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81 R WALTER SCOTT.


(the llbrose (lbarmion
El Gale of the Scottish JBorber
ADAI'I‘EI) FROM
SCOTT’S “ MARMION ”
B Y
SARA D. JENKINS
lTHACA, N. Y.
A ul/zar of III! Prase “Lady 0/ {In Lake," elt.
EDUCATIONAL PUBLISHING COMPANY
BOSTON
N EW YORK CHICAGO SAN FRANCISCO


COPYRIGHTED
BY EDUCATIONAL PUBLISHING COMPANY
1903












SIR WA LTEI! FCOTT.
Nickokon.)
(From painting by Wm.


INTRODUCTION.
Sir \Valter Scott, poet and novelist, was born in Edin-
burgh, Scotland, five years before the Declaration of Inde-
pendence in America. Unlike most little Scotch boys, he
was not sturdy and robust. and in his second year, a lame-
ness appeared that never entirely left him. Being frail and
delicate, he received the most tender care from parents and
grandparents. Five consecutive years of his life, from the
age of three to the age of eight, were spent on his grand-
father’s farm at Sandyknow. At the end of this period, he
returned to Edinburgh greatly improved in health, and
soon after, entered the high school, where he remained
four years. A course at the university followed the high
school, but Scott never gained distinction as a scholar.
He loved romances, old plays, travels, and poetry too well,
ever to become distinguished in philosophy, mathematics,
or the dry study of dead languages.
In his early years, he had formed a. taste for ballad lit-
erature, which very significantly influenced, if it did not
wholly determine, the character of his writings. The his-
torical incidents upon which the ballads were founded, their
traditional legends, affected him profoundly, and he wished
7


INTRODUCTION. 9
conscious of the power of his rival, determined to seek
fame in other than poetic paths. This determination
7
produced “Waverly,’ whose success gave birth to Scott’s
desire to be numbered among the landed gentry of the
country. Under the influence of this passion, the novels
now associated with his name followed with startling rapid-
ity, and their growth developed in the author an unwilling-
ness to be known as a penman writing for fortune. Liter-
ary fame was less dear to him than the upbuilding of a
family name. The novels went for a time fatherless,
but the baronial mansion, still one of the most famous
shrines of the curious, grew into the stately proportions of
Abbotsford.
Iull820, George IV. conferred upon Scott the baronetcy,
dearer than all the plaudits of the public. But
“ Giddy chance never bears,
That mortal bliss shall last for years,"
and the failure of banker and of publisher disclosed that
the landed baronet had been a silent partner in the house
of his printer for a quarter of a century, for whose debts
Scott was liable to the extent of one hundred thousand
pounds and to his bankers for enough more to make the entire
debt one hundred fifty thousand pounds. Unappalled by
the loss, Scott refused all ofi’ers of release from his
creditors, and began to pay the debt by means of his
pen, determined to preserve Abbotsford to his children’s


ll) INTRODUCTION.
children. At a dinner given in 1827, he threw off all dis-
guise, and acknowledged the authorship of the Waverly
novels.
His great exertions brought on paralysis. A visit to
Italy failed to improve his condition, and he returned to
die on the banks of the Tweed, and to be laid at rest in
Dreyburg Abbey. He had paid one hundred thousand
pounds of the debt, and the publishers of his works had
sufficient confidenCe in their sale to advance the remaining
fifty thousand pounds, the estate thus being left free of
encumbrance.
Of his four children, two sons and two daughters. none
left male issue. A grandchild, the wife of Robert Hope,
was permitted by Parliament to assume the name of Scott,
and her son “falter, at the age of twenty-one, was knighted
by Queen Victoria.
Edinburgh has erected to his memory a most graceful
monument, and Westminster Abbey a memorial. Visitors,
under certain limitations, are permitted to visit the man-
sion, to see the enchanted library, and the famous study,
to stray about the grounds where the famous writer spent
the happiest, as well as the saddest, years of his life.





THE PROSE MARMION.
CHAPTER I.
In all the border country that lies between
England and Scotland, no castle stands more fair
than Norham. Fast by its rock-ribbed walls flows
the noble Tweed, and on its battled towers frown
the hills of Cheviot.
_ Day was dying, St. George’s banner, broad and
gay, hung in the evening breeze that scarce had
power to wave it o’er the keep. \Varriors on the
turrets were moving across the sky like giants, their
armor flashing back the gleam of the setting sun,
when a horseman dashed forward, spurred on his
proud steed, and blew his bugle before the dark
archway of the castle. The warder, knowing well
the horn he heard, hastened from the wall and
13


14 THE PROSE MARMION.
warned the captain of the guard. At once was
given the command, “Make the entrance free ! Let
every minstrel, every herald, every squire, prepare
to receive Lord Marmion, who waits below l” The
iron-studded gate was unbarred, the portcullis
raised, the drawbridge dropped, and proudly across
it, stepped a red roan charger, bearing the noble
guest.
Lord Marmion was a stalwart knight, whose
visage told of many a battle. The scar on his
brown cheek spoke of Bosworth Field, and the fire
that burned in his eye showed a spirit still proud.
The lines of care on his brow, and the threads of
silver in his black curling hair, spoke less of age
than of toil. The square-turned joints, the evident
strength of body and limb, bespoke not a carpet-
knight, but a grim champion. From head to foot,
he was clad in mail of Milan steel. His helmet of
embossed gold hung at the saddle-bow. A falcon
hovered in the crest, and soared on the- azure field


