Class rp_'R.:^_y/ 
 
Pi 
 
MAEMION: 
 
 A TALE OF FLODDEN FIELD. 
 
 BY WALTER SCOTT, ESQ. 
 
 Alas.' that Scottish Maid should siilg 
 The CO.. bat where her lover fell.' 
 
 That Scottish Bard should wake the string, 
 The triumph of our foes to telli 
 
 Leydeti. 
 
 BALTIMORE: 
 
 PUBLISHED BY JOSEPH GUSHING. 
 WUIiaiu Fiy, Printer. 
 
 18i2. 
 
In Bxchaagfo 
 Brown University 
 •jaN 2 1Q3.: 
 
PH 
 
 L 
 
 
 V6\^ 
 
 TO 
 THE RIGHT HONOURABLE 
 
 HENRY, LORD MONTAGUE, 
 
 he. &;c. &c. 
 
 THIS ROMANCE IS INSCRIBED 
 BY 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 It is hai'dly to be expected, that an author, -whom 
 the public has honoured with some degree of ap- 
 plause, should not be again a trespasser on their 
 kindness. Yet the author of Marmiox must be sup- 
 posed to feel some auxiet}'^ concerning its success, 
 since he is sensible that lie hazards, by this second 
 intrusion, any reputation which his first poem may 
 have pi*ocured him. The present story turns upon 
 the private adventures of a fictitious character; but is 
 called a Tale of Flodden Field, because the hero's 
 fate is connected with that memorable defeat, and 
 the causes which led to it. The design of the author 
 was, if possible, to appi-ize his readers, at the outset, 
 of the date of his story, and to prepare them for the 
 manners of the age in which it is laid. Any historical 
 nai'rative, far more an attempt at epic composition, 
 exceeded his plan of a romantic tale; yet he may be 
 permitted to hope, from the popularity of The Lai 
 OF THE Last Mixstuel, that an attempt to paini 
 the manners of the fe-ulal times, upon a broadei 
 scale, and in the course of a more interesting story 
 ■will not be unacceptable to the public. 
 
 The poem opens about the commencement of Au 
 gust, and concludes Avith the defeat of Flodden, 4tlv 
 September, 1513. 
 
 T\ 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Introduction to Canto First — To William Stew- 
 art Rose, Esq 13 
 
 Canto I. THE CASTLE 25 
 
 Introduction to Canto Second — To the Rev. J. 
 
 Marriot, M. A 47 
 
 Canto 11. THE CON VENT 57 
 
 Introduction to Canto Third — To William Ers- 
 
 kine, Esq. . . . ' 81 
 
 Canto III THE HOSTEL, OR INN. ... 87 
 Introduction to Canto Fourth — To James 
 
 Skene, Esq 113 
 
 Canto IV. THE CAMP 121 
 
 Introduction to Canto Fifth — To George Ellis, 
 
 Esq 147 
 
 Canto V. THE COURT. . . • 155 
 
 Introduction to Canto Sixth — ^To Richard He- 
 
 ber, Esq 191 
 
 Canto VI. THE BATTLE 199 
 
 Notes to Canto First 241 
 
 Canto Second 261 
 
 Canto Third 275 
 
 Canto Fourth 282 
 
 Canto Fil'th 292 
 
 Canto Sixth 306 
 
 A2 
 
MARMION, 
 
 CANTO FIRST. 
 
TO 
 WILLIAM STEWART ROSE, ESQ. 
 
 Ashestielf Ettricke Forest. 
 
 November's sky is chlll and drear, 
 November's leaf is red aiu) sear: 
 Late, s:a7ing dow n the steepy linn. 
 That hems our little garden in. 
 Low in its dark and narrow glen, 
 You scarce the rivulet might ken, 
 So thick the tangled green-wood grew. 
 So feeble trilled the streamlet through: 
 Now, raurmu)-ing hoarse, and frequent see» 
 Through bush and briar, no longer green. 
 An angry brook, it sweeps the glade. 
 Brawls over rock and wild cascade, ^ y 
 And, foaming brown with doubled spe*^- 
 Humes its waters to the Tweed. f 
 
 No longer Autumn's glowing red 
 Upon our Foi-est hills is shed; 
 No more, beneath the evening " 
 Fair Tweed reflects their pur 
 Away hath passed the heath 
 That bloomed so rich on T 
 
X4 INTRODUCTION 
 
 Sallow his brow, and russet bare 
 Ai'e now the sister heights of Yair. 
 The sheep, before the pinching heaven, 
 To sheltered dale and down are driven. 
 Where yet some faded herbage pines. 
 And yet a watery sun-beam shines: 
 In meek despondency they eye 
 The withered sward and wintiy sky. 
 And far beneatli their summer hill. 
 Stray sadly by Glenkinnon's rill: 
 The shepherd sliifts his mantle's fold 
 And wraps him closer from the cold; 
 His dogs no merry cii-cles wheel. 
 But, shivering, follow at his heel; 
 A cowering glance they often cast. 
 As deeper moans the gathering blast. 
 
 My imps, though hardy, bold, and wild. 
 As best befits the mountain child. 
 Feel the sad influence of the hour. 
 And wail the daisy's vanished flower; 
 Their summer gambols tell and mourn. 
 And anxious ask. Will spring return. 
 And birds and lambs again be gay, 
 And blossoms clothe the hawthorn spray? 
 
 Yes, prattlers, yes. The daisy's flower 
 \gain shall paint your summer bower; 
 'ain the hawthorn shall supply 
 o;arlands you delight to tie; 
 mbs upon the lea shall bound, 
 ^ birds carol to the round, 
 vou frolick light as they, 
 ^11 seero^the summer day. 
 ' f/i material things 
 '* summer brings; 
 
TO CANTO FIRST. J5 
 
 The genial call dead Nature hears. 
 
 And in her glory reappears. 
 
 But Oh! my country's wintry state 
 
 What second spring shall renovate? 
 
 What powerful call shall bid arise 
 
 The bui'ied warUke, and the wise? 
 
 The mind, that thought for Britain's weal, 
 
 The hand, that grasped the victor steel? 
 
 The vernal sun new life bestows 
 
 Even on the meanest flower that blows; 
 
 But vainly, vainly, may he shine, 
 
 Where Glory weeps o'er Nelson's shrin 
 
 And vainly pierce the solemn gloom 
 
 That shrouds, O Pitt, thy hallowed tomb! 
 
 Deep graved in eveiy British heart, 
 O never let those names depart! 
 Say to your sons, — Lo, here his grave, 
 Who ^ictor died on Gadite wave; 
 To him as to the burning levin. 
 Short, bright, resistless course was given; 
 Whei^e'er his country's foes were found. 
 Was heai'd the fated thunder's sound. 
 Till burst the bolt on yonder shore. 
 Rolled, blazed,, destroyed, — and was no more. ' 
 
 Nor mourn ye less his perished woi'th, 
 Wlio bade the conqueror go forth. 
 And launched that thunderbolt of war 
 On Egypt, Hafnia,* Trafolgar; 
 Who, born to guide such high eraprize, 
 For Brita.in's weal was early wise; 
 
 • Copenhagen. 
 
15 mTROBUCTION 
 
 Alas! to whom the Almighty gave. 
 For Biitain'a sins, an early grave; 
 His worth, who, in his mightiest hour, 
 A bauble held the pride of power. 
 Spurned at the sordid lust of pelf. 
 And ser\ ed his Albion for herself; 
 Who, when the frantic crowd amain 
 Strained at subjection's bursting rein, 
 0*er their wild mood full conquest gained. 
 The pride, he would not crush, restrained. 
 Showed their 6erce zeal a worthier cause, 
 And brought the freeman's arm to aid the free- 
 man's laws. 
 
 Had'st thou but lived, though stripp'd of power, 
 A watchman on the lonely tower. 
 Thy thrilling trump had I'ovxsed the land. 
 When fraud or danger were at hand; 
 By thee, as by the beacon light. 
 Our pilots had kept course aright; 
 As some proud column, though alone. 
 Thy strength had propp'd the tottering throne. 
 Now is the stately column broke, 
 The beacon-hght is quenched in smoke, 
 The^ trumpet's silver sound is still. 
 The Avardei- silent on the hill! 
 
 Oh, tbink, how to his latest day, 
 When Death, just hovering, claimed his prey. 
 With Palinurg's unaltered mood. 
 Firm at his dangerous i)OSt he stood; 
 Each call for needful rest repelled. 
 With thing hand the rudder held. 
 Till, in his fall, with fateful sway. 
 The steerage of the realm gave way! 
 
TO CANTO FIRST. jy 
 
 Then, while on Britain's thousand plains, 
 One unpolluted church remains. 
 Whose peaceful bells ne'er sent around 
 The bloody tocsin's maddening sound. 
 But still, upon the hallowed day. 
 Convoke the swains to praise and prayj 
 While faith and civil peace arc dear, 
 Grace this cold mai'ble with a tear, — 
 He, Avho preserved them, Pitt, lies here! 
 
 Nor yet suppress the generous sigh. 
 Because his Rival slumbers nigh; 
 Nor be thy requiescat dumb. 
 Lest it be said o'er Fox's tomb. 
 For talents mourn, untimely lost. 
 When best employed, and wanted most; 
 Mourn genius high, and lore profound. 
 And wit that loved to play, not wound; 
 And all the reasoning powers divine. 
 To penetrate, resolve, combine; 
 And feelings keen, and fancy's glow, — 
 They sleep with him who sleeps below: 
 And, if thou mourn' st they coiUd not save 
 From error him who owns this grave. 
 Be eveiy harsher thought suppressed. 
 And sacred be the last long rest! 
 Here, where the end of earthly things 
 Lays heroes, patriots, bards, and kings; 
 Where stiff the hand, and still the tongue. 
 Of those who fought, and spoke, and sung; 
 Jlerey where the fretted aisles prolong 
 The distant notes of holy song. 
 As if some angel spoke agen. 
 All peace on earth, good-will to meiH 
 
18 INTRODUCTION 
 
 If ever from an English heart, 
 O here let ])rejudice depart. 
 And, partial feeling east aside. 
 Record, that Fox a Briton died! 
 When Europe crouched to France's yoke, 
 And Austria bent, and Prussia broke. 
 And the firm Russian's purpose brave 
 Was bartei'ed by a timorous slave. 
 Even then dishonour's peace he spurned. 
 The sullied olive-branch returned. 
 Stood for his country's glory fast. 
 And nailed her colours to the mast. 
 Heaven, to reward his firmness, gave 
 A portion in this honoured grave; 
 And ne'er held marble in its trust 
 Of two such M ond'rous men the dust. 
 
 With more than mortal powers endowed^ 
 How high they soared above the croMd! 
 Theirs w as no common party race. 
 Jostling by dark intrigue for place; 
 Like fabled Gods, their mighty war 
 Shook realms and nations in its jar; 
 Beneath each banner proud to stand 
 Looked up the noblest of the land. 
 Till through the British world were known 
 The names of Pitt and Fox alone. 
 Spells of such force no Avizard grave 
 E'er framed in dark Thessalian cave. 
 Though his could drain the ocean dry. 
 And foi ce the planets from the sky. 
 These spells are spent, and, spent with these, 
 The w ine oi" life is on the lees. 
 Genius, and taste, and talent gone. 
 For ever tombed beneath the stone, 
 
TO CANTO FIRST. 19 
 
 Where,— taniincc thought to human pride!— 
 
 The mighty chiefs sleep side by side. 
 
 Dro\) u[)Ou Fox's grave the tear, 
 
 'Tmll trickle to his rival's bier; 
 
 O'ev Pitt's the mon.rnfnl requiem sound. 
 
 And Fox's shall the notes rebound. 
 
 The solemn echo seems to cry, 
 
 *' Here let their discord with them die; 
 
 Speak not tor those a separate doom, 
 
 Wliom fate made brothers in the tomb, 
 
 But search the land of living men, 
 
 Were wilt thou find their like agen?" 
 
 Rest, ardent Sph'its! till the cries 
 Of dying Nature bid you rise; 
 Not even your Britain's groans can pierce 
 The leaden silence of your hearse: 
 Then, O how impotent and vain 
 This grateful tributary strain; 
 Though not unmarked from northern clime, 
 Ye heard the Border Minstrel's rhyme: 
 His Gothic harp has o'er you lung; 
 The bard you deigned to praise, your deathless 
 names has sung. 
 
 Stay yet, illusion, stay awhile. 
 My wildered fancy still beguile! 
 From this high theme how can I part, 
 Ere half unloaded is my heart! 
 For all the tear%,e'er sorrow drew. 
 And all the raptures fancy knew. 
 And all the keener rush of blood. 
 That throbs through bard in bard-like mood. 
 Were here a tribute mean and low, 
 Though all their mingled streams could flow — 
 Wo, wonder, and sensation high, 
 In one spring-tide of ecstacy. — 
 
20 INTRODUCTION 
 
 It will not be — it may not last — 
 The vision of enchantraenc's past: 
 like frost-work in the morning ray,- 
 The fancied fabric melts away; 
 Each Gothic arch, memorial stone. 
 And long, dim, lofty aisle are gone. 
 And, lingering last, deception dear. 
 The choir's high sounds die on my ear. 
 Now slow return the lonely down. 
 The silent pastures bleak and broAvn, 
 The farm begirt with copse-wood wild. 
 The gambols of each frolic child. 
 Mixing their shrill cries with the tone 
 Of Tweed's dai^k waters rushmg on. 
 
 Prompt on unequal tasks to run. 
 Thus Nature disciplines her son: 
 Meeter, she says, for me to stray. 
 And waste the solitary day. 
 In plucking from yon fen the reed. 
 And watching it float down the Tweed; 
 Or idly list the shrilling lay 
 With which the milk-maid cheers her way. 
 Marking its cadence rise and fail. 
 As from the field, beneath her pail. 
 She trips it down the uneven dale: 
 Meeter for me, by yonder cairn, 
 The ancient shepherd's tale to leam> 
 Though oft he stop in mstio-fear, 
 Lest his old legends tu'e the ear 
 Of one, who, in his simple mind, 
 May boast of book -learned taste refined. 
 
 But thou, my friend, canst fitly tell, 
 (For few have read romance so well) 
 
TO CANTO FIRST. 21 
 
 How still the legendai-y lay 
 
 O'er poet's bosom holds its sway; 
 
 How on the ancient minstrel strain 
 
 Time lays his palsied hand in vain; 
 
 And how our hearts at doughty deeds, 
 
 By warriors MTOUght in steei}^ weeds, 
 
 Still throb for fear and pity's sake; 
 
 As when the Champion of the lake 
 
 Enters Morgana's fated house. 
 
 Or in the Chapel Perilous, 
 
 Despising spells and demons' force. 
 
 Holds converse with the unburied corse; 
 
 Or when, Dame Ganore's grace to move, 
 (Alas! that lawless was theij- love) 
 He sought proud Tarquin in his den. 
 And freed full sixty knights; or when, 
 A sinful man, and unconfessed. 
 He took the Sangreal*s holy quest. 
 And, slumbering, saw the vision high. 
 He might not vievv with waking eye. 
 
 The mightiest chiefs of British song 
 Scorned not such legends to prolong: 
 Thty gleam through Spenser's elfin dream. 
 And mix in Milton's heavenly theme; 
 And Drj'den, in immortal strain. 
 Had raised the Table Round again. 
 But that a ribald king and court 
 Bade him toiljtn, to make them sport; 
 Demanded for their niggard pay. 
 Fit for their souls, a looser lay, 
 Licentious satire, song, and play; 
 The world defrauded of the high design, 
 Prophaned the God-given strength, and marred 
 the lofty line. 
 
22 INTRODUCTION 
 
 Warmed b} such names, well may we theia, 
 Though dwindled sons of little men. 
 Essay to break a feeble lance 
 In the fail' fieUfs of old romance; 
 Or seek the moated castle's cell 
 Where long thiough talisman and spell. 
 While tyrants ruled, and damsels wept, 
 Thy Genius, Chivalry, hath slept: 
 There sound the harpings of the North, 
 Till he awake and sally forth, 
 ' On A enturous quest to prick again. 
 In all his arms, with all his train. 
 Shield, lance, and brand, and i)lume, and scarf, 
 Fay, giant, dragon, squire, and dwarf. 
 And wizard with his wand of might. 
 And errant maid on j)alfrey white. 
 Around the Genius weave their spells. 
 Pure Love, who scarce his passioii tells; 
 Mystery, half veiled and half revealed; 
 And Honour, with his spotless shield; 
 Attention, with fixed eye; and Fear, 
 That loves the tale she shrinks to hear; 
 And gentle Courtesy; and Faith, 
 Unchanged by sufferings, time, or death; 
 And Valour, lion -mettled lord. 
 Leaning upon his own good sw^ord. 
 
 Well has th) fair achievement shown, 
 A V orthy meed may thus kle won; 
 Ytene's* oaks — beneath whose shade. 
 Their theme the mei'ry minstrels made. 
 Of Ascapart, and Bevis bold, 
 And that Red King,f who, while of old 
 
 * The new forest in Hampshire, anciently so called. 
 t William Rufus. 
 
TO CANTO FIRST. 22 
 
 Through Boldrewood the chase he led. 
 
 By his loved huntsman's arrow bled — 
 
 Ytene's oaks have heard again 
 
 Renewed such legendary strain; 
 
 For thou hast sung, how He of Gaul, 
 
 That Amadis so famed in hall. 
 
 For Oriana, foiled in fight 
 
 The Necromancer's felon might; 
 
 And well in modern verse hast wove 
 
 Partenopex's mystic love: 
 
 Hear then, attentive to my lay, 
 
 A knightly tale of Albion's elder day. 
 
'^ 
 
4 
 
 MARMION. 
 
 CANTO FIRST. 
 
 THE CASTLE, 
 
 xJAY set on Norham's castled steep. 
 And Tweed's fair river, broad and deep, 
 
 And Cheviot's mountains lone: 
 The battled towers, the donjon keep, 
 The loop-hole grates where captives weep, 
 The flanking walls that round it sweep. 
 
 In yellow lustre shone. 
 The wan'iors on the turrets high, 
 Moving athwart the evening sky. 
 
 Seemed forms of giant height: 
 Their armor, as it caught the rays, 
 Flashed back again the western blaze. 
 
 In lines of dazzUng light. 
 
 II. 
 
 St. George's banner, broad and gay, 
 N^ow faded, as the fading ray 
 Less bright, and less, was flung; 
 
 R 
 
26 MARMION. Canto I. 
 
 The evening gale had scarce the poM er 
 To wave it on the donjon tower. 
 
 So heavily it hung. 
 The scouts had parted on their search. 
 The castle gates were barr'd, 
 --^^^ v^" doomy portal arch, 
 
 lootsteps to a march, 
 rder kept his guard, 
 ming, as he paced along, 
 jient border-gaihering song. 
 
 m. 
 
 .stant trampUu^ sound he hears; 
 
 J looks abroad, and soon appears, 
 j'er HornclifF-hili, a plump* of speai'S, 
 
 Beneath a pennon gay; 
 A horseman darting from the crowd, 
 "^jike lightning from a summer cloud. 
 Spurs on his mettled courser proud, 
 
 Before the dark array. 
 Beneath the sable palisade, 
 That closed the castle barricade. 
 
 His bugle-horn he blew; 
 The warder hasted from the walj. 
 And warned the Captain in the hall. 
 
 For well the blast he knew; 
 And joyfully that Knight did call, 
 To sewer, squire, and seneschal. 
 
 * This word pi-operly applies to a flight of waterfowl; bu 
 applied, by analogy, to a body of horse. * 
 
 There is a Knight of the North Country, 
 Which leads a lusty plu7np of spears. 
 
 Battk rfFhdden. 
 
Canto I. THE CASTLE. 27 
 
 IV. 
 
 Xow broach ye a pipe of Malvoisie, 
 
 Bring pasties of the doe, 
 
 nd quickly make tlie entrance free, 
 
 nd bid my heralds ready be, 
 xiini every minstrel sound liis glee. 
 
 And all our trumpets blow; 
 And, from the platform, spare ye not 
 To fire a noble salvo-shot: 
 
 Lord Marmion waits below." — |^^; 
 
 Then to the Castle's lower ward <•; '^ 
 
 Sped forty yeomen tall, JwP'vJ 
 
 The iron-studded gates unbarred. 
 Raised the portcullis' ponderous guard. 
 The lofty palisade unsparred. 
 
 And let the di'aw -bridge fall. 
 
 V. 
 
 Along the bridge Lord Marmion rode. 
 
 Proudly his red -roan charger trod. 
 
 His helm himg at the saddle bo\i^; 
 
 Well, by his visage, you might know 
 
 He was a stalworth knighi, and keen. 
 
 And had in many a battle been; 
 
 The scar on his brown cheek revealed 
 
 A token true of Bos worth field; 
 
 His eye-brow dark, and eye of fire. 
 
 Showed spunt proud, and prompt to irej 
 
 Yet lines of thought upon his cheek. 
 
 Did deep design and counsel speak. 
 His fo:cUea\l, by his casque woi-n bare. 
 His thick modstache, and curly hair, 
 ' Coal-black, and grizzled here and there. 
 
28 MARMION. Cahto I. 
 
 But more through toil than age; 
 His square-turned jwnts, and strength of limli, 
 Showed him no carpet knight so trim, 
 But, in close fight, a champion grim> 
 
 In camps, a leader sage. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Well was he armed from head to heel-. 
 
 In mail, and plate, of Milan steel; 
 
 But liis strong helm, of mighty cost. 
 
 Was all with hurnisliM gold emboos'd; 
 
 Amid the plumage of the crest, 
 
 A falcon hovered on her nest. 
 
 With wings outspread, and forward breast; 
 
 E'en such a falcon, on his shield. 
 
 Soared sable in an azure field: 
 
 The golden legend bore aright, 
 
 *' Who checks at ?ne to death is dight" 
 
 Blue was the charger's broidered rein; 
 
 Blue ribbons decked his arching mane; 
 
 The knightly housing's ample fold 
 
 Was velvet blue, and trapp'd with gold. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Behind him rode two gallant squires. 
 Of noble name, and knightly sires; 
 They burned the gilded spurs to claim; 
 For Avell could each a war-horse tame, 
 Could draw the bow, the sword could sway, 
 And lightly bear the ring away; 
 Nor less with courteous precepts stored, 
 Gould dance in hall, and carve at board, 
 And frame love ditties passing rare. 
 And sing them to a lady fair. 
 
Canto I. THE CASTLE. 39 
 
 vm. 
 
 Four men-at-arms came at their back% 
 With halbard, bill, and battle-ax: 
 They bore Lord Mai-mion's lance so strong, 
 ■ And led his sumpter mules alon^. 
 And ambling palfrey, when at need 
 Him listed ease his battle-steed. jJL 
 The last, and trustiest of the four. 
 On high his forky pennon bore; 
 Like s\v allow's tail, in shape and hue^ 
 Fluttered the streamer glossy blue. 
 Where, blazon'd sable, as before. 
 The towering falcon seemed to soar. 
 Last, twenty yeQ,men, two and two. 
 In hosen black, and jerkins blue, 
 With falcons broider'd on each breast. 
 Attended on their lord's behest. 
 Eachj chosen for an archer good. 
 Knew hunting-craft by lake or wood; 
 Each one a sbc-foot bow could bend. 
 And far a cloth-yard shaft could send; 
 Each held a boar-spear tough and strong. 
 And at their belts their quivers rung. 
 Their dusty palfreys, and array. 
 Showed they had marched a weary way 
 
 IX. 
 
 'Tis meet that I should tell you now. 
 How fairly armed, and ordered ho\r. 
 
 The soldiers of tlie guard. 
 With musquet, pike, and raorion> 
 To welcome noble Marmion, 
 
 Stood in the Castle-yard; 
 
30 MARmON. Gantol 
 
 Minstrels and trampeters wei*e there. 
 The gunner held his Untstock yare, 
 
 For welcome-shot prepared — 
 Entered the train, and such a clang, 
 As then through all his turrets rang, 
 
 Old Norham never heard. 
 
 ♦ 
 
 The guards their morrice pikes advanced, 
 
 The trumpets flourished brave, 
 The cannon from the ramparts glanced. 
 
 And thundering welcome gave; 
 A blithe salute, in martial soi't, 
 
 The minstrels well might sound. 
 For, as Lord Marmion crossed the court. 
 
 He scattered angels round. 
 " Welcome to Norham, Marmion, 
 
 Stout heart, and open hand! 
 Well dost thou brook thy gallant roan, 
 
 Thou flower of English land." 
 
 XI. 
 
 Two pursuivants, whom tabards deck, 
 With silver scutcheon round their neck, 
 
 Stood on the steps of stone, 
 By wliich you reach the donjon gate. 
 And there, with herald pomp and state, 
 
 They hailed Lord Marmion: 
 They hailed him Lord of Fontenaye, 
 Of Lutterward and Scrivelbaye, 
 
 Of Tamworth tower and town; 
 And he, their courtesy to requite. 
 Gave them a chain of twelve marks weight, 
 
 All as he lightied dowh; 
 
Canto I. THE CASTLE. 31 
 
 " Now largesse, largesse,* Lord Marraion, ^ 
 
 Knight of the crest of gold! 
 A blazon'd shield, in battle won, 
 
 Ne'er guarded heart so bold.'* 
 
 k.. XII. 
 
 'I'hey marshall'd hina to the Castle hall. 
 
 Where the guests stood all aside. 
 And loudly flourished the trumpet-call. 
 
 And the heralds loudly cried, 
 — " Room, lordings, room for Lord Marmioir, 
 
 With the crest and helm of gold! 
 Full well Ave know the trophies a\ on 
 
 In the lists at Cottiswold: 
 There, vainly Ralph de Wilton strove 
 
 'Gainst Marmion's force to stand; 
 1p him he lost his ladye-love, 
 * And to the king his land. 
 Ourselves beheld the listed field, 
 
 A sight both sad and fair; 
 We saw Lord Marraion pierce his shield. 
 
 And saw his saddle bare; 
 We saw the victor win the crest. 
 
 He wears with worthy pride; 
 And on the gibbet-tree, reversed. 
 
 His foeman's scutcheon tied. 
 Place, nobles, for the P'alcon-Knight! 
 
 Room, room, ye gentles gay, 
 For him who conquered in the right, 
 
 Jklarmion of Fonteuave!" — 
 
 * Tbe cry by -which the heralds cNpvessed their thanks 
 ir tht; botiut> of the iiobli?'!. 
 
# 
 
 4 
 
 32 MARMION. Canto I. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Then stepped to meet that noble lord, 
 
 Sh' Hugh the Heron bold, 
 Baron of Twisell, and of Ford, 
 
 And Captain of the Hold. 
 He led Loi'd Marmion to the deas, a. 
 
 Raised o'er the pavement high, .■.,% 
 
 And placed him in the upper place — 
 
 They feasted full and high: 
 The whiles a northern harper rude 
 ('haunted a rhyme of deadly feud, 
 
 *' 7/0 w the fierce Thir-wallSf and Ridley s all. 
 Stout fVillimoiidstvicky 
 And Hard-riding Dick, 
 
 And Hiighie of Ha-wdon, and Will 0' the Wall, 
 Have set on Sir Albany Featherstonhangh, 
 And taken Ids life at the Beadman^ s-shciptk" — * 
 
 Scantly Lord Marmion's ear could broofe 
 The harper's Ijarharous lay; 
 
 Yet much he praised the pains he took. 
 And well those pains did pay: 
 Por lady's suit, and minstrel's strain. 
 By knight should ne'er he heaj-d in vain. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 " Now, good Lord Marmion," Heron sftys, 
 
 ** Of your fair courtesy, 
 I pray you bide some little space. 
 
 In this poor tower with me. 
 Here may you keep your arms from rust. 
 
 May breathe your Avar-horse well; 
 
 * The rest of this old ballad may be found in the nofe. 
 
Canto I. THE CASTLE. 33 
 
 Seldom hath pass'd a week, but giiist 
 
 Or feat of arms befell: 
 The Scots can rein a mettled steed. 
 
 And love to couch a spear; — 
 St. George! a stuTing life they lea^, 
 
 That have such neighbors near: 
 ^^■\ Then stay with us a little space, 
 
 Our northern wars to learn; 
 I pray you for your lady's grace." — 
 
 Lord Marmion's brow grew stern- 
 
 XV. 
 
 The Captain mark'd his altei'ed look, 
 
 And gave ^ squire the sign; 
 A mighty 'wassell bowl he took. 
 
 And crown'd it high with wine, 
 »^* ISow pledge me here. Lord Marmidn: 
 ^?^^.Bnt first i pray thee fair, 
 
 ■\Vliere hast thou left Uiat page of thine. 
 That used to serve thy cup of wine, 
 
 ^Vhose beauty was so rare? 
 When last in Raby towers we met. 
 
 The boy I closely eyed. 
 And often marked his cheeks were wet 
 
 With tears he fain would hide: 
 His was no rugged horse-boy's hand. 
 To burnish shield, or sharpen brand. 
 
 Or saddle battle-steed; 
 But meeter seem'd for lady fair. 
 To fan her cheek, or cui'l her hair. 
 Or through embroidery, rich and rare. 
 
 The slender silk to lead: 
 His skin was fair, his ringlets gold. 
 
 His bosom — when he sigh'd, 
 
 B5 
 
34 MARMION. Canto I. 
 
 The russet doublet's rugged fold 
 
 Could scarce repel its pride! 
 Say, hast thou given that lovely youth 
 
 To serve in lady's bower? 
 Or was the gentle page, in sooth, 
 
 A gentle paramour?" 
 
 XVII. 
 
 liOrd Marmion ill could brook such jest; 
 
 He roU'd his kindling eye. 
 With pain his rising wrath suppressed. 
 
 Yet made a calm reply: 
 "That boy thou though t'st so goodly fair? 
 
 He might not brook the northern air. 
 ]More of his fate if thou would'st learn, 
 
 I left him sick in Lindisfarn: 
 Enough of him. — But, Heron, say. 
 Why does thy lovely lady gay 
 
 Disdain to grace the hall to-day? 
 Or has that dame, so fair and sage, 
 
 Gone on some pious pilgrimage?" — 
 He spoke in covert scorn, for fame 
 
 Whispered light tales of Heron's dame. , 
 
 xvni. 
 
 Unmarked, at least unrecked, the tau^y^ 
 
 Careless the Knight replied, 
 '' No bird, whose feathers gayly flaunt. 
 
 Delights in cage to bide: 
 Norham is grim, aad grated close. 
 Hemmed in by battlement and fosse. 
 
 And many a darksome tower; 
 And better loves my lady bright. 
 To sit in liberty and hght. 
 
 In fair Queen Margaret's bower 
 
€anto r. THE CASTLE. 35 
 
 We hold our gi'eyhound in our hand, 
 
 Our falcon on our glove; 
 But where shall we find leash or band. 
 
 For dame that loves to rove? 
 Let the wild falcon soar her swing. 
 She'll stoop w hen she has tired her wbg." — 
 
 XIX. 
 
 ** Nay, if with Royal James's bride, 
 
 The lovely Lady Heron bide. 
 
 Behold me here a messenger. 
 
 Your tender greetings prompt to bear; 
 
 For, to the Scottish court addressed, 
 
 I journey at our king's behest. 
 
 And pray you, of your grace, pi'ovidc 
 
 For me, and mine, a trusty guide. 
 
 I have not ridden in Scotland since 
 
 James backed the cause of that mock princc) 
 
 Warbeck, that Flemish counterfeit, 
 
 Who on the gibbet paid the cheat. 
 
 Then did I march with Surrey's power. 
 
 What ti^Tie we razed old Ayton tower." — 
 
 XX. 
 ** Ffc" such like need, my lord, I trow, 
 Nomam can find you guides enow; 
 For here be some have pricked as far, 
 On Scottish gi'ound, as to Dunbar; 
 Have drunk the monks of St. Bothan's ale, 
 And driven the beeves of Lauderdale; 
 Harried the wives of Cireenlaw's goods. 
 And given them light to set their hoods." — 
 
36 MARMION. Canto I. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 " Now, in good sooth," Lord Marmion tn%&, 
 
 " Were I in warlike-wise to ride, 
 
 A better guard I would not lack. 
 
 Than your stout forayers at my baek: 
 
 But, as in form of peace I go, 
 
 A friendly messenger, to know, 
 
 Why, through all Scotland, near and far. 
 
 Their king is mustering troops for war. 
 
 The sight of plundering border spears 
 
 Might juistify suspicious fears. 
 
 And deadly feud, or thirst of spoil. 
 
 Break out in some unseemly broil: 
 
 A hex'ald were my fitting guide; 
 
 Or friar, sworn in peace to bide; 
 
 Or pardoner, or travelling priesf. 
 
 Or strolling pilgrim, at the least." 
 
 XXII. 
 
 The Captain mused a little space. 
 And passed his hand across his face. 
 — " Fain would I find the guide you vauf^ 
 But ill may spare a pursuivant. 
 The only men that safe can ride 
 Mine errands on the Scottish side. 
 Then, though a bishop built this fort. 
 Few holy bx-ethren here resort; 
 Even our good chaplain, as I ween. 
 Since our last siege, Ave have not seen: 
 The mass ho might not sing or say, 
 Upon one stinted meal a day; 
 So, safe he sat in Durham aisle. 
 And prayed for our success the ^^Iiile. 
 
Canto I. THE CASTLE. 37 
 
 Our Norham %-icar, wo betide. 
 
 Is all too well in case to ride. 
 
 The priest of Shoreswood — he could rein 
 
 The wildest war-horse in your train; 
 
 But then, no spearman in the hall 
 
 Will sooner swear, or stab, or brawl. 
 
 Friar John of Tillmouth were the man; 
 
 A blithesome brother at the can, 
 
 A welcome guest in hall and bower. 
 
 He knows each castle, town, and tower. 
 
 In Avhieh the wine and ale are good, 
 
 ^Twixt Newcastle and IIoly-Rood. 
 
 But that good man, as ill befalls. 
 
 Hath seldom left our castle walls, 
 
 bince on the vigil of St. Bede, 
 
 In evil hour, he crossed the Tweed, 
 
 To teach Dame Alison her creed. 
 
 Old Bughtrig found him with his wife; 
 
 And John, an enemy to strife. 
 
 Sans frock and hood, fled for his life. 
 
 The jealous churl hath deeply swore, 
 
 Thatj if again he ventures o'er. 
 
 He shall shrieve penitent no more. 
 
 Little he loves such risks, I know; 
 
 Yet, in your guard, perchance m ill go."— 
 
 xxni. 
 
 Young Selby, at the fair hall-board, 
 Carved to his uncle, and that lord. 
 And reverently took up the word. 
 " Kind uncle, wo were we each one. 
 If harm should hap to brother John. 
 He is a man of mirthful speech, 
 Caa many a game and gambol teaclr, 
 
38 MARMIOK Canto T 
 
 Full well at tables can he play, 
 
 And 3weep at bowls the stake away. 
 
 None can a lustier carol bawl. 
 
 The needfuUest among us all. 
 
 When time hangs heavy in the hall, 
 
 And snow comes thick at Christmas tide, 
 
 And we can neither hunt, nor ride 
 
 A foray on the Scottish side. 
 
 The vowed revenge of B ugh trig rude. 
 
 May end in worse than loss of hood. 
 
 Let Friar John, in safety, still 
 
 In chimney corner snore his fill. 
 
 Roast hissing crabs, or flaggons swill: 
 
 Last night to Norham there came one, 
 
 Will better guide Lord Marmion." 
 
 " Nephew," quoth Heron, " by my fay. 
 
 Well hast thou spoke; say forth thy say." 
 
 XXIV. 
 " Here is a holy Palmer come, 
 From Salem first, and last from Rome; 
 One, that hath kissed the blessed- tomb, 
 And visited each holy shrine, 
 In Araby and Palestine; 
 On hills of Armenie hath been, 
 WTiere Noah's ark may yet be seen; 
 By that Red Sea, too, hath he trod. 
 Which parted at the prophet's rod; 
 In Sinai's wilderness he saw 
 The Mount, where Israel heard the law. 
 Mid thunder-dint, and flashing levin, 
 And shadows, mists, and darkness, given. 
 He shows Saint James's cockle shell, 
 Of fair Montserrat, too, can tell; 
 
Canto I. THE CASTLE. 39 
 
 And of that Grot where olives nod. 
 Where, darling of each heart and eye, 
 From all the youth of Sicily, 
 
 Saint Rosalie retired to God. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 *' To stout Saint George of Norwich meri'v, 
 Saint Thomas, too, of Canterbury, 
 Cuthbert of Durham and Saint Bede, 
 For his sins' pardon hath he prayed. 
 He knows the passes of the North, 
 And seeks far shrines beyond the Forth; 
 Little he eats, and long vill wake. 
 And drinks but of the stream or lake. 
 This were a guide o'er moor and dale; 
 But when oui- John hath quaffed his ale, 
 As little as the wind that blows. 
 And warms itself against his nose. 
 Kens he, or cares, ^hich way he goes." — 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 " Gi'amercy," quoth Lord ^farmion, 
 " Full loth were I, that Friar John, 
 That venerable man, for me. 
 Were placed in fear, or jeopardy; 
 
 If this same Palmer will me lead 
 From hence to Holy Rood, 
 
 Like his gootl saint, I'll pay his meed. 
 
 Instead of cockle-shell, or bead. 
 With angels fair and good. 
 T love such holy ramblers; still 
 They know to cliarm a weary hilj. 
 
 With song, ron:tance, or lay: 
 Some jovial tale, or glee, or jest, 
 
40 MARMIOX. Canto I. 
 
 Some lying legend at the least. 
 They bring to cheer the way."— 
 
 xxvn. 
 
 " Ah! noble sir," young Selby said. 
 
 And finger on his lip he laid, 
 
 " This man knows much, perchance e'en more 
 
 Than he could learn by holr lore. 
 
 Still to himself he's muttering. 
 
 And shrinks as at some unseen thing. 
 
 Last night we listened at liis cell; 
 
 Strange sounds we heard, and, sooth to tellj 
 
 He jnurmured on till morn, howe'er 
 
 No living mortal could be near. 
 
 Sometimes I thought 1 heard it plain. 
 
 As other voices spoke agam. 
 
 I cannot tell — ^I like it not — 
 
 Friar John hath told us it is wrote. 
 
 No conscience clear, and void of wrong. 
 
 Can rest awake, and pray so long. 
 
 Himself still sleeps before liis beads 
 
 Have marked ten aves, and two creeds."— 
 
 xxvin. 
 
