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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 charm’d, at once, and tamed the heart,
Incomparable Britomarte !

So thou, fair city! disarray'd
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, the 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, train'd 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,
Renown'd for hospitable deed,
That virtue much with heaven may plead,
In patriarchal times whose care
Descending angels deign'd 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,
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,
Then 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 call'd, for that he loved
The minstrel, and bis lay approved ?
Who shall these .mgering notes redeem,
Decaying on oblivion's stream;
Such notes as from the Breton tongue
Marie translated, Blondal sung ?-

0! 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, seviving in bis strain,
The gentle poet live again ;
Thou, who canst give to lightest lay
An un pedantic moral gay,
Nor less the dullest theme bid flit
On wings of unexpected wit;
In letters, as in life, approved,
Example honour'd, 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 repitition, 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,
Irreguisrly traced and plann'd,
But yet so glowing and so grand,
So shall he strive, in changeful hue,
Field, feast, and combat, to renew,
And loves, and arm, 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;

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 pass'd by,
Look'd on, at first, with careless eye,
Nor marvell’daught, well taught to know
The form and force of English bow.

But when they saw the lord array'd
In splendid arms, and rich brocade,
Each borderer to his kinsman said,

“ Hist, Ringan! seest thou there! Capst guess which road they'll homeward ride. 0! 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.”

And little deem'd their force to feel
Through links of mail, and plates of steel,
When, rattling upon Flodden vale,
The cloth-yard arrows flew like hail.

Nor less did Marmion's skilful view
Glance every line and squadron through ;
And much he marvellid 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 croup to gain,
And high curvett, that none in vain
The sword-sway might descend amain

On foeman's casque below.
He saw the hardy burghers there
March arm’d, on foot, with faces bare,

For visor they wore none,
Nor waving plume, nor crest of knight;
But burnish'd 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.

On foot the yeomen, too, but dress'd
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 seem'd, 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 joy'd to hear it swell.
His peaceful day was slothful ease;
Not barp, nor pipe, his ear could please,

Like the loud slogan yell.
On active steed, with lance and blade,
The light arm'd pricker plied his trade,
Let nobles fight for fame :

Next, Marmion mark'd the Celtic race
Of different language, form, and face,

A various race of man;
Just then the chiefs their tribes array'd,
And wild and garish semblance made,
The checker'd trews, and belted plaid ;
And varying notes the war-pipes bray'd,

To every varying clan;
Wild through their red or sable hair
Look'd out their eyes, with savage stare,

On Marmion as he past ;
Their legs above the knee was bare ;
Their frame was sinewy, short, and spare,

And harden'd to the blast;
Of taller race, the chiefs they own
Were by the eagle's plumage known.
The hunted red deer's undress'd hide
Their hairy buskins well supplied ;
The graceful bonnet deck'd their head;
Back from their shoulders hung the plaid

A broadsword of unwieldly length,
A dagger proved for edge and strength,

A studded targe they wore,
And quivers, bows, and shafts,-but, O!
Short was the shaft, and weak the bow,

To that which England bore.
The Isles-men 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 clamouring tongues, as woen
The clanging sea-fowl leave the sen,
And, with their cries discordant mix'd,
Grumbled and yell’d the pipes betwixt.


Thus through the Scottish camp they pass'd And reach'd the city gate at last,

And flinty is her heart, can view
To battle march a lover true,-
Can hear, perchance, his last adicu,

Nor own her share of pain.

Through this mix'd crowd of glee and game,
The king to greet Lord Marmion came,

While, reverend, all made room.
An easy task it was, I trow,
King James's manly form to know,
Although, bis courtesy to show,
He doff'd, to Marmion bending low,

His broider'd cap and plume.
For royal were his garb and mien,

His cloak, of crimson velvet piled, Trimm'd with the fur of martin wild ; His vest of changeful satin sheen,

The dazzled eye beguiled; His gorgeous collar hung adown, Wrought with the badge 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 button'd with a ruby rare: And Marmion deem'd he ne'er had seen A prince of such a noble mien.

Where all around, a wakeful guard,
Arm'd burghers kept their watch and ward.
Well had they cause of jealous fear,
When lay encamp'd, 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 armourer's anvil clash'd and rang,
Or toil'd the swarthy smith, to wheel
The bar that arms the charger's heel;
Or axe, or falchion to the side
Of jarring grindstone was applied.