THE PROSE MARMION. 15
of the noble lord’s shield, above the motto, “ Who
checks at me, to death is dight l”
The horse was as richly clad as its rider. The
reins were embroidered in blue, and ribbons of the
same color decked the arched neck and mane. The
housings were of blue trapped with gold.
Behind the leader, rode gallant squires of noble
name. Though still a squire, each had well earned
knighthood. Each could tame a war horse, draw a
bow, wield a sword, dance in the hall, carve at the
board, frame love ditties, and sing them to fair
ladies.
Next in the train, came four men-at-arms: two
carried halbert, bill, axe, and lance; a third led
the sumpter mules and the ambling palfrey, which
served to bear Lord Marmion when he wished to
relieve his battle steed ; the most trusty of the four
held on high the penuon, furled in its glossy blue
streamers. Last were twenty yeomen, two and two,
in blue jerkins, black hose, and wearing falcons


18 THE PROSE MARMION.
Ourselves beheld the listed field,
A sight both sad and fair ;
We saw Lord Marmion pierce the shield,
And saw the 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 ! ’ ”
As the welcome died away, 'forth stepped Sir
Hugh, lord of the castle. He led his visitor to the
raised dais and placed him in the seat of honor,
while a northern harper chanted a rude hymn.
The ear of Marmion could scarcely brook the bar-
barous sound, yet much he praised, well knowing
that,
“ Lady’s suit, and minstrel’s strain,
By knight should ne’er be heard in vain.”


20 THE PROSE MARMION.
ask, Lord Heron, why the lady of the castle disdains
to grace the hall to-day? Is it because Marmion
of Fontenaye is present? ”
The Knight replied:
“ Norham Castle is a grim, dull cage for a bird
so beautiful as the lady of Heron, and with my
consent she sits with the noble and fair Queen
Margaret, the bride of royal James.”
“ Ah! ” replied the Heron’s noble guest, “if this
be so, I will gladly bear to her your tender mes-
sages. I am now, by the request of our good
English King, on my way to the court of Scotland,
to learn why James is gathering troops, iwhy
making warlike preparations, and, if it be possible,
I am to persuade him to maintain the peace. From
your great goodness, I make hold to ask for myself
and for my train a trusty guide. I have not ridden
in Scotland since James backed Richard, Duke of
York, in his pretensions t0 the throne of England.
Then, as you remember, I marched with Surrey’s


THE PRUSE MARMION. 21
forces, and razed to the ground the tower of
Aytoun.”
“ For such need, my lord, trust old Norham gray.
Here are guides who have spurred far on Scottish
ground, who have tasted the ale of St. Bothan,
driven off the beeves of Lauderdale, and fired
homes that the inmates might have light by which
to dress themselves.”
“ In good sooth,” replied Lord Marmion, “ were
I bent on war, a better guard I could not wish, but
I go in form of peace, a friendly messenger to a
foreign King. A plundering border spear might
arouse suspicious fears, and the deadly feud, the
thirst for blood, break out in unseemly broil. More
fitting as guide, would be a friar, a pardoner, travel-
ing priest, or strolling pilgrim.”
Sir Hugh musingly passed his hand over his
brow, and then replied: “Fain would I find the
guide you need, but, though a bishop built this
castle, few holy brethren resort here. If the priest


22 THE PROSE MARMION.
of Shoreswood were here, he could rein your
wildest horse, but no spearsman in the ball
will sooner strike or join in fray. Friar John
of Tilmouth is the very man! He is a blithe-
some brother, a welcome guest in hall and hut.
He knows each castle, town and tower in which
the ale and wine are good. He now seldom leaves
these walls, but, perchance, in your guard he
will go.”
In the pause that followed, young Selby, nephew
of the Earl of Norham, respectfully said, “Kind
uncle, unhappy we, if harm came to Friar John.
When time hangs heavy in the hall, and the snow
lies deep at Christmas tide, when we can neither
hunt nor joust, who will sing the carols, and sweep
away the stake at bowls? Who will lead the games
and gambols? Let Friar John in safety fill his
chimney corner, roast hissing crabs, or empty the
flagons. Last night, there came to Norham Castle
a fitter guide for Lord Marmion.”


THE PROSE MARMION. 23
“ Nephew," said Sir Hugh, “ well hast thou
spoke. Say on.”
“There came here, direct from Rome, one who
hath visited the blessed tomb, and worshipped in
each holy spot of Arabia and Palestine. He hath
been on the hills where rested Noah’s Ark; he hath
walked by the Red Sea; in Sinai’s \Vilderness, he
saw the mount where Moses received the law. He
knows the passes of the North, and is on his way to
distant shrines beyond the Forth. Little he cats,
and drinks only of stream or lake. He is a fit
guide for moor and fell."
“ Gramercy l ” exclaimed Lord Marmion. “ Loth
would I be to take Friar John, if this Palmer
will lead us as far as Holy-Rood. I’ll pay him not
in beads and cockle shells, but in ‘ angels ’ fair and
good. I love such holy ramblers. They know how
to charm each weary hill with song or romance.
“ ‘ Some jovial tale, or glee, or jest, ‘
They bring to cheer the way.’ ”