 *' — Let pass," quoth Marmion; " by my fay. 
 This man shall guide me on my way. 
 Although the gi'eat arch-fiend and he 
 Had sworn themselves of company; 
 So please you, gentle youth, to caJl 
 This Palmer to the castle hall." 
 The summoned Palmer came in places 
 His sable cowl o'erhung his face; 
 In his black mantle was he clad. 
 With Peter's keys, in cloth of red^ 
 
Canto I. THE CASTLE. 41 
 
 On his broad shoulders wrought; 
 The scallop shell his cap did deck; 
 The crucifix around his neck 
 Was from Loretto brought; 
 His sandals were with travel tore. 
 Staff, budget, bottle, scrip, he m ore; 
 The faded palm branch in his hand. 
 Show ed pilgrim from the Holy Land. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 When as the Palmer came in hall. 
 
 Nor lord, nor knight, was there more tall. 
 
 Or had a statelier step withal. 
 
 Or looked more high and keen; 
 For no saluting did he wait. 
 But stiodc across the hall of state. 
 And fronted Marmion where he sate. 
 
 As he his peer had been. 
 But his gaunt frame was worn with toil; 
 His cheek was sunk, alas the while! 
 And when he struggled at a smile. 
 
 His eye looked haggard wild. 
 Poor « retch! the mother that him bare^ 
 If she ha^ been in presence there. 
 In his Avan face, and sun-burned" hair. 
 
 She had not known her child. 
 Danger, long travel, want, or wo. 
 Soon change the form that best we know— 
 For deadly fear can time outgo. 
 
 And blanch at once the hair; 
 Hard toil can roughen form and face. 
 And want can quench the eye's bright grace. 
 Nor does old age a wrinkle trace, 
 
 More deeply than despair. 
 
42 MARMION. Canto I. 
 
 Happy whom none of these befal. 
 But this poor Palmer knew them all. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Lord Marmion then his boon did ask; 
 
 The Pahner took on liim the task. 
 
 So that he would niarch with morning tide, 
 
 To Scottish court to be his gmde. 
 
 — " But I have solemn vows to pay, 
 
 And may not linger by the "w ay. 
 
 To fair Saint Andrew's bound. 
 Within the ocean-cave to pray. 
 Where good Saint Rule his holy lay, 
 From midnight to the dawn of day. 
 
 Sung to the billows' sound; 
 Thence to Saint Fillan's blessed well, 
 Whose spring can frenzied dreams dispel. 
 
 And the crazed brain restore: — 
 Saint Mary grant, that cave or spring 
 Could back to peace my bosom brijig, 
 
 Or bid it throb no more!" — 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 And now the midnight draught of sleep. 
 Where wine imd si)ices lichly steep, 
 Ia massive bowl of silver deep. 
 
 The page presents on knee. 
 Lord ISIarmion drank a fair good rest, 
 The Captain pledged his noble guest. 
 The cup went through among the rest, 
 
 Who drained it merrily; 
 Alone the Palmer passed it by, 
 Thougli Selby pressed iiim cooiteously. 
 
:anto I. THE CASTLE. 43 
 
 This was the sign the feast was o'ei'; 
 It luished the merry wassel roar. 
 
 The minstrels ceased to sound. 
 Soon in the castle nought Mas heard, 
 But the slow footstep of the guard. 
 
 Pacing his sober round. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 With early dawn Lord Marmion rose: 
 
 And first the chapel doors unclose; 
 
 Then, after morning rites were done, 
 
 (A hasty mass from Friar John,) 
 
 And knight and squire had broke their fast. 
 
 On rich substantial repast, 
 
 Lord Marmion's bugle blew to horse. 
 
 Then came the stirrup-cup in coui'se; 
 
 Between the Baron and his host. 
 
 No point of courtesy was lost: 
 
 High thanks were by Lord Marmion paid, 
 
 Solemn excuse the Captain made. 
 
 Till, filing from the gate, had past 
 
 That noble train, their Lord the last. 
 
 Then loudly i-ung the tiaimpet call; 
 
 Thundered the cannon from the ^vall, 
 And shook the Scottish shore; 
 
 Around the castle eddied slow, 
 
 A'^olumes of smoke as white as snov. 
 And hid its turrets hoar; 
 'I'ill they rolled forth upon the air. 
 And met the river breezes there. 
 Which gave again the prospect fair. 
 
 END OF CANTO FIRST. 
 
MARMION. 
 
 CANTO SECOND. 
 
' TO 
 
 THE REV. JOHN MARRIOT, M. A. 
 
 Ashestlely Ettricke Forest 
 M. HE scenes are desert now, and bare. 
 Where flourished once a forest fair. 
 When these waste glens with copse were lingd^, 
 And peopled Avith the hart and hind. 
 Yon thorn — perchance whose prickly spears 
 Have fenced him for three hundred years. 
 While fell around his green compeers — 
 Yon lonely thorn, Avould he could tell 
 The changes of his parent dell. 
 Since he, so gray and stubborn now. 
 Waved in each breeze a saphng bough; 
 Would he could tell how deep the shade, 
 A thousand mingled branches made; 
 How broad the shadows of the oak, 
 Ho«' clung the rowan* to the rock. 
 And through the foliage showed his head. 
 With narrow leaves, and berries red; 
 What pines on every mountain sprung. 
 O'er every dell what birches hung. 
 In every breeze what aspens shook. 
 What alders shaded eveiy brook. 
 
 *' Here, in my shade," metliinks he'd say, 
 " The mighty stag at noontide lay; 
 
 * Mounttun.ash. 
 
48 INTRODUCTION 
 
 The "wolf I've seen, a fiercer game, 
 
 (The neighbonng dingle bears his name,) 
 
 With lui"ching step aixmnd me prowl. 
 
 And stop against the moon to howl; 
 
 The mountain boar, on battle set. 
 
 His tusks upon my stem would w het; 
 
 Wliile doe and roe, and red-deer good. 
 
 Have bounded by thix)ugh gay green-w ood. 
 
 Then oft, from Newark's riven tower. 
 
 Sallied a Scottish monaixh's power: 
 
 A thousand vassals mustered i-ound. 
 
 With horse, and hawk, and horn, and hound; 
 
 And I might see tlie youth intent. 
 
 Guard everj' pass with cross-bow bent; 
 
 And through the brake the rangers stalk. 
 
 And falc'ners hold the ready hawk; 
 
 And forestei's, in green-wood trim. 
 
 Lead in the leash the gaze-hounds grim^ 
 
 Attentive, as the bratchet's* bay 
 
 From the dark covert drove the prey. 
 
 To slip them as he broke away. 
 
 The startled quarry bounds amain. 
 
 As fast the gallant gi'ey -hounds strain; 
 
 Whistles the ari'ow from the bow. 
 
 Answers the harquebuss below; 
 
 "While all the rocking hills reply. 
 
 To hoof-clang, hound, and huntere' cry. 
 
 And bugles ringing Kghtsomely." — 
 
 Of such proud huntings, many tales 
 Yet linger in om' lonely dales. 
 Up pathless Ettricke, and on Yarrow, 
 Where ei-st the Outlaw drew liis arrow 
 
 • Slow-hound- 
 
TO CANTO SECOND. 4y 
 
 But not more blithe that sylvan court, 
 
 Than we have been at humbler sport; 
 
 Though small our pomp, and mean our game, 
 
 Our mirth, dear Mai-riot, was the same. 
 
 Remember'st thou my grey -hounds true? . 
 
 O'er holt, or hill, there never flew. 
 
 From slip, or leash, there never sprang. 
 
 More fleet of foot, or sure of fang. 
 
 Nor dull, between each merry chase. 
 
 Passed by the intei*mitted space; 
 
 For we had fair resource in store. 
 
 In Classic, and in Gothic lore: 
 
 We marked each memorable scene, 
 
 And held poetic talk between; 
 
 Nor hill, nor brook, we paced along, 
 
 T?ut had its legend, or its song. 
 
 All silent now — for now are still 
 
 Thy bowers, untenanted Bowhill! 
 
 No longer, from thy mountains dun. 
 
 The yeoman hears the well-known g^in,- 
 
 And, while his honest heart glows warm. 
 
 At thought of his paternal farm. 
 
 Round to his mates a brimmer fills. 
 
 And drinks, "The Chieftain of the Hills!" 
 
 No fairy forms, in Yarrow's bowers. 
 
 Trip o'er the Malks, or tend the flowers. 
 
 Fair as the elves m hom Janet saw. 
 
 By moonlight, dance on CarterhaugL; 
 
 No youthful baron 's left to grace 
 
 The Forest-Sherift''s lonely chase, 
 
 And ape, in manly step and tone. 
 
 The majesty of Oberon: 
 
 And she is gone, whose loveh' face 
 
 Is but her least and lowest grace; 
 
50 INTRODUCTION 
 
 Though if to Syli)liid Queen 'twere given. 
 To show our earth the charms of heaven, 
 She could not glide along the air, 
 \Vith form more light, or face more fair. 
 No more the widow's deafened ear 
 Grows quick, that lady's step to hear: 
 At noontide she expects her not. 
 Nor busies her to trim the cot; 
 Pensive she turns her humming wlieel, 
 Or pensive cooks her orphan's meal; 
 Yet blesses, ere she deals their bread. 
 The gentle hand by ^\ liich they're fed. 
 
 From Yair, — which hills so closely bind> 
 Scarce am the Tweed his passage find, 
 Tliough mucli he fret, and chafe, and toil, 
 Till all his eddying currents boil, — 
 Her long-descended lord is gone. 
 And left Tis by tlje stream alone. 
 And much 1 miss those sportive boys, 
 Companions of my mountain joys, 
 Just at the age 'tv. ixt boy and youth, 
 • When thought is si)eeeh, and speech is trutl^ 
 Close to my side, with what delight, 
 'J'hey pi-essed to hear of Wallace wight, 
 When pointing to liis airy mound, 
 { called liis ramparts lioly ground!* 
 Kindled their brows to hear me speak; 
 And I have smiled, to feel my cheek. 
 Despite the diOerence of our years, 
 Heturn again the glow of theirs. 
 
 ^ There is on a high mountainous ridge fibove the fprrvi 
 : r Ashesiiel, a fosse called Wallact-s Ti-enth. 
 
TO CAKTO SECOND. 
 
 Ah, happy boys! such feelings pure, 
 
 They will not, cannot long endure; 
 
 Condemned to stem the world's rude tide, 
 
 You may not linger by the side; 
 
 For fate shall thrust you from the shore,. 
 
 And Passion ply the sail and oar. 
 
 Yet cherish the remembrance still. 
 
 Of the lone mountain, and the rill; 
 
 For trust, dear boys, the time will come, 
 
 \Mien fiercer transports shall be dumb. 
 
 And you will think right frequently. 
 
 But, well I hope, without a sigh. 
 
 On the free hours that we have spent. 
 
 Together on the brown hill's bent. 
 
 When, musing on companions gone, 
 We doubly feel ourselves alone. 
 Something, my friend, we yet may gaiu. 
 There is a pleasure in this pain: 
 It soothes the love of lonely rest, 
 Deep in each gentler heart impressed. 
 'Tis silent amid worldly toils. 
 And stifled soon by mental broils; 
 But, in a bosom thus prepared. 
 Its still small voice is often heai-d. 
 Whispering a mingled sentiment, 
 'Twixt resignation and content. 
 Oft in my mind such thoughts awake. 
 By lone St. iNIary's silent lake; 
 Thou know'st it well, — nor fen, nor sedge. 
 Pollute the pure lake's crystal edge; 
 Abrupt and sheer, the mountains sink 
 At one*.' upon the level brink; 
 And just a trace of silver sand 
 Mtu-ks where the water meets the land. 
 
52 INTRODUCTION 
 
 Far in the mirroi-, bright and blue. 
 
 Each hill's huge outline you may view. 
 
 Shaggy with heath, but lonely bare. 
 
 Nor tree, nor bush, nor brake is there. 
 
 Save where, of land, yon slender line 
 
 Bears thwart the lake the scattered pine. 
 
 Yet even this nakedness has power. 
 
 And aids the feeling of the hour; 
 
 Nor thicket, dell, nor copse you spy. 
 
 Where living thing concealed might lie; 
 
 Nor point, retiring, hides a dell. 
 
 Where swain, or woodman lone, might dwell; 
 
 There's nothing left to fancy's guess. 
 
 You see that all is loneliness: 
 
 And silence aids — though these steep hills 
 
 Send to the lake a thousand rills; 
 
 In summer tide, so soft they weep. 
 
 The sound but lulls the ear asleep; 
 
 Your horse^s hoof-tread sounds too rude. 
 
 So stilly is the solitude. 
 
 Nought living meets the eye or ear. 
 But well I ween the dead are near; 
 For though, in feudal strife, a foe 
 Hath laid Our Lady's chapel low. 
 Yet still, beneath the hallowed soil. 
 The peasant rests him from his toil. 
 And, dying, bids his bones be laid. 
 Where erst his simple fathers prayed. 
 
 If age had tamed the passions' strife, 
 And fate had cut my ties to life. 
 Here, have I thought, 'twere sweet to dweB, 
 And lear again the chaplain's cell. 
 Like that same peaceful hermitage. 
 Where Milton longed to spend his age 
 
TO CANTO SECOND. ^o 
 
 'Twere sweet to mark the setting day. 
 
 On Bourhope's lonely top decay; 
 
 And, as it faint and feeble died, 
 
 On tlie broad lake, and mountain's side, 
 
 To say, "Thus pleasures fade away; 
 
 Youth, talents, beauty thus decay. 
 
 And leaAe us dark, forlorn, and gray;" — 
 
 Then gaze on Dryhope's ruined tower. 
 
 And think on Yarrow's faded Flower: 
 
 And when that mountain-sound I heard. 
 
 Which bids us be for storm prepared. 
 
 The distant rustling of his wings, 
 
 As up bis force the tempest brings, 
 
 'Twere sweet, ere yet his terrors rave, 
 
 To sit upon the Wizard's grave; 
 
 That Wizai'd Priest's, whose bones ai'e thrust 
 
 From company of holy dust; 
 
 On which no sunbeam ever shines — 
 
 (So superstition's ci'eed divines,) 
 
 Thence view the lake, with sullen roar. 
 
 Heave her broad billows to the shore. 
 
 And mark the wild swans mount the gale^ 
 
 Spread wide through mist their snowy sail,* 
 
 And ever stoop again, to lave 
 
 Their bosoms on the surging wave: 
 
 Then, v hen, against the driving hail, 
 
 No longer might my plaid avjiil, 
 
 Back to my lonely home retire. 
 
 And light my lamp, and trim my fire; 
 
 There ponder o'er some mystic lay. 
 
 Till the wild tale had all its sway. 
 
 And, in the bittern's distant shnek, 
 
 I heard unearthly voices speak. 
 
54 INTRODUCTION 
 
 And thought the wizard Priest was come, 
 
 To claim again his ancient home! 
 
 And bade my busy fancy range. 
 
 To frame him fitting shape and strange, 
 
 Till from the task my brow I cleared. 
 
 And smiled to think that I had feared. 
 
 But chief, 'twere sweet to think such life, 
 (Though but escape from fortune's strife,) 
 Something most matchless good, and wise, 
 A great and grateful sacrifice; 
 And deem each hour, to musing given, 
 A step upon the road to heaven. 
 
 Yet him, whose heart is ill at ease. 
 Such peaceful solitudes displease: 
 He loves to drown his bosom's jar 
 Amid the elemental war: 
 And my black Palmer's choice had been 
 Some ruder and more savage scene, ' 
 
 Like that which frowns round dark Lochskene. j 
 K There eagles scream from isle to shore; 
 Down all the rocks the torrents roar; 
 O'er the black waves incessant driven. 
 Dark mists infect the summer heaven; 
 Through the rude barriers of the lake, 
 Away its hui'rying waters break. 
 Faster and whiter dash and curl. 
 Till down yon dark abyss they hurl. 
 Rises the fog-smoke white as snoAv, , 
 
 Thunders the viewless stream below, 
 Diving, as if condemned to lave 
 Some demon's subterranean cave. 
 Who, prisoned by enchantei-'s spell. 
 Shakes the dark rock with groau and yejU. 
 
 i 
 
TO CANTO SECOND. 55 
 
 And well that Palmer's form an<l mien 
 Had suited with the stormy scene, 
 Just on the edge, straining his ken 
 To view the bottom of the den. 
 Where, deep deep down, and far v ithin. 
 Toils with the rocks the roaring linn; 
 Then, issuing forth one foamy wave. 
 And wheeling round the Giant's Grave; 
 White as the snowy charger's tail, 
 Drives down the pass of Moffatdalc, 
 Marriot, thy harp, on Isis strung. 
 To many a Border theme has rung: 
 Then list to me, and thou shalt know 
 Of this mvstei'ious man of wo^ 
 
(5 
 
MAKMION. 
 
 CANTO SECOND. 
 
 THE CONVENT, 
 
 I. 
 
 X HE breeze, which swept away the smoke^. 
 
 Round Norham Castle rolled; 
 When all the loud ai tillery spoke. 
 With lightning-flash, and thunder-stroke, 
 
 As Marmion left the Hold. 
 It curled not Tweed alone, that breeze; 
 For, far upon Northumbrian seas, 
 
 It freshly blew, and sti'ong, 
 Where, from high Whitby's cloistered pil«. 
 Bound to Saint Cuthbert's Holy Isle, 
 
 It bore a bark along. 
 Upon the gale she stooped her side. 
 And bounded o'er the swelling tide^ 
 
 As she were dancing home; 
 The merry seamen laughed, to see 
 Their gallant ship so lustily 
 
 Furrow tlie green sea-foam. 
 Much joyed they in their honoured freight 
 For, on tlte deck, in chair of state, 
 C, '2 
 
38 MARMIOX. Canto II. 
 
 The Abbess of Saint Hilda placed, 
 With five fair nuns, the galley graced. 
 
 II. 
 ■'Twas sweet to see these holy maids. 
 Like birds escaped to green-wood shades, 
 
 Their first flight from the cage. 
 How timid, and how curious too, 
 For all to them was strange and new. 
 And all the common sights they view. 
 
 Their wonderment engage. 
 One eyed the shrouds and swelling sail. 
 
 With many a benedicite; 
 One at the rippling surge grew pale. 
 
 And would for terror pray; 
 Then shrieked, because the sea-dog, nigh. 
 His round black head, and sparkling eye. 
 
 Reared o'er the foaming spray; 
 And one would still adjust her veil. 
 Disordered by the summer gale. 
 Perchance lest some more worldly eye 
 Her dedicated charms might spy; 
 Perchance, because such action gi'aced 
 Her fair-turned arm and slender waist. 
 Light was each simple bosom there. 
 Save two, who ill might pleasure share,— 
 The Abbess, and the Novice Clare. 
 
 III. 
 
 The Abbess was of noble blood. 
 But early took the veil and hood. 
 Ere upon fife she cast a look, 
 Or knew the world that she forsook. 
 
Canto II. THE CONVEXT. 59 
 
 Fair too she was, and kind had been 
 As she was fair, but iie*er liad seen 
 For her a timid lover sigh. 
 Nor knew the influence of her eye; 
 Love, to her ear, was but a name. 
 Combined with vanity and shame; 
 Her hopes, her fears, her joys, were all 
 Bounded within the cloister wall: 
 The deadliest sin her mind could reach,^ 
 Was of monastic rule the breach; 
 And her ambition's highest aim. 
 To emulate Saint Hilda's fame. 
 For this she gave her ample dower. 
 To raise the convent's eastern tower; 
 For this, with carving rare and quaint, 
 She decked the chapel of the saint; 
 And gave the reUque-shrine of cost, 
 With ivory and gems erabost. 
 The poor her convent's bounty blest. 
 The pilgrim in its halls found rest. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Black was Ker garb, her rigid rule 
 Reformed on Benedictine school; 
 Her cheek was pale, lier formfwas spare: 
 Vigils, and penitence austere. 
 Had early quenched the light of youth. 
 But gentle was the dame in sooth; 
 Though \ ain of her religious sway. 
 She loved to see her maids obey. 
 Vet nothing stern was she in cell. 
 And the nuns loved tlieir Abbess well. 
 Sad Mas this voyage to the dame; 
 Summoned to LiiidiBfaiH; slie came, 
 
6(5 MARMION. Cauto U. 
 
 There with Saint Cuthbert's Abbot old. 
 And Tynemouth*s Prioress, to hold 
 A chapter of Saint Benedict, 
 For inquisition stern and strict. 
 On two apostates from the faith. 
 And, if need wei'e, to doom to death. 
 
 V. 
 
 ■^- Nought say I here of Sister Clare, 
 Save tliis, that she was young and fair. 
 As yet a novice unprofessed. 
 Lovely and gentle, but distressed. 
 She was betrothed to one now dead. 
 Or worse, who had dishonoured fled. 
 Her kinsmen bade her give her hand 
 To one, who loved her for her land; 
 Herself, almost heart-broken now. 
 Was bent to take the vestal vow. 
 And shroud, within Saint Hilda's gloom. 
 Her blasted hopes and withered bloom. 
 
 YI. 
 
 She sate upon the galley's prow. 
 
 And seemed to mark the waves below; 
 
 Nay seemed, so fixed her look and eye. 
 
 To count thim as they glided by. 
 
 She saw them not — 'twas seeming all — 
 
 Far other scene her thoughts recal, — 
 
 A sun-scorched desert, waste and bare, .^ 
 
 Nor wave, nor breezes, murmured there; 
 
 There saw she, where come careless hand 
 
 O'er a dead corpse had" heaped the sand. 
 
 To hide it till the jackalls come. 
 
 To tear it from the scanty tomfj — 
 
Canto II. THE CONVENT. 6X 
 
 See what a woful look was given. 
 As she raised up her eyes to heaven! 
 
 VII. 
 
 l-iOvely, and gentle, and distressed — 
 
 Tliese charms might tame tlie fiercest breast: 
 
 Harpers have sung, and poets told, 
 
 That he, in fury uncontrolled. 
 
 The shaggy monarch of the wood. 
 
 Before a virgin, fair and good. 
 
 Hath pacified his savage mood. 
 
 But passions in the human frame 
 
 Oft put the lion's rage to shame; 
 
 And jealousy, by dark intrigue. 
 
 With sordid avarice in league. 
 
 Had practised, with their bowl and knife. 
 
 Against the mourner's harmless life. 
 
 This crime was charged 'gainst those who Ilay 
 
 IVisoned in Cuthbert's islet gi-ay. 
 
 VIII. ^ 
 
 And now the vessel skirts the strand 
 Of mountainous Northumberland; 
 Towns, towers, and halls successive rise. 
 And catch the nuns' delighted eyes. 
 ;Monk Wearmouth soon beh^d them lay. 
 And Tynemouth's priory and bay; 
 They marked, amid her trees, the hall 
 Of Lofty Seaton-Delaval; 
 They saw the Blythe and Wansbeck floods, 
 t Jiush to the sea through sounding woods; 
 They past the tower of Widderington, 
 Mother of many a valiant son; 
 
^2 MARMION. Canto ll. * 
 
 At Coquet-isle their beads they tell. 
 
 To the good Saiat who owned the cell; 
 
 Then did the Alne attention claim. 
 
 And Warkworth, proud of Percy's name; . 
 
 And next, they crossed themselves, to hear 
 
 The whitening breakers sound so near, 
 
 Where, boiling through the rocks, they roar 
 
 On Dunstanborough's cayerned shore; 
 
 Thy tower, proud Bamborough, marked they 
 
 there, 
 Iving Ida's castle, huge and square, 
 From its tall rock look grimly down, 
 And on the swelling ocean frown; 
 Then from the coast they bore away, 
 An4 reached the Holy Island's bay. 
 
 IX. 
 
 The tide did now its flood-mark gainj 
 
 And girdled in the Saint's domain: 
 
 For, with the flow and ebb, its style 
 
 Varies from continent to isle; 
 
 Dry-shod, o'er sands, twice every day, 
 
 The pilgrims to the shrine find way; 
 
 Twice every day, the waves efface 
 
 Of stiives and sandaled feet the trace. 
 
 As to the port the galley flew. 
 
 Higher and higher rose to view. 
 
 The Castle, with its battled walls, Jj 
 
 The ancient ]Moaaster}'s halls, ■> > 
 
 A solemn, huge, and dark-red pile^ 
 
 Placed on tlie margin of the isle^ J^ 
 
Canto II. THE CONVENT. 63 
 
 X. 
 
 In. Saxon strength that abbey frowned. 
 With massive arches broad and round, . 
 
 That rose alternate, row and row. 
 
 On ponderous cohimns, short and low, 
 Built ere the art was known, 
 
 By pointed aisle, and shafted stalk. 
 
 The arcades of an alley'd walk 
 To emulate in stone. 
 On the deep walls, the heathen Dane 
 Had poured his impious rage in vain; 
 And needful was such strength to these^ 
 Exposed to the tempestuous seas. 
 Scourged by the wind's eternal sway, 
 . Open to rovers fierce as they. 
 Which could twelve hundred years withstAnd 
 Winds, waves, and northern pirates' hand. 
 Not but that portions ef the pile, 
 Rebuilded in a later style. 
 Showed where the spoiler's hand had been; 
 Not but the wasting sea-breeze keen 
 Had worn the pillar's caning quaint, 
 And mouldei''d in his niche the saint. 
 And rounded, with consuming power. 
 The pointed angles of each tower: 
 Yet still entire the Abbey stootl. 
 Like veteran, worn, but unsubdued. 
 
 Soon as tX'^y neared his turrets strong, 
 The maidens raised St. Hilda's song, 
 And Avith the sea-M^ave and the wind^ 
 Their voices sweetly shrill combined. 
 
54 MARMION. Canto H. 
 
 And made harmonious close; 
 
 Then, answering from the sandy shore. 
 
 Half-drowned amid the breakers' roar. 
 According chorus rose; 
 
 Down to the haven of the Isle, 
 
 The monks and nuns in order file. 
 
 From Cuthbert's cloisters grim: 
 Banner, and cross, and reliques there. 
 To meet Saint Hilda's maids, they bare; 
 And, as they caught the sounds on air, 
 
 They echoed back the hymn. 
 The islanders, in joyous mood. 
 Rushed emulously through the floodj 
 
 To hale the bark to land; 
 Conspicuous by her veil and hood. 
 Signing the cross, the Abbess stood. 
 
 And blessed them with her hand* 
 
 XII. 
 
 Suppose we now the welcome said. 
 Suppose the Convent banquet made: 
 
 AH through the holy dome. 
 Through cloister, aisle, and gallery. 
 Wherever vestal maid might piy, 
 Nor risk to meet unhallowed eye, 
 
 The stranger sisters roam: 
 Till fell the evening damp with dew. 
 And the sharp sea-breeze coldly blew. 
 For there, even summer night is chill; . 
 Then, having strayed and gazed their ^, 
 
 They closed around the lire. 
 And all, in turn, essayed to paint 
 The rival merits of their saint, 
 
 A theme that ne'er can tire 
 
Canto II. THE CONVENT. 65 
 
 A holy maid; for, be it known, 
 
 That their saint's honour is their ov/A 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Then Whitby's nuns exulting told, 
 How to their house three barons boW 
 
 Must menial service do; 
 While horns blow out a note of shame. 
 And monks cry " Fye upon your name! 
 In wrath, for loss of sylvan game. 
 
 Saint Hilda's priest ye slew." 
 ** This, on Ascension-day, each year. 
 While laboring on our harbor-pier. 
 Must Herbert, Bruce, and Percy hear." 
 TJiey told how, in their convent cell, 
 A Saxon princess once did dwell. 
 
 The lovely Edelfled; 
 *And how, of thousand snakes, each one 
 Was changed into a coil of stone. 
 
 When holy Hilda prayed; 
 Themselves, M'ithin their holy bound. 
 Their stony folds had often found. 
 They told, how sea-fowls' pinions fail, 
 As over Whitby's towers they sail. 
 And sinking down, -with flutterings faint, 
 They do their homage to the saint. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Nov did Saint Cuthbert's daughters fail, 
 
 To vie with these in holy tale; 
 
 His body's resting place, of old. 
 
 How oft their patx-on changed, they told; 
 
 How, when the inide Dane burned their pile, 
 
 The monks fled forth from HoFv Isle; 
 
6^ MARMION. Canto 11 
 
 O'er noi'thern mountain, marsh, and moor, 
 
 From sea to sea, from shore to shore. 
 
 Seven years Saint Cuthbert's corpse they bore; 
 
 They rested them in fair Meh-ose; 
 But though, aUve, he loved it well, 
 
 Not there his relics might repose; 
 For, wondrous tale to tell! 
 
 In his stone coffin forth he rides, 
 
 (A ponderous bark for river tides) 
 
 Yet light as gossamer it glides. 
 Downward to Tillmouth cell. 
 Nor long was his abiding there, 
 For southward did the saint repair; 
 Chester-le-Street, and Rippon, saw 
 His holy corpse, ere Wardilaw 
 
 Hailed him with joy and fear; 
 And after many wanderings past 
 He chose his lordly seat at last. 
 Where his cathedral, huge and vast, 
 
 Looks down upon the Wear: 
 There, deep in Durham's Gotliic shade, 
 His relics are in secret laid; 
 
 But none may know the place. 
 Save of his holiest servants three. 
 Deep sworn to solemn secrecy. 
 
 Who share that wondi-ous grace. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Who may his miracles declare! 
 
 Even Scotland's dauntless king, and heu', 
 
 (Although with them they led 
 Galwegians, wild as ocean's gale. 
 And Lodon's knighta, all sheathed in mail, 
 
Canto IT. THE CONVENT. 57 
 
 " And the bold men of Teviotdale,) 
 Before his standard fled. 
 'Twas he, to ^^ndicate his reign, 
 Edged Alfred's falchion on the Dane, 
 A nd turned the conqueror back again. 
 When, with his Norman bowyer band, 
 He came to waste Northumberland. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 But fain Saint Hilda's nuns -would learn, 
 If, on a rock, by Lindisfarn, 
 Saint Cuthbert sits, and toils to frame 
 The sea-born beads that bear liis name: 
 Such tales had Whitby's fishers told. 
 And said they might his shape behold. 
 
 And hear his an\'il sound; 
 A deadened clang, — a huge dim form. 
 Seen but, and heard, when gathering stdrm, 
 
 And night were closing round. 
 But this, as tale of idle fame. 
 The nuns of Lindisfarn disclaim. 
 
 xvn. 
 
 While round the fire such legends go. 
 Far diflferent was the scene of wo, 
 Where, in a secret aisle beneath. 
 Council was held of life and death. 
 
 It was more dark and lone, that vault, 
 Than the worst dungeon cell; 
 
 Old Colwulf built it, for his fault, 
 In penitence to dwell. 
 When he, for cowl and beads, laid down 
 The Saxon battle-ax and crown. 
 
58 MARMION. Canto 11. 
 
 This den, which, chilling; every sense 
 
 Of feeling, hearing, sight, 
 Was called the Vault of Penitence, 
 
 Excluding air and light, 
 Was, by the prelate Sexhelm, made 
 A place of burial, for such dead 
 As, ha\ing died in mortal sin. 
 Might not be laid the cliurch within. 
 'Twas now a place of punishment; 
 Where, if so loud a shriek Avere sent, 
 
 As reached the upper air, 
 The hearers blessed themselves, and said. 
 The spirits of the sinful dead 
 
 Bemoaned their torments there. 
 
 xvm. 
 
 But though, in the monastic pile. 
 Did of this penitential aisle 
 
 Some vague tradition go. 
 Few only, save the Abbot, knew 
 Where the place lay; and still more few 
 Were those, who had fi'om him the clew 
 
 To that dread vault to go. 
 Victim and executioner 
 Were blind-fold when transported thei'e. 
 In low dark roimds the arches hung. 
 From the rude rock the side-walls sprung; 
 The grave-stones, rudely sculptured o'er. 
 Half sunk in earth, by time half wore. 
 Were all the pavement of the floor; 
 The mildew drops fell one by one. 
 With tinkling plash, upon the stoiK'. 
 
Canto U. THE CONVENT. 59 
 
 A cresset,* in an iron chain, 
 
 Wliich served to light this drear domain, 
 
 With damp and darkness seemed to strive. 
 
 As if it scarce might keep aUve; 
 
 And yet it dimly served to show 
 
 The awful conclave met below. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 There, met to doom in secrecy, 
 Were placed the heads of convents three; 
 All servants of Saint Benedict, 
 The statutes of whose order strict 
 
 On iron table lay; 
 In long black dress, on seats of stone. 
 Behind were these three judges shown. 
 
 By the pale cresset's ray: 
 The Abbess of Saint Hilda, there. 
 Sate for a space with \isage bare. 
 Until, to hide her bosom*s swell. 
 And tear-tlrops that for pity fell. 
 
 She closely drew her veil: 
 Yon shrouded figure, as I guess, 
 By her proud mien and flowing dres^ 
 Is Tynemouth's haughty Prioress, 
 
 And she with awe looks pale: 
 And he, that ancient man, whose sight 
 Has long been quenched by age's night, 
 Upon whose wrinkled brow alone, 
 Nor ruth, nor mercy's trace is shown, 
 
 WTiose look is hard and stern, — 
 Saint Cuthbert's Abbot is liis style; 
 
 • Antique Chandelier, 
 
70 MARMION. Canto H, 
 
 For sanctity called, through the isle. 
 The saint of Lindisfarn. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Refore them stood a guilty pair; 
 But, though an equal fate they share. 
 Yet one alOne deserves our care. 
 Her sex a page's dress belied; 
 The cloke and doublet, loosely tied. 
 Obscured her charms, but could not hide,- 
 
 Her cap down o'er her face she drew; 
 And, on her doublet breast. 
 
 She tried to hide the badge of blue. 
 Lord Marmion's falcon crest. 
 But, at the Prioress' command, 
 A monk undid the silken band. 
 
 That tied her tresses fair. 
 And r.iised the bonnet from her head. 
 And down her slender form they spread, 
 
 In ringlets rich and rare. 
 Constance de Beverley they knoM', 
 Sister professed of Fontevraud, 
 Whom the church numbered with the dead, 
 For broken vows, and convent fled. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 When thus her face was given to vieAV, 
 
 (Although so pallid was h; r hue. 
 
 It did a ghastly coiitiast bear, 
 
 To those bright ringlets, ;:^Ustering fair,) 
 
 Her look composed, and steady eye. 
 
 Bespoke a matchless constancy; 
 
 And there she stood so calm, and pale, 
 
 That, but her breathing did not fail, 
 
Canto II. THE CONVENT. 
 
 And motion slight of eye and head. 
 And of lier bosom, warranted. 
 That neither sense nor pulse she lacks, 
 You might have thought a form of wax, 
 Wrought to the very life, was there; 
 So still she was, so pale, so fair. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Her comrade was a sordid soul. 
 
 Such as does murther for a meed; 
 Who, but of fear, knows no control. 
 Because his conscience seared and foUl, 
 
 Feels not the import of his deed; 
 One, M hose brute feeling ne'er aspires 
 Beyond his own more brute desires. 
 Such tools the tempter ever needs. 
 To do the savagest of deeds; 
 For them, no visioned terrors daunt, 
 Their nights no fancied spectres haunt; 
 One fear with them, of all most base, 
 The fear of death, — alone finds place. 
 This wretch was clad in frock and cowl. 
 And shamed not loud to moan and Ijowl, 
 His body on the floor to dash. 
 And crouch, iike hound beneath the lash; 
 Wliile his mute partnei", standing near, 
 "Waited her doom without a tear. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Yet well the luckless wretch miglit shriek.. 
 Well mjglit her paleness terror speak! 
 For there were seen, in that dark wall, 
 Two nifhe*, narrow, deep, t\fx(l tall. 
 
 % 
 
^ MARMION. Canto II, 
 
 Who enters at such grisly door. 
 Shall ne'er, I ween, find exit more. 
 In each a slender meal was laid. 
 Of roots, of water, and of bread: 
 By each, in Benedictine dress. 
 Two haggard monks stood motionless; 
 Who, holding high a blazing torch. 
 Showed the grim entrance of the porch: 
 Reflecting back the smoky beam. 
 The dark-red walls and arches gleam. 
 Hewn stones and cement were displayed. 
 And building tools in order laid. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 These executioners were chose. 
 As men who Avere with mankind foes. 
 And, with despite and envy fired. 
 Into the cloister had retired; 
 Or who, in desperate doubt of grace. 
 Strove, by deep penance, to efface 
 
 Of some foul crime the stain; 
 For, as the vassals of her will. 
 Such men the church selected still. 
 As either joyed in doing ill. 
 Or thought more grace to gain. 
 If in her cause, they wrestled down 
 Feelings their nature strove to own. 
 By strange device were they brought there, 
 They knew not how, and knew not where. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 And now that blind old Abbot rose, 
 To speak the cJiapter's doom. 
 
Canton. THE CONVENT. /|i 
 
 On those the wall was to ihclose. 
 
 Alive, within the tomb; 
 But stopped, because that woful maid, 
 Gathering her powers, to speak essayed; 
 Twice she essayed, and twice, in vain. 
 Her accents might no utterance gain; 
 Nought but imperfect murmurs slip 
 From her eonwdsed and quivering lip: 
 'Twixt each attempt all was so still. 
 You seemed to hear a distant rill — 
 
 'Twas ocean's swells and falls; 
 For though this vault of sin and fear 
 Was to the sounding surge so near, 
 A tempest there you scaixe could hear. 
 So massive were the walls. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 At length, an effort sent apart 
 The blood that curdled to her heart. 
 
 And light came to her eye. 
 And color dawned upon her cheek, 
 A hectic and a fluttered streak. 
 Like that left on the Cheviot peak. 
 
 By Autumn's stormy sky; 
 And M'hen her silence broke at length. 
 Still as she spoke, she gathered strength, 
 
 And arm'd herself to bear. 
 It was a fearful sight to see 
 Such high resolve and constancy, 
 
 III form so soft and fair. 
 
 xxvu. 
 
 *' I speak not to implore 3'our grace; 
 Well know I for one minute's space 
 D 
 
74 MARMION. Canto I] 
 
 Successless might I sue: 
 Nor do I speak your pi-ayers to gain; 
 For if a death of lingering pain. 
 To cleanse my sins, be penance vain, 
 
 Vain are your masses too. — 
 I listened to a traitor's tale, 
 I left the convent and the veil. 
 For three long years I bowed my pride, 
 A horse-boy in his train to ride; 
 And Avell my folly's meed he gave. 
 Who forfeited, to be his slave. 
 All here, and all beyond the grave.— 
 He saw young Clara's face more fair. 
 He knew her of broad lands the heir. 
 Forgot his vows, his faith forswore, 
 And Constance was beloved no more. 
 
 'Tis an old tale, and often told; 
 But, did my fate and wish agree. 
 