Page, groom, and squires, with hurrying pace,
Through street, and lane, and market-place,

Bore lance, or casque, or sword;
While burghers, with important face,

Described each new-come lord,
Discuss'd his lineage, told his name,

His following,* and his warlike fame.
The lion led to lodging meet,
Which high o'erlook'd 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.
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.

Old Holy-Rood rung merrily,
That night, with wassel, mirth and glee:
King James within her princely bower
Feasted the chiefs of Scotland's power,
Summon'd to spend the parting hour;

For be bad 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 masquers 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 touch'd a softer string;
With long-ear'd cap, and motely vest,
The licensed fool retail'd his jest ;
His magic tricks the juggler plied ;
At dice and draughts the gallants vied;

While some, in close recess apart,
Courted the ladies of their heart,

Nor courted them in vain ;
For often, in the parting hour,
Victorious love asserts his power

O'er coldness and disdain ;

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 deepest dye

His short curld beard and hair. Light was his footstep in the dance, And firm his stirrup in the lists; And, o! 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 joy'd in banquet-bower;

But, mid his mirth, 'twas often strange,

Hlow suddenly his cheer would change, His look o'ercast and lower,

If, in a sudden turn, he felt
The pressure of his iron belt,
That bound bis breast in penance pain,

In memory of his father slain.
Even so 'twas strange how evermore,
Soon as the passing pang was o'er,
Forward he rush'd, with double glee,
Into the stream of revelry:
Thus, dim-seen object of affright
Startles the courser in his night,
And half he halts, half springs aside ;
But feels the quickening spur applied,
And, straining on the tighten'd rein,
Scours doubly swift o'er hill and plain,

* Following-Feudal retainers.


So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,

There never was knight like the young Lochin-
O'er James's heart, the courtiers say,
Sir Hugh the Heron's wife held sway:
To Scotland's court she came,

He stay'd not for brake, and he stopp'd not for To be a hostage for her lord,

stone, Who Cessford's gallant heart had gored,

He swam the Eske river where ford there was And with the king to make accord,

none; Had sent his lovely dame.

But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate, Nor to that lady free alone

The bride had consented, the gallant came late : Did the gay king allegiance own;

For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, For the fair queen of France

Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochin var. Sent him a Turquois ring, and glove, And charged bim, as her knight and love, So boldly he enter'd the Netherby hall, For her to break a lance;

Among bride's-men, and kinsmen, and brothers, And strike three strokes with Scottish brand,

and all : And march three miles on southron land, Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his And bid the banners of his band

sword, In English breczes dance.

(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a And thus, for France's qucen he drest

word,) His manly limbs in mailed vest;

“O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, And thus admitted English fair,

Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?” His inmost counsels still to share ; And thus, for both, he madly plann'd

“I long woo'd your daughter, my suit you denied: The ruin of himself and land!

Love swells like the Solway, but cbbs like its tide; And yet, the sooth to tell,

And now am I come, with this lost love of mine, Nor England's fair, nor France's queen, To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. Were worth one pearl-drop bright and sheen, There are maidens in Scotland, more lovely by far, From Margaret's eyes that fell,

That would gladly be bride to the young LochinHis own Queen Margaret, who, in Lithgow's

var." bower, All lonely sat, and wept the weary hour.

The bride kiss'd the goblet: the knight took it up,

He quafi'd off the wine, and he threw down the XI.

сир. . The queen sits lone in Lithgow pile,

She look'd down to blush, and she look'd up to

weary day,

sigh, The war against her native soil,

With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye, Her monarch's risk in battle broil ;

He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar, And in gay Holy-Rood, the while,

“ Now tread we a measure !” said young LochinDame Heron rises with a smile

Upon the harp to play.
Fair was her rounded arm, as o'er

So stately his form, and so lovely his face,
The strings her fingers flew;

That never a hall such a galliard did grace ;
And as she touch'd, and tuned them all, While her mother did fret, and her father did fume,
Ever her boson's rise and fall

And the bride groom stood dangling his bonnet and Was plainer given to vicw;

plume; For all, for heat, was laid aside,

And the bride-maidens whisper'a, “ "Twere better Her wimple, and her hood untied. And first she pitch'd her voice to sing,

To have match'd our fair cousin with young Then glanced her dark eye on the king,

Lochinvar,” And then around the silent ring; And laugh'd, and blush'd, and oft did say, One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, Her pretty oath, by yea and nay,

When they reach'd the hall door, and the charger She could not, would not, durst not play!

stood near; At length, upon the harp, with glee,

So light to the croup the fair lady he swung, Mingled with arch simplicity,

So light to the saddle before her he sprung! A sost, yet lively air she rung,

“She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and While thus the wily lady sung.