24 THE PROSE MARMION.
“Ah! sire,” said young Selby, as he laid his
finger on his lip in token of silence, “this man
knows more than he has ever learned from holy
lore. Last night, we listened at his cell, and strange
things we heard. He muttered on till dawn. N0
conscience clear and void of evil intent remains so
long awake to pray.”
“Let it pass,” cried Marmion. “ This man and
he only shall guide me on my way, though he and
the arch fiend were sworn friends. So, please you,
gentle youth, call this Palmer t0 the castle hall.”-
Little did Marmion dream that the Palmer was
Ralph de Wilton, his deadliest foe, in disguise —
Ralph de Wilton, his rival in love, whom Marmion
had accused of treason, had caused to be sent into
exile, and whom he supposed dead.
A moment later the Palmer appeared, clad in a
black mantle and cowl, and wearing on his shoul-
ders the keys of St. Peter cut in cloth of red. His
cap, bordered with scallop shells, fitted close to his


THE PROSE MARMION.
27
“ Lord Marmion’s bugles blew to horse:
Then came the stirrup-cup in course;
Between the Baron and his host
No point of courtesy was lost;
Till, filing from the gate, had passed
That noble train, their Lord the last.
Then loudly rang 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.”


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30 THE PROSE MARMION.
For all to them was strange and new,
And all the common sights they view,
Their wonderment engage.”
Light-hearted were they all, except the Abbess
and the novice Clare. Fair, kind, and noble, the
Abbess had early taken the veil. Her hopes, her
fears, her joys, were bounded by the cloister walls;
her highest ambition being to raise St. Hilda’s
fame. For this she gave her ample fortune—t0
build its bowers, to adorn its chapels with rare and
quaint carvings, and to deck the relic shrine with
ivory and costly gems. The poor and the pilgrim
blessed her bounty and shelter.
Her pale cheek and spare form were made more
striking by the black Benedictine garb. Vigils
and penitence had dimmed the luster of her eyes.
Though proud of her religious sway and its sever-
ity, she loved her maidens and was loved by them
in return.
The purpose of the present voyage was most


34 THE PROSE MARMION.
the evening fell damp and chill, the sea breeze
blowing cold, and the pure-minded girls closed
around the blazing hearth, each in turn to paint
the glory of her faVOrite saint.
While, round the fire, legends were rehearsed by
the happy group, a very different scene was taking
place in a secret underground aisle, where a council
of life and death was being held. The spot was
more dark and lone than a dungeon cell. Light
and air were excluded, as it was a burial place for
those who, dying in sin, might not be laid within
the Church. It was also a place of punishment,
whence if a cry pierced the upper air, the bearer
offered a prayer, thinking he heard the moaning of
spirits in torment.
Few save the Abbot knew the place, and fewer
still, the devious way by which it was approached.
\Vhen taken there, victims and judge were led
blindfold. The walls were rude rocks, the pave-
ment, gravestones sunken and worn. The noxious


THE PROSE MARMION. 35
vapor, chilled into drops, fell tinkling on the floor.
An antique lamp, hanging from an iron chain, gave
a dim light, which strove with darkness and damp
to show the horrors of the scene. Here the three
judges were met to pronounce the sentence of doom.
In the pale light sat the Abbess of St. Hilda.
Closely she drew her veil to hide the teardrops of
pity. Near her was the Prioress of Tynemouth,
proud and haughty, yet white with awe. Next was
the aged Abbot of St. Cuthbert, or, as he was
called, the “Saint of Lindisfarne.” Before them,
under sentence, stood the guilty pair. One was a
maiden who, disguised in the dress of a page, had
been taken from Marmion’s train. The cloak and
hood could not conceal or mar her beauty. On the
breast of her doublet was Lord Marmion’s badge,
a falcon crest, which she vainly attempted to
conceal.
At the command of the Prioress, the silken band
that fastened the young girl’s long, fair hair was


36 THE PROSE MARMIUN.
undone, and down over her slender form fell the
rich golden ringlets. Before them stood Constance
de Beverley, a professed nun of Fontevraud. Lured
by the love of Marmion, she had broken her vow,
and fled from the convent. She now stood so beau-
tiful, so calm, so pale, that but for the heaving
breast and heavy breathing, she might have been a
form of wax wrought t0 the very life.
Her companion in misery was a sorry sight.
This wretch, wearing frock and cow], was not
ashamed to moan, to shrink, to grovel on the floor,
to crouch like a hound, while the accused frail girl
waited her doom without a sound, without a tear.
Well might she grow pale! In the dark wall
were two niches narrow and high. In each was
laid a slender meal of roots, bread, and water.
Close to each cell, motionless, stood two haggard
monks holding a blazing torch, and displaying the
cement, stones, and implements with which the
culprits were to be immured.