 Ne'er had been read, in story old. 
 
 Of maiden tnie betrayed for gold. 
 That loved, or was avenged, like me. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 ♦* The king approved his favourite's aim? 
 In vain a rival barred his claim. 
 
 Whose faith with Clare's was plight. 
 For he attaints that rival's fame 
 With treason's charge — and on they came. 
 In mortal lists to fight. 
 Their oaths are said, 
 Their prayers are prayed. 
 Their lances in the rest are laid. 
 They meet in mortal shock; 
 
Canto n. THE CONVENT. ;'5 
 
 And hark! the throng, Avith thundering ciy. 
 Shout " Marmion, Marmion, to the sky! 
 
 De Wilton to the block!'* 
 Say ye, who preach heaven shall decide. 
 When in the lists two champions ride, 
 
 Say, was heaven's justice here? 
 When, loyal in his love and faith, 
 Wilton found overthrow or death, 
 
 Beneath a traitor's spear. 
 How false the charge, how true he fell. 
 This guilty packet best can tell." — 
 Then drew a packet from her breast, 
 Paused, gathered voice, and spoke the rest. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 ** Still was false Marmion's bridal staid; 
 To Whitby's convent fled the maid. 
 
 The hated match to shun. 
 *Ho! shifts she thus!' king Henry cried, 
 • Sir Marmion, she shall be thy bride. 
 
 If she were sworn a nun.' 
 One way remained — the king's command 
 Sent Marmion to the Scottish land: 
 1 lingered here, and rescue plann'd 
 
 For Clara and for me: 
 Tliis caitiff monk, for gold, did swear, 
 He would to Whitby's shrine repair. 
 And, by his drugs, my rival fair 
 
 A saint in heaven shovUd be. 
 But ill the dastard kept his oath, 
 Whose cowai'dicc hath undone us botli. 
 
76 MARMION. Canto 11. 
 
 •V^ XXX. 
 
 *' And now my tongue the secret tells, 
 
 Not that remorse my bosom swells, 
 
 But to assure my soul, that none 
 
 Shall ever wed with Marmion. 
 
 Had fortune my last hope betrayed. 
 
 This packet, to the king conveyed. 
 
 Had given him to the headsman's stroke, . 
 
 Although my heart that instant broke. — 
 
 Now, men of death, work forth your will, 
 
 For I can suffer, and be still; 
 
 And come he slow, or come he fast. 
 
 It is but Death who comes at last. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 *' Yet dread me, from my living tomb. 
 Ye vassal slaves of bloody Rome, 
 1 f Marmion's late remorse should wake. 
 Full soon such vengeance will he take. 
 That you shall wish the fiery Dane 
 Had rather been your guest again. 
 Behind, a darker hour ascends! 
 The altars quake, the crosier bends. 
 The ix-e of a despotic king 
 Rides forth upon destruction's wing; 
 Then shall these vaults, so strong and deep, 
 Burst open to the sea-winds' sweep; 
 Some traveller then shall find my bones. 
 Whitening amid disjointed stones. 
 And, ignorant of priests' cruelty. 
 Marvel such relics here shoidd be." — 
 
Canto 11. THE CONVENT. 77 
 
 XXXII 
 
 Fixed was her look, and stern her air; 
 
 Back from her shoulders streamed her hair; 
 
 The locks, that wont her brow to shade, 
 
 Stai'ed up erectly from her head; 
 
 Her figui-e seemed to rise more high; 
 
 Her voice, despaii-'s wild energy 
 
 Had given a tone 01 prophecy. 
 
 Appalled the astonished conclave sate; 
 
 With stupid eyes, the men of fate 
 
 Gazed on the light inspired form. 
 
 And listened for the avenging storm; 
 
 The judges felt the victim's dread. 
 
 No hand was moved, no word was said. 
 
 Till thus the Abbot's doom was given. 
 
 Raising his sightless balls to heaven:— 
 
 ** Sister, let thy sorrows cease; 
 
 Sinful brother, part in peace!'* 
 From that dire dungeon, place of doora. 
 Of execution too, and tomb. 
 
 Paced forth the judges three; 
 Sorrow it were, and shame, to tell 
 The butcher-work that there befel. 
 When they had glided from the cell 
 Of sin and misery. 
 
 xxxin. 
 
 An hundred winding steps convey- 
 That conclave to the upper day; 
 But, ere tliey breathed the fresher ah'. 
 They heard the shriekings of despair. 
 
 And many a stifled groan: 
 With speed their upward way they take, 
 (Sueh speed as age and fear can make,) 
 
78 MARMION. Canto U. 
 
 And crossed themselves for terror's sake. 
 
 As hurrying, tottering on. 
 Even in the vespei-'s heavenly tone. 
 They seemed to hear a dying groan. 
 And bade the passing knell to toll 
 For welfare of a parting soul. 
 Slow o'er the midmght wave it swung, 
 Northumbrian rocks in answer rung; 
 To Warkwoi-th cell the echoes rolled. 
 His beads the wakeful hermit told; 
 The Bamborough peasant raised his head, 
 But slept ere half a prayer he said; 
 So far was heard the mighty knell. 
 The stag sprung up on Cheviot Fell, 
 Spread his broad nostril to the wind. 
 Lasted before, aside, behind; 
 Then couched him down beside the liind, 
 And quaked among the mountain fern. 
 To hear that sound so dull and stern. 
 
 END OF CANTO SECOND. 
 
MARMION. 
 
 CANTO XmED. 
 
TO 
 WILLIAM ERSKINE, ESQ. 
 
 Ashestielf Ettricke Forest. 
 l^IKE April morning clouds, that pass. 
 With varying shadow, o'er the grass. 
 And imitate, on field and furrow. 
 Life's chequered scene of joy and sori"ow; 
 Like streamlet of the mountain north. 
 Now in a torrent racing forth. 
 Now winding slow its silver train. 
 And almost slumbering on the plain; 
 Like breezes of the autumn day. 
 Whose voice inconstant dies away. 
 And ever swells again as fast. 
 When the ear deems its murmur pas<; 
 Thus various my romantic theme 
 Fhts, winds, or sinks, a morning dream. 
 Yet pleased, our eye pursues the trace 
 Of light and shade's inconstant race; 
 Pleased, views the rivulet afar. 
 Weaving its maze irregular; 
 And pleased, we hsten as the breeze 
 Heaves its wild sigh through autumn trees: 
 Then wild as cloud, or stream, or gale. 
 Flow on, flow unconfined, my tale. 
 Need I to thee, dear Erskine, tell, 
 I love the license all too well, 
 
 1)2 
 
82 INTRODUCTION 
 
 In sound now lowly, and now strong. 
 
 To raise the desultory song. 
 
 Oft, when mid such capricious chime. 
 
 Some transient fit of loftier rhyme. 
 
 To thy kind judgment seemed excuse 
 
 For many an error of the muse; 
 
 Oft hast thou said, ** If still mis-spent. 
 
 Thine hours to poetry are lent; 
 
 CJo, and to tame thy wandering course. 
 
 Quaff from the fountain at the source; 
 
 Approach those masters, o'er whose tomb. 
 
 Immortal laurels ever bloom: 
 
 Instructive of the feebler bard. 
 
 Still from the grave their voice is heard; 
 
 Fiom them, and from the paths they show'd. 
 
 Choose honoured guide and practised road; 
 
 Nor ramble on through break and maze, 
 
 With harpers rude of barbarous days. 
 
 " Or deem'st thou not our later time. 
 Yields topic meet for classic rhyme? 
 Hast thou no elegiac verse 
 For Brunswick's venerable hearse, 
 AVhat! not a line, a tear, a sigh. 
 When valor bleeds for liberty? 
 Oh, hero of that glorious time. 
 When with unrivalled light sublime, — 
 Though martial Austria, and though all 
 The might of Russia, and the Gaul, 
 Though banded Europe stood her foes — 
 The Star of Brandenburgh arose! 
 Thou couldst not live to see her beam 
 For ever quenched in Jena's stream. 
 Lamented chief! — it was not given. 
 To thee to cliange the doom of heaven, 
 
TO CANTO TmRD. gS 
 
 Ami cmsh that dragon in its birth, 
 
 Predestined scourge of guilty eartli. 
 
 Lamented chief! — not thine the po^\ cr. 
 
 To save in that presumptuous hour. 
 
 When Prussia hurried to the field, 
 
 And snatched the spear, but left the shield; 
 
 Valor and skill 'twas thine to try, 
 
 And, tried in vain, 'twas tliine to die. 
 
 Ill had it seemed thy silver hair 
 
 The last, the bitterest pang to share, 
 
 For princedoms relt, and scutcheons riven. 
 
 And birthrights to usurpers given; 
 
 Thy land's, thy cliildren's wrongs to feel. 
 
 And witness woes thou could' st not heal; 
 
 On thee relenting heaven bestows 
 
 For honoured life an honoured close; 
 
 And when revolves, in time's sure change. 
 
 The hour of Germany's revenge. 
 
 When, breathing fury for her sake, 
 
 Some new Arminius shall awake. 
 
 Her champion, ei'e he strike, shall come 
 
 To whet his sword on Brunswick's tomb, 
 
 " Or of the Red Cross hero teach. 
 Dauntless in dungeon as on breach: 
 Alike to him the sea, the shore. 
 The brand, the bridle, or the oar; 
 Alike to liim the war that calls 
 Its votaries to the shattered walls, 
 AVhich the grim Turk besmeared with blood. 
 Against the Invincible made good; 
 Or that whose thundering voice could wake 
 The silence of the polar lake. 
 When stubborn Russ, and metal'd Swede, 
 On the warped wave their death-game played. 
 
84 INTRODUCTION 
 
 Or that where vengeance and affright 
 Howrd round the father of the fight. 
 Who snatched on Alexandria's sand 
 The conqueror's wreath with dying hand. 
 
 *• Or if to touch such chord be thine, 
 Restore the ancient tragic line. 
 And emulate the notes that rung 
 From the wild harp which silent hung. 
 By silver Avon's holy shore. 
 Till twice an hundred years rolled o'er; 
 When she, the bold Enchantress, came. 
 With fearless hand and heart on flame, 
 l*'rom the pale willow snatched the treasure, 
 And swept it with a kindred measure. 
 Till iVvon's s\vans, while rung the grove 
 With Monforts hate and Basil's love. 
 Awakening at the inspired strain. 
 Deemed their own Shakspeare lived again,** 
 
 Thy friendship thus thy judgment wronging, 
 With praises not to me belonging. 
 In task more meet for mightiest powers, 
 Would'st thou engage my thriftless hours. 
 But say, my Erskine, hast thou weighed 
 That secret power by all obeyed. 
 Which warps not less the passive mind. 
 Its source concealed or undefined; 
 Whether an impulse, that has birth 
 Soon as the infant wakes on earth. 
 One with ourfeeUngs and our powers. 
 And rather part of us than ours; 
 Or whether fitliev termed the sway 
 Of habit formed in early day? 
 Howe'er derived, its force confessed 
 Rules with despotic sway the breast, 
 
TO CANTO THIRD. 85 
 
 And drags us on by viewless chain. 
 While taste and reason plead in vain. 
 Look east, and ask the Belgian why, 
 Beneath Batavia's sultry sky. 
 He seeks not eager to inhale 
 The freshness of the mountain gale. 
 Content to rear his whitened wall 
 Beside the dank and dull canal? 
 He'll say, from youth he loved to see 
 The white sail gliding by the tree. 
 Or see yon w eather-beaten liind, 
 Whose sluggish herds before him wind. 
 Whose tattered plaid and rugged cheek 
 His northern clime and kindred speak; 
 Through England's laughing meads he goes, 
 And England's wealth around him flows; 
 Ask, if it would content him well. 
 At ease in these gay plains tO dwell, 
 Wliere hedge-rows spread a verdant screen, 
 And spires and forests intervene. 
 And the neat cottage peeps between? 
 No, not for these will he exchange 
 His dark Lochaber's boundless range; 
 Nor for fair Devon's meads forsake 
 Bennevis gray and Gariy's lake. 
 
 Thus, while I ape the measure wild 
 Of tales that chai-med me yet a child. 
 Rude though they be, still with the chime 
 Return the thoughts of early time; 
 And feelings roused in life's first day. 
 Glow in the Une, and prompt the lay. 
 Then rise those crags, that mountain tower. 
 Which charmed my fancy's wakening hoiu*: 
 
86 INTRODUCTION 
 
 Though no broad river swept along 
 
 To claim perchance heroic song; 
 
 Though sighed no groves in summer gale 
 
 To prompt of love a softer tale; 
 
 Though scarce a puny streamlet's speed 
 
 Claimed homage from a sheperd's reed; 
 
 Yet was poetic impulse given, 
 
 By the green hill and clear blue heaven. 
 
 It was a barren scene, and wild, 
 
 Where naked cliffs were rudely piled; 
 
 But ever and annon between 
 
 Lay velvet turfs of loveliest green; 
 
 And well the lonely infant knew 
 
 Recesses where the wall-flower grew, 
 
 And honey-suckle loved to crawl 
 
 Up the low crag and ruined wall. 
 
 I deemed such nooks the sweetest shade 
 
 The sun in all his round surveyed; 
 
 And still I thouglit that shattered tower 
 
 The mightiest work of human power; 
 
 And marvelled, as the aged liind 
 
 With some strange tale bewitched my mind, 
 
 Of forayers, who, with headlong force, 
 
 Down from that strength had spurred tlicir 
 
 horse. 
 Their southern rapine to renew. 
 Far in the distant Cheviot's blue. 
 And, home returning, filled the hall 
 With revel, wassell-rout, and brawl — 
 INIethought that still Avith tramp and clang 
 The gate-way's broken arches rang; 
 Methought grim features, seamed with seal's, 
 Glared through the window's rusty bars. 
 
TO CANTO THIRD. gT 
 
 And ever by the winter hearth, 
 
 Old tales I heard of wo or mirth, 
 
 Of lovers' sleights, of ladies' charms. 
 
 Of witches' spells, of warriors' arms; 
 
 Of patriot battles, won of old 
 
 By Wallace wight and Bruce the bold; 
 
 Of later fields of feud and fight. 
 
 When, pouring from the highland height. 
 
 The Scottish clans, in headlong sway. 
 
 Had swept the scarlet ranks away. 
 
 While stretched at length upon the floor. 
 
 Again I fought each combat o'er. 
 
 Pebbles and shells, in order laid. 
 
 The mimic ranks of war displayed; 
 
 And onward still the Scottish Lion bore. 
 
 And still the scattered Southron fled before. 
 
 Still with vain fondness could I trace. 
 Anew, each kind familiar face. 
 That brightened at our evening fire; 
 From the thatched mansion's gray -haired sii'C, 
 Wise M'ithout learning, plain and good. 
 And sprung of Scotland's gentler blood; 
 Whose eye in age, quick, clear and keen. 
 Showed what in youth its glance had been; 
 Whose doom discoriling neighbours sought, 
 Content with equity unbought; 
 To him the venei-able priest. 
 Our frequent and familiar guest. 
 Whose life and manners well could paint 
 Alike the student and the saint; 
 Alas! whose speech to oft I broke 
 With gambol rude and timeless joke; 
 For I was wayward, bold, and wild, 
 A self-will'd imp, a grandame's child; 
 
88 INTRODUCTION, &c. 
 
 But half a plague, and half a jest. 
 Was still endured, beloved, carest. 
 
 Fi"om me, thus nurtured, dost thou ask 
 The classic poet's well-conned task? 
 Nay, Erskine, nay — on the wild hill 
 Let the wild heathbell flourish still; 
 Cherish the tulip, prune the vine. 
 But freely let the woodbine twine. 
 And leave untrimmed the eglantine: 
 Nay, ray friend, nay — since oft thy praise 
 Hath given fresh vigour to my lays. 
 Since oft thy judgment could refine 
 My flattened thought, or cumbrous line. 
 Still kind, as is thy wont, attend. 
 And in the minstrel spare the friend; 
 Though wild as cloud, as stream, as gale, 
 Flow forth, flow unrestrained, my tale. 
 
MARMION. 
 
 CANTO TmRD. 
 
 THE HOSTEL, OR INN, 
 
 I. 
 
 X HE livelong day Lord Marmion rode: 
 Thft'inountain path the Palmer shoMcd; 
 By glen and streamlet winded still. 
 Where stunted birches hid the rill. 
 They might not choose the lowland road. 
 For the Merse foray ers were abroad. 
 Who, fired with hate and thirst of prey. 
 Had scarcely failed to bar their way. 
 Oft on the trampling band, from crown 
 Of some tall cliff, the deer looked down; 
 On wing of jet, from his repose 
 In the deep heath, the black-cock rose; 
 Sprung from the gorse the timid roe, 
 Nor waited for th6 bending bow; 
 And when the stOny path began. 
 By which the naked peak they wan. 
 Up flew the snowy ptarmigan. 
 The noon had long been passed before 
 They gained the height of Lammermoor; 
 Thence winding down the nortUera way. 
 
90 MARMION. Canto III. 
 
 Before them, at the close of day, 
 Old GifFard's towers and hamlet lay. 
 
 II. 
 
 No summons calls them to the tower, 
 
 To spend the hospitable hour. 
 
 To Scotland's camp the Lord was gone; 
 
 His cautious dame, in bower alone. 
 
 Dreaded her castle to unclose. 
 
 So late, to unknown friends or foes. 
 On through the hamlet as they paced. 
 Before a porch, whose front was graced 
 With bush and flaggon trimly placed. 
 
 Lord Marmion drew his rein: 
 The village inn seemed large, though rude; 
 Its cheerful fire and hearty food 
 Might well relieve his train. 
 
 Down from their seats the horsemen spining, 
 
 With jingling spurs the court-yard rung; 
 
 They bend theu' horses to the stall. 
 
 For forage, food, and firing call. 
 
 And various clamor fills the hall; 
 
 Weighing the labor with the cost. 
 
 Toils every where the bustling host. 
 
 Hi. 
 
 Soon by the chimney's merry blaze. 
 Through the rude hostel might you gaze; 
 Might see, where, in dark nook aloof. 
 The rafters of the sooty roof 
 
 Bore wealth of winter cheer; 
 Of sea-fowl dried, and solands store. 
 And gammons of the tusky boar, 
 
 Aftd savouiy haunch of deer. 
 
Canto III. THE HOSTEL, OR INN. gi 
 
 The chimney arch projected wide; 
 Above, around it, and beside. 
 
 Were tools for housewives' hand: 
 Nor wanted, in that martial day. 
 The implements of Scottish fray. 
 
 The buckler, lance, and brand. 
 Beneath its shade, the place of state. 
 On oaken settle Marmion sate, 
 And viewed around the blazing hearth.- 
 His followers mix in noisy mirth. 
 Whom with brown ale, in jolly tide^ 
 From ancient vessels ranged aside. 
 Full actively their host suiiplicd. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Theirs was the glee of martial breast, 
 And laughter theirs at little jest; 
 And oft Lord Marmion deigned to aid. 
 And mingle in the mirth they made: 
 For though, with men of high degree. 
 The proudest of the proud was he. 
 Yet, trained in camps, he knew the art 
 To win the soldier's hardy heart. 
 They love a captain to obey, 
 Boistei'ous as March, yet fresh as May; 
 With open hand, and brow as free. 
 Lover of wine, and minstrelsy; 
 Ever the first to scale a tower. 
 As venturous in a lady's bower; 
 Such buxom cliief shall lead his host 
 From India's fires to Zembla's frost. 
 
92 MARMION. Canto DI^ 
 
 V. 
 
 Resting upon his pilgrim staff, 
 
 Right opposite the Palmer stood; 
 His thin dark visage seen but half. 
 
 Half hidden by his hood. 
 Still fixed on Marmion v^as his look. 
 Which he, who ill such gaze could brook. 
 
 Strove by a frown to quell; 
 But not for that, though more than once 
 Full met their stern encountering glance. 
 
 The Palmer's visage fell. 
 
 VI. 
 
 By fits less frequent from the crowd 
 Was heard the burst of laughter loud; 
 For stiil, as squire and archer stared 
 On that dark face and matted beard. 
 
 Their glee and game dechned. 
 All gazed at length in silence drear, 
 Unbroke, save when, in comrade's ear 
 Some yeoman, wondering in his fear. 
 
 Thus whispered forth his mind: — 
 ** Saint Mary! saw'st thou ere such sighf? 
 How pale his cheek, liis eye how bright. 
 Whene'er the fire-brand's fickle light 
 
 Glances beneath his cowl! 
 Full on our Lord he sets his eye; 
 For his best palfrey, would not 1 
 
 Endure that sullen scowl." — 
 
 vn." 
 
 But Marmion, as to chase the awe-\* V -^ 
 Which thus had quell'd their hearts, vhoP^aw 
 
Canto m. THE HOSTEL, OR INN. 93 
 
 The ever-varying fire-light show 
 That figure stem and face of wo. 
 
 Now called upon a squire: — 
 " Fitz-Eustace, know'st thou not some lay. 
 To speed the lingering night away? 
 
 We slumber by the fire." 
 
 VIII. 
 
 <* 9o please you,** thus the youth rejoinecl, 
 ** Our choicest minstrel's left behind. 
 Ill may Ave hope to please your ear. 
 Accustomed Constant's strains to hear. 
 The harp full deftly can he sti'ike. 
 And wake the lover's lute alike; 
 To dear Saint Valentine, no thrush 
 Sings livelier from a spring-tide bush; 
 No nightingale her love-lorn tune 
 More sweetly warbles to the moon. 
 Wo to the cause, whatever it be. 
 Detains from us liis melody. 
 Lavished on rocks, and billows stem. 
 Or duller monks of Lindisfarn. 
 Now must I venture as I may. 
 To sing his favourite roundelay." 
 
 IX. 
 
 A deep and mellow voice he had. 
 The air he chose was wild and sad; 
 Such have 1 heard, in Scottish land. 
 Rise frop the busiy harvest band, 
 Wherflalis beforfe the mountaineer, 
 Qh lc*<land plains, the ripened ear. 
 J^ovf one shrill voice the notes prolong, 
 * Now a wild chorus swells the song: 
 
94 MARMION. Canto III. 
 
 Oft have I listened, and stood still. 
 As it came softened up the hill. 
 And deemed it the lament of men 
 Who languished for their native glen; 
 And thought, how sad would be such sound 
 On Susquehanna's swampy groimd, 
 Kentucky's wood-encumbered bi'ake. 
 Or wild Ontario's boundless lake. 
 Where heart -sick exiles, in the sti*ain. 
 Recalled ftur Scotland's hills again! 
 
 X. 
 
 SONG. 
 Where shall the lover rest. 
 
 Whom the fates sever 
 Fi-om his true maiden's breast. 
 
 Parted for ever? 
 Where, through groves deep and high, 
 
 Sounds the fai* billow, 
 Where early violets die. 
 
 Under the willow. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Eleu loroy &c. Soft shall be his pillow. 
 
 There, through the summer day. 
 
 Cool streams ai-e laving; 
 There, while the tempests sway, 
 
 Scai-ce are boughs waving; 
 There, thy rest shalt thou take. 
 
 Parted for ever. 
 Never again to wake, ^""w. 
 
 Never, O never. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Eleu loro, &c. Never, O never 
 
Canto UL THE HOSTEL, OR INN. 95 
 
 XI. 
 
 Where shall the traitor rest. 
 
 He, the deceiver. 
 Who could win maiden's breast, 
 
 Ruin, and leave her? 
 In the lost battle, 
 
 Borne down by the flying. 
 Where mingles war's rattle. 
 
 With groans of the dying. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Eleu lorOf &c. There sliall he be lybg. 
 
 Her wing shall the eagle flap, 
 
 O'er the false-hearted; 
 His warm blood the wolf shall lap. 
 
 Ere life be parted. 
 Shame and dishonor sit 
 
 By his gji*ave ever; 
 Blessing shall hallow it,— 
 
 Never, O never. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Eleu loroy &c. Never, O never. 
 
 XII. 
 
 It ceased, the melancholy sound; 
 And silence sunk on all around. 
 The air was sad; but sadder still 
 
 It fell on Marmion's ear, 
 And plained as if disgrace and ill. 
 
 And shameful death, were near. 
 He drew his mantle past his face. 
 
 Between it and the band, 
 And rested with liis head a space, 
 RecUoing on his hand. 
 
96 MARMION. Canto IH. 
 
 His thoughts 1 scan not; but I ween. 
 That, could their import have been seen. 
 The meanest groom in all the hall. 
 That e'er tied courser to a stall, 
 Would scarce have wished to be their prey, 
 For Lutterwai'd and Fontenaye. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 High minds, of native pride and force. 
 Most deeply feel thy pangs, Remorse! 
 Fear, for their scourge, mean villians have. 
 Thou art the torturer of the brave; 
 Yet, fatal strength, they boast to steel 
 Their minds to bear the wounds they feel; 
 Even while they writhe beneath the smart 
 Of civil conflict in the heart. 
 For soon Lord Mannion raised his head. 
 And, smiling, to Fitz-Eustace said: — 
 ** Is it not strange, that, as ye sung. 
 Seemed in mine ear a death-peal rung. 
 Such as in nunneries they toll 
 For some departing sister's soul? 
 
 Say, what may tbis portend?" — 
 Then first the Palmer silence broke, 
 (The live-long day he had not spoke,) 
 
 *• The death of a dear friend." 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Marmion, whose steady heart and eye 
 Ne'er changed in worst extremity; 
 Marmion, whose soul could scantly brook. 
 Even from his King, a haughty look; 
 Whose accent of command controlled, 
 In camps, the boldest of the bold — 
 
anto in. THE HOSTEL, OR INN. 97 
 
 Thought, look, and utterance, failed him now. 
 Fallen was his glance, and flushed his brow: 
 
 For eitlitT in the tone. 
 Or something in the Palmer's look. 
 So full upon his conscience strook, 
 
 That ansAver he found none. 
 Thus oft it haps, that when within 
 They shrink at sense of secret sin, 
 
 A feather daunts the brave; 
 A fool's wild speech confounds the wise, 
 And proudest princes veil their eyes 
 
 Before their meanest slave. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Well might he faulter! — by his aid 
 
 Was Constance Beverley lietrayed; 
 
 Not that he augurM of the doom. 
 
 Which on the living closed the tomb; 
 
 But, tired to hear the despei-ate maid 
 
 llireaten by- turns, beseech, upbraid; 
 
 And wroth, because, in wild despair. 
 
 She practised on the life of Clare; 
 
 Its fugitive the church he gavc^ 
 
 Though not a victim but a slave; 
 
 And deemed restraint in convent strange. 
 
 Would hide her wrongs, and her revenge. 
 
 Himseli', proud Henry's favourite peer. 
 
 Held Romish thunders, idle i'ear; 
 
 Secure Iiis panlon he might hold. 
 
 For some slight mulct of penance-gold. 
 
 Thus judging, he gave secret way. 
 
 When the stern priests surprised their prey; 
 
 His tiain but deemed the favourite page 
 
 Was left bcliind, to spaie his yge; 
 
 E 
 
98 MARMION. Canto III. 
 
 Ox' other if they deemed, none dared 
 To mutter what he tliouglit and heard: 
 Wo to the vassal, who durst piy 
 Into Lord Marmion's piivacy! 
 
 XVI. 
 
 His conscience slept — he deemed her well. 
 And safe secured in distant cell; 
 But, wakened by her favourite lay, 
 And that strange Palmer's boding say. 
 That fell so ominous and drear. 
 Full on the object of his fear. 
 To aid remorse's venomed throes, 
 Dark tales of convent vengeance rose; 
 And Constance, late betrayed and scorned. 
 All lovely on his soul returned: 
 Lovely as when, at treacherous call. 
 She left her convent's peaceful Avail, 
 Ci'imsoned with shame, with terror mpte. 
 Dreading alike escape, pursuit. 
 Till love, victorious o'er alarms. 
 Hid fears and blushes in his arms. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 " Alas!'* he thought, " how changed that mi 
 
 How changed these timid looks have been, 
 
 Since years of guilt, and of disguise. 
 
 Have steeled her brow, and armed her eyes! 
 
 No more of virgin terror speaks 
 
 The blood that mantles in her cheeks; 
 
 Fierce, and unfeminine, are there. 
 
 Frenzy for joy, for grief despah; 
 
 And I the cause — for whom were given 
 
 Her peace on earth, her hopes in heaven — 
 
Canto If. THE HOSTEL, OR INN 99 
 
 " Would," thought he, as the picture grows, 
 
 *• I on its stalk had left the rose! 
 
 Oh why should man's success remove 
 
 The vei-y charms that wake his love!— 
 
 Her convent's peaceful solitude 
 
 Is now a prison harsh and rude; 
 
 And, pent within the narrow cell. 
 
 How will her spirit chafe and swelU 
 
 How brook the stern monastic laws! 
 
 The penance how — and I the cause! — 
 
 Vigil and scourge — perchance even worse!" — 
 
 And twice he rose to ciy " to horse!" 
 
 And twice his sovereign's mandate came. 
 
 Like damp upon a kindling flame; 
 
 And twice he thought, " Gave I not charge 
 
 She should be safe, though not at large? 
 
 They durst not, for their island, shred 
 
 One golden ringlet from her head." 
 
 xvni. 
 
 While thus in Marmion's bosom strove 
 
 Repentance and reviving love. 
 
 Like whirlw inds. whose contending sway 
 
 I've seen Loch Vennachar obey. 
 
 Their Host the Palmer's speech had heard, 
 
 And, talkative, took up the word: — 
 
 ** Ay, reverend Pilgrim, you, who stray 
 
 From Scotland's simple hind away. 
 To visit realms afar, 
 
 Full often learn the art to know. 
 
 Of future weal, or future wo. 
 By word, or sign, or star; 
 Yet might a knight his fortune heaf-. 
 If, knight-like, he despis.es fear, 
 
l(X) MARMION. Canto m. 
 
 Not far ftom hence; — ^if fathers old 
 Aright our hamlet legend told."— 
 These broken words the menials move, 
 (For nwi'vels still the vulgar love;) 
 And Marmion, giving license cold. 
 His tale the Host thus gladly told. 
 
 XIX. 
 THE HOST'S TALE. 
 
 " A clerk could tell what years have flown 
 
 Since Alexander filled our throne. 
 
 Third monarch of that warlike name. 
 
 And eke the time when here he came 
 
 To seek Sir Hugo, then our lord: 
 
 A braver never drew a sword; 
 
 A wiser never, at the hoar 
 
 Of midnight, spoke the woi'd of power; 
 
 The same, whom ancient records call 
 
 The founder of the Goblin-Hall. 
 
 I would. Sir Knight, your longer stay 
 
 Gave you that cavern to survey. 
 
 Of lofty roof, and ample size. 
 
 Beneath the castle deep it lies: 
 
 To hew the living rock profound. 
 
 The floor to pave, the arch to round. 
 
 There never toiled a mortal arm. 
 
 It all was wrought by word and chafm; 
 
 And 1 have heard my gi-andsire say, 
 
 That the wild clamor and affray 
 
 Of those dread artizans of hell. 
 
 Who labored under Hugo's spell. 
 
 Sounded as loud as Ocean's war 
 
 Among the caverns of Dunbar. 
 
Canto in. THE HOSTEL, OR INN. IQI 
 
 XX. 
 
 " The King Loi'd GifFord's castle sought. 
 Deep-laboring with uncertain thought: 
 Even then he mustered all his host. 
 To meet upon the western coast; 
 For Norse and Danish galleys plied 
 Their oars within the frith of Clyde. 
 There floated Haco's banner trim. 
 Above Noi-weyan warriors grim, 
 Sa\age of heart, and lai'ge of limb; 
 Tl.ieatening both continent and isle, 
 Bute, Arran, Cunningliame, and Kyle- 
 Lord GifTord, deep beneath the ground, 
 Heard Alexander's bugle sound. 
 And tarried not his garb to change. 
 But, in his wizard habit strange. 
 Came forth, a ([uaint and fearful sight; 
 His mantle lined with fox-skins white; 
 His 'nigh and wrinkled forehead bore 
 A pointed cap, such as of yoie 
 Clerks say that Pharaoh's Magi wore; 
 His shoes were marked with cross and speU? 
 Upon his breast a i>entacle; 
 His zone, of virgin parchment thin. 
 Or, as some tell, of dead man's skin. 
 Bore many a planetary sign, 
 Combust, and retrograde, and trine; 
 And in his hand he held prepared, 
 A naked swoixl without a guard. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 ^' Dire dealings with the fiendish race 
 Had marked strange lines upon his face; 
 Vigil, and fast, had woi'n him gi'im. 
 His eyesight dazaled seemed, and dim, 
 
i02 MARlvnON. Canto ni. 
 
 As one nnused to upper day; 
 Even }iis o'vn menials vith dismay- 
 Beheld, Sir Knight, the grisly sire. 
 In this unwonted wild attire; 
 Unwonted, for traditions i*un. 
 He seldom thus heheld the sun. 
 " I know," he said, — his voice was hoarfe^, 
 And broken seemed its holiow force,^ — 
 " I know the cause, although untold, 
 Why the king seeks his vassal's hold: 
 Vainly from me my liege woidd knovT 
 His kingdom's future weal oi' wo; 
 But yet, if strong liis arm and heart. 
 His courage may do more than art. 
 
 xxn. 
 
 ** Of middle air the demons proud. 
 Who ride upon the racking cloudy 
 Can read in fixed, or wandering star. 
 The issue of events afar; 
 But still their sullen aid withhold. 
 Save when by mightier force controlled. 
 Such late I summoned to my hall; 
 And though so potent was the call. 
 That scarce the deepest nook of hell 
 I deemed a refuge from the spell. 
 Yet, obstinate in silence still, 
 The haughty demon mocks my skill. 
 But thou, — who Uttle knowest thy might, 
 As born upon that blessed night, 
 When yawning graves, and dying gi*oan, 
 Proclaimed hell's empire overthrown, — 
 With untaught valor shalt compel 
 Respoase denied to magic spell.** 
 
Canto m. THE HOSTEL, OR INN. 103 
 
 *' Giamercy," quoth our monarch free, 
 
 " Place liim but front to front with me, 
 
 And, by this good awl honored brand. 
 
 The gift of C(Eur-de-Lion's hand, 
 
 Soothly I swear, that tide what tide. 
 
 The demon shall a buffet bide." 
 
 His bearing bold the wizard viewed. 
 
 And thus, w ell pleased, his speech renewed. 
 
 " There spoke tbe blood of jNIaleolm! — mark. 
 
 Forth pacing hence, at midnight dark. 
 
 The rampart seek, whose circling crown 
 
 Crests the ascent of yonder down; 
 
 A southern entrance shalt thou find: 
 
 There halt, and there thy bugle wind. 
 
 And trust thine elfin foe to see. 
 
 In guise of thy Avorst enemy: 
 
 Couch then thy lance, and spur thy steed — • 
 
 Upon him! and saint George to speed! 
 
 If he go doun, thou soon shalt know, 
 
 ^\ hate'er these airy sprites can show; — 
 
 If thy heart fail thee in the strife, 
 
 1 am no warrant for thy life." 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 " Soon as the midnight bcU did ring, 
 
 Alone, and armed, rode forth tiie kirig 
 
 To that old camp's deserted round: 
 
 Sir Knight, you Avell miglit mark the mound. 
 
 Left liand the town, — the Pictish race 
 
 The trench, long since, in blood did trace; 
 
 The moor around is brown and bare, 
 
 Tbe space w ithin is green and fair. 
 
 The spot our village children know. 
 
 For there tlie earliest v, iUi flowers giow; 
 
104 MARMION. Canto III. 
 
 But wo betide the wandering wight. 
 That treads its circle in the night. 
 The l>reauth across, a bowshot clear. 
 Gives ample space for full career; 
 Opposed to the four points of heaven. 
 By four deep gaps are entrance given. 
 The southernmost our monarch past. 
 Halted, and blev/ a gallant blast; 
 And on the north, within the ring. 
 Appeared the form of England's king; 
 Who then, a thousand leagues afar. 
 In Palestine waged holy war: 
 Yet arms like England's did he wield. 
 Alike tiie leopards in the shield. 
 Alike his Syrian courser's frame, 
 The rider's length of limb the same: 
 l.ong afterwards did Scotland know. 
 Fell Edwayd* was her deadliest foe. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 "The vision made our monarch start, 
 But soon he mann'd his noble heart. 
 And in the first career they ran. 
 The Elfin Knight fell horse i ud maR; 
 Yet did a splinter of his lance 
 Through Alexander's visor glance. 
 And raised the skin — a puny wound. 
 'I'he king, light leaping to the ground. 
 With naked blade, his phantom foe, 
 Conapelled the future war to show. 
 
 Of Largs he saw the glorious plain, 
 Whei'e still gigantic bones remain, 
 
 * Edwaifl I., sumamed Loiigshanks. 
 
Canto in. THE HOSTEL, OR INTST. IQ5 
 
 Memorial of the Danish war; 
 Himself he saw, amid the field, 
 On high his brandished war-ax wield. 
 
 And strike proud Haco from his ear. 
 While, all around the shadowy kings, 
 Denmark's grim ravens cowered their vings. 
 
 'Tis sfiid, tliat, in that av ful night. 
 
 Remoter visions met his sight. 
 
 Fore-showing future conquests far. 
 
 When our sons' sons wage northei'n war; 
 
 A royal city, tower and spire. 
 
 Reddened the midnight sky with fire; 
 
 And shouting crews her naw bore, 
 
 Triumphant, to the victor shore. 
 
 Such signs may learned clerks explain. 
 
 They pass the wit of simple swain. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 *' The joyful king turned home again. 
 Headed his host, and quell'd the Dane; 
 But yearly, when retunied the night 
 Of his strange combat Avith the sprite, 
 
 His wound must bleed and smart; 
 Loi-d Gifford then would gibing say, 
 *' Bold as ye were, my liege, ye pay 
 
 The penance of your start." 
 I^ong since, beneath Dunfermline's nave. 
 King Alexander fills his grave. 
 
 Our lady give him rest! 
 Yet still the nightly spear and shield. 
 The elfin warrior doth wield. 
 
 Upon the brown hill's breast; 
 And many a knight hath proved his chance, 
 la the charmed ring to break a lance, 
 K2 
 
105 MARMION. Canto III. 
 
 But all have foully spied; 
 Save two, as legends tell, and they 
 Were Wallace wight, and Gilbert Hay — 
 
 Gentles, my tale is said." 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 The quaighs* were deep, the liquor strong. 
 And on the tale the yeoman throng 
 Had made a comment sage and long, 
 
 But Marniion gave a sign; 
 And, with their lord, the squires retire; 
 The rest, around the hostel fire. 
 
