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For none were in the castle then
The palmer, his mysterious guide,
Sought to take leave in vain :
Should sever from the train :
Where Critchtoun-castle crowns the bank; For there the lion's care assign'd
A lodging meet for Marmion's rank.
Of the green vale of Tyne ;
You hear her streams repine.
The builders' various hands;
But pens the lazy steer and sheep,
Thy turrets rude and totter'd keep Have been the minstrel's loved resort. Oft have I traced, within thy fort,
Of mouldering shields the mystic sense,
Scutcheons of honour, or pretence, Quarter'd in old armorial sort,
Remains of rude magnificence.
Thy lordly gallery fair ;
Adorn thy ruin'd stair.
Their pointed diamond form,
To shield them from the storm.
Where oft whilome were captives pent,
Or, from thy grass-grown battlement,
With every rite that honour claims,
Such the command of royal James, Who marshall'd them his lands 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 Train'd in the lore of Rome and Greece, And policies of war and peace.
That on the battlement they walk'd, And, by the slowly fading light,
On varying topics talk'd;
In travelling so far ;
Against the English war:
XV. SIR DAVID LINDESAY'S TALE. “Of all the palaces so fair,
Built for the royal dwelling,
Linlithgow is excelling;
How blitbe the blackbird's lay!
To see all nature gay.
* The pit, or prison vault.
* An ancient word for the cry of deer.
Too well his cause of grief you know,
But, lighter than the whirlwind's blast June saw his father's overthrow.
He vanish'd from our eyes, Wo to the traitors who could bring
Like sunbeam on the billow cast,
That glances but, and dies.”
While Lindesay told this marvel strange, XVI.
The twilight was so pale,
He mark'd not Marmion's colour change, “ When last this ruthful month was come,
While listening to the tale :
But, after a suspended pause,
The baron spoke :_“Of nature's laws
So strong I held the force, The chanters sung, the bells did toll,
That never superhuman cause The bishop mass was saying
Could e'er control their course; For now the year brought round again
And, three days since, had judged your aim The day the luckless king was slain
Was but to make your guest your game. In Katharine's aisle the monarch knelt,
But I have seen, since past the Tweed, With sackcloth shirt, and iron belt,
What much has changed my skeptic creed, And eyes with sorrow streaming;
And made me credit aught."--He staid, Around him, in their stalls of state,
And seem'd to wish his words unsaid: The thistle's knight-companions sate,
But, by that strong emotion press'd, Their banners o'er them beaming.
Which prompts us to unload our breast, 1, too, was there, and, sooth to tell,
E’en when discovery's pain, Bedeafend with the jingling knell,
To Lindesay did at length unfold Was watching where the sunbeams fell,
The tale his village host had told Through the staind casement gleaming;
At Gifford, to his train. But, while I mark'd what next befell,
Naught of the palmer says he there, It seem'd as I were dreaming.
And naught of Constance or of Clare: Stepp'd from the crowd a ghostly wight,
The thoughts which broke his sleep, he seerns In azure gown, with cincture white,
To mention but as feverish dreams.
“ In vain,” said he, " to rest I spread I pledge to you my knightly word, That, when I saw his placid grace,
My burning limbs, and couch'd my head: His simple majesty of face,
Fantastic thoughts return'd; His solemn bearing, and his pace
And, by their wild dominion led, So stately gliding on,
My heart within me burn'd. Seem'd to me ne'er did limner paint
So sore was the delirious goad, So just an image of the saint
I took my steed and forth I rode, Who propp'd the virgin in her faint,
And, as the moon shone bright and cold, The loved apostle John.
Soon reach'd the camp upon the wold.
The southern entrance I past through,
And halted, and my bugle blew. “ He stepp'd before the monarch's chair,
Methought an answer met my ear, And stood with rustic plainness there,
Yet was the blast so low and drear, And little reverence made;
So hollow, and so faintly blown,
It might be echo of my own.
“ Thus judging, for a little space So thrilld through vein, and nerve, and bone :- I listen'd, ere I left the place; My mother sent me from afar,
But scarce could trust my eyes, Sir king, to warn thee not to war,
Nor yet can think they served me true Wo waits on thine array ;
When sudden in the ring I view, If war thou wilt, of woman fair,
In form distinct of shape and hue, Her witching wiles and wanton snare,
A mounted champion rise.James Stuart, doubly warn'd beware:
I've fought, lord lion, many a day, God keep thee as he may !