THE PROSE MARMION. 37
Now the blind old Abbot rose to speak the doom
of those to be enclosed in the new made tombs.
Twice he stopped, as the woeful maiden, gathering
her powers, tried to make audible the words which
died in murmurs on her quivering lips. At length,
by superhuman effort, she sent the blood, curdled
at her heart, coursing through every vein. Light
came to her eye, color to her cheek, and when
the silence was broken, she gathered strength
at every word. It was a strange sight to see reso—
lution so high in a form so weak, so soft, so fair.
“I speak,” she said, “ not to implore mercy, for
full well I know it would be vain. Neither do I
speak to gain your prayers, for a lingering, living
death within these walls will be a penance fit to
cleanse my soul of every sin. I speak not for
myself, but for one whom I have wronged though
he never did me wrong; one who, if living, is now
an exile under the ban of the King. I speak to
clear the fair name of Ralph de Wilton, and to


THE PROSE MARMION. 39
“ ‘ Their prayers are prayed,
Their lances in the rest are laid.’
“ The result was told by the loud cry, ‘ Marmion!
Marmion! De Wilton to the block !’ Justice
seemed dead, for he, ever loyal in love and in
faith, was overthrown by the falsehearted. This
packet will prove de Wilton innocent of treason,
how innocent, these letters alone can tell, and I now
give them to the sacred care of the Abbess of St.
Hilda. Guard them with your life, till they rest in
the hands of the King.”
She paused, gathered voice and strength and
proceeded:
“The Lady Clare hated the name of Marmion,
mourned her dishonored lover, and fled to the
convent of Whitby. The King, incensed at her
action, declared she should be his favorite’s bride
even though she were a nun confessed. Marmion
was sent to Scotland and I, cast off, determined to
plan a sure escape for Clare and for myself. This


40 THE PROSE MARMION.
false monk, whom you are about to condemn with
me, promised to carry to Clare the drugs by means
of which she would soon have been the bride of
heaven. His cowardice has undone us both, and I
now reveal the story of the crime, that none may
wed with Marmion, that his perfidy may be made
known to the King, who, when he reads these let-
ters, will see his favorite deserves the headsman’s
axe. Now, men of death, do your worst. I can
suffer and be still.
“ ‘ And come be slow, or come he fast,
’7’
It is but death who comes at last.
The old Abbot raised his sightless eyes to heaven
and said:
“ ‘ Sister, let thy sorrows cease;
Sinful brother, part in peace I’ "
Up from the direful place of doom, t0 the light
of day and to the fresh air, passed those who had
held this awful trial. Shrieks and groans followed


THE PROBE MARMION. 41
the winding steps. The peasant who heard the
unearthly cries bowed his head, the hermit told his
beads, the brother crossed himself, even the stag on
Cheviot hills bounded to his feet, listened and then
trembling lay down to hide among the mountain
ferns.






STU DY, A RBOTSFORD-
u
4
TH


CHAPTER III.
We now return to Lord Marmion, who, led by
the Palmer, was hastening on to Holyrood. When
the heights of Lammermoor were reached, noon
had long passed, and at early nightfall, old Gifford’s
towers lay before them. Here they had expected
hospitality, but the lord of the Castle had gone to
Scotland’s camp, where were gathered the noblest
and bravest of her sons. No friendly summons
called them to the hall, for in her lord’s absence,
the lady refused admittance alike to friend and foe.
On through the hamlet rode the train until it
drew rein at the inn. Now down from their seats
sprang the horsemen. The courtyard rang with
jingling spurs, horses were led to the stalls, and
the bustling host gave double the orders that could
be obeyed. The building was large, and though
43


44 THE PROSE MARM ION.
rudely built, its cheerful fire and savory food were
most welcome to the weary men. Soon by the
wide chimney’s roaring blaze, and in the place of
state, sat Marmion. He watched his followers as
they mixed the brown ale, and enjoyed the bounti-
ful repast. Oft the lordly warrior mingled in the
mirth they made.
“ For though, with men of high degree,
The proudest of the proud was he,
Yet, trained in camp, he knew the art
To win the soldier’s hardy heart.
Boisterous as March, yet fresh as May,
With open hand and brow as free,
Lover of wine and minstrelsy."
Directly opposite, resting on his staff, stood the
Palmer, the thin, dark visage half seen, half hidden
by his hood. Steadily he gazed on Marmion, who
by frown and gesture gave evidence that he could
ill hear so close a scrutiny.
As squire and archer looked at the stern, dark


THE PROSE MARMION. 45
face of the Pilgrim, their bursts of laughter grew
less loud, less frequent, and gradually their mirth
declined. They whispered one to another : “ Sawest
thou ever such a face? How pale his cheek! How
bright his eye ! His heart must be set only on his
soul’s salvation.”
To chase away the gloom gradually stealing over
the company, and to draw from himself the sullen
scowl of the Palmer, Marmion called upon his favor-
ite squire:
“ ‘ Fitz-Eustace, knows’t thou not some lay
To speed the lingering night away?’ ”
The youth made an unhappy choice. He had a
rich, mellow voice, and chose the wild, sad ballad
often sung to Marmion by the unfortunate Con-
stance de Beverley. When all was quiet, quiver-
ingly the notes fell upon the air :