 Their drowsy limbs recline; 
 For pillow, underneath each head. 
 The quiver and the targe were laid: 
 Deep slumbering on the hostel floor. 
 Oppressed Avith toil and ale, they snore; 
 The dying flame, in fitful change. 
 Threw on the groupe its shadows strange. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Apart, and nestling in the hay 
 Of a waste loft, Fitz-Eustace lay; 
 Scarce, by the pale moonlight, was seen 
 The foldings of his mantle green: 
 Lightly he dreamt, as youth will dream> 
 Of sport by thicket, or by stream. 
 Of hawk or hound, of ring or glove. 
 Or, lighter yet, of lady's love. 
 A cautious tread his slumber broke, 
 And, close beside him, when he woke, 
 
 * A yv'ooden cup, composed of staves hooped togetl?5v 
 
Canto m. THE HOSTEL, OR INX. 107 
 
 In moonbeam half, and half in gloom. 
 Stood a tall fonm, with noddilig plurac; 
 But, ere his dagger Eustace drew, 
 His master Marmion's voice he knew. 
 
 xxvm. 
 
 — " Fitz-Eustace! rise, — I cannot rest; 
 Yon churl's wild legend haunts ray breast. 
 And graver thoughts have chafed my mood; 
 The air must cool my feverish blood; 
 And fain would I lidc forth, to see 
 The scene of elfin chivalry. 
 Arise, and saddle me my steed; 
 And, gentle Eustace, take good heed 
 Thou dost not rouse these drowsy slaves; 
 I would not, that the prating knaves 
 Had cause for saying, o'er their ale. 
 That I could credit sucli a tale." 
 Then softly down the steps they slid, 
 Eustace the stable door undid. 
 And, darkling, Marmion's steed arrayed. 
 While whispermg thus the Baron said: 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 "Did'st never, good my youth, hear tell, 
 
 That on the hour when I was born, 
 St. George, w ho gi'aced my sire's chapeile, 
 Down from his steed of marble fell, 
 
 A weaiy weight forlorn; 
 The flattering chaplains ail agree, 
 The champion left his steed to rac: 
 I wovdd, the omen's truth to sho>v, 
 That I could meet this Elfin Foe! 
 
108 MARMION. Canto III. 
 
 Blithe would I battle, for the right 
 To ask one question at the sprite: — 
 . Vain thought! for elves, if elves there be. 
 An empty race, by fount or sea. 
 To (lashing waters dance and sing. 
 Or round the green oak -wheel their ring."— 
 Thus speaking, he his steed bestrode, 
 And from the hostel slowly rode. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Fitz-Eustace followed him abroad. 
 And marked him pace the village road-. 
 
 And listened to his horse's tramp. 
 Till, by the lessening sound. 
 
 He judged that of the Pictish camp 
 Lord Marmion sought the round. 
 Wonder it seemed, in the squire's eyee. 
 That one, so wary held, and wise, — 
 Of whom t'was said, he scarce received 
 For gospel, what the church believed, — 
 
 Should, stirred by idle tale, 
 Ride forth in silence of the night. 
 As hoping half to meet a sprite. 
 
 Arrayed in plate and mail. 
 For little did Fitz-Eustace know. 
 That passions, in contending flow. 
 
 Unfix the strongest mind; 
 Wearied from doubt to doubt to flee, 
 We Avelcome fond credulity, 
 
 Gkiide confident, though blind. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Little for this Fitz-Eustace caredj 
 But, patient, waited till he heaird, 
 
Canto III. THE HOSTEL, OR INN. 109 
 
 At distance, pricked to utmost speed, 
 Tlie foot -tramp of a flying steed. 
 
 Come town-wanl ri'shing on: 
 First, dead, as if on turf it trod. 
 Then, clattering on the village roadj — 
 In other pace than foith hj jode,* 
 Returned Lord Marmion. 
 Down hastily he sprung from selle. 
 And, in his haste, well nigh he fell; 
 To the sqnire's hand the rein he threw. 
 And spoke no word as he withdrew; 
 But yet the moonlight did betray. 
 The falcon crest was soiled with clay; 
 And plainly might Fitz-Eustace see. 
 By stains upon the charger's knee. 
 And his left side, that on the moor 
 He had not kept his footing sure. 
 Long musing on these wondrous signs; 
 At length to rest the squire reclines. 
 Broken and short; for still, between. 
 Would dreams of terror intervene: 
 Eustace did ne'er so blithely mark 
 The first notes of the morning lark. 
 
 * Used by old poets for went. 
 
 END OF CANTO THIRD. 
 
MAEMION. 
 
 CANTO FOURTH. 
 
TO 
 JAAIES SI^NE, ESQ. 
 
 Ashestiel, Ettricke Fo)Xsi. 
 
 An ancient minstrel sagely said, 
 
 ** Where is the life which late we led?" 
 
 That motley clown, in Arden wood. 
 
 Whom humerfuis Jaques with envy viewed. 
 
 Not even that clown could amplify. 
 
 On this trite text, so long as I. 
 
 Eleven years we now may tell. 
 
 Since we have known each other well; 
 
 Since, riding side by side, our hand 
 
 First drew the voluntary brand; 
 
 And sure, through many a varied scene, 
 
 Unkindncss never came between. 
 
 Away these winged years have flown, 
 
 To join the mass of ages gone; 
 
 And though deep marked, like all below, 
 
 With chequered shades of joy and wo; 
 
 Tliongh thou o'er realms and seas hast ranged. 
 
 Marked cities lost, and empires changed. 
 
 While here, at home, my narrower ken 
 
 Somewhat of manners saw, and men; 
 
 Though varying wishes, hopes, and fears. 
 
 Fevered the progress of these years. 
 
 Yet now, days, weeks, and months,' but seem 
 
 The recollection of a dream. 
 
 So still Me glide down to the sea 
 
 Of faiJiomless elcrnitv. 
 
114" INTRODUCTION 
 
 Even now, it scai'cely seems a day, 
 Since first 1 tuned this idle lay; 
 A task so often thrown aside. 
 When leisure graver cares denied. 
 That now, Novemher's dreary gale. 
 Whose voice inspired my opening tale. 
 That same November gale once more 
 Whirls the dry leaves on Yarrow shore; 
 Their vcx'd boughs streaming to the sky, 
 Once moi-e our naked birches sigh; 
 And Blackhouse heights, and Ettricke Pen,, 
 Have don'd their wintry shrouds again; 
 And mountain dark, and flooded mead. 
 Bid us forsake the banks of Tweed. 
 Earlier than wont along the sky, 
 Mixed with the rack, the snow-mists fly: 
 The shepherd, who, in summer sun, 
 Has something of our envy won. 
 As thou with pencil, I with pen. 
 The features traced of hill and glen; 
 He who, outstretched, the livelong day. 
 At ease among the heath-flower lay. 
 Viewed the light clouds with vacant look. 
 Or slumbered o'er his tattered book. 
 Or idly busied liim to guide 
 His angle o'er the lessened tide; — 
 At midniglit now, the snowy plain 
 Finds sterner labour for the swaiu. 
 
 When red hath set the bcamless sun, 
 Through licavy vapours dank and dun; 
 When the tired ploughman, dry and warm, 
 Hears, half asleep, the rising stoi*m 
 Hurling the hail, and sleeted rain. 
 Against the casement's tinkling pane; 
 
TO CANTO FOURTH. 115 
 
 The sounds that drive wild deer, and fox, 
 To sheltei' in the brake and I'ocks, 
 Are warnings which the shei>herd ask. 
 To dismal, and to djingerous task. 
 Oft he looks forth, an<l hopes, in vain, 
 The blast may sink in mellowing rain, 
 Till, dark above, and white below. 
 Decided drives the flaky snow. 
 And forth the hardy swain must go. 
 Long, with dejected look and \\ bine, 
 To leave the hefirth his dogs rei>ine; 
 Whistling, and cheering them lo aid. 
 Around liis back he wreathes the plaid: 
 His flock he gathers, and lie guides 
 To open downs, and mountain sides, 
 Where, fiercest though the tempest blow. 
 Least deeply lies the drift below. 
 The blast, that whistles o'er the fells, 
 Stiffens ids locks to icicles; 
 Oft he looks back, while, streaming far. 
 His cottage window seems a star. 
 Loses its feeble gleam, and then 
 Turns patient to the blast again. 
 And, facing to the tempest's sweep. 
 Drives through the gloom lils lagging slicep: 
 If fails his heart, if his limbs fail, 
 Benuming death is in the gale; 
 His paths, his landmarks, all unknown. 
 Close to the hut, no niore his own, 
 Close to the aid he sought in vain. 
 The morn may find the stiften'd SAvatn: 
 His widow sees, at daM ning pale, 
 His orphans raise their feeble wail; 
 
J 1 5 INTRODUCTION 
 
 And, close beside liim, in the snow. 
 Poor Yarrow, partner of their wo. 
 Couches upon his master's breast. 
 And licks his cheek, to break his rest. 
 
 "WTio enries now the shepherd's lot. 
 His healthy fare, his rural cot. 
 His summer couch by greenwood tree. 
 His rustic kirn's * loud reveliy. 
 His native hill-notes, tuned on high. 
 To Marian of the blithsome eye; 
 His crook, his scrip, his oaten reed. 
 And all Arcadia's golden creed. 
 
 Changes not so with us, my Skene, 
 Of human life the varying scene? 
 Our youtliful summer oft we see 
 Dance by on wings of game and glee. 
 While the dark storm reserves its rage. 
 Against the winter of our age: 
 As he, the ancient chief of Troy, 
 His manhood spent in peace and joy; 
 But Grecian fires, and loud alarms. 
 Called ancient Priam forth to arms. 
 Then happy those, — since each must drain 
 His share of pleasure, share of pain, — 
 Then happy those, beloved of heaven. 
 To whom the mingled cup is given; 
 Whose lenient sorrows find relief. 
 Whose joys are chastened by their grief. 
 And such a lot, my Skene, was thine. 
 When thou of late wert doomed to twine,— 
 Just when thy bridal hour was by, — 
 The cypress with the myrtle tie; 
 
 * The Scottish harves^home. 
 
TO CANTO FOURTH. i j 7 
 
 Just on thy bride her Sii-e had smiled. 
 And blessed the union of his child, 
 When love must change its joyous cheer, 
 And wipe affection's filial tear. 
 Nor did the actions next his end, 
 Speak more the father than the friend: 
 Scarce had lamented Forbes paid 
 The tribute to his minstrel's shade; 
 The tale of friendship scarce was told, 
 Ere the narrator's heart was cold. 
 Far may we search, before we find 
 A heart so manly and so kind. 
 But not around his honoured urn. 
 Shall friends alone, and kindred mouiiij 
 The thousand eyes his care had dried. 
 Pour at his name a bitter tide; 
 And frequent falls the grateful dew. 
 For benefits the world ne'er knew. 
 If mortal charity dai*e claim 
 The Almighty's attributed name. 
 Inscribe above his mouldering clay, 
 " The widow's shield, the orphan's stay." 
 Nor, though it wake thy sorrow, deem 
 My verse intrudes on this sad theme; 
 For sacred was the pen that wrote, 
 " Thy father's friend forget thou not:" 
 And grateful title may I plead. 
 For many a kindly word and deed. 
 To bring my tribute to his grave: — 
 'Tis little — but 'tis all I have. 
 
 To thee, perchance, this rambling strain 
 Recals oui* summer walks again; 
 When doing nought, — and, to speak true 
 Not anxious to find aught to do, — 
 
118 INTRODUCTION 
 
 The wild unbounded hills we ranged; 
 While oft our t?lk its topic changed. 
 And desultory, as our way, 
 Ranged unconiined from grave to gay. 
 Even when it flagged, as oft will chance, 
 No effox't made to break its trance. 
 We could right pleasantly pursue 
 Our sports, in social silence too. 
 Thou gravely labouring to pourtray 
 The bhghted oak's fantastic spray; 
 I spelling o'er, with much delight, ^ 
 
 The legend of that antique knight, 
 Tirante by name, yeleped the White. 
 At cither's feet a trusty squire, 
 Pandour and Camp, with eyes of fire. 
 Jealous, each other's motions viewed. 
 And scarce suppressed their ancient feud. 
 The laverock m histled from the cloud; 
 The stream was lively, but not loud; 
 From the white-thorn the May-flower shed 
 Its dewy fragrance round our head: 
 Not Ariel lived more merrily 
 Under the blossom'd bough, than we. 
 
 And blithsome nights, too, have been ours. 
 When Winter stript the summer's bowers; 
 Careless we heard, what now I hear. 
 The wild blast sighing deep and drear. 
 When fires were bright, and lamps beamed gay, 
 And ladies tuned the lovely lay; 
 And he was held a laggard soul. 
 Who shunn'd to quaff the sparkling bowl. 
 Then he, whose absence we deplore. 
 Who breathes the gales of Devon's shore. 
 The longer missed, bewailed the more; 
 
TO CANTO FOURTH. ng 
 
 And thou, and [, and dear-loved R , 
 
 And one whose name I may not say, — ' 
 
 For not Mucosa's tender tree 
 
 Shrinks sooner from tlie touch than he, — 
 
 In meiTy chorus, well combired. 
 
 With laughter drowned the v histlii gwind. 
 
 Mirth was within; and Care without 
 
 Might gnaw her nails to hear our shout. 
 
 Not but amid the buxom scone 
 
 Some grave discourse might intervene— 
 
 Of the good horse that bore him best. 
 
 His shoulder, hoof, and arching crest: 
 
 For like mad Tom^s,* our chiefest care, 
 
 Was horse to ride, and weapon wear. 
 
 Such nights we've had, and though the game 
 
 Of manhood be more sober tame. 
 
 And though the field-day, or the drill. 
 
 Seem less important now — yet still 
 
 Such may we hope to share again. 
 
 The sprightly thought inspii'es my strain; 
 
 And mark, how like a horseman true. 
 
 Lord Marmion's march I thus renew. 
 
 * See King Lear. 
 
MAKMION 
 
 CANTO FOURTH. 
 
 THE CAMP. 
 
 I. 
 
 Eustace, I said, did blithely mark 
 The first notes of the merry lark. 
 The lark sung shrill, the cock he crew, 
 And loudly Alarmion's clarions blew. 
 And, -VA ith their light and lively call, 
 Brouglit groom and yeoman to the stall. 
 
 Whistling they came, and free of heart; 
 But soon their mood was changed: 
 
 Complaint was heard on every part. 
 Of sometlung disarranged. 
 Some clamored for armour lost; 
 Some brawled and wrangled with the host; 
 *' By Becket*s bones," cried one, " I swear. 
 That some false Scot has stolen my spear!" 
 Young Blount, Lord Marmion's second squire, 
 Found his steed wet with sweat and mire; 
 Although the rated horse-boy sware. 
 Last night he dressed him sleek and fair. 
 While chafed the impatient S((uire like thiuidcr. 
 Old Hubert shouts, in fear and wouder, — 
 F 
 
122 MARMION. Canto IV. 
 
 ** Help, gentle Blount! help, comrades all! 
 
 Bevis lies dying in his stall: 
 
 To Marmion who the plight dare tell, 
 
 Of the good steed he loves so well?" 
 
 Gaping for fear and ruth, they saw 
 
 The charger panting on his straw; 
 
 Till one, who would seem Svisest, cried, — 
 
 ** What else but evil could betide. 
 
 With that cursed Palmer for our guide? 
 
 Better we had through mire and bush 
 
 Bfeen lanthorn-led by Friai* Rush."* 
 
 n. 
 
 Fitz-Eustace, who the cause but guessed. 
 
 Nor wholly understood. 
 His comrades' clamorous plaints suppressed; 
 
 He knew Lord Marmion's mood. 
 Him, ere he issued forth, he sought, 
 And found deep plunged in gloomy thoughf, 
 
 And did his tale display 
 Simply, as if he knew of nought 
 
 To cause such disarray. 
 Ijord Marmion gave attention cold. 
 Nor marvelled at the wonders told, — i 
 
 Passed them as accidents of course, f< 
 
 And bade his clarions sound to horse. 
 
 in. 
 
 Young Henry Blount meanwhile the cost 
 Had reckoned with their Scottish host; 
 And, as the charge he cast and paid, 
 <» 111 thou deser\^st thy hire," he said; 
 
 * Altai Will o' Ihe Wisp. See Note. 
 
fttoIV. THE CAMP. 123 
 
 " Dost see, thou knave, my horse's plight? 
 Fairies have ridden him all the night. 
 
 And left him in a foam! 
 1 trust, that soon a conjuring hand. 
 With English cross and blazing brand, 
 Shall drive the devils from this land, 
 
 To their infernal home: 
 For in this haunted den, I trow. 
 All night they trampled to and fro." 
 The laiighing host looked on the hire, — 
 *' Gramercy, gentle southern squire. 
 And ii'thou com'st among the rest. 
 With Scottish broad sword to be blest, 
 Sharp be the brand, and sure the blow. 
 And short the pang to undergo." — 
 Here stayed theii- talk, — for Marmion 
 Gave now the signal to set on. 
 The Palmer showing forth the way. 
 They journeyed all the morning day. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The green-sward way w as smooth and good. 
 
 Through Humbie's ahd through Saltoun's wood; 
 
 A forest glade, which varying stiil. 
 
 Here gave a view of dale and hill; 
 
 There narrower closed, till over head 
 
 A vaulted screen the branches made. 
 
 *• A pleasant path,'' Fitz-Eustace said; 
 
 " Such as where errant knights might see 
 
 Adventures of high chivalry; 
 
 Might meet some damsel flying fast. 
 
 With hair unbound, and looks aghast; 
 
 And smooth and level course were here. 
 
 In her defence to break a spear. 
 
124 MARMION. Canto IV 
 
 Here, too, are twilight nooks and dells; 
 And oft, in such, the stoiy tells. 
 The damsel kind, from danger freed. 
 Did grateful pay her champion's meed." — 
 
 He spoke to cheer Lord Marmion's mind: 
 
 Perchance to show his lore designed; 
 For Eustace much had pored 
 
 Upon a huge romantic tome. 
 
 In the hall-Avindow of his home, 
 
 Imprinted at the antique dome 
 Of Caxton or De Worde. 
 
 Therefore he spoke, — but spoke in vaih.j 
 
 For Marmion answered nought again. 
 
 V. 
 
 Now sudden distant trumpets shrill. 
 In notes prolonged by wood and hill. 
 
 Were heard to echo far; 
 Each ready archer grasped his bow. 
 But by the flourish soon they know. 
 
 They breathed no point of war. 
 Yet cautious, as in foeman's land. 
 Lord Marmion's ovder speeds the band^ 
 
 Some opener ground to gain; 
 And scare a furlong had they rode, 
 When thinner trees, receding, showed 
 
 A little woodland plain. 
 Just in that advantageous glade. 
 The baiting troop a*line had made. 
 As forth from the opposing shade 
 
 Issued a gallant train. 
 
Canto IV. THE CAMP. 1 25 
 
 VI. 
 
 First came the trumpets, at -whose clang 
 So late the forest echoes rang; 
 On prancing steeds they forward pressed, 
 With scarlet mantle, azure vest; 
 Each at his trump a banner wore. 
 Which Scotland's royal scutcheon bore: 
 Heralds and pursuivants, by name 
 Bute, Islay, INIarchmount, Rotbsay, 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 w ildest its alarms. 
 
 VII. 
 
 He was a man of middle age; 
 . In aspect manly, grave, and sage, 
 
 As on king's eiTand come; 
 But in the glances of his eye, 
 A penetrating, keen, and sly 
 
 Exp ession found its home; 
 The flash of that satiric inige. 
 Which, bursting on the early stage, 
 Branded tb«! vices of the age, 
 
 Anfl broke the keys of Rome. 
 On milk-white palfrey forth he paced; 
 His cap of maintenance was graced 
 
 With the proud heron-plume. 
 From his steed's shovdder, loin, and breast, 
 
 Silk housings swei)t the ground, 
 With Scotland's arms, device, and crest. 
 
 Embroidered round and round. 
 
126 MARMION. Canto IV. 
 
 The double tressiu e might you see, 
 
 First by Achaius borne, 
 The thistle, and the fleur-de-hs. 
 
 And gallant unicorn. 
 So blight the king's armorial coat. 
 That scai'ce th'r^lazzled eye could note. 
 In .iving colours blazoned bi'ave, 
 The lion, which his title gave. 
 A train, which well beseemed his state, 
 But all unarmed, around him wait. 
 
 Still is thy name in higli account. 
 And still thy verse has charms, 
 
 Sir DaAid Lindesay of the Mount, 
 Lord Lion King-at-arms! 
 
 vin. 
 
 Down from his horse did Marmion spring. 
 Soon as he saw the Lion-King; 
 Foi- well the stately Baron knew. 
 To him sucli courtesy was due. 
 
 Whom royal James himself had crowned,. 
 
 And Oil his temples placed the round 
 Of Scotland's ancient diadem; 
 
 And wet his brow with hallowed wine. 
 
 And on his finger gave to shine 
 The emblematic gem. 
 Their mutual greetings duly made. 
 The Lion thus his message said: — 
 *' Though Scotland's King hath deeply svore. 
 Ne'er to knit faith with Henry more. 
 And strictly hath forbid resort 
 From England to his royal court; 
 Yetj for he knows Lord Marmion's name. 
 And honours much his warlike fanxe. 
 
Caiito IV. THE CAMP. 127 
 
 My liege hath deemed it shame, and lack 
 
 Of courtesy, to turn him back; 
 
 And, by his order, I, your guide. 
 
 Must lodging fit and fair pronde. 
 
 Till finds King James meet time to see 
 
 The flower of English chivalry." 
 
 IX. 
 
 Though inly chafed at this delay. 
 Lord Marmion bears it as he may. 
 The Palmer, his mysterious guide. 
 Beholding thus his place supplied. 
 
 Sought to take leave in vain: 
 .Strict was the Lion-King's command. 
 That none who rode in Marmion's band 
 
 Should sever fi-om the train: 
 " England has here enow of spies 
 In Lady Heron's witching eyes;" 
 To Marchmount thus, apart, he said. 
 But fair pretext to Murmion made. 
 The right hand path they now decline, 
 And trace against the stream the Tyn.e. 
 
 X. 
 
 At length up that w ild dale they wind. 
 
 Where Crit-litoun-Castle crowns the bauk, 
 For there the Lion's care assigned 
 
 A lodging meet for ?Jarmion's rank. 
 That castle rises on the steep 
 
 Of the green vale of Tyne; 
 And far beneath, where slow they creep 
 From pool to eddy, dark and deep. 
 Where ahlers moist, and willows weep, 
 
 VoM hear lier streams repine. 
 
128 MARMION. Canto 1\ 
 
 The towers in different ages rose; 
 Their various architecture shows 
 
 The builders' various hands; 
 A mighty mass, that coukl oppose. 
 When deadliest hatred fired its foes, 
 
 Tlie vengeful Douglas bands. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Crichtoun! though now thy miry court 
 
 But pens the lazy steer and sheep, 
 
 Thy turrets rude, and tottered Keep, 
 Have been the minstrel's loved resort. 
 Oft have I traced Avithin thy fort, 
 
 Of mouldering shields the mystic sense. 
 
 Scutcheons of honour, or pretence. 
 Quartered in old armorial sort. 
 
 Remains of rude magnificence: 
 Nor M holly yet hath time defaced 
 
 Thy lordly gallery fair; 
 Nor yet the stony cord unbraced. 
 Whose twisted knots, with roses lacedj 
 
 Adorn thy ruined stair. 
 Still rises unimpaired below. 
 The court-yard's graceful portico; 
 Above its cornice, row and row. 
 Of ftdr hewn facets, richly show 
 
 Their pointed diamond form. 
 Though there but houseless cattel go 
 
 To shield them from the storm. 
 And, shuddering, still may we explore, 
 
 Where oft whilome were captives pent. 
 The darkness of thy Massy More;* 
 
 Or, from thy grass-grown battlement, 
 
 * The pit, or prison vault. See Note, 
 
Canto IV. THE CAMP. 129 
 
 May trace, in undulating line, 
 The sluggish mazes of the Tyne. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Another aspect Crichtoun showed. 
 
 As through its portal Mamaion rode; 
 
 But yet 'twas melancholy state 
 
 Received him at the outer gate; 
 
 For none were in the castle then, 
 
 But w omen, boys, or aged men. 
 
 With eyes scarce dried, the sorrowing dame. 
 
 To welcome noble Marmion, came; 
 
 Her Fon, a stripling twelve years old, 
 
 Proft'ered the Baron's reign to hold; 
 
 For each man, that could draw a sword. 
 
 Had marched that morning with their lord. 
 
 Earl Adam Hepburn, — he who died 
 
 On Flodden, by his sovereign's side. 
 
 Long may his Lady look in vain! 
 
 She ne'er shall see his gallant train 
 
 Come sweeping back through Crichtoun-Dean. 
 
 'Twas a brave race, before the name 
 
 Of hated Both well stained their fame. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 And here two days did Marmion rest. 
 With every rite that honour claims. 
 Attended as the king's own guest, — 
 Such the command of royal James; 
 Who marshalled then his land's array. 
 Upon the borough-moor that lay. 
 Perchance he w ould not foenian's eye 
 Upon his gathering host should pry 
 F2 " 
 
130 MARMION. Canto 1\C. 
 
 Till full prepared was every band, 
 To March against the English land. 
 Here while they dwelt, did Lindesaj'^s wit 
 Oft cheer the Baron's modier fit; 
 And, in his turn, he knew to prize 
 Lord Marniion's powerful mind, and wise, — 
 Trained in the lore of Rome, and Gi'eece, 
 And policies of war and peace. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 It chanced, as fell the second night, 
 
 That on the battlements they walked, 
 And, by the slowly fading light. 
 
 Of varying topics talked; 
 And, unaware, the Herald-bard 
 Said, jNIannion might his toil have spared. 
 
 In travelling so far; 
 ITor that a messenger from heaven 
 In vain to James had counsel given 
 
 Against the English war: 
 And, closer questioned, thus he told 
 A tale, which chronicles of old 
 In Scottish story have enrolled: — 
 
 XV. 
 SIR DAVID LINDESAY'S TALE. 
 
 Of ail the palaces so fair. 
 
 Built for the royal dwelling. 
 In Scotland, far beyond compare 
 Linlithgow is excelling; 
 And in its park^ in joAial June, 
 How sweet the merry linnet's tune. 
 
Canto IT. THE CAMP. 131 
 
 How blithe the blackbird's lay! 
 The wild buck bells* from ferny brake. 
 The coot dives meny on the lake, 
 The saddest heart might pleasure take 
 
 To see all nature gay. 
 But June is to our Soverign dear 
 The heaviest month in all the year: 
 Too well his cause of grief you knov/, — 
 Jiine saw his father's overthrow. 
 Wo to the traitors, who could bring 
 The princely boy against his King! 
 Still in his conscience burns the sting. 
 . In offices as strict as Lent, 
 King James's June is ever spent. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 "' When last this ruthful month was com^, 
 And in Linlithgow's holy dome 
 
 The King, as wont, a\ as praying; 
 While for his royal father's soul 
 The chaunters sung, tlie bells did toll, 
 
 The Bishop mass was saying — 
 For now the year brought round again 
 The day the luckless king was slain — 
 In Katharine's aisle the monarch knelt, 
 With sackcloth-shirt, and iron belt. 
 
 And eyes with sorrow streaming; 
 Around him, in their stalls of state. 
 The Tliistle's Knight-Companions sat^. 
 Their banners o'er them beaming; 
 
 I too was there, and, sooth to tell, 
 
 Bedeafened with the jangling knell, 
 
 * An aacient word for tl»e 017 of deer. See Note. 
 
1 32 MARMION. Canto l\ 
 
 Was watching where tlie sunbeams fell, 
 Through the stained casement gleaming; 
 
 But, while I marked what n.xt befel. 
 It seemed as I were dreaming. 
 Stepped from the croM^d a ghostly wight, 
 In azui'e gown, with cincture Avhite; 
 His forehead bald, his head was bare, 
 Down hung at length his yellow hair. — 
 Now mock me not, when, good my Lord, 
 I pledge to you my knightly word, 
 That, when I saw his placed grace. 
 His simple majesty of face. 
 His solemn bearing, and his pace 
 
 So stately gliding on; 
 Seemed to me ne'er did limner paint 
 So just an image of the Saint, 
 Who propped the Virgin in her faint, — 
 
 The loved Apostle John. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 ' ' He stepped before the M onarcli's ch^. 
 
 And stood with rustic plainness there, 
 And little I'everence 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 tlirilled through vein, and nerve, andboilef- 
 * 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, 
 .lames Stuart, doubly warned, bewar^ 
 
tantoIV. THE CAMP. I33 
 
 God keep thee as he may!" — 
 The wondering Monarch seemed lo seek 
 
 For answer, and found none; 
 And when he raised liis head to speak. 
 
 The moniter was gone. 
 The iNIai'shal and myself had cast 
 To stop him, as he outward past; 
 But Hghter than the whirlwind's blast 
 
 He vanished from our eyes, 
 Like sumbeam on the billow cast. 
 
 That glances but, and dies.'* 
 
 xvni. 
 
 While Lindesay told this marvel strange. 
 
 The twilight was so pale, 
 He marked not Marmion's colour changCj 
 
 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; 
 Am', three days since, had judged your aim 
 Was but to make your guest your game. 
 Bv.t I have seen, since past the TAveed, 
 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 w hen discovery's pain. 
 
 To Lindesay did at length unfold 
 
 The tale his village host had told, 
 At Gifford, to his train. 
 
134 MARMION. Canto IV 
 
 Nought of the Palmer says he there, 
 
 And nought of Constance, or of Clare: 
 
 The thoughts, which broke his sleep, he seems 
 
 To mention but as feverish dreams. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 *' In vain," said he, " to rest I spread 
 My burning limbs^ and couched my head, 
 
 Fantastic thoughts returned; 
 And, by their ■« ild dominion led. 
 
 My heart within me burned. 
 So sore was the delirious goad, 
 I took my steed, and forth I rode. 
 And, as the moon shone bright and cold, 
 Soon reached the camp upon the wold. 
 The southern entrance I passed througlj, 
 And halted, and my bugle blew. 
 IVIethought an answer met my ear, — 
 Yet was the blast so low and drear. 
 So hollow, and so faintly bloAvn, 
 It might be echo of my own. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Thus judging, for a little space 
 I Hstened, ere I left the place; 
 
 But scarce could trust my eyes. 
 Nor yet can think they served me true, 
 When sudden in the ring I view^. 
 In form distinct of shape and hue, 
 A mounted champion rise. — 
 Vve fought, Lord-Lion, many a day, 
 In single fight, and mixed afFray, 
 And ever, I myseli" may say, 
 
GantoIV. THE CAMP. I35 
 
 Have borne me as a kniglit; 
 But when tliis unexpected foe 
 Seemed starting from tlie gulf below, — 
 I care not tliough the truth I show, — 
 
 I trembled Avith affright; 
 And as I placed in rest my spear. 
 My hand so shook for very feai-, 
 
 I scarce could couch it right. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 " Why need my tongue the issue tell? 
 We ran our course, — my charger fell;— 
 What could he 'gainst the shock of hell? 
 
 I rolled upon the plain. 
 High o'er my head, with threatening hand>' 
 The spectre shook his naked brand, — 
 
 Yet did the worst remain; 
 My dazzled eyes I upward cast, — 
 Not opening hell itself could blast 
 Their sight, like what I saw. 
 Full on his face the moonbeam strook, — 
 A fiice 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 lias long been dead,— 
 I M ell believe the last; 
 For ne'er, from visor raised, did stare 
 A human uarrior, with a glare 
 
 So grimly and so ghast. 
 Thrice o'er my head he :^hook the blade; 
 But when to good Saint (itorge i prayed, 
 ^The first time e'er I asked his aid,) 
 
136 MARMION. Canto IV. 
 
 He plunged it in the sheath; 
 And on his courser mounting light. 
 He seemed to vanish from ray sight: 
 The moon-beam drooped, and deepest night 
 
 Sunk doA\n 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 Climber upper air: 
 Dead, or alive, good cause had he 
 To he tay mortal enemy." — 
 
 xxn. 
 
 Marvelled Sir David of the mount; 
 Then, learned in story, 'gan recount 
 
 Such chance had hai)'d of oki. 
 When once, near Norham, there did fight 
 A spectre fell, of fiendish might, 
 In likeness of a Scottish knight, 
 
 AVith Brian Buimer 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 -vvith gore. 
 Is seen in Kotliiemurcus glade. 
 Or where the sable pinc-ti-ees shade 
 DaVk Tomantoul, am! Achnaslaid, 
 
 Dromouchly, or Gienmoi*e.* 
 And yet, Mhate'er such legends say. 
 
 * See the traditions concerning Buimer, and the spectre 
 eaUed Lhamdcarg, or Bloody-hand, in a note on Cantn IV. 
 
Canto IV. THE CAMP. 137 
 
 Of warlike demon, ghost, or far, 
 
 On mountain, moor, or plain. 
 Spotless in faith, in bosom bold. 
 True son of chivalr}'^ should hold 
 
 These midnight terrors vain; 
 For seldom have such spirits power 
 To harm, save in the e\i\ hour, 
 "When guilt we meditate within, 
 Or harbour uurepented 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 lierc their further converse staid. 
 
 Each ordering that his band 
 Should bowne them m ith the rising day. 
 To Scotland's camp to take their way, — 
 
 Such was the King's command. 
 
 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 passed the glen and scanty rill. 
 And climbed the opposing bank, until 
 They gained the top of Blackford Hill. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Blackford! on ^vhose nncultured brea?t. 
 
138 MARMIOlir, Canto IV 
 
 Among the broom, and thorn, and whin, 
 A truant-boj, I sought the nest. 
 Or listed, as I lay at rest. 
 
 While rose on breezes thin 
 
 The murmur of the city ci"Owd, 
 
 And, from his steeple jangling loud, 
 
 Saint Giles's mingling din. 
 
 Now, from the summit to the plain. 
 
 Waves all the hill with yellow grain; 
 
 And o'er the landscape as I look, 
 Nought do I see unchanged remain. 
 
 Save the rude clifts and cliiming brook. 
 To me they make a heavy moan. 
 Of early friendships past and gone. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 But diffei*enr 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. 
 
 Upland, and dale, and down: — 
 A thousand did I say? I Aveen, 
 Thousands on thousands there were seeij, 
 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 relicks of the old oak wood. 
 That darkly huge did intervene. 
 And tamed the glaring white withvgrecn: 
 In these extended lines there lay 
 A martial kingdom's vast array. 
 
Canto IV. THE CAMP. 139 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 For from Hebudes, dark with rain. 
 To eastern Lodon's fertile plain. 
 And from the southern RedsAvire edge. 
 To furthest Rosse*s rock}- ledge; 
 From ^vest to east, from south to north, 
 Scotland sent all her v.arriors forth. 
 Marraion might hear the mingled hum 
 Of myriads up the mountain come; 
 The horses' tramj), and tingling clank. 
 Where cliiefs renewed 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. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Thin curling in the morning air. 
 
 The ■"\reaths of falling smoke declare. 
 
 To embers now the brands decayed. 
 
 Where the night-v. atch their fires had made. 
 
 They sav, slow roilin;- on the plain, 
 
 Full many a baggage-cart and Avain, 
 
 And dire artillery's clumsy cai'. 
 
 By sluggish oxen tugged to war; 
 
 And there were Borthwick's Sisters Seven,* 
 
 By France's king to Scotland given. 
 
 Ill-omened gift! the guns remain 
 
 The conqueror's spoil on Flodden plains 
 
 XXVIIT. 
 
 Nor marked they less, wJiere in the air 
 A thousand streamers flaunted fair; 
 
 * Seven culverins so called, cast by one Bovth'n'ick. 
 
140 MARMION. Canto IV. 
 
 Various in shape, derice, and hue, 
 Green, sanguine, pui'ple, red, and blue, ' 
 Broad, narrow, swallow-tailed, and square. 
 Scroll, pennon, pensil, baudrol,* there 
 
 O'er the pavilions flew. 
 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 sliield, 
 The iniddy Lion ramped in gold. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Lord Marmion viewed the landscape bright. 
 He viewed it with a chief's delight, — 
 Until within him burned his heart. 
 And lightning from his eye did part, 
 
 As on the battle day; 
 Such glance did falcon never dart. 
 
 When stooping on his prey. 
 " Oh! well, Lord-Lion, hast thou said. 
 Thy King from warfare .to dissuade 
 
 Were but a vain essay; 
 For, by Saint George, were that host mine, 
 Not power infernal, nor divine, 
 Should once to peace my soul incline. 
 Till I had dimmed their armours sliine, 
 
 * Each of these feudal ensigns intimated the different 
 ^iUik of those entitled to display them. 
 
Canto n^ THE CAMP 141 
 
 In glorious battle fi-ay!" — 
 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 bleseed, 
 'Tis better to sit still at rest, 
 
 Than rise perchance to fall." 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Still on the spot Lord Marmion stayed. 
 For fairer scene he ne'er surveyed. 
 When sated with the martial show 
 That peopled all the plain below. 
 The wandering eye could o'er it go. 
 And mark the distant city glow 
 
 With gloomy 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 tlie height, 
 Where the huge castle holds its state. 
 
 And all the steep slope down, 
 Wliose i-idgy back lieaves to the sky. 
 Piled deep and massy, close and high. 
 
 Mine own romantic town! 
 But northward far, with purer blaze, 
 On Ocliil mountains fell the rays. 
 And as each heathy top they kissed. 
 It gleamed a purple amethyst. 
 
 Yonder the shores of Fife you saw; 
 
 Here Preston-Bay, and Berwick-Law; 
 And, broad between them rolled, 
 
142 MARMION. Canto IV. 
 
 The gallant Firth the eye might note. 
 
 Whose islands on its ijosom float. 
 Like emeralds chased in gold. 
 
 Pitz-Eustace' heart felt closely pentj 
 
 As if to give his rapture vent. 
 The spur he to his charger lent. 
 
 And raised his bridle hand. 
 And, making derai-vault m air. 
 Cried, " Where's the coward that would not dare 
 
 To fight for such a land!" 
 The Lion smiled his joy to see; 
 Nor Marmion's frown repressed his glee. 
 
 XXXL 
 
 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, w ith distant chime. 
 Merrily tolled the hour of prime, 
 , And thus the Lion spoke: — 
 " Thus clamour still the war-notes whQn 
 The King to mass his way has ta'en. 
 Or to St. Cathei-ine's of Sienne, 
 
 Or chapel of Saint Rocque. 
 To you they speak of martial fame; 
 But me remind ol peaceful game. 
 
