"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, but never tone
So thrilled through vein, and nerve, and bone:- My mother sent me from afar,
Sir king, to warn thee not to war,- Wo 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 To stop him as he outward past; But, lighter than the whirlwind's blast He vanished from our eyes, Like sunbeam on the billow cast, That glances but, and dies."- XVIII.
While Lindesay told this marvel strange, The twilight was so pale,
He marked not Marmion's colour 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 super-human 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 Tweed, What much has changed my sceptic creed, And made me credit aught."-He staid, 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,
"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 !
Full on his face the moonbeam strook,- A face could never be mistook! I knew the stern vindictive look, And held my breath for awe.
I saw the face of one who, fled To foreign climes, has long been dead,- I well believe the last;
For ne'er, from visor raised, did stare A human warrior, with 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 sheath; And, on his courser mounting light, He seemed to vanish from my sight: The moonbeam drooped, and deepest night Sunk down upon the heath.-
Twere 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 hap'd of old,
When once, near Norham, there did fight A spectre fell, of fiendish might, In likeness of a Scottish knight,
With Brian Bulmer bold, And trained him nigh to disallow The aid of his baptismal vow.
"And such a phantom too, 'tis said,
With highland broad-sword, targe, and plaid, And fingers red with gore, Is seen in Rothiemurchus' glade, Or where the sable pine-trees shade Dark Tomantoul, and Achnaslaid, Dromouchty, or Glenmore.* And yet, what'er such legends say, Of warlike demon, host, or fay,
On mountain, moor, or plain, Spotless in faith, in bosom bold, True son of chivalry should hold
These midnight terrors vain; For seldom have such spirits power To harm, save in the evil hour, When guilt we meditate within, Or harbour unrepented 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 farther converse staid,
Each ordering that his band
Should bowne them with the rising day, To Scotland's camp to take their way,- Such was the king's command.
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 path to me unknown.
Much might it boast of storied lore; But, passing 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, until 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 1 lay at rest,
While rose, on breezes thin, The murmur of the city crowd, And, from his steeple jangling loud, Saint Giles's mingling din- Now, from the summit of 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:
See the traditions concerning Bulmer, and the spectre called Lham-dearg, or Bloody-hand, in note 8, on canto
To me they make a heavy moan Of early friendships past and gone. XXV.
But different far the change has been, Since Marmion, from the crown Of Blackford, saw that martial scene Upon the bent so brown:
Thousand pavilions, white as snow, Spread all the Borough-moor below, 10 Upland, and dale, and down:- A thousand did I say? I ween, Thousands on thousands there were seen, That chequered all the heath between The streamlet 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 Hebudes, dark with rain, To eastern Lodon's fertile plain, And from the southern Redswire edge To farthest Rosse's rocky ledge; From west to east, from south to north, Scotland sent all her warriors forth. Marmion might hear the mingled hum Of myriads up the mountain come; The horses' tramp, and tingling clank Where chiefs reviewed their vassal rank,
And charger's shrilling neigh;
And see the shifting lines advance, While frequent flashed, from shield and lance, The sun's reflected ray.
Thin curling in the morning air,
The wreathes of falling smoke declare
To embers now the brands decayed,
Where the night-watch their fires had made. They saw, slow rolling on the plain,
Full many a baggage-cart and wain, And dire artillery's clumsy car,
By sluggish oxen tugged to war;
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.
Nor marked they less, where in the air A thousand streamers flaunted fair;
Various in shape, device, and hue, Green, sanguine, purple, red, and blue, Broad, narrow, swallow-tailed, and square, Scroll, pennon, pensil, bandrol,† there O'er the pavilions flew.11 Highest and midmost, was descried The royal banner floating wide;
The staff 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 the dazzling field, Where, in proud Scotland's royal shield, The ruddy lion ramped in gold.12
Seven culverins, so called, cast by one Borthwick. + Each of these feudal ensigns intimated the different rank of those entitled to display them.
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 St. George, were that host mine, Not power infernal, nor divine, Should once to peace my soul incline, Till I had dimmed their armour's shine
In glorious battle-fray!" Answered the bard, of milder mood: "Fair is the sight, and yet 'twere good, That kings would think withal,
When peace and wealth their land has blessed, Tis better to sit still at rest,
Than rise, perchance to fall."
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 splendour 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, Mine own romantic town!