THE PROSE MARMION. 47
Where mingles war’s rattle
With groans of the dying.
“ His warm blood the wolf shall lap,
Ere life be parted.
Shame and dishonor sit
By his grave ever;
Blessing shall hallow it—
Never, O never l ”
The melancholy sound ceased. The song was
sad, and bitterly it fell on the false-hearted Mar-
mion. Well he knew that at his request the
faithful but misguided Constance had been taken
to Lindisfarne to be punished for crime committed
through her mistaken love for him. As if he
already saw disgrace for himself and death for her,
he drew his mantle before his face, and bent his
head upon his hands. Constance de Beverley at
that moment was dying in her cell.
The meanest groom in all the train could scarce
have wished to exchange places with the “proud


THE PROSE MARMION. 49
made him unhappy. “ Alas ! ” he thought, “ would
that I had left her in purity to live, in holiness to
die.” Twice he was ready to order, “To horse,”
that he might fly to Lindisfarne and command that
not one golden ringlet of her fair head be harmed,
and twice he thought, “They dare not. I gave
orders that she should be safe, though not at large.”
WVhile thus love and repentance strove in the
breast of the lord, the landlord began a weird tale,
suggested by the speech of the Palmer. As
Marmion listened, he gathered from the legend that
not far from where they sat, a knight might learn
of future weal or woe. He might, perchance, meet
“in the charmed ring” his deadliest foe, in the
form of a spectre, and with it engage in mortal
combat. If victorious over this supernatural
antagonist, the omen was victory in all future
undertakings.
“ Marmion longed to prove his chance;
In charmed ring to break a lance.”


50 THE PROSE MARMION.
The yeomen had drunk deep; the ale was strong,
and at a sign from their master, all sought rest on
the hostel floor before the now dying embers. For
pillow, under each head, was quiver or targe. The
flickering fire threw fitful shadows on the strange
group. Marmion and his squires retired to other
quarters. Where the Palmer had disappeared, none
knew or cared.
Alone, folded in his green mantle and nestling in
the hay of a waste loft, lay Fitz-Eustace, the pale
moonlight falling upon his youthful face and form.
He was dreaming happy dreams of hawk and
hound, of ring and glove, of lady’s eyes, when
suddenly he woke. A tall form, half in the
moonbeams, half in the gloom, stood beside him;
but before he could draw his dagger, he recognized
the voice of Marmion, who said:
“ Fitz-Eustace, rise, and saddle Bevis! I cannot
rest. The air must cool my brow. I fain would ride
to view the elfin scene of chivalry of which we


52 THE PROSE MARMION.
The combat began; the two horsemen ran their
course; and in the third attack Marmion’s steed
could not resist the unearthly shock—he fell,
and the flower of England’s chivalry rolled in the
dust.
High over the head of the fallen foe, the sup-
posed spectre shook his sword. Full on his face
fell the moonlight, a face never to be mistaken. It
was the wraith of Ralph de Wilton, who had been
sent by Marmion to exile and to death. Thrice
over his victim did the grim, ghast spectre shake
his blade, but when Marmion, white with terror,
prayed for life, the seeming vision dashed his sword
into its sheath, sprang lightly to his saddle, and
vanished as he came. The moon sank from sight,
and the poor, shivering, wretched English knight
lay groveling on the plain. Could it be his mortal
enemy had left the grave to strike down a living
foe, and to stare in derisive hatred from a raised
visor? Whether dead or alive, the elfin foe had


THE PROSE MARMION. 53
little reason to spare the life of so dastardly an
enemy !
Sweetly sleeping, or patiently listening, Eustace
waited for the return of his knight, waited till he
heard a horse coming, spurred to its utmost speed.
The rider hastily threw the rein to his squire, but
spoke not a word. In the dim light the youth
plainly saw that the armor and the falcon crest on
his lord’s helmet were covered with clay, that the
knees and sides of the noble charger were in sad
plight. It was evident the beast and his rider had
been overthrown. To broken and brief rest Eustace
returned and never did he more gladly welcome the
light of day.
“ Eustace did ne’er so blithely mark
The first notes of the morning lark.”


56 THE PROSE MARMION.
passing Blount’s horse the pious man’s thin brown
band, stole from beneath the long gown and
lovingly caressed the animal, while were muttered
the words, “ Noble, noble beast! ”
On rode the train through the lovely country,
over the smooth greensward, and under the vaulted
screen of branches.
“ ‘ 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,
,’9
In her defence to break a spear.
He spoke to cheer Lord Marmion’s mind, but
spoke in vain, for no reply was given.
Suddenly distant trumpets were heard in pro-
longed notes over hill and dale. Each ready archer
seized his bow, and Marmion ordered all to spur on
to more open ground. Scarce a furlong had they


THE PROSE MARMION. 57
ridden, when, from an opposite woodland, they saw
approaching a gallant train.
First on prancing steeds came the trumpeters,
“ 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, Rothsay, 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.”
The king-at-arms was of grave, wise, and manly
appearance, as became him who bore a king’s
welcome, but his expression was keen, sly, and
penetrating.
“ On milk-white palfrey forth he paced;
His cap of maintenance was graced


58
THE PROSE MARMION.
\Vith 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 round.
The double treasure might you see,
First by Achaius borne,
The thistle and the fleur-de-lis,
And gallant unicorn.
So bright the King’s amorial 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.
Sir David Lindesay of the Mount,
Lord Lion, King-at-arms ! ”
Marmion sprang from his horse, and as soon as
their mutual greetings had been made, Sir David
delivered his message :
“ As King-at-arms, I have been sent by James’s