 When blither was their cheer. 
 Thrilling in Faulklanc-woo:ls the aii;, 
 In signal none his steed should spare, 
 
Canto IV. THE CAMP. 143 
 
 But strive which foremost might repair 
 To the doM nfal of the deer. 
 
 XXXII 
 
 " Nor less," he said, — " when looking forth, 
 I view yon Empress of the North 
 
 Sit on her hilly throne; 
 Her palace's imperial bowers. 
 Her castle, proof to hostile powers, 
 Her stately halls, and holy towers — 
 
 Nor less," he said, " I moan. 
 To think what mo mischance may bring, - 
 And how these meri-y 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,T — 
 
 But thou thy self sh alt say. 
 When joins yon host in deadly stowx'e. 
 That England's dames must weep in bower, 
 
 Her monks the dead-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 made a stay. — 
 There stays the Minstrel, till he fling 
 
144 MARMION. Canto IV 
 
 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. 
 
 KND OF CANTO FOURTH. 
 
MARMION 
 
 CANTO FIFTH'. 
 
GEORGE ELLIS, ES«l. 
 
 W HEN dark December glooms the day. 
 
 And takes our autumn joys away; 
 
 When short, and scant, the sun-beam thrown 
 
 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 gu*, 
 
 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 tlie 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 ilarkling politician, crossed. 
 
 Inveighs against the lingering postj 
 
148 INTRODUCTION 
 
 And answering house-wife sore complains 
 Of canier'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 Ettricke stripped of forest bowers.* 
 True, — Caledonia's Queen is changed. 
 Since on her dusky summit ranged. 
 Within its steepy limits pent. 
 By bulwark, line, and battlement. 
 And flanking towers, and laky flood. 
 Guarded and garrisoned she stood, 
 Denying entrance or resort. 
 Save at each tall embattled port; 
 Above whose arch, suspended, hung 
 Portcullis spiked w.th iron piong. 
 That long is gone, — but not so long. 
 Since early closed, an<) opening late, 
 Jealous revolved the studded gate; 
 Whose task, from eve to morning tide, 
 A wicket curlishly supplied. 
 Stern then, and steel-gh-t was thy brow, 
 Dun-Kdin! O, how altered novv, 
 When safe amid thy mountain court 
 Thou sit'i^t, Uke Emiuess at her sporty 
 
 * See Introduction to Canto II. 
 
TO CANTO FIFTH. X49 
 
 And liberal, uneonfined, and free, 
 Flinging thy white arms to the sea, 
 For thy dark cloud, with umbered lower, 
 That hunp- o'er cUff, and lake, and tower. 
 Thou gleam'st against the westei n ray 
 Ten thousand lines of brighter day. 
 "Not she, the championess of old. 
 In Spense:'t. magic tale enrolled, — 
 She for the cticrrnied speav renowned, 
 Wliicli forced each knig; t to kiss the ground,— 
 Not shf more changed, ^vhell, placed at rest, 
 \^'h .t time she was Malbecco*s guest,* 
 She gave to fiow her raaitien vest; 
 When from the corslet's g-'asp relieved. 
 Free to the sight her bosom heaved; 
 Sweet was her blue eye's mo'Iest smile. 
 Erst hi' .den by the aventayle; 
 A^d down her shoulders graceful roiled 
 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 likiog loved.f 
 The sight could jealous pangs beguile. 
 And charm Malbecco's cares awhile; 
 And he, the wanaeriug Squire of Dames, 
 Forgot his Coiumbella's claims. 
 And passion, erst unknown, could gain 
 The breast of blunt Sir Satyrane; 
 
 • See " The Fairy Queen." Book III. Canto IX. 
 t " For every one ker hked, and erery one her loved." 
 Spemer^ rrs abate. 
 
150 INTRODUCTION 
 
 Nor durst light Paridel advance. 
 
 Bold as he was, a looser glance, — 
 
 She charmed, at once, and tamed the heart, 
 
 Incomparable Britomarte! 
 
 So thou, fair City! disarrayed 
 Of battled wall, and rampait's aid. 
 As stately seem'st, but lovelier far 
 Than in that panoply of war. 
 Nor deem that from thy fenceless tlirone 
 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 mui-al crown there fell 
 The slightest knosp, or pinnacle. 
 And if it come, as come it may, 
 Dun-Rdin! 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 e\evy age to be 
 Refuge of injured royalty; 
 Since first, when conquering York arose^ 
 Tg Henry meek she ga\e reposC;, 
 
TO CANTO FIFTH. 15I 
 
 Till late, with wonder, grief, and awe, 
 Great Bourbon's relicks, 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 gaia 
 A sound of the romantic strain, 
 Whose Anglo-Norman tones whilere 
 Could win the Second 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? — 
 ()! born Time's ravage to repair. 
 And make the dying Muse thy care; 
 Who, when his sithe her hoary foe 
 Was poising for the final blow. 
 The weapon from his hand couM wring. 
 And break Ids glass^ and shear his wing. 
 
152 INTRODUCTION 
 
 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 vings 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 jNIinstrel's varying tone; 
 Who, like his Border sires of old, 
 AVaked 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 coidd stain 
 Aehicveuicnts on the storied pane, 
 
TO CANTO FIFTH. 153 
 
 Irregularly traced and planned. 
 But yet so glowing and so gi'and; 
 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. 
 
 t 
 
 03 
 
3IARMI0N 
 
 CANTO FIFTH. 
 
 THE COURT. 
 
 I. 
 
 The train has left the hills of Braid; 
 The barrier guard have open made, 
 (So Lindesay bade,) the palisade. 
 
 That closed the tented ground. 
 And carried pikes as they rode through, 
 
 Into its ample bound. 
 Fast ran the Scottish warriors there. 
 Upon the Soutiiern 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 Flodden vale. 
 The cloth-yard hitows ficw like hail. 
 
 n. 
 
 Nor less did Marmion's skilful view 
 Cilance every line and sij^uadi-ou through; 
 
156 MARMION. Ganto V. 
 
 And much he marvelled one small laud 
 Could marshal forth such various band: 
 
 For men-at-arms were here, 
 Heavil}' sheathed in mail and plate. 
 Like iron towers for strength and weight, 
 On Flemish steeds of bone and height. 
 
 With battle-ax 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 curvet, that not in vain 
 The sword-sway might descend amain 
 
 On foeman's casque below. 
 He saw the hardy burghers there 
 March armed, on foot, with faces bare. 
 
 For visor they wore none; 
 Nor waving plume, nor crest of knight. 
 But burnished were their coi'slets bright; 
 Their brigantines, and gorgets light. 
 
 Like very silver shone. 
 Long pikes they had for standing fight, 
 
 Two-handed swords they wore, 
 .\nd many wielded mace of weight. 
 
 And bucklers bright they hott. 
 
 III. 
 
 On foot the yeoman too, but dressed 
 In his steel jack, a swarthy vest. 
 
 With iron quilted Avell; 
 Each at his back, a slender store, 
 His forty day's provision bore. 
 
 As feudal stafjites telf. 
 
Canto V. THE COURT. I57 
 
 His arms were lialbard, ax, 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. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Not so tlie 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 x^lease. 
 
 Like the loud slogan yell. 
 On active steed, w ith lance and blade. 
 The light armed pricker pUed 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 caiung who might win the day, 
 
158 MARMION. Canto V. 
 
 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 Eusedale glen, or Liddell's tide. 
 
 Beset a prize so fair! 
 That fangless Lion, too, their guide. 
 Might chance to lose his glistering hide; 
 BroAvn Maudlin of that doublet pied 
 Could make a kirtle rare." 
 
 V. 
 
 Next Marmion marked the Celtic race. 
 Of different language, form, and face, 
 
 A various race of man; 
 Just then the chiefs their tribes arrayed. 
 And wild and garish semblance made. 
 The chequered trews, and belted plaid. 
 And varying notes the war-pipes brayed 
 
 To every varying clan; 
 Wild through their red or sable hair 
 Looked out their eyes, with savage stare. 
 
 On Marmion as he past; 
 Their legs, above the knee, were bare; 
 Their frame was sinewy, short, and spare. 
 
 And Iwx'dened to the blast; 
 
Canto V. THE COURT. 1 59 
 
 Of taller race the chiefs they o\vti 
 Where by the eagle's plumage known. 
 The hunted red-deer's undressed hide 
 Their hairy buskins well supplied; 
 The graceful bonnet decked their head; 
 Back from their shoulders hung the plaid; 
 A broad-sword of unwieldy 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 hacks 
 The ancient Danish battle-ax. 
 They raised a wild and m ondei'ing cry. 
 As with his guide rode Marmion by. 
 Loud were their clamoring tongues, as when 
 The clanging sea-fowl leave the fen. 
 And, with their cries discordant mixed. 
 Grumbled and yelled the pipes betwixt. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Thus through the Scottish Camp they passed, 
 And reached the City gate at last. 
 Where all around, a wakeful guard. 
 Armed burghers kept their watch and ward. 
 Well had they cause of jealous fear. 
 When lay encamped, in field so near, 
 Tlie Borderer and the Mountaijieer. 
 As through the bustling streets they go, 
 All was alive with martial show; 
 At every turn, with dinning clang, 
 The armourers' anvil clashed and rang; 
 
160 MARMION. Canto V. 
 
 Or toiled tke swarthy smith, to wheel 
 The bar that arms the charger's heel; 
 Or ax, or falchion, to the side 
 Of jarring grind-stone Avas applied. 
 
 Page, groom, and squire, with hurrying pace, 
 
 Thx'ough sti'eet, and lane, and market-place. 
 Bore lance, or casque, or sword; 
 
 While burghers, with important face, 
 Desci'ibed each new-come lord; 
 
 Discussed his lineage, told his name, • 
 
 His following,* and his warlike fame. — 
 The Lion led to lodging meet. 
 Which high o'erlooked the crowded street; 
 
 There must the Baron rest. 
 Till past the hour of vesper tide. 
 And then to Holy -Rood must ride, — • 
 
 Such was the King's behest. 
 MeanM bile the Lion's care assigns 
 A banquet rich, and costly wines. 
 
 To Marmion and his train. 
 The Baron donned his peaceful weeds. 
 And following Lindesay as he leads. 
 
 The palace-halls they gain. 
 
 vn. 
 
 Old Holy-Rood rung merrily. 
 That night, with wassel, game, and glee: 
 King James within her princely bower 
 Feasted the chiefs of Scotland's power, 
 Summone«l to spend the parting hour; 
 For he had charged, that his array 
 Should southward march by break of day. 
 
 • Fellffinng—Te\i<iaii Retainers. 
 
BintoV. THE COURT. jgl 
 
 Vv'ell loved that splendid monarch aye 
 
 The banquet ami 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 fiazzling lamps, from gallery gay. 
 
 Cast on the court a dancing ray; 
 
 Here to the harp did minstrels sing; 
 
 There ladies touched a softer string; 
 
 With long-eared cap, and motley vest, 
 
 The licensed fool retailed his jest; 
 
 His ni'tgic ti-icks the jugglei plied; 
 
 At dice and draughts the galiarits Aied; 
 While some, in close recess apart. 
 Courted the ladies of their heart. 
 
 Nor coui'ted them in vain; 
 Foi often, in the parting hour. 
 Victorious love asserts his power 
 
 OVr coldness and disdain; 
 And flinty is her heart, can view 
 To battle march a lover true, — 
 Can hear, perchance, his last adieu, 
 Xor own her share of pain. 
 
 VI H. 
 
 Through this mixed crowd of glee and game,- 
 The King to greet Lord Marmion came, 
 
 Wliile, reverend, all made room. 
 An easy task it m as, I trow. 
 King James's manly form to know, 
 Although his courtesy to show, 
 
162 MARMION, Canto V. 
 
 He doffed, to Marmioa bending loir. 
 
 His broidered cap and plume. 
 For rojal were his garb and mien. 
 
 His cloak, of crimson velvet piled, 
 
 Trimmed with the fur of martin -vrild 
 His vest, of changeful sattin sheen. 
 
 The dazzled eye beguiled; 
 His gorgeous collar hung adown. 
 Bearing the badge of Scotland's crowBj 
 The thistle brave, of old renown; 
 His trusty blade, Toledo right. 
 Descended from a baldric bright; 
 White were his buskins, on the heel 
 His spurs inlaid of gold and steel; 
 His bonnet, all of crimson fair. 
 Was buttoned with a ruby rare: 
 And Marmion deemed he ne'er had seen 
 A prince of such a noble mi<*n. 
 
 IX. 
 
 The Monarch's form was middle size: 
 For feat of strcngtli or exercise. 
 
 Shaped in proportion fair; 
 And hazel was his eagle eye, 
 And auburn of the darkest dye, 
 
 His short curled beard and liair. 
 Light was his footstep in the dance. 
 
 And firm his stirrup in the lists; 
 And, oh! he had that merry glance. 
 
 That seldom lady's heart resists. 
 Lightly from fair to fair he flew. 
 And loved to plead, lament, and sue; — 
 Suit lightly won, and short-lived pain! 
 For Monarchs seldom sigh in v«ij«.. 
 
Canto V. THE COURT. 163 
 
 I said he joyed in banquet-bower; 
 
 But, mid hjs mirth, 'twas often strangCj 
 How 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 his breast in penance-paii^ 
 In memory of his father slain. 
 Even so 'twas strange how, evermore, 
 Soon as the passing pang was o'er. 
 For-.* ard he rushed, with double gle^ 
 Into the stream of revelry: 
 Thus, dim-seen object of affright 
 Startles the courser in his flight. 
 And half he halts, half springs aside. 
 But feels the quickening spur applied. 
 And, ^straining on the tightened rein. 
 Scours doubtly swift o'er hill and plidn: 
 
 X. 
 
 O'er James's heart, the courtiers say. 
 Sir Hugh the Heron's wife held sway: 
 
 To Scotland's court she came. 
 To be a hostage for her lord, 
 AVho Cessford's gallant heart had gored. 
 And with the King to make accord. 
 
 Had sent his lovely dame. 
 Nor to that lady free alone 
 Did the gay King allegiance own; 
 
 For the fair Queen of France 
 Sent him a Turquois ring, and glove, 
 And charged him, as her knight and love.j 
 
 For her to break a lance; 
 And strike fliree strokes with Scottish l^rand^ 
 
164 MARMION. Canto V. 
 
 ..And march three miles on English land, ] 
 
 And bid the banners of his band 
 
 In English breezes dance. 
 And thus, for France's Queen, he drest 
 His manly limbs in mailt^d vest; 
 And thus admitted English fair. 
 His inmost counsels still to share; 
 And thus, for both, he mndly planned 
 The ruin of himself and land! 
 And yet, the sooth to tell. 
 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. 
 
 XI. 
 
 The queen sijs lone in Lithgow pilq. 
 
 And weeps the weary day. 
 The war against her native soil. 
 Her monarch's risk in battle broil;— 
 And in gay Holy-Rood the while 
 Dame Heron rises with a smile 
 
 Upon the harp to play. 
 Fair was her ^ ounded arm, as o'er 
 
 I'he strings her fingers flew; 
 And as she touched, and tuned them all. 
 Even her bosom's rise and fall 
 Was plainer ^ven to view; 
 For, all for heat, was laid aside 
 Her wimple, and her hood untied. 
 And first she pitched her voice to sing. 
 Then glanced her dark eye on the King, 
 Arid then around the silent ring; 
 
GantoV. THE COURT. 165? 
 
 And laughed, and blushed, and oft did say 
 Her pretty oatli, by Yea, and Nay, 
 She could not, would not, durst not play! 
 At length, upon the harp, with glee, 
 Mingled with arch simplicity, 
 A soft, yet lively, ah- she rung. 
 While thus the wily lady sung. 
 
 XII. 
 LOCHINVAR. 
 LADY HERON'S SONG. 
 0, young Lochinvar is come out of the west, 
 Thioagh all the wide Border his steed was the best; 
 And save lus good broad -s\\oi"d he weapons had none^ 
 He ro<le all unarmed, and he rode all alone. 
 So faithful in love, an.l so dauntless in war. 
 There never was knight like the joung Lochinvar. 
 
 He staid not for brake, and he stopped not for stone; 
 
 He swam the Eske river were ford there was none; 
 
 But, ere he aUghted at Netherby gsite. 
 
 The bride liad consented, the gallant came late: 
 
 For a laggard iu love, an'l a dastard in war. 
 
 Was to wed the fair Gllen of brave Lochinvar. 
 
 So boldly he ente'-ed the Netherby Hall, 
 
 Among bride's-men, and kinsmen, and brothers, and 
 
 all: 
 Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sw ord, 
 (For the poor craven bridtgi'ooni said never a word,) 
 ** O come yc in p'.-ace here, or come ye in ^ar. 
 Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?'* 
 
166 MARMION. Cant. ' 
 
 ** I long woo'd your daughter, ray suit you denietl;— 
 Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide— 
 And now am I come, with this lost love of mine. 
 To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. 
 "There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far. 
 That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar.'^ 
 
 The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up. 
 He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup- 
 She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh, 
 "With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye. 
 He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar,— 
 '* Now tread we a measure!" said young Lochinvar. 
 
 So stately his form, and so lovely her face, 
 That never a hall such a galliarddid grace; 
 While her mother did fret, and her father did fume. 
 And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and 
 
 plume; 
 And the bride-maidens whispered, ** *Twere better 
 
 by far 
 To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochin- 
 
 vai'." 
 
 One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear. 
 When they reached the hall-door, and the charger 
 
 stood near; 
 So light to the croupe the fair lady he swxmg. 
 So light to the saddle before her he sprung! — 
 " She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, ajodf 
 
 scaur; 
 They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young 
 
 Lochinvar. 
 
.ntoV. THE COURT. 167 
 
 There was mounting 'mong Gr«mes of the Nether- 
 
 by clan; 
 Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgrares, 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 Lochinyar? 
 
 Xlll. 
 
 The monarch o'er the syren hung. 
 And beat the measure as she sung; 
 And, pressing closer, and more near. 
 He whispered praises in her ear. 
 In loud applause the courtiers vied; 
 And ladies winked, and spoke aside. 
 
 The witching dame to Marmion threw 
 A glance, where seemed to reign 
 
 The pride that claims applauses due. 
 
 And of her royal conquest, too, 
 A real or feigned disdain: 
 
 Familial* 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 bi'ook. 
 Even in a word, or smile, or look. 
 Straight took he forth the parchment broad, 
 "Which Marmion's high commission showed: 
 " Our borders sacked by many a raid. 
 Our peaceful liege-men robbed," he said; 
 *• On day of truce our Warden slain. 
 Stout Barton killed, his vessels ta'en — 
 
168 MARMION. Canto V. 
 
 , Unworthy were we here to reign, 
 Should these for vengeance cry in vain; 
 Otir full defiance, hate, and scorn. 
 Our herald has to Henry borne." 
 
 XIV. 
 
 He paused, and led where Douglas stood. 
 And with atern eye the pageant viewed: 
 I mean that Douglas, sixth of yore. 
 Who coronet of Angus bore, 
 And, when his bloofi and heart were high, 
 Kin<< .James's minions led to die 
 
 On.liftuder's dreary flat: 
 Princes and favourites long gi'ew tame, 
 And trembled at the homely name 
 
 Oi Archibald Bell-the-Cat. 
 The same who left the dusky vale 
 Of Hermitage in Liddisdale, 
 
 Its dungeons, and its towers; 
 "Where BothweU's turrets brave the air. 
 And Bothwcll bank is blooming fair. 
 
 To fix his princely bowers. 
 Thongli now, in age, he had laid down 
 His u'mo.i foi- the peaceful gown. 
 
 And foi; a staff his brand. 
 Yet often would flash forth the fire, 
 That could, in yoiith, a monarch's ire 
 
 And minion's phde withstand; 
 An ' even that day, at council board, 
 
 Una].t to sooth his sovereign's mood. 
 
 Against the war had Angus stood. 
 And chafed his royal Lord, 
 
Canto V. THE COURT. 169 
 
 XV. 
 
 His giant-form, like ruined tower. 
 Though fallen its muscles' brawny vaunt. 
 Huge-boned, and tall, and grim, and gaunt. 
 Seemed o'er the gaudy scene to lower: 
 His locks and beard in silver grew; 
 His eye-brows kept their sable hue. 
 Near Douglas when the monarch stood. 
 His bitter speech he thus pursued: — 
 ''Lord Mai'mion, 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 herald come again. — 
 Then rest you in Tantallon Hold; 
 Your host shall be the Douglas bold, — 
 A chief unlike his sires of old. 
 He wears their motto on his blade. 
 Their blazon o'er his towers displayed; 
 Yet loves his sovereign to oppose. 
 More than to face his country's foes. 
 And, I bethink me, by Saint Stephen, 
 But e'en this morn to me M'as 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, tliese holy maids 
 Shall safe return to cloister shades. 
 And, ^\hile they at Tantallon stay. 
 Requiem for Cochran's soul may say." 
 And, with the slaughtered favourite's name, 
 Across the monarch's bi'ow there came 
 A cloud of ire, remoi'se, and shame. 
 H 
 
1 70 , MARMION. Canto V 
 
 XVI. 
 
 In ansver nought could Angus speak; 
 
 His proud heart swelled well nigh to hreak: 
 
 He" turned aside, and down his cheek 
 
 A burning tear there stole. 
 His hand the monarch sudden took. 
 That sight his kind lieart 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 mc, Douglas, once again.**— 
 And, while the King his hand did strain, 
 The old man's tears fell down like rain. 
 To seize the moment Marmion tried. 
 And whispered to the King aside: 
 '* Oh! 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, oh! what omen, dark and high. 
 When Douglas wets his manly eye!" — 
 
 * O Dowglas! Dowglas! 
 Tendir and trew. The HotUate. 
 
Canto V. THE COURT. lf\ 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Displeased was James, that stranger viewed 
 
 And tampered with his changing mood. 
 
 " Laugh those that can, weep those that may," 
 
 Thus did the fiery monarch say, 
 
 ** Southward I march by break of day; 
 
 And if within Tantallon strong. 
 
 The good Lord Marmion tarries long, 
 
 Perchance our meeting next may fall 
 
 At Tamworth, in his castle-hall." — 
 
 The haughty Marmion felt the taunt. 
 
 And answered, grave, the royal vaunt: 
 
 ** Much honoured Avere my humble home. 
 
 If in its halls King James should come; 
 
 But Nottingham has archers good. 
 
 And Yorkshire men are stern of mood; . 
 
 Noilhumbiian prickers wild and rude. 
 
 On Darby hills the paths are steep; 
 
 In Ouse and Tyne the fords are deep; 
 
 And many a banner will be torn. 
 
 And many a knight to earth be borne. 
 
 And many a sheaf of arrows spent. 
 
 Ere Scotland's King shall cross the Trent: 
 
 Yet pause, brave prince, while yet you may.*'— 
 
 The Monarch lightly turned away. 
 
 And to his nobles loud did call, — 
 
 ** Lords, to the dance, — a hall! a hall!"* 
 
 Himself his cloak and sword Hung by, 
 
 And led Dame Heron gallantly; 
 
 And minstrels, at the royal order. 
 
 Rung out—" Blue Bonnets o'er the border." 
 
 • The ancient cry to make room for a dance, or pag;eant. 
 
172 MARMION. Canto V 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Leave we these revels now, to tell 
 What to Saint Hilda's maids befel; 
 Whose galley, as they sailed again 
 To Whitby, by a Scot was ta'en. 
 Now at Dun-Edin did they bide. 
 Till James should of their fate decide; 
 
 And soon, by his command. 
 Were gently summoned to prepare 
 To journey under Marmion's care. 
 As escort honoured, safe, and fair. 
 
 Again to English land. 
 The abbess told her chaplet o'er. 
 Nor knew which Saint she should implore j 
 For when she thought of Constance, sore 
 
 She feared Lord Marmion's mood. 
 And judge what Clara must have felt! 
 The sword, that hung in Marmion's belt. 
 
 Had drunk De Wilton's blood. 
 Unwittingly, King James had given. 
 
 As guard to Whitby's shades. 
 The man most dreaded under heaven 
 
 By these defenceless maids; 
 Yet what petition could avail, 
 Or who would Usten to the tale 
 Of woman, prisoner and nun, 
 Mid bustle of a war begun? 
 They deemed it hopeless to avoid ; 
 The convoy of their dangerous guide. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Their lod^ng, so the King assigned. 
 To Marmion's, as their guardian, joined; 
 
Canto V. THE COURT. j 73 
 
 And thus it fell, that, passing nigh. 
 The Palmer caught the Abbess' eye, 
 
 Who Avarned him by a scroll. 
 She had a secret to reveal. 
 That much concerned the Church's weal. 
 
 And health of sinner's soul; 
 And, with deep charge of secrecy, 
 
 She named a place to meet. 
 Within an open balcony, 
 That hung from dizzy pitch, and high. 
 
 Above the stately street; 
 To which, as common to each home. 
 At night they might in secret come. 
 
 XX. 
 
 At night in secret there they came. 
 The Palmer and the holy dame. 
 The moon among the clouds rode Ivigh, 
 And all the city hum was by. 
 
 Upon the street, were late before 
 
 Did din of war and warriors roar. 
 You might have heard a pebble fall, 
 
 A beetle hum, a ciucket sing, 
 
 An owlet flap his boding wing 
 On Gile's steeple tall. 
 The antique buildings, climbing high. 
 Whose Gothic frontlets sought the sky, 
 
 Were here wrapt deep in shade; 
 There on their biibws the moon-beam broke. 
 Through the faint wreaths of silveiy smoke. 
 
 And on the casements played. 
 And other light was none to see. 
 
 Save torches gliding far. 
 Before some chieftain of degi*ee. 
 
174 MARMION. Canto V. 
 
 Who left the royal revelry 
 
 To bowne him for the war, — 
 A solemn scene the abbess chose; 
 A solemn hour, her secret to disclose. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 " O, holy Palmer!" she began, — 
 ** For sure he must be sainted man. 
 Whose blessed feet have trod the ground 
 WTiere the Redeemer's tomb is found; — 
 For his dear Church's sake, my tale 
 Attend, nor deem of light avail. 
 Though I must speak of worldly love, — 
 How vain to those who wrd above! 
 De W^ilton and Lord Marmion wooed 
 Clai-a de Clare, of Glostei-'s blood; 
 (Idle it were of Whitby's dame. 
 To say of that same blood 1 came;) 
 And once when jealous rage was high. 
 Lord Marmion said despiteously, 
 Wilton was traitor in his heart, 
 And had made Lague with Martin Swart,* 
 When he came here on Simnel's part; 
 And only cowardice did restrain 
 His rebel aid on Stokefield's plain, — 
 And down he threw his glove: — the thing 
 Was tried, as wont, before the King; 
 Whei-e frankly did De Wilton own. 
 That Swart in Guelders he had known; 
 And that between them then there went 
 Some scroll of courteous compliment. 
 
 • A Gennan general, who commanded the auxiliaries sent 
 liy the Duchess of Burgundy with Lambert Simnel. He was de- 
 feated wd killed at Stokefidd, 6th June, 1487. See Note. 
 
Canto V. THE COURT. I75 
 
 For this he to his castle sent; 
 But when his messenger returned, 
 Judge how De Wilton's fury burned! 
 For in his packet there were laid 
 Letters that claimed disloyal aid. 
 And proved King Henry's cause betrayed. 
 His fame, thus blighted, in the field 
 He strove to clear, by spear and shield; — 
 To clear his fame in vain he strove, 
 For wond'rous are His ways above! 
 Perchance some form was unobserved; 
 Perchance in prayer, or faith, he swerved; 
 Else how could guiltless champion quail. 
 Or how the blessed ordeal fail? 
 
 xxn. 
 
 " His squire, Avho now De Wilton saw 
 As recreant doomed to suffer law. 
 
 Repentant owned in vain. 
 That, while he had the scrolls in cai'e, 
 A stranger maiden, passing fair. 
 Had drenched him v. ith a beverage rare; — 
 
 His Avords no faith could gain. 
 With Clare alone he credence won. 
 Who, rather than wed Maimion, 
 Did to Saint Hilda's shrine repair, 
 I"© give our house her livings fair. 
 And (lie a vestal vot'ress there. 
 The impulse from the earth was given. 
 But bent her to the paths of heaven. 
 
 A purer heart, a lovelier maid. 
 Ne'er sheltered her in Whitby's shade. 
 No, not since Saxon Eddfled; 
 
1 75 MARMION. Canto V 
 
 Only one trace of earthly stain, 
 That for her lover's loss 
 
 She cherishes a sorrow vain. 
 And murmurs at the cross. — 
 And then her heritage; — it goes 
 
 Along the hanks of Tame; 
 Deej) fields of grain the reaper mows. 
 In meadows rich the heifer lows. 
 The falconer and huntsman knows 
 
 Its woodlands for the game. 
 Shame were it to Saint Hilda dear. 
 And I, her humble vot'ress here, 
 
 Sliould do a deadly sin; 
 Her temple spoiled before mine eyes. 
 If this false Marmion such & prize 
 
 By my consent should win: 
 Yet hath oar boisterous monarch sworn. 
 That Clare sliall from our house be torn; 
 And grievous cause have I to fear. 
 Such mandate doth Lord Marmion bear. 
 
 XXIIT. 
 
 *' Now, prisoner, helpless, and betrayed 
 To e"\il power, I claim thine aid: 
 
 By every step that thou hast trod 
 To hol\'" shrine, and grotto dim; 
 By every martyr's tortured lirab; 
 By angel, saint, and seraphim. 
 
 And by the Church of God. 
 For mark: — When Wilton was betrayed. 
 And Avith his squire forged letters laid. 
 She Avas, alas! that sinful maid. 
 
 By \\hom tiie deed was done, — 
 
Canto V. THE COURT. 1 77 
 
 O! sliame and horror to be said,— 
 
 She was a perjured nun! 
 No clerk in all the land, like her. 
 Traced quaint and varying cliaracter. 
 Perchance you may a marvel deem. 
 
 That Marmion's paramour, 
 (For such ^•ile thing she was,) should scheme 
 
 Her lovei^s nuptial hour; 
 But o'er him thus she hoped to gain. 
 As privy to his honour's stain. 
 
 Illimitable power: 
 For this she secretly retained 
 
 Each proof that might the plot reveal. 
 
 Instructions with his hand and seal; 
 And thus Saint Hilda deigned, 
 
 Thi'ough sinner's perfidy impure. 
 
 Her house's glory to secure. 
 
 And Clare's immortal weal. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 ^''Twerelong, and needless, here to tell, 
 How to my hand these papers fell; 
 
 With me they must not stay. 
 Saint Hilda keep her Abbess true! 
 Wbo knows what outrage he niiglit do, 
 
 "While journe) ingby the way? — 
 O, blessed Saint, if e'er again 
 1 venturous leave thy calm domain. 
 To travel, or by land or main. 
 
 Deep j)enance may I pay! — 
 Now, Saintly Palmer, mark my prayer: 
 I give this packet to thy care. 
 For thee to stop they v ill not (Jare; 
 
 112 ■ 
 
178 MARMION. Canto T. 
 
 And, O! with cautious speed. 
 To Wolsey's hand the papers bring, 
 That he may show them to the King; 
 
 And, for thy well-earned meed. 
 Thou holy man, at Whitby's shrine 
 A weekly mass shall still be thine. 
 
 While priests can sing and I'ead. — 
 What ail'st thou? — Speak!" — For as he took 
 The charge, a strong emotion shook 
 
 His frame; and, ere reply. 
 They heard a faint, yet shrilly tone. 
 Like distant clarion feebly blown. 
 
 That on the breeze did die; 
 And loud the Abbess shrieked in fear, 
 " Saint With old save us! — What is here! 
 
 Look at yon city cross; 
 See on its battled tow er appear 
 Phantoms, that scutcheons seem to rear, . 
 
 And blazoned banners toss!" 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Dun Edin's cross, a pillarM stone, 
 Rose on a turret octagon; 
 
 (But now is razed that monument. 
 Whence royal edict rang. 
 
 And voice of Scotland's law was sent 
 In glorious trumpet clang. 
 O! be his tomb as lead to lead. 
 Upon its dull destroyer's head! — 
 A minstrel's malison* is said. — ) 
 Then on its battlements they saw 
 A vision, passing Nature's law, 
 
 * i. e. Curse. 
 
Canto V. THE COURT. 1^9 
 
 Strange, wild, and dimly seen; 
 Figures, that seemed to rise and die. 
 Gibber and sign, advance and fly. 
 While nought confirmed could ear or eye 
 
 Discern of sound or mien. 
 Yet darkly did it seem, as there 
 Heralds and Pursuivants prepare, 
 With trumpet sound, and blazon fair, 
 
 A summons to proclaim; 
 But indistinct the pageant proud. 
 As fancy forms of midnight cloud, 
 AVhen flings the moon upon her shroud 
 
 A wavering tinge of flame; 
 It flits, expands, and shifts, till loud. 
 From midmost of the spectre crowd, 
 
 This awful summons came: — 
 
 XXM. 
 
 *' Prince, pi'elate, potentate, and peer. 
 
 Whose names I now shall call, 
 Scottish, or foreigner, give ear! 
 Subjects of him who sent me here, 
 At his tribunal to appear, 
 
 1 summon one and all: 
 I cite you, by each deadly sin, 
 Tliat e'er hath soiled your hearts within; 
 I cite you, h}- each brutal lust, 
 I'h'at e'er defiled your earthly dust, — 
 
 13y wrath, by pride, by feai". 
 By each o'cr-mastering passion's tone, 
 By the dark grave, and (h'ing groan! 
 When forty days are past and gone, 
 I cite you, at your monarch's throne. 
 
 To answer and appear." — 
 
180 MARMION. Canto V 
 
 Then thunderiiig forth a roll of names: 
 The first \\ as thine, unhappy James! 
 
 Then ail tliy nobles came; 
 Crawford, Glencairn, Montrose, Argjie, 
 Ross, Bothwell, Fo)'bes, Lennox, Lyle, — 
 AVhy should I tell their separate style? 
 
 Each chief of birth and fame. 
 Of Lowland, Highlan:!, Border, Isle, 
 Fore-doomed to Flodden's carnage pile, 
 
 AVas cited there by name; 
 And ^larmion. Lord of Fontenaye, 
 Of Lutterward, and Scrivelbay, 
 De Wilton, ei st of Aberley, 
 The self-same thundering voice did say.— 
 
 But then another spoke: 
 " Thj fatal sunmions I deny. 
 And thine infernal lord defy, 
 AppeaUng me to Him on high. 
 
 Who burst the sinner's yoke/' 
 At that dread accent, with a scream. 
 Parted the pageant like a dream. 
 
 The summoner was gone. 
 Prone on her face the Abbess fell. 
 And fast, and fast, her beads did tell; 
 Her nuns came, startled by the yell. 
 
 And found her there alone. 
 She marked not, at the scene aghast. 
 What time, or how, the Palmer passed, 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Shift we the scene. — The camp doth move, 
 Dun-Edin's streets are empty now. 
 
 Save when, for weal of those they love. 
 To pray the prayer, and vow the \oy\-, 
 
CRntoV. THE COURT. 181 
 
 Tlie tottering child, the anxious fair. 
 The grey-haired sire with pious care. 
 To chapels aud to shrines repair. — 
 Where is the Palmer now? and where 
 The Abbess, >Iarmion, and Clare? — 
 Bold Douglas! to Tantallon fair 
 They journey in thy charge: 
 Lord Marmion rode on his right hand, 
 The Palmer still was with the band; 
 Angus, like Lindesay, did command, 
 
 That none sliould roam at large. 
 But in that Palmer's altered mien 
 A wondcrous change might now be seen; 
 
 Freely he spoke of war, 
 Of marvels wrought by single hand. 
 When lifted for a native land; 
 And still looked high, as if he planned 
 
 Some despei-ate deed afar. 
 His courser would he feed, and stroke. 
 And, tucking up his sable frock. 
 Would first his metal bold provoke. 
 
 Then soothe, or quell his pride. 
 Old Hubert said, that never one 
 He saw, except Lord Marmion, 
 A steed so fairly ride. 
 
 xxvin. 
 
 Some half-houi''s march behind, there came, 
 
 By Eustace governed fair, 
 A troop escorting Hilda's Dame, 
 
 With all her nuns, and Clare. 
 No audience had Lord Marmion sought; 
 
 Ever he feared to aggravate 
 
 Ciara de Clare's supicioHS hate; 
 
1 82 MARMION. Canto V. 
 
 And safer 'twas, he thoug-ht. 
 To wait till, from the nuns removed. 
 The influence of kinsmen loved. 
 And suit by Henry's self approved. 
 
 Her slow consent had wrought. 
 
 His was no flickering flame, that dies 
 
 Unless when fanned by looks and sighs. 
 
 And lighted oft at lady's eyes; 
 
 He longed to stretch his wide command 
 
 O'er luckless Clara's ample lanr!: 
 
 Besides, when Wilton with him vied. 
 
 Although the pang of humbled pride 
 
 The place of jealousy supplied. 
 
 Yet conquest by that meanness won, 
 
 He almost loathed to think upon. 
 
 Led him, at times, to hate the cause. 
 
 Which made him burst through honour's laws. 
 
 If e'er he loved, 'twas her alone, 
 
 W^ho died Avithin that vault of stone. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 And now, when close at hand they saw 
 North-Berwick's town, and lofty Law, 
 Fitz-Eustace bade them pause awliile. 
 Before a venerable pile. 
 
 Whose turrets viewed afar, 
 Tlie lofty Bass, the Lambie Isle, 
 
 The ocean's peace, or war. 
 At tolling of a bell, forth came 
 The convent's venerable Dame, 
 And prayed Saint Hilda's Abbess rest 
 With her, a loved and honoui-ed guest, 
 Till Douglas should a bark prepare. 
 To Avaft her back to Whitby fair. 
 
GantoV. THE COURT. 183 
 
 Glad vas the Abbess, you raay guess, 
 And thanked the Scottish Prioress; 
 And tedious 'twere to tell, I ween, 
 The courteous speech that passed between. 
 O'erjoyed the nuns their jialfreys leave; 
 But when fair Clara did intend. 
 Like them from horse-back to descend, 
 Fitz-Eustace said, — "I ,q;rieve. 
 Fair Lady, gi-ieve e'en from my heart, 
 Such gentle company to part. — 
 
 Think not discourtesy. 
 But lords' commands must be obeyed; 
 And Marmion and the Douglas said, 
 That you must wend -with me. 
 Lord Marmion hath a letter broad. 
 Which to the Scottish Earl he showed. 
 Commanding, that, beneath his care. 
 Without delay, you shall repair 
 To your good kinsman. Lord Fitz-Cla»e." 
 
 XXX. 
 