They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young


There was mounting 'mong Græmes of the Neth6, young Lochinvar is come out of the west,

erby clan; Through all the wide border his steed was the best; Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and And save his good broadsword he weapons had they ran : none,

There was racing and chasing, on Cannobie Lee, He rode all unarm’d, and he rode all alone. But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they seei


by far

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So daring in love, and so dauntless in war,
Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochin-

The monarch o'er the syren hung,
And beat the measure as she sung;
And, pressing closer, and more near,
He whisper'd praises in her ear.
In loud applause, the courtiers vied;
And ladies wink'd, and spoke aside.
The witching dame to Marmion threw

A glance, where seem'd to reign
The pride that claims applauses due,
And of her royal conquest, too,

A real or feign'd disdain :
Familiar was the look, and told,

Marmion and she were friends of old.
The king observed their meeting eyes,
With something like displeased surprise ;
For monarchs ill can rivals brook,
E'en in a word, or smile, or look.
Straight took he forth the parchment broad,
Which Marmion's high commission show'd:

“Our borders sack'd by many a raid,
Our peaceful liegemen robb'd,” he said;
“ On day of truce our warden slain,

Stout Barton kill'd 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.”

He paused, and led where Douglas stood,
And with stern eye the pageant view's:

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 Lauders dreary flat:
Princes and favourites long grew tame,
And trembled at the homely name

Of Archibald Bell-the-cat;
The same who left the dusky vale
Of Hermitage in Liddesdale,

Its dungeons, and its towers,
Where Bothwell's turrets brave the air,
And Bothwell bank is blooming fair,

To fix his princely bowers.
Though now, in age, he had laid down
His armour 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 e'en that day, at council board,

Unapt to sooth his sovereign's mood,

Against the war had Angus stood,
And chafed his royal lord.

His locks and beard in silver grew;
His eyebrows kept their sable hue.
Near Douglas when the monarch stood,
His bitter speech he thus pursued :-
« Lord Marmion, since these letters say,
That in the north you needs must stay,

While slightest hopes of peace remain,
Uncourteous speech it were, and stern,
To say-Return to Lindisfarn,
Until my berald come again. -
Then rest you in Tantallon hold;
Your host shall be the Douglass bold,
A chief unlike his sires of old.
He wears their motto on his blade,
Their blazon o'er his towers display'd ;
Yet loves his sovereign to oppose,
More than to face his country's foes.
And, I bethink me, by St. 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 heaven.
Under your guard, these holy maids
Shall safe return to cloister shades,
And, while they at Tantallon stay,
Requiem for Cochran's soul may say."
And, with the slaughter'd favourite name,
Across the monarch's brow there came
A cloud of ire, remorse, and shame.

XVI. In answer naught could Angus speak; His proud heart swell’d well nigh to break: He turn'd aside, and down his cheek

A burning tear there stole. His hand the monarch sudden took, That sight his kind heart could not brook;

“Now, by the Bruce'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 true ;*
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 whisper'd to the king aside :
“O! let such tears unwonted plead
For respite short from dubious deed!
A child will weep a bramble's smart,
A maid to see her sparrow part,
A stripling for a woman's heart:
But wo awaits a country, when
She sees the tears of bearded men.
Then, 0! what omen, dark and high,
When Douglas wets his manly eye!"

XVII. Displeased was James, that stranger view'd And tamper'd with his changing mood.

His giant form, like ruin’d tower,

Though fallen its muscles' brawny vaunt,

Huge-boned, and tall, and grim, and gaunt, Seemd o'er the gaudy scene to lower:

* O, Dowglas! Dowglas!

Tendir and crew,-The Houlate.

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