THE PROSE MARMION. 61
light on the battlements of Crichtoun Castle, Linde-
say carelessly remarked that the journey of Mar-
mion, the toil of travel, might as well have been
spared, for no power on earth or from heaven could
dissuade James from war. A holy messenger sent
by divine command had appeared in spirit, and
vainly counselled the King against the impending
conflict.
More closely questioned, Sir David told the fol-
lowing tale :
“When the King was but a lad, a thoughtless
prince, traitors had set the boy in the army hostile
to his royal father. The King, seeing his own
banner displayed against him, and his son in the
opposing faction, lost courage, fled from the field,
and in fleeing fell and was slain. After the battle,
James returned to Stirling Castle, seiZed with deep
remorse. Ever after, he inflicted upon himself
most severe penance.
“While engaged one day in self-imposed peni-


THE PROSE MARMION. 65
Broad, narrow, swallow-tailed, and square,
Scroll, pennon, pensil, bandrol, there
O’er the pavilions flew.
Highest and midmost, was descried
The royal banner floating wide;
The staff, a pine-tree, strong and straight,
Pitch’d deeply in a massive stone,
Yet bent beneath the standard’s weight
Whene’er the western wind unroll’d,
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.
“Lord Marmion view’d the landscape bright,—
He viewed it with a chief’s delight,—
Until within him burn’d his heart,
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;


66 THE PROSE MARMION.

- - _. - _._-- _ . -__. _- '_ _-h—Am—=n-m_m.
For, by St. George, were that host mine,
Nor power infernal, nor divine,
Should once to peace my soul incline,
Till I had dimmed their armor’s shine
!, ,,
In glorious battle-fray
A bard near at hand replied:
“’Tis better to sit still, than rise, perchance to
fall.” '
From this scene of preparation for battle, their
eyes wandered to the fairest scene of peace. The
distant city glowed in gloomy splendor. The sun’s
morning beams tinged turret and tower. The
wreaths of rising smoke turned to clouds of red and
gold. Dusky grandeur clothed the height where
the huge castle stood in state. Far to the north,
ridge on ridge, rose the mountains, the rosy morn-
ing light bathing their sides in floods of sunshine,
and turning each heather bell at their feet into an
amethyst. Yonder could be seen the shores of
Fife, nearer Preston Bay and Berwick. Between



flit. .filui ‘ I. '

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THE GRAVE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT, DRYBURGH ABBEY.


THE PROSE MARMION. 75

Was buttoned with a ruby rare:
And Marmion deemed he ne’er had seen
A prince of such a noble mien.”
His splendid form, his eagle eyes, his light foot-
step, his merry laugh and speaking glance made
him envied of men and adored of women. He
joyed to linger in banquet bower, but often in the
midst of wildest glee, a shadow and an expression
of pain flitted across the handsome face. His
hands instinctively clasped as he felt the pain of
the penance belt, worn in memory of his slain
father. In a moment the pang was past, and for-
ward, with redoubled zest, he rushed into the stream
of revelry.
Courtiers said that Lady Heron, wife of Sir Hugh
of Norham, held sway over the heart of the King.
To Scotland’s court she had come to be a hostage,
and to reconcile the offended King to her husband.
The fair Queen of France also held the king in
thrall. She had sent him a turquoise ring and a


76 THE PROSE MARMlON.
glove, and charged him as her knight in English
fray, to break for her a lance. For love of the
French Queen, as much as for the rights of Scot-
land, he clothed himself in mail and put his coun-
try’s noblest, dearest, and best in arms, to die on
Flodden Field. For Love of Lady Heron, he
admitted English spies to his inmost counsels.
“ And thus, for both, he madly planned
The ruin of himself and land.”
For these two artful women he sacrificed the true
happiness of his home.
“Nor England’s fair, nor France’s Queen,
Were worth one pearl-drop bright and sheen,
From Margaret’s eyes that fell,—
His own Queen Margaret, who, in Lithgow’s
bower
All lonely sat, and wept the weary hour.”
In gay Holy-Rood, Dame Heron, Lady of Nor-
ham, smiled at the King, glanced archly at the


THE PROSE MARMION. 77
courtiers, and ably played the coquette. When
asked to draw from the harp music to charm the
ring of admirers, she laughed, blushed, and with
pretty oaths, by yea and nay, declared she could
not, would not, dare not! At length, however, she
seated herself at Scotland’s loved instrument,
touched and tuned the strings, laid aside hood and
wimple, the better to display her charms, and with
a borrowed simplicity well assumed, sang a lively
air, Lochinvar.
“ Oh, young Lochinvar is come out of the west,
Through all the wild border his steed was the best;
And, save his good broadsword, he weapon had none,
He rode all unarm’d, 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 swam the Esk river, where ford there was none;
But ere he alighted at Netherby gate,


THE PROSE MARMION. 79
With a smile on her lip, 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;
And the bride’s-maidens whisper’d, "Twere better
by far
To have match’d our fair cousin with young
Lochinvar.’
“ One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear,
When they reach’d the hall door, and the charger
stood near ;
So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung,
S0 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
Lochinvar.