 The startled Abbess loud exclaimed; 
 But she, at whom the blow was aimed. 
 Grew pale as death, and cold as lead,— 
 She deemed she heard her death-doom read. 
 " Cheer thee, my child!" the Abbess said, 
 *' They dare not tear thee from my hand. 
 To ride alone with armed band." — 
 
 ** Nay, holy mother, nay," 
 Fitz-Eustace said, " the lovely Clare 
 Will be in Lady Angus' care. 
 
 In Scotland wlule we stay; 
 And, when we move, an easy ride 
 Will bring us to the English side, 
 
184 MARMION. Canto V. 
 
 Female attendance to provide 
 
 Befitting Glostei*s heir; 
 Nor thinks, nor dreams, my noble lord. 
 By sliglitest look, or act, or word. 
 
 To harass Lady Clare. 
 Her faithful guardian he will he. 
 Nor sue for slightest courtesy 
 
 That e'en to stranger falls, 
 Till he shall pifice her, safe and free. 
 
 Within her kim^man's halls." — 
 He spoke, and blushed, with earnest grace; 
 His faith was painted on his face. 
 
 And Clare's Avorst fear relieved. 
 The Lady Abbess loud exclaimed 
 On Henry, and the Douglas blamed. 
 
 Entreated, threatened, grieved; 
 To martyr, saint, and prophet prayed, 
 Against Lord Marmion inveighed. 
 And called the Prioress to aid. 
 To curse with candle, bell, and book. — 
 Her head the grave Cistertian shook: 
 " The Douglas and the King," she said, 
 ** In their commands will be obeyed; 
 Grieve not, nor dreain that harm can faO 
 The maiden in Tantallon hall." 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 The Abbess, seeing strife was vjiin, 
 Assumed her wonted state again, — 
 
 For much of state she had, — 
 Composed her veil, and raised her head. 
 And — '* Bid/' in solemn voice she said, 
 
 *' Thy master, bold and bad. 
 The i-ecords of his house turn o'er. 
 
Canto V. THE COURT. 185 
 
 And, when he shall there written see. 
 
 That one of his own ancestry 
 
 Drove the Monks forth of Conventr}-, 
 Bid him his fate explore! 
 
 Prancing in pride of earthly trust. 
 
 His charger hurled him to the dust, 
 
 And, by a base plebeian thrust. 
 He died his band before. 
 
 Gotl judge *twixt Marmion and me: 
 
 He is a chief of high degree. 
 And I a poor recluse; 
 
 Yet oft, in holy writ, we see 
 
 Even such weak minister as me 
 May the oppressor bruise: 
 
 For thus, inspired, did Judith slay 
 The mighty in his sin. 
 
 And Jael thus, and Deborah,^'— 
 Here hasty Blount broke in: 
 *' Fitz-Eustace, we must march our baud; 
 St. Anton' fire tliee! wilt thou stand 
 All day, with bonnet in thy hand. 
 
 To hear the ludy preach? 
 By this good light! if thus we stay, 
 T^ord Marmion, for our fond delay. 
 
 Will sharper sermon teach. 
 Come, don thy cap, and mount thy horse; 
 The dame must patience take perforce."—^ 
 
 XXXH. 
 
 " Submit we then to foi'ce," said Clare; 
 " But let this l)arbarous lord despair 
 
 His purposed aim to win; 
 Let liini take living, land, and life; 
 But to be Marmion's wedded wife 
 
1 86 MARMION. Canto Y 
 
 In me were deadly sin: 
 And if it be the king's decree, 
 That I must find no sanctuary, 
 Where even a homicide might come, 
 
 And safely rest his head. 
 Though at its open portals stood. 
 Thirsting to pour forth blood for blood. 
 
 The kinsmen of the dead; 
 Yet one asylum is my own. 
 
 Against the dreaded hour; 
 A low, a silent, and a lone. 
 
 Where kings have httle power. 
 One victim is before me there. — 
 Mother, your blessing, and in prayer 
 Remember your unhappy Clare!" — 
 Loud weeps the Abbess, and bestows 
 
 Kind blessings many a one; 
 Weeping and wailing loud arose 
 Round patient Clare, the clamorous woes 
 
 Of evei'v simple nun. 
 His eyes the gentle Eustace dried. 
 And scarce rude Bsount the sight could bide. 
 
 Then took the squire her rein, 
 And gently led away her steed, 
 And, by each courteous word and deed. 
 
 To cheer her strove in vain. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 But scant three miles the band had rode. 
 When o'er a height they passed, 
 
 And, sudden, close before them showed 
 His towers, Tantalion vast; 
 
 Broad, massive, high, and stretching far. 
 
 And held impregnable in war. 
 
Canto V. THE COURT. 187 
 
 On a projecting rock they rose, 
 
 And round three sides the ocean flows; 
 
 The fourth did battled walls inclose. 
 
 And double mound and fosse. 
 By narrow draw-bridge, outworks strong, 
 Through studded gates, an entrance long. 
 
 To the main court they pass. 
 It was a wide and stately square: 
 Around were lodgings, fit and fair. 
 
 And towers of various form, 
 Which on the court projected far. 
 And broke its lines quadrangular. 
 Here was square keep, there turret high. 
 Or pinnacle that sought the sky. 
 Whence oft the warder could descry 
 
 The gathering ocean storm. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 Hei*e did they rest. — The princely ewe 
 Of Douglas why should I declare. 
 Or say they met reception fair? 
 
 Or why the tidings say. 
 Which, var) ing, to Tantallon came. 
 By hurrying posts, or fleeter fame. 
 
 With every varying day? 
 And, first, they heard King James had wen 
 
 Etal, and Wark, and Ford; and then. 
 
 That Norham's castle strong was ta'en. 
 At that sore marvelled Marmion; — 
 And Douglas hoped his monarch's hand 
 Would soon subdue Northumberland: 
 
 But whispered news there came, 
 
188 MARMION. Canto V. 
 
 That, while his host inactive laj, 
 And melted by degrees away. 
 King James was dallying off the day 
 
 With Heron's wily dame.— 
 Such acts to chronicles I yield; 
 
 Go seek them there, and see: 
 Mine is a tale of Flodden field. 
 
 And not a history. — 
 At length, they heard the Scottish host 
 On that higli ridge had made theii* post. 
 
 Which frowns o'er jMiilfield Plain; 
 And that brave Surrey many a band 
 Had gathered in the Southern land. 
 And mai'ched into Northiimberland, 
 
 And camp at Wooler ta'en. 
 Marmion, like charger in tlie stall. 
 That hears without the trumpet call. 
 
 Began to chafe, and swear: — 
 '* A sorry thing to hide m}^ head 
 In castle, like a fearful maid, 
 
 Wlien 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 liis hulls I'll stay." — 
 Then bade his band, they should array 
 For march against the dawning day. 
 
 END OF CANTO FIFTH. 
 
MARMION. 
 
 CANTO SIXTH. 
 
TO 
 RICHARD HEBER, ESQ. 
 
 Mertoun-Houset Christmas. 
 XLEAP on more a\ cod! — the wind is chill; 
 But let it whistle as it will, 
 We'll keep our Christmas merry still. 
 Each age has deemed the new-born year 
 Fit time for festival and cheer: 
 Even heathen yet, the savage Dane 
 At lol more deep the mead did drain, 
 High on the beach his galleys drew. 
 And feasted all his pirate crew; 
 Then in his low and pine-built hall. 
 Where shields and axes decked the wall. 
 They gorged upon the half-dressed steer; 
 Caroused in seas of sable beer; 
 While round, in brutal jest, were thrown 
 The half-gnawed rib, and marrow-bone; 
 Or listened all, in grim delight, 
 While scalds yelled out the joys of fight. 
 Then forth, in frenzy, would they hie. 
 And wildly loose their red locks fly; 
 And dancing lound the blazing pile. 
 They make such barbarous mirth the while. 
 As best might to the mind recal 
 The boisterous joys of Odin's hall. 
 
 And well our Christian sires of old 
 Loved when the year its course had rolled. 
 
192 INTRODUCTION 
 
 And brought blithe Christmas back again, 
 
 With all his hospitable train. 
 
 Domestic and religious rite 
 
 Gave honour to the holy night: 
 
 On Christmas eve the bells were rung; 
 
 On Christmas e\e the mass was sung; 
 
 That only night, in all the yeai'. 
 
 Saw the stoled priest the chalice rear. 
 
 The damsel donned her kirtle sheen; 
 
 The hall was dressed with holly green; 
 
 Forth to the wood did meri-y-men go. 
 
 To gather in the misletoe. 
 
 Then opened wide the baron's hall 
 
 To vassal, tenant, serf, and all; 
 
 PoMer laid his rod of rule aside. 
 
 And Ceremony doffed his pride. 
 
 The heir, Avith roses in his shoes 
 
 That night might village partner chuse; 
 
 The lo)"d, underogating, share 
 
 The vulgar game of " post and pair." 
 
 All hailed, with uncontrolled delight. 
 
 And general voice, the happy night. 
 
 That to the cottage, as the crown. 
 
 Brought tidings of salvation down. 
 
 The fire, with well-dried logs supplied. 
 Went roaring up the chimney wide; 
 The huge hall-table's oaken face, 
 Scrubbed till it shone the day to grace. 
 Bore then upon its massive boai'd 
 No mai'k to part the squire and lord. 
 Then was brought in the lusty brawn. 
 By old blue-coated serving-man; 
 Then the grim boars-head frowned on high 
 Crested with baj's and rosemary. 
 
TO CANTO SIXTh.- — - 193 
 
 Well can the green-garbed ranger tell, 
 
 How, when, and -where, the monster fell; 
 
 What dogs before his death he tore. 
 
 And all the baiting of the boar; 
 
 While round the merry -vassal bowl. 
 
 Garnished with ribbons, blithe did trowl. 
 
 There the huge sirloin reeked; hard by 
 
 Plumb-porridge stood, and Chiistmas pye; 
 
 Nor failed old Scotland to pioduce. 
 
 At such high -tide, her savoui\v goose. 
 
 Tlien came the merry masquers in. 
 
 And carols roared with blithesome din; 
 
 If unmelodious was the song. 
 
 It was a hearty note, and strong. 
 
 Who lists may in their mumming see 
 
 Traces of ancient mystery; 
 
 White shirts supplied the masquerade. 
 
 And smutted cheeks the visors made; 
 
 But, O! what masquers richly dight 
 
 Can boast of bosoms half so light! 
 
 England was merry England, Avhen 
 
 Old Christmas brought his sports again. 
 
 'Twas Christmas broached the mightiest ale; 
 
 'Twas Christmas told the merriest tale; 
 
 A Christmas gambol oft couUl cheer 
 
 The poor man's heart through half the year. 
 
 Still linger in our northern clime 
 Some remnants of the good old time; 
 And still, within our valleys here. 
 We hold the kindred title dear. 
 Even when perchance its far-fetclied claim 
 To Southron ear sounds emptv name; 
 
 I 
 
194 INTRODUCTION 
 
 For course of blood, our proverbs deem. 
 
 Is Avarrner than the mountain-stream.* 
 
 And thus, m}' Christmas still I hold 
 
 Where my great-giandsire came of old; 
 
 AVith flaxen beard, and amber hair. 
 
 And reverend apostolic air — 
 
 TJie ft-ast and holy-tide to share, 
 
 And mix sobriety with Avine, 
 
 And honest mirth with thoughts divine. 
 
 Small thought was his, in after time 
 
 E'er to be hitched into a i-hyme. 
 
 The simple sire could only boast. 
 
 That he was loyal to his cost; 
 
 The banislied race of Kings revered. 
 
 And lost his land, — but kept his beard. 
 
 In these dear halls, where welcome kind 
 Is with fair liberty combined; 
 Where cordial friendship gives the hand. 
 And flies constraint the magic wand 
 Of the fair dame that rules the land. 
 Little we heed the tempest drear. 
 While music, mirth, and social cheer. 
 Speed on their wings the passing year. 
 And Mertoun's halls are fair e'en now. 
 When not a leaf is on the bough. 
 Tweed loves them well, and turns again. 
 As loath to leave the sweet domain; 
 And holds his mirror to her face. 
 And clips her with a close embrace:— 
 Gladly as he, we seek the dome, 
 And as reluctant turn us home. 
 
 * " Blood is warmer tban water,"— a proverb meant to vfn 
 <litate our family predilections. 
 
TO CANTO SIXTH. 195 
 
 HoM' just, that, at this time of glee, 
 
 My thoughts shouhl, Heher, turn to thee! 
 
 For many a meriy hour we've known, 
 
 And heard the chimes of midnight's tone. 
 
 Cease, then, my friend! a moment cease. 
 
 And leave these classic tomes in peace! 
 
 Of Roman and of Grecian lore, 
 
 Sure mortal hrain can hold no more. 
 
 These ancients, as Noll Bluff might saj. 
 
 Were " pretty fellows in their day,"* 
 
 But time and tide o*er all prevail — 
 
 On Christmas eve a Christmas tale — 
 
 Of wonder and of war — " Profnne! 
 
 What! leave the lofty Latian strain, 
 
 Her stately prose, her verse's charms. 
 
 To hear the clash of rusty arms; 
 
 In Fairy Land or Limbo lost. 
 
 To jostle conjuror and ghost. 
 
 Goblin and witch!" — Nay, Heher dear. 
 
 Before you touch my charter, hear. 
 
 Though Leyden aids, alas! no more. 
 
 My cause with many-languaged lore, 
 
 This may I say: — in realms of death 
 
 Ulysses meets Alcides' ivraith; 
 
 iEneas, upon Thracia's shore, 
 
 The ghost of murdered Polydore; 
 
 For omens, we in Livy cross, 
 
 At every turn, locutus Bos. 
 
 As gi-ave and duly speaks that ox. 
 
 As it" he told the price of stocks; 
 
 * " Hannibal was :•. pretty ftUow, sir— a veiy pretty fellow 
 in Lis day." Old Bac/nlor. 
 
196 INTRODUCTION 
 
 Or held, in Rome republican. 
 The place of common -councilman. 
 
 All nations have their omens drear. 
 Their legends wild of woe and fear. 
 To Cambria look — the peasant see. 
 Bethink him of Glendowerdy, 
 And shun " the spirit's blasted tree/' 
 The Highlander, whose red claymore 
 The battle turned on Maida's shore, 
 Will, on a Fi'iday moin, look pale, 
 If asked to tell a fairy tale: 
 He feai-s the vengeful Elfin King, 
 Who leaves that day his grassy ring; 
 Invisible to human ken, 
 He w alks among the sons of men. 
 
 Didst e'er, dear Heber, pass along 
 Beneath the towers of Franchemont, 
 Which, like an eagle's nest in air. 
 Hang o'er the stream anil hamlet fair? — 
 Deep in their vaults, the peasants say, 
 A might; treasure buried lay. 
 Amassed through rapine and through wrong. 
 By the last lord of Franchemont. 
 The u'on chest is boited hard, 
 A huntsman sits, its constant guard; 
 Arounfi his neck his horn is hung. 
 His hanger in his belt is slung; 
 Before his feet his bloodhounds lie: 
 An 'twere not for his gloomy eye. 
 Whose v\ ithering glance no heart can brook, 
 As true a huntsman doth he look. 
 As bugle e'er in brake did sound, 
 Qr ever hollowed to a hound. 
 
TO CANTO SIXTH. 197 
 
 To chase the fieml, and uin tlie prize. 
 
 In that same (hinj^eon ever tries 
 
 An aged Necrojiumtic Priest; 
 
 It is an hvindi e<l years at least, 
 
 Since 'twixt them first the strife begun. 
 
 And neither yet has lost o?' voo. 
 
 And oft the Conjuror's wo''(1s will make 
 
 The stubborn Demon g!r)an and quake; 
 
 And oft the bands of iron break. 
 
 Or bursts one lock, that still amain, 
 
 Fast as 'tis opened, shuts aijain. 
 
 That niagic strife Nvitliin the tomb 
 
 Ma) last (intil the (lay of (loora. 
 
 Unless the Adept shall leai n to tell 
 
 The very v.ord that clenched the spell. 
 
 When Franch'mont locked the treasure cell. 
 
 An hundred years are past and gone. 
 
 And scarce thi-ee letters has he won. 
 
 Such genei'al superstition may 
 FiXcuse for old Pitscottie say; 
 AVhose gossip history has given 
 My song the messenger from heaven. 
 That warned, in Litligow, Scotland's King, 
 Kor less the infernal summoning. 
 But why such instances to you. 
 Who, in an instant, can review 
 Your treasured hoards of various lore. 
 And furnish tMcnty thousand more? 
 Hoards, not like theirs whose volumes rest 
 Like treasures in the Franch'mont chest; 
 Wliile grip])le o\\ ners still refuse 
 To others what they cannot use, 
 (Jive them the j)riest's Avhole century. 
 They shall not spell you letters three; 
 
198 INTRODUCTION, &c. 
 
 Their pleasure in the books the same 
 The magpie takes in pilfered gem. 
 Thy \olumes, open as thy heart, 
 Dehght, amusement, science, art. 
 To eveiy ear and eye impart; 
 Yet who, of all who thus employ them, 
 Can, like the owner's self, enjoy them? — 
 But, hark! I hear the distant drum: 
 The day of Flodden field is come. — 
 Adieu, dear Heber! life and health. 
 And store of literaiy wealth. 
 
MAEMION. 
 
 CANTO SIXTH. 
 
 THE BATTLE. 
 
 I. 
 
 1/VhILE great events were on the gale. 
 And each hour brought a varying tale. 
 And the demeanour, changed and cold. 
 Of Douglas, fretted jNIarmion hold. 
 And, like the impatient steed of war. 
 He snuffed the battle from afar; 
 And hopes were none, that back again 
 Herald should come from Terouenne, 
 Where England's King in leaguer lay. 
 Before decisive battle-day; — 
 Wliile these things were, the mournful Clare 
 Did in the Dame's devotions share: 
 For the good Countess ceaseless prayed. 
 To Heaven and Saints, her sons to aid. 
 And, with short interval, did pass 
 From prayer to book, from book to mass. 
 And all in high Baronial pride, — 
 A life both dull and dignified; — 
 Yet as Lord Marmion nothing pressed 
 Upon her intervals of rest, 
 
200 MARMION. Canto VI. 
 
 Dejected Clara mcU could bear 
 The formal st^te, the lengthened prayer. 
 Though dearest to her wounded heart 
 The hours that she might spend apart. 
 
 U. 
 
 I said, Tantallon's dizzy steep 
 
 Hung o'er the margin of the deep. 
 
 Many a rude tower and rampart there 
 
 Rei)elled the insult of the air, 
 
 Wliich, when the tempest vexed the sky, 
 
 Half breeze, half spray, came whistling by. 
 
 Above the rest, a turret square 
 
 J)id o'er its Gothic entrance bear. 
 
 Of scidpture rude, a stony shield; 
 
 The Bloody Heart was in the field. 
 
 And in the chief three mullets stood. 
 
 The cognizance of Douglas blood. 
 
 'I'he turret held a narrow stair. 
 
 Which, mounted, gave you access where 
 
 A parapet's embattled row 
 
 Did seaw ard round the castle go; 
 
 Sometimes in dizzy steps descending, 
 
 Sometimes in narrow circuit bending. 
 
 Sometimes in X)latform broad extending, 
 
 Its vai'ying circuit did combme 
 
 Bulwark, and bartisan, and line. 
 
 And bastion, tower, and vantage-coign; 
 
 Above the booming ocean leant 
 
 The far-projecting battlement; 
 
 The billows burst, in ceaseless flow. 
 
 Upon the precipice below. 
 
 Where'er Tantallon faced the land. 
 
 Gate-works, and walls, Avcre strongly manned; 
 
Canto VI. THE BATTLE. 201 
 
 No need upon the sea-girt side; 
 
 The steepy rock, and frantic tide, 
 
 Approach of human step denied; 
 
 And thus these lines, and ramparts rude. 
 
 Were left in deepest soUtude. 
 
 III. 
 
 And, for they were so lonely, Clare 
 Would to these battlements repair. 
 And muse upon her sorrows there, 
 
 And list the sea-bird's cry; 
 Or slow, like noon-tide ghost, would glide 
 Along the dark-gray bulwark's side, 
 And ever on the heaving tide 
 
 Look down with weary eye. 
 Oft did the cliff, and swelling main, 
 Recal the thoughts of Whitby's fane, 
 A home she ne'er might see again; 
 
 For she had laid ad own. 
 So Douglas bade, the liood and veil, 
 And frontlet of the cloister pale. 
 
 And Benedictine gown: 
 It were unseemly sight, he said, 
 A novice out of convent shade. — 
 Now her bright locks, with sunny glow, 
 Again adorned her brow of snow; 
 Her mantle rich, whose borders, round, 
 A deep and fretted broidery bound. 
 In golden foldings sought the gi-ound; 
 Of holy ornament, alone 
 Remaiiied a cross with ruby stone; 
 
 And often did she look 
 On that which in her hand she bore. 
 
 12 
 
202 MARMION. Canto YI. 
 
 With velvet bound, and Lroidered o'er. 
 
 Her breviary book. 
 In such a i)lace, so lone, so grim. 
 At dawning pale, or twiUght dim. 
 
 It fearful would have been. 
 To meet a form so richly dressed. 
 With book in hand, and cross on breast. 
 
 And such a woful mien. 
 Fitz-Eustace, loitering with his bow. 
 To i^ractise on the gull and crow. 
 Saw her, at distance, gliding slow. 
 
 And did by Mary swear, — 
 Some love-lorn Fay she might have been. 
 Or, in romance, some spell-boimd queen; 
 For ne'ei", in v ork-day world, was seen 
 
 A form so witching fair. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Qnce walking thus, at evening tide. 
 
 It chanced a gliding sail she spied. 
 
 And, sighing, thought — " The Abbess there, 
 
 Pei'chance, does to her home repair; 
 
 Her peaceful rule, whei-e Duty, free. 
 
 Walks hand in hand with Charity; 
 
 Where oft Devotion's tranced glow 
 
 Can such a glimpse of heaven bestow. 
 
 That the enraptured sisters see 
 
 High vision, and deep mystery; 
 
 The vcvy form of Hilda fair,* 
 
 Hovering upon the sunny air. 
 
 And smiling on her votaries* prayer. 
 
 * See Note. 
 
Canto VI. THE BATTLE. 203 
 
 O! wherefore, to roy duller eye, 
 
 Did still the Saint her foi'm deny! 
 
 Was it, that, seared by sinful scorn. 
 
 My heart could neither melt nor burn? 
 
 Or lie my warm affections low, 
 
 With him, that taught them first to glow? — 
 
 Yet, gentle Abbess, well I knew, 
 
 To pay thy kindness grateful due, 
 
 And well could brook the mild command, 
 
 Tliat ruled thy simple maiden band. — 
 
 How different now! condemned to bide 
 
 IVfy doom from this dark tyrant's pride.— 
 
 But Marniion has to learn, ere long. 
 
 That constant mind, and hate of wrong, 
 
 Descended to a feeble girl, 
 
 From Red De Clare, stout Gloster's Earl. 
 
 Of such a stem a sapling w eak, 
 
 lie ne'er shall bend, although he break.. 
 
 V. 
 
 '* But sec! — what makes this ai'mour here?" 
 
 Tor in her path there lay 
 Targe, corslet, liclm; — she viewed them near.T- 
 " The bieast-plate pierced! — Ay, much I fear, 
 V»\ak fence wert thou 'gainst foeman's spear, 
 That hath made fatal entrance here. 
 
 As these dark Ijlood-gouts say. — 
 Thus Wilton! — OU! not corslet's ward, 
 Kot truth, as diamond pure and hard, 
 Could be thy manly J)Osom's guard. 
 
 On yon disastrous day!" — 
 She raise«l her eyes in mournful mood, — 
 Wjlton himself before her stood! 
 
204 MARMION. Canto VI. 
 
 It might have seemed his passing ghost; 
 For eveiy youthful grace was lost, 
 And joy unwonted, and surprise. 
 Gave their strange wildness to his eyes.— 
 Expect not, noble dames and lords. 
 That I can tell such scene in words: 
 What skilful limner e'er would chuse 
 To paint the rainbow's varying hues, 
 Unless to mortal it Avere given 
 To dip his brush in d^'es of heaven? 
 Far less can my weak line declare 
 
 Each changing passion's shade; 
 Brightening to rapture from despair. 
 Sorrow, surprise, and pity there. 
 And joy, with her angelic air. 
 And hope, that paints the future fair. 
 Their varying hues displayed: 
 Each o'er its rival's ground extending, 
 Alternate conquering, sliifting, blending. 
 Till all, fatigued, the conflict yield. 
 And mighty Love retains the field. 
 Shortly I tell what then he said. 
 By many a tender word delayed. 
 And modest blush and bursting sigh. 
 And question kind, and fond reply. 
 
 VI. 
 DE WILTON'S HISTORY. 
 
 ** Forget we that disastrous day. 
 When senseless in the lists I lay. 
 Thence dragged, — but how I cannot know, 
 
 For sense and recollection fled, — 
 I found me on a pallet low. 
 Within my ancient beadsman's shed. 
 
Canto VI. THE BATTLE. 205 
 
 Austin, — remenibei-'st thou, my Clare, 
 Hov thou didst blush, when the old man, 
 When first our infant love began. 
 
 Said we would make a matchless pah'? — 
 Menials, and friends, and kinsmen fled 
 From the degraded traitor's bed, — 
 He only held my burning head, 
 And tended me for many a day. 
 While wounds and fever held their sway. 
 But far more needful was his care, 
 When sense returned, to wake despair; 
 For I did tear the closing wound. 
 And dash me frantic on tlie ground. 
 If e'er I heard the name of Clare. 
 
 At length, to calmer reason brought, 
 
 Much by his kind attendance wrought. 
 With him I left my native strand. 
 
 And, in a Palmer's weeds arrayed, 
 
 >Iy hated name and form to shade, 
 I journeyed many a land; 
 
 No more a lord of rank and birth. 
 
 But mingled with the dregs of earth. 
 
 Oft, Austin for my reason feared. 
 When I Mould sit, and deeply brood 
 On dark revenge, and deeds of blood, 
 
 Or wild mad schemes upreared. 
 
 My friend at length fell sick, and said, 
 
 Gotl would remove liim soon; 
 And wliile upon his dying bed. 
 
 He begged of rae a boon— 
 If ere my deadliest enemy 
 Beneath my brand should conquered lie. 
 Even then my mercy should awake. 
 And spare his life for Austin's sake. 
 
206 MARMION. Canto VI. 
 
 VII. 
 
 ** Still restless as a second Cain, 
 
 To Scotland next my i-oute was ta'en, 
 
 Full well the paths I knew; . 
 Fame of my fate made various sound, 
 That death in pilgrimage I found, 
 That I had pei-ished of my wound, — 
 
 None cared which tale was true: 
 And living eye could never guess 
 De Wilton in his Palmer's dress; 
 
 For noAv that sable slough is shed. 
 
 And trimmed my shaggy beard and head, 
 
 I scarcely know me in the glass. 
 A chance most wondrous did provide. 
 That I should be that baron's guide — 
 
 I will not name his name! — 
 Vengeance to God alone belongs; 
 But, when I think on all my wrongs. 
 
 My blood is liquid flame! 
 And ne'er the time shall I forget. 
 When, in a Scottish hostel set. 
 
 Dark looks we did exchange: 
 What were his thoughts I cannot tell; 
 But in my bosom mustered Hell 
 Its plans of dark revenge. 
 
 vm. 
 
 " A word of vulgar augury. 
 
 That broke from me I scarce knew why, 
 
 Brought on a village tale; 
 Which wrought upon his moody sprite. 
 And sent him armed foilh by night. 
 
 1 borrowed steed and mail, 
 
Canto VI. THE BATTLE. ^07 
 
 And weapons, frcmi his sleeping band; 
 
 And, passing from a postern door. 
 We met, and 'countered, hand to hand, — 
 
 He fell on Gittbrd-raoor. 
 For the death-stroke my brand I drew, 
 (O then my helmed head he knew. 
 
 The Palmer's cowl was gone,) 
 Then had three inches of my blade 
 The hea>-y debt of vengeance paid, — 
 My hand the thought of Austin staid; 
 
 I left him there alone. — 
 O good old man! even from the gi'ave. 
 Thy spirit could thy master save: 
 If I had slain my foeman, ne'er 
 Had Whitby's Abbess, in her fear, 
 Given to my hand this packet dear. 
 Of power to clear my injured fame, 
 And vindicate De Wilton's name. — 
 Perchance you heard the Abbess tell 
 Of the strange pageantry of Hell, 
 
 That broke our secret speech — 
 It rose from the infernal shade. 
 Or featly was some juggle played, 
 
 A tale of peace to teach. 
 Appeal to Heaven I judged was best, 
 When my name came among the rest. 
 
 IX. 
 
 "Xow here, within Tantallon Hold, 
 To Douglas late my tale I told. 
 To V horn my house was known of old. 
 Won by ray proofs, his falchion bright 
 This eve anew shall dub me knight. 
 These were the arms that once did turn 
 The tide of fidit on Otterburne, 
 
208 MARMION. Canto VI. 
 
 And Harry Hotspur forced to yield, 
 When the Dead Douglas won the field. 
 These Angus gave — his armourer's care, 
 Ere morn, shall every breach repair; 
 For nought, he said, was in his halls. 
 But ancient armour on the walls. 
 And aged chargers in the stalls. 
 And women, priests, and gray-haired men; 
 The rest were all in Twisell glen.* 
 And now I watch my armour here. 
 By law of arms, till midnight 's near; 
 Then, once again a belted knight. 
 Seek Surrey's camp with dawn of light. 
 
 X. 
 
 ** There soon again we meet, my Clare! 
 This Baron means to guide thee there. 
 Douglas reveres his king's command. 
 Else would he take thee from his band. 
 And there thy kinsman Surrey, too. 
 Will give De Wilton justice due. 
 Now meeter far for martial broil. 
 Firmer my limbs, and strung by toil. 
 
 Once more" *' O, Wilton! must we then 
 
 Risk new-found happiness agahi, 
 Ti'ust fate of arms once more? 
 
 And is there not a humble glen. 
 Where we, content and poor, 
 
 Might build a cottage in the shade, 
 
 A shepherd thou, and I to aid 
 Thy task on dale and moor? — 
 
 * Where James encamped before taking post on Flodden. 
 
Canto VI. THE BATTLE. 209 
 
 That reddening biow! — too well I know. 
 Not even tliy Clare can peace bestow, 
 
 W^hile falschooil stains thy name: 
 Go then to fight! Clare bids thee go! 
 Clare can a wairioi-'s feelings know. 
 
 And weep a warrior's shame; 
 Can Red Earl Gilbert's spirit feel, 
 Buckle the spurs upon thy heel. 
 And belt thee v.ith thy brand of steel, 
 
 And send thee forth to fame!" — 
 
 XI. 
 
 That night, upon the rocks and hay. 
 The midnight moon-beam slumbering lay. 
 And pourei! its silver hglit, and pui-e, 
 Through loop-hoi-', and through embrazure, 
 
 Upon Tantallon tower and hall; 
 But chief where arched windows wide 
 Illuminate the chapel's pride, 
 
 The sober glances fall. 
 Much was there need; though, seanled M'ith Scan 
 Two veterans of ^he Douglas* wars. 
 
 Though tv.o gray priests were there. 
 And each a blazing torch held high. 
 You could not by their blaze descry 
 
 The chapel's carving fair. 
 Amid that dim and smoky light, 
 Chequering the silvery moon-shine bright, 
 
 A bisho]) by the altar stood, 
 
 A noble lord of Douglas blood. 
 With miti'e sheen, and roccjuet Mliite; 
 Vet showed liis meek and thoughtful eye 
 But little pride of prelacy: 
 
210 MARMION. Canto VI. 
 
 JNIore pleased that, in a barbarous age. 
 He gave radc Scotland Virgil's page. 
 Than that beneath his rule he held 
 The bishopric of fair Dunkeld. 
 Beside him ancient Angus stood, 
 Doft'ed his furred gown, and sable hood; 
 O'er his huge form, and visage pale. 
 He wore a cap and shirt of mail. 
 And leanM his large and wrinkled hand 
 Upon the huge and sweeping brand, 
 "Which w ont, of yore, in battle-fray, 
 Hisfoeman's limbs to shred away. 
 As wood-knife lops the sapUng spray. 
 He seemed as, from the tombs around 
 
 Rising at judgment-day, 
 Some giant Douglas may be found 
 
 In all his old array; 
 So pale his face, so huge his limb. 
 So old his arms, his look so grim. 
 
 ^ xn. 
 
 Then at tke ^r Wilton kneels. 
 And Clare the spurs bound on his heels; 
 And think what next he must have felt. 
 At buckling of the falchion belt! 
 
 And judge how Clara changed her hue, 
 While fastening to her IcKer's side 
 A friend, which, though in danger tried. 
 
 He once had found untrue! 
 Then Douglas struck him with his blade: 
 ** Saint Michael, and Saint Andrew aid,' 
 
 I dub thee knight. 
 Arise Sir Ralph, De Wilton's heir! 
 
Canto VI. THE BATTLE. 211 
 
 For king, for church, foi- lady fair. 
 
 See that thou fight." — 
 And Bishop Gawain, as he rose. 
 Said — ** Wilton! grieve not for thy T^oes, 
 
 Disgrace, and trouble, 
 For He, who honour best bestows, 
 
 May give thee double." — 
 De Wilton sobbed, for sob he must — 
 ** Where'er I meet a Douglas, tinist 
 
 That Douglas is ray brother!" 
 *'Nay, nay," old Angus said, " not 80; 
 To Surrey's camp thou now must go. 
 
 Thy wrongs no longer smother. 
 I have two sons in yonder field; 
 And, if thou meet'st them under shield. 
 Upon tlicm bravely — do thy worst; 
 And foul fall him that blenches first!" — 
 
 xm. 
 
 Not far advanced was morning day, 
 "When Marmion did his troop array 
 
 To Surrey's camp to ride; 
 He had safe-conduct for his band. 
 Beneath the royal seal and hand. 
 
 And Douglas gave a guide: 
 The ancient Earl, with stately grace. 
 Would Clara on her palfrey place, 
 And whispered, in an under tone, 
 " Let the hawk stoop, his prey is flown." 
 The train from out the castle drew; 
 But Marmion stopp'dto bid adieu: — 
 
 *' Though something I might plain,'* he said, 
 *• Of cold respect to stranger guest. 
 Sent hither by your king's behest, 
 
212 MARMION. Canto VI. 
 
 While in Tantallon's towers I staid. 
 Part M^e in frienflshi]) from yoir land. 
 And, noble Earl, receive my hand." — 
 But Douglas round him drew his cloke. 
 Folded his arms, and thus he spoke: — 
 
 ** My manors, halls, and bowers, shall still 
 Be open, at my sovereign's will. 
 To each one whom he lists, howe'er 
 Unmeet to be the ovner's peer. 
 My castles are my king's alone. 
 From turret to foundation-stone — 
 The hand of Douglas is his own; 
 And never shall in friendh- grasp 
 The hand of such as Marmion clasp.'* 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Bui'ned Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire. 
 And shook his very frame for ire. 
 
 And — " This to me!" he said, — 
 " An 'twere not for thy hoary beard, 
 SucK hand as Marmion's had not spared 
 
 To cleave the Douglas' head! 
 And, first, I tell thee, hanghty Peer, 
 He, who does England's message here, .■.,> 
 Altliough the meanest in her state. 
 May Av ell, proud Angus, be thy mate: 
 And, Douglas, more I tell thee here. 
 
 Even in thy pitcli of pride, "^ 
 Here in thy Hold, thy vassels near, 
 (Nay, never look upon your lord, '> 
 And lay your hands upon your sword^ 
 
 I tell thee, thou'rt defied! ■ f 
 
 And if thou said'st, I am not peer 
 To any Lord in Scotland here,sV 
 
Canto \X THE BATTLE. 213 
 
 Lowland or Higliland, far or near. 
 
 Lord Angi'S,thou hast lied!" 
 On the Earl's cheek the flush of rage 
 O'ercame the ashen hue of age: 
 Fierce he broke forth: " And dar'st thou then 
 To beard the lion in his den. 
 
 The Douglas in his hail? 
 And hop'st thou hence unscathed to go? — 
 No, by Saint Bryde of Bothvell, no! — 
 1;^. drawbridge, grooms — what. Warder, ho! 
 
 Let the poitcullis fall." — 
 Lord Marmion turned, — w ell was his need 
 And dashed the rowels in his steed. 
 Like "arrow through the arch-way sprung. 
 The ponderous grate behind him rung: 
 To pass there was such scanty room. 
 The bars, descending, razed his plume. 
 
 XV. 
 
 The steed along the di-awbridge flies, 
 
 Just as it trembled on the I'ise; 
 
 Not lighter does the swallow skim 
 
 Along the smooth lake's level bi'im. 
 
 And when Lord Marmion reached his band. 
 
 He halts, and turns with clenched hand. 
 
 And shout of loud defiance [)Ours, 
 
 And shook his gauntlet at the towers. 
 
 " Horse! horse!" the Douglas cried, "and chase'.'* 
 
 But soon he reined his fury's pace: 
 
 " A royal messenger lie came, 
 
 Though most unwoithy of the name. — 
 
 A letter forged! Saint Jude to speed! 
 
 Did ever knight so foul a deed! 
 
214 MARMION. Canto VI. 
 
 At first in heart it liked me ill. 
 When the King praised his clerkly skill. 
 Thanks to Saint Bothan, son of mine. 
 Save Gawain, ne'er could pen aline: 
 So swore I, and I swear it still. 
 Let my boy -bishop fret his fill. — 
 Saint Mary mend mj' fiery mood! 
 Old age ne'er cools the Douglas blood, 
 I thought to slay him where he stood.— 
 'Tispity of him, too," he cried; 
 " Boh! can he speak, and fairly ride: 
 I warrant him a warrior tried.*' — ^^ 
 With this his mandate he recals. 
 And slowly seeks his castle halls. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 The day in Marmion's journey wore; 
 Yet e'er his passion's gust was o'er 
 They crossed the heights otStanrigg-moor. 
 His ti'oop more closely thei-e he scann'd. 
 And missed the l^almer from the band. — 
 *' Palmer or not," young Blount did say, 
 " He parted at the peep of day; 
 Good sooth it was in btrange array." — 
 "In what array?" said Marmion, quick. 
 " My lord I ill can spell the trick; 
 But all night long, with clink and bang. 
 Close to my couch did hammers clang; 
 At dawn the falling drawbridge I'ang, 
 And from a loop-iiole while I peep. 
 Old Beli-the-Cat came from the Keep, 
 Wriipped in a gown of sables fair, 
 A3 fearful of the morning air; 
 
Canto VI. THE BATTLE. 215 
 
 Beneath, -when that was blown aside, 
 
 A i-usty shirt of mail I spied, 
 
 By Archibald won in bloody woi'k, 
 
 Against the Saracen and Turk: 
 
 Last night it hung not in the hall; 
 
 I thought some marvel would befal. 
 
