high they soared above the crowd ! 
 Theirs was no common party race. 
 Jostling by dark intrigue for place; 
 Like fabled Gods, their mighty war 
 Shook realms and nations in its jar; 
 Beneath each banner proud to stand. 
 Looked up the noblest of the land. 
 Till through the British world were known 
 The names of Pitt and Fox alone. 
 Spells of such force no wizard grave 
 E'er framed in dark Thessalian cave, 
 Thou2:h his could drain the ocean drv. 
 And force the planets from the sky. 
 These spells are spent, and, spent with these, 
 The wine of life is on the lees, 
 Genius and taste and talent gone, 
 Forever tombed beneath the stone. 
 Where — taming thought to human pride ! —
 
 44 MARMION. 
 
 Tlic mighty chiefs sleep side by side. 
 Drop upon Fox's grave the tear, 
 'T will trickle to his rival's bier ; 
 O'er Pitt's the mournful requiem sound, 
 And Fox's shall the notes rebound. 
 The solemn echo seems to cry, — 
 ' Here let their discord with them die. 
 Speak not for those a separate doom 
 Whom Fate made brothers in the tomb ; 
 lint search the land, of living men. 
 Where wilt thou find their like again?' 
 
 Eest, ardent spirits, till the cries 
 Of dying nature bid you rise ! 
 Not even your Britain's groans can pierce 
 Tiie leaden silence of your hearse ; 
 Then, oh, how impotent and vain 
 This grateful tributary strain ! 
 Though not unmarked from northern clime. 
 Ye heard the Border ]\Iinstrel's rhyme : 
 His Gothic harp has o'er you rung; 
 
 The Bard you deigned to praise, your deathless names 
 has sun"-. 
 
 n' 
 
 Stay yet, illusion, stay a while, 
 My wildered fancy still beguile ! 
 From this high theme how can I part. 
 Ere half unloaded is my heart ! 
 For all the tears e'er sorrow drew, 
 And all the raptures fancy knew.
 
 INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FIRST. 45 
 
 And all the keener rush of blood 
 
 That throbs through bard in bardlike mood, 
 
 Were here a tribute mean and low, 
 
 Though all their mingled streams could flow — 
 
 Woe, wonder, and sensation high, 
 
 In one spring-tide of ecstasy ! — 
 
 It will not be — it may not last — 
 
 The vision of enchantment 's past : 
 
 Like frostwork in the morning ray. 
 
 The fancy fabric melts away ; 
 
 Each Gothic arch, memorial-stone, 
 
 And long, dim, lofty aisle, are gone; 
 
 And, lingering last, deception dear. 
 
 The choir's high soiuids die on my ear. 
 
 Now slow return the lonely down. 
 
 The silent pastures bleak and brown. 
 
 The farm begirt with copsewood wild. 
 
 The gambols of each frolic child. 
 
 Mixing their shrill cries with the tone 
 
 Of Tweed's dark waters rushing on. 
 
 Prompt on imequal tasks to run. 
 Thus Nature disciplines her son : 
 Meeter, she says, for me to stray, 
 And waste the solitary day 
 In plucking from yon fen the reed, 
 And Avatch it floating down the Tweed, 
 Or idly list the shrilling lay 
 With which the milkmaid cheers her way, 
 Mai-king its cadence rise and fail.
 
 46 MARMION. 
 
 As from the field, beneath her puil, 
 She trips it down the uneven dale ; 
 Meeter for inc, by yonder cairn, 
 Tlie ancient shepherd's tale to leai'n, 
 Thong-li oft he stop in rustic fear. 
 Lest his old legends tire the ear 
 Of one who, in his simple mind, 
 Mav boast of book-learned taste refined. 
 
 But tliou, my friend, canst fitly tell — 
 Por few have read romance so well — 
 How still the legendary lay 
 O'er poet's bosom holds its sway ; 
 How on the ancient minstrel strain 
 Time lays his palsied hand in vain ; 
 And liow our hearts at doughty deeds. 
 By warriors wa'ought in steely weeds, 
 Still throb for fear and pity's sake ; 
 As when the Champion of the Lake 
 Enters Morgaiia's fated house. 
 Or in the Chapel Perilous, 
 Despising spells and demons' force, 
 Holds converse with the unburied corse ; 
 Or when. Dame Ganore's grace to move - 
 Alas, that lawless was their love ! — 
 He sought proud Tarquin in his den. 
 And freed full sixty knights ; or when, 
 A sinful man and unconfessed, 
 He took the Sangreal's holy quest.
 
 INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FIRST. 47 
 
 Ami aluiiiberiiig saw tlu! vision high 
 He might not view with waking eye. 
 
 The mightiest rhiefs of British song 
 Scorned not such h^genils to prolong. 
 They gleam through Spenser's elfin dream, 
 An(i mix in Milton's heavenly theme ; 
 And Dryden, in innnortal strain, 
 Had raised the Table Konnd again, 
 But that a ribald king and conrt 
 Bade him toil on, to make them sport j 
 Demanded for their niggard pay, 
 Fit for their souls, a looser lay, 
 Licentious satire, song, and play ; 
 The world defrauded of the high design. 
 Profaned the God-given strength, and marred the lofty line. 
 
 Warmed by such names, well may we then, 
 Though dwindled sons of little men. 
 Essay to break a feeble lance 
 In the fair fields of old romance ; 
 Or seek the moated castle's cell, 
 Where long through talisman and spell, 
 While tyrants ruled and damsels wept, 
 Thy Genius, Chivalry, hath slept. 
 There sound the harpings of the North, 
 Till he awake and sally forth, 
 On venturous quest to prick again,
 
 48 MARMION. 
 
 In all his arms, with all his train, 
 
 Shield, lance, and brand, and plume, and scarf, 
 
 Fay, giant, dragon, squire, and dwarf, 
 
 And wizard with his wand of might, 
 
 And errant maid on palfrey white. 
 
 Around the Genius weave their spells, 
 
 Pure Love, who scarce his passion tells; 
 
 Mystery, half veiled and half revealed ; 
 
 And Honor, with his spotless shield ; 
 
 Attention, with fixed eye ; and Fear, 
 
 That loves the tale she shrinks to hear ; 
 
 And gentle Courtesy; and Faith, 
 
 Unchanged by sufferings, time, or death ; 
 
 And Valor, lion-mettled lord. 
 
 Leaning upon his own good sword. 
 
 Well has thy fair achievement shown 
 A worthy meed may thus be won : 
 Yteue's oaks — beneath whose shade 
 Their theme the merry minstrels made, 
 Of Ascapart, and Bevis bold. 
 And that Red King, who, while of old 
 Through Boldrewood the chase he led, 
 By his loved huntsman's arrow bled — 
 Ytene's oaks have heard again 
 Renewed such legendary strain ; 
 For thon hast sung, how he of Gaul, 
 That Amadis so famed in hall, 
 For Oriana, foiled in fight
 
 INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FIRST. 
 
 49 
 
 The Necromancer's felon might ; 
 And well in modern verse hast wove 
 Partcnopex's mystic love : 
 Hear, tlicii, attentive to my lay, 
 A knightly tale of Albion's elder day.
 
 CANTO FIRST. 
 
 THE CASTLE. 
 
 Day set on Norham's castled steep, 
 And Tweed's feir river, broad and deep, 
 
 And Cheviot's mountains lone ; 
 The battled towers, the donjon keep, 
 The loophole grates where captives weep. 
 The flanking walls that round it sweep. 
 
 In yellow lustre shone.
 
 52 MARMION. 
 
 The warriors on the turrets high, 
 Moving athwart the evening sky, 
 
 Seemed forms of giant height ; 
 Their armor, as it cauglit the rays, 
 Fhished back again the western Llaze, 
 
 In lines of dazzling light. 
 
 II. 
 
 Saint George's banner, broad and gay, 
 Now faded, as the fading ray 
 
 Less bright, and less, was flung; 
 The evening gale had scarce the power 
 To wave it on the donjon tower. 
 
 So heavily it hung. 
 The scouts had parted on their search, 
 
 The castle gates were barred ; 
 Above the gloomy portal arch. 
 Timing his footsteps to a march. 
 
 The warder kept his guard. 
 Low humming, as he paced along. 
 Some ancient Border gathering song. 
 
 III. 
 
 A distant trampling sound he hears ; 
 He looks abroad, and soon appears. 
 O'er Horncliff-hill, a plump of spears 
 
 Beneath a pennon gay ; 
 A horseman, darting from the crowd 
 Like lightning from a summer cloud.
 
 THE CASTLE. 
 
 Spurs on his mettled courser proud, 
 
 Before tlie dark array. 
 Beneath tlic sable palisade 
 That closed the castle barricade, 
 
 His bug-lc-liorn he blew ; 
 
 53 
 
 ilUWiii'llUj 
 
 The warder hasted from the wall, 
 And warned the captain in the hall. 
 
 For well the blast he knew ; 
 And joyfully that knight did call 
 To sewer, squire, and seneschal. 
 
 IV. 
 
 ' Now broach ye a pipe of Malvoisie, 
 Bring pasties of the doe.
 
 54 MARMION. 
 
 And quickly make the entrance free, 
 And bid my heralds ready be, 
 And every minstrel sound his glee, 
 
 And all our trumpets blow ; 
 And, from the platform, spare ye not 
 To fire a noblo salvo-shot ; 
 
 Lord Marmion waits below ! ' 
 Then to the castle's lower ward 
 
 Sped forty yeomen tall, 
 The iron-studded gates unbarred, 
 Eaised the portcullis' ponderous guard, 
 • The lofty palisade unsparred, 
 
 And let the drawbridge fall. 
 
 Along the bridge I^ord. Marmion rode. 
 Proudly his red-roan charger trode. 
 His helm hung at the saddle bow ; 
 Well by his visage you might know 
 He was a stalwart knight and keen, 
 And had in many a battle been ; 
 The scar on his brown cheek revealed 
 A token true of Eosworth field ; 
 His eyebrow dark and eye of fire 
 Showed spirit proud and prompt to ire, 
 Tet lines of thought upon his cheek 
 Did deep design and counsel speak. 
 His forehead, by his casque worn bare,
 
 THE CASTLE. 55 
 
 a 
 
 His tliick moustache and curly hair, 
 Coal-black, and grizzled here and there, 
 
 But more through toil than age. 
 His square-turned joints and strength of limb, 
 Showed him no carpet knight so trim. 
 But in close fight a champion grim. 
 
 In camps a leader sage. 
 
 VI. 
 
 "Well was he armed from head to heel, 
 
 In mail and plate of Milan steel ; 
 
 But his strong helm, of mighty cost, 
 
 Was all with burnished gold embossed. 
 
 Amid the plumage of the crest 
 
 A falcon hovered on her nest, 
 
 With wings outspread and forward breast ; 
 
 E'en such a falcon, on his shield. 
 
 Soared sable in an azure field : 
 
 The golden legend bore aright, 
 
 ' Who checks at me, to death is didit.' 
 
 Blue was the charger's broidered rein ; 
 
 Blue ribbons decked his arching mane ; 
 
 The knightly housing's ample fold 
 
 Was velvet blue and trapped with gold. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Behind him rode two gallant squires. 
 Of noble name and knightly sires :
 
 56 MAmilON. 
 
 They burned the g-ikled spurs to claim, 
 Por Avell could each a war-horse tame, 
 Could draw the bow, the sword could sway, 
 And lightly bear the ring away; 
 Nor less with courteous precepts stored. 
 Could dance in hall, and carve at board, 
 And frame love-ditties passing rare. 
 And sing them to a lady fair. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Four men-at-arms came at their backs, 
 
 With halbert, bill, and battle-axe ; 
 
 They bore Lord Marmion's lance so strong, 
 
 And led his sumpter-nndes along. 
 
 And ambling palfrey, when at need 
 
 Him listed ease his battle-steed. 
 
 The last and trustiest of the four 
 
 On high his forky pennon bore ; 
 
 Like swallow's tail in shape and hue, 
 
 Fluttered tlie streamer glossy blue, 
 
 Where, blazoned sable, as before. 
 
 The towering falcon seemed to soar. 
 
 Last, twenty yeomen, two and two, 
 
 1\\ hosen black and jerkins blue. 
 
 With falcons broidered on each breast, 
 
 Attended on their lord's behest. 
 
 Each, chosen for an archer good. 
 
 Knew hunting-craft by lake or wood ; 
 
 Each one a six-foot bow coidd bend,
 
 THE CASTLE. ^ 57 
 
 And far a cloth-yard shaft could send ; 
 Each held a boar-spear tough and strong, 
 And at their belts their quivers rung. 
 Their dusty palfreys and array 
 Showed they had marched a weary way. 
 
 IX. 
 
 'T is meet that I sliould tell you now, 
 How fairly armed, and ordered how 
 
 The soldiers of the guard. 
 With musket, pike, and morion, 
 To welcome noble Maruiion, 
 
 Stood in the castle-yard ; 
 Minstrels and trumpeters were there, 
 The gunner held his linstock yare. 
 
 For welcome-shot prepared : 
 Entered the train, and such a clang 
 As then through all his turrets rang 
 
 01(1 Norham never heard. 
 
 X. 
 
 The guards their morrice-pikes advanced, 
 The trumpets flourished brave. 
 
 The cannon from the ramparts glanced. 
 And thunderino- welcome gave. 
 
 A blithe salute, in martial sort. 
 The minstrels well might sound,
 
 58 ^ MARMION. 
 
 Por, as Lord Marmion crossed the court, 
 He scattered angels round, 
 
 ' Welcome to Norliam, Marmion ! 
 Stout heart and open hand ! 
 
 Well dost thou brook thy gallant roan. 
 Thou flower of English land 1 ' 
 
 XI. 
 
 Two pursuivants, whom tabards deck, 
 With silver scutcheon round their neck, 
 
 Stood on the steps of stone 
 By which you reach the donjon gate, 
 And there, with herald pomp and state. 
 
 They hailed Lord Marmion : 
 They hailed him Lord of Pontenaye, 
 Of Lutterward, and Scrivelbaye, 
 
 Of Tamworth tower and town ; 
 And he, their courtesy to requite, 
 Gave them a chain of twelve marks' weight. 
 
 All as he lighted down. 
 ' Now, largesse, largesse. Lord Marmion, 
 
 Knight of the crest of gold ! 
 A blazoned shield, in battle won, 
 
 Ne'er guarded heart so bold.' 
 
 XII. 
 
 They marshalled him to the castle-hall. 
 Where the guests stood all aside,
 
 THE CASTLE. 
 
 59 
 
 And loudly flonrislicd (lu; tnnnpct-call, 
 And the heralds loudly cried, — 
 
 •Jioom, lordlings, room for Lor([ Marmion, 
 With the crest and helui of gold ! 
 
 Full well we know the trophies won 
 In the lists at Cottiswold : 
 
 There, vainly Kalph de Wilton sti'ove 
 'Gainst Marmion's force to stand ;
 
 60 M ARM I ON. 
 
 To him lie lost liis lady-love, 
 
 And to the king his land. 
 Ourselves beheld the listed field, 
 
 A sig-ht both sad and fair ; 
 We saw Lord Marmioii pierce his shield, 
 
 Antl saw his saddle bare ; 
 We saw the victor win the crest 
 
 He wears with worthy pride, 
 And on the gibbet-tree, reversed, 
 
 His foeman's scutcheon tied. 
 Place, nobles, for the Falcon-Knight ! 
 
 Room, room, ye gentles gay, 
 For him who conquered in the right, 
 
 Marmion of Fontenaye 1 ' 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Then stepped, to meet that noble lord, 
 
 Sir Hugh the Heron bold, 
 Baron of Twisell and of Ford, 
 
 And Captain of the Hold ; 
 He led Lord Marmion to the deas, 
 
 Eaised o'er the pavement high, 
 And placed him in the upper place — 
 
 They feasted full and high : 
 The whiles a Northern harper rude 
 Chanted a rhyme of deadly feud, 
 
 ' How the fierce Thirwalls, and Ridleys all, 
 Stout Willimondswick,
 
 THE CASTLE. 61 
 
 And Ilarcl-ruUuii; Dick, 
 And Ilughie ol" Hawdou, and Will o' the Wall, 
 Have set on Sir Albany reatlierstonliaug-li, 
 And taken liis life at the Deadman's-shaw.' 
 Scantly Lord Marmion's ear could brook 
 
 The harper's barbarous lay, 
 Yet much he praised tiie pains he toot, 
 And well those pains did pay ; 
 For lady's suit and minstrel's strain 
 By kniglit should ne'er be heard in vain. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 'Now, good Lord Marniion,' Heron says, 
 
 ' Of your fair courtesy, 
 I pray you bide some little space 
 
 l\\ this poor tower with me. 
 Here may you keep your arms from rust, 
 
 May breathe your war-horse well. 
 Seldom hath passed a week but joust 
 
 Or feat of arms befell. 
 The Scots can rein a mettled steed, 
 
 And love to couch a spear ; — 
 Saint George ! a stirring life they lead 
 
 That have such neighbors near ! 
 Then stay with us a little space, 
 
 Our Northern wars to learn ; 
 I pray you for your lady's grace ! ' 
 
 Lord Marmion's brow grew stern.
 
 Q-Z MARMION. 
 
 XV. 
 
 The captain marked his altered look, 
 
 And gave the squire the sign ; 
 A nnghty wassail-bowl he took. 
 
 And crowned it high with wine. 
 ' Now pledge me here, Lord Marniion ; 
 
 But lirst I pray thee fair, 
 Wliere hast thou left that page of thine 
 That used to serve thy cup of wine, 
 
 Whose beauty was so rare ? 
 When last in Kaby-towers we met, 
 
 The boy I closely eyed, 
 And often marked his cheeks were wet 
 
 With tears he fain would hide. 
 His was no rugged horse-boy's hand. 
 To burnish shield or sharpen brand, 
 
 Or saddle battle-steed. 
 But mceter seemed for lady fair, 
 To fan her cheek, or curl her hair, 
 Or through embroidery, rich and rare. 
 
 The slender silk to lead ; 
 His skin was fair, his ringlets gold, 
 
 His bosom — when he sighed. 
 The russet doublet's rugged fold 
 
 Could scarce repel its pride ! 
 Say, hast thou given that lovely youth 
 
 To serve in lady's bower ? 
 Or was the gentle page, in sooth, 
 A gentle paramour ? '
 
 64 MAliMION. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Lord Maruiiou ill could brook sucla jest ; 
 
 He rolled his ■kindling eye, 
 With pain his rising wrath suppressed, 
 
 Yet made a calm reply : 
 ' That hoy thou thought so goodly fair, 
 He might not brook the Northern air. 
 More of his fate if thou wouldst learn, 
 I left him sick in Lindisfarne. 
 Enough of him. — But, Heron, say. 
 Why does thy lovely lady gay 
 Disdain to grace the hall to-day ? 
 Or has that diime, so fair and sage, 
 Gone on some pious pilgrimage?' — 
 He spoke in covert scorn, for fame 
 Whispered light tales of Heron's dame. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Unmarked, at least unrecked, the taunt, 
 Careless the knight replied : 
 
 ' No bird whose feathers gayly flaunt 
 Delights in cage to bide ; 
 
 Norham is grim and grated close. 
 
 Hemmed in by battlement and fosse. 
 And many a darksome tower, 
 
 And better loves my lady bright 
 
 To sit in libertv and light
 
 THE CASTLE. 65 
 
 In fair Queen M;ir<i,-;iret's bower. 
 We hold our greyliouud in our hand, 
 
 Our falcon on our glove, 
 J^ut where shall we find leash or band 
 
 For dame that loves to rove ? 
 Let the wild falcon soar her swin<r. 
 She '11 stoop when she has tired her wing.' — 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 ' Nay, if with Royal James's bride 
 
 The lovely Lady Heron bide, 
 
 Behold me here a messenger. 
 
 Your tender greetings prompt to bearj 
 
 For, to the Scottish court acldressed, 
 
 I journey at our king's behest, 
 
 And pray you, of your grace, provide 
 
 For me and mine a trusty guide. 
 
 I have not ridden in Scotland since 
 
 James backed the cause of that mock prince, 
 
 Warbeck, that Flemish counterfeit, 
 
 Who on the gibbet paid the cheat. 
 
 Then did I march with Surrey's power, 
 
 What time we razed old Ayton tower.' — ■ 
 
 XIX. 
 
 ' For such-like need, my lord, I trow, 
 Norham can find you guides enow ;
 
 66 M ARM I ON. 
 
 For here be some luivc pricked as far 
 
 On Scottish ground as to Dunbar, 
 
 Have drunk the monks of Saint Bothan's ale, 
 
 And driven the beeves of Lauderdale, 
 
 Harried the wives of Greenlaw's goods, 
 
 And given them light to set their hoods.' — 
 
 XX. 
 
 ' Now in good sooth,' Lord Marmion cried, 
 
 ' Were I in wai'like wise to ride, 
 
 A better guartl I would not lack 
 
 Than your stout forayers at ray back ; 
 
 But as in form of peace 1 go, 
 
 A friendly messenger, to know, 
 
 "Why, through all Scotland, near and far, 
 
 Their king is mustering troops for war. 
 
 The sight of plundering l^order spears 
 
 Might justify suspicions fears, 
 
 And deadly feud or tliirst of spoil 
 
 Break out in some unseemly broil. 
 
 A herald were my fitting guide ; 
 
 Or friar, sworn in peace to bide ; 
 
 Or pardoner, or travelling priest, 
 
 Or strolling pilgrim, at the least.' 
 
 XXI. 
 
 The captain mused a little space, 
 
 And passed his hand across his face. —
 
 THE CASTLE. ' 67 
 
 'Fain would I find the 2,-uide you want. 
 
 But ill may spare a pursuivant, 
 
 The only men that safe can ride 
 
 Mine errands on the Scottish side : 
 
 And though a bishop built this fort, 
 
 Few holy brethren here resort; 
 
 Even our good chaplain, as I ween. 
 
 Since our last siege we have not seen. 
 
 The mass he might not sing or say 
 
 Upon one stinted meal a-day ; 
 
 So, safe he sat in Durham aisle, 
 
 And prayed for our success the while. 
 
 Our Norham vicar, woe betide. 
 
 Is all too well in case to ride ; 
 
 The priest of Shoreswood — he could rein 
 
 The wildest war-horse in your train, 
 
 But then no spearman in the hall 
 
 Will sooner swear, or stab, or brawl. 
 
 Friar John of Tillmouth were the man; 
 
 A blithesome brother at the can, 
 
 A welcome guest in hall and bower. 
 
 He knows each castle, town, and tower, 
 
 In which the wine and ale is good, 
 
 'Twixt Newcastle and Holy-Rood. 
 
 But that good man, as ill befalls, 
 
 Hath seldom left our castle walls, 
 
 Since, on the vigil of Saint Bede, 
 
 In evil hour he crossed the Tweed, 
 
 To teach Dame Alison her creed. 
 
 Old Bughtrig found him with his wife,
 
 68 • MARMION. 
 
 And John, an enemy to strife, 
 Sans frock and hood, fled for liis life. 
 The jealous churl hath deeply swore 
 That, if again he venture o'er, 
 He shall shrieve penitent no more. 
 Little he loves such risks, I know. 
 Yet in your guard perchance will go.' 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Young Sclby, at the fair hall-board, 
 Carved to his uncle and tliat lord, 
 And reverently took up the word : 
 ' Kind uncle, woe were we each one, 
 If harm should hap to brother John, 
 He is a man of mirthful speech, 
 Can many a game and gambol teach ; 
 Pull well at tables can he play. 
 And sweep at bowls the stake away. 
 None can a lustier carol bawl, 
 Tiie needfullest among us all, 
 When time hangs heavy in the hall, 
 And snow comes thick at Christmas tide, 
 And we can neither hunt nor ride 
 A foray on the Scottish side. 
 The vowed revenge of Bughtrig rude 
 May end in worse than loss of hood. 
 Let Priar John in safety still 
 In chimney-corner snore his fill, 
 Koast hissing crabs, or flagons swill ;
 
 THE CASTLE. 69 
 
 Last iiig-lit, to NorliJiiii there canio one 
 Will better i>-ui(l(; J^ord iMarniioii.' — 
 'Nephew,' ([uotli Heron, ' by my lay, 
 Well hast thou spoke ; say I'orth thy say.' — 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 ' Here is a holy Palmer eome, 
 
 From Salem first, and last from Rome ; 
 
 One that hath kissed the blessed tomb. 
 
 And visited eaeh holy shrine 
 
 In Araby and Palestine ; 
 
 On hills of Armenie hath been, 
 
 Where Noah's ark may yet be seen ; 
 
 By that Red Sea, too, hath he trod, 
 
 Whieh parted at the Prophet's rod ; 
 
 In Sinai's wilderness he saw 
 
 The Mount where Israel heard the law. 
 
 Mid thunder-dint, and Hashing levin, 
 
 And shadows, mists, and darkness, given. 
 
 He shows Saint James's cockle-shell. 
 
 Of fair Montserrat, too, can tell ; 
 
 And of that Grot where Olives nod. 
 Where, darling of each heart and eye, 
 From all the youth of Sicily, 
 
 Saint Eosalie retired to God. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 ' To stout Saint George of Norwich merry, 
 Saint Thomas, too, of Canterbury,
 
 70 MARMION. 
 
 Cutlibert of Durliani and Saint Bede, 
 For his sins' pardon hath he prayed. 
 He knows the passes of the North, 
 And seeks far shrines beyond the Forth ; 
 Little he eats, and long will wake. 
 And drinks but of the stream or lake. 
 This were a guide o'er moor and dale ; 
 But when our John hath quaffed his ale, 
 As little as the wind that blows. 
 And warms itself against his nose. 
 Kens he, or cares, which way he goes.' — 
 
 XXV. 
 
 ' Gramercy ! ' quoth Lord Marmion, 
 ' Full loath were 1 that Friar John, 
 That venerable man, for me 
 Were placed in fear or jeopardy : 
 If this same Palmer will me lead 
 
 From hence to Holy-Rood, 
 Like his good saint, I '11 pay his meed, 
 Instead of cockle-shell or bead. 
 
 With angels fair and good. 
 I love such holy ramblers ; still 
 They know to charm a weary hill 
 
 With song, romance, or lay : 
 Some jovial tale, or glee, or jest, 
 Some lying legend, at the least. 
 
 They bring to cheer the way.' —
 
 THE CASTLE. 71 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 * Ah ! noble sir,' young Solhy said, 
 
 And finger on liis lip he laid, 
 
 *This man knows much, perchance e'en more 
 
 Than he could learn by holy lore. 
 
 Still to himself he 's muttering, 
 
 And shrinks as at some unseen thing. 
 
 Last night we listened at his cell; 
 
 Strange sounds we heard, and, sooth to tell, 
 
 He murmured on till morn, howe'er 
 
 No living mortal could be near. 
 
 Sometimes I thought I heard it plain, 
 
 As other voices spoke again. 
 
 I cannot tell — I like it not — 
 
 Friar John hath told us it is wrote. 
 
 No conscience clear and void of wrons: 
 
 Can rest awake and pray so long. 
 
 Himself still sleeps before his beads 
 
 Have marked ten aves and two creeds.' — 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 'Let pass,' quoth Marmion ; 'by my fay, 
 This man shall guide me on my way. 
 Although the great arch-fiend and he 
 Had sworn themselves of company. 
 So please you, gentle youth, to call 
 This Palmer to the castle-hall.'
 
 72 MARMION. 
 
 The summoned Palmer came in place ; 
 His sable cowl o'erhung his face; 
 In his black mantle was he clad. 
 With Peter's keys, in cloth of red, 
 
 On his broad shoulders Avrought; 
 The scallop shell his cap did deck; 
 The crucifix around his neck 
 
 Was from Loretto brought ; 
 His sandals wei'e with travel tore. 
 Staff, budget, bottle, scrip, he wore; 
 The faded palm-branch in his hand 
 Showed pilgrim from the Holy Land. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Whenas the Palmer came in hall, 
 
 Nor lord nor knight was there more tall, 
 
 Or had a statelier step withal, 
 
 Or looked more high and keen ; 
 For no saluting did he wait. 
 But strode across the hall of state. 
 And fronted Marmion where he sate. 
 
 As he his peer had been. 
 But his gaunt frame was worn with toil ; 
 His cheek was sunk, alas the while ! 
 And when he struggled at a smile 
 
 His eye looked haggard wild : 
 Poor wretch, the mother that him bare. 
 If she had been in presence tliere,
 
 74 MARMION. 
 
 In his wan face and sunLiirnt hair 
 
 She had not known her chihl. 
 Danger, long travel, want, or woe, 
 Soon change the form that best we know — 
 Por deadly fear can time outgo, 
 And blanch at once the hair ; 
 Hard toil can roughen form and face, 
 And want can quench the eye's bright grace, 
 Nor does old age a wrinkle trace 
 
 More deeply than despair. 
 Happy whom none of these befall. 
 But this poor Palmer knew them all. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Lord Marmion then his boon did ask ; 
 The Palmer took on him the task, 
 So he would march with morning tide, 
 To Scottish court to be his guide. 
 ' But I have solemn vows to pay, 
 And may not linger by the way. 
 
 To fair Saint Andrew's bound. 
 Within the ocean-cave to pray. 
 Where good Saint Eule his holy lay, 
 From midnight to the dawn of day, 
 
 Sung to the billows' sound ; 
 Thence to Saint Pillan's blessed well. 
 Whose spring can frenzied dreams dispel, 
 
 And the crazed brain restore.
 
 THE CASTLE. 75 
 
 Saint Mary g'rant that cave or spriiif? 
 Could back to peace my bosom bring, 
 Or bid it throb no more ! ' 
 
 XXX. 
 
 And now the midnight drauglit of sleep, 
 Wlicre wine and spices richly steep, 
 In massive bowl of silver deep, 
 
 The page presents on knee. 
 Lord Marmiou drank a fair good rest, 
 The captain pledged his noble guest. 
 The cup went through among the rest, 
 
 Who drained it merrily ; 
 Alone the Palmer passed it by. 
 Though Selby pressed him courteously. 
 This was a sign the feast was o'er ; 
 It hushed the merry wassail roar, 
 
 The minstrels ceased to sound. 
 Soon in the castle nought was heard 
 But the slow footstep of the guard 
 
 Pacing his sober round. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 With early dawn Lord Marmion rose : 
 And first the chapel doors unclose ; 
 Then, after morning rites were done — 
 A hasty mass from Friar John —
 
 76 MARMION. 
 
 And kniglit aiul squii-e had broke tlicir fast 
 
 On rich substantial repast, 
 
 Lord Marmion's bugles blew to horse. 
 
 Then carae the stirrup-cup in course: 
 
 Between the baron and his host, 
 
 No point of courtesy was lost ; 
 
 High thanks were by Lord Marniion paid, 
 
 Solemn excuse the captain made, 
 
 Till, filing from the gate, had passed 
 
 That noble train, their lord the last. 
 
 Then loudly rung the trumpet call ; 
 
 Thundered the cannon from the wall, 
 
 And shook the Scottish shore ; 
 Around the castle eddied slow 
 Volumes of smoke as white as snow 
 
 And hid its turrets hoar, 
 Till they rolled forth upon the air, 
 And met the river breezes there, 
 Which gave again the prospect fair.
 
 CANTO SECOND. 
 
 THE CONVENT.
 
 sx.imt 
 
 
 INTRODUCTION TO CANTO SECOND. 
 
 TO THE REV. JOHN MARRIOT, A.M. 
 
 Ashestiel, Ettrick Forest. 
 
 The scenes are desert now and bare, 
 
 Where flourished once a forest fair, 
 
 "When these waste glens witli copse were lined, 
 
 And peopled Avith the hart and hind. 
 
 Yon thorn — perchance whose prickly spears 
 
 Have fenced him for three hundred years, 
 
 While fell around his g-reen compeers — 
 
 Yon lonely thorn, would he could tell 
 
 The changes of his parent dell, 
 
 Since he, so gray and stubborn now, 
 
 Waved in each breeze a sapling bongh ! 
 