In single fight and mix'd affray, The wondering monarch seem'd to seek
And ever, I myself may say, For answer, and found none;
Have borne me as a knight; And when he raised his head to speak,
But when this unexpected foe The monitor was gone.
Seem'd starting from the gulf below,The marshall and myself had cast
I care not though the truth I show, To stop him as he outward past;
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.
When guilt we meditate within,
Then press'd Sir David's hand, -
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.
XXI. Why need my tongue the issue tell? We ran our course,-my charger fell, What could he 'gainst the shock of hell ?
I roll'd upon the plain.
Yet did the worst remain :
Their sight like what I saw!
And held my breath for awe.
I well believe the last;
So grimly and so ghast.
He plunged it in his sheath; And, on his courser mounting light, He seem'd to vanish from my sight: The moonbeamn droop'd, and deepest night
Sunk down upon the heath."Twere long to tell what cause I have
To know his face that met me there,
To cumber upper air;
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 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 pass'd the glen and scanty rill, And climb'd the opposing bank, until They gain'd the top of Blackford Hill.
XXIV. Blackford! on whose upcultured breast,
Among the broom, and thorn, and whin,
While rose, on breezes ihin,
Saint Gılc's mingling din--
And, o'er the lanscape as I look,
Save the rude cliff's and chiming brook: To me they make a heavy moan Of early friendships past and gone.
Marvell’d Sir David of the mount;
Such chance had hap'd of old,
With Brian Bulmer bold,
And fingers red with gore,
Dromouchty, or Glenmore.
On mountain, moor, or plain,
These midnight terrors vain;
Since Marmion, from the crown
Upon the bent so brown:
Upland, and dale, and down :A thousand did I say? I ween, Thousand on thousands there were seen, That checker'd 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,
Answer'd the bard, of milder mood :
That kings would think withal, When peace and wealth their land has bless'd, 'Tis better to sit still at rest,
Than rise, perchance, to fall.”
And from the southern Redswire edge
And charger's shrilling neigh;
Various in shape, device, and hue,
Green, sanguine, purple, red, and blue,
O'er the pavilions Rew.
Pitch'd deeply in a massive stone,
Which still in memory is shown, Yet bent beneath the standard's weight, Whene'er the western wind unrolla, With toil, the huge and cumbrous fold,
And gave to view the dazzling field,
Where, in proud Scotland's royal shield, The ruddy lion ramp'd in gold.
Until within him burn'd his heart,
As on the battle-day;
When stooping on his prey.
Were but a vain essay;
In glorious battle-fray !"
When sated with the martial show
With gloomy splendour red;
The morning beams were shed,
And all the steep slope down,
Mine own romantic town!
Yonder the shores of Fife you saw;
And, broad between them rollid,
Like emeralds chased in gold.
As if to give his rapture vent,
And raised his bridal hand,
To fight for such a land!”
And tife, and kettle-drum,
Did up the mountain come:
And thus the lion spoke:-
Or chapel of St. Rocque.
When blither was their cheer,
Seven culverins, so calle-1, cast by one Borthwick. + Each of these feudal ensigas intimated the different rank of those entitled to display them.
Thrilling in Falkland woods the air,
To tbe downfall of the deer.
XXXII. “ Nor less,” he said, “when looking forth, I view yon empress of the north
Sit on her billy throne;
Nor less,” he said, “ I moan
Or, with their larum, call
Dun-Edin's leaguer'd wall.-
Lord Marmion, I say nay:
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;
Led on by such a king."
And there they make a stay.-
In the succeeding lay.
When wrinkled news-page, thrice-conn'd o'er,
Not here need my desponding rhyme
Not she, the championess of old,
INTRODUCTION TO CANTO V.
TO GEORGE ELLIS, ESQ.
Edinburgh. 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 trophy, near, The game pouch, fishing-rod, and spear ; When wiry terrier, rough and grim, And greyhound, with bis length of limb, And pointer, now employ'd no more, Cumber our parlour's narrow foor ; When in his stall the impatient steed Is long condemn'd to rest and feed; When from our snow-éncircled home, Scarce cares the hardiest step to roam, Since path is none, save that to bring The needful water fom the spring;
* See Introduction to Canto II + See“ The Fairy Queen," Book III., Canto IX. “For every one her liked, and every one her loved."
Spenser, as above