 And next 1 saw them saddled lead 
 
 Old Cheviot forth, the Earl's best steed; 
 
 A matchless hoi'se, though something old, 
 
 Prompt to his paces, cool and bold. 
 
 I heard the Shei'ifF Sholto say. 
 
 The Eai'l did much the Master* pray 
 
 To use him on the battle-day; 
 
 But he preferred" — " Nay, Henrj', cease! 
 
 Thou sworn horse-courser, hold thy peace.— 
 
 Eustace, thou bear'st a brain — I pray. 
 
 What did Blount see at break of day?" — 
 
 XVIT. 
 
 " In brief, my lord. Me both descried 
 (For 'I then stood by Henry's side) 
 The Palmer mount, and outwards ride. 
 
 Upon the Earl's own favourite steed; 
 All sheathed he was in armour bright. 
 And much resembled that same knight. 
 Subdued by you in Cotswold fight: 
 
 Lord Angus wished him speed."— 
 The instant that Fitz-Eustace spoke, 
 A sudden light on Marmion broke; — 
 *' Ah! dastard fool, to reason lost!" ; ' 
 
 He muttered; " 'Twas nor fay nor ghost, 
 
 * His eldest son, tlie jNIastt r of Angus. 
 
216 MARMION. Canto VL 
 
 I met upon the moonlight wold. 
 But living man of earthly mould— 
 
 O dotage hiind and gross! 
 Had I but fought as wont, one thrust 
 Had laid De Wilton in the dust. 
 
 My path no more to cross. — 
 How stand we now? — he told his tale 
 To Douglas; and with some avail; 
 'TAvas therefore gloomed his rugged brow.— 
 Will Surrey dare to . ntertain, 
 'Gainst Mann ion, charge dispi'oved and vain? 
 
 Small risk of that, I I'ow. — 
 Yet Clare's sharp questions must I shun; 
 Must separate Constance from the Nun — 
 
 what a tangled web we weave. 
 When first we practise to deceive!— 
 A Palmer too! — no wonfler wliy 
 
 1 felt rebuked beneath his eye: 
 
 I might have known there was but one. 
 Whose look could quell Lord Marmion." 
 
 XVITI. . 
 
 Stung with these thoughts, lie urged to speed 
 His troop, and reached, at eve, the Tweed, 
 Where Lennel's convent closed their march. 
 (There now is left but one frail arch, 
 
 Yet mourn thou not its cells; 
 Our lime a fair exchange has made; 
 Hax'd by, in ho^^pitable shade, 
 
 A reverend pilgrim dwells. 
 Well v/orth the whole Rornardine brood. 
 That e'er v ore sandal, frock, or hood.) 
 Yet did Saint Bernard's Abbot there 
 
Canto VI. THE BATTLE. 2 1 7 
 
 Give Marmion entertainment fair. 
 And lodging for his train, and Clare. 
 Next morn the Baron climbed the tower. 
 To view afar the Scottish power. 
 
 Encamped on Flodden edge: 
 The white pavilions made a show, 
 Ijke remnants of the w inter snow. 
 
 Along the dusky ridge. 
 Long Marmion looked: — at length his eye 
 Unusual movement might desciy, 
 
 Amid the shifting lines: 
 The Scottish host drawn out appears. 
 For, flashing on the hedge of spears 
 
 The eastern sun-beam shines. 
 Their front now deepening, now extending; 
 Their flank inclining, wheeling, bending. 
 Now drawing back, and now descending. 
 The skilful Marmion well could know. 
 They watched the motions of some foe. 
 Who traversed on the plain below. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Even so it was; — from Flodden ridge 
 The Scots beheld the English host 
 Leave Barmore-woo<l, their evening post. 
 And heedful A\atched them as tliey crossfefi 
 
 The Till by Twisel Bridge. 
 High sight it is, and haughty, while 
 They dive into the deep defile; 
 Beneath the cavenied cliff" they fall. 
 Beneath the castle's aiiy wall. 
 
 By rock, by oak, by hawthorn tree, 
 Troop after troop is disappearing; 
 K 
 
218 MARMION. Canto VT. 
 
 Troop after troop their banners rearing. 
 
 Upon the eastern bank you see. 
 Still pouring down the rocky den. 
 
 Where flows the sullen Till, 
 And rising from the dim-wood glen, 
 -Standards on standards, men on men. 
 
 In slow succession still. 
 And bending o'er the Gothic arch. 
 And pressing on, in ceaseless march, 
 
 To gain the opposing hill. 
 That morn, to many a trumpet-clang, 
 Twisel! thy rock's deep echo rang; 
 And many a chief of birth and rank. 
 Saint Helen at thy fountain drank. 
 Thy hawthorn glade, which now we see 
 In spi'ing-tide bloom so lavishly, 
 Had then from many an ax its doom. 
 To give the marching columns room. 
 
 XX. 
 
 And why stands Scotland idly now, 
 Dark Flodden! on thy airy bi*o\v. 
 Since England gains the pass the while. 
 And struggles through the deep defiled 
 What checks the fiery soul of James? 
 Why sits that champion of the dames 
 
 Inactive on his steed. 
 And sees, between liim and his land. 
 Between liim and Tweed's southern stranid> 
 
 His host Lord Surrey lead? 
 What vfuls the vain knight-errant's brand?^ — 
 O, Douglas, for thy leading wand! 
 
 Fierce Randolph, fcjr thy speed! 
 
Canto VI. THE BATTLE. 219 
 
 O for one hour of Wallace wight, 
 Or well-skilled I3mce, to rule the fight. 
 And cry — " Saint Andrew and our right!" 
 Another sight had seen that morn, 
 From Fate's dark book a leaf been torn. 
 And Floddeu had been Bannock-bourne! — 
 The precious hour has passed in vain. 
 And England's host has gained the plain; 
 "Wheeling their maixrh, and circling still. 
 Around the base of Fiodden-hill. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Ere yet the bands met Marmion's eye, 
 Fitz-Eustace shouted loud and high, — 
 
 *• Hark! hark! my lord, an English drum! 
 
 And see ascending squadrons come 
 Between Tweed's river and the hill. 
 Foot, horse, and cannon; — hap what hap, 
 My basnet to a prentice cap. 
 
 Lord Smrey 's o'er the Till! — 
 Yet more! yet more! — liow fair arrayed 
 They file from out the hawthorn shade 
 
 And sweep so gallant by! 
 With all their banners bravely spread. 
 
 And all their armour flashing high. 
 Saint George might waken fi-om the dead. 
 
 To see fair England's banners fly." — 
 ** Stint in thy prate," quoth Blount; " thou'dst 
 
 best. 
 And listen to our lord's behest." — 
 With kindling brow Lord Marmion said — 
 *' Tills instant b*^ our band arrayed; 
 Tlie river must be quickly crossed, 
 That we may join Lord Sun-cy's host. 
 
^20 MARMION. Cauitd VI; 
 
 If fight Bang James, — as well I trust. 
 That fight he will, and fight he must,— 
 The Lady Clare behind om* lines 
 Shall tai'i-y, while the battle joins." 
 
 xxn. 
 
 Himself he swift on horseback threwj 
 Scarce to the Abbot bade adieu; 
 
 Far less would listen to his prayer. 
 
 To leave behind the helpless Clare. 
 Down to the Tweed his band he drew. 
 And muttered, as the flood they Aiew, 
 
 ** The pheasant in the falcon's claw. 
 He scarce will yield to please a daw: 
 Lord Angus may the Abbot awe. 
 
 So Clare shall bide with me." 
 Then on that dangerous foi-d, and deep. 
 Where to the Tweed Leat's eddies creep, 
 
 He ventured desperately; 
 And not a monient w ill he bide. 
 Till squire, or groom, before him rid^ 
 Headmost of all he stems the tide. 
 
 And stems it gallantly. 
 Eustace held Clare upon her horse. 
 
 Old Hubert led her rein, 
 Stoutly thev bi-aved the current's course. 
 And, though far downward driven per for^e. 
 
 The southern bank they gain; 
 Behind them, struggling, came to shore. 
 
 As best they might, the train: 
 Each o'ei his head his yew-bow bore, 
 
 A caution not in vain; 
 Deepueeii t'lat day tliat every string. 
 By wet unharmed, should sharply riftg 
 
 V! 
 
Canto VL THE BATTLE. 221 
 
 A moment then Lord Marmion staid, 
 And breatlied his steed, his men ai-i*ayed. 
 
 Then forward moved his band, 
 Until, Lord Surrey's rear-guard won. 
 He halted by a cross of stone. 
 That, on a hillock standing lone, 
 
 Did all the field command. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Hence might they see the full array 
 
 Of either host, for deadly fray; 
 
 Their marshalled line stretched east and west. 
 
 And fronted north and south, 
 And distant salutation past 
 
 From the loud cannon raoutli; 
 Not in the close successive rattle, 
 That breathes the voice of modern batt\^ 
 
 But sloM- and far between. — 
 The hillock gained. Lord Marmion staid: 
 ** Here, by this cross," he gently said, 
 
 •* You well, may view the scene. 
 Here shalt thou tany, lovely Clare: 
 O! think of Marmion in thy prayer! — 
 Thou wilt not? — well, — noless my care 
 Shall, watchful, for thy weal prepare. — 
 You, Biovuit and Eustace, are her guard^ 
 
 With ten picked archers of my traiia^ 
 With England if the day go hard. 
 
 To Berw ick speed amain. — 
 But, if we conquer, cruel maid! 
 My spoils shall at your feet be laid, 
 
 When here we meet again." — 
 He waited not for answer there; 
 And would not raavk the maid's despair. 
 
222 MARMION. Canto VI. 
 
 Nor heed the discontented look 
 From either squire; but spurred amain. 
 And, daslung through the battle-plain. 
 
 His way to Surrey took. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 " The good Loi'd Marmion, by my life! 
 
 Welcome to danger's hour! — 
 
 Short greeting serves in time of strife:— 
 Thus have I ranged my power: 
 
 Myself will rule this central host, 
 Stout Stanley fronts theii- right. 
 
 My sons command the vaward post, 
 Witli Brian Tunstall, stainless knight; 
 Lord Dacre, with his horsemen light. 
 Shall be in rear-ward of the fight, 
 
 Aad succour those that need it most. 
 Now, gallant Marmion, Avell I know. 
 Would gladly to the vanguai'd go; 
 Edminid, the admiral, Tunstall there, 
 With thee their charge will blithely share; 
 There fight thine own I'etainers too. 
 Beneath De Bux-g, thy steward time.'* — 
 ** Thanks, noble Surrey!" Marmion said. 
 Nor further greeting there he paid^ 
 But, pai'ting like a thunder-bolt. 
 First in the vanguard made a halt. 
 
 Where such a shout there rose 
 Of " Marmion! Marmion!" that the cry 
 Up Flodden mountain shrilling high. 
 Startled the Scottish foes. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Blount and Fitz-Eustace rested still 
 With Lady Clare upon the hill; 
 
Canto VI. THE BATTLE. 223 
 
 On which, (for far the day was spent,) 
 The western sun-hearas now were hent. 
 The cry thy heard, its meaning knew. 
 Could plain their distant comrades view: 
 Sadly to Blount did Eustace say, 
 ** Unworthy office here to stay! 
 No hope of gilded spurs to-day. — 
 But, see! look up^-on Flodden bent. 
 The Scottish foe has fired his teut." 
 
 And sudden, as he spoke, 
 From the sharp ridges of the hill. 
 All downward to the banks of Till, 
 
 Was wreathed in sable smoke; 
 Voluraed and vast, and rolling far, 
 Tlie cloud enveloped Scotland's war^ 
 
 As down the liill they broke; 
 Nor martial shout, nor minstrel tone. 
 Announced their march; their tread alone. 
 At times one warning trumpet blown. 
 
 At times a stifled hum. 
 Told England, from liis 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 lance's thrust; 
 
 And such a yell was there. 
 Of sudden and poi'tentous birth. 
 As if men fo-.ight upon the earth. 
 
 And fiends in upper air. 
 "Long looked tlie anxious squires; their ere 
 Could in the darkness nought descry. 
 
224 MARMION. Canto V!. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 At len^h the fi-esliening western blast 
 
 Aside the shroud of battle cast; 
 
 And, first, the ridge of mingled spears 
 
 Above the brightening cloud appears; 
 
 And in the smoke the pennons flcM--, 
 
 As in the storm the white sea-mew. 
 
 Then marked they dashing broad and far. 
 
 The broken billows of the war, 
 
 And plumed crests of chieftains brave, 
 
 Floating like foam upon the wave; 
 
 But nought distinct they see: 
 Wide raged the battle on the plain; 
 Spears shook, and falchions flashed amain; 
 Fell England's arrow-flight like rain; 
 Crests rose, and stooped, and rose again. 
 
 Wild and disorderly. 
 Aiuid the scene of tumult, high 
 They saw Lord Marmion's falcon fly: 
 And stainless Tunstall's banner white. 
 And Edmimd Howard's lion bright, 
 Still bear them bravely in the fight; 
 
 Although ag.'iinst them come. 
 Of gallant Gordons many a one. 
 And many a stubborn Highlandmnn, 
 And many a rugged Border clan. 
 
 With Huntley, and with Home. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Far on the left, unseen the while, 
 Stanley broke Lennox and Argyle; 
 Though there the western mountaineer 
 RiTshed with bare bosom on the spefSir, 
 
Canto VI. THE BATTLE. 225 
 
 And flung the feeble targe aside, 
 
 And with both hands the broad-sword plied: 
 
 'Twas vain. But Fortune, on the right. 
 
 With fickle smile, cheered Scotland's fight. 
 Then fell that spotless banner white, — 
 
 The Howard's lion fell; 
 Yet still Lord INIarmion's falcon flew 
 With wavering flight, while fiercer grew 
 
 Around the battle yell. 
 The Bolder slogan rent the sky: 
 A Home! a Gordon! was the cry; 
 
 Loud wei-e the clanging blows; 
 Advanced, — forced back, — now low, noAv Jiigh, 
 
 The pennon sunk and rose: 
 As bends the bark's mast in tlie gale. 
 When rent are rigging, shrouds, and sail. 
 
 It wavered mid the foes. 
 No longer Blount the view could bear: — 
 ** By Heaven, and all its saints! I swear, 
 
 I will not see it lost! 
 Fitz-Eustace, you with Lady Clare 
 IVIay bid your beads, and patter prayer, — 
 
 1 gallop to the host." 
 And to til e fray he rof'c amain. 
 Followed by ail the archer train. 
 The fieiy youth, w ith desperate charge. 
 Made, for a space, an opening large, — 
 
 l"he rescued banner rose, — 
 But darkly closed the war around. 
 Like pine-tree, rooted from the ground. 
 
 It sunk aniOMg the foes. 
 Then Eustace mounted too; — yet staid. 
 As loath to leave the helpless maid, 
 K2 
 
226 MARMION. Canto YI. 
 
 When, fast as shaft can fly, 
 Blood-shot his eyes, his nostrils spread. 
 The loose rein dangling from his head. 
 Housing and saddle bloody red. 
 
 Lord Marmion's steed rushed by; 
 And Eustace, maddening at the sight, 
 A look and sign to Clara cast. 
 To mark he would return in haste j 
 Then plunged into the fight. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Ask me not what the maiden feels. 
 
 Left in that dreadful hour alone: 
 Perchance her reason stoops, or reelS^ 
 
 Perchance a courage, not her own, 
 
 Braces her mind to desperate tone. 
 The scattered van of England wheels;— 
 
 She only said, as loud in air 
 
 The tumult roared, " Is Wilton there?'W 
 
 They fly, or, maddened by despair. 
 
 Fight but to die. — " Is Wilton there?"*- 
 With that, straight up the hill there rode 
 
 Two horsemen drenched with gore, 
 And in their arms, a helpless load, 
 
 A wounded knight they bore. 
 His hand still strained the broken brand; 
 His arms were smeared with blood, and sand. 
 Dragged from among the horses' feet, 
 With dinted shield^ and helmet beat. 
 The falcon-crest and plumage gone. 
 Can that be haughty Marmion! — 
 Young Blount his armour did unlace. 
 And, gazing on his ghastly face, 
 
 .Said — " By Saint George>. he *s gqne! 
 
Canto VI. THE BATTLE. 227 
 
 That spear wound has our master sped; 
 And see the deep cut on his head! 
 
 Good night to Marmion." 
 *' Un nurtured Blount! thy brawling cease: 
 He opes his eyes," said Eustace; "peace!" — 
 
 XXX. 
 
 When, doffed his casque, he felt free air. 
 Around 'gan Marn\ion wildly stare: — 
 
 *' Where's Harry Blount? Fitz-Eustace -where? 
 
 Linger ye here, ye hearts of hare! 
 
 Redeem my pennon, — charge again! 
 
 Cry — ' Marmion to the rescue!'— Vain! 
 
 Last of my race, on battle-])lain 
 
 That shout shall ne'er he heard again! — 
 
 Yet my last thought is England's: — fly, 
 To Dacre bear my signet-ring; 
 Tell liim his squadrons up to bring.-^ 
 
 Fitz-Eustace, to Lord Surrey hie: 
 Tunstall lies dead ujion the field; 
 His life-blood stains the spotless shield: 
 Ednuiud is down; — my life is reft; — 
 The Admiral alone is left. 
 Let Stanley charge with spur of fire, — 
 With Chester cliarge, and l^ancashire. 
 Full upon Scotland's central host. 
 Or victory and England's lost. — 
 Must I bi<l twice? — hence, varlets! fly! 
 Leave Mannion here alone — to die.'' — 
 They parUd, and alone he lay; 
 Clare drew her fiom the sight away. 
 Till pain wrung fuitli a lovvly moan. 
 And half he murnuired, — "Is there none. 
 Of tdl iny halls Ijare nuist. 
 
228 MARMION. Canto VI. 
 
 Page, squire, or groom, one cup to bring 
 Of blessed water, from tbe spring. 
 To slake my dying thirst!"— 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 O, woman! in our hours of ease. 
 
 Uncertain^ coy, and hard to please, 
 
 And variable as the shade 
 
 By the light quivering aspen made; 
 
 When pain and anguish wring the brow, 
 
 A ministering angel thou!— 
 
 Scarce were the piteous accents said, 
 
 AVhen with the Baron's casque, the maid 
 
 To the nigh streamlet ran: 
 Forgot were hatred, wrongs, and fears; 
 The plaintive voice alone she hears. 
 
 Sees but the dying man. 
 She stooped her by the runnel's side. 
 
 But in abhorrence backwai-d drew. 
 For, oozing from the mountain's side. 
 Where raged the war, a dark red tide 
 
 Was curdling in the streamlet blue, 
 "inhere sliall she turn! — behold her mark 
 
 A little fountain-cell. 
 Where water, clear as diamond-spark 
 
 In a stone bason fell. 
 Above^ some half-worn letters say, 
 
 " 55rin toeavp. piit0nm. tidnft. anb.prap, 
 iFof. tlje, feinb» ^ouU of, ^pbir, 43rep, 
 I©!jo. huiiu tlji^. ctro^, anb. toeH." 
 
 She filled the helia, and back she hied. 
 And M'ith surprise and joy espied 
 
 A monk support in !^Iarmiou's head; 
 A pioos man, whom duty brought 
 
eanto Vr. THE BATTLE. 229 
 
 To dubious verge of battle fought, 
 To shricve the dying, bless the d^ad^ 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Deep drank Lord Marmion of the wave. 
 And as she stooped his brow to lave — 
 *'Is it the hand of Clare," he said, 
 " Or injured Constance, bathes ray head?" 
 
 Then, as remembrance rose, — 
 " Speak not to me of shrift or prayer! 
 
 I must redress her woes. 
 Sliort space, few words, are mine to spare; 
 Forgave and listen, gentle Clare!" — 
 
 " Alas!" she said, " the while, — 
 O think of your immortal weal! 
 In vain for Constance is your zeal; 
 
 She died at Holy Isle." — 
 Lord Marmion started from the ground. 
 As light as if he felt no wound; 
 Though in the action burst the tide. 
 In torrents, fi'om his wounded side. 
 " Then it was truth!" — he said — *' I knew 
 That the dark presage must be true. — 
 
 I Avould the Fiend, to whom belongs 
 
 The vengeance due to all her wrongs. 
 Would spare me but a day! 
 
 For wasting fire, and dying groan. 
 
 And priests slain on the altar stone, 
 ;Might bribe him for delay. 
 It may not be! — this dizzy trance — 
 Curse on yon base marauder's lance, 
 And doubly cursed my failing brand! 
 A sinful heart makes feeble hand." — 
 
230 MARMION. Canto VI. 
 
 Then, fainting, down on earth he sunk, 
 Supported by the trembling Monk. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 With fruitless labour, Clara bound, 
 
 And strove to stanch, the gushing wound: 
 
 The Monk, with unavailing cares. 
 
 Exhausted all the Church's prayers; — 
 
 Ever, he said, that, close and near, 
 
 A lady's voice was in his ear. 
 
 And that the priest he could not hear, 
 
 For that she ever sung, 
 " In the lost battle, borne dorun by theftjing. 
 Where mingles war's rattle with groans of the 
 dyingr 
 
 So the notes rung. 
 " Avoid thee. Fiend! — with cruel hand. 
 Shake not the dying sinner's sand!— 
 O look, my son, upon yon sign 
 Of the Redeemer's grace divine; 
 
 O think on faith and bliss!— 
 By many a death-bed 1 have been. 
 And many a sinner's parting seen. 
 
 But never aught like this." — 
 The war, that for a space did fail, |^ 
 Now trebly thundei'ing s%velled the gale. 
 
 And — Stanley! was the cry; — 
 A Ught on Marmion's visage spread. 
 
 And fired his glazing eye: 
 With dying liand, above his head 
 He shook the fragment of his blade, 
 
 And. shouted " Victory! — 
 *' Chai'ge, Chester, charge! On, Stanley, on!" — 
 Were the last words of Max'iuioci. 
 
(JanteVT. THE BATTLE. 231 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 By this, though deep the evening fell. 
 Still rose the battle's deadly swell. 
 For still the Soots, around their kinj, 
 Unbroken, fought in desperate ring. 
 "Where *s now their victor vawai'd wing, 
 
 Where Huntley, and where Home:— 
 O for a blast of that dread horn. 
 On Fontarabian echoes borne. 
 
 That to King Charles did come, 
 When Rowland brave, and Olivier, 
 And every paladin and peer. 
 
 On Roncesvalfes died! 
 Such blast might warn them, not in vai«, 
 To (luit the plunder of the slain, 
 And turn the doubtful day again. 
 
 While yet on Flodden side. 
 Afar, the Royal Standard flies. 
 And round it toils and bleeds and dies^ 
 
 Our Caledonian pride! 
 In vain the wish — for far away, 
 While spoil and havoc mark their way, 
 Near Sybil's Cross the plunderers stray. — 
 " O Lady," cried the Monk, *' away!"— 
 
 ^nd placed her on her steed; 
 And led her to the chapel fair. 
 
 Of Tilmouth upon Tweed. 
 There all the night they spent in prayer. 
 And, at the dawn of morning, there 
 She met her kinsman, Lord Fitz-Clare. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 But as they left the dark'ning heath, 
 !More desperate grew the strife of death. 
 
232 MARMION. Canto Vi. 
 
 The English shafts in volleys hailed, 
 In headlong charge their horse assailed; 
 Front, flank, and rear, the squadrons sweep. 
 To break the Scottish circle deep. 
 
 That fought around their king. 
 But yet, though thick the shafts as snow. 
 Though charging knights like whirlwinds go. 
 Though bill-men deal the ghastly blow. 
 
 Unbroken was the ring; 
 The stubborn spear-men still made good 
 Their dark impenetrable Avood, 
 Each stepping ^here his comrade stood. 
 
 The instant that he fell. 
 No thought was there of dastard flight;— 
 Linked in the serried phalanx tight. 
 Groom fought like noble, squire like knight. 
 
 As fearlessly and well. 
 Till utter darkness closed her wing 
 O'er their thin host and wounded king. 
 Then skilful Surrey's sage commands 
 Led back from strife his shattei-'d bands; 
 
 And from tlie chai-ge they drew. 
 As mountain-waves, from wasted lands. 
 
 Sweep back to ocean bine. 
 Then did their loss his foeman know; 
 Their king, their lords, their mightiest low, 
 They melted from the field as snow. 
 When streams are swoln, and south winds blow, 
 
 Dissolves in silent dew. 
 Tweed's echoes heard the ceaseless plash, 
 
 While many a broken band. 
 Disordered, thi'ough her currents dash. 
 
 To gain the Scottish laud; 
 
Canto VI, THE BATTLE. 233 
 
 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 n\ariy 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 shivered was fail- Scotland's speAr, 
 
 And broken was her shield! • 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Day ddwns njjdh 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; 
 Nor to yon Border castle high 
 Look norths* ard with upbraiding eye; 
 
 Nor cherish hope in vain. 
 That, journeying far on foreign strand, 
 The Royal pilgrim to his land 
 
 May yet return again. 
 He saw the M-reck his rashness M-rought, 
 Reckless of life, he desperate fought. 
 
 And fell on Flodden plain: 
 And well in death his trusty brand. 
 Firm clenched within his manly hand. 
 
 Beseemed the monarch slain. 
 But, O! how ch.-^nged since yon blithe night!— 
 Gladly I turn me from the sight. 
 
 Unto my tale again. 
 
234 MARMION. Canto YL 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 Short is my tale: — Fitz-Eustace' care 
 A pierced and mangled body bare 
 To moated Litchfield's lofty pile; 
 And there, beneath the southern aisle, 
 A tomb, with Gothic scidpture fail". 
 Did long Lord Marmion's image bear. 
 (No^v vainly for its site you look; 
 'Twas levelled, when fanatic Brook 
 The fair cathedral stormed and took; 
 But, thanks to heaven, and good Saint Chad, 
 A guerdon meet the spoiler had!) 
 There erst was martial Mai-mion found. 
 His feet upon a couch ant hound, 
 His hands to heaven upraised; 
 And all around, on scutcheon rich, 
 And tablet carved, and fretted niche. 
 
 His ai'ms and feats were blazed. 
 And yet, though all was carved so fair. 
 And priests for Marmion breathed the prayer. 
 The last Lord Marmion lay not there. 
 From Ettricke woods, a peasant swain 
 Followed his lord to Flodden plain, — 
 One of those flowers, whom plaintive lay 
 In Scotland mourns as " wede away:'* 
 Sore wounded, Sybil's Cross he spied. 
 And dragged him to its foot, and died, 
 I Close by the noble Marmioii's side. 
 The spoilers stripped and gashed the slain. 
 And thus their corpse were mistaken; 
 And thus, in the proud Baron's tomb. 
 The lowlv woodsman took the room. 
 
Canto VI. THE BATTLE. 235 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 Less easy task it were, to show 
 Lord Marmion's nameless grave, and low: 
 They dug his grave e'en where he lay. 
 
 But every mark is gone; 
 Time's wasting hand has done away 
 The simple Cross of Sybil Grey, 
 
 And broke her font of stone: 
 But vet from out the little hill 
 Oozes the slender springlet still. 
 
 Oft halts the stranger there, 
 For thence may l)est his curious eye 
 The memorable field descry; 
 And shepherd hoys repair 
 To seek the water-flag and rush. 
 And rest them by the hazel bush. 
 
 And plait their garlands fair; 
 Nor dream they sit upon the grave. 
 That holds the bones of Marmion brave- 
 When thou shalt find the little hill. 
 With thy heart commune, and be still. 
 If ever, in temptation strong, 
 Thou leftist the right path for the wrong; 
 If every devious step, thus trode. 
 Still led thee further from the I'oad; 
 Dread thou to speak presuraX)tuous doom. 
 On noble Marmion's lowly tomb; 
 But say, ** He died a gallant knight. 
 With sword in hand, for England's right." 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 I do not rhyme to that dull elf. 
 Who cannot image t o himself. 
 
236 MARMION. Canto VI. 
 
 That all through FFodden's dismal night, 
 
 Wilton Avas foremost in the fight; 
 
 That, when bi'ave Surrey's steed was slain, 
 
 'Twas Wilton moimted him again; 
 
 'Twas Wilton's brand the deepest hewe3,. 
 
 Amid the spearmen's stubborn wood; 
 
 Unnamed by Hollinshed or Hall, 
 
 He was the living soul of all; 
 
 That, after fight, his faith made plain. 
 
 He won his rank and lands again; 
 
 And charged his old paternal shield 
 
 With bearings won on Flodden field*— 
 
 Nor sing I to that simple maid. 
 
 To whom it must in terms be said. 
 
 That king and kinsmen did agree. 
 
 To bless fair Clara's constancy; 
 
 Who cannot, unless I i elate. 
 
 Paint to her min-i the bridal's state, 
 
 Thitt ¥/olsey's voice the blessing spoke. 
 
 More, Sands, and Denny, passed the joke; 
 
 That bliiff King Hal the curtain drew. 
 
 And Catharine's hand the stocking threw; 
 
 And afterwaitls, foi- many a day. 
 
 That it was held enough to say. 
 
 In blessing to a wedded pair, 
 
 "Love they like Wilton aad like Clanel'' 
 
 L'ENVOY. 
 TO THE READER. 
 
 Why then a final note prolong. 
 Or lengthen out a closing song, 
 Unless to bid the gentles speed, 
 "Wlio long have listened to my rede?* — 
 
 * Used ffeueralljr for tale, or discourse. 
 
Canto VL THE BATTLE. 237 
 
 To Statesman grave, if such may deign 
 
 To read the IMinstrel's idle strain, 
 
 Sound head, clean hand, and piercing wit. 
 
 And iiatriotic heart — as Pitt! 
 
 A garland for the hero's crest. 
 
 And twined hy her he loves the hest; 
 
 To every lovely lady bright, 
 
 Wliat can I wish but faithful knight? 
 
 To every f^thful lover too. 
 
 What can I wish bu% lady true? 
 
 And knowledge to the studious sage; 
 
 And pillow soft to head of age. 
 
 To thee, dear Schoolboy, whom my lay 
 
 Has cheated of thy hour of play, 
 
 Light task, and merry holiday! 
 
 To all, to each, a fair good night. 
 
 And pleasing dreams, and slumbers light! 
 
 esr> OV MAItMXO^. 
 
NOTES. 
 
NOTES TO CANTO FIRST. 
 
 Xote I. 
 
 As Tviien tlic Cliampion of the Lake 
 
 Etitrrs Morgana'sfftted house. 
 
 Or in the Chnpcl Perilous, 
 
 Despising spells and demons^ force, 
 
 Holds converse -with the U7iburicd corse. P. 21. 
 The Romance of the Morte Aithiii- contains a sort 6f 
 abridgment of the most celebrated adventrres of the Round 
 Table; and, being written in comparatively modern lan- 
 guage, gives the general reader an excellent idea of what 
 romances of chivaliy actually were. It lias also the merit of 
 being writen in pure old English; and many of the wild 
 'adventures which it contains, are told with a simplicity 
 bordering upon the sublime. Several of these are refeiTed 
 to in the text; and I would have illustrated them by more 
 full extracts, but as this curious w ork is alK)ut to be repub- 
 lished, I confine myself to the tale of the Chapel Perilous, 
 and of die quest of Sir Launcelot after the Sangi-eall. 
 
 "Rigljt so Sir Launcelot departed; and when lie came to 
 the Chapell Perilous, he alighted downe, and tied his horse 
 to a little gate. And as soon as he was within the cliurch- 
 jard, bee saw, on the front of the chapell, many faire rich 
 shields turned upside downe, and many of the shields Sir 
 Launcelot had scene knights have before; with that hee saw 
 stand by him thirtie great knights, more, by a yard, than any 
 man that ever hee had scene, and all those grinned and gnashed 
 nt Sir Launcelot; and w hen hee saw their countenance, hee 
 dread tht-ra soi-e, and so put his shield afore him, and tooke 
 his swortl in his hand, ready to doe battaile; and tliey were 
 all armed in black harneis, re.ady, with their shields and 
 sw ortls drawen. And when Sir Launcelot w ould Lave gone 
 through them, they scatteretl on every side of him, and gave 
 him the way, and therewith hee waxed all bold, and entered 
 
 J. 
 
242 NOTES TO CANTO FIRST. 
 
 into the cliapell, and then hee saw no light but a dirame 
 fampe burning', and then was he waie of a corps covered 
 with a cloath of silkt ; tlien Sir Launcelot stooped downe, 
 find cut a peece of tluit cloath away, and then it fared under 
 him as the earth had quaked a little, whereof he was afeard, 
 mid then hee saw a faire swoi-d Ije by tlie dead knight, and 
 that he gat in his hand, and hied him out of the chappell. 
 As soon as he was in the chappell-yerd, all the knights spoke 
 to liiin with a grimly voice, and said, ' Knight Sir Launcelot, 
 by that swoitl from thee, or else thou shalt die.' ' Whether 
 I live or die,' said Sir Launcelot, ' with no great words get 
 5 ee it ag;iine, therefore fight for it and yee list.' Therewith 
 lie passed through them: a»d, beyond the cliappell-j ard, 
 ti'.ei-e meet him a faire damosell, and said, 'Sir Launcelot, 
 foave that swoM behind thee, or thou wilt die for it.' ' I will 
 not leave it,' said Sir Launcelot, ' for no tlireats.' ' No;' said 
 she, 'and ye did leave that sword, Queene Guenever should 
 \e never see.' ' Then were I a foole and I ^^ ould leave thij 
 bsvoi-d,' siiid Sir Launcelot. ' Now, gentle knight,' said the 
 damosell, ' I requii'e thee to kisse mee once.' ' Nay,' said Sir 
 I>auiictlot, 'that, God forbidi' ' Well, sir.' said she, ' and thou 
 J-addest kissed me, thy life dayes had been done; but now, 
 i:las!' said she, ' I have lost all my labour; for I ordeined this 
 tl}a]>peli for thy sake, and for Sir Gawaine: and once I had 
 Sir Gawaine within it; and at that time he fought with that 
 knigiit which there iieth dead in yonder chappell, Sir. Gil- 
 bert llie bastard, and at that time liee smote olF Sir Gillx'rt 
 the basurd's left hand. And so. Sir Launcelot, now 1 tell 
 •;hee, that I have loved thee this seaven yeare;but there may 
 no woman have thy love bxit Queene Guenever; but sitheu 
 1 n-.ay not rejojce thee to have thy body alive, I had kept 
 no more joy in this world but to have had thy dead body, 
 Sind 1 wouid liave balmed it and served, and so have kept it 
 my life duies, and daily I should have clipped thee, and kiss- 
 ed thee in t}»e despite of C^ueene Guenever.' 'Yee say well;' 
 said Sir Lamicelot, ' Jesus preserve me from your subtill 
 < rafts!' Ar.d therewith he took his horse, and departed from 
 her." 
 
NOTES TO CANTO FIRST. 
 
 24S 
 
 Note II. 
 A sinful man, and utKonfessed, 
 He took (he SangiraPs holy quest, 
 Ami, slumbering, forv the vision high, 
 He might not vieiv with ivaking eye.— P. 21. 
 One day, when Artliur was holding a high feast witli his 
 Knights of the Round Table, the Sangreal), or vessel out of 
 which the last passover was eaten, a precious relick, which 
 had long lemained concealed fi-om human eyes, because of 
 the sins of the laud, suddenly appeared to liim and ail his 
 ehivaliy. 'Ihe consequence of this vision was, that all tljc 
 kiiights took on them a solemn vow to seek tlu- Sangivall. 
 But, alasl it could only be ix'veuled to a kniglit at once accom- 
 plished in tartlily chivalry, and pure and guiltless of evil 
 conversation. All Sir Lauucciot's noble accomplishments 
 were therefore rendered vain by liis guilty intrigue with 
 Queen Gucnever, or Ganore; and in tliis holy quest he 
 encountered only such disgraceful disasters as tliat which 
 follows: 
 
 " But Sir I>auncelot i-ode overthwart and endlong in a 
 ■wild forest, and held no path, but as wild advenlui-e led 
 hini; and at the last, he came unto a stone crosse, which de- 
 parted two wayes in wast land, and, by the crosse, w as a ston 
 that was of marbk; but it w as so darke, tliat Sir Launcelot 
 might not well know what it was. Then Sir Launcelot 
 looked by him, and saw an old cliappell, and there he w<nd 
 to have found people. And so Sir Launcelot lied his horse 
 to a tree, and there hee put off his shield, and hui.g it upon 
 ft tree, and then hee went unto tlie chaj)pell doore, and 
 foinid it wasted and broken. And witliin he found a faire 
 alter full lichly arrayed with cloth of silk, and there stood 
 a faire candelstick, which beare six grc at candels, and the 
 candiesticke was of silver. And when Sir Launcelot saw this 
 light, hee had a great will for to enter into the chappell, 
 but liee could find no place where hee might entti'. Then 
 •was he i)assing hea^^e and dismaied. Then hee returned, 
 and came again to his horse, aj>d tooke off his saddle and his 
 bridle, and let him pasture, and tnilaced his helme, and un- 
 girded his swoixl, and laide him downe to sleepe upon his 
 shield before the crosse. 
 