 Would he could tell how deep the shade 
 
 A thousand mingled branches made ;
 
 80 M ARM I ON. 
 
 How broad the shadows of the oak, 
 How clung- the rowan to the rock. 
 And through the foliage showed his head, 
 With narrow leaves and berries red ; 
 What pines on every mountain sprung, 
 O'er every dell what birches hung, 
 In every breeze what aspens shook, 
 What alders shaded every brook ! 
 
 * Here, in my shade,' methinks he 'd say, 
 ' The mighty stag at noontide lay ; 
 The wolf I 've seen, a fiercer game, — 
 The neighboring dingle bears his name, — 
 With lurching step around me prowl. 
 And stop, against the moon to howl ; 
 The mountain-boar, on battle set. 
 His tusks upon my stem Avould whet ; 
 While doe, and roe, and red-deer good, 
 Have bounded by through gay greenwood. 
 Then oft from Newark's riven tower 
 Sallied a Scottish monarch's power: 
 A thousand vassals mustered round. 
 With horse, and hawk, and horn, and hound ; 
 And I might see the youth intent 
 Guard every pass with ci'ossbow bent ; 
 And through the brake the rangers stalk, 
 And falconers hold the ready hawk ; 
 And foresters, in greeuAvood trim, 
 Lead in the leash the gazehounds grim, 
 Attentive, as the bratchet's bay
 
 INTRODUCTION TO CANTO SECOND. 81 
 
 From ihc dark covert drove the prey, 
 To slip them as he broke away. 
 The startled quarry bounds amain, 
 As fast the gallant greyhounds strain; 
 Whistles the arrow from the bow. 
 Answers the harquebuss below ; 
 While all the rocking hills reply 
 To hoof-clang, hound, and hunters' cry, 
 And bugles ringing lightsomely.' 
 
 Of such proud huntings many tales 
 Yet linger in our lonely dales. 
 Up pathless Ettrick and on Yarrow, 
 Where erst the outlaw drew his arrow. 
 But not more blithe that sylvan court. 
 Than we have been at humbler sport ; 
 Though small our pomp and mean our game, 
 Our mirth, dear Marriot, was the same. 
 Eemember'st thou my greyhounds true? 
 O'er holt or hill there never flew, 
 From slip or leash there never sprang, 
 More fleet of foot or sure of fang. 
 Nor dull, between each merry chase. 
 Passed by the intermitted space; 
 For we had fair resource in store. 
 In Classic and in Gothic lore : 
 We marked each memorable scene. 
 And held poetic talk between; 
 Nor hill, nor brook, we paced along. 
 But had its legend or its song.
 
 82 MARMION. 
 
 All silent now — for now are still 
 Thy bowers, untenanted Bowhill ! 
 No longer from thy mountains dun 
 The yeoman hears the well-known gun, 
 And while his honest heart glows warm 
 At thought of his paternal farm, 
 Eound to his mates a brimmer tills, 
 And drinks, ' The Chieftain of the Hills ! ' 
 No fairy forms, in Yarrow's bowers, 
 Trip o'er the walks or tend the flowers, 
 Fair as the elves whom Janet saw 
 By moonlight dance on Carterhaugh; 
 No youthful Baron 's left to grace 
 The Forest-Sheriff's lonely chace, 
 And ape, in manly step and tone, 
 The majesty of Oberon : 
 And she is gone whose lovely face 
 Is but her least and lowest grace ; 
 Though if to Sylphid Queen 't were given 
 To show our earth the charms of heaven, 
 She could not glide along the air 
 With form more light or face more fair. 
 No more the widow's deafened ear 
 Grows quick that lady's step to hear : 
 At noontide she expects her not, 
 Nor busies her to trim the cot ; 
 Pensive she turns her humming wheel, 
 Or pensive cooks her orphans' meal, 
 Yet blesses, ere she deals their bread, 
 The gentle hand by which they 're fed.
 
 INTRODUCTION TO CANTO SECOND. 83 
 
 From Yair — whicli hills so closdv bind. 
 Scarce can the Tweed his passaj^e find, 
 Thou^-h luueli he fret, and chafe, and toil, 
 Till all his eddyini>' enrrcnts boil — 
 Her long-descended lord is gone, 
 And left us by the stream alone. 
 And much I miss those sportive boys. 
 Companions of my mountain joys, 
 Just at the age 'twixt boy and youth, 
 When thought is speech, and speech is truth. 
 Close to my side with what deliglit 
 They pressed to hear of Wallace wight, 
 When, pointing to his airy mound, 
 I called his ramparts holy ground ! 
 Kindled their brows to hear me speak ; 
 And I have smiled, to feel my cheek, 
 Despite the difference of our years, 
 Eeturn again the glow of theirs. 
 Ah, happy boys ! such feelings pure. 
 They will not, cannot long endure; 
 Condemned to stem the world's rude tide. 
 You may not linger by the side ; 
 For Fate shall thrust you from the shore. 
 And Passion ply the sail and oar. 
 Yet cherish the remendjrance still 
 Of the lone mountain and the rill ; 
 For trust, dear boys, the time will come, 
 When fiercer transport shall be dumb, 
 And you will think right frequently. 
 But, well I hope, without a sigh.
 
 84 MARMION. 
 
 On the free hours that we liave spent 
 Together on the brown hill's bent. 
 
 "When, musing on companions gone, 
 We doubly feel ourselves alone, 
 Something, my friend, we yet may gain; 
 There is a pleasure in this pain : 
 It soothes the love of lonely rest. 
 Deep in each gentler heart impressed. 
 'T is silent amid worldly toils, 
 And stifled soon by mental broils ; 
 But, in a bosom thus prepared. 
 Its still small voice is often heard, 
 AVhispering a mingled sentiment 
 'Twixt resignation and content. 
 Oft in my mind such thoughts awake 
 By lone Saint Mary's silent lake : 
 Thou know'st it well, — nor fen nor sedge 
 Pollute the pure lake's crystal edge ; 
 Abrupt and sheer, the mountains sink 
 At once upon the level brink. 
 And just a trace of silver sand 
 Marks where the water meets the land. 
 Par in the mirror, bright and blue, 
 Each hill's huge outline you may view; 
 Shaggy with heath, but lonely bare. 
 Nor tree, nor bush, nor brake, is there. 
 Save where of land you slender line 
 Bears thwart the lake the scattered pine.
 
 INTRODUCTION TO CANTO SECOND. 85 
 
 Yet even this ii.ikoducss has power, 
 
 And aids the feeling of the hour : 
 
 Nor thieket, dell, nor copse you spy, 
 
 Where living thing concealed might lie ; 
 
 Nor point retiring hides a dell 
 
 Where swain or woodman lone might dwell. 
 
 There 's nothing left to fancy's guess, 
 
 You see that all is loneliness : 
 
 And silence aids — though the steep hills 
 
 Send to the lake a thousand rills ; 
 
 In summer tide so soft they weep. 
 
 The sound but lulls the ear asleep ; 
 
 Your horse's hoof-tread sounds too rude, 
 
 So stilly is the solitude. 
 
 Nought living meets the eye or ear, 
 But well I Aveen the dead are near ; 
 Por though, in feudal strife, a foe 
 Hath laid Our Lady's chapel low, 
 Yet still, beneath the hallowed soil. 
 The peasant rests him from his toil, 
 And dying bids his bones be laid 
 Where erst his simple fathers prayed. 
 
 If age had tamed the passions' strife. 
 And fate had cut my ties to life, 
 Here have I thought 't were sweet to dwell, 
 And rear again the chaplain's cell, 
 Like that same peaceful hermitage, 
 Where Milton longed to spend his age.
 
 86 MARMION. 
 
 'T were sweet to mark the setting day 
 
 On Bourhope's lonely top decay, 
 
 And, as it faint and feeble died 
 
 On the broad lake and mountain's side, 
 
 To say, ' Thus pleasures fade away ; 
 
 Youth, talents, beauty, thus decay, 
 
 And leave us dark, I'orlorn, and gray ; ' 
 
 Then gaze on Dryhope's ruined tower, 
 
 And think on Yarrow's faded Flower : 
 
 And when that mountain-sound I heard, 
 
 Which bids us be for storm prepared, 
 
 The distant rustling of his wings, 
 
 As up his force the Tempest brings, 
 
 'T were sweet, ere yet his terrors rave, 
 
 To sit upon the Wizard's grave, 
 
 That Wizard Priest's whose bones are thrust 
 
 Prom company of holy dust ; 
 
 On which no sunbeam ever shines — 
 
 So superstition's creed divines — 
 
 Thence view the lake with sullen roar 
 
 Heave her broad billows to the shore ; 
 
 And mark the wild-swans mount the gale, 
 
 Spread wide through mist their snowy sail, 
 
 And ever stoop again, to lave 
 
 Their bosoms on the surging wave ; 
 
 Then, when against the driving hail 
 
 No longer might my plaid avail, 
 
 Back to my lonely home retire. 
 
 And light my lamp and trim my fire ; 
 
 There ponder o'er some mystic lay,
 
 INTRODUCTION TO CANTO SECOND. 87 
 
 Till the wild talc had all its sway, 
 
 And, in the bittern's distant shriek, 
 
 I heard unearthly voices speak, 
 
 And thought the Wizard Priest was come 
 
 To claim again his ancient home ! 
 
 And bade my busy fancy range, 
 
 To frame him fitting shape and strange, 
 
 Till from the task my brow I cleared. 
 
 And smiled to think that I had feared. 
 
 But chief 't were sw^eet to think such life — 
 Though but escape from fortune's strife — 
 Something most matchless good and wise, 
 A gTeat and grateful sacrifice. 
 And deem each hour to musing given 
 A step upon the road to heaven. 
 
 Yet him whose heart is ill at ease 
 Such peaceful solitudes displease ; 
 He loves to drown his bosom's jar 
 Amid the elemental war : 
 And my black Palmer's choice had been 
 Some ruder and more savage scene. 
 Like that which frowns round dark Loch-skene. 
 There eagles scream from isle to shore ; 
 Down all the rocks the torrents roar ; 
 O'er the black waves incessant driven. 
 Dark mists infect the summer heaven ; 
 Through the rude barriers of the lake. 
 Away its hurrying waters break.
 
 88 M ARM I ON. 
 
 Faster and whiter dasli and curl, 
 Till down yon dark abyss they hurl. 
 Eises the t'og-smoke white as snow, 
 Thunders the viewless stream below, 
 Diving, as if condemned to lave 
 Some demon's subterranean cave, 
 Who, prisoned by enchanter's spell, 
 Shakes tlie dark rock with groan aud yell. 
 And well that Palmer's form and mien 
 Had suited with the stormy scene, 
 Just on the edge, straining his ken 
 To view the bottom of the den, 
 Where, deep deep down, and far within, 
 Toils with the rocks the roaring linn; 
 Then, issuing forth one foamy wave. 
 And wheeling round the Giant's Grave, 
 White as the snowy charger's tail. 
 Drives down the pass of Moffatdale. 
 
 Harriot, thy harp, on Isis strung. 
 To many a Border theme has rung : 
 Then list to me, and thou shalt know 
 Of this mysterious Man of Woe.
 
 CANTO SECOND. 
 
 THE CONVENT. 
 
 The breeze which swept away the smoke 
 
 Round Norliam Castle rolled, 
 When all the loud artillery spoke 
 With lightnino--flash and thunder-stroke. 
 As Marmion left the hold, —
 
 90 MARMtON. 
 
 It curled not Tweed alone, that bi'eeze, 
 For, far upon Northumbrian seas. 
 
 It freshly blew and strong. 
 Where, from high Whitby's cloistered pile, 
 Bound to Saint Cuthbert's Holy Isle, 
 
 It bore a bark along. 
 Upon the gale she stooped her side. 
 And bounded o'er the swelling tide. 
 
 As she were dancing home ; 
 The merry seamen laughed to see 
 Their gallant ship so lustily 
 
 Furrow the green sea-foam. 
 Much joyed they in their honored freight ; 
 For on the deck, in chair of state, 
 The Abbess of Saint Hilda placed. 
 With five fair nuns, the galley graced. 
 
 II. 
 
 'T was sweet to see these holy maids. 
 Like birds escaped to greenwood shades, 
 
 Their first flight from the cage, 
 How timid, and how curious too, 
 For all to them was strange and new. 
 And all the common sights they view 
 
 Their wonderment engage. 
 One eyed the shrouds and swelling sail, 
 
 With many a benedicite; 
 One at the rippling surge grew pale. 
 
 And would for terror pray.
 
 THE CONVENT. 91 
 
 Then slirickcd l)crausR the sca-doi;- iiig-h 
 His round black licad and sparkling eye 
 
 Keared o'er tlu; foaming spray ; 
 And one would still adjust her veil, 
 Disordered by the summer gah;, 
 Perchance lest some more worldly eye 
 Her dedicated charms might spy, 
 Perchance because such action graced 
 Her fair-turned arm and slender waist. . 
 Light was each simple bosom there, 
 Save two, who ill might pleasure share, — 
 The Abbess and the Novice Clare. 
 
 III. 
 
 The Abbess was of noble blood, 
 But early took the veil and hood, 
 Ere upon life she cast a look. 
 Or knew the world that she forsook. 
 Fair too she was, and kind had been 
 As she was fair, but ne'er had seen 
 For her a timid lover sigh. 
 Nor knew the influence of her eye. 
 Love to her ear was but a name. 
 Combined with vanity and shame ; 
 Her hopes, her fears, her joys, were all 
 Bounded within the cloister wall ; 
 The deadliest sin her mind could reach 
 Was of monastic rule the breach, 
 And her ambition's highest aim
 
 92 MARMION. 
 
 To emulate Saint Hilda's fame. 
 For this she gave her ample dower 
 To raise the convent's eastern tower ; 
 For this, with carving- rare and quaint, 
 She decked the chapel of the saint, 
 And gave the relic-shrine of cost. 
 With ivory and gems embossed. 
 The poor lier convent's bounty blest. 
 The pilgrim in its halls found rest. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Blade was her garb, her rigid rule 
 Eeformed on Benedictine school ; 
 Her cheek Avas pale, her form was spare ; 
 Vigils and penitence austere 
 Had early quenched the light of youth : 
 But gentle was the dame, n\ sooth ; 
 Though, vain of lier religious sway, 
 She loved to see her maids obey, 
 Yet nothing stern was she in cell, 
 And the nuns loved their Abbess Avell. 
 Sad was this voyage to the dame ; 
 Summoned to Lindisfarne, she came. 
 There, with Saint Cuthbert's Abbot old 
 And Tynemouth's Prioress, to hold 
 A chapter of Saint Benedict, 
 For inquisition stern and strict 
 On two apostates from the faith. 
 And, if need were, to doom to death.
 
 94 MARMION. 
 
 Nought say I here of Sister Clare, 
 Save this, that she was young and fair ; 
 As yet a novice unprofessed. 
 Lovely and gentle, but distressed. 
 She was betrothed to one now dead, 
 Or worse, who had dishonored fled. 
 Her kinsmen bade her give her hand 
 To one wlio loved her for her land ; 
 Herself, almost heart-broken now. 
 Was bent to take the vestal vow, 
 And shroud within Saint Hilda's gloom 
 Her blasted hopes and withered bloom. 
 
 VI. 
 
 She sate upon the galley's prow. 
 
 And seemed to mark the waves below ; 
 
 Nay, seemed, so fixed her look and eye, 
 
 To count them as they glided by. 
 
 She saw them not — 'twas seeming all — 
 
 Par other scene her thoughts recall, — 
 
 A sun-scorched desert, waste and bare. 
 
 Nor waves nor breezes murmured there ; 
 
 There saw she where some careless hand 
 
 O'er a dead corpse had heaped the sand, 
 
 To hide it till the jackals come 
 
 To tear it from the scanty tomb. —
 
 THE CONVENT. 95 
 
 o 
 
 See what a woful look was given, 
 As she raised up her eyes to heaven ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 Lovely, and gentle, and distressed — 
 
 These eliarms might tame the iiereest breast : 
 
 Harpers have sung and poets told 
 
 That he, in fury uncontrolled, 
 
 The shaggy monarch of the wood, 
 
 Before a virgin, fair and good. 
 
 Hath pacified his savage mood. 
 
 But passions in the human frame 
 
 Oft put tlie lion's rage to shame ; 
 
 And jealousy, by dark intrigue, 
 
 With sordid avarice in league. 
 
 Had practised with their bowl and knife 
 
 Against the mourner's harndess life. 
 
 This crime Avas charged .'gainst those who lay 
 
 Prisoned in Cuthbert's islet gray. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 And now the vessel skirts the strand 
 Of mountainous Northundjerland ; 
 Towns, towers, and halls successive rise. 
 And catch the nuns' delighted eyes. 
 Monk-Wearmoutii soon behind them lay, 
 And Tynemouth's priory and bay ;
 
 96 MARMION. 
 
 They marked amid her trees th.e hall 
 
 Of lofty Seaton-Delaval ; 
 
 They saw the Blythe and Wansbeck floods 
 
 Eusli to the sea through sounding woods ; 
 
 They passed the tower of Widderington, 
 
 Mother of many a valiant son ; 
 
 At Coquet-isle their beads they tell 
 
 To the good saint who owned the cell ; 
 
 Then did the Alne attention claim, 
 
 And Warkworth, proud of Percy's name ; 
 
 And next tliey crossed tlieraselves to hear 
 
 Tlie whitening breakers sound so near. 
 
 Where, boiling through the rocks, they roar 
 
 On Dunstanborough's caverned shore ; 
 
 Thy tower, proud Bamborough, marked they there, 
 
 King Ida's castle, huge and square. 
 
 From its tall rock look grindy down, 
 
 And on the swelling ocean frown ; 
 
 Then from the coast they bore away. 
 
 And reached the Holy Island's bay. 
 
 IX. 
 
 The tide did now its flood-mark gain. 
 And girdled in the Saint's domain ; 
 For, with the flow and ebb, its style 
 Varies fi-om continent to isle : 
 Dry-shod, o'er sands, twice every day 
 The pilgrims to the shrine find way ; 
 Twice every day the waves eflacc
 
 THE CONVENT. 97 
 
 Of staves and sandalled feet tlic trace. 
 As to the port the gulley flew, 
 Higher and higher rose to view 
 The castle with its battled walls, 
 The ancient monastery's halls, 
 A solemn, huge, and dark-red pile. 
 Placed on the margin of the isle. 
 
 In Saxon strength that abbey frowned, 
 With massive arches broad and round. 
 
 That rose alternate, row and row. 
 
 On ponderous columns, short and low, 
 Built ere the art was known. 
 
 By pointed aisle and shafted stalk. 
 
 The arcades of an alleyed walk 
 To emulate in stone. 
 On the deep walls the heathen Dane 
 Had poured his impious rage in vain ; 
 And needful was such strength to these. 
 Exposed to the tempestuous seas. 
 Scourged by the winds' eternal sway. 
 Open to rovers fierce as they, 
 Which could twelve hundred years withstand 
 Winds, waves, and northern pirates' hand. 
 Not but that portions of the pile, 
 Kebuilded in a later style, 
 Showed where the spoiler's hand had been ; 
 Not but the wasting sea-breeze keen
 
 98 MARMION. 
 
 Had worn the pillar's carving quaint, 
 And mouldered iu his niche the saint, 
 And rounded with consuming power 
 The pointed angles of each toAver ; 
 Yet still entire the abbey stood. 
 Like veteran, worn, but unsubdued. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Soon as they neared his turrets strong. 
 The maidens raised Saint Hilda's song. 
 And with the sea-wave and the wind 
 Their voices, sweetly shrill, combined, 
 
 And made harmonious close ; 
 Then, answering from the sandy shore. 
 Half-drowned amid the breakers' roar, 
 
 According chorus rose : 
 Down to the haven of the Isle 
 The monks and nuns in order file 
 
 From Cuthbert's cloisters grim ; 
 Banner, and cross, and relics there, 
 To meet Saint Hilda's maids, they bare; 
 And, as they caught the sounds on air. 
 
 They echoed back the hymn. 
 The islanders in joyous mood 
 Rushed emulously through the flood 
 
 To hale the bark to land ; 
 Conspicuous by her veil and hood. 
 Signing the cross, the Abbess stood, 
 
 And blessed them with her hand.
 
 THE CONVENT. 99 
 
 XII. 
 
 Suppose we now the welcome said, 
 Suppose the couvent banquet made : 
 
 All through the holy dome, 
 Through cloister, aisle, and gallery, 
 Wherever vestal maid might pry. 
 Nor risk to meet unhallowed eye, 
 
 The stranger sisters roam ; 
 Till fell the evening damp with dew. 
 And the sharp sea-breeze coldly blew, 
 For there even summer night is chill. 
 Then, having strayed and gazed their fill. 
 
 They closed around the fire ; 
 And all, in turn, essayed to paint 
 The rival merits of their saint, 
 
 A theme that ne'er can itire 
 A holy maid, for be it known 
 That their saint's honor is their own. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Then Whitby's nuns exulting told 
 How to their house three barons bold 
 
 Must menial service do, 
 While horns blow out a note of shame, 
 And monks cry, ' Ke upon your name ! 
 In wrath, for loss of sylvan game, 
 
 Saint Hilda's priest ye slew.' —
 
 100 MARMION. 
 
 ' This, on Ascension-day, each year. 
 While laboring on our harbor-pier, 
 Must Herbert, Bruce, and Percy hear.' 
 
 They told how in their convent-cell 
 A Saxon princess once did dwell, 
 The lovely Edelfled ;
 
 THE CONVENT. 101 
 
 And how, of thousand snakes, each one 
 Was changed into a coil of stone 
 
 When holy Hilda prayed ; 
 Tliemselves, witliin tlioir holy bound, 
 Their stony folds had often found. 
 They told how sca-fowls' pinions fail, 
 As over Whitby's towers they sail, 
 And, sinking down, with flutterings faint, 
 They do their homage to the saint. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Nor did Saint Cuthbert's daughters fail 
 
 To vie with these in holy tale ; 
 
 His body's resting-place, of old. 
 
 How oft their patron changed, they told ; 
 
 How, Avhen tlie rude Dane burned their pile, 
 
 The monks fled forth from Holy Isle ; 
 
 O'er Northern mountain, marsh, and moor. 
 
 From sea to sea, from shore to shore. 
 
 Seven years Saint Cuthbert's corpse they bore. 
 
 They rested them in fair Melrose ; 
 But thougli, alive, he loved it well, 
 
 Not there his relics might repose 
 For, wondrous tale to tell ! 
 
 In his stone coffin forth he rides, 
 
 A ponderous bark for river tides. 
 
 Yet light as gossamer it glides 
 Downward to Tilmouth cell.
 
 102 MARMION. 
 
 Nor long was liis abiding there, 
 For southward did the saint repair ; 
 Chester-le-Street and Eipon saw 
 His holy corpse ere Wardilaw 
 
 Hailed him Avith joy and fear ; 
 And, after many wanderings past, 
 He phose his lordly seat at last 
 Where his cathedral, huge and vast, 
 
 Looks down upon the Wear. 
 There, deep in Durham's Gothic shade, 
 His relics are in secret laid ; 
 
 But none may know the place, 
 Save of his holiest servants three. 
 Deep sworn to solemn secrecy, 
 
 Who share that wondrous grace. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Who may his miracles declare ? 
 
 Even Scotland's dauntless king and heir — 
 
 Although with them they led 
 Galwegians, wild as ocean's gale, 
 And Loden's knights, all sheathed in mail. 
 And the bold men of Teviotdale — 
 
 Before his standard fled. 
 'T was he, to vindicate his reign, 
 Edged Alfred's falchion on the Dane, 
 And turned the Conqueror back again, 
 When, with his Norman bowyer band. 
 He came to waste Northumberland.
 
 THE CONVENT. 103 
 
 XVI. 
 
 But fain Saint Hilda's nuns would learn 
 If on a rock, by Lindisfarne, 
 Saint Cuthbert sits, and toils to frame 
 The sea-born beads that bear his name : 
 Such tales had Whitby's fishers told. 
 And said they might his shape behold, 
 
 And hear his anvil sound ; 
 A deadened clang, — a huge dim form, 
 Seen but, and heard, when gathering storm 
 
 And night were closing round. 
 But this, as tale of idle fame. 
 The nuns of Lindisfarne disclaim. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 While round the fire such legends go, 
 Far different was the scene of woe 
 Where, in a secret aisle beneath, 
 Council was held of life and death. 
 It was more dark and lone, that vault, 
 
 Than the worst dungeon cell ; 
 Old Colwulf built it, for his fault 
 In penitence to dwell, 
 When he for cowl and beads laid down 
 The Saxon battle-axe and crown. 
 This den, which, chilling every sense 
 Of feeling, hearing, sight.
 
 104 MARMION. 
 
 Was called the Vault of Penitence, 
 
 Excluding air and lig'lit, 
 Was by the prelate Sexhelm made 
 A place of burial for such dead 
 As, having died in mortal sin. 
 Might not be laid the church within. 
 'T was now a place of punishment ; 
 Whence if so loud a shriek were sent 
 
 As reached the upper air, 
 The hearers blessed themselves, and said 
 The spirits of the sinful dead 
 
 Bemoaned their torments there. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 But though, in the monastic pile, 
 Did of this penitential aisle 
 
 Some vague tradition go. 
 Few only, save the Abbot, knew 
 Where the place lay, and still more few 
 Wei'e those who had from him the clew 
 
 To that dread vault to go. 
 Victim and executioner 
 Were blindfold when transported there. 
 In low dark rounds the ai'ches hung. 
 From the rude rock the side-walls sprung ; 
 The gravestones, rudely sculptured o'er. 
 Half sunk in earth, by time half wore, 
 Were all the pavement of the floor ;
 
 THE CONVENT. 105 
 
 The mildew-drops fell one by one, 
 With tinkling plash, upon the stone. 
 A cresset, in an iron ehain, 
 Which served to light this drear domain, 
 Witli damp and darkness seemed to strive. 
 As if it scarce might keep alive ; 
 And yet it dimly served to show 
 The awful conclave met below. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 There, met to doom in secrecy, 
 Were placed the heads of convents three, 
 All servants of Saint Benedict, 
 The statutes of whose order strict 
 
 On iron table lay ; 
 In long black dress, on seats of stone. 
 Behind Avere these three judges shown 
 
 By the pale cresset's ray. 
 The Abbess of Saint Hilda's there 
 Sat for a space with visage bare, 
 Until, to hide her bosom's swell, 
 And tear-drops that for pity fell, 
 
 She closely drew her veil ; 
 Yon shrouded figure, as I guess, 
 By her proud mien and flowing dress. 
 Is Tynemouth's haughty Prioress, 
 
 And she with awe looks pale ; 
 And he, that ancient man, whose sight 
 Has long been quenched by age's night,
 
 106 MARMION. 
 
 Upon whose Avriulcled brow alone 
 Nor rutli nor mercy's trace is shown, 
 
 Whose look is hard and stern, — 
 Saint Cuthbert's Abbot is his style, 
 Por sanctity called through the isle 
 
 The Saint of Lindisfarne. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Before them stood a guilty pair; 
 But, though an equal fate they share, 
 Yet one alone deserves our care. 
 Her sex a page's dress belied ; 
 The cloak and doublet, loosely tied, 
 Obscured her charms, but could not hide. 
 Her cap down o'er her face she drew ; 
 
 And, on her doublet breast. 
 She tried to hide the badge of blue, 
 Lord Marmion's falcon crest. 
 But, at the prioress' command, 
 A monk undid the silken band 
 
 That tied her tresses fair. 
 And raised the bonnet from her head. 
 And down her slender form they spread 
 
 In ringlets rich and rare. 
 Constance de Beverley they know, 
 Sister professed of Fontevraud, 
 Whom the Church numbered with the dead, 
 For broken vows and convent fled.
 
 108 MARMION. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 When thus her face was given to view, — 
 
 Although so pallid was her hue, 
 
 It did a ghastly contrast bear 
 
 To those bright ringlets glistering fair, — 
 
 Her look composed, and steady eye, 
 
 Bespoke a matchless constancy; 
 
 And there she stood so calm and pale 
 
 That, but her breathing did not fail. 
 
 And motion slight of eye and head, 
 
 And of her bosom, warranted 
 
 That neither sense nor pulse she lacks, 
 
 You might have thought a form of wax, 
 
 Wrought to the very life, Avas there ; 
 
 So still she was, so pale, so fair. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Her comrade was a sordid soul. 
 Such as does murder for a meed ; 
 
 Who, but of fear, knows no control, 
 
 Because his conscience, seared and foul, 
 Feels not the import of his deed ; 
 
 One whose brute-feeling ne'er aspires 
 
 Beyond his own more brute desires. 
 
 Such tools the Tempter ever needs 
 
 To do the savagest of deeds ;
 
 THE CONVENT. 109 
 
 Por thorn no visioiied terrors daiuit, 
 Their iii<^'hts no fancied spectres haunt; 
 One fear with them, of all most base, 
 The fear of death, alone finds place. 
 This wretch was clad in frock and cowl, 
 And shamed not loud to moan and howl, 
 Plis body on the floor to dash, 
 And crouch, like hound beneath the lash ; 
 While his mute partner, standing near, 
 Waited her doom without a tear. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Yet well the hickless wretch might shriek, 
 Well miglit her paleness terror speak ! « 
 For there were seen in that dark wall 
 Two niches, narrow, deep, and tall ; — 
 Who enters at such grisl^r door 
 Shall ne'er, I ween, find exit more. 
 In each a slender meal was laid. 
 Of roots, of water, and of bread ; 
 By each, in Benedictine dress, 
 Tavo haggard monks stood motionless, 
 Who, holding higli a blazing torch. 
 Showed the grim entrance of the porch ; 
 Reflecting back the smoky beam. 
 The dark-red w^alls and arches gleam. 
 Hewn stones and cement were displayed, 
 And building tools in order laid.
 
 no M ARM I ON. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 These executioners were chose 
 As men who were with mankind foes, 
 And, with despite and envy fired, 
 Into the cloister had retired, 
 
 Or who, in desperate doubt of grace, 
 Strove by deep penance to efface 
 Of some foul crime the stain ; 
 For, as the vassals of her will. 
 Such men the Church selected still 
 As either joyed in doing ill. 
 Or thought more grace to gain 
 If in her cause they wrestled down 
 Feelings their nature strove to own. 
 By strange device were they brought there, 
 They knew not how, and knew not where. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 And now that blind old abbot rose. 
 To speak the Chapter's doom 
 
 On those the wall was to enclose 
 Alive within the tomb, 
 
 But stopped because that woful maid. 
 
 Gathering her powers, to speak essayed ; 
 
 Twice she essayed, and twice in vain, 
 
 Her accents might no utterance gain ; 
 
 Naught but imperfect murmurs slip
 
 THE CONVENT. HI 
 
 From licr convulsed and quivering lip : 
 'Twixt each attempt all was so still, 
 You seemed to hear a distant rill — 
 
 'Twas ocean's swells and falls ; 
 For though this vault of sin and fear 
 Was to tlie sounding surge so near, 
 A tempest there you scarce could hear, 
 So massive were the walls. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 At length, an effort sent apart 
 
 The blood that curdled to her heart, 
 
 And light came to her eye, 
 And color dawned upon her cheek, 
 A hectic and a fluttered streak. 
 Like that left on the Cheviot peak 
 
 By Autumn's stormy sky ; 
 And when her silence broke at length. 
 Still as she spoke she gathered strength, 
 
 And armed herself to bear. 
 It was a fearful sight to see 
 Such high resolve and constancy 
 
 In form so soft and fair. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 ' I speak not to implore your grace, 
 Well know I for one minute's space
 
 1X2 MARMION. 
 
 Successless might I sue : 
 Nor do I speak your prayers to gain ; 
 For if a death of lingering pain 
 To cleanse my sins be penance vain, 
 
 Vain are your masses too. — 
 I listened to a traitor's tale, 
 I left the convent and the veil ; 
 Per three long years I bowed my pride, 
 A horse-boy in his train to ride ; 
 And well my folly's meed he gave, 
 Who forfeited, to be his slave. 
 All here, and all beyond the grave. 
 He saw young Clara's face more fair, 
 He knew her of broad lands the heir, 
 Forgot his vows, his faith forswore, 
 And Constance was beloved no more. 
 
 'T is an old tale, and often told; 
 But did my fate and wish agree, 
 
 Ne'er had been read, in story old. 
 