80 THE PROSE MARMION.
“ There was mounting ’mong Grazmes of the Neth-
erby 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 Loch-
invar? ”
The monarch hung over the wily singer, and
beat the measure as she sang. Hc pressed closer,
and whispered praises in her ear. The courtiers
broke in applause, the ladies whispered, and looked
wise. The Witching dame, not satisfied to win a
King, threw her glances at Lord Marmion. The
glances were significant, familiar, and told of confi-
dences long and old between the English lord and
his countrywoman, guests of a Scotch King, on the
eve of a great conflict between the two countries.
The King saw their meeting eyes, saw himself


THE PROSE MARMION. 81
treated almost with disdain, and darkest anger
shook his frame, for sovereigns illy bear rivals in
word, or smile, or look. He drew forth the parch-
ment on which was written Marmion’s commission,
and strode to the side of brave Douglas, the sixth
who had worn the coronet of Angus. The King
stood side by side with this brave Scotsman, who
had been madly watching the pageant, the fire
flashing from his stern eye. This very day he had
besought his King to withdraw from the coming
war, only to call forth the reproaches of his
ungrateful ruler. Yet at this moment, James felt
a pride in standing by the side of Bothwell’s Lord,
and placing in his custody Marmion, the flower of
English chivalry.
“ The Douglas’ form, like ruin’d tower,
Seem’d o’er the gaudy scene to lower:
His locks and heard in silver grew;
His eyebrows kept their sable hue.
Near Douglas, where the monarch stood,


94 THE PROSE MARMION.
Douglas order that you shall return directly to your
kinsman, Lord Fitz-Clare.”
The startled Abbess loud exclaimed, but Clara
was speechless and deadly pale.
“Cheer thee, my child!” the Abbess cried;
“they dare not tear thee from my care, to ride
alone among soldiers.”
“Nay, nay, holy mother,” interrupted F itz-
Eustace, “the lovely lady, while in Scotland, will
be the immediate ward of Lady Angus Douglas,
and when she rides to England, female attendance
will be provided befitting the heir of Gloster. My
Lord Marmion will not address Lady Clare by
word or look.”
He blushed as he spoke, but truth and honor
were painted in his face, and the maiden’s fear
was relieved. The Abbess entrcated, threatened,
wept, prayed to saint and to martyr, then called
upon the Prioress for aid. The grave Cistercian
replied :


THE PROSE MARMION. 95
“The King and Douglas shall be obeyed.
Dream not that harm can come to woman, however
helpless, who falls to the care of Douglas of
Tantallon Hall.”
The Abbess, seeing strife was vain, assumed her
wonted state, composed her veil, raised her head,
and began again,— but Blount now broke in :
“ ‘ Fitz-Eustace, we must march our band;
St. Anton fire thee! wilt thou stand
All day, with bonnet in thy hand,
To hear the lady preach ?
By this good light! if thus we stay,
Lord Marmion, for our fond delay,
Will sharper sermon teach.
Come, don thy cap, and mount thy horse;
The dame must patience take perforce.’ ”
“Dear, holy Abbess,” said Clare, “ we must sub-
mit t0 the separation for the present,
“ ‘ But let this barbarous lord despair
His purposed aim to win ;


96 THE PROSE MARMION.
Let him take living, land, and life;
But to be Marmion’s wedded wife
In me were deadly sin.’
Mother, your blessing and your prayers are all I
ask. Remember your unhappy child ! If it be the
decree of the King that I return not to the sanc-
tuary with thee to dwell, yet one asylum remains—
low, silent, and lone, where kings have little
power. One victim of Lord Marmion is already
there.”
Weeping and wailing arose round patient Clare.
Eustace hid his tears, and even the rude Blount
could .scarce bear the sight. Gently the squire
took the rein and led the way, striving to cheer
the poor fainting girl, by courteous word and
deed.
They had passed but a few miles, when from a
height, they saw the vast towers of Tantallon. The
noble castle was enclosed on three sides by the
ocean, and on the fourth by walled battlements,


THE PROSE MARMION. 97
“ And double mound and fosse,
By narrow drawbridge, outworks strong,
Through studded gates, and 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.”
Here they rested, receiving from the host cold,
but princely attention. By hurrying posts, daily
there came varying tidings of war. At first they
heard of the victories of James at Wark, at Etall,
and at Ford; and then, that Norham castle had
been taken; but later, news was whispered that
while King James was dallying the time away with
the wily Lady Heron, the army lay inactive. At
length they heard the army had made post on the
ridge that frowns over the Millfield Plain, and that
brave Surrey, with a force from the South, had
marched into Northumberland and taken camp.
At this, Marmion exclaimed:


98 THE PROSE MARMION.
“ ‘ 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’ll stay.”


THE PROSE MARMION. 101
he lay senseless in the lists at Cottiswold. The kind
care of Austin, the beadsman, had restored him
to health and strength. He described the long
journeys in Palmer’s dress, his return to Scotland,
meeting Marmion at Norham Castle, the tilt on
Gifford moor, and the interview with the Abbess,
when he received from her the letters proving his
innocence.
Already, at Tantallon, he had told his story to
Douglas, who had known De Wilton’s family of old.
That night, Douglas was to make him again a belted
knight, and at dawn, he would haste to Surrey’s
camp to fight again for king and for country. The
story heard from De Wilton, the letters showing
the treachery of Marmion, accounted for the cold
disdain shown by Douglas to his guest.
The noble baron of Tantallon had promised to
bring to the chapel at midnight the now happy, yet
unhappy Clare, that she might bind on the spurs,
buckle on the belt, and hear the magic words