 " And so hee fell on sleepe, and Lalfe waking and halfe 
 sleeping, bee sew come by him two i>alfi-yes, both faire and 
 
244 XOTES TO CANTO FIRST. 
 
 white, the which beare a littei-, therein Ijnng a sicke knight- 
 And wlien he was nigh the crosse, lie there abode still. AH 
 this Sir Launcelot saw and beheld, for hee slept not verily, 
 and hee heard him say, ' Oh sweete Lord, when shall this 
 son-ow leave me, and wlien shall the holy vessel come by 
 me, where through I shall be blessed, for I have endured 
 thus long, for little trespasse.' And thus a great while com- 
 plained the kjiight, and aliwaies Sir Launcelot heard it. 
 With that Sir I.auncelot saw the candlesticke, with the fire 
 tai)ers come Ijefore the erossc; but he could see no body that 
 brought it. Also there came a table of silver, and the holy 
 vessell of the Sancgreall, the which Sir Launcelot had scene 
 befoi-e that time in King Petchour's house. And therewithal! 
 the sieke knight set him upright, and held up both his 
 hands, and said, 'Faire sweete Loi-d, which is here within the 
 holy vessell, take heede to mee, that I may bee hole of this 
 great malady.' And lierewith upon his hands, and upon his 
 knees, he went so nigh, that he touched the holy vessell, and 
 kissed it: And anon lie was hole, and then he said, 'Lord 
 God, I thank thee, for I am healed of this malady.' Soo 
 when the holy vessell had been there a great while, it went 
 imto the chappell againe with the candlesticke and the 
 light, so that Sir Launcelot wist not where it became, for 
 he was overtaken with sinne, that hee had no power to 
 arise against the holy vessell, wherefore afterward many 
 men said of him shame. But he tooke repentance after- 
 ^vai-d. Tlien the sicke kniglit dressed him ujiright, and kiss- 
 ed the crosse. Then anon his squire brought lum his armes, 
 and asked his lord how he did. 'Certainely,' said hee, I thaoke 
 God, right heartily, for thi-ough the holy vessell I am healed: 
 But I iiave right great mervaile of this sleeping knight, 
 which hatli had neither grace nor power to aw ake during tlie 
 time that tliis holy vessell hath beene here present.' 'I dare it 
 right well say,' said tlie squire, ' that tliis same knight is de- 
 fouled with some maimer of deadly siime, whcoof he was 
 never confessed.' ' By my fiiith," said the knight, ' whatspe--'»'r 
 he be, he is unhappie; for, as I deeme hee i> of the fellow- 
 ship of the Round Table, the which is .entered into the 
 quest of the Sancgreall.' ' Sir,' said tlie squii-e, ' here I have 
 brought you ally our armcs, save ydur h.elme and your 
 sv, oi-d; and Uierefore. by inine assent, now may ye take this 
 
NOTES TO CANTO FIRST. 245 
 
 knight's hclme and his swoi-d,' and so he did. And wlien he 
 was cleane armed, he tooke Sir Lainicelot's horse, for he 
 was better than his owne, and so they departed from the 
 crosse. 
 
 "Then anon Sir Launcelot awaked, and set himselfe up 
 right, and hee thouglu him w liat hee had Uiere scene, and 
 whether it were dreiuiics or not. right so he heard a voice 
 that said, ' Sir Launcelot, more hardy then is the stone, and 
 more bitter then is tlie wood, and more naked and bare then 
 is the liefe of the fig-tree, therefore go thou from hence, 
 and withdraw thee from this holy place;' and when Sir 
 Launcelot heard this, hee was jKissing heavy, and wit not 
 what to doe. And so he departed sore weeping, and cursed 
 the time that he was borne; for then hee deemed never to 
 have had more worship; for the words went luito his heart, 
 oil that he knew wherefore that hee was so called." 
 
 Note IIL 
 
 Atid Dryden, in immortal strain. 
 
 Had raised t/ie Table Round again. 
 
 But that a ribald king and court 
 
 Bade him toil on, to make them sport; 
 
 Demanded for titeir niggard pay. 
 
 Fit for their sotds, a looser lay, 
 
 Licentious satire, song, and play. — P. 21. 
 Dryden's melancholy account of his projected Epic Poein, 
 blasted by the selfish aJid soitlid jiai-siniony of his patrons, is 
 contained in an "Essay on Satire," addressed to ih'^ Earl of 
 Dorset, and prefixed to tlie Translation of Juven:il. After 
 mentioning a plan of suppljing inacliinery from the guar- 
 dian angels of kingdoms, mentioned in the book of Daniel, 
 he adds: 
 
 "Thus, my lord, I have, as briefly as I could, given your 
 lordship, and by you the world, a rude di-aught of what I 
 have been long labouring in my imagination, and what I 
 had intended to have put in practice; (though far unable tor 
 the attempt of such a poem.) and to have left tlie stage, to 
 which my genius never much inclined nie, for a work v\ hich 
 would have taken up my life in the performance of it. This 
 too I had intended chiefly for the honour of my nativtj 
 epantry, to wliich a puct is partiuularl/ oblii^ed. Of two 
 
246 NOTES TO CANTO FIRST. 
 
 subjects, both relating to it, I was doubtful whether I shoukl 
 chuse that of Kiii^ Ailliui- conquering the Saxons, which, 
 being further distant in time, gives tlie greater scope to my 
 invention; or that of Edward tiie Black Prince, in subduing 
 Spain, and restoring it to the lawful prince, though a great 
 lyraiu, Don Pedro the Cruel: which, for the compass of 
 time, including only the expedition of one year, for the 
 greatness of the action, and its answerable event, for the 
 magnanimity of the English hero, opposed to the ingratitude 
 of the person whom he restored, and for the many beautiful 
 episodes which I had interwoven with tlie principal design, 
 together wiili tlie characters of the chiefest English persons, 
 (wherein, after Virgil and Spencer, I would have taken 
 occasion to represent my living friends and patrons of the 
 noblest families, and also shadowed the events of future ages 
 in the succession of our impirial line,)— with these helps, 
 and tliose of the machines \\ hich I have mentioned, I might 
 perhaps have done as well as some of my pi-edecessors, or 
 at least chalked out a way for others to amend my errors in 
 a like design; but Ijeing encouraged only with fair woi-ds by 
 King Ciunles II., my little s;ilary ill paid, and no prospect 
 of a future subsistence, I was then discouraged in the begin- 
 ning of mj attempt; and now age has overtaken me, and 
 want, a more insufferable evil, through the change of tlie 
 times, has wholly disabled me." 
 
 Note IV. 
 Of Ascapart, and Bevis bold.— P. 22. 
 The "The Historj- of Bevis of Hampton" is abridged by 
 my friend Mr. George Ellis, \\ ith tliat liveliness which ex- 
 tmcts amusement even out of the most rude and unpi-omis- 
 Ingofour old tales of chivalry. Ascapart, a most important 
 personage in the romance, is thus described in an extracr 
 
 This geaunt was mighty and strong, 
 
 And full thirty foot was long. 
 
 He %\as brisled like a sow; 
 
 A loot he had between each brow; 
 
 His lii)s were great, and hung aside; 
 
 His eyen were hollow; his mouth was vide; 
 
 Lothlv he was to look on than, 
 
NOTES TO CANTO FlRSl. 247 
 
 And liker a devil tlian a nxxn. 
 
 His staff was a young oak, 
 
 Hai-d and heavy was his stroke. 
 
 Sjtecimens of Metrical liomances. Vol. II. p. 135- 
 
 I am happy to say, that the memorj- of Sii* Bevis is still 
 fragrant in his town of Southampton; the gate of which is 
 centmeled by the effigies of that doughty knight-en-ant. and 
 his gigantic associate. 
 
 Note V. 
 Day set on Norha?n''s castled steep. 
 And T^veed^s fair river, broad and deep.—V. 25. 
 
 The ruinous castle of Norham, (anciently called IJbban- 
 ford,) is situated on the southern bank of the Tweed, about 
 six miles above Berwick, and where that river is still the 
 boundary between England and Scotland. The extent of its 
 ruins, as well as its historical impoitance, shov, it to have 
 been a place of niagnificencc, as well as sU-ength. Edward 
 I. resided there when he was created umpire of the dispute 
 concerning the Scottish succession. It was repeatedly taken 
 and retaken during the wars between Enghind and Scot- 
 land; and, indeed, scarce any happeneil, in which it had not 
 a principal share. Norham Castle is situated on a steep 
 bank, which overhangs the river. 1 he repeated sieges which 
 the castle had sustained, rendered frequent repairs neces- 
 sary. In 1164 it was almost rebuilded by Hugh Pudsey, 
 bishop of Durham, who added a huge keep or donjon; not- 
 Writhstanding which, King Henrj* II., in 1174, took the castle 
 from the bishop, and committed the keeping of it to William 
 de Neville. After this period it seems to have been chiefly 
 garrisoned by the king, and considered as a roj-al fortress. 
 The Grays of Cliillingliame Castle were frequently the cas- 
 tellans, or captain of the garrison: Yet, as the castle was 
 situated in the patrimony of St. Cutlibert, the property was 
 in the see of Durhain till the reformation. 
 
 According to Mr. Pinkerton, there is, in the British 
 Museum, Cal. B. 6. 216. a curious memoir of the Dacres 
 on the' state of Norham Castle in 1522, not long after tlie 
 battle of Flodden. The iiuier ward or keep is represented 
 as impregnable. " The provisions are tliree great vats of 
 salt eels, forty-four kine, three hogsheads of salted salmon, 
 
248 2*0TES TO CANTO FIRSl . 
 
 forty quavtes of grain, besides many co'ivs, and four hundrea 
 sbeep lying under tbe castle wall nightly; but a nmnber of 
 tbe aiTows wanted feathers, and a good I'ktcher {i. c. maker 
 of aiTOWs) was required."— //irforj/ of Scvtlmid, Vol. II. p. 
 201, Note. 
 
 The ruins of tlie castle arc at present considerable, as 
 well as picturesque. Tlx y consist of a large shattered tow- 
 er, with manj' vaults, and fiitgrncnts of other editices,iacl6<!- 
 . d ^v itliin an outward wall of great circuit. 
 
 Note VI. 
 The donjon keep.~V. 25. 
 It is perhaps unnecessary to remind my readers, tliat the 
 donjon, in its proper signitication, means the strongest part 
 ofa feiulal castle; a liigh square tower, with walls of trenien- 
 lious thickness, situated in tlie center of the other buildings, 
 from which, however, it was usually detached. Hire, in 
 case of llie outw.ii"d defer.ces beiiig gaiued, tlie garrison 
 retreated to make their last stand. The donjon contained 
 the great hall, and principal rooms of state for solemn occa- 
 sions, and also the prison of tlie fortress; from which last 
 circumstance we derive the modern and restricted use of 
 the word dungeon. Duncange (voce Diinjo) conjectures, 
 plausibly, tliat the name is derived from these keeps being 
 usually built upon a hill, ^^hich in Celtic is called Dun. 
 Korlase supposes tlie mokI came from the darkness of the 
 apartments in these towers, which were tlience figui-atively 
 called Dungeons; thus deriving the ancient woixl from the 
 iHodern applicution of it. 
 
 Note VII. 
 Tfell ivas he armed from head to Led, 
 In maii, and plate, of Milan ^teel.—V. 28. 
 l"he artists of Milan wei-e famous in the middle ages for 
 their skill in armoury, as appears from the following pas- 
 sage, in which Froissiiit gives an account of the preparations 
 made by Henry, Earl of Hereford, afterwards Henry IV., 
 and Thomas, Duke of Norfolk, Earl Marisclwl, for their pro- 
 IKjsed combat in the lists at Coventry: " These two loi-ds 
 made amj>le pro\-ision of all things necessary for the combat; 
 aitd the Earl of Derby sent off mt^ssengers to Lorabardy, to 
 
NOTES TO CANTO FIRST. 249 
 
 liave armour fiom Sir Galeas, Duke of Milan. The duke 
 eoni plied witJi joa-, and gave the knight, called Sir Francis, 
 who had brought the message, the choice of all his armour 
 for the Ej^rl of Derby. When he had selected what he wished 
 for in plated and mail armour, the lord of IVIilan, out of his 
 abundant love for the Earl, oitlered four of the best armour- 
 ers in Milan to accompany the knight to England, that the 
 Earl of Derby might be more completely armed."— /o/*fiei' 
 Froissart, Vol. IV. p. 597. 
 
 Note VIII. 
 
 The golden legend horc ariglvt. 
 
 Who checks at me, to deatli is dight.— P. 28. 
 The ci-est and motto of Marinion are borrowed from the 
 following story. Sir Da>id de Lindsay, first Earl of Craufoixl, 
 was, accoi-ding to ray authority Bower, not only excelling 
 in wisdom, but also of a lively wit. Cliancing to be at the 
 court of Londoi», about 1390, he there saw Sir Piers Courtc- 
 nay, an P2nglish knight, famous for skill in tilting, and for 
 the b-.auty of his person, parading the palace, arrayed in a 
 new mantle, bearing for de\TiCc an embroidered falcon, with 
 this rhyme,— 
 
 I bear a falcon, fairest of flight. 
 Who so pinches at her, his death is dight* 
 In gi-aith.t 
 
 The Scottish knight, being a wag, appeared next day ift 
 a dress exactly similar to that of Courtenay. but bearing a 
 magpie instead of the falcon, with a iiiotto ingeniously con- 
 trived to rhyme to the vaunting inscription of Sir Piers: 
 
 I hear a jiie picking at a piece. 
 Who so picks at her, 1 sliall pick at his nesej: 
 In faitli. 
 
 This affront could only be expiated by a just with sharp 
 lances. In the course, Lindsay left his helmet unlaced, so 
 that it giivc way at tlie touch of his antagonist's lance, and 
 
 * Prepared. t Armour. J Nose. 
 
 L3 
 
2 50 NOTES TO CANTO FIRST. 
 
 he thus avoided the shock of Uie encounter. This hai)pened 
 twice;— in the third encounter, the handsome Courtenay lost 
 two of his front teeth. As the Englishman complained bit- 
 terly of Lindsay's fraud in not fastening his helmet, the 
 Scottishman agreed to run six courses more, each champion 
 staking in the. hand of the king two hundred i>oimds, to be 
 forfeited, if on entering the lists, any iniequal advantage 
 should be detected. This being agreed to, tlie wily Scot 
 demanded, that Sir Piers, in addition to the loss of his teeth, 
 shoidd consent to the extinction of one of his eyes, he him- 
 self having lost an eye in the fight of Otlerburn. As Courte- 
 nay deji:urred to this equalization of optical powei-s, Lind- 
 saj- demanded the forfeit; which, after much altercation the 
 king appointed to be paid to him, saving, he surpassed the 
 English botli in wit and va!oiu\ This must appear to 
 the reader a singular specimen of the humour of that time. 
 I suspect the Jocky Club would have given a different 
 decision from Henry IV. 
 
 Note IX. 
 Largesse, largesse. — P. 31. 
 This was the cry witli which heralds and pursuivants were 
 wont to acknowledge the bounty received from tlu- knigJits. 
 Steward of Lorn distinguishes a liallad, in which he satarizes 
 the narrowness of James V., and his courtiers, by the ironical 
 burden— 
 
 Lerges, lerges. Icrgcs, hny, 
 Lerges of this rwrv year day. 
 First Itrges of the king, my chief, 
 Who came as quiet as a thief. 
 And in my hand slid— shillings twae!* 
 To put his largeness to tlie prief,t 
 For lerges of this new j'ear day. 
 
 'J"he heralds, like the minstrels, were a race allowed to 
 have great clailns upon the liberality of the knights, of 
 whose feats they kept a record, and proclaimed them aloud, 
 as in the text, upon suitable occasions. 
 
 At Berwick, Norhani, and other Border fortresses of im- 
 portance, pursuivants usually resided, whose inviolable cha- 
 racter rendered them the only persons that could, with jier- 
 
 * Two. •'- Proof. 
 
NOTES TO CANTO FIRST. 251 
 
 lect assurance of safety, be sent on necessan- embassies into 
 Scotland, This is alluded to in Stanza XXII. p. 38. 
 
 Note X. 
 
 Tliey hailed Lord Marmion: 
 Tliey hailed him Lord of Fontenayc, 
 Of Lutlerivard, and Scrivelbaye, 
 
 OfTaimvorth toxver and tortvn.—P. 30. 
 Lord Marmion, the principal character of the present 
 romance, is entirely a fictitious personage. In earlier times, 
 indeed, the family of Marmion, Lords of Fontenay, in Nor- 
 mandy, was highly distinguished. Robert de Marmion, Lord 
 of Fontenay, a distinguished follower of the Conqueror, ob- 
 tained a grant of the castle and to\Mi of Tamworth, and also 
 of the manor of Scrivelby, in Lincolnshire. One, or both, of 
 these noble possessions was held by the honourable service 
 of being the royal champion, as the ancestors of Marmion 
 had formerly been to the Dukes of Normandy. But after the 
 castle and demesne of Tamwoitli had passed thvougli four 
 successive barons from Robert, the family became extinct in 
 the person of Philip de Marmion, who died in 20th E<lwanl 
 I., witliout issue male. He was succeeded in his Castle of 
 I'amwcrth by Alexander de Frevile, who married Mazera , 
 his grand-daughter. Baldwin de Frevile, Alexander's de- 
 scendant, in the reign of Richard I., by the supposed tenure 
 of Ms castle of Tamwoitli, claimed the office of royal cham- 
 pion, and to do the sendee appertaining; namely, on the 
 day of coronation, to ride completely armed, upon a barbed 
 horse, into Westminster Hall, and there to challenge the 
 combat against any who would gainsay the king's title. But 
 this office was adjudged to Sir John Dymoke, to whom the 
 manor of Scrivelby had descended by another of the coheir- 
 esses of Robert de Mai-mion; and yf, remains in that family, 
 whose ivpresentative is hereditary champion of England at 
 the present day. The family and possessions of Frevile ha>e 
 merged in the Earls of Ferrars: I have not, therefore, created 
 a new family, but only renved the titles of an old one in an 
 imaginary personage. 
 
 It was one of tlie Marmion family, who, in the reign of 
 Edward II., performed that chivalrous feat before the very 
 eastle of Norliam, which Bislwp Percy has woven into his 
 
252 NOTES TO CANTO FIRST. 
 
 beautiful ballad, " The Hermit of Waikworlh." The stoi*; 
 is thus told by Lcla)id: 
 
 " The Scottes cuine yn to the marches of Englanil, and 
 destiojed tlie Castics of Werk and Herbotel, and overran 
 much of Nortliumberland marches. 
 
 *' At this tyme Thomas Gray and his friendes defended 
 Norham from the Scottes. 
 
 " It w re a v. onderful processe to declare, what mischefes 
 cam by hungre and asseges by the space of xi yeres in 
 Northumljeriand; for the Scottes btcame so proude after 
 they had got Berwick, that they nothing esteemed the 
 Englishmen. 
 
 " About this tyme there was a gi*eate feste made jti Lin- 
 colnshir, to which came many gentilmen and ladies; and 
 amonge them one lady brought a heaulme for a man of 
 were, \vith a very riche creste of gold, to William Marinion, 
 knight, with a letter of commaJidt- ment of her lady, that he 
 should go into the daungei-est place in England, and ther 
 to let the heaulme be seene and known as famous. So he 
 went to Norliam; wither withyn 4 days of cummiug cam 
 Philip Moubray, guardian of Berwicke, having yn liis bande 
 40 men of armes, the very flour of men of the Scottish 
 marches. 
 
 " Thomas Gray, capitayne of N orham, seynge this, brought 
 his garison afore the barriers of the castel, behynd whom 
 cam ■William, richly arrayetl, as al glittering in gold, and 
 weriiig the heaulme, his lady's present. 
 
 " Then said Thomas Gray to Marmion, ' Sir knight, ye be 
 cum hitlier to fame your helmet; mount up on yor horse, 
 and ryde lyke a valient man to yoMr foes even here at 
 hand, and I forsake God if I rescue not thy body deade 
 or alyve, or I myself wyl dye for it. 
 
 " Whei-eupon he toke his cursere, and rode among the 
 throng of ennemyes; the which laved sore stripes on h5-ra, 
 and pullid hym at the last out of his sadcl to the groujide. 
 
 " Then Thomas Gray, with al the hole garrison, lette prik 
 yn among the Scottes. and so wondid them and their horses, 
 that tliey were overthrowan; and Marmion, sore beten, was 
 horsid agayn, and, with Gray, i)ersewed the Scottes j-n chase. 
 Thei-e were taken fifty horse of price; and the women of 
 Norhara brought them to the foote men to follow the cliase." 
 
NOTES TO CAXTO FIRST. 253 
 
 Note XI. 
 Sir Hugh the Heron hold. 
 Baron ofTwisell, and of Ford, 
 And Ca-'tain of the Hold.— P. 32. 
 "Were accur.ic\ of anj- consequence in a fictitions narra- 
 tive, this castellan's name ought to have been Williain: For 
 William Heron of Ford was husband to tht^ fanions Lady 
 Ford, whose syren channs ai-e sjiid to hav< cost our Tames 
 IV. so dear. Moreover, the said A\'illiani Heron wan, at tlie 
 lime supposed, a prisoner in Scotland, being surrendered by 
 Henry VHI,, on account of bis share in tlie slaughter of Sir 
 Robert Ker of Cessford. His wife, represented in the text 
 as residing at the court of Scotland, was, in fact, living in her 
 OMTi castle at Ford. See Sir Richard Heron's cnrious Genealogy 
 of the Heron Family. 
 
 Note XII. 
 The ivhiles a Northern harper rude 
 Chaunted a rhyme of deadly fend, 
 « How the fierce Thirwalls, and Ridleys all, fee." 
 Pag. 32, 
 This old Northumbrian ballad was taken down from the 
 recitation of a woman eighty years of age, mother of one of 
 the miners in Alston-moor, by the agent for the lead mines 
 there, who communicated it to my friend and coiTesjrondent, 
 R. Surtees, Esquire of Mainsforth. She had not, she said, 
 heard it for many years; but when she was a girl, it us(j,d to 
 be sung at mcny-makings, " till the roof rung again." To 
 preserve this curious, though rude rhyme, it is here inserted. 
 The ludicrous turn given to the slaughter, marks that wild 
 and disorderly state of societj-, in wliich a murder was not 
 merely a casual circumstance, but in some cases, an excis- 
 ing!) goo<l jest. The structure of the ballad resembles the 
 "Fray of Suirort,*'* ha\-ing the same irregular stanza and 
 wild chorus. 
 
 I. 
 Hoot awa', lads, hoot awa,' 
 Ha' ye heai-d how the Ridleys, and Thinvalls, and a', 
 
 See Minstrehy oftlie Scmiih Border, Vol. I. p. 25«. 
 
254 NOTES TO CANTO FIHST. 
 
 Ha' set upon Albanj-t Ftatherstonhaugh, 
 And taken liis life at the Deadmausliaugli: 
 
 There was "Willinioteswick, 
 
 And Hardi-idjng^ Dick, 
 And Hughie of IIa^^'den, and Will of the Wa". 
 I canno' tell a', I cainio' tell a', 
 And mony a mair that the de'il niaj- knaAv. 
 
 II. 
 
 The auld man went down, but Nicol, his son, 
 Ran away afore tiie fight was begun; 
 
 And he run, and he run, 
 
 And afore they were done, 
 There was many a P'eathcrston gat sic a stun. 
 As never was seen since Uie world begun. 
 
 III. 
 I canna' tell a', I canna' tell a'; 
 Some gat a skelp,t and some gat a claw; 
 But they gard tlie Featht- ritons baud their jaw,— t 
 
 Nicol, anil Alick, and a'. 
 Some gat a hurt, and some gat nane. 
 Some had liarness, and some gat sti'en.* 
 
 IV. 
 
 Ane gat a twist o' the craig;t 
 Ane gat a bunclij o' the wame;$ 
 
 Symy Haw gat lamed of a leg, 
 
 And syne ran wallo\\iug* hame. 
 
 V. 
 
 Hoot, hoot, the auld man's slain outright! 
 
 Lay liim now >n' his face down: he's a sorrowful sight. 
 
 t Pronounced Jxvbony. 
 
 X Skelp signifies slap, or rather is the same word which 
 w;is originally spelled schlap. 
 
 § Huld their Ja.7v, a vulgar expression still in use. 
 
 • Got stolen, or were plundered; a very likely termination 
 of the fi-ay. 
 
 tNe©k. tPBJick. j Bally, *J*ellowing. 
 
NOTES TO CANTO FIRST. 2^5 5 
 
 Janet, thou donot,t 
 I'll lav my best bonnet, 
 Thou gets a new gude-man afore it be night. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Hog a\vaj-, lads, hoo away, 
 
 Wi's a' be haugid if we stay. 
 Tak' up the dead man, and lay liim anent the bigg^ng; 
 
 Here's the Baiky o' Haltwhistle,t 
 
 Wi' his great bull's pizzle. 
 That sup'd up tlie broo', and sjTie in the piggin.§ 
 
 In explanation of tins ancient ditty, Mr. Surtees has fur- 
 nished mc with the folloMing local memorandum: Willimotes- 
 wick, now more commonly called Ridley Hall, is situated at 
 the confluence of the Allon and Tjnie, and was the chief 
 seat of the ancient family of Ridley. Hai-driding Dick is not 
 an epithet referring to horsemanship, but means Richard 
 Ridley of Hai-dridiug, the seat of another family of that 
 name, which, in tlie time of Charles I., was sold on account 
 of expenses incured by the loyalty of the proprietor, the 
 immediate ancestor of Sir Matliew Ridley. Will o' the Wa' 
 seems to he William Ridley of Walltown, so called from its 
 situation on the great Roman wall. Thirlwall Castle, whence 
 the clan of 'I'hirl walls derived tlieir name, is situated on the 
 small river of Tippell, near ilie western boundarj- of Xortii- 
 umberland. It is near the wall, and takes its name from tlie 
 i-ampart having been thirled, i. e. pierced, oi* breached, in its 
 vicinity. Featherston Castle lies south of the Tyne, towaixls 
 Alston-moor. Albany Featherstonhaugh, tlie chief of that 
 ancient family, made a figure in the reign of Edward VI. 
 A feud did certaijily exist between tlie Ridleys and Feather- 
 
 t SiUy slut. The Border Banl calls her so, because she 
 was weeping for her slain husband; a loss which he seems 
 to think mig^it be soon repaired. 
 
 t The Bailiff of Haltwhistle seems to have arrived when 
 the fray was over. This supporter of social order is treatetT 
 with characteristic iiTeverence by the moss-trooping poet. 
 
 § An iron-pot with two ears. 
 
256 NOTES TO CANTO FIRST. 
 
 stones, productive of such consequences as the ballad nari- 
 rates. 24 Oct. 22(h Henric't 8vi. Inquiskio capt. apud Haut- 
 •whistle, sup. vidian corpus Alexarulri Fiat her ston, Gen. apud 
 GrefisUhaug/t, feloiiice mteifecti, 22 Oct. per Nicolaum Ridley 
 de Uiitlianke, Gen. Hugon Ridle, Nicolaum Ridle, et alios 
 ejusde'u noininis. Nor were the Featherstones without their 
 revenge; for 36to Hem-ici 8\'i, we haye~U(lagatio Nicolai 
 Fethcrston, ac Thome Nyxson, &c. &c. pro honiicidio JVilhni:. 
 Ridle de Morale. 
 
 Note XIII. 
 
 James backed the cause of that mock prince, 
 
 IVnrbeck, that Flemish counterfeit. 
 
 Who on the gibbet paid the cheat. 
 
 Then dvi I march rvith Sur?ey^s porver, 
 
 What time we razed old Aytoti toiver.—P. 35. 
 The story of Perkin Warbeck, or Richaixl, Duke of York, 
 is well known. In 14Q6, he was received lioiioui-ably in 
 Scotland; and James IV,, after conferring upon him in mar- 
 riar^c his own relation, the Lady Catharine Gordon, made 
 war uii England in behalf of his pretensions. I'o retaliate 
 an invasion of England, Surrey advanced into Berwicksliire 
 at tbf iiead of considerable forces, but retreated after taking 
 thc> inconsiderable fortress of Ajton. Foixl, in his Di-amatic 
 Chronicle of Perkin Warbeck, makes the most of this imx>ad: 
 
 SURUET. 
 Are all our braving enemies shrunk back; 
 Hid i;i the fogges of their distempered elimate> 
 Not daring to behold our colours wave 
 In spight of this infected ayie? Can tliey 
 Looke on the strciigth oi' Cuudrestine defac't^ 
 The glorie of Heydonhall devasted; that 
 Of Edington cast downe; the Pile of Fulden 
 Orethi-owuc; and this, the strongest of their forts, 
 Old Ayton Castle, yeelded, and demolished. 
 And yet not poe^K abroad? Tlie Scots arc bold, 
 Hardie in battayle, but it seemes the cause 
 Th. y undertake considered, appears 
 Unjoynted in the frame on't. 
 
NOTES TO CANTO riRST, o 5 7 
 
 Note XIV. 
 
 i or here be some have pricked oj /5zr, 
 
 On Scottish ground, as to Dunbar; 
 
 Have drunk the monks of St. Bothcn''s ah, 
 
 And diivn the beeves of Lauderdale; 
 
 Harried the reives of GreenUnv's goods, 
 
 And given them light to set their hoods.— F. 35. 
 The garrisons of the English castles of Wark, Norharae, 
 and Berwick, wei-e, as may be easily supposed, very trouble- 
 some neighbours to Scotland. Sir Riciiard Maitland of Led- 
 ington wrote a poem, called " The Blind Baron's Comfort;" 
 when his barony of BIythe, in Lauderdale, was haried by 
 Rowliind l-osttr, the English captain of Wark, with liis 
 corajiany, to the number of 300 men. They spoiled the 
 poetical knight of 5000 sheep, 200 nolt, 30 horses aJid inai-es; 
 the whole furniture of his house of Blyth, worth 100 pounds 
 Scots, (L. 8: 6: 8) and every tiling elsL- that vas portable. 
 " This spoil was committed the 16th day of May, 1570, (and 
 the said Sir Richard was threescore and fourteen years of 
 age, and grown blind,) in time of i)eace; when nane of that 
 country li;>l)ened (expected) such a thing." " The Blind 
 Baron's Comfort,"' consists in a string of puns on the woitl 
 Bltjthe, the name ol the lands thus despoiled. Like Sir John 
 Littlewit, he had " a conceit left him in his misery,— a miser* 
 able conceit." 
 
 The last line of tlie te:;t contains a phrase, by which the 
 boixlerers jocularly intimated the burning a house. When the 
 Maxwells, in 1685, burned the castle of Lochwood, they said 
 tliey did so to gfive the Lady Johnstone " Ught to set her 
 hood:" Nor was the phrase inapplicable; for, in a letter, to 
 which I have mislaid the refeit-nce the Earl of Northum. 
 berland writes to the king and council, that he dressed him- 
 self, at midnlglil,at Warwick, byllie blaze of the neighbour- 
 ihg villages burued by the Scottish marauders. 
 
 Note XV. 
 And of that Grot xv/wre Olives nod, 
 JVherc, darling of each heart and cj/c 
 From all tlie youth of Sicily, 
 Saint Rosalie retired to God.— P. 39. 
 '• SdMte Rosuha was of Palermo, and born of a vciy n«blc 
 
258 NOTES TO CANTO FIRST. 
 
 family, and when veiy young, abliorrcd so much the vanities 
 of this world, and avoided the converse of mankind, resolving 
 to dedicate herself wholly to God Almighty, that she, by 
 divine inspiration, forsook her father's house, and never was 
 more heai-d of, till her body was found in that cleft of a rock, 
 on that almost inaccessible mountain, Avhere now the chap- 
 pel is built: and they affirm, she was carried up there by the 
 hands of angels; for that place was not formerly so accessi- 
 ble (as now it is) in the days of the Saint; and even now it ia 
 a very bad, and steepy, and break-neck way. In tliis fright- 
 ful place, tins holy woman lived a great many years, feeding 
 only on what she found growing on that bairen mountain, 
 and creeping into a narrow and dreadful cleft in a rock, 
 which was alw ays dropping wet, and was her place of retire- 
 ment, as well as prayers; having worn out even tlie rock 
 with her knees, in a ceitain place, which is now open'd on 
 purpose to show it to those who come here. This cliappel 
 is very richly adorn'd; and on the spot where tlie Saint's 
 dead body was disco ver'd, which is just beneath the hole in 
 the rock, which is open'd on purpose, as I said, there is a 
 veiy fine statue of marble, representing her in a lying pos- 
 ture, i-ailetl in all about with fine iron and brass work; and 
 the altar, on which they say mass, is built just over it." 
 Voyage to Sicily and Malta, by Mr. John Dryden, (son to the 
 poet) p. 107. 
 
 Note XVI. 
 Himself still sleeps before his beads 
 Have marked te7i aves, and nvo creeds.— T. 40. 
 Fiiar John understood the soporific vii-tue of his beads and 
 breviary, as well as his namesake in Rabelais. " But Gar- 
 gantua could not sleep by any means, on which side soever 
 he turnetl himself. Whereupon tlie monk said to him, I 
 never sleep soundly but when I am at sermon, or prayers: 
 I<et us therefore begin, you and I, the seven penitential 
 psalms, to tiy whether you shall not quickly fall asleep. 
 The conceit pleased Gargantua verj- well; and, beginning 
 the first of these psalms, as soon as they came to Beati quo- 
 rum^ they fell asleep, both the one and the other." 
 
NOTES TO CANTO FIRST. 9 5 9 
 
 Note XVII. 
 T/ie summouM Fai/tier came in place; 
 
 In his black jnantlc ivas he clad, 
 Hith Pttei-^s kei/s, in duth of red. 
 On his broad slvnil'lers wrought. — P. 40. 
 A Palmer, opposed to a Filgrim, was otie who made it his 
 sole business to visit different holy shrines; travelling inces- 
 santly, and subsisting by charity: wliercas the Pilgrim retired 
 to his iisM^I home and occupations, when he had paid his de- 
 votions at the particular spot, which was the object of" his 
 pilgrimage. The Palmers seem to Iiave been the (^lunt/utiarii 
 of tlie ancient Scottish canons 1242 and 1296. There is, in 
 the Bannalyne MS., a buriesijue account of two such per- 
 sons, entitled, " Simmy and his JJrother." Ihoir accoutre- 
 ments are thus luilicrously described, (I discard the ancient 
 spelling.) 
 
 Syne shaped them up to loup on leas, 
 
 Two tabanls of the tarUm; 
 They counted nought what their clouts wen-. 
 
 When siw'd them on, in ct rtiiin. 
 Syne clampit up St. Peter's keys, 
 
 Made of an old red gariane; • 
 St. James' shells, on t'other side, shews 
 
 As pretty as a partane 
 Toe, 
 
 On SjTnmye and his broUier. 
 
 Note XVIII. 
 To fair St. Andrnv''s bound. 
 WUhin tlw ocean-caie to pray, 
 Wlierc good St. Rule hii holy lay, 
 From midnight to the dcnvn of day. 
 Sung to the billmi's'' sound.— V. 42. 
 St. 'Regiilus, (Scottice,St. Rule) a monk of Patne in Aehaia, 
 warned by a \-ision, is said, A.D. 370, to have sailed westwanl 
 until he landed at St. Andrew's, in Scotlantl, where he found- 
 ed a cliapel and tower. The latter is still standing; and, tho' 
 we may doubt the precise date of its foundation, is certainly 
 tona of the most anciwit ediUces in ScotlaJid. A cave, nenrlr 
 
260 NOTES TO CANTO FIRST. 
 
 fronting the ruinous castle of the Archbishops of St. An- 
 drew's bears the name of this rehgious person. It is difficult 
 of access; and the rock in which it is hewed is washed by 
 the Genuan ocean. It is nearly round, about ten feet in 
 diameter, and the same in hi.lght. On one side is a sort of 
 stone altar; on the other an aperture into an inner den, 
 whei-e the misei-able ascetic, who inliabited this dwelling, 
 probably sl-pt. At full tide, egress and rcgi-ess is hardly 
 practicable. As Regulus fii'st colonized the metropolitan 
 see of Scotland, and converted the inhabitants in the vicinity, 
 he has some reason to complain, that the ancient name of 
 Killrule {Cdla RegnH) should have bet-n superseded, even in 
 favour of the tutelar saint of Scotland. The reason of the 
 change was, that St. Rule is said to have brought to Scot- 
 land the cliques of St. Andrew. 
 
 Note XIX. 
 Thence to Saint FUlaiCf blessed ri-ell, 
 IVhose spring can fn nzied dreams dispel. 
 And the crazed brain restore. — P. 42. 
 St. Fillanwasa Scottish saint of some reputation. Although 
 Popery is, wixh us, matter of abomination, yet the common 
 people still r>^tain some of tlie supei-stitions connected with 
 it. There are ui Pertlishii-e, several wells and springs dedica- 
 ted to St. Fillan, which are still places of pilgrimage and 
 offeiiiigs, even among the Protestants. They aie held power- 
 ful in cases of madness; and, in cases of very late occurrence, 
 lunatics have been left all night lx>und to the holy stone, in 
 confidence that the saint would cure and unloose them Jbe» 
 fore morning. 
 
NOTES TO CANTO SECOND. 
 
 Note I. 
 The scenes are desert noiv, a7ifi bare. 
 Where Jloinished once a forest fair.—F. 47. 
 
 Ettricke Forest, now a range of mountiinous sheep-walks, 
 was anciently reserved for the pleasure of the royal chase. 
 Since it was disparked, the wood has been, by degrees, almost 
 totally destroyed, although, Mherevcr protected from the 
 sheep, copses soon arise without any planting. When the 
 king hunted thei-e, he often summoned the an"ay of the 
 countrj' to meet and assist his sport. Thus, in 1528, James 
 V. " made proclamation to all lords, barons, gentlemen, 
 landward-men, and freeholders, that they should compear at 
 Edinburgh, with a month's victuals, to pass witli the king 
 where he pleased, to danton the thieves of Te^^otdale, Anan- 
 dale, Liddisdale, and other parts of that country-; and also 
 warned all gentlemen that had good dogs, to bring them, 
 that he might hunt in the said countiy, as he pleased: The 
 whilk the Earl of Argyle, the Earl of Hunth", the Earl of 
 Athole, and so all the rest of the ,g<.MUlemeii of the highland, 
 did, and brought their hounds with them in like maimer, 
 to hunt with the king, as he pleased. 
 
 "The second day of June, the king past out of Edinburgh 
 to the hunting, witli many of the nohles and gentlemen of 
 Scotland ^*itli him, to the nui^bcr of twelve thousand men; 
 and then past to Meggitland,and houndtHl and hawked all 
 tlie country and bounds: that is to say, Crammat, Pappert- 
 law, St- >LTiylaws, Carlavirick, Chapel, Ewindoores, and 
 Longhopc. I heaixl say, he slew, in these bounds, eighteen 
 score of harts."* 
 
 These huntings had, of course, a military character, and 
 attendance upon them was a part of the duty of a vassal. 
 The act for aijolishing ward, or militaiy tenures, in Scotland. - 
 
 * Piscottie's Histonj of Scotland folio edition, p. 143. 
 
262 NOTES TO CANTO SECOND. 
 
 enumei-ates the services of hunting, hosting, watchmg, and' 
 warding, as those which were in future to be illegal. 
 
 Taylor, the m ater-poet, has given an account oi the mode 
 in which these huntings were conducted in the highlands 
 of Scotland, in the seveiiteejith centiirj', having been present 
 at Brsemar upon such an occasion: 
 
 " There did I find the tcuely noble and right honourable 
 lords, John Erskine, Earl of Marr; James Stuart, Earl of 
 Mun-ay; George Gordon, Earl