 Of maiden true betrayed for gold, 
 That loved, or was avenged, like me ! 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 'The king approved his favorite's aim; 
 In vain a rival barred his claim, 
 
 Whose fate with Clare's was plight, 
 For he attaints that rival's fame 
 With treason's charge — and on they came 
 
 In mortal lists to fight.
 
 THE CONVENT. 113 
 
 Their oaths arc said, 
 Their prayers are prayed, 
 Tiieir lances in the rest ai'e laid, 
 They meet in mortal shock ; 
 And hark ! the throng-, witli thundering cry. 
 Shout " Marinion, Marmiou ! to the sky, 
 
 De Wilton to the hlock ! " 
 Say, ye who preach Heaven shall decide 
 When in the lists two champions ride, 
 
 Say, was Heaven's justice here? 
 When, loyal in his love and faith, 
 Wilton found overthrow or death 
 
 Beneath a traitor's spear? 
 How false the charge, how true he fell. 
 This guilty packet best can tell.' 
 Then drew a packet from her breast. 
 Paused, gathered voice, and spoke the rest. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 ' Still was false Marmion's bridal stayed ; 
 To Whitby's convent fled the maid. 
 
 The hated match to shun. 
 " Ho ! shifts she thus ? " King Henry cried, 
 " Sir Marraion, she shall be thy bride. 
 
 If she were sworn a nun." 
 One way remained — the king's command 
 Sent Marmion to the Scottish land ; 
 I lingered here, and rescue planned 
 
 Por Clara and for me :
 
 114 MARMION. 
 
 This caitiif monk for gold did swear 
 He would to Whitby's shrine repair, 
 And by his drugs my rival fair 
 A saint in heaven should be ; 
 But ill the dastard kept his oath, 
 Whose cowardice hath undone us both. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 ' And now my tongue the secret tells. 
 Not that remorse ray bosom swells. 
 But to assure my soul that none 
 Shall ever wed with Marmion. 
 Had fortune my last hope betrayed. 
 This packet, to the king conveyed, 
 Had given him to the headsman's stroke, 
 Although my heart that instant broke. — 
 Now, men of death, work forth your will, 
 For I can suffer, and be still ; 
 j And come he slow, or come he fast. 
 It is but Death who comes at last. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 ' Yet dread me from my living tomb. 
 Ye vassal slaves of bloody Eome ! 
 If Marmion's late remorse should wake, 
 Pull soon such vengeance will he take 
 That you shall wish the fiery Dane 
 Had rather been your guest again.
 
 THE CONVENT. 115 
 
 Behind, a darker hour ascends ! 
 
 The altars quake, the crosier bends, 
 
 The ire of a despotic king 
 
 Rides forth upon destruction's wing ; 
 
 Then shall these vaults, so strong and deep, 
 
 Burst open to the sea-winds' sweep ; 
 
 Some traveller then shall find my bones 
 
 Whitening amid disjointed stones. 
 
 And, ignorant of priests' cruelty, 
 
 Marvel such relics here should be.' 
 
 xxxir. 
 
 Fixed was her look and stern her air : 
 Back from her shoulders streamed her hair ; 
 The locks that wont her brow to shade 
 Stared up erectly from her head ; 
 Her figure seemed to rise more high ; 
 Her voice despair's wild energy 
 Had given a tone of prophecy. 
 Appalled the astonished conclave sate ; 
 With stupid eyes, the men of fate 
 Gazed on the light inspired form. 
 And listened for the avenging storm ; 
 The judges felt the victim's dread ; 
 No hand was moved, no word was said. 
 Till thus the abbot's doom was given. 
 Raising his sightless balls to heaven : 
 ' Sister, let thy sorrows cease ; 
 Sinful brother, part in peace ! '
 
 116 MARMION. 
 
 From that dire dungeon, place of doom, 
 Of execution too, and tomb, 
 
 Paced forth the judges three ; 
 Sorrow it were and shame to tell 
 The butcher-work that there befell, 
 When they had glided from the cell 
 
 Of sin and misery. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 An hundred winding steps convey 
 That conclave to the upper day ; 
 T?\it ere they breathed the fresher air 
 They heard tlie shriekings of despair, 
 
 And many a stifled groan. 
 With speed their upward way they take, — 
 Such speed as age and fear can make, — 
 And crossed themselves for terror's sake, 
 
 As hurrying, tottering on. 
 Even in the vesper's heavenly tone 
 They seemed to hear a dying groan, 
 And bade the passing knell to toll 
 Por welfare of a parting soid. 
 Slow o'er the midnight wave it swung, 
 Northumbrian rocks in answer rung ; 
 To Warkworth cell the echoes rolled. 
 His beads the wakeful hermit told ; 
 The Bamborough peasant raised his head, 
 But slept ere half a prayer he said ;
 
 THE CONVENT. 
 
 117 
 
 So fai' was heard llie mighty knell, 
 The stag- sprung up on ('heviot IV'U, 
 Spread his broad nostril to the wind, 
 Listed before, aside, behind, 
 Then eouehed him down beside the hind, 
 And qnakcd among the nioinitain fern, 
 To hear that sound so dull and stern. 
 
 /k»r - 1" 

 
 CANTO THIRD. 
 
 THE HOSTEL, OR INN.
 
 vSk 
 
 INTEODUCTION TO CANTO THIED. 
 
 TO WILLIAM ERSKINE, ESQ. 
 
 Ashestiel, Ettnck Forest. 
 
 Like April morning clouds, that pass 
 With varying shadow o'er the grass, 
 And imitate on field and furrow 
 Life's checkered scene of joy and sorrow ; 
 Like stearalet of the mountain north. 
 Now in a torrent racing forth, 
 Now winding slow its silver train. 
 And almost slumbering on the plain ; 
 Like breezes of the autumn day, 
 Whose voice inconstant dies away. 
 And ever swells again as fast 
 When the ear deems its murmur past; 
 Thus various, my romantic theme 
 Plits, winds, or sinks, a morning dream.
 
 |£^ * MARMION. 
 
 Yet pleased, our eye pursues the trace 
 Of Light and Shade's inconstant race ; 
 Pleased, views the rivulet afar, 
 Weaving its maze irregular ; 
 And pleased, we listen as the breeze 
 Heaves its wild sigh through Autumn trees 
 Then, wild as cloud, or stream, or gale, 
 Flow on, flow unconfined, my tale ! 
 
 Need I to thee, dear Erskine, tell 
 I love the license all too well. 
 In sounds now lowly, and now strong. 
 To raise the desultory song ? 
 Oft, when mid such capricious chime 
 Some transient fit of loftier rhyme 
 To thy kind judgment seemed excuse 
 Por many an error of the muse. 
 Oft hast thou said, ' If, still misspent, 
 Thine hours to poetry are lent, 
 Go, and to tame thy wandering course, 
 Quaff from the fountain at the source ; 
 Approach those masters o'er whose tomb 
 Immortal laurels ever bloom : 
 Instructive of the feebler bard, 
 Still from the grave their voice is heard ; 
 From them, and from the paths they showed. 
 Choose honored guide and practised road ; 
 Nor ramble on through brake and maze. 
 With harpers rude of barbarous days.
 
 INTRODUCTION TO CANTO THIRD. l23 
 
 ' Or deeni'st thou not our later time 
 Yields topic meet for classic rliyuie ? 
 Hast thou no elegiac verse 
 For I^runswick's venerable hearse ? 
 What ! not a line, a tear, a sig-h, 
 When valor bleeds for liberty ? — 
 Oh, hero of that glorious time, 
 When, with unrivalled light sublime, — 
 Though martial Austria, and though all 
 The might of Eussia, and the Gaul, 
 Though banded Europe stood her foes — 
 The star of Brandeubiu'gh arose ! 
 Thou couldst not live to see her beam 
 Forever quenched in Jena's stream. 
 Lamented chief ! — it was not given 
 To thee to change the doom of Heaven, 
 And crush that dragon in its birth, 
 Pi-edestined scourge of guilty earth. 
 Lamented chief ! — not thine the power 
 To save in that presumptuous hour 
 When Prussia hurried to the field. 
 And snatched the spear, but left the shield ! 
 Valor and skill 't was thine to try. 
 And, tried in vain, 't was thine to die. 
 Ill had it seemed thy silver hair 
 The last, the bitterest pang to share, 
 For princedoms reft, and scutcheons riven. 
 And birthrights to usurpers given ; 
 Thy land's, thy children's wrongs to feel. 
 And witness woes thou coiddst not heal !
 
 1^4 UARMION. 
 
 On thee relenting Heaven bestows 
 
 For honored life an honored close ; 
 
 And when revolves, in time's sure change, 
 
 The hour of Germany's revenge, 
 
 When, breathing fury for her sake. 
 
 Some new Arminius shall awake, 
 
 Her champion, ere he strike, shall come 
 
 To whet his sword on Brunswick's tomb. 
 
 ' Or of the Red-Cross hero teach, 
 Dauntless in dungeon as on breach. 
 Alike to him the sea, the shore. 
 The brand, the bridle, or the oar : 
 Alike to him the war that calls 
 Its votaries to the shattered walls 
 Which the grim Turk, besmeared with blood. 
 Against the Invincible made good ; 
 Or that whose thundering voice could wake 
 The silence of the polar lake, 
 When stubborn Russ and mettled Swede 
 On the warped wave their death-game played ; 
 Or that where Vengeance and Affright 
 Howled round the father of the fight. 
 Who snatched on Alexandria's sand 
 The conqueror's wreath with dying hand. 
 
 ' Or, if to touch such chord be thine, 
 Restore the ancient tragic line. 
 And emulate the notes that rung 
 From the Avild harp Avhich silent hung
 
 INTRODUCTION TO CANTO TUIRD. 125 
 
 By silver Avon's holy shore 
 Till twice an hundred years rolled o'er ; 
 When slie, the bold Enchantress, came, 
 With fearless hand and heart on flame, 
 From the pule willow snatched the treasure, 
 And swept it with a kindred measure. 
 Till Avon's swans, while rung the grove 
 With Montfort's hate and Basil's love, 
 Awakening at the inspired strain, 
 Deemed their own Shakespeare lived again.* 
 
 Thy friendship thus thy judgment wronging 
 With praises not to me belonging, 
 In task more meet for mightiest powers 
 Wouldst thou engage my thriftless hours. 
 But say, my Erskine, hast thou weighed 
 That secret power by all obeyed, 
 Which warps not less the passive mind. 
 Its source concefiled or undefined ; 
 Whether an impulse, that has birth 
 Soon as the infant wakes on earth, 
 One with our feelings and our powers. 
 And rather part of us than ours ; 
 Or whether fitlier termed the sway 
 Of habit, formed in early day ? 
 Howe'er derived, its force confessed 
 Rules with despotic sway the breast, 
 And drags us on by vicAvless chain, 
 While taste and reason plead in vain. 
 Look east, and ask the Belgian why,
 
 126 MARMION. 
 
 Beneath Batavia's sultry sky, 
 He seeks not eager to inhale 
 The freshness of the mountain gale. 
 Content to rear his whitened wall 
 Beside the dank and dull canal ? 
 He '11 say, from youth he loved to see 
 The white sail gliding by the tree. 
 Or see yon weather-beaten hind, 
 Whose sluggish herds before him wind, 
 Whose tattered plaid and rugged cheek 
 His northern clime and kindred speak ; 
 Through England's laughing meads he goes. 
 And England's wealth around him flows ; 
 Ask if it would content him well. 
 At ease in those gay plains to dAvell, 
 . Where hedge-rows spread a verdant screen, 
 And spires and forests intervene. 
 And the neat cottage peeps between ? 
 No ! not for these will he exchange 
 His dark Lochaber's boundless range. 
 Not for fair Devon's meads forsake 
 Ben Nevis gray and Garry's lake. 
 
 Thus while I ape the measure wild 
 Of tales that charmed me yet a child. 
 Rude though they be, still with the chime 
 Eeturn the thoughts of early time ; 
 And feelings, roused in life's first day. 
 Glow in the line and prompt the lay. 
 Then rise those crags, that mountain tower,
 
 INTRODUCTION TO CANTO THIRD. 127 
 
 Which charmed my fancy's wakening hour. 
 
 Though no broad river swept along. 
 
 To claim, perchance, heroic song, 
 
 Thougli sighed no groves in summer gale, 
 
 To prompt of love a softer tale, 
 
 Though scarce a puny streamlet's speed 
 
 Claimed homage from a shepherd's reed. 
 
 Yet was poetic impulse given 
 
 By the green hill and clear blue heaven. 
 
 It was a barren scene and wild, 
 
 Where naked cliffs were rudely piled. 
 
 But ever and anon between 
 
 Lay velvet tufts of loveliest green ; 
 
 And well the lonely infant knew 
 
 Recesses where the wall-flower grew. 
 
 And honeysuckle loved to crawl 
 
 Up the low crag and ruined wall. 
 
 I deemed such nooks the sweetest shade 
 
 The sun in all its round surveyed ; 
 
 And still I thought that shattered tower 
 
 The mightiest work of human power. 
 
 And marvelled as the aged hind 
 
 With some strange tale bewitched my mind 
 
 Of forayers, who with headlong force 
 
 Down from that strength had spurred their horse, 
 
 Their southern rapine to renew 
 
 Par in the distant Cheviots blue, 
 
 And, home returning, filled the hall 
 
 With revel, wassail-rout, and brawl. 
 
 Methought that still with trump and clang
 
 128 MARMION. 
 
 The gateway's broken arches rang ; 
 Methought grim features, seamed with scars, 
 Glared through the window's rusty bars, 
 And ever, by the winter hearth. 
 Old tales I heard of woe or mirth, 
 , Of lovers' slights, of ladies' charms. 
 Of witches' spells, of warriors' arms ; 
 Of patriot battles, won of old 
 By Wallace wight and Bruce tlie bold ; 
 Of later fields of feud and fight, 
 When, pouring from their Highland height, 
 The Scottish clans in headlong sway 
 Had swept the scarlet ranks away. 
 While stretched at length upon the floor, 
 Again I fought each combat o'er, 
 Pebbles and shells, in order laid. 
 The mimic ranks of war displayed ; 
 And onward still the Scottish Lion bore, 
 And still the scattered Southron fled before. 
 
 Still, with vain fondness, could I trace 
 Anew each kind familiar face 
 That brightened at our evening fire ! 
 From the thatched mansion's gray-haired sire. 
 Wise Avithout learning, plain and good. 
 And sprung of Scotland's gentler blood ; 
 Whose eye in age, quick, clear, and keen. 
 Showed what in youth its glance had been ; 
 Whose doom discording neighbors sought. 
 Content with equity unbought ;
 
 INTRODUCTION TO CANTO THIRD. 129 
 
 To him tlic vuucrablc priest, 
 Our frequent and iauiiliar guest, 
 Whose life and manners well could paint 
 Alike the student and the saint, 
 Alas ! whose speeeh too ot't I broke 
 With gambol rude and timeless joke : 
 For I was wayward, bold, and wild, 
 A self-willed imp, a grandame's child ; 
 But half a plague, and half a jest. 
 Was still endured, beloved, caressed. 
 
 From me, thus nurtured, dost thou ask 
 The classic poet's well-conned task ? 
 Nay, Erskine, nay — on the wild hill 
 Let the wild heath-bell flourish still ; 
 Cherish the tidip, prune the vine, 
 But freely let the woodbine twine. 
 And leave luitrimmed the eglantine : 
 Nay, my friend, nay • — since oft thy praise 
 Hath given fresh vigor to my lays, 
 Since oft thy judgment could refine 
 My flattened thought or cumbrous line, 
 Still kind, as is thy wont, attend, 
 And in the minstrel spare the friend. 
 Though wild as cloud, as stream, as gale^ 
 Flow forth, flow unrestrained, mv tale !
 
 CANTO THIRD. 
 
 THE HOSTEL, OR INN. 
 
 The livelong- tlaj'' Lord Marniion rode; 
 The mountain path the Palmer showed 
 By g'len and streamlet winded still, 
 Where stunted birches hid the rill.
 
 132 MARMION. 
 
 They might not choose the lowlaiul road, 
 For the Merse forayers were abroad, 
 Who, fired with hate and thirst of prey, 
 . Had scarcely failed to bar their way. 
 Oft on the trampling band from crown 
 Of some tall cliff the deer looked down ; 
 On wing of jet from his repose 
 In the deep heath the blackcock rose ; 
 Sprimg from the gorse the timid roe, 
 Nor waited for the bending bow ; 
 And when the stony path began 
 By which the naked peak they wan, 
 Up flew the snowy ptarmigan. 
 The noon had long been passed before 
 They gained the height of Lammermoor; 
 Thence winding down the northern way. 
 Before them at the close of day 
 Old Gilford's towers and hamlet lay. 
 
 II. 
 
 No summons calls them to the tower, 
 
 To spend the hospitable liour. 
 
 To Scotland's camp the lord was gone; 
 
 His cautions dame, in bower alone. 
 
 Dreaded her castle to unclose, 
 
 So late, to unknown friends or foes. 
 On through the hamlet as they paced. 
 Before a porch whose front was graced 
 With bush and flagon trimly placed.
 
 THE HOSTEL, OR INN. 133 
 
 Lord Mannion drew liis rein : 
 The village iiin seemed large, thougli rude ; 
 Its clieerful fire and hearty food 
 Might well relieve his train. 
 
 Down from their seats the horsemen sprung, 
 
 With jingling spurs the court-yard rung; 
 
 They bind their horses to the stall, 
 
 For forage, food, and firing call. 
 
 And various clamor fills the hall : 
 
 Weighing the labor Avith the cost. 
 
 Toils everywhere the bustling host. 
 
 III. 
 
 Soon, by the chimney's merry blaze. 
 Through the rude hostel might you gaze, 
 Might see where in dark nook aloof 
 The rafters of the sooty roof 
 
 Bore wealth of winter cheer ; 
 Of sea-fowl dried, and solands store, 
 And ganunons of the tusky boar. 
 
 And savory haunch of deer. 
 The chimney arch projected wide ; 
 Above, around it, and beside, 
 
 Were tools for housewives' hand ; 
 Nor wanted, in that martial day. 
 The implements of Scottish fray. 
 
 The buckler, lance, and brand. 
 Beneath its shade, the place of state, 
 On oaken settle Marmion sate.
 
 134 MARMION. 
 
 And viewed around tlie blazing hearth 
 His followers mix in noisy mirth ; 
 Whom with brown ale, in jolly tide, 
 Prom ancient vessels ranged aside, 
 Pull actively their host supplied. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Theirs was the glee of martial breast, 
 And laughter theirs at little jest ; 
 And oft Lord Marmion deigned to aid, 
 And mingle in the mirth they made ; 
 For thougli, with men of high degree, 
 The proudest of the proud was he. 
 Yet, trained in camps, he knew the art 
 To win the soldier's hardy heart. 
 They love a captain to obey. 
 Boisterous as March, yet fresh as May ; 
 With open hand and brow as free. 
 Lover of wine and minstrelsy ; 
 Ever the first to scale a tower. 
 As venturous in a lady's bower : — 
 Such buxom cluef shall lead his host 
 Prom Lidia's fires to Zembla's frost. 
 
 Eesting upon his pilgrim staff, 
 Eight opposite the Palmer stood.
 
 THE HOSTEL, OR INN. 
 
 135 
 
 His thin dark visage seen but half, 
 
 Half hidden by his hood. 
 Still tixcd on Mavmion was his look, 
 Which he, who ill such gaze could brook, 
 
 Strove by a frown to quell ; 
 But not for that, though more than once 
 Pull met their stern encountering glance, 
 
 The Palmer's visage fell.
 
 136 MARMION. 
 
 VI. 
 
 By fits less frequent from the crowd 
 Was heard the burst of laughter loud ; 
 li'or still, as squire and archer stared 
 On that (lark face and matted beard, 
 
 Their glee and game declined. 
 All gazed at length in silence drear, 
 Unbroke save when in comrade's ear 
 Some yeoman, wondering in his fear, 
 
 Thus whispered forth his mind : 
 * Saint Mary ! saw'st thou e'er such sight ? 
 How pale his cheek, his eye how bright, 
 Whene'er the firebrand's fickle light 
 
 Glances beneath his cowl ! 
 Full on our lord he sets his eye ; 
 Por his best palfrey would not I 
 
 Endure that sullen scowl.' 
 
 VII. 
 
 But Marmion, as to chase the awe 
 
 Wliich thus had quelled their hearts who saw 
 
 The ever-varying firelight show 
 
 That fignre stern and face of woe. 
 
 Now called upon a squire : 
 ' Eitz-Eustace, know'st thou not some lay. 
 To speed the lingering night away ? 
 
 We slumber by the fire.'
 
 THE HOSTEL, OR INN. 137 
 
 VIII. 
 
 ' So please you,' thus the youth rejoined, 
 ' Our choicest minstrel 's left beliiiul. 
 Ill may we hope to please your ear, 
 Accustomed Constant's strains to Iiear. 
 The harp full deftly can lie strike, 
 And wake the lover's lute alike ; 
 To dear Saint Valentine no thrush 
 Sings livelier from a springtide bush. 
 No nightingale her lovelorn tune 
 More sweetly warbles to the moon. 
 Woe to the cause, whate'er it be. 
 Detains from us his melody, 
 Lavished on rocks and billows stern. 
 Or duller monks of Lindisfarne. 
 Now must I venture as I may, 
 To sing his favorite roundelay.' 
 
 IX. 
 
 A mellow voice Pitz-Eustace had, 
 The air he chose was wild and sad ; 
 Such have I heai'd in Scottish laud 
 Rise from the busy harvest band, 
 When falls before the mountaineer 
 On Lowland plains the ripened ear. 
 Now one shrill voice the notes prolong, 
 Now a wild chorus swells the song :
 
 138 MARMION. 
 
 Oft have I listened and stood still 
 As it eame softened up the hill, 
 And deemed it the lament of men 
 AVho languished for their native glen, 
 And thought how sad would be such sound 
 On Susquehanna's swampy ground, 
 Kentucky's wood-encumbered brake. 
 Or wild Ontario's boundless lake, 
 Where heart-sick exiles in the strain 
 Eecallcd fair Scotland's hills again ! 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Where shall the lover rest, 
 
 Whom the fates sever 
 From his true maiden's breast. 
 
 Parted forever? 
 Where, through groves deep and high, 
 
 Sounds the far billow. 
 Where early violets die, 
 
 Under the willow. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Eleii loro, etc. Soft shall be his pillow, 
 
 There, through the summer day, 
 Cool streams are laving;
 
 THE HOSTEL, OR INN. 139 
 
 There, wliile the tempests sway, 
 
 Scarce are boughs waving ; 
 There thy rest slialt thou take, 
 
 Parted forever, 
 Never again to wake, 
 
 Never, never ! 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Men loro, etc. Never, never ! 
 
 XT. 
 
 Where shall the traitor rest, 
 
 He the deceiver, 
 Who coukl win maiden's breast, 
 
 Kuin and leave her ? 
 In the lost battle. 
 
 Borne down by the flying, 
 Where mingles Avar's rattle 
 
 With groans of the dviug. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Eleu loro, etc. There shall he be lying. 
 
 Her wing shall the eagle flap 
 O'er the false-hearted ;
 
 140 MARMION. 
 
 His warm blood, tlio wolf shall lap. 
 
 Ere life be parted. 
 Shame and dishonor sit 
 
 By his grave ever ; 
 Blessing shall hallow it, — 
 
 Never, O never ! 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Eleu loro, etc. Nc^ver, never ! 
 
 XTI. 
 
 It ceased, the melancholj' sound, 
 And silence sunk on all around. 
 The air was sad ; but sadder still 
 
 It fell on Marmion's ear. 
 And plained as if disgrace and ill, 
 
 And shameful death, were near. 
 He drew his mantle past his face, 
 
 Between it and the band. 
 And rested with his head a space 
 
 Reclining on his hand. 
 His thoughts I scan not ; but I ween 
 That, could their import have been seen, 
 The meanest groom in all the hall, 
 That e'er tied courser to a stall, 
 Would scarce have wished to be their prey. 
 For Lutterward and Eontenaye.
 
 THE HOSTEL, OR INN. 141 
 
 XIII. 
 
 High minds, of native pride and force, 
 Most deeply feel thy pangs, Remorse ! 
 Fear for their scourge mean villains have, 
 Thou art the torturer of the brave ! 
 Yet fatal strength they boast to steel 
 Their minds to bear the wounds they feel. 
 Even while they wi-ithc beneath the smart 
 Of civil conflict in the heart. 
 For soon Lord Marmion raised his head. 
 And smiling to Fitz-Eustace said : 
 ' Is it not strange that, as ye sung, 
 Seemed in mine ear a death-peal rung, 
 Such as in nunneries they toll 
 For some departing sister's soul ? 
 
 Say, what may this portend ? ' 
 Then first the Palmer silence broke, — 
 The livelong day he had not spoke, — 
 
 ' The death of a dear friend.' 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Marmion, whose steady heart and eye 
 Ne'er changed in Avorst extremity, 
 Marmion, whose soul could scantly brook 
 Even from his king a haughty look. 
 Whose accent of command controlled 
 In camps the boldest of the bold —
 
 142 MARMION. 
 
 Thouglit, look, and utterance failed him now, 
 Fallen was his glance and flushed his brow ; 
 
 For either in the tone, 
 Or something in the Palmer's look, 
 .& full upon his conscience strook 
 
 That answer he found none. 
 Thus oft it haps that when within 
 Thev shrink at sense of secret sin, 
 
 A feather daunts the brfive ; 
 A fool's wild speech confoinids the wise, 
 And proudest princes vail their eyes 
 
 Before their meanest slave. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Well might he falter ! — ■ By his aid 
 Was Constance Beverley betrayed. 
 Not that he augured of the doom 
 Which on the living closed the tomb : 
 But, tired to hear the desperate maid 
 Threaten by turns, beseech, upbraid, 
 And wroth because in wild despair 
 She practised on the life of Clare, 
 Its fugitive the Church he gave. 
 Though not a victim, but a slave. 
 And deemed restraint in convent strange 
 Would hide her wrongs and her revenge. 
 Himself, proiul Henry's favorite peer. 
 Held Komish thunders idle fear;
 
 THE HOSTEL, OR INN. 143 
 
 Secure liis pardon lie might hold 
 
 For some slight mulct of penance-gold. 
 
 Thus judging, he gave secret way 
 
 When the stern priests surprised their prey. 
 
 His train but deemed the favorite page 
 
 Was left behind to spare his age ; 
 
 Or other if they deemed, none dared 
 
 To mutter what he thought and heard : 
 
 Woe to the vassal who durst pry 
 
 Into Lord Marmion's privacy ! 
 
 XVI. 
 
 His conscience slept — he deemed her well, 
 And safe secured in distant cell ; 
 But, wakened by her favorite lay, 
 And that strange Palmer's bodius: sav 
 That fell so ominous and drear 
 Full on the object of his fear, 
 To aid remorse's venomed throes, 
 Dark tales of convent-vengeance rose ; 
 And Constance, late betrayed and scorned, 
 All lovely on his soul returned ; 
 Lovely as when at treacherous call 
 She left her convent's peaceful wall, 
 Crimsoned with shame, with terror mute, 
 Dreading alike escape, pursuit, 
 Till love, victorious o'er alarms. 
 Hid fears and blushes in his arms.
 
 144 MARMION. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 ' Alas ! ' lie thought, ' how changed that mien ! 
 
 How changed these tiraid looks have been, 
 
 Since years of guilt and of disguise 
 
 Have steeled her brow and armed her eyes ! 
 
 No more of virgin terror speaks 
 
 The blood that mantles in her cheeks ; 
 
 Fierce and unfeminine are there, 
 
 Frenzy for joy, for grief despair ; 
 
 And I the cause — for whom were given 
 
 Her peace on earth, her hopes in heaven ! — 
 
 Woukl,' thouglit he, as the picture grows, 
 
 ' I on its stalk had left the rose ! 
 
 Oh, why shoukl man's success remove 
 
 The very charms that wake his love ? — 
 
 Her convent's peaceful solitude 
 
 Is now a prison harsh and rude ; 
 
 And, pent within the narrow cell. 
 
 How will her spirit chafe and swell ! 
 
 How brook the stern monastic laws ! 
 
 The penance how — and I the cause ! — 
 
 Vigil and scourge — perchance even worse ! ' - 
 
 And twice he rose to cry, ' To horse ! ' 
 
 And twice his sovereign's mandate came. 
 
 Like damp upon a kindling flame ; 
 
 And twice he thought, ' Gave I not charge 
 
 She should be safe, though not at large ? 
 
 They durst not, for their island, shred 
 
 One golden ringlet from her head.'
 
 TUE HOSTEL, OR INN. 145 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 While thus in Marmioii's bosom strove 
 
 Repentance and reviving love, 
 
 Like whirlwinds whose contending sway 
 
 I've seen Loch Vennachar obey, 
 
 Their host the Palmer's speech had heard, 
 
 And talkative took up the word : 
 
 ' Ay, reverend pilgrim, you who stray 
 From Scotland's simple land away. 
 
 To visit realms afar. 
 Full often learn the art to know 
 Of future weal or future woe, 
 By word, or sign, or star; 
 Yet might a knight his fortune hear, 
 If, knight-like, he despises fear, 
 Not far from hence ; — if fathers old 
 \right our hamlet legend told.' 
 These broken w^ords the menials move, — 
 For marvels still the vulgar love, — 
 And, Marmion giving license cold. 
 His tale the host thus gladly told : — 
 
 XIX. 
 
 THE host's tale. 
 
 ' A clerk could tell what years have flown 
 Since Alexander filled our throne, — 
 Third monarch of that warlike name, — 
 And eke the time when here he came
 
 X46 MARMION. 
 
 To seek Sir Hugo, then our lord : 
 
 A braver never drew a sword; 
 
 A wiser never, at the hour 
 
 Of midnight, spoke the word of power ; 
 
 Tlie same whom ancient records call 
 
 The founder of the Goblin-Hall. 
 
 I would, Sir Knight, your longer stay 
 Gave you that cavern to survey. 
 
 Of lofty roof and ample size, 
 Beneath the castle deep it lies : 
 To hew the living rock profound. 
 The floor to pave, the arch to round, 
 There never toiled a mortal arm. 
 It all was wrought by word and charm ; 
 And I have heard my grandsire say 
 That the wild clamor and affray 
 Of those dread artisans of hell. 
 Who labored under Hugo's spell, 
 Sounded as loud as ocean's war 
 Among the caverns of Dunbar. 
 
 XX. 
 
 'The king Lord Gifford's castle sought. 
 Deep laboring with uncertain thought. 
 Even then he mustered all his host, 
 To meet upon the western coast ; 
 For Norse and Danish galleys plied 
 Their oars within the Eirth of Clyde. 
 There floated Haco's banner trim
 
 THE HOSTEL, OR INN. 147 
 
 Above Noi-weyan warriors grim, 
 
 Savage of heart and large of limb, 
 
 Threatening both continent and isle, 
 
 Bute, Arran, CUnininghame, and Kyle. 
 
 Lord Gifford, deep bencatli the ground. 
 
 Heard Alexander's bugle sound, 
 
 And tarried not his garb to change, 
 
 But, in his wizard habit strange, 
 
 (^anic forth, — a quaint and fearful sight: 
 
 His mantle liued with fox-skins white ; 
 
 His hioh and wrinkled forehead bore 
 
 A pointed cap, such as of yore 
 
 Clerks say that Pharaoh's Magi wore ; 
 
 His shoes were marked with cross and spell, 
 
 Upon his breast a pentacle ; 
 
 His zone of virgin parchment thin, 
 
 Or, as some tell, of dead man's skin, 
 
 Bore many a planetary sign. 
 