'rns Paoss MARMION. 103
At midnight, the slumbering moon-beams lay on
rock and wave. . Silvery light fell through every
loop-hole and embrasure. In the witching hour
two priests, the Lady Clare, Ralph de Wilton, and
Douglas, Lord of Tantallon, stood before the altar
of the chapel. De Wilton knelt, and when Clare
had bound on sword and belt, Douglas laid on the
blow, exclaiming as it fell:
“ ‘ I dub thee knight.
Arise, Sir Ralph, De Wilton’s heir!
For King, for Church, for Lady fair,
See that thou fight.’ ”
De Wilton knelt again before the giant warrior,
and grasping his hand, exclaimed:
“ Where’er I meet a Douglas, that Douglas will
be to me as a brother.”
“Nay, nay,” the Lord of Tantallon replied, “ not
so; I have two sons in the field armed against your
king. They fight for James of Scotland; you for
Henry of England.


114
THE PROSE MARMION.
Was wreathed in sable smoke.
Volumed and fast, and rolling far,
The cloud enveloped Scotland’s war,
As down the hill they broke ;
Nor mortal shout, nor minstrel tone,
Announced their march ; their tread alone
Told England, from his mountain-throne
King 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 with lanee’s thrust;
And such a yell was 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,
Recoil and rally, charge and rout,
And triumph and despair.
Long look’d the anxious squires ; their eye
Could in the darkness naught descry.”
At length the breeze threw aside the shroud of


THE PROSE MARMION. 115
battle, and there might be seen ridge after ridge of
spears. Pennon and plume floated like foam on the
crest of the wave. Spears shook; falchions flashed;
arrows fell like rain ; crests rose, and stooped, and
rose again.
“ Yet still Lord Marmion’s falcon flew
With wavering flight, while fiercer grew
Around the battle-yell.
The Border slogan rent the sky!
A Home l 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 barque’s mast in the gale,
When rent are rigging, shrouds, and sail,
It waver’d ’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


118 THE PROSE MARMION.
She stooped by the side of the rill, but drew
back in horror,-— it ran red with the best blood
of two kingdoms. Near by, a fountain played, the
well of Sybil Grey. At this, the helmet was quickly
filled, and accompanied by a monk, who was present
to shrive the dying or to bless the dead, the Lady
Clare hurried to the side of Marmion. Deep he
drank, saying:
“Is it the hand of Constance or of Clare that
bathes my brow? Speak not to me of shrift and
prayer; while the spark of life lasts, I must redress
the wrongs of Constance.”
Between broken sobs the Lady Clare replied:
“ ‘ In vain for Constance is your zeal;
She — died at Holy Isle.’ ”
Lord Marmion started from the ground, but
fainting fell, supported by the monk.
The din of war ceased for a moment, then there
swelled upon the gale the cry, “ Stanley ! Stanley 1”


THE PROSE MARMION. 1 19
“A light on Marmion’s visage spread,
And fired 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 Marmion.”
The monk gently placed the maid on her steed,
and led her to the fair Chapel of Tilmouth. The
night was spent in prayer, and at dawn she was
safely given to her kinsman, Lord Fitz-Clare.
All day, till darkness drew her wing over the
ghastly scene, more desperate grew the deadly
strife. When night had fallen, Surrey drew his
shattered bands from the fray. Then Scotland
learned her loss.
“ Their king, their lords, their mightiest low,
They melted from the field as snow,
Tweed’s echoes heard the ceaseless splash
While many a broken band,


120
THE PROSE MA RMION.
Disorder’d, through her currents dash,
To gain the Scottish land;
To town and tower, to down and dale,
To tell red Flodden’s dismal tale,
And raise the universal wail.
Tradition, legend, tune, and song,
Shall many an age that wail prolong:
Still from the sire the son shall hear
Of the stern strife, and carnage drear,
Of Flodden’s fatal field,
Where shiver’d was fair Scotland’s spear,
And broken was her shield !
“ Day dawns upon the mountain’s side :—
There, Scotland! lay thy bravest pride,
Chiefs, knights, and nobles, many a one:
The sad survivors all are gone.
View not that corpse mistrustfully,
Defaced and mangled though it be ;
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,


THE PROSE MARMION. 121
Firm clench’d within his kingly hand,
Beseem’d the monarch slain.”
Little remains to be told. Fitz-Eustace, faithful
to the last, bore “ To Litchfield’s lofty pile,” what
he believed to be the pierced and mangled body of
his once proud master. Here was reared a Gothic
tomb; carved tablets were set in fretted niche;
around were hung his arms and armor, and the
walls were blazoned with his deeds of valor; but
Lord Marmion’s body lay not there. Midst the din
and roar of battle, a poor dying peasant had
dragged himself to the fountain where died the
Lord of F ontenaye, the Lord of Tamworth tower
and town. Spoilers stripped and mutilated both
bodies and the lowly woodsman was carried to the
proud baron’s tomb.
Through the long and dreadful fight, Wilton was
in the foremost and thickest. When Surrey’s
horse was slain, it was De Wilton’s horse on which


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