But northward far, with purer blaze, On Ochil mountains fell the rays, And, as each heathy top they kissed, It gleamed a purple amethyst.
fonder the shores of Fife you saw; Here Preston-bay, and Berwick-law; And, broad between them rolled, The gallant Frith the eye might note, Whose 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 bridal-hand,
And, making demi-vault in air,
And thus the lion spoke:
"Thus clamoured still the war-notes when The king to mass his way has ta'en, Or to St. Chatherine's of Sienne,
Or chapel of St. Rocque. To you they speak of martial fame; But me remind of peaceful game,
When blither was their cheer, Thrilling in Falkland woods the air, In signal none his steed should spare, But strive which foremost might repair To the downfall of the deer.
XXXII. "Nor less," he said," when looking forth, 1 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 wo 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 sack and fires to guard Dun-Edin's leaguered wall.
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;
For 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 make 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.
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,
Cried, "Where's the coward that would not dare Like patron on a needy bard;
To fight for such a land!"
The lion smiled his joy to see;
Ner 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 the sky, Making wild music bold and high, Did up the mountain come;
The whilst the bells, with distant chime, Merrily tolled the hour of prime,
When sylvan occupation's done, And o'er the chimney rests the gun, And hang, in idle trophy, near, The game-pouch, fishing-rod, and spear; When wiry terrier, rough and grim, And greyhound, with his length of limb, And pointer, now employed no more, Cumber our parlour's narrow floor; When in his stall the impatient steed Is long condemned to rest and feed; When from our snow-encircled home, Scarce cares the hardiest step to roam, Since path is none, save that to bring The needful water from the spring;
When wrinkled news-page, thrice conn'd o'er, Beguiles the dreary hour no more, And darkling politician, crossed, Inveighs against the lingering post, And answering housewife sore complains Of carrier's snow-impeded wains: When such the country cheer, I come, Well pleased, to seek our city home; For 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,1 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, Save at each tall embattled port; Above whose arch, suspended, hung Portcullis spiked with 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! O, how altered now, When safe amid thy mountain court Thou sit'st, like empress at her sport, And, liberal, unconfined, and free, Flinging thy white arms to the sea,2 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,t She gave to flow her maiden vest; When from the corslet's grasp relieved, Free to the sight her bosom heaved; Sweet was her blue eye's modest smile, Erst hidden by the aventayle;
And down her shoulders graceful rolled Her locks profuse, of paly gold. They who whilome, in midnight fight, Had marvelled at her matchless might, No less her maiden charms approved, But looking liked, and liking loved.‡ The sight could jealous pangs beguile, And charm Malbecco's cares awhile; And he, 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 Paridel advance, Bold as he was, a looser glance.-
She charmed, at once, and tamed the heart, Incomparable Britomarte!
See Introduction to Canto II.
+ See "The Fairy Queen," Book III, Canto IX. "For every one her liked, and every one her loved." Spencer, as above.
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 burghers rose to man thy wall, Than now, in danger, shall be thine, Thy dauntless voluntary line;
For fosse and turret proud to stand, Their breasts the bulwarks of the 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, Renowned for hospitable 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 fight for the good town, Destined in every age to be Refuge of injured royalty;
Since first, when conquering York arose, To Henry meek she gave repose,3 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, 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 Beauclerc 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?- O! 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,
Nor less the dullest theme bid flit On wings of unexpected wit; In letters, as in life, approved, Example honoured, 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, O! 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 Achievements on the storied pane, Irregularly traced and planned, But 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.
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 such weapons wrought; And little deemed their force to feel Through links of mail, and plates of steel, When, rattling upon Floden vale, The cloth-yard arrows flew like hail.5 II.
Nor less did Marmion's skilful view Glance every line and squadron through; 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 and 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 curvett, 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,7 For visor they wore none,
Nor waving plume, nor crest of knight; But burnished were their corslets 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 weight, And bucklers bright they bore. III. 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 cross-bow there, a hagbut here, A dagger-knife, and brand- Sober he seemed, and sad of cheer, As loth 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 eager mood to battle came,
Their valour like light straw on flame,
A fierce but fading fire.
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; Nor harp, nor pipe, his ear could please, Like the 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 Marmion'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'll homeward ride O! could we but, on border side, By Eusdale 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."
Next, Marmion marked the Celtic race Of different language, form, and face,
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