 Combust, and retrograde, and trine ; 
 
 And in his hand he held prepared 
 
 A naked sword without a guard. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 ' Dire dealings with a fiendish race 
 Had marked strange lines upon his face ; 
 Vigil and fast had worn him grim. 
 His eyesight dazzled seemed and dim, 
 As one unused to upper day ; 
 Even his own menials with dismay
 
 148 MARMION. 
 
 Beheld, Sir Knight, the grisly sire 
 In this unwonted wild attire ; 
 Unwonted, for traditions run 
 He seldom thus beheld the sun. 
 "I know," he said, — his voice was hoarse, 
 And broken seemed its hollow force, — 
 " I know the cause, although untold. 
 Why the king seeks his vassal's hold : 
 Vainly from me my liege would know 
 His kingdom's future weal or woe ; 
 But yet, if strong his arm and heart, 
 His courage may do more than art. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 ' " Of middle air the demons proud, 
 Who ride upon the racking cloud, 
 Can read in fixed or wandering star 
 The issue of events afar. 
 But still their sullen aid withhold, 
 Save when by mightier force controlled. 
 Such late I summoned to my hall ; 
 And though so potent was the call 
 That scarce the deepest nook of liell 
 I deemed a refuge from the spell. 
 Yet, obstinate in silence still. 
 The haughty demon mocks my skill. 
 But thou — who little know'st thy might 
 As born upon that blessed night 
 When yawning graves and dying groan
 
 THE HOSTEL, OR INN. 149 
 
 Proclaimed hell's empire overtlirown — 
 
 With uiitaug'ht valor shalt compel 
 
 Response denied to magic spell." 
 
 " Gramcrcy," quoth our monarch free, 
 
 " Place him but front to front with me, 
 
 And, by this good and honored brand. 
 
 The gift of Cceur-de-Lion's hand, 
 
 Soothly I swear that, tide what tide. 
 
 The demon shall a buifet bide." 
 
 His bearing bold the wizard viewed, 
 
 And thus, well pleased, his speech renewed : 
 
 " There spoke the blood of Malcolm ! — niaik : 
 
 Forth pacing hence at midnight dark. 
 
 The rampart seek whose circling crown 
 
 Crests the ascent of yonder down : 
 
 A southern entrance shalt thou find ; 
 
 There halt, and thei-e thy bugle wind, 
 
 And trust thine elfin foe to see 
 
 In guise of thy worst enemy. 
 
 Couch then thy lance and spur thy steed — 
 
 Upon him ! and Saint George to speed ! 
 
 If he go down, thou soon shalt know 
 
 Whate'er these airy sprites can show ; 
 
 If thy heart fail thee in the strife, 
 
 I am no Avarrant for thy life." 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 ' Soon as the midnight bell did ring, 
 Alone and armed, forth rode the king 
 To that old camp's deserted round.
 
 150 MARMION. 
 
 Sir Knight, you well might mark the mound 
 Left hand the town, — the Pictish race 
 The trench, long since, in blood did trace; 
 Tlie moor aronud is brown and bare, 
 The space within is green and fair. 
 The spot our village children know, 
 For there the earliest wild-flowers grow ; 
 But woe betide the wandering wight 
 That treads its circle in the night ! 
 The breadth across, a bowshot clear, 
 Grives ample space for full career ; 
 Opposed to the four points of heaven, 
 By four deep gaps are entrance given. 
 The southernmost our monarch passed. 
 Halted, and blew a gallant blast; 
 And on the north, within the ring. 
 Appeared the form of England's king, 
 Who then, a thousand leagues afar, 
 In Palestine waged holy war : 
 Yet arms like England's did he wi(^ld; 
 Alike the leopards in the shield, 
 Alike his Syrian courser's frame, 
 The rider's length of limb the same. 
 Long afterwards did Scotland know 
 Fell Edward was her deadliest foe. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 'The vision made our monarch start. 
 But soon he maimed his noble heart.
 
 THE HOSTEL, OR INN. 
 
 151 
 
 And in the first career they ran, 
 
 The Elfin Knight fell, horse and man ; 
 
 Yet did a splinter of his lance
 
 152 mahmion. 
 
 Through Alexander's visor glance, 
 And razed the skin — a puny wound. 
 The king, light leaping to the ground, 
 With naked blade his phantom foe 
 Compelled the future Avar to show. 
 Of Largs he saw the glorious plain, 
 Where still gigantic bones remain, 
 
 Memorial of the Danish war ; 
 Himself he saw, amid the field, 
 On high his brandished war-axe wield 
 And strike proud Haco from his car, 
 While all around the shadowy kings 
 Denmark's grim ravens cowered their wings. 
 'T is said that in that awful night 
 Remoter visions met his sight, 
 Foreshowing future conquest far. 
 When our sons' sons wage Northern war; 
 A royal city, tower and spire, 
 Eeddened the midnight sky with fire, 
 And shouting crews her navy bore 
 Triumphant to the victor shore. 
 Such signs may learned clerks explain, 
 They pass the wit of simple swain. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 ' The joyful king turned home again. 
 Headed his host, and quelled the Dane ; 
 But yearly, when returned the night 
 Of his strange combat with the sprite,
 
 THE HOSTEL, OR INN. 153 
 
 His wound, must bleed and smart; 
 Lord Giflbrd then would gibing say, 
 " Bold as ye were, my liege, ye pay 
 
 The penance of your start." 
 Long since, beneath Dunfermline's nave, 
 King Alexander fills his grave, 
 
 Our Lady give him rest ! 
 Yet still the knightly spear and shield 
 The Elfin Warrior doth wield 
 
 Upon the brown hill's breast. 
 And many a knight hath proved his chance 
 In the charmed ring to break a lance, 
 
 But all have foully sped ; 
 Save two, as legends tell, and they 
 Were Wallace wight and Gilbert Hay. — 
 
 Gentles, my tale is said.' 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 The quaighs were deep, the liquor strong. 
 And on the tale the yeoman-throng 
 Had made a comment sage and long, 
 
 But Marmion gave a sign : 
 And with their lord the squires retire. 
 The rest around the hostel fire 
 
 Their drowsy limbs recline ; 
 For pillow, underneath each head, 
 The quiver and the targe were laid. 
 Deep slumbering on the hostel floor. 
 Oppressed with toil and ale, they snore ;
 
 154 MARMION. 
 
 Tlie dying flame, in fitful change, 
 Threw on the group its shadows strange. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Apart, and nestling in the hay 
 Of a waste loft, Fitz-Eustace lay ; 
 Scarce by the pale moonlight were seen 
 The foldings of his mantle green : 
 Lightly he dreamt, as youth will dream, 
 Of sport by thicket, or by stream. 
 Of hawk or hound, or ring or glove, 
 Or, lighter yet, of lady's love. 
 A cautious tread his slumber broke, 
 And, close beside him when he woke. 
 In moonbeam half, and half in gloom, 
 Stood a tall form with nodding plume; 
 But, ere his dagger Eustace drew. 
 His master Marmion's voice he knew . 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 ' Fitz-Eustace ! rise, — I cannot rest ; 
 Yon churl's wild legend haunts my breast, 
 And graver thoughts have chafed my mood ; 
 The air must cool my feverish blood, 
 And fain would I ride forth to see 
 The scene of elfin chivalry. 
 Arise, and saddle me my steed ; 
 And, gentle Eustace, take good heed
 
 156 MARMION. 
 
 Thou (lost not rouse these drowsy slaves ; 
 I woukl not that the prating- knaves 
 Had cause for saying-, o'er their ale, 
 That I could credit such a tale.' 
 Then softly down the steps they slid, 
 Eustace the stable door undid, 
 And, darkling, Marraioti's steed arrayed. 
 While, whispering, thus the baron said : - 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 ' Didst never, good my youth, hear tell 
 
 That on the hour when I was born 
 Saint George, who graced my sire's chapelle, 
 Down from his steed of marble fell, 
 
 A weary wight forlorn ? 
 The flattering chaplains all agree 
 The champion left his steed to me. 
 1 Avould, the omen's truth to show, 
 That I could meet this elfin foe ! 
 Blithe would 1 battle for the right 
 To ask one question at the sprite. — 
 Vain thought ! for elves, if elves there be, 
 An empty race, by fount or sea 
 To dashing Avaters dance and sing. 
 Or round the green oak wheel their ring.' 
 Thus speaking, he his steed bestrode, 
 And from the hostel slowly rode.
 
 THE HOSTEL, OR INN. 157 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Fitz-Eustace followed him abroad, 
 And marked him pace the village road, 
 
 And listened to his liorse's tramp, 
 Till, by the lessening- sound, 
 
 He judged that of the Pietish camp 
 Lord Marmion sought the round. 
 Wonder it seemed, in the squire's eyes, 
 That one, so wary held and wise, — 
 Of whom 't was said, he scarce received 
 For gospel what the Church believed, — 
 
 Should, stirred by idle tale, 
 Eide forth in silence of the night, 
 As hoping half to meet a sprite, 
 
 Arrayed in plate and mail. 
 For little did Fitz-Eustace know 
 That passions in contending flow 
 
 Unfix the strongest mind ; 
 Wearied from doubt to doubt to flee, 
 We welcome fond credulity, 
 
 Guide confident, though blind. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Little for this Fitz-Eustace cared. 
 But patient waited till he heard 
 At distance, pricked to utmost speed. 
 The foot-tramp of a flying steed
 
 158 M ARM I ON. 
 
 Come townward rushing on ; 
 First, dead, as if ou turf it trode. 
 Then, clattering on the village road, — 
 In other pace than forth he yode, 
 
 Keturned Lord Marinion. 
 Down hastily he sprung from sella, 
 And in his haste wellnigh he fell ; 
 To the squire's hand the reiu he threw, 
 And spoke no word as he withdrew : 
 But yet the moonlight did betray 
 The falcon-crest was soiled with clay ; 
 And plainly might Fitz-Eustace see. 
 By stains upon the charger's knee 
 And his left side, that ou the moor 
 He had not kept his footing sure. 
 Long musing on these wondrous signs, 
 At length to rest the squire reclines, 
 Broken and short ; for still between 
 Woidd dreams of terror intervene : 
 Eustace did ne'er so blithely mark 
 The first notes of the morning lark.
 
 CANTO FOURTH. 
 
 THE CAMP.
 
 INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FOURTH. 
 
 TO JAMES SKENE, ESQ. 
 
 Ashestiel, Ettrick Forest. 
 
 An ancient Minstrel sagely said, 
 
 'Where is the life which late we led?' 
 
 That motley clown in Arden wood, 
 
 Whom humorous Jaqucs with envy viewed, 
 
 Not even that clown could amplify 
 
 On this trite text so long as I. 
 
 Eleven years we now may tell 
 
 Since we have known each other well. 
 
 Since, riding side by side, our hand 
 
 First drew the voluntary brand ; 
 
 And sure, through many a varied scene, 
 
 Unkinduess never came between. 
 
 Away these winged years liave flown. 
 
 To join the mass of ages gone ;
 
 162 MARMION. 
 
 And though deep marked, like all below, 
 With checkered shades of joy and woe, 
 Though thou o'er realms and seas hast ranged. 
 Marked cities lost and empires changed, 
 Winie liere at home my narrower ken 
 Somewhat of manners saw and men ; 
 Though varying wishes, hopes, and fears 
 Fevered the progress of these years. 
 Yet now, days, weeks, and mouths but seem 
 The recollection of a dream. 
 So still we glide down to the sea 
 Of fathomless eternity. 
 
 Even now it scarcely seems a day 
 Since first I tuned tliis idle lay; 
 A task so often thrown aside. 
 When leisure graver cares denied. 
 That now November's dreary gale. 
 Whose voice inspired my opening tale, 
 That same November gale once more 
 Whirls the dry leaves on Yarr6w sliore. 
 Their vexed boughs streaming to the sky. 
 Once more our naked birches sigh. 
 And Blackhouse heights and Ettrick Pen 
 Have donned their wintry shrouds again. 
 And mountain dark and flooded mead 
 Bid us forsake the banks of Tweed. 
 Earlier than wont along the sky. 
 Mixed with tlie rack, the snow mists fly ; 
 The shepherd who, in summer sun,
 
 INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FOURTH. 1G3 
 
 Had something; of our envy won, 
 
 As thou with pencil, 1 with pen. 
 
 The features traced of hill and glen, — 
 
 He who, outstretched the livelong (lay. 
 
 At ease among the heath-llowers lay, 
 
 Viewed the light clouds with vacant look, 
 
 Or slumbered o'er his tattered book, 
 
 Or idly busied him to guide 
 
 His angle o'er the lessened tide, — 
 
 At midnight now the snowy plain 
 
 Finds sterner labor for the swain. 
 
 When red hath set the beamless sun 
 Througli heavy vapors dank and dun. 
 When the tired ploughman, dry and warm, 
 Hears, half asleep, the rising storm 
 Hurling the hail and sleeted rain 
 Against the casement's tinkling pane ; 
 The sounds that drive wild deer and fox 
 To shelter in the brake and rocks 
 Are warnings which the shepherd ask 
 To dismal and to dangerous task. 
 Oft he looks forth, and hopes, in vain, 
 The blast may sink in mellowing rain ; 
 Till, dark above and white below. 
 Decided drives the flaky snow. 
 And forth the hardy swain nnist go. 
 Long, with dejected look and whine. 
 To leave the hearth his dogs repine; 
 Whistling and cheering them to aid,
 
 164 MARMION. 
 
 Around his back he wreaths the plaid : 
 
 His flock he gathers and he g-uides 
 
 To open downs and mountain-sides, 
 
 Where fiercest though the tempest blow, 
 
 Least deeply lies the drift below. 
 
 The blast that whistles o'er the fells 
 
 Stiffens his locks to icicles ; 
 
 Oft he looks back while, streaming far, 
 
 His cottage window seems a star, — 
 
 Loses its feeble gleam, — and then 
 
 Turns patient to the blast again. 
 
 And, facing to the tempest's sweep. 
 
 Drives through the gloom his lagging sheep. 
 
 If fails his heart, if his limbs fail. 
 
 Benumbing death is in the gale ; 
 
 His paths, his landmarks, all unknown. 
 
 Close to the hut, no more his own, 
 
 Close to the aid he sought in vain, 
 
 The morn may find the stiffened swain : 
 
 The widow sees, at dawning pale. 
 
 His orphans raise their feeble wail ; 
 
 And, close beside him in tlie snow, 
 
 Poor Yarrow, partner of their woe, 
 
 Couches upon his master's breast. 
 
 And licks his cheek to break his rest. 
 
 Who envies now the shepherd's lot. 
 His healthy fare, his rural cot. 
 His summer couch by greenwood tree. 
 His rustic kirn's loud revelrv.
 
 INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FOURTH. 165 
 
 His native hill-notes tuned on high 
 To Marion of the blithesome eye, 
 His crook, his scrip, his oaten recti, 
 And all Arcatlia's g-okleu creed? 
 
 Changes not so with us, my Skene, 
 Of human life the varying scene ? 
 Our youthful sumnn'r oft we see 
 Dance by on wings of game and glee, 
 While the dark storm reserves its rage 
 Against the winter of our age ; 
 As he, the ancient chief of Troy, 
 His manhood spent in peace and joy, 
 But Grecian fires and loud alarms 
 Called ancient Priam forth to arms. 
 Then happy those, since each must drain 
 His share of pleasure, share of pain, — 
 Then happy those, beloved of Heaven, 
 To whom the mingled cup is given ; 
 Whose lenient sorrows find relief. 
 Whose joys are chastened by their grief. 
 And such a lot, my Skene, was thine, 
 When thou of late wert doomed to twine — 
 Just when thy bridal iiour was by — 
 The cypress Avith the myrtle tie. 
 Just on thy bride her sire had smiled. 
 And blessed the union of his child. 
 When love must change its joyous cheer, 
 And wipe affection's filial tear. 
 Nor did the actions next his end
 
 166 MARMION. 
 
 Speak more the father than the friend : 
 Scarce had lamented Forbes paid 
 The tribute to his minstrel's shade, 
 The tale of friendship scarce was told, 
 Ere the narrator's heart was cold — 
 Far may we search before we find 
 A heart so manly and so knid ! 
 But not around his honored urn 
 Shall friends alone and kindred mourn ; 
 The thousand eyes his care had dried 
 Pour at his name a bitter tide, 
 And frequent falls the grateful dew 
 For benefits the world ne'er knew. 
 If mortal charity tlare claim 
 The Almighty's attributed name. 
 Inscribe above his mouldering clay, 
 •The widow's shield, the orphan's stay.' 
 Nor, though it wake thy sorrow, deem 
 My verse intrudes on this sad theme. 
 For sacred Avas the pen that wrote, 
 ' Thy father's friend forget thou not ; ' 
 And gratefid title may I plead, 
 For many a kindly word and deed, 
 To bring my tribute to his grave : — 
 'T is little — but 't is all I have. 
 
 To thee, perchance, this rambling strain 
 Recalls our summer Avalks again ; 
 When, doing nought, — and, to speak true, 
 Not anxious to find aught to do, —
 
 INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FOURTH. l67 
 
 Till! wild unbounded hills we ranged, 
 
 While oft our talk its topic chaiigcd, 
 
 And, desultory as our way. 
 
 Ranged uneonfined from grave to gay. 
 
 Even when it flagged, as oft will chance. 
 
 No effort made to break its trance, 
 
 We could right pleasantly pursue 
 
 Our sports in social silence too ; 
 
 Thou gravely laboring to portray 
 
 The blighted oak's fantastic spray, 
 
 I spelling o'er with much delight 
 
 The legend of that antique knight, 
 
 Tirante by name, ycleped the White. 
 
 At cither's feet a trusty squire, 
 
 Pandour and Camp, with eyes of tire. 
 
 Jealous each other's motions viewed. 
 
 And scarce suppressed their ancient feud. 
 
 The laverock whistled from the cloud ; 
 
 The stream was lively, but not loud ; 
 
 Prom the white thorn the May-flower shed 
 
 Its dewy fragrance round our head : 
 
 Not Ariel lived more merrily 
 
 Under the blossomed bough than we. 
 
 And blithesome nights, too, have been ours. 
 When Winter stript the Summer's bowers. 
 Careless we heard, what now I hear, 
 The wild blast sighing deep and drear. 
 When fires were bright and lamps beamed gay, 
 And ladies tuned the lovely lay,
 
 168 MARMION. 
 
 And lie was held a lao;o;ard soul 
 
 Who shunned to quaff the sparkling bowl. 
 
 Then he whose absence we deplore, 
 
 Who breathes the gales of Devon's shore, 
 
 The longer missed, bewailed the more, 
 
 And thou, and I, and dear-loved Rae, 
 
 And one whose name I may not say, — 
 
 For not mimosa's tender tree 
 
 Shrinks sooner from the touch than lie, — 
 
 In merry chorus well combined, 
 
 With laughter drowned the whistling wind. 
 
 Mirth was within, and Care without 
 
 Might gnaw her nails to hear our shout. 
 
 Not but amid tlie buxom scene 
 
 Some grave discourse might intervene — 
 
 Of the good horse that bore him best, 
 
 His shoulder, hoof, and arching crest ; 
 
 Por, like mad Tom's, our chiefest care 
 
 Was horse to ride and Aveapon wear. 
 
 Such nights we 've had ; and, though the game 
 
 Of manhood be more sober tame. 
 
 And though the field-day or the drill 
 
 Seem less important now, yet still 
 
 Such may we hope to share again. 
 
 The sprightly thought inspires my strain ! 
 
 And mark how, like a horseman true, 
 
 Lord Marmion's march I thus renew.
 
 CANTO FOURTH. 
 
 THE CAMP. 
 
 I. 
 
 Eustace, I said, did blithely mark 
 The first notes of the merry lark. 
 The lark sang shrill, the cock he crew, 
 And loudly Marmion's bugles blew, 
 And Avith their light and lively call 
 Brought groom and yeoman to the stall. 
 
 Whistling they came and free of heai-t, 
 But soon their mood was changed ; 
 
 Complaint was heard on every part 
 Of something disari'anged. 
 Some clamored loud for armor lost ; . 
 Some brawled and wrangled with the host; 
 ' By Becket's bones,' cried one, ' I fear 
 That some false Scot has stolen my spear ! ' 
 Young Blount, Lord Marmion's second squire, 
 Pound his steed wet with sweat and mire, 
 Although the rated horseboy sware 
 Last night he dressed him sleek and fair.
 
 170 . MARMION. 
 
 While chafed the impatient squire like thunder, 
 
 Old Hubert shouts, in fear and wonder, — 
 
 ' Help, gentle Blount ! help, comrades all ! 
 
 Bevis lies dying in his stall ; 
 
 To Marmion who the plight dare tell 
 
 Of the good steed he loves so well ? ' 
 
 Gaping for fear and ruth, they saw 
 
 The charger panting on his straw ; 
 
 Till one, who would seem wisest, cried, 
 
 ' What else but evil could betide. 
 
 With that cursed Palmer for our guide ? 
 
 Better we had throuo-h mire and bush 
 
 Been lantern-led by Friar Kush.' 
 
 II. 
 
 Fitz-Eustace, who the cause but guessed, 
 
 Nor wholly understood, 
 His comrades' clamorous plaints suppressed ; 
 
 He knew Lord Marniion's mood. 
 Him, ere he issued forth, he sought. 
 And found deep plunged in gloomy thought, 
 
 And did his tale display 
 Simply, as if he knew of nought 
 
 To cause such disarray. 
 Lord Marmion gave attention cold, 
 Nor marvelled at the wonders told, — 
 Passed them as accidents of course. 
 And bade his clarions sound to horse.
 
 THE CAMP. 171 
 
 III. 
 
 Young Henry Blount, meanwhile, the cost 
 Had reckoned with their Scottish host ; 
 And, as the charge he cast and paid, 
 ' 111 thou deserv'st thy hire,' he said ; 
 ' Dost see, thou knave, my horse's plight ? 
 Pairies have ridden him all the night. 
 
 And left him in a foam ! 
 I trust that soon a conjuring band, 
 With English cross and blazing brand. 
 Shall drive the devils from this land 
 
 To their. infernal home ; 
 For in this haunted den, I trow, 
 All night they trampled to and fro.' 
 The laughing host looked on the hire : 
 ' Gramercy, gentle southern squire. 
 And if thou com'st among the rest, 
 With Scottish broadsword to be blest, 
 Sharp be the brand, and sure the blow, 
 And short the pang to undergo.' 
 Here stayed their talk, for Marmion 
 Gave now the signal to set on. 
 The Palmer showing forth the way, 
 They journeyed all the morning-day. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The greensward way Avas smooth and good. 
 Through Humbie's and through Saltoun's wood ;
 
 172 M ARM I ON. 
 
 A forest glade, which, varying still, 
 Here gave a view of dale and liill, 
 There narrower closed till overhead 
 A vaulted screen the branches made. 
 'A pleasant path,' Fitz-Eustace said ; 
 ' Such as where errant-knights might see 
 Adventures of high chivalry, 
 Might meet some damsel flying fast. 
 With hair unbound and looks aghast ; 
 And smooth and level course were here, 
 In her defence to break a spear. 
 Here, too, are twilight nooks and dells ; 
 And oft in such, the story tells, 
 The damsel kind, from danger freed, 
 Did grateful pay her champion's meed.' 
 He spoke to cheer Lord Marmion's mind, 
 Perchance to show his lore designed ; 
 
 For Eustace much had pored 
 Upon a huge romantic tome. 
 In the hall-window of his home, 
 Imprinted at the antique dome 
 
 Of Caxton or de Worde. 
 Therefore he spoke, — but spoke in vain, 
 For Marmion answered nought again. 
 
 Now sudden, distant trumpets shrill. 
 In notes prolonged by wood and hill, 
 Were heard to echo far ;
 
 THE CAMP. 173 
 
 Each ready archer grasped his bow, 
 But by the flourish soon they know 
 
 They breathed no })oint of war. 
 Yet cautious, as in tbeinan's hmd, 
 Lord Marniion's order speeds the band 
 
 Some opener ground to gain ; 
 And scarce a furlong had they rode, 
 When thinner trees receding showed 
 
 A little woodland plain. 
 Just in that advantae:cous "-lade 
 The halting troop a line had made, 
 As forth from the opposing shade 
 
 Issued a gallant train. 
 
 VI. 
 
 First came the trumpets, at whose clang 
 So late th^ forest echoes rang ; 
 On prancing steeds they forward pressed. 
 With scarlet mantle, azure vest ; 
 Each at his trump a banner wore, 
 Which Scotland's royal scutcheon bore : 
 Heralds and pursuivants, by name 
 Bute, Islay, Marchmount, Kothsay, came. 
 In painted tabards, proudly showing 
 Gules, argent, or, and azure glowing, 
 
 Attendant on a king-at-arms, 
 Whose hand the armorial truncheon held 
 That feudal strife had often quelled 
 
 When wildest its alarms.
 
 174 MARMION. 
 
 VII. 
 
 He was a man of middle age, 
 In aspect manly, grave, antl sage, 
 
 As on king's errand come : 
 But in the glances of his eye 
 A penetrating, keen, and sly 
 
 Expression found its home; 
 The flash of that satiric rage 
 Which, bursting on the early stage, 
 Branded the vices of the age. 
 
 And broke the keys of Rome. 
 On milk-white palfrey forth he paced ; 
 His cap of maintenance was graced 
 
 With the proud heron-plume. 
 From his steed's shoulder, loin, and breast, 
 
 Silk housings swept the ground, 
 With Scotland's arms, device, and crest, 
 
 Embroidered round and I'ound. 
 The double tressure might you see, 
 
 First by Achaius borne. 
 The thistle and the fleur-de-lis.. 
 
 And gallant unicorn. 
 So bright the king's armorial coat 
 That scarce the dazzled eye could note, 
 In living colors blazoned brave. 
 The Lion, which his title gave ; 
 A train, which well beseemed his state. 
 But all unarmed, around him wait.
 
 THE CAMP. 175 
 
 Still is thy name in lii<>li account, 
 
 And still thy verse hath charms, 
 Sir David Lindesav of the Mount, 
 
 Lord Lion King-at-arms ! 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Down from his horse did Marmion spring 
 
 Soon as he saw the Lion-King ; 
 
 For well the stately baron knew 
 
 To him such courtesy was due 
 
 Whom royal James himself had crowned, 
 
 And on his temples placed the round 
 
 Of Scotland's ancient diadem, 
 And wet his brow with hallowed wine, 
 And on his finger given to shine 
 
 The emblematic gem. 
 Their mutual greetings duly made, 
 The Lion thus his message said : — 
 ' Though Scotland's King hath deeply swore 
 Ne'er to knit faith with Henry more. 
 And strictly hath forbid resort 
 Prom England to his royal court, 
 Yet, for he knows Lord Marinion's name 
 And honors much his warlike fame, 
 My liege hath deemed it shame and lack 
 Of courtesy to turn him back ; 
 And by his order I, your guide. 
 Must lodging fit and fair provide
 
 176 MARMION. 
 
 Till finds King James meet time to see 
 The flower of English chivalry.' 
 
 IX. 
 
 Tliough inly chafed at this delay, 
 Lord Maruiion bears it as he may. 
 The Palmer, his mysterious guide, 
 Beholding thus his place supplied, 
 
 Sought to take leave in vain ; 
 Strict was the Lion-King's command 
 That none Avho rode in Marmion's band 
 
 Should sever from the train. 
 ' England has here enow of spies 
 In Lady Heron's witching eyes : ' 
 To Marchmount thus apart he said. 
 But fair pretext to Marmion made. 
 The right-hand path they now decline, 
 And trace against the stream the Tyne. 
 
 X. 
 
 At length up that Avild dale they wind, 
 I Where Crichtoun Castle crowns the bank; 
 Eor there the Lion's care assigned 
 
 A lodging meet for Marmion's rank. 
 That castle rises on the steep 
 
 Of the green vale of Tyne ; 
 And far beneath, where slow they creep 
 From pool to eddy, dark and deep.
 
 178 M ARM I ON. 
 
 Where alders moist and willows weep, 
 
 You hear her streams repine. 
 The towers iu different ages rose, 
 Their various architecture shows 
 
 The builders' various hands ; 
 A mighty mass, that could oppose. 
 When deadliest hatred fired its foes. 
 The vengeful Douglas bands. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Crichtoun ! though now thy miry court 
 But pens the lazy steer and sheep, 
 Thy turrets rude and tottered keep 
 
 Have been the minstrel's loved resort. 
 
 Oft have I traced, within thy fort, 
 
 Of mouldering shields the mystic sense, 
 Scutcheons of honor or pretence, 
 
 Quartered in old armorial sort, 
 Eemains of rude magnificence. 
 
 Nor wholly yet hath time defaced 
 Thy lordly gallery fair, 
 
 Nor yet the stony cord unbraced 
 
 Whose twisted knots, with roses laced, 
 Adorn thy ruined stair. 
 
 Still rises unimpaired below 
 
 The court-yard's graceful portico ; 
 
 Al)ove its cornice, row and row 
 
 Of fair hewn facets richly show 
 Their pointed diamond form.
 
 THE CAMP. 179 
 
 Though there but houseless cattle go. 
 
 To shield them from the storm. 
 And, shuddering, still may we explore. 
 
 Where oft whilom were captives pent, 
 The darkness of thy Massy More, 
 
 Or, from thy grass-grown battlement, 
 May trace in undulating line 
 The sluggish mazes of the Tyne. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Another aspect Crichtoun showed 
 
 As through its portal Marmion rode; 
 
 But yet 't was melancholy state 
 
 Received him at the outer gate. 
 
 For none were in the castle then 
 
 But women, boys, or aged men. 
 
 With eyes scarce dried, the sorrowing dame 
 
 To welcome noble Marmion came ; 
 
 Her son, a stripling twelve years old, 
 
 Proffered the baron's rein to hold ; 
 
 For each man that could draw a sword 
 
 Had marched tiiat morning with their lord. 
 
 Earl Adam Hepburn, — he who died 
 
 On Flodden by his sovereign's side. 
 
 Long may his lady look in vain ! 
 
 She ne'er shall see his gallant train 
 
 Come sweeping back through Crichtoun-Dean. 
 
 'T was a brave race before the name 
 
 Of hated Bothwell stained their fame.
 
 180 MARMION. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 And here two days did Marmioa rest. 
 With every right that honor claims, 
 Attended as the king's ©wn guest ; — 
 Such the command of Royal James, 
 Who marshalled then his land's array, 
 Upon the Borough-moor that lay. 
 Perchance he would not foeman's eye 
 Upon his gathering host should pry. 
 Till full prepared was every band 
 To march against the English land. 
 Here while they dwelt, did Lindesay's wit 
 Oft cheer the baron's moodier fit ; 
 And, in his turn, he knew to prize 
 Lord Marmion's powerful mind and wise, - 
 Trained in the lore of Rome and Greece, 
 And policies of war and peace. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 It chanced, as fell the second night, 
 That on the battlements they walked, 
 
 And by the slowly fading light 
 Of varying topics talked ; 
 
 And, unaware, the herald-bard 
 
 Said Marmion might his toil have spared 
 In travelling so far, 
 
 For that a messenger from heaven
 
 THE CAMP. 181 
 
 In vain to James had counsel given 
 
 Against the Englisli war ; 
 And, closer questioned, tlius he told 
 A tah; whieli ciironiclcs of old 
 In Scottish slorv have enrolled : — 
 
 XV. 
 
 SIR DAVID LINDESAY's TALE. 
 
 ' Of all the palaces so fair. 
 
 Built for the roval dwelling 
 In Scotland, far beyond compare 
 
 Linlithgow is excelling ; 
 And ill its park, in jovial June, 
 How sweet the merry linnet's tune, 
 
 How blithe the blackbird's lay ! 
 The wild buck bells from ferny brake, 
 The coot dives merry on the lake, 
 The saddest heart might pleasure take 
 
 To see all nature gay. 
 But June is to our sovereign dear 
 The heaviest month in all the year ; 
 Too well his cause of grief you know, 
 June saw his father's overthrow. 
 Woe to the traitors who could bring 
 The princely boy against his king ! 
 Still in his conscience burns the sting. 
 In offices as strict as Lent 
 King James's June is ever spent.
 
 132 MARMION. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 ' When last this ruthful month was come, 
 And in Linlithgow's holy dome 
 
 The king-, as wont, was praying ; 
 While for his royal father's soul 
 The chanter's sung, the bells did toll, 
 
 The bishop mass was saying — 
 Por now the year brought round again 
 The day the luckless king was slain — 
 In Catherine's aisle the monarch knelt, 
 With sackcloth shirt and iron belt, 
 
 And eyes with sorrow streaming ; 
 Around him in their stalls of state 
 The Thistle's Knight-Companions sate, 
 
 Their banners o'er them beaming. 
 I too Avas there, and, sooth to tell, 
 Bedeafened with the jangling knell, 
 Was watching Avhere the sunbeams fell 
 
 Through the stained casement glcammg 
 But while I marked what next befell 
 
 It seemed as I were dreaming. 
 Stepped from the crowd a ghostly wight. 
 In azure gown, Avith cincture white; 
 His forehead bald, his head was bare, 
 Down hung at length his yellow hair. — 
 Now, mock me not when, good my lord, 
 I pledge to you my knightly word 
 That when I saw his placid grace.
 
 THE CAMP. 18S 
 
 His simple majesty of face, 
 
 His solemn bearing, and his pace 
 
 So stately gliding" on, — 
 Seemed to mc ne'er did limner paint 
 So just an image of the saint 
 Who propped the Virgin in her faint, 
 
 The loved Apostle John ! 
 
 XVII. 
 
 ' He stepped before the monarch's chair, 
 And stood with rustic plainness there. 
 
 And little reverence made ; 
 Nor head, nor body, bowed, nor bent, 
 But on the desk his arm he leant, 
 
 And words like these he said, 
 In a low voice, — l)ut never tone 
 So thrilled through vein, and nerve, and bone : — 
 " My mother sent mc from afar. 
 Sir King, to warn thee not to war, — 
 
 Woe waits on thine array ; 
 If war thou wilt, of woman fair. 
 Her witching wiles and wanton snare, 
 James Stuart, doubly warned, beware : 
 
 God keep thee as he may ! " — 
 The wondering monarch seemed to seek 
 
 For answer, and found none ; 
 And when he raised his head to speak. 
 
 The monitor was gone. 
 The marshal and myself had cast
 
 184 MARMION. 
 
 To stop him as he outward passed ; 
 But, lig-liter than the Avhirlwind's blast, 
 
 He vanished from our eyes, 
 Like sunbeam on the biHow cast, 
 
 That glances but, and dies.' 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 While Lindesay told his marvel strange 
 
 The twilight was so pale. 
 He marked not Marmion's color change 
 
 While listening to the tale ; 
 But, after a suspended pause. 
 The baron spoke : ' Of Nature's laws 
 
 So strong I held the force, 
 That never superhuman cause 
 
 Could e'er control their course. 
 And, three days since, had judged your aim 
 Was but to make your guest your game ; 
 But I have seen, since past the T^veed, 
 What much has changed my sceptic creed, 
 And made me credit aiight.' — He stayed. 
 And seemed to wish his words unsaid, 
 But, by that strong emotion pressed 
 Which prompts us to unload our breast 
 
 Even when discovery 's pain. 
 To Lindesay did at lengtli unfold 
 The tale his village host had told, 
 
 At Gifford, to his train.
 
 THE CAMP. 185 
 
 Nous^lit of tljfi Palmer says lie there, 
 And nought of Constance or of Clare ; 
 The thoni>-lits which broke liis sleep he seems 
 To mention but as feverish dreams. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 'In vain,' said he, ' to rest I spread 
 
 My burning limbs, and couched my head ; 
 
 Fantastic thoughts returned, 
 And, by their wild dominion led, 
 
 My heart within me burned. 
 So sore was the delirious goad, 
 I took my steed and forth I rode, 
 And, as the moon shone bright and cold, 
 Soon reached the camp upon the wold. 
 The southern entrance I passed through, 
 And halted, and my bugle blew. 
 Methought an answer met my ear, — 
 Yet was the blast so low and drear, 
 S3 hollow, and so faintly blown. 
 It might be echo of my own. 
 
 XX. 
 
 ' Thus judging, for a little space 
 I listened ere I left the place, 
 
 But scarce could trust my eyes, 
 Nor yet can think they serve me true, 
 When sudden in the ring I view.
 
 186 MARMION. 
 
 In form distinct of shape and hue, 
 
 A mounted champion rise. — 
 I 've fought, Lord-Lion, many a day. 
 In single fight and mixed affray, 
 And ever, I myself may say. 
 
 Have borne me as a knight ; 
 But when this unexpected foe 
 Seemed starting from the gulf below, ■ 
 I care not tliough the truth I show, - 
 
 I trembled with affright ; 
 And as I placed in rest my spear, 
 My hand so shook for very fear, 
 
 I scarce could couch it right. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 ' Why need my tongue the issue tell ? 
 We ran our course, — my charger fell ; — 
 What could he 'gainst the shock of hell ? 
 
 I rolled upon the plain. 
 High o'er my head with threatening hand 
 The spectre shook his naked brand, — 
 
 Yet did the worst remain : 
 My dazzled eyes I upward cast, — 
 Not opening hell itself could blast 
 
 Their sight like what I saw ! 
 Pull on his face the moonbeam strook ! — 
 A face could never be mistook ! 
 I knew tlic stern vindictive look.
 
 188 HARM I ON. 
 
 And held my breath for awe. 
 I saw the face of one who, fled 
 To foreign climes, has long been dead, — 
 
 I well l)elieve the last ; 
 For ne'er from visor raised did stare 
 A human warrior witli a glare 
 
 So grimly and so ghast. 
 Thrice o'er my head he shook the blade ; 
 But when to good Saint George I prayed, — 
 The first time e'er I asked his aid, — 
 
 He plunged it in the slieath. 
 And, on his courser mounting light, 
 He seemed to vanish fi'om my sight : 
 The moonbeam drooped, and deepest night 
 
 Sunk down upon the heath. — 
 'T were long to tell what cause I have 
 
 To know his face that met me there. 
 Called by his hatred from the grave 
 
 To cumber upper air ; 
 Dead or alive, good cause had he 
 To be my mortal enemy.' 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Marvelled Sir David of the Mount ; 
 Then, learned in story, gan recount 
 
 Such chance had happed of old, 
 When once, near Norhani, there did fight 
 A spectre fell of fiendish miglit,
 
 THE CAMP. 189 
 
 In likeness of a Scottish knight, 
 
 With Brian Bnlnier bokl, 
 And trained liini nigh to disallow 
 The aid of his baptismal vow. 
 ' And such a phantom, too, 't is said, 
 With Highland broadsword, targe, and plaid, 
 
 And fingers red with gore, 
 Is seen in Rothicninrcns glade. 
 Or where the sable pine-trees shade 
 Dark Tomantoul, and Auehnaslaid, 
 
 Dromouchty, or Glenniore. 
 And yet, whate'er such legends say 
 Of warlike demon, ghost, or fay. 
 
 On mountain, moor, or phiin. 
 Spotless in faith, in bosom bold. 
 True son of chivalry should hold 
 
 Tliese midnight terrors vain ; 
 Tor seldom have such spirits power 
 To harm, save in the evil liour 
 When (jnilt we meditate within 
 Or harbor nnrepented sin.' — 
 Lord Marmion turned him half aside. 
 And twice to clear his voice he tried. 
 
 Then pressed Sir David's hand, — • 
 But nought, at length, in answer said ; 
 And here their further converse stayed, 
 
 Each ordering that his band 
 Should bowne them with the rising day. 
 To Scotland's camp to take their Avay, — 
 
 Such was the kinir's command.
 
 190 MARMION. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Early they took Dun-Edin's road, 
 And I could trace each step they trode ; 
 Hill, brook, nor dell, nor rock, nor stone, 
 Lies on the patli to me unknown. 
 Much might it boast of storied lore ; 
 But, passhig such digression o'er, 
 Suffice it that their route was laid 
 Across the furzy hills of Braid. 
 They passed the glen and scanty rill. 
 And climbed the opposing bank, untd 
 They gained the top of Blackford Hill. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Blackford ! on whose uncultured breast. 
 
 Among the broom and thorn and whin, 
 A truant-boy, I sought the nest, 
 Or listed, as I lay at rest, 
 
 While rose on breezes thin 
 The nnirmur of the city crowd. 
 And, from his steeple jangling loud, 
 
 Saint Giles's mingling din. 
 Now, from the summit to the plain. 
 Waves all the hill with yellow grain ; 
 
 And o'er the landscape as I look. 
 Nought do I see unchanged remain, 
 
 Save the rude cliffs and chiming brook.
 
 THE CAMP. 191 
 
 To me they make a heavy moan 
 Of early friendships past and gone. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 But different far the cliang-c lias been, 
 
 Since Marinion from the crown 
 Of Blackford saw that martial scene 
 
 L'pon the bent so brown : 
 Thousand pavilions, white as snow, 
 Spread all the l^orougli-moor below, 
 
 Upland, and dale, and down. 
 A thousand did I say ? I ween, 
 Thousands on thousands there were seen, 
 That checkered all the heath betAveen 
 
 The strcandet and the town, 
 In crossing- ranks extending far, 
 Forming a camp irregular ; 
 Oft giving way where still there stood 
 Some relics of the old oak wood, 
 That darkly huge did intervene 
 And tamed the glaring white with green : 
 In these extended lines there lay 
 A martial kingdom's vast array. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 For from Hebudcs, dark with rain, 
 To eastern Lodon's fertile plain, 
 And fi'om the southern Bedswire edge
 
 19-Z MARMION. 
 
 To furthest Rosse's rocky ledge, 
 From west to east, from south to north, 
 Scotland sent all her warriors forth. 
 Maruiion might hear the mingled hum 
 Of myriads up the mountain come, — 
 The horses' tramp and tinkling clank. 
 Where chiefs reviewed their vassal rank, 
 
 And charger's shrilling neigh, — 
 Antl see the shifting lines advance, 
 Wliile frequent flashed from shield and lance 
 
 The sun's reflected ray. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Tliin curling in the morning air, 
 
 The wreaths of failing smoke declare 
 
 To embers now the brands decayed, 
 
 Where the night-watch their fires had made. 
 
 They saw, slow rolling on the phiin, 
 
 Full many a baggage-cart and wain. 
 
 And dire artillery's clumsy car, 
 
 By sluggish oxen tugged to Avar ; 
 
 And there were Borthwick's Sisters Seven, 
 
 And culverins which France had given. 
 
 Ill-omened gift ! the guns remain 
 
 The conqueror's spoil on Flodden plain. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Nor marked they less where in the air 
 A thousand streamers flaunted fair;
 
 THE CAMP. 193 
 
 Various in shape, device, and hue, 
 Green, sanguine, purple, red, and blue, 
 Broad, narrow, swallow-tailed, and square, 
 Scroll, pennon, pencil, bandrol, there 
 
 O'er the pavilions flew. 
 Hij>lu'st and midmost, was descried 
 The royal banner floating- wide ; 
 
 The staft", a pine-tree, strong and straight. 
 Pitched deeply in a massive stone, 
 Which still in memory is shown. 
 Yet bent beneath the standard's weight. 
 Whene'er the western wind unrolled 
 With toil the huge and cumbrous fold, 
 And gave to view tlie dazzling field, 
 Where in proud Scotland's royal shield 
 The ruddy lion ramped in gold. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Lord Marmion viewed the landscape bright, — 
 He viewed it with a chief's delight, — 
 
 Until within him burned his heart. 
 
 And lightning from his eye did part, 
 As on the battle-day ; 
 
 Such glance did falcon never dart 
 When stooping on his prey. 
 ' Oh ! well, Lord-Lion, hast thou said, 
 Thy king from warfare to dissuade 
 
 Were but a vain essay ; 
 For, by Saint George, were that host mine,
 
 194 MARMION. 
 
 Not power infernal nor divine 
 Should once to peace my soul incline, 
 Till I had dimmed their armor's shine 
 
 In glorious battle-fray ! ' 
 Answered the bard, of milder mood : 
 ' Fair is the sight, — and yet 't were good 
 
 That kings would think withal, 
 When peace and wealth their land has blessed, 
 'T is better to sit still at rest 
 
 Than rise, perchance to fall.' 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Still on the spot Lord Marmion stayed, 
 For fairer scene he ne'er surveyed. 
 When sated with the martial show 
 That peopled all the plain below, 
 The wandering eye could o'er it go. 
 And mark the distant city glow 
 
 With gloomy splendor red ; 
 For on the smoke-wreaths, huge and slow, 
 That round her sable turrets flow, 
 
 The morning beams were shed. 
 And tinged them with a lustre proud. 
 Like that which streaks a thunder-cloud. 
 Such dusky grandeur clothed the height 
 Where the huge castle holds its state, 
 
 And all the steep slope down. 
 Whose ridgy back heaves to the sky, 
 Piled deep and massy, close and high,
 
 THE CAMP. 
 
 195 
 
 Mine own romantic town ! 
 But northward far, with purer blaze, 
 On Ochil mountains fell the rays,
 
 196 MARMION. 
 
 And as each heathy top they kissed, 
 It gleamed a purple amethyst. 
 Yonder the shores of Fife you saw, 
 Here Preston-Bay and Berwick-Law ; 
 
 And, broad between them rolled, 
 The gallant Firth the eye might note, 
 Wliose islands on its bosom float. 
 
 Like emeralds chased in gold. 
 Fitz-Eustace' heart felt closely pent ; 
 As if to give his rapture vent, 
 The spur he to his charger lent, 
 
 And raised his bridle hand, 
 And making demi-volt in air, 
 Cried, ' Where 's the coward that would not dare 
 
 To fight for such a land ! ' 
 The Lindesay smiled his joy to see. 
 Nor Marmion's frown repressed his glee. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Thus while they looked, a flourish proud. 
 Where mingled trump, and clarion loud, 
 
 And fife, and kettle-drum. 
 And sackbut deep, and psaltery. 
 And war-pipe with discordant cry. 
 And cymbal clattering to tlie sky. 
 Making wild music bold and high 
 
 Did up the mountain come ; 
 The whilst the bells with distant chime
 
 THE CAMP. 197 
 
 Mcn-ily tolled tho hour of prime, 
 
 And thus the Tiiudesiiy spoke : 
 'Thus fliunor still the war-notes when 
 The kiiit>- to mass his way has ta'en. 
 Or to Saint Catherine's of Sienne, 
 
 Or Chapel of Saint Rocque. 
 To you they speak of martial fame, 
 But me reuund of peaceful game, 
 
 When blither Avas their cheer, 
 Thrilling in Falkland-woods the air. 
 In signal none liis steed should spare. 
 But strive Avhieh foremost might repair 
 
 To the downfall of the deer. 
 
 XXXI 
 
 ' Nor less,' he said, ' when looking forth 
 I view yon Empress of the North 
 
 Sit on her hilly throne, 
 Her palace's imperial bowers, 
 Her castle, proof to hostile powers, 
 Her stately halls and holy towers — 
 
 Nor less,' he said, ' I moan 
 To think what woe mischance may bring. 
 And how these merry bells may ring 
 The death-dirge of our gallant king. 
 
 Or with their larum call 
 The burghers forth to watch and ward, 
 'Gainst Southern sac^' and fires to guard 
 
 Dun-Edin's leaguered wall. —
 
 198 MARMION. 
 
 But not for my presaging thought, 
 Dream conquest sure or cheaply bought ! 
 
 Lord Marmion, I say nay : 
 God is the guider of the field, 
 He breaks the champion's spear and shield, • 
 
 But thou thyself shalt say, 
 When joins yon host in deadly stowre, 
 That England's dames must weep in bower, 
 
 Her monks the death-mass sing ; 
 Por never saw'st thou such a power 
 
 Led on by such a king.' 
 And now, down winding to the plain. 
 The barriers of the camp they gain, 
 
 And there they made a stay. — 
 There stays the Minstrel, till he fling 
 His hand o'er every Border string, 
 And fit his harp the pomp to sing 
 Of Scotland's ancient court and king. 
 In the succeeding lay.
 
 CANTO FIFTH. 
 
 THE COURT.
 
 INTRODUCTION TO CANTO PIPTH. 
 
 TO GEORGE ELLIS, ESQ. 
 
 EdinburgJi. 
 
 When dark December glooms the day, 
 
 And takes our autumn joys away ; 
 
 When short and scant the sunbeam throws 
 
 Upon the weary waste of snows 
 
 A cold and profitless regard, 
 
 Like patron on a needy bard ; 
 
 When sylvan occupation 's done. 
 
 And o'er the chimney rests the gun, 
 
 And hang in idle tropliy near, 
 
 The game-pouch, fisliing-rod, and spear ; 
 
 When wiry terrier, rough and grim. 
 
 And greyhound, with his length of limb. 
 
 And pointer, uoav employed no more. 
 
 Cumber our parlor's narrow floor ;
 
 202 MARMION. 
 
 When in his stall the impatient steed 
 
 Is Ions: condemned to rest and feed ; 
 
 When from our snow-encirded home 
 
 Scarce cai-es the hardiest step to roam, 
 
 Since path is none, save that to bring 
 
 The needful water from the spring ; 
 
 When wrinkled news-page, thrice conned o'er, 
 
 Begudes tlie dreary hour no more, 
 
 And darkling politician, crossed, 
 
 Inveighs against the lingering post. 
 
 And answering housewife sore complains 
 
 Of carriers' snow-impeded wains ; — 
 
 When such the country-cheer, I come 
 
 Well pleased to seek our city home ; 
 
 Por converse and for books to change 
 
 The Forest's melancholy range. 
 
 And welcome with renewed delight 
 
 The busy day and social night. 
 
 Not here need my desponding rhyme 
 Lament the ravages of time, 
 As erst by Newark's riven towers, 
 And Ettrick stripped of forest bowers. 
 True, Caledonia's Queen is changed 
 Since on her dusky summit ranged, 
 Within its steepy limits pent 
 By bulwark, line, and battlement. 
 And flanking towers, and laky flood, 
 Guarded and garrisoned she stood, 
 Denying entrance or resort
 
 INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FIFTH. 203 
 
 Save at each tall embattled port, 
 Above whose aroh, suspcMuled, hung 
 Portcullis spiked witli iron prong. 
 That long is gone, — but not so long 
 Since, early closed and opening late, 
 Jealous revolved the studded gate, 
 Whose task, from eve to morning tide, 
 A wicket churlishly supplied. 
 Stern then and steel-girt was thy brow, 
 Dun-Edin ! Oh, how altered now. 
 When safe amid thy mountain court 
 Thou sitt'st, like empress at her sport. 
 And liberal, unconfined, and free, 
 Plinging tliy white arms to the sea. 
 For thy dark cloud, with umbered lower, 
 That hung o'er cliff and lake and tower, 
 Thou gleam'st against the western ray 
 Ten thousand lines of brighter day ! 
 
 Not she, the championess of old. 
 In Spenser's magic tale enrolled. 
 She for the charmed spear renowned, 
 Which forced each knight to kiss the ground, — 
 Not she more changed, when, placed at rest, 
 What time she was Malbecco's guest. 
 She gave to flow her maiden vest ; 
 When, from the corselet's grasp relieved. 
 Free to the sight her bosom heaved : 
 Sweet was her blue eye's modest smile. 
 Erst hidden by the aventayle.
 
 204 MARMION. 
 
 And down lier shoulders graceful rolled 
 Her locks profuse of paly gold. 
 They who whilom in midnight fight 
 Had marvelled at her matchless might, 
 No less her maiden charms approved, 
 But looking liked, and liking loved. 
 The sight coidd jealous pangs beguile, 
 And charm Malbecco's cares awhde ; 
 And lie, the wandering Squire of Dames, 
 Forgot his Columbella's claims, 
 And passion, erst unknown, could gain 
 The breast of blunt Sir Satyrane ; 
 Nor durst light Paridell advance, 
 Bold as he was, a looser glance. 
 She charmed, at once, and tamed the heart, 
 Incomparable Britomart ! 
 
 So thou, fair City ! disarrayed 
 Of battled wall and rampart's aid. 
 As stately seem'st, but lovelier far 
 Than in that panoply of war. 
 Nor deem that from thy fenceless throne 
 Strength and security are flown ; 
 Still as of yore. Queen of the North ! 
 Still canst thou send thy children forth. 
 Ne'er readier at alarm -bell's call 
 Thy burgher's rose to man thy wall 
 Than now, in danger, shall be thine, 
 Thy dauntless voluntary line ;
 
 INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FIFTH. 205 
 
 Por fosse and turret proud to stand, 
 Tlu'ir breasts tlu; bulwarks of tlic land. 
 Thy thousands, trained to martial toil, 
 Full red would stain their native soil, 
 Ere from thy mural crown there fell 
 The slightest knosp or pinnacle. 
 And if it come, as come it may, 
 Dun-Edin ! that eventful day, 
 Eenowned for liospitable deed. 
 That virtue much with Heaven may plead, 
 In patriarchal times whose care 
 Descending angels deigned to share; 
 That claim may wrestle blessings down 
 On those who tight for the Good Town, 
 Destined in every age to be 
 Kefuge of injured royalty; 
 Since first, when conquering York arose. 
 To Henry meek she gave repose. 
 Till late, with wonder, grief, and awe, 
 Great Bourbon's relics sad she saw. 
 
 Truce to these thoughts ! — for, as they rise, 
 How gladly I avert mine eyes, 
 Bodings, or true or false, to change 
 For Fiction's fair romantic range, 
 Or for Tradition's dubious light, 
 That hovers 'twixt the day and night : 
 Dazzling alternately and dim, 
 Her wavering lamp I 'd rather trim.
 
 206 MARMION. 
 
 Knights, squires, and lovely dames to see. 
 Creation of my fantasy, 
 Than gaze abroad on reeky fen, 
 And make of mists invading men. 
 Who loves not more the night of June 
 Than dull December's gloomy noon? 
 The moonlight than the fog of frost? 
 And can we say which cheats the most ? 
 
 But who shall teach my harp to gain 
 A sound of the romantic strain 
 Whose Anglo-Norman tones whilere 
 Could win the royal Henry's ear, 
 Famed Beauclerk called, for that he loved 
 The minstrel and his lay approved ? 
 Who shall these lingering notes redeem, 
 Decaying on Oblivion's stream ; 
 Such notes as from the Breton tongue 
 Marie translated, Blondel sung? — 
 Oh ! born Time's ravage to repair, 
 And make the dying Muse thy care ; 
 Who, when his scythe her hoary foe 
 Was poising for the final blow. 
 The weapon from his hand could wring, 
 And break his glass and shear his wing, 
 And bid, reviving in his strain, 
 The gentle poet live again; 
 Thou, who canst give to lightest lay 
 An unpedantic moral gay,
 
 INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FIFTH. 207 
 
 Nor less the dullest theme bid flit 
 Ou wings of unexpected wit ; 
 In letters us in life approved, 
 Example honored and beloved, — 
 Dear Ellis ! to the bard impart 
 A lesson of thy magic art. 
 To win at once the head and heart, — 
 At once to charm, instruct, and mend, 
 My guide, my pattern, and my friend ! 
 
 Such minstrel lesson to bestow 
 Be long thy pleasing task, — but, oh ! 
 No more by thy example teach 
 "What few can practise, all can preach, — 
 With even patience to endure 
 Lingering disease and painful cure. 
 And boast affliction's pangs subdued 
 By mild and manly fortitude. 
 Enough, the lesson has been given : 
 Forbid the repetition. Heaven ! 
 
 Come listen, then ! for thou hast known 
 And loved the Minstrel's varying tone, 
 • Who, like his Border sires of old. 
 Waked a wild measure rude and bold, 
 Till Windsor's oaks and Ascot plain 
 With wonder heard the Northern strain. 
 Come listen ! bold in thy applause. 
 The bard shall scorn pedantic laws ; 
 And, as the ancient art could stain
 
 208 MARMION. 
 
 Achievements on the storied pane. 
 Irregularly traced and planned, 
 Eut yet so glowing and so grand, 
 So shall he strive, in changeful hue, 
 Field, feast, and combat to renew, 
 And loves, and arms, and harpers' glee, 
 And all the pomp of chivalry.
 
 CANTO FIFTH. 
 
 THE COURT. 
 
 I. 
 
 The train has left the hills of Braid ; 
 The barrier guard have open made — 
 So Lindesay bade — the palisade 
 
 That closed the tented ground ; 
 Their men the warders backward drew, 
 And carried pikes as they rode through 
 
 Into its ample bound. 
 Fast ran the Scottish warriors there, 
 Upon the Southern band to stare, 
 And envy with their wonder rose, 
 To see such well-appointed foes ;. 
 Such length of shafts, such mighty bows, 
 So huge that many simply thought 
 But for a vaunt sucli weapons wrought. 
 And little deemed their force to feel 
 Through links of mail and plates of steel 
 When, rattling upon Flodden vale, 
 The cloth-yard arrows flew like hail.
 
 310 3f ARM ION. 
 
 II. 
 
 Nor less did Mannion's skilful view 
 Glance every line and squadron throug'h, 
 And much he marvelled one small land 
 Could marshal forth such various band ; 
 
 For men-at-arms were here. 
 Heavily sheathed in mail and plate, 
 Like iron towers for strength and weight, 
 On Flemish steeds of bone and height, 
 
 With battle-axe aud spear. 
 Young knights and squires, a lighter train, 
 Practised their chargers on the plain, 
 By aid of leg, of hand, and rein, 
 
 Each warlike feat to show. 
 To pass, to wheel, the croupe to gain, 
 And high curvet, that not in vain 
 The sword-sway might descend amain 
 
 On foeman's casque below. 
 He saw the hardy burghers there 
 March armed on foot with faces bare, 
 
 For visor they wore none. 
 Nor waving plume, nor crest of knight ; 
 But burnished were their corselets bright, 
 Their brigantines and gorgets light 
 
 Like very silver shone. 
 Long pikes they had for standing fight, 
 
 Two-handed swords they wore, 
 And many wielded mace of Aveight, 
 
 And bucklers bright they bore.
 
 THE COURT. 211 
 
 Til. 
 
 On foot the yeoman too, but dressed 
 In his steel-jack, a swarthy vest, 
 
 With iron quilted well ; 
 Each at his back — a slender store — 
 His forty days' provision bore, 
 
 As feudal statutes tell. 
 His arms were halbert, axe, or spear, 
 A crossbow there, a hagbut here, 
 
 A dagger-knife, and brand. 
 Sober he seemed and sad of cheer, 
 As loath to leave his cottage dear 
 
 And march to foreign strand, 
 Or musing who would guide his steer 
 
 To till the fallow land. 
 Yet deem not in his thoughtful eye 
 Did aught of dastard terror lie ; 
 
 More dreadful far his ire 
 Than theirs who, scorning danger's name, 
 In ea<>-er mood to battle came. 
 Their valor like light straw on flame, 
 
 A fierce but fading fire. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Not so the Borderer : — bred to war, 
 He knew the battle's din afar. 
 And joyed to hear it swell. 
 His peaceful day was slothful ease ;
 
 212 HARM ION. 
 
 Nor harp nor pipe his ear could please 
 
 Like tlie loud slogan yell. 
 On active steed, with lance and blade, 
 The light-armed pricker plied his trade, — 
 
 Let nobles fight for fame ; 
 Let vassals follow where they lead, 
 Burghers, to guard their townships, bleed, 
 
 But war 's the Borderers' game. 
 Their gain, their glory, their delight, 
 To sleep the day, maraud the night, 
 
 O'er mountain, moss, and moor ; 
 Joyful to fight they took their way, 
 Scarce caring who might win the day, 
 
 Their booty was secure. 
 These, as Lord Marraion's train passed by. 
 Looked on at first with careless eye. 
 Nor marvelled aught, well taught to know 
 The form and force of English bow. 
 But when they saw the lord arrayed 
 In splendid arms and rich brocade, 
 Each Borderer to his kinsman said, — 
 
 ' Hist, Ringan ! seest thou there ! 
 Canst guess which road they '11 homeward ride ? 
 Oh ! could we but on Border side. 
 By Eusedale glen, or Liddell's tide, 
 
 Beset a prize so fair ! 
 That fangless Lion, too, their guide. 
 Might chance to lose his glistering hide ; 
 Brown Maudlin of that doublet pied 
 
 Could make a kirtle rare.'
 
 rilE COURT. 
 
 213 
 
 Next, Miirmioii marked tlio Celtic race, 
 Of (litt'erent language, form, and face. 
 
 >^ 
 
 A various race of man ; 
 Just then the chiefs their tribes arrayed,
 
 214 MARMION. 
 
 And wild and g-arisli semblance made 
 The clieckcred trews and belted plaid, 
 And varying notes the war-pipes brayed 
 
 To every varying clan. 
 Wild through their red or sable hair 
 Looked out their eyes with savage stare 
 
 On Marmion as he passed ; 
 Their legs above the knee were bare; 
 Their frame was sinewy, short, and spare, 
 
 And hardened to the blast ; 
 Of taller race, the chiefs they own 
 Were by the eagle's plumage known. 
 The hunted red-deer's undressed hide 
 Their hairy buskins Avell supplied ; 
 The graceful bonnet decked their head ; 
 Back from their shoulders hung the plaid ; 
 A broadsword of unwieldy length, 
 A dagger proved for edge and strength, 
 
 A studded targe they wore. 
 And quivers, bows, and shafts, — but, oh ! 
 Short was the shaft and weak the boAV 
 
 To that which England bore. 
 The Isles-raen carried at their backs 
 The ancient Danish battle-axe. 
 They raised a wild and wondering cry, 
 As with his guide rode Marmion by. 
 Loud were their clamoring tongues, as when 
 ~ The clanging sea-fowl leave the fen, 
 And, with their cries discordant mixed, 
 Grumbled and yelled the pipes betwixt.
 
 THE COURT. 215 
 
 VI. 
 
 Thus through the Scottish camp they passed, 
 
 And reached the city gate at last. 
 
 Where all around, a wakeful guard, 
 
 Armed ])urglicrs kept their watch and ward. 
 
 Well had they cause of jealous fear, 
 
 When lay encamped in field so near 
 
 The Borderer and the Mountaineer. 
 
 As through the bustling streets they go. 
 
 All was alive with martial show ; 
 
 At every turn with dinning clang 
 
 The armorer's anvil clashed and rang, 
 
 Or toiled the swarthv smith to wheel 
 
 The bar that arras the charger's heel. 
 
 Or axe or falchion to the side 
 
 Of jarring grindstone was applied. 
 
 Page, groom, and squire, with hurrying pace. 
 
 Through street and lane and market-place. 
 
 Bore lance or casque or sword ; 
 While biu'ghers, with important face. 
 
 Described each new-come lord. 
 Discussed his lineage, told his name, 
 His following, and his warlike fame. 
 The Lion led to lodging meet. 
 Which high o'erlooked the crowded street ; 
 
 There must the baron rest 
 Till past the hour of vesper tide, 
 And then to Holy-Rood must ride, — 
 
 Such was the king's behest.
 
 216 MARMION. 
 
 Meanwhile the Lion's care assigns 
 A banquet rich and costly wines 
 
 To Marmion and his train ; 
 And when the appointed hour succeeds, 
 The baron dons his peaceful weeds, 
 And following Lindesay as he leads, 
 
 The palace halls they gain. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Old Holy-Rood rung merrily 
 That night with wassail, mirth, and glee : 
 King James within her princely bower 
 Feasted the chiefs of Scotland's power, 
 Summoned to spend the parting hour ; 
 For he had charged that his array 
 Should southward march by break of day. 
 Well loved that splendid monarch aye 
 
 The banquet and the song, 
 By day the tourney, and by night 
 The merry dance, traced fast and light, 
 The maskers quaint, the pageant bright, 
 
 The revel loud and long. 
 This feast outshone his banquets past; 
 It was his blithest — and his last. 
 The dazzling lamps from gallery gay 
 Cast on the court a dancing ray ; 
 Here to the harp did minstrels sing, 
 There ladies touched a softer string ; 
 With long-eared cap and motley vest,
 
 THE COURT. 217 
 
 TIic licensed fool vctuiled his jest ; 
 His magie trieks the jug-i-lcr plied ; 
 At dice and draughts the gallants vied ; 
 While some, in close recess apart, 
 Courted the ladies of their heart, 
 
 Nor courted thein in vain ; 
 For often in the parting hour 
 Victorious Love asserts his power 
 
 O'er coldness and disdain ; 
 And flinty is her heart can view 
 To battle march a lover true — 
 Can hear, perchance, his last adieu, 
 
 Nor own her share of pain. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Through this mixed crowd of glee and game 
 The king to greet Lord Marmion came, 
 
 While, reverent, all made room. 
 An easy task it was, I trow. 
 King James's manly form to know. 
 Although, his courtesy to show. 
 He doited to Marmion bending low 
 
 His broidered cap and plume. 
 For royal were his garb and mien ; 
 
 His cloak of crimson velvet piled. 
 
 Trimmed with the fur of marten wild, 
 His vest of changeful satin sheen. 
 
 The dazzled eye beguiled ; 
 His gorgeous collar hung adown,
 
 218 MARMION. 
 
 Wrought with the badg-e of Scotland's crown, 
 
 The thistle brave of old renown ; 
 
 His trusty blade, Toledo right, 
 
 Descended from a baldric bright ; 
 
 White were his buskins, on the heel 
 
 His spurs inlaid of gold and steel ; 
 
 His bonnet, all of crimson fair. 
 
 Was buttoned with a I'uby rare : 
 
 And Marmion deemed he ne'er had seen 
 
 A prince of such a noble mien. 
 
 IX. 
 
 The monarch's form was middle size. 
 For feat of strength or exercise 
 
 Shaped in proportion fair; 
 And hazel was his eagle eye. 
 And auburn of the darkest dye 
 
 His short ciuded beard and hair. 
 Light was his footstep in the dance, 
 
 And firm his stirrup in the lists ; 
 And, oh ! he had that merry glance 
 
 That seldom lady's heart resists. 
 Lightly from fair to fair he flew. 
 And loved to plead, lament, and sue, — 
 Suit lightly won and short-lived pain, 
 For monarchs seldom sigh in vain. 
 
 I said he joyed in banquet bower ; 
 But, mid his mirth, 't was often strange 
 How suddeidy his cheer would change.
 
 THE COURT. 219 
 
 His look o'ercast and lower, 
 If in a sudden turn he felt 
 The pressure of his iron belt. 
 That bound his breast in penance pain, 
 In memory of his father slain. 
 Even so 't was strange how evermore, 
 Soon as the passing- pang was o'er, 
 Forward he rushed with double glee 
 Into the stream of revelry. 
 Thus dim-seen object of affright 
 Startles the courser in his flight, 
 And half he halts, half springs aside, 
 But feels the quickening spur applied. 
 And, straining on the tightened rein. 
 Scours doubly swift o'er hill and plain. 
 
 O'er James's heart, the courtiers say. 
 Sir Hugh the Heron's wife held sway ; 
 
 To Scotland's court she came 
 To be a hostage for her lord. 
 Who Cessford's gallant heart had gored, 
 And with the king to make accord 
 
 Had sent his lovely dame. 
 Nor to that lady free alone 
 Did the gay king allegiance own ; 
 
 For the fair Queen of France 
 Sent him a turquoise ring and glove. 
 And charged hira, as her knight and love.
 
 220 MARMION. 
 
 For her to brealc a lance, 
 And strike three strokes with Scottish brand, 
 And marcli three miles on Southron land, 
 And bid the banners of his band 
 
 In English breezes dance. 
 And thus for France's queen he drcst 
 His inanly limbs in mailed vest. 
 And thus admitted English fair 
 His inmost councils still to share, 
 And thus for both he madly planned 
 The ruin of himself and laud ! 
 
 And yet, the sooth to tell. 
 Nor England's fair nor France's queen 
 Were worth one pearl-drop, bright and sheen, 
 
 Fro)n Margaret's eyes that fell, — 
 His own Queen Margaret, who in Lithgow's bower 
 All lonely sat and wept the weary hour. 
 
 XI. 
 
 The queen sits lone in Lithgow pile. 
 
 And weeps the weary day 
 The war against her native soil, 
 Her monarch's risk in battle broil, — 
 And in gay Holy-Rood the while 
 Dame Heron rises with a smile 
 
 Upon the harp to phay. 
 Fair was her rounded arm, as o'er 
 
 The strings her fingers fUnv; 
 And as she touched and tuned them all,
 
 THE COURT. 221 
 
 Ever \wx bosom's rise and fall 
 Was plainer g;iveii to view ; 
 Por, all for heat, was laid aside 
 Her wimple, and her hood untied. 
 And first she pitched her voiee to sing, 
 Then glanced her dark eye on the king, 
 And then around the silent ring, 
 And laughed, and blushed, and oft did say 
 Her pretty oath, by yea and nay. 
 She could not, would not, durst not play ! 
 At length, upon the harp, with glee, 
 Mingled witli arch simplicity, 
 A soft yet lively air she rung. 
 While thus the wily lady sung : — 
 
 XII. 
 LOCniNVAR. 
 
 ILatiji llrron's Song. 
 
 Oh ! young Lochinvar is come out of the Avest, 
 Through all the wide Border his steed was the best ; 
 And save his good broadsword he weapons had none, 
 He rode all unarmed and he rode all alone. 
 So faithful in love and so dauntless in war, 
 There never was knight like the young Lochinvar. 
 
 He stayed not for brake and he stopped not for stone, 
 He SAvara the Eske river where ford there was none ;
 
 233 M ARM I ON. 
 
 But ere he alighted at Netherby gate 
 The bride had consented, the gallant came late : 
 Por a laggard in love and a dastard in war 
 Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. 
 
 So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall, 
 
 Among bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all : 
 
 Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword, — 
 
 For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word, — 
 
 ' Oh ! come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, 
 
 Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar ? ' — 
 
 ' I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied ; 
 Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide — 
 And now am I come, with this lost love of mine, 
 To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. 
 There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far. 
 That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar.' 
 
 The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up, 
 He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup. 
 She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh, 
 With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye. 
 He took her soft hand ere her mother could bar, — 
 ' Now tread we a measure ! ' said young Lochinvar. 
 
 So stately his form, and so lovely her face. 
 
 That never a hall such a galliard did grace ; 
 
 While her mother did fret, and her father did fume, 
 
 And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume ;
 
 224^ MARMION. 
 
 And the briile-maideiis whispered, ' 'T were better by far 
 To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar.' 
 
 One touch to her hand and one word in her ear, 
 When they reached thehall-door, and the charger stood near; 
 So light to the croupe the fair hidy he swung. 
 So light to the saddle before her he sprung ! 
 ' She is won ! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur ; 
 They'll have fleet steeds that follow,' quoth young 
 Locliinvar. 
 
 There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan ; 
 
 Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran : 
 
 There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee, 
 
 But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. 
 
 So daring in love and so dauntless in war. 
 
 Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar ? 
 
 XIII. 
 
 The monarch o'er the siren hung. 
 And beat the measure as she sung ; 
 And, pressing closer and more near. 
 He whispered praises in her ear. 
 In loud applause the courtiers vied, 
 And ladies winked and spoke aside. 
 
 The witching dame to Marmion threw , 
 A glance, where seemed to reign ',; 
 
 The pride that claims applauses due, ^ 
 
 And of her royal conquest too 
 A real or feigned disdain :
 
 THE COURT. 225 
 
 Familiar was the look, and told 
 Mannioi> and she were friends of old. 
 The king- observed their meeting eyes 
 With something like displeased surprise ; 
 For monarehs ill can rivals brook, 
 Even in a word, or smile, or look. 
 Straight took he forth the parchment broad 
 Which Marniioii's high commission showed : 
 ' Our Borders sacked by many a raid. 
 Our peaceful liege-men robbed,' he said, 
 ' On day of truce our warden slain, 
 Stout Barton killed, his vessels ta'en —^ 
 Unworthy were we here to reign, 
 Should these for vengeance cry in vain ; 
 Our full defiance, hate, and scorn, 
 Our herald has to Henry borne.' 
 
 XIV. 
 
 He paused, and led where Douglas stood 
 And with stern eye the pageant viewed ; 
 I mean that Douglas, sixth of yore, 
 Who coronet of Angus bore, 
 And, when his blood and heart were high. 
 Did the third James in camp defy. 
 And all his minions led to die 
 
 On Lauder's dreary flat. 
 Princes and favorites long grew tame, 
 And trembled at the homely name 
 
 Of Archibald Bell-the-Cat ;
 
 226 MARMION. 
 
 The same who left the dusky vale 
 Of Ileruiitage in Licldisdalc, 
 
 Its dungeons and its towers, 
 Where Bothwell's turrets brave the air, 
 And Bothwell bank is blooming fair, 
 
 To fix lus princely bowers. 
 Though now in age he had laid down 
 His armor for the peaceful gown, 
 
 And for a staff his brand. 
 Yet often would flash forth the fire 
 That could in youth a monarch's ire 
 
 And minion's pride withstand ; 
 And even that day at council board. 
 
 Unapt to soothe his sovereign's mood, 
 
 Against the war had Angus stood, 
 And chafed his royal lord. 
 
 XV. 
 
 His giant-form, like ruined tower. 
 Though fallen its muscles' brawny vaunt, 
 Huge-boned, and tall, and grim, and gaunt, 
 
 Seemed o'er the gaudy scene to lower ; 
 His locks and beard in silver grew. 
 His eyebrows kept their sable hue. 
 Near Douglas Avlien the monarch stood, 
 His bitter speech he thus pursued : 
 'Lord Marmion, since these letters say 
 That in the North you needs must stay 
 
 WhUe slightest hopes of peace remain,
 
 THE COURT. 227 
 
 Uncoiirtc'ous speech it were and stern 
 To say — licturii to Liiulisfarne, 
 
 Until my herald come again. 
 Then rest you in Tantallon hold; 
 Your host shall be the Douglas bold, — 
 A chief unlike his sires of old. 
 He wears their motto on his blade, 
 Their blazon o'er his towers displayed, 
 Yet loves his sovereign to oppose 
 More than to face his country's foes. 
 
 And, I bethink me, by Saint Stephen, 
 
 But e'en this morn to me was given 
 A prize, the first fruits of the war, 
 Ta'en by a galley from Dunbar, 
 
 A bevy of the maids of h(!aven. 
 Under your guard these holy maids 
 Shall safe return to cloister shades, 
 And, while they at Tantallon stay, 
 Kequiem for Cochran's soul may say.' 
 And with the slaughtered favorite's name 
 Across the monarch's brow there came 
 A cloud of ire, remorse, and shame. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 In answer nought could Angus speak, 
 
 His proud heart swelled well-nigh to break ; 
 
 He turned aside, and down his cheek 
 
 A burning tear there stole. 
 His hand the monarch sudden took,
 
 228 MARMION. 
 
 That sight his kind lieart could not brook : 
 
 ' Now, by the Bruec's soul, 
 Angus, my hasty speech forgive ! 
 For sure as doth his spirit live, 
 As he said of the Douglas old, 
 
 I well may say of you, — 
 That never king did subject hold, 
 In speech more free, in war more bold. 
 
 More tender and more trne ; 
 Forgive me, Douglas, once again.' — 
 And, while the king his hand did strain, . 
 The old man's tears fell down like rain. 
 To seize the moment Marmion tried, 
 And whispered to tlie king aside : 
 ' Oh ! let such tears unwonted plead 
 For respite short from dubious deed ! 
 A child will Aveep a bramble's smart, 
 A "maid to see her sparrow part, 
 A stripling for a woman's heart ; 
 But woe awaits a country when 
 She sees the tears of bearded men. ■ 
 Then, oh ! what omen, dark and high, 
 When Douglas wets his manly eye ! ' 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Displeased was .lames that stranger viewed 
 And tampered with his changing mood. 
 ' Laugh those that can, weep those that may,' 
 Thus did the fiery monarch say,
 
 THE COURT. 
 
 229 
 
 ' Soulliw.'U'd T inardi l)y break of day ; 
 And if within Taiitalloii stroiia,' 
 The o-ood Lord Mariniou tarries loiij^, 
 Percliaiicc our nieetiui)- next may fall 
 
 At Taniwortli in his castle-hali.' — 
 The hanghty Marmiou felt the taunt, 
 And ansAvered grave the royal vaunt : 
 'Much honored Avere my humble home,
 
 230 MARMION. 
 
 If in its halls King James should come ; 
 
 But Nottingham has archers good, 
 
 And Yorkshire men are stern of mood, 
 
 Northumbrian prickers wild and rude 
 
 On Derby Hills the paths arc steep. 
 
 In Ouse and Tyne the fords are deep ; 
 
 And many a banner will be torn. 
 
 And many a knight to earth Ije borne, 
 
 And many a sheaf of arrows spent, 
 
 Ere Scotland's king shall cross the Trent : 
 
 Yet pause, brave prince, Avhile yet you may ! 
 
 The monarch lightly turned away. 
 
 And to his nobles loud did call, 
 
 ' Lords, to the dance, — a hall ! a hall ! ' 
 
 Himself liis cloak and sword flung by, 
 
 And led Dame Hei-on gallantly ; 
 
 And minstrels, at the royal order, 
 
 Etmg out ' Blue Bonnets o'er tlie Border.' 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Leave Ave these revels now to tell 
 What to Saint Hilda's maids befell, 
 Whose galley, as they sailed again 
 To Whitby, by a Scot Avas ta'en. 
 Now at Dun-Edin did they bide 
 Till James should of their fate decide. 
 
 And soon by his command 
 Were gently summoned to prepare 
 To journey under Marmion's care,
 
 THE COURT. 231 
 
 As escort honored, safe, and fair, 
 
 Again to Eiiglisli land. 
 The abbess told lur eliaplet o'er, 
 Nor knew which Saint she shonld implore; 
 For, when she thought of Constance, sore 
 
 Slui feared Lord Marniion's mood. 
 And jndge what Clara must have felt! 
 The sword that luing in Marniion's belt 
 
 Had drunk De Wilton's blood. 
 Unwittingly King James had given, 
 
 As guard to AVhitbv's shades, 
 The man most dreaded under heaven 
 
 By these defenceless maids ; 
 Yet what petition could avail. 
 Or who woidd listen to' the tale 
 Of woman, prisoner, and nun, 
 Mid bustle of a war begun ? 
 They deemed it hopeless to avoid 
 The convoy of their dangerous guide. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Their lodging, so the king assigned. 
 To Marniion's, as their guardian, joined ; 
 And thus it fell that, passing nigh, 
 The Palmer caught the abbess' eye, 
 
 Who warned him by a scroll 
 She had a secret to reveal
 
 232 MARMION. 
 
 That much concerned the Church's weal 
 
 And health of sinner's soul ; 
 And, with deep charge of secrecy, 
 
 Slie named a place to meet 
 Within an open balcony, 
 That hung from dizzy pitch and high 
 
 Above the stately street. 
 To wliich, as common to each home. 
 At night they might in secret come. 
 
 XX. 
 
 At night in secret there they came, 
 The Palmer and the holy dame. 
 The moon among the clouds rode high, 
 And all the city hum was by. 
 Upon the street, wliere late befoi*e 
 Did din of war and warriors roar. 
 
 You might have heard a pcbljle fall, 
 A beetle hum, a cricket sing. 
 An owlet flap his Ijoding wing 
 
 On Giles's steeple tall. 
 The antique buildings, climbing high, 
 Whose Gothic frontlets sought the sky. 
 
 Were here wi-apt deep in shade ; 
 There on their brows the moonbeam broke. 
 Through the faint wreaths of silvery smoke, 
 
 And on the casements played. 
 And other light was none to see, 
 
 Save torches gliding far,
 
 THE COURT. 
 
 233 
 
 Before some chieftain of dcsree 
 Who left the royal revelry 
 
 To bowne hira for the war. — 
 A solemn seene tlie abbess chose, 
 A solemn hour, her secret to disclose.
 
 234 MARMION. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 ' O holy Palmer ! ' she hegan, — 
 Tor sure he must he sainted man, 
 Whose hlessed feet have trod the ground 
 Where the Eedeemer's toud) is found, — 
 Por his dear Church's sake, my tale 
 Attend, nor deem of light avail, 
 Though I must speak of worldly love, — 
 How vain to those who wed ahove ! — 
 De Wilton and Lord Marudon wooed 
 Clara de Clare, of Gloster's blood ; — , 
 Idle it were of Whitby's dame 
 To say of that same blood I came ; — 
 And once, when jealous rage was high, 
 Lord Marmion said despiteously, 
 Wilton was traitor in his heart. 
 And had made league with Martin Swart 
 When he came here on Simiiel's part. 
 And only cowardice did restrain 
 His rebel aid on Stokefield's plain, — 
 And down he threw his glove. The thing 
 Was tried, as wont, before the king ; 
 Where frankly did De Wilton own 
 That Swart in Guelders he had known, 
 And that between them then there went 
 Some scroll of courteous compliment. 
 Yox this he to his castle sent ; 
 But when his messenger returned.
 
 236 MARMION. 
 
 Jiulg'c how De Wilton's fury Lunifd ! 
 For in liis packet there were luid 
 Letters that claimed disloyal aid 
 And proved King" Henry's cause betrayed. 
 His fame, thus blighted, iu the field 
 He strove to clear by spear and shield ; — 
 To clear his fame in vain he strove. 
 For wondrous are His ways above ! 
 Perchance some form was unobserved, 
 Perchance in prayer or faith he swerved, 
 Else how coidd guiltless champion quail, 
 Or how the blessed ordeal fail ? 
 
 XXII. 
 
 ' His squire, who now De -Wilton saw 
 As recreant doomed to suffer law, 
 
 Repentant, owned in vain 
 That while he had the scrolls in care 
 A stranger maiden, passing fair. 
 Had drenched him Avith a beverage rare; 
 
 His words no faith could gain. 
 With Clare alone he credence won. 
 Who, rather than wed Marmion, 
 Did to Saint Hilda's shrine repair. 
 To give our house her livings fair 
 And die a vestal votaress there. 
 The impulse from the earth was given, 
 But bent her to the paths of heaven. 
 A purer heart, a lovelier maid,
 
 THE COURT. 237 
 
 Ne'er slicltcrcd Iier in Whitby's shade, 
 No, not since Saxoii lOth'llk'd ; 
 Only one trace of eartlily stain, 
 
 That for her lover's loss 
 She cherishes a sorrow vain. 
 
 And inurniurs at the cross. — 
 And then her heritai^e : — it ti,'OCS 
 
 Along the banks of Tame; 
 Peep fields of g-rain the reaper mows, 
 In meadows rich the heifer lows. 
 The falconer and huntsman knows 
 
 Its woodlands for the o;ame. 
 Shame were it to Saint Hilda dear, 
 And I, her humble votaress here, 
 
 Should do a deadly sin, 
 Her temple spoiled before mine eyes, 
 If this Mse Marmion such a prize 
 
 By my consent should win ; 
 Yet hath our boisterous monarch sworn 
 That Clare shall from our house be torn, 
 And grievous cause have I to fear 
 Such mandate doth Lord Marmion bear. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 * Now, prisoner, helpless, and betrayed 
 To evil power, I claim thine aid. 
 
 By every step that tlion hast trod 
 To holy shrine and grotto dim, 
 By every martyr's tortured limb.
 
 238 MARMION. 
 
 By angel, saint, and seraphim. 
 
 And by the Church of God ! 
 For mark : when Wilton was betrayed, 
 And with his squire forged letters laid, 
 She was, alas ! that sinful maid- 
 By whom the deed was done, — 
 Oh ! shame and horror to be said ! 
 
 She was — a perjured nun ! 
 No clerk in all the laud like her 
 Traced quaint and varying character. 
 Perchance you may a marvel deem, 
 
 Tiiat Marmion's paramour — 
 For such vile thing she was — should scheme 
 
 Her lover's nuptial hour ; 
 But o'er him thus she hoped to gain, 
 As privy to liis honor's stain. 
 
 Illimitable power. 
 For this she secretly retained 
 
 Each proof that might the plot reveal, 
 
 Instructions with his hand and seal; 
 And thus Saint Hikhi deigned, 
 
 Tlirough sinners' perfidy impure. 
 
 Her house's glory to secure 
 And Clare's immortal weal. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 "T were long and needless here to tell 
 How to my hand these papers fell ;
 
 THE COURT. 239 
 
 With me they must not stay. 
 Saint Hilda keep her abbess true ! 
 Who knows wiiat outrage lie miglit do 
 
 While journeying- by the way ? — 
 
 blessed Saint, if" e'er again 
 
 1 venturous leave thy calm domain, 
 To travel or by land or main, 
 
 Deep penance may 1 pay ! — 
 Now, saintly Palmer, mark my prayer: 
 I "give this packet to thy care. 
 For thee to stop they will not dare ; 
 
 And oh ! with cantions speed 
 To Wolsey's hand the papers bring, 
 That he may show them to the king : 
 
 And. for tliy well-earned meed, 
 Thou holy man, at Whitby's shrine 
 A weekly mass shall still be thine 
 
 While priests can sing and read. — 
 What ail'st thou ? — Speak ! ' — For as he took 
 The charge a strong emotion shook 
 
 His frame, and ere reply 
 They heard a faint yet shrilly tone, 
 Like distant clarion feebly blown, 
 
 That on the breeze did die ; 
 And loud the abbess shrieked in fear, 
 ' Saint Withold, save us ! — AVIiat is here ! 
 
 Look at yon City Cross ! 
 See on its battled tower appear 
 Phantoms, that scutcheons seem to rear 
 
 And blazoned banners toss ! ' —
 
 240 MARMION. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Dun-Ed in's Cross, a pillared stone, 
 Rose oil a turret octagon ; — 
 But now is razed that monument, 
 
 Whence royal edict rang, 
 And voice of Scotland's law was sent 
 
 In glorious trumpet-clang. 
 Oh ! be his tomb as lead to lead 
 Upon its dull destroyer's head ! — 
 A minstrel's malison is said. — 
 Then on its battlements they saw 
 A vision, passing Nature's law. 
 
 Strange, wild, and dimly seen ; 
 Figures that seemed to rise and die. 
 Gibber and sign, advance and fly. 
 While nought confirmed could ear or eye 
 
 Discern of sound or mien. 
 Yet darkly did it seem as there 
 Heralds and pursuivants prepare. 
 With trumpet sound and blazon fair, 
 
 A summons to proclaim ; 
 But indistinct the pageant proud, 
 As fancy forms of midnight cloud 
 When flings the moon upon her shroud 
 
 A wavering tinge of flame ; 
 It flits, expands, and shifts, till loud, 
 Prom midmost of the sp(;ctre crowd. 
 
 This awful summons came : —
 
 THE COURT. 241 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 ' Prince, prelate, potentate, and peer, 
 
 Wliosc names I now shall call, 
 Scottish or forcig-ner, give car ! 
 Snbjccts of him who sent me here. 
 At his tribunal to appear 
 
 I summon one and all : 
 I cite you by each deadly sin 
 That e'er hath soiled your hearts within ; 
 I cite you by each brutal lust 
 That e'er defiled your earthly dust, — 
 
 By wrath, by pride, by fear, 
 By each o'ermastering- passion's tone, 
 By the dark grave and dying groan ! 
 When forty days are passed and gone, 
 I cite you, at your monarch's throne 
 
 To answer and appear.' — 
 Then thundered forth a roll of names : — 
 The first Avas thine, uidiappy James ! 
 
 Then all thy nobles came ; 
 CraAvford, Griencairn, Montrose, Argyle, 
 Eoss, Bothwell, Forbes, Lennox, Lyle, — 
 Why should I tell their separate style ? 
 
 Each chief of birth and fame, 
 Of Lowland, Highland, Border, Isle, 
 Foredoomed to Flodden's carnage pile. 
 
 Was cited there by name ; 
 And Mai'mion, Lord of Fontenaye,
 
 242 MARMION. 
 
 Of Lutterward, and Scrivelbaye ; 
 
 De Wilton, erst of Aberley, 
 
 The self-same thundering voice did say. — 
 
 Biit then another spoke : 
 ' Thy fatal summons I deny 
 And thine infernal lord defy, 
 Appealing me to Him on high 
 
 Who burst the sinner's yoke.' 
 At that dread accent, with a scream, 
 Parted the pageant like a dream, 
 
 The summoncr was gone. 
 Prone on her face the abbess fell, 
 And fast, and fast, her beads did tell ; 
 Her nuns came, startled by the yell, 
 
 And found her there alone. 
 She marked not, at the scene aghast, 
 What time or how the Palmer passed. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Shift we the scene. — The camp doth move ; 
 
 Dun-Edin's streets are empty now, 
 Save when, for weal of those they love 
 
 To pray the prayer and vow the vow, 
 The tottering child, the anxious fair. 
 The gray-haired sire, with pious care. 
 To chapels and to shrines repair. — 
 Where is the Palmer now ? and where 
 The abbess, Marmion, and Clare ? — 
 Bold Douglas ! to Tantallon fair
 
 THE COURT. 243 
 
 They journey in tliy cliarfi;e : 
 Lord Mariiiioii rode on liis right hand, 
 The Palmer still was with the band; 
 Angus, like Lindesay, did command 
 
 That none should roam at large. 
 But in that Palmer's altered uiieu 
 A wondrous change might now be seen ; 
 
 Freely he spoke of war, 
 OF marvels wrought by single liand 
 When lifted for a native land, 
 And still looked high, as if he planned 
 
 Some desperate deed afar. 
 His courser would he feed and stroke. 
 And, tucking up his sable frock, 
 Would first his mettle bold provoke. 
 
 Then soothe or quell his pride. 
 Old Hubert said that never one 
 He saw, except Lord Marmion, 
 
 A steed so fairly ride. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Some half-hour's march behind there came. 
 
 By Eustace governed fair, 
 A troop escorting Hilda's dame, 
 
 With all her nuns and (Uare. 
 No audience had Lord Marmion sought; 
 
 Ever he feared to aggravate 
 
 Clara de Clare's suspicious hate ; 
 And safer 't was, he thought.
 
 244 MARMION. 
 
 To wait till, from the nuns removed, 
 The influence of kinsmen loved. 
 And suit by Henry's self approved, 
 Her slow consent had wrought. 
 
 His was no flickering flame, that dies 
 
 Unless when fanned by looks and sighs 
 
 And lighted oft at lady's eyes ; 
 
 He longed to stretch his wide command 
 
 O'er luckless Clara's ample land : 
 
 Besides, when Wilton with him vied, 
 
 Although the pang of humbled pride 
 
 The place of jealousy supplied. 
 
 Yet conquest, by that meanness won 
 
 He almost loathed to think upon. 
 
 Led him, at times, to hate the cause 
 
 Which made him burst through honor's laws. 
 
 If e'er he loved, 't was her alone 
 
 W^ho died within that vault of stone. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 And now, when close at hand they saw 
 North Berwick's town and lofty Law, 
 Fitz-Eustace bade them pause awhile 
 Before a venerable pile 
 
 Whose turrets viewed afar 
 The lofty Bass, the Lambie Isle, 
 
 The ocean's peace or wai*. 
 At tolling of a bell, forth came 
 The convent's venerable dame,
 
 THE COURT. 245 
 
 And prayed Saint Hilda's abljcss rest 
 With her, a loved and lionon'd guest, 
 Till Doug-las should a bark prepare 
 To waft her back to Whitby fair. 
 Glad was the abbess, you may guess, 
 And thanked the Scottish prioress ; 
 And tedious were to tell, 1 ween, 
 The courteous speech that passed between. 
 
 O'erjoyed the nuns their palfreys leave; 
 But when fair Clara did intend. 
 Like them, from horseback to descend, 
 
 Fitz-Eustace said : ' I grieve. 
 Fair lady, grieve e'en from my heart. 
 Such gentle company to part ; — 
 
 Think not discourtesy. 
 But lords' commands must be obeyed, 
 And Marniion and the Douglas said 
 
 That you must wend with me. 
 Lord Marniion hath a letter broad, 
 Which to the Scottish earl he showed, 
 Coniniauding that beneath his care 
 Without delay you shall repair 
 To your good kinsman, Lord Fitz-Clare.' 
 
 XXX. 
 
 The startled abbess loud exclaimed ; 
 But she at whom the blow was aimed 
 Grew pale as death and cold as lead, — 
 She deemed she heard her death-doom read.
 
 246 MARMION. 
 
 ' Cheer thee, my chihl ! ' the abbess said, 
 ' They dare not tear tliee from my hand, 
 To ride alone witli armed l)and.' — 
 
 ' Nay, holy mother, nay,' 
 Fitz-Eustace said, ' the lovely Clare 
 Will be in Lady Angus' care, 
 
 111 Scotland while we stay ; 
 And when we move an easy ride 
 Will bring- us to the English side, 
 Eemale attendance to provide 
 
 Befitting Gloster's heir ; 
 Nor thinks nor dreams my noble lord, 
 By slightest look, or act, or word. 
 
 To harass Lady Clare. 
 Her faithful guardian he will be, 
 Nor sue for slightest courtesy 
 
 That e'en to stranger fulls, 
 Till he shall place her safe and free 
 
 Within her kinsman's halls.' 
 He spoke, and blushed with earnest grace; 
 His faith was painted on his face. 
 
 And Clare's worst fear relieved. 
 The Lady Abbess loud exclaimed 
 On Henry, and the Douglas blamed, 
 
 Entreated, threatened, grieved, 
 To martyr, saint, and propliet prayed, 
 Au-ainst Lord Marmion inveighed, 
 And called the prioress to aid. 
 To curse with candle, bell, and book. 
 Her head the grave Cistertian shook :
 
 rilE COURT. HI 
 
 'The Douglas and tlio king,' she said, 
 ' 111 their commands will be obeyed ; 
 Grieve not, nor dream that harm can fall 
 The maiden in Tantallon Hall.' 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 The abbess, seeing strife was vain. 
 Assumed her wonted state again, — 
 
 Eor much of state she had, — 
 Composed her veil, and raised her head, 
 And ' Bid,' in solenni voice she said, 
 
 ' Thy master, bold antl bad. 
 The records of his house turn o'er. 
 
 And, Avhen he shall there written see 
 
 That one of his own ancestry 
 
 Drove the monks forth of Coventry, 
 Bid hira his fate explore ! 
 
 Prancing in pride of earthly trust, 
 
 His charger hurled him to the dust. 
 
 And, by a base plebeian thrust, 
 He died his band before. 
 
 God judge 'twixt Marmion and me ; • 
 
 He is a chief of high degree. 
 And I a poor recluse, 
 
 Yet oft in holy writ we see 
 
 Even such weak minister as me 
 May the oppressor bruise ; 
 
 For thus, inspired, did Judith slay 
 The mighty in his sin,
 
 248 MARMION. 
 
 And Jael tlms, and Deborah' — 
 Here hasty Blount broke in : 
 ' Fitz-Eustace, we must niarcli our band. ; 
 Saint Anton' fire thee ! wilt thou stand 
 All day, Avith bonnet in thy hand, 
 
 To hear the hidy preach ? 
 By this good light ! if tlius we stay. 
 Lord Maniiion for our fond delay 
 
 Will sharper sermon teach. 
 Come, don thy cap and mount thy horse ; 
 Tlie dame must patience take perforce.' 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 ' Submit we then to force,' said Clare, 
 'But let this barbarous lord despair 
 
 His purposed aim to win ; 
 Let him take living, land, and life, 
 But to be Marmion's wedded wife 
 
 Li me were deadly sin : 
 And if it be the king's decree 
 That I must find no sanctuary 
 , Li that inviolable dome 
 
 Where even a homicide might come 
 
 And safely rest his head. 
 Though at its open portals stood, 
 Thirsting to pour forth blood for blood, 
 
 The kinsmen of the dead, 
 Yet one asylum is my own 
 
 Against the dreaded hour, —
 
 TUE COURT 
 
 249 
 
 A low, a silent, aiul ulouc, 
 
 Where king's have little power. 
 One victim is before me there. — 
 
 Mother, your blessing, and in prayer 
 Eemember yonr unhappy Clare ! ' 
 Loud weeps the abbess, and bestows 
 Kind blessings many a one ;
 
 250 MARMION. 
 
 Weeping and wailing loud arose, 
 Round patient Clare, the clamorous woes 
 
 Of every simple nun. 
 His eyes the gentle Eustace dried, 
 And scarce rude Blount the sight could bide. 
 
 Then took the squire her rein, 
 And gently led away her steed, 
 And by each courteous word and deed 
 
 To cheer her strove in vain. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 But scant three miles the band had rode, 
 
 Wlien o'er a height they passed. 
 And, sudden, close before thcni showed 
 
 His towers Tantallon vast, 
 Broad, massive, high, and stretching far, 
 Aiul held impregnable in war. 
 On a projecting rock they rose, 
 And round three sides the ocean flows. 
 The fourth did battled walls enclose 
 
 And double mound and fosse. 
 By narrow drawbridge, outworks strong. 
 Through studded gates, an entrance long, 
 
 To the main court they cross. 
 It was a wide and stately square ; 
 Around were lodgings fit and fair, 
 
 And towers of various form. 
 Which on the court projected far 
 And broke its lines quadrangular.
 
 THE COURT. 251 
 
 Here was square keep, there turret liigli 
 Or pimiaele that sout^'lit the sky, 
 Wheiiec oft the wartU'r eoiihl desery 
 The gathering ocean-storm. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 Here did they rest. — The princely care 
 Of Douglas why should I declare, 
 Or say they met reception fair? 
 
 Or why the tidings say, 
 AVIiich varying to Tantallou came, 
 Ey hurrying posts or fleeter fame, 
 
 With every varying day ? 
 And, first, they heard King James had Avon 
 
 Etall, and Wark, and Ford ; and then. 
 
 That Noi-ham Castle strong was ta'en. 
 At tiiat sore marvelled Marmion, 
 And Douglas hoped his monareii's hand 
 Would soon subdue Northumberland ; 
 
 But whispered news there came, 
 That while his host inactive lay, 
 And melted by degrees away, 
 King James was dallying off the day 
 
 With Heron's wdy dame. 
 Such acts to chronicles I yield ; 
 
 Go seek them there and see : 
 Mine is a tale of Flodden Field, 
 
 And not a history. — 
 At length they heard the Scottish host
 
 25-2 MARMION. 
 
 On that high ridge had made their post, 
 
 Which frowns o'er Millfield Plain ; 
 And that 1)ravc Surrey many a band 
 Had gathered in the Southern land, 
 And marched into Northumberland, 
 
 And camp at Wooler ta'en. 
 Marmion, like charger in the stall. 
 That hears, without, the trumpet-call, 
 
 Began to chafe and sweai- : — 
 *A sorry thing to hide my head 
 In castle, like a fearful maid. 
 When such a field is near. 
 Needs must I see this battle-day ; 
 Death to my fame if such a fray 
 Were fought, and Marmion away! 
 The Douglas, too, I wot not why. 
 Hath bated of his courtesy ; 
 No longer in his halls I '11 stay : ' 
 Then bade his band they should array 
 For march against the dawning day.
 
 CANTO SIXTH. 
 
 THE BATTLE.
 
 INTRODUCTION TO CANTO SIXTH. 
 
 TO RICHARD IIEBER, ESQ. 
 
 Mertoun House, Christmas. 
 
 Heap on more wood ! — tlie wind is chill; 
 
 But let it whistle as it will, 
 
 We '11 keep our Christmas merry still. 
 
 Each ag-e has deemed the new-born year 
 
 The fittest time for festal cheer: 
 
 Even, heathen yet, the savage Dane 
 
 At lol more deep the mead did drain, 
 
 Hig-h on the beach his galleys drew. 
 
 And feasted all his pirate crew ; 
 
 Then in his low and pine-built hall, 
 
 Where shields and axes decked the wall. 
 
 They gorged iipon the half-dressed steer, 
 
 Caroused in seas of saT)le beer. 
 
 While round in brutal jest were thrown
 
 356 MARMION. 
 
 The half-gnawed rib and marrowbone, 
 Or listened all in grim delight 
 While scalds yelled out the joys of fight. 
 Then forth in frenzy would they hie, 
 While wildly loose their red locks fly, 
 And danciiig round the blazing pile, 
 They make such barbarous mirth the while 
 As best might to the mind recall 
 The boisterous joys of Odin's hall. 
 
 And well our Christian sires of old 
 Loved when the year its course had rolled. 
 And brought blithe Christmas back again 
 With all his hospitable train. 
 Domestic and religious rite 
 Gave honor to the holy night ; 
 On Christmas eve the bells were rung. 
 On Christmas eve the mass was sung : 
 Tliat only night in all the year 
 Saw the stoled priest the chalice rear. 
 The damsel donned her kirtle sheen ; 
 Tlie hall was dressed with holly green ; 
 Forth to the wood did merry-men go, 
 To gather in the mistletoe. 
 Tiien opened wide the baron's hall 
 To vassal, tenant, serf, and all ; 
 Power laid his rod of rule aside, 
 And Ceremony dolled his pride. 
 The heir, with roses in his shoes. 
 That night might village partner choose;
 
 INTRODUCTION TO CANTO SIXTH. 257 
 
 Tlu! lord, uu(lcrog-atiii<j, sliarii 
 Tlic vulgar game of ' post and pair.' 
 All hailed, with uncontrolled delight 
 vVnd general voice, the happy night 
 That to the cottage, as the crown, 
 Broudit tidings of salvation down. 
 
 The fire, with well-dried logs supplied, 
 Wc'ut roaring up the chimney wide ; 
 The huge hall-tal)le's oal<en face, 
 Scrubbed till it shone, the day to grace, 
 l^ore then upon its massive board 
 No mark to part the s([uire and lord. 
 Then was brought in the lusty brawn 
 By old blue-coated scrving-nian ; 
 Tlien the grim boar's-heatl IVowned on high. 
 Crested with bays and rosemary. 
 Well can the green-garbed ranger tell 
 How, when, and where, tlie monster fell. 
 What dogs before his death he tore. 
 And all the baiting of the boar. 
 The wassail round, in good brown bowls 
 Garnished with ribbons, blithely trowls. 
 There the huge sirloin reeked ; hard by 
 Plum-porridge stood and Christmas pie ; 
 Nor failed old Scotland to produce 
 At such high tide her savory goose. 
 Then came the merry maskers in, 
 And carols roared with blithesome din ; 
 If unmelodious was the song.
 
 258 MARMION. 
 
 It was a hearty note and strong. 
 
 Who lists may in their muinmiug see 
 
 Traces of ancient mystery ; 
 
 White shirts supplied the masquerade, 
 
 And smutted checks the visors made ; 
 
 But oh ! Avhat maskers, richly dight, 
 
 Can boast of bosoms half so light ! 
 
 England was merry England when 
 
 Old Christmas brought his sports again. 
 
 'T was Christmas broached the mightiest ale, 
 
 'T was Christmas told the merriest tale ; 
 
 A Christmas gambol oft could cheer 
 
 The poor man's heart through half the year. 
 
 Still linger in our northern clime 
 Some remnants of the good old time. 
 And still within our valleys here 
 We hold the kindred title dear. 
 Even when, perchance, its far-fetched claim 
 To Southron ear sounds empty name; 
 Por course of blood, our proverbs deem, 
 Is warmer than the mountain-stream. 
 And thus my Christmas still I hold 
 Where my great-grandsire came of old, 
 With amber beard and flaxen hair 
 And reverend apostolic air, 
 The feast and lioly-tide to share. 
 And mix sobriety with wine, 
 And honest mirth with thoughts divine : 
 Small thought was his, in after time
 
 INTRODUCTION TO CANTO SIXTH. 259 
 
 E'er to be hitched into a rhyme. 
 
 The simple sire could only boast 
 
 That he was loyal to his cost, 
 
 The banished race of kings revered, 
 
 And lost his land, — bnt kept his beard. 
 
 In these dear halls, where welcome kind 
 Is with fair liberty combined. 
 Where cordial friendship gives the hand. 
 And flies constraint the magic wand 
 Of the fair dame that rules the land, 
 Little we heed the tempest drear. 
 While music, mirth, and social cheer 
 Speed on their wings the passing year. 
 And Mertouu's halls are fair e'en now, 
 When not a leaf is on the bough. 
 Tweed loves them well, and turns again. 
 As loath to leave the sweet domain. 
 And holds his mirror to her face, 
 And clips her with a close embrace : — 
 Gladly as he we seek the dome, 
 And as reluctant turn us home. 
 
 How just that at this time of glee 
 My thoughts should, Heber, turn to thee ! 
 For many a merry hour we 've known, 
 And heard the chimes of midnight's tone. 
 Cease, then, my friend ! a moment cease. 
 And leave these classic tomes in peace ! 
 Of Koman and of Grrecian lore
 
 260 MARMION. 
 
 Sure mortal brain can hold no more. 
 
 These ancients, as Noll ]51uif might say, 
 
 ' Were pretty fellows in their day,' 
 
 But time and tide o'er all prevail — 
 
 On Christinas eve a Christmas tale — 
 
 Of Avonder and of war — ' Profane ! 
 
 What ! leave tlie lofty Latian strain, 
 
 Her stately prose, her verse's charms, 
 
 To hear the clash of rusty arms ; 
 
 111 Fairy-land or Limbo lost. 
 
 To jostle conjurer and g-host, 
 
 Goblin and witch ! ' — Nay, Helper dear. 
 
 Before you touch my charter, hear ; 
 
 Though Leyden aids, alas ! no more. 
 
 My cause with mauy-laiiguaged lore, 
 
 This may I say : — -in realms of death 
 
 Ulysses meets Alcides' wraith, 
 
 jEneas upon Thracia's shore 
 
 The ghost of murdered Polydore ; 
 
 For omens, we in Livy cross 
 
 At every turn locutns Bos. 
 
 As grave and duly speaks that ox 
 
 As if he told the price of stocks, 
 
 Or held in Rome republican 
 
 The place of Common-councilman. 
 
 All nations have their omens drear, 
 Their legends wild of woe and fear. 
 To Cambria look — the p(;asant see 
 Bethink him of Glendowerdy
 
 INTRODUCTION TO CANTO SIXTH. 261 
 
 And slnui Mlic Spirit's Blasted Tree.' — 
 
 The llig-hlaiider, whose n-d claymore 
 
 The battk; turned oil Maida's shore, 
 
 Will on a Priday inorn look pale, 
 
 If asked to tell a fairy tale : 
 
 He fears the vengeful Elfin King, 
 
 Who leaves that day his grassy ring ; 
 
 Invisible to human ken. 
 
 He walks among the sons of men. 
 
 Didst e'er, dear Heher, pass along 
 Beneath the towers of Franchemont, 
 Which, like an eagle's nest in air, 
 Hang o'er the stream and hamlet fair? 
 Deep in their vaults, the peasants say, 
 A mighty treasure buried lay, 
 Amassed through rapine and through wrong 
 V>y the last Lord of Pranchemont. 
 The iron chest is bolted hard, 
 A huntsman sits its constant guard ; 
 Around his neck his horn is hung. 
 His hanger in his belt is slung ; 
 Before his feet his bloodhounds lie : 
 An 'twere not for his gloomy eye. 
 Whose withering glance no heart can brook, 
 As true a huntsman doth he look 
 As bugle e'er in brake did sound, 
 Or ever hallooed to a hound. 
 To chase the fiend and win the prize 
 In that same dungeon ever tries
 
 263 M ARM ION. 
 
 An aged neoromaiitic priest ; 
 
 It is an hundred years at least 
 
 Since 'twixt them first the strife begun, 
 
 And neither yet has lost nor Avon. 
 
 And oft the conjurer's words will make 
 
 The stubborn demon groan and quake ; 
 
 And oft the bands of iron break, 
 
 Or bursts one lock that still amain, 
 
 Fast as 't is opened, shuts again. 
 
 That magic strife within the tomb 
 
 May last until the day of doom, 
 
 Unless the adept shall learn to tell 
 
 The very word that clenched the spell 
 
 When Franch'mont locked the treasure cell. 
 
 An hundred years are passed and gone, 
 
 And scarce three letters has he won. 
 
 Such general superstition may 
 Excuse for old Pitscottie say, 
 Whose gossip history has given 
 My song the messenger from heaven 
 That warned, in LithgoAv, Scotland's king, 
 Nor less the infernal summoning ; 
 May pass the Monk of Durham's tale. 
 Whose demon fought in Gothic mail ; 
 May pardon plead for Pordmi grave. 
 Who told of Gifford's Goblin-Cave. 
 But why such instances to you, 
 Who in an instant can renew 
 Your treasured hoards of various lore.
 
 INTRODUCTION TO CANTO SIXTH. 263 
 
 Aiul fiirnisli twenty tliotisaiid more? 
 Hoards, not liko tlunrs wliose volumes rest 
 Like treasures in the Fraucli'monI chest, 
 While gripple owners still refuse 
 To others what they cannot use ; 
 Give them the priest's whole rcntury, 
 They shall not spell you letters three, — 
 Tlieir pleasure iu the books the same 
 The magpie takes in pilfered gem. 
 Thy volumes, opcni as thy heart, 
 Delight, amusement, science, art, 
 To every ear and eye impart ; 
 Yet who, of all who thus employ them, 
 Can like the owner's self enjoy them ? — 
 But, hark ! I hear the distant drum ! 
 The day of Flodden Field is come, — 
 Adieu, dear Hebcr ! life and health, 
 And store of literary wealth.
 
 CANTO SIXTH. 
 
 THE BATTLE. 
 
 I. 
 
 While great events were on the gale, 
 
 And each hour brought a varying tale, 
 
 And the demeanor, changed and cold, 
 
 Of Douglas fretted Marraion bold. 
 
 And, like the impatient steed of war, 
 
 He snuffed the battle from afar, 
 
 And hopes were none that back again 
 
 Herald sliould come from Terouenne, 
 
 Where England's king in leaguer lay, 
 
 Before decisive battle-day, — 
 
 While these things were, the mournful Clare 
 
 Did in the dame's devotions share ; 
 
 For the good countess ceaseless prayed 
 
 To Heaven and saints her sons to aid, 
 
 And witli short interval did pass 
 
 From prayer to book, from book to mass, 
 
 And all in high baronial pride, —
 
 266 MARMION. 
 
 k life both dull and dignified : 
 
 Yet, as Lord Marmiou nothing pressed 
 
 Upon lier intervals of n^st, 
 
 Dejected Clara well coidd bear 
 
 The formal state, the lengthened prayer, 
 
 Though dearest to her wounded heart 
 
 Tliu hours that she might spend apart. 
 
 II. 
 
 I said Tantallon's dizzy steep 
 
 Hung o'er the margin of the deep. 
 
 Many a rude tower and rampart there 
 
 Repelled the insult of the air, 
 
 Which, when the tempest vexed the sky, 
 
 Half breeze, half spray, came whistling by. 
 
 Above the rest a turret square 
 
 Did o'er its Gothic entrance bear, 
 
 Of sculpture rude, a stony shield; 
 
 The Bloody Heart Avas in the field. 
 
 And in the chief three mullets stood, 
 
 The cognizance of Douglas blood. 
 
 The turret held a narrow stair. 
 
 Which, mounted, gave you access where 
 
 A parapet's embattled row 
 
 Did seaward round the castle go. 
 
 Sometimes in dizzy steps descending. 
 
 Sometimes in narrow circuit bending, 
 
 Sometimes in platform broad extending.
 
 THE BATTLE. 267 
 
 Its varyiuji; cirdc did coiiibiiio 
 
 Bulwark, uiid bartizan, and line, 
 
 And bastion, tower, and vantage-coign. 
 
 Above tiu^ l)()oniiiig- ocean leant 
 
 The far-projecting battlemcnit ; 
 
 The billows burst in ceaseless flow 
 
 Upon the precipice below. 
 
 Where'er Tantallou faced the land, 
 
 Gate-works and walls were strongly manned ; 
 
 No need upon the sea-girt side : 
 
 The steepy rock and frantic tide 
 
 Approach of human step denied. 
 
 And thus these lines and ramparts rude 
 
 Were left in deepest solitude. 
 
 III. 
 
 And, for they were so lonely, Clare 
 Would to these battlements repair, 
 And muse upon her sorrows there, 
 
 And list the sea-bird's cry. 
 Or slow, like noontide gliost, would glide 
 Along the dark-gray bulwarks' side, 
 And ever on the heaving tide 
 
 Look down with weary eye. 
 Oft did the cliff and swelling main 
 Recall the thoughts of Whitby's fane, — 
 A home she ne'er might see again ; 
 
 For she had laid adown,
 
 268 MARMION. 
 
 So Douglas Lade, the hood and veil. 
 And frontlet of the cloister pale, 
 
 And Benedictine gown : 
 It were iinseenily sight, he said, 
 A novice out of convent shade. — 
 Now her bright locks with sunny glow 
 Again adorned her brow of snow ; 
 Her mantle rich, whose borders round 
 A deep and fretted broidery bound. 
 In golden foldings sought the ground ; 
 Of holy ornament, alone 
 Remained a cross with ruby stone ; 
 
 And often did she look 
 On that which in her hand she bore. 
 With velvet bound and broidered o'er, 
 
 Her breviary book. 
 In such a place, so lone, so grim, 
 At dawning pale or twilight dim. 
 
 It fearful would have been 
 To meet a form so richly dressed, 
 With book in hand, and cross on breast. 
 
 And such a woful mien. 
 Pitz-Eustace, loitering with his bow, 
 To practise on the gull and crow, 
 Saw her at distance gliding slow. 
 
 And did by Mary swear 
 Some lovelorn fay she might have been, 
 Or in romance some spell-bound queen. 
 For ne'er in work-day world was seen 
 
 A form so witching fair.
 
 TUE BATTLE. 269 
 
 IV. 
 
 Once walking- thus at evening tide 
 It elianced a gliding sail she spied, 
 And sighing thought — ' The abbess there 
 Perchance does to licr home repair ; 
 Her peaceful rule, where Duty free 
 Walks hand in hand with Charity, 
 Where oft Devotion's tranced glow 
 Can such a glimpse of heaven bestow 
 That the enraptured sisters see 
 High vision and deep mystery, — 
 The very form of Hilda fair, 
 Hovering upon the sunny air 
 And smiling on her votaries' prayer. 
 Oh ! wherefore to my duller eye 
 Did still the Saint her form deny ? 
 Was it that, seared by sinful scorn, 
 My heart could neither melt nor burn ? 
 Or lie my warm affections low 
 With him that taught them first to glow? 
 Yet, gentle abbess, well I knew 
 To pay thy kindness grateful due. 
 And well could brook the mild command 
 That ruled thy simple maiden band. 
 How different now, condemned to bide 
 My doom from this dark tyrant's pride ! — 
 But Marmion has to learn ere long- 
 That constant mind and hate of wrong 
 Descended to a feeble girl
 
 270 MARMION. 
 
 From Red de Clare, stout Gloster's Earl 
 
 Of such a stem a sapling weak, 
 
 He ne'er shall bend, altliough he break. 
 
 ' But see ! — what makes this armor here ? ' — 
 
 For in her path there lay- 
 Targe, corselet, helm ; — she viewed them near. • 
 ' The breastplate pierced ! — Ay, much I fear, 
 Weak fence wert thou 'gainst foeman's spear, 
 That hath made fatal entrance here, 
 
 As these dark blood-gouts say. — 
 Thus Wilton ! — Oh ! not corselet's ward, 
 Not truth, as diamond pure and hard. 
 Could be thv manlv bosom's guard 
 
 On yon disastrous day ! ' — 
 She raised her eyes in mournful mood, — 
 AVilton himself before her stood ! 
 It might have seemed his passing ghost. 
 For every youthful grace Avas lost, 
 And joy unwonted and surprise 
 Gave their strange wildness to his eves. — 
 Expect not, noble dames and lords, 
 That I can tell such scene in words : 
 Wliat skilful limner e'er would choose 
 To paint the rainbow's varying hues. 
 Unless to mortal it were given 
 To dip his brush in dyes of heaven ?
 
 272 MARMION. 
 
 Far less can my weak line declare 
 Each clianging- passion's shade : 
 Brightening to rapture from despair, 
 SoiTOw, surprise, and pity there. 
 And joy witli her angelic air, 
 And hope that paints the future fair. 
 
 Their varying hues displayed ; 
 Each o'er its rival's ground extending, 
 Alternate conquering, shifting, blending, 
 Till all fatigued the conflict yield, 
 And mighty love retains the field. 
 Shortly I tell what then he said, 
 By many a tender word delayed. 
 And modest blush, and l)ursting sigh, 
 And question kind, and Ibnd reply : — 
 
 VI. 
 
 DE WILTON's history. 
 
 ' Forget we that disastrous day 
 When senseless in the lists I lay. 
 
 Thence dragged, — but how I cannot know. 
 For sense and recollection fled, — 
 
 I found me on a pallet low 
 
 Within my ancient beadsman's shed. 
 
 Austin, — remembcr'st thou, my Clare, 
 How thou didst blush when the old man, 
 When first our infant love began, 
 
 Said we would make a matchless pair ? —
 
 THE BATTLE. 273 
 
 Menials and friends and kinsmen fled 
 From the dco-raded traitor's bed, — 
 He only held my burning head, 
 And tended me for many a day 
 While wounds and fever held their sway. 
 But far more needful was his care 
 When sense returned to wake despair ; 
 
 For I did tear the closing wound, 
 
 And dash me frantic on the ground, 
 If e'er I heard the name of Clare. 
 At length, to calmer reason brought, 
 Much by his kind attendance wrought. 
 
 With him I left my native strand. 
 And, in a palmer's weeds arrayed. 
 My hated name and form to shade, 
 
 I journeyed many a land. 
 No more a lord of rank and birth, 
 But mino'led with tlie dregs of earth. 
 
 Oft Austin for my reason feared, 
 When I would sit, and deeply brood 
 On dark revenge and deeds of blood. 
 
 Or wild mad schemes upreared. 
 My friend at length fell sick, and said 
 
 God would remove him soon ; 
 And while upon his dying bed 
 
 He begged of me a boon — 
 If e'er my deadliest enemy 
 Beneath my brand shoukl conquered lie. 
 Even then my mercy should awake 
 And spare his life for Austin's sake.
 
 274 MARMION. 
 
 VII. 
 
 ' Still restless as a second Cain, 
 
 To Scotland next my route was ta'en, 
 
 Full well the paths I knew. 
 Fame of ray fate made various sound, 
 That death in pilgrimage I found. 
 That I had perished of my wound, — 
 
 None cared which tale was true ; 
 And living eye could never guess 
 De Wilton in his palmer's dress. 
 For now that sable slough is shed, 
 And trimmed my shaggy beard and head, 
 I scarcely know me in the glass. 
 A chance most wondrous did provide 
 That I should be that baron's guide — 
 
 I will not name his name ! — 
 Vengeance to God alone belongs ; 
 But, when I think on all my wrongs. 
 
 My blood is liquid flame ! 
 And ne'er the time shall I forget 
 When, in a Scottish hostel set, 
 
 Dark looks we did exchange : 
 What Avere his thoughts I cannot tell, 
 But in my bosom mustered Hell 
 
 Its plans of dark revenge. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 ' A word of vulgar augury 
 
 That broke from me, I scarce knew why.
 
 THE BATTLE. 275 
 
 Brought, on a village tale, 
 Which wroun-ht upon his moody sprite, 
 And sent him armed forth by night. 
 
 I borrowed steed and mail 
 And weapons from his sleeping band ; 
 
 And, passing from a postern door. 
 We met and 'countered, hand to hand, — 
 
 He fell on Gifford-moor. 
 For the death-stroke my brand I drew, — 
 Oh ! then my helmed head he knew. 
 
 The palmer's cowl was gone, — 
 Then had three inches of my blade 
 The heavy debt of vengeance paid, — 
 My hand the thought of Austin stayed ; 
 
 I left him there alone. — 
 O good old man ! even from the grave 
 Thy spirit could thy master save : 
 If I had slain my foeman, ne'er 
 Had Whitby's abbess in her fear 
 Given to my hand this packet dear. 
 Of power to clear my injured fame 
 And vindicate De Wilton's name. — 
 Perchance you heard the abbess tell 
 Of the strange pageantry of hell 
 
 That broke our secret speech — 
 It rose from the infernal shade, 
 Or featly was some juggle played, 
 
 A tale of peace to teach. 
 Appeal to Heaven I judged was best 
 When my name came among the rest.
 
 276 MARMION. 
 
 IX. 
 
 ' Now liere within Tantalloii hold 
 
 To Douglas late my tale I told. 
 
 To whom my house Avas known of old. 
 
 Won by my proofs, his falchion bright 
 
 This eve anew shall dub me knight. 
 
 These were the arms that once did turn 
 
 The tide of fight on Ottcrburne, 
 
 And Harry Hotspur forced to yield 
 
 When the Dead Douglas won the field. 
 
 These Angus gave — his armorer's care 
 
 Ere morn shall every breach repair ; 
 
 Por nought, he said, was in his halls 
 
 But ancient armor on the walls. 
 
 And aged chargers in the stalls, 
 
 And women, priests, and gray-haired men ; 
 
 The rest were all in Twiscl glen. 
 
 And now I watch my armor here, 
 
 Ey law of arms, till midnight's near; 
 
 Then, once again a belted knight. 
 
 Seek Surrey's camp with dawn of light. 
 
 X. 
 
 ' There soon again we meet, my Clare ! 
 This baron means to guide thee there : 
 Douglas reveres his king's command, 
 Else would he take thee from his band.
 
 THE BATTLE. 
 
 277 
 
 And tliore thy kiiisman Surrey, too, 
 Will give l)e Wilton justiee (lue. 
 Now raeetcr far for martial broil, 
 Fii-inor my limbs and strung by toil. 
 
 Once more' — ' O Wilton ! must we then 
 Eisk new-found happiness again, 
 
 Trust fate of arms once more ? 
 And is there not an humble glen 
 
 Where we, content and poor, 
 Might build a cottage in the shade,
 
 278 MARMION. 
 
 A shepherd thou, and I to aid 
 
 Thy task on dale and moor ? — 
 That reddening brow ! — too well I know 
 Not even thy Chire can peace bestow 
 
 While falsehood stains thy name : 
 Go then to fi2,-ht ! Clare bids thee s;o ! 
 Clare can a warrior's feelings knoAV 
 
 And weep a warrior's shame, 
 Can Eed Earl Gilbert's spirit feel. 
 Buckle the spurs upon thy heel 
 And belt tliee witli thv brand of steel. 
 
 And send thee forth to fame ! ' 
 
 XI. 
 
 That night upon the roeks and bay 
 The midnight moonbeam slumbering lay. 
 And poured its silver light and pure 
 Through loophole and through endjrasure 
 
 Upon Tantallon tower and hall ; 
 But chief wliere arched windows wide 
 Illuminate the chapel's pride 
 
 The sober glances fall. 
 Much was there need ; though seamed with scars, 
 Two veterans of the Douglas' wars. 
 
 Though two gray priests were tliere. 
 And each a blazing torch held high. 
 You could not by tlieir blaze descry 
 
 The chapel's carving fair. 
 Amid that dim and smoky light, 
 Checkering the silvery moonshine bright,
 
 THE BATTLE. 279 
 
 A bishop by tlio altar stood, 
 
 A noble lord ol" Douglas blood, 
 With mitre sheen and rochet white. 
 Yet showed his meek and thoughtful eye 
 But little pride of prelacy ; 
 More pleased that in a barbarous age 
 He gave rude Scotland Virgil's page 
 Than that beneath his rule he held 
 The bishopric of fixir Dunkeld. . 
 Beside hiui ancient Angus stood, 
 Doft'ed his furred gown and sable hood ; 
 O'er his huge form and visage pale 
 He wore a cap and shirt of mail, 
 And leaned his large and wrinkled hand 
 Upon the huge and sweeping brand 
 Which wont of yore in battle fray 
 His foeman's limbs to shred away, 
 As wood-knife lops the sapling spray. 
 
 He seemed as, from the tombs around 
 Rising at judgment-day, 
 
 Some giant Douglas may be found 
 In all his old array ; 
 So pale his face, so huge his limb, 
 So old his arms, his look so grim. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Then at the altar Wilton kneels, 
 And Clare the spurs boinul on his heels ; 
 And think what next he must have felt 
 At buckling of the falchion belt !
 
 280 MARMION. 
 
 And judge how Clara changed her hue 
 While fastening- to her lover's side 
 A friend, which, thoiigh in danger tried. 
 
 He once had found untrue ! 
 Then Douglas strnek him with his blade: 
 ' Saint Michael and Saint Andrew aid, 
 
 I dub thee knight. 
 Arise, Sir lltdjih, De Wilton's heir! 
 For king, for church, for huly fair. 
 
 See that thou figlit.' 
 And Bishop Gawain, as he rose. 
 Said : ' Wilton ! grieve not for thv woes. 
 
 Disgrace, and trouble ; 
 For He who honor best bestows 
 
 May give thee double.' 
 De Wilton sobbed, for sob he must : 
 ' Where'er I meet a Douglas, trust 
 
 That Douglas is my brother ! ' 
 'Nay, nay,' old Angus said, ' not so; 
 To Surrey's camp thou now must go. 
 
 Thy Avrongs no longer smother. 
 1 have two sons in yonder field ; 
 And, if thou meet'st them under shield, 
 Upon them bravely — do tliy worst, 
 And foul fall him that blenches first ! ' 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Not far advanced was morning day 
 When Marmion did his troop array 
 To Surrey's camp to ride;
 
 THE BATTLE. 281 
 
 He had safe-conduct for liis band 
 Beneath the royal seal ami hand, 
 
 And Douglas gave a guide. 
 The ancient earl Avith stately grace 
 Would Clara on her palfrey place, 
 And whispered in an undertone, 
 ' Let the hawk stoop, his prey is Hown.' 
 The train from out the castle drew, 
 But Marniion stopped to bid adieu: 
 
 'Though something I might plain,' he said, 
 ' Of cohl respect to stranger guest, 
 Sent hither by your king's behest, 
 
 While in Tantallon's towers I stayed, 
 Part we in friendship from your land. 
 And, noble earl, receive my hand.' — 
 But Douglas round him drew his cloak, 
 Folded his arms, and thus he spoke : — 
 ' My manors, halls, and bowers shall still 
 Be open at my sovereign's will 
 To eacli one whom he lists, howe'er 
 Unmeet to be the owner's peer. 
 My castles are my king's alone. 
 Prom turret to foundation-stone — 
 The hand of Douglas is his own. 
 And never shall in friendly grasp 
 The hand of such as Marmion clasp.' 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Burned Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire 
 And shook his very frame for ire,
 
 283 MARMION. 
 
 And — •' This to me ! ' he said, 
 'An 't were not for thy hoary beard, 
 Such hand as Marmion's had not spared 
 
 To cleave the Douglas' head ! 
 And first I tell thee, haughty peer, 
 He who does England's message here, 
 Although the meanest in her state, 
 May well, proud Angus, be thy mate ; 
 And, Douglas, more I tell thee here. 
 
 Even in thy pitch of pride. 
 Here in thy hold, thy vassals near, — 
 Nay, never look upon your lord. 
 And lay your hands upon your sword, — 
 
 I tell thee, thou 'rt defied ! 
 And if thou saidst I am not peer 
 To any lord in Scotland here, 
 Lowland or Highland, far or near, 
 
 Lord Angus, thou hast lied ! ' 
 On the earl's cheek the flush of rase 
 O'ercame the ashen hue of age : 
 Fierce he broke forth, — ' And darest thou then 
 To beard the lion in his den, 
 
 The Douglas in his hall ? 
 And hopest thou hence unscathed to go ? — 
 No, by Saint Bride of Bothwell, no ! 
 Up drawbridge, grooms — what, warder, ho ! 
 
 Let the portcullis f^ill.' — 
 Lord Marmion turned, — well was his need, — 
 And dashed the rowels in his steed. 
 Like arrow through the archway sprung,
 
 284 HARM ION. 
 
 Tlie ponderous grate bcliind him rung ; 
 To pass there was sucli scanty room, 
 The bars descending razed liis plume. 
 
 XV. 
 
 The steed along the drawbridge flies 
 
 Just as it trembled on the rise ; 
 
 Not lighter does the swallow skim 
 
 Along the smooth lake's level brim : 
 
 And when Lord Marmiou reached his band, 
 
 He halts, and turns with clenched hand, 
 
 And shout of loud defiance pours, 
 
 And shook his gauntlet at the towers. 
 
 ' Horse ! horse ! ' the Douglas cried, ' and chase ! ' 
 
 But soon he reigned his fury's pace : 
 
 ' A royal messenger he came, 
 
 Though most unworthy of the name. — 
 
 A letter forged ! Saint Jude to speed ! 
 
 Did ever knight so foul a deed ? 
 
 At first in heart it liked me ill 
 
 When the king praised his clerkly skill. 
 
 Thanks to Saint Bothan, son of mine, 
 
 Save GaAvain, ne'er could pen a line ; 
 
 So swore I, and I swear it still, 
 
 Let my boy-bishop fret his fill. — 
 
 Saint Mary mend my fiery mood ! 
 
 Old age ne'er cools the Douglas blood, 
 
 I thought to slay him where he stood. 
 
 'T is pity of him too,' he cried :
 
 THE BATTLE. 
 
 ' Bold can he speak and fairly ritlc, 
 1 warrant liini a warrior tried.' 
 With this his mandate he recalls, 
 And slowly seeks his castle halls. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 The day in Marinion's journey wore ; 
 Yet, ere his passion's gust was o'er, 
 They crossed the heights of Stanrig-moor. 
 
 285 
 
 His troop more closely there he scanned. 
 And missed the Palmer from the band. 
 ' Palmer or not,' young Blount did say, 
 ' He parted at the peep of day ; 
 Good sooth, it was in strange array.' 
 ' In what array ? ' said Marraion quick.
 
 286 MARMION. 
 
 ' My lord, I ill can spell the trick ; 
 
 But all night long with clink and bang 
 
 Close to ray couch did hannncrs clang ; 
 
 At daAvn the falling drawbridge rang, 
 
 And from a loophole while I peep, 
 
 Old Bell-the-Cat came from the keep, 
 
 Wrapped in a gown of sables fair. 
 
 As fearful of the morning air ; 
 
 Beneath, when that was blown aside, 
 
 A rusty shirt of mail I spied, 
 
 By Archibald won in bloody work 
 
 Against the Saracen and Turk : 
 
 Last night it hung not in the hall ; 
 
 I thought some marvel would befall. 
 
 And next I saw them saddled lead 
 
 Old Cheviot forth, the carl's best steed, 
 
 A matchless horse, though something old, 
 
 Prompt in his paces, cool and bold. 
 
 I heard the Sheriff Sholto say 
 
 The earl did much the IMaster pray 
 
 To use him on the battle-day. 
 
 But he preferred ' — ' Nay, Henry, cease ! 
 
 Thou sworn horse-courser, hold thy peace. ■ 
 
 Eustace, thou bear'st a brain — I pray. 
 
 What did Blount sec at break of day ? ' — 
 
 XVII. 
 
 ' In brief, my lord, we both descried — 
 For then I stood by Henry's side —
 
 THE BATTLE. 287 
 
 The Palmer mount and outwards ride 
 
 Upon the curl's own favorite; steed. 
 All sheathed he was in armor bright, 
 And much resembled that same knight 
 Subdued by you in Cotswokl fight ; 
 
 Lord Angus wished him speed.' — 
 The instant that Fitz-Eustace spoke, 
 A sudden light on Marmion broke : — 
 ' Ah ! dastard fool, to reason lost ! ' 
 He muttered ; ' 'T was nor fay nor ghost 
 I met upon the moonlight Avoid, 
 But living man of earthly mould. — 
 
 O dotage blind and gross ! 
 Had I but fought as wont, one thrust 
 Had laid De Wilton in the dust, 
 
 My path no more to cross. — 
 How stand Ave uoav ? — he told liis tale 
 To Douglas, and Avith some avail ; 
 
 'T was therefore gloomed his rugged broAv. — 
 Will Surrey dare to entertain 
 'Gainst Marmion charge disproved and A-ain ? 
 
 Small risk of that, I trow. 
 Yet Clare's sharp questions must I shun, 
 Must separate Constance from the nun — 
 Oh ! what a tangled Aveb Ave Aveave 
 When first A\^e practise to deceive ! 
 A Palmer too ! — no Avonder Avhy 
 I felt rebuked beneath his eye ; 
 I might haA^e known there aa^ts but one 
 Whose look could quell Lord Marmion.'
 
 288 MARMION. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Stung with these thoughts, he urged to speed 
 His troop, and reached at eve the Tweed, 
 Where Lennel's convent closed their march. — 
 There now is left but one frail arch, 
 
 Yet mourn thou not its cells ; 
 Our time a fair exchange has made : 
 Hard by, in hospitable shade, 
 
 A reverend pilgrim dwells, 
 Well worth the whole Bernardine brood 
 That e'er wore sandal, frock, or hood. — 
 Yet did Saint Bernard's abbot there 
 Give Marmiou entertainment fair, 
 And lodging for liis train and Clare. 
 Next morn the baron climbed the tower, 
 To view afar the Scottish power, 
 
 Encamped on Plodden edge ; 
 The white pavilions made a show 
 Like remnants of the winter snow 
 
 Along the dusky ridge. 
 Long Marraion looked : — at length his eye 
 Unusual movement might descry 
 
 Amid the shifting lines ; 
 The Scottish host drawn out appears, 
 For, flashing on the hedge of spears. 
 
 The eastern sunbeam shines. 
 Their front now deepening, now extending, 
 Their flank inclining, wheeling, bending, 
 Now drawing back, and now descending.
 
 THE BATTLE. 289 
 
 The skilful Miinriiou well could know 
 Tliey wutelied the motions' of some foe 
 Who traversed on the plain below. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Even so it was. From Flodden ridge 
 
 The Scots beheld the English host 
 
 Leave r>armore-wood, their evening post, 
 
 And heedful watched them as they crossed 
 The Till by Twisel Bridge. 
 
 High sight it is and haughty, while 
 
 They dive into the deep defile; 
 
 Beneath the caverned cliff they fall, 
 
 Beneath the castle's airy wall. 
 By rock, by oak, by hawthorn-tree, 
 
 Troop after troop are disappearing ; 
 
 Troop after troop their banners rearing 
 Upon the eastern bank you see ; 
 Still pouring down the rocky den 
 
 Where Hows the sullen Till, 
 And rising from the ilim-wood glen, 
 Standards on standards, men on men, 
 
 In slow succession still, 
 And sweeping o'er the Gothic arch, 
 And pressing on, in ceaseless march. 
 
 To gain the opposing hill. 
 That morn, to many a trumpet clang, 
 Twisel 1 thy rock's deep echo rang ; 
 And many a chief of birth and rank,
 
 290 M ARM I ON. 
 
 Saint Helen ! at thy fountain drank. 
 Thy hawthorn glade, which now we see 
 In spring-tide bloom so lavishly, 
 Had then from many an axe its doom, 
 To give the marching columns room. 
 
 XX. 
 
 And why stands Scotland idly now, 
 Dark Floddeu ! on tliy airy brow, 
 Since England gains the pass the while. 
 And struggles through the deep defile ? 
 What checks the fiery soid of James ? 
 Why sits that champion of the- dames 
 
 Inactive on his steed. 
 And sees, between him and his land. 
 Between him and Tweed's southern strand. 
 
 His host Lord Surrey lead ? 
 What vails the vain knight-errant's brand ? - 
 O Douglas, for thy leading wand ! 
 
 Fierce Eaudolph, for thy speed ! 
 Oh ! for one hour of Wallace wio-ht. 
 Or well-skilled Bruce, to rule the fight 
 And cry, ' Saint Andrew and our right ! ' 
 Another sight had seen that morn, 
 From Fate's chirk book a leaf been torn. 
 And Flodden liad been Bannockbourne ! — 
 The precious hour has passed in vain, 
 And England's host has gained the plain.
 
 THE BATTLE. 291 
 
 Whccliiiii; tluiir iiiarHi and cirflins: still 
 Around the base of Eloddcu hill. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Ere yet the bauds met Marniion's eye, 
 Fitz-Eustacc shouted loud and hit^h, 
 ' Hark ! hark ! my lord, an English drum ! 
 And see ascending squadrons come 
 
 Between Tweed's river and the hill, 
 Foot, horse, and cannon ! Hap what hap. 
 My basnet to a prentice cap, 
 
 Lord Surrey 's o'er the Till ! — 
 Yet more ! yet more I — how fair arrayed 
 They file from out the hawthorn shade, 
 
 And sweep so gallant by ! 
 With all their banners bravely spread, 
 
 And all their armor flashing high, 
 Saint George might waken from the dead, 
 
 To see fair England's standards fly.' — 
 ' Stint in thy prate,' quoth Blount, ' thou 'dst best, 
 And listen to our lord's behest.' — • 
 With kindling brow Lord Marmion said, 
 ' This instant be our band arrayed ; 
 The river must be quickly crossed, 
 That we may join Lord Surrey's host. 
 If fio-ht Kinsr James, — as well I trust 
 That fight he will, and fight he must, — 
 The Lady Clare behind our lines 
 Shall tarry while the battle joins.'
 
 292 MARMION. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Himself he swift on horseback threw, 
 Scarce to the abbot bade adieu, 
 Far less would listen to his prayer 
 To leave behind the helpless Clare. 
 Down to the Tweed his band he drew, 
 And muttered as the flood they view, 
 'The pheasant in the falcon's claw, 
 He scarce will yield to please a daw ; 
 Lord Angus may the abbot awe. 
 So Clare shall bide with me.' 
 Then on that dangerous ford and deep 
 Where to the Tweed Leafs eddies creep 
 
 He ventured desperately : 
 And not a moment will he bide 
 Till squire or groom before him ride ; 
 Headmost of all he stems the tide. 
 
 And stems it gallantly. 
 Eustace held Clare upon her horse, 
 
 Old Hubert led her rein, 
 Stoutly they braved the current's course, 
 And, though far downward driven perforce, 
 
 The southern bank they gain. 
 Behind them straggling came to shore. 
 
 As best they might, the train : 
 Each o'(!r his head his yew-bow bore, 
 
 A caution not in vain ; 
 Deep need that day that every string. 
 By wet unharmed, should sharply ring.
 
 THE BATTLE. 293 
 
 A nioineiit (licii Lord Mariiiiou stayed, 
 And breathed liis steed, liis men arrayed, 
 
 Then lorward moved his band, 
 Until, Lord Snrri'v's rear-guard won, 
 He halted bv a cross of stone. 
 That on a hillock standing- lone 
 
 Did all tlie lield command. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Hence might they see the full array 
 
 Of either host for deadly fray ; 
 
 Their marshalled lines stretched east and west, 
 
 And fronted north and south, 
 And distant salutation passed 
 
 Prom the loud cannon mouth ; 
 Not in the close successive rtittle 
 That bi'eathes the voice of modern battle, 
 
 But slow and far between. 
 The hillock gained. Lord Marmion stayed : 
 ' Here, by this cross,' he gently said, 
 
 ' You well may view the scene. 
 Here shalt thou tarry, lovely Clare : 
 Oh ! think of Marmion in thy prayer ! — 
 Thou wilt not? — well, no less my care 
 Shall, watchful, for thy weal prepare. — 
 You, Blount and Eustace, are her guard, 
 
 With ten picked archers of my train ; 
 With England if the day go hard, 
 
 To Berwick speed amain. —
 
 294 MARMION. 
 
 But if we conquer, cruel maid, 
 My spoils shall at your feet be laid. 
 
 When here we meet again.' 
 He waited not for answer there. 
 And would not mark the maid's despair. 
 
 Nor heed tlie discontented look 
 Prom either squire, but spurred amain. 
 And, dashing through the battle-plain, 
 
 His way to Surrey took. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 ' The good Lord Marraion, by my life ! 
 
 Welcome to danger's hour ! — 
 Short greeting serves in time of strife. — 
 
 Thus have I ranged my power: 
 Myself will rule this central host, 
 Stout Stanley fronts their right. 
 My sons command the vaward post, 
 With Brian Tunstall, stainless knight ; 
 Lord Dacre, with his horsemen light, 
 Shall be in rearward of the fight. 
 And succor those that need it most. 
 Now, gallant Marmion, well I know, 
 Woidci gladly to the vanguard go ; 
 Edmund, the Admiral, Tunstall there. 
 With thee their charge will blithely share ; 
 There fight thine own retainers too 
 Beneath De Burg, thy steward true.' 
 ' Thanks, noble Surrey ! ' Marmion said.
 
 THE BATTLE. 295 
 
 Nor fuvtliev greeting tlieve lie paid, 
 But, parting" like a tliunderbolt. 
 First in the vanguard made a halt, 
 
 Where sufh a sliout there rose 
 Of ' Marniiuu ! Marniion ! ' that tlie cry, 
 Up Flodden mountain shrilling high, 
 
 Startled the Scottish foes. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Blount and Fitz-Eustacc rested still 
 With Lady Clare upon the hill, 
 On which — for far the day was spent — 
 The Avestern sunbeams now were bent ; 
 The cry they heard, its meaning knew. 
 Could plain their distant comrades view 
 Sadly to Blount did Eustace say, 
 ' Unworthy office here to stav ! 
 No hope of gilded spurs to-day. — 
 But see ! look up — on Flodden bent 
 The Scottish foe has fired his tent.' 
 
 And sudden, as he spoke. 
 From the sharp ridges of the hill, 
 All downward to tlie banks of Till, 
 
 Was wreathed in sable smoke. 
 Voluraed and vast, and rolling far, 
 The cloud enveloped Scotland's war 
 
 As down the hill they broke ; 
 Nor martial shout, nor minsti'cl tone,
 
 296 MARMION. 
 
 Announced their march ; their tread alone, 
 At times one warning trumpet blown, 
 
 At times a stifled hum. 
 Told England, from his mountain-throne 
 
 Kins: James did rushing come. 
 Scarce could they hear or see their foes 
 Until at weapon -point they close. — 
 They close in clouds of smoke and dust, 
 With sword-sway and Avith lance's thrust ; 
 
 And such a yell Avas there, 
 Of sudden and portentous birth, 
 As if men fought upon the earth. 
 
 And fiends in upper air ; 
 Oh ! life and death were in the shout, 
 Kecoil and rally, charge and rout, 
 
 And triumph and despair. 
 Long looked the anxious squires ; their eye 
 Coidd in the darkness nought descry. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 At length the freshening western blast 
 Aside the shroud of battle cast ; 
 And first the ridge of mingled spears 
 Above the brightening cloud appears, 
 And in the smoke the pennons flew. 
 As in the storm the Avhite seamcAv. 
 Then marked they, dashing broad and far, 
 The broken billows of the war.
 
 THE BATTLE. 297 
 
 And plumed crests of clilcftaiiis brave 
 Floidiiig' like foam u})Oii the wave ; 
 
 l?ut nought distinct they see : 
 Wide raged the battle on the plain ; 
 Spears shook and falchions flashed amain ; 
 Fell England's arrow-flight like rain ; 
 Crests rose, and stooped, and rose again, 
 
 Wild and disorderly. 
 Amid the scene of tumult, high 
 They saw Lord Marmion's falcon fly ; 
 And stainless Tunstall's banner veliite, 
 And Edmund Howard's lion bright, 
 Still bear them bravely in the fight, 
 
 Although against them come 
 Of gallant Gordons many a one. 
 And many a stubborn Badenoch-man, 
 And many a rugged Border clan, 
 
 With Huntlv and with Home. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Far on the left, unseen the while, 
 Stanley broke Lennox and Argyle, 
 Though there the western mountaineer 
 Rushed with bare bosom on the spear, 
 And flung the feeble targe aside, 
 And with both hands the broadsword plied. 
 'T was vain. — ■ But Fortune, on the right. 
 With fickle smile cheered Scotland's fight.
 
 298 HARM I ON. 
 
 Then fell that spotless banner white, 
 
 The Howard's lion fell ; 
 Yet still Lord Marrnion's falcon flew 
 With wavering- flight, Avhile fiercer grew 
 
 Around the battle-yell. 
 The Border slogan rent the sky ! 
 A Home ! a Gordon ! was the cry : 
 
 Loud were the clanging blows ; 
 Advanced, — forced back, — now low, now high, 
 
 The pennon sunk and rose ; 
 As bends the bark's mast in the gale, 
 When rent are rigging, shrouds, and sail, 
 
 It wavered mid the foes. 
 No longer Blount the view could bear : 
 ' By heaven and all its saints ! I swear 
 
 I will not see it lost ! 
 Fitz-Eustace, you with Lady Clare 
 May bid your beads and patter prayer, — 
 
 I gallop to the host.' 
 And to the fray he rode amain, 
 Followed by all the archer train. 
 The fiery youth, with desperate charge. 
 Made for a space an opening large, — 
 
 The rescued banner rose, — 
 But darkly closed the war around. 
 Like pine-tree rooted from the ground 
 
 It sank among the foes. 
 Then Eustace mounted too, — yet stayed. 
 As loath to leave the helpless maid. 
 
 When, fast as shaft can fly.
 
 THE BATTLE. 
 
 299 
 
 Bloodshot his oyos, liis nostrils spiT.ad, 
 The loose rein diuiiilinf^- from his head, 
 Housing and saddle bloody red, 
 Lord Marmion's steed rushed by ; 
 
 And Eustace, raaddening; at the sight, 
 A look and sign to Clara cast 
 To mark he would return in haste, 
 
 Then plunged into the fight.
 
 300 MARMION. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Ask me not what the maiden feels, 
 Left in that dreadful honr alone : 
 
 Perchance her reason stoops or reels ; 
 Perchance a courage, not her own. 
 Braces her mind to desperate tone. — 
 
 The scattered van of England wheels ; — 
 She only said, as loud in air 
 The tumult roared, ' Is Wilton there ? ' — 
 Tiiey fly, or, maddened by despair, 
 Pight but to die, — ' Is Wilton there ? ' 
 
 With that, straight up the hill there rode 
 Two horsemen drenched with core. 
 
 And in their arms, a helpless load, 
 A wounded knight they bore. 
 
 His hand still strained the broken brand ; 
 
 His arms were smeared with blood and sand. 
 
 Dragged from among the horses' feet. 
 
 With dinted shield and helmet beat, 
 
 The falcon-crest and plumage gone. 
 
 Can that be haughty Marmion ! . . . 
 
 Young Blount his armor did unlace, 
 
 And, gazing on his ghastly face. 
 Said, ' By Saint George, he 's gone ! 
 
 That spear-wound has our master sped, 
 
 And see the deep cut on his head 1 
 Good-night to Marmion.' — 
 
 ' Unnurtured Blount ! thy brawling cease : 
 
 He opes his eyes,' said Eustace ; ' peace ! '
 
 THE BATTLE. 3U1 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 When, doffed his casque, lie felt free air, 
 
 Around gan Mariniou wihlly stare : 
 
 ' Where 's Harry Blount ? Fitz-Eustace where ? 
 
 Linger ye here, ye hearts of liarc ! 
 
 Redeem my pennon, — charge again ! 
 
 Cry, " Marmion to the rescue ! " — Vain ! 
 
 Last of my race, on battle-plain 
 
 That shout shall ne'er be heard again ! — 
 
 Yet my last thought is England's — Hy, 
 To Dacrc bear my signet-ring ; 
 Tell him his squadrons up to bring. — 
 
 Eitz-Eustace, to Lord Surrey hie : 
 Tunstall lies dead upon the field, 
 His lifeblood stains the spotless shield ; 
 Edmund is down ; my life is reft ; 
 The Admiral alone is left. 
 Let Stanley charge with spur of fire, — 
 With Chester charge, and Lancashire, 
 Eull upon Scotland's central host. 
 Or victory and England 's lost. — 
 Must I bid twice ? — heucc, varlets ! fly ! — 
 Leave Marmion here alouc — to die.' 
 They parted, and alone he lay ; 
 Clare drew her from the sight away. 
 
 Till pain wrung forth a lowly moan, 
 
 And half he murmured, ' Is there none 
 Of all my halls have nurst. 
 
 Page, squire, or groom, one cup to bring
 
 303 MARMION. 
 
 Of blessed water from the spring, 
 To slake my dying thirst ! ' 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Woman ! in our hours of ease 
 
 Uncertain, co}^ and hard to please. 
 
 And variable as the shade 
 
 By the light quivering aspeu made ; 
 
 When pain and anguish wring the brow, 
 
 A ministering angel thou ! — 
 
 Scarce were the piteous accents said, 
 
 When with the baron's casque the maid 
 
 • To the nigh streamlet ran : 
 
 Forgot were hatred, wrongs, and fears ; 
 
 The plaintive voice alone she hears, 
 
 Sees but the dying man. 
 She stooped her by the runnel's side. 
 
 But in abliorrence backward drew; 
 For, oozing from the mountain's side 
 Where raged the war, a dark-red tide 
 
 Was curdling in the streamlet blue. 
 Where shall she turn ? — behold her mark 
 
 A little fountain cell. 
 Where water, clear as diamond-spark. 
 
 In a stone basin fell. 
 Above, some half-worn letters say, 
 IDrtnlv. torarg. pilflvim. Urink. nnB. iirag. 
 Sax. tijc. lunD. soul. of. Sibyl. (Srru. 
 
 fflHi)0. tuilt. tl)is. cross, anti. bjcll. 
 She filled the helm and back she hied.
 
 THE BATTLE. 303 
 
 And with surprise and joy espied 
 
 A monk supporting; MaTuiion's head ; 
 
 A pious man, whom duty brought 
 
 To dubious verge of battle fought, 
 To shrieve the dying, bless the dead. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Deep drank Lord Marmion of the wave, 
 And, as she stooped his brow to lave — 
 ' Is it the hand of Clare,' he said, 
 ' Or injured Constance, bathes my head ? ' 
 
 Then, as remembrance I'ose, — 
 ' Speak not to me of shrift or prayer ! 
 
 I must redress her woes. 
 Short space, few words, are mine to spare ; 
 Forgive and listen, gentle Clare ! ' — 
 
 ' Alas ! ' she said, ' the while, — 
 Oh ! think of your immortal weal ! 
 In vain for Constance is your zeal ; 
 
 She — died at Holy Isle.' — 
 Lord Marmion started from the ground 
 As light as if he felt no wound, 
 Though in the action burst the tide 
 In torrents from his wounded side. 
 ' Then it was truth,' he said — ' I knew 
 That the dark presage must be true. — 
 I would the Fiend, to whom belongs 
 The vengeance due to all her wrongs. 
 
 Would spare me but a day !
 
 a04 MARMION. 
 
 Por wasting fire, and dying" groan, 
 And priests slain on tlie altar stone, 
 
 Might bribe hira for delay. 
 It may not be ! — this dizzy trance — 
 Curse on yon base marauder's lance, 
 And doubly cursed my failing brand ! 
 A sinful heart makes feeble hand.' 
 Then fainting down on earth he sunk, 
 Supported by the trembling monk. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 With fruitless labor Clara bound 
 
 And strove to stanch the gushing wound ; 
 
 The monk with unavailing cares 
 
 Exhausted all the Church's prayers. 
 
 Ever, he said, that, close and near, 
 
 A lady's voice was in his ear, 
 
 And that the priest he could not hear ; 
 
 For that she ever sung, 
 ' In the lost battle, borne down by the flying, 
 Where mingles war's rattle with groans of the dying ! ' 
 
 So the notes rung. — 
 ' Avoid thee, Piend ! — with cruel hand 
 Shake not the dying sinner's sand ! — 
 Oh ! look, my son, upon yon sign 
 Of the Redeemer's grace divine ; 
 
 Oh ! think on faith and bliss ! — 
 By many a death-bed I have been, 
 And many a sinner's parting seen,
 
 306 MARMION. 
 
 But never auglit like this.' — 
 The war, that for a space did fail, 
 Now trebly thundering swelled the gale. 
 
 And ' Stanley ! ' was the cry. — 
 A light on Marmion's visage spread, 
 
 And tired his glazing eye ; 
 With dying hand above his head 
 He shook the fragment of his blade. 
 
 And shouted ' Victory ! — 
 Charge, Chester, charge ! On, Stanley, on ! ' 
 ' Were the last words of Marraion. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 By this, though deep the evening fell, 
 Still rose the battle's deadly swell. 
 For still the Scots around their king, 
 Unbroken, fought in desperate ring. 
 Where 's now their victor vaward wing. 
 
 Where Huntly, and where Home ? — 
 Oh ! for a blast of that dread horn. 
 On Fontarabian echoes borne, 
 
 That to King Charles did come. 
 When Eowland brave, and Olivier, 
 And every paladin and peer. 
 
 On Roncesvalles died ! 
 Such blasts might warn them, not in vain, 
 To quit the plundijr of the slain 
 And turn the doubtful day again. 
 
 While yet on Flodden side 
 Afar the Eoyal Standard flies,
 
 THE BATTLE. 307 
 
 And roniid it toils .and hlccds and dies 
 
 Our Caledonian pride ! 
 In vain the wish — for far away, 
 While spoil and havoc mark their way, 
 Near Sibyl's Cross the plunderers stray. — 
 • lady,' cried the monk, ' away ! ' 
 
 And placed her on her steed. 
 And led her to the chapel fair 
 
 Of Tilraouth upon Tweed. 
 There all the night they spent in prayer. 
 And at the dawn of morning there 
 She met her kinsman, Lord Fitz-Clare. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 But as they left the darkening heath 
 More desperate grew the strife of death. 
 The English shafts in volleys hailed. 
 In headlong charge their horse assailed ; 
 Front, flank, and rear, the squadrons sweep 
 To break the Scottish circle deep 
 
 That fought around their king. 
 But yet, though thick the shafts as snow. 
 Though charging knights like whirlwinds go. 
 Though billmen ply the ghastly blow, 
 
 Unbroken was the ring ; 
 The stubborn spearmen still made good 
 Their dark impenetrable Avood, 
 Each stepping where his comrade stood 
 
 The instant that he fell.
 
 308 MARMION. 
 
 No thought was there of dastard flight ; 
 Linked in the serried phalanx tight, 
 Groom fought like noble, squire like knight. 
 
 As fearlessly and well, 
 Till utter darkness closed her wina: 
 O'er their thin host and wounded king. 
 Then skilful Surrey's sage commands 
 Led back from strife his shattered bands ; 
 
 And from the charge they drew, 
 As mountain- waves from wasted lands 
 
 Sweep back to ocean blue. 
 Then did their loss his foemen know ; 
 Their king, their lords, their mightiest low. 
 They melted from the field, as snow, 
 When streams are swoln and south winds blow. 
 
 Dissolves in silent dew. 
 Tweed's echoes heard the ceaseless plash. 
 
 While many a broken band 
 Disordered through her currents dash. 
 
 To gain the Scottish land ; 
 To town and tower, to down and dale, 
 To tell red Plodden's dismal tale. 
 And raise the universal wail. 
 Tradition, legend, tune, and song 
 Shall many an age that Avail prolong ; 
 Still from the sire the son shall hear 
 Of the stern strife and carnage drear 
 
 Of Flodden's fatal field. 
 Where shivered was fair Scotland's spear 
 And broken was her shield !
 
 THE BATTLE. 309 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Day dawns upon the mountain's side, — 
 There, Scotland ! lay thy bravest pride, 
 Chiefs, knights, and nohles, many a one ; 
 Tlie sad survivors all are gone. — 
 View not that corpse nustrustfuliy, 
 Defaced and mangled though it be ; 
 Nor to yon Border castle high 
 Look northward with upbraiding eye ; 
 
 Nor cherish hope in vain 
 That, journeying far on foreign strand. 
 The Koyal Pilgrim to his laud 
 
 May yet return again. 
 He saw the wreck his rashness wrought ; 
 Reckless of life, he desperate fought, 
 
 And fell on Flodden plain : 
 And well in death his trusty brand, 
 Firm clenched Avithin his manly hand, 
 
 Beseemed the monarcli slain. 
 But oh ! how changed since yon blithe night ! — 
 Gladly I turn me from the sight 
 
 Unto my tale again. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Short is my tale : — Fitz-Eustace' care 
 A pierced and mangled body bare 
 To moated Lichfield's lofty pile ; 
 And there, beneath the southern aisle, 
 A tomb with Gothic sculpture fair
 
 310 MARMION. 
 
 Did long Lord Marmioii's image bear. — 
 Now vainly ibr its site yon look ; 
 'T was levelled when fanatic Brook 
 The fair cathedral stormed and took, 
 But, thanks to Heaven and good Saint Chad, 
 A guerdon meet the spoiler had ! — 
 There erst was martial Marmion found, 
 His feet upon a couchant hound, 
 
 His hands to heaven upraised ; 
 And all around, on scutcheon rich, 
 And tablet carved, and fretted niche, 
 
 His arms and feats were blazed. 
 And yet, though all was carved so fair, 
 And priest for Marmion breathed the prayer, 
 The last Lord Marmion lay not there. 
 Prom Ettrick woods a peasant swain 
 Followed his lord to Flodden plain, — 
 One of those flowers whom plaintive lay 
 In Scotland mourns as ' wede away : ' 
 Sore wounded, Sibyl's Cross he spied. 
 And dragged him to its foot, and died 
 Close by the noble Marmion's side. 
 The spoilers stripped and gashed the slain, 
 And thus their corpses were mista'en ; 
 And thus in the proud baron's tomb 
 The lowly woodsman took the room. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 Less easy task it were to show 
 
 Lord Marmion's nameless grave and low.
 
 THE BATTLE. 
 
 ail 
 
 They clu^ his grave e'en where he lay, 
 
 But every mark is g-one : 
 Time's Avasting hand has done away 
 The simple Cross of Sibyl Grey, 
 
 And broke her font of stone ;
 
 313 MARMION. 
 
 But yet from out the little hill 
 Oozes the slender springlet still. 
 
 Oft halts the stranger there, 
 For thence may best his curious eye 
 The memorable field descry ; 
 
 And shepherd boys repair 
 To seek the water-flag- and rush, 
 And rest them by the hazel bush, 
 
 And plait their garlands fair, 
 Nor dream they sit upon the grave 
 That holds the bones of Marmion brave. — 
 When thou shalt find the little hill, 
 "With thy heart commune and be still. 
 If ever in temptation strong 
 Thou left'st the right path for the wrong, 
 If every devious step thus trod 
 Still led thee further from the road, 
 Dread thou to speak presmnptuous doom 
 On noble Marmion's lowly tomb ; 
 But say, ' He died a gallant knight. 
 With sword in hand, for England's right.' 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 I do not rhyme to that dull elf 
 
 Who cannot image to himself 
 
 That all through Flodden's dismal night 
 
 Wilton was foremost in the fight, 
 
 That when brave Surrey's steed was slain 
 
 'T was Wilton mounted him again ;
 
 THE BATTLE. 313 
 
 'T was Wilton's brand that deepest hewed 
 
 Amid the spearmen's stubborn wood : 
 
 Unnamed by Holinshcd or Hall, 
 
 Ho was the livinj;' soul of all ; 
 
 That, after fight, his faith made plain, 
 
 He won his rank and lands again, 
 
 And charged his old paternal shield 
 
 With bearings won on Flodden Field. 
 
 Nor sing I to that simple maid 
 
 To whom it must in terms be said 
 
 That king and kinsmen did agree 
 
 To bless fair Clara's constaney ; 
 
 Who cannot, unless I relate, 
 
 Paint to her mind the bridal's state, — 
 
 Tliat Wolsey's voice the blessing spoke. 
 
 More, Sands, and Denny, passed the joke ; 
 
 That bluff King Hal the curtain drew, 
 
 And Katherine's hand the stocking threw; 
 
 And afterwards, for many a day. 
 
 That it was held enough to say. 
 
 In blessing to a wedded pair, 
 
 ' Love they like Wilton and like Clare ! '
 
 L'ENVOY. 
 
 TO THE READER. 
 
 Why tlien a final note prolong, 
 
 Or lengthen out a closing song, 
 
 Unless to bid the gentles speed, 
 
 Who long have listetl to ray rede ? 
 
 To statesmen grave, if such may deign 
 
 To read the minstrel's idle strain, 
 
 Sound liead, clean hand, and piercing wit, 
 
 And patriotic heart — as Pitt ! 
 
 A garland for the hero's crest, 
 
 And twined by her he loves the best ! 
 
 To every lovely lady bright. 
 
 What can T wish but faithful knight ? 
 
 To every faithful lover too, 
 
 Wliat can I wish but ladv true ? 
 
 And knowledge to the studious sage. 
 
 And pillow soft to head of age ! 
 
 To thee, dear school-boy, whom my lay 
 
 Has cheated of thy hour of play, 
 
 Light task and merry holiday ! 
 
 To all, to each, a fair good-night, 
 
 And pleasing dreams, and slumbers light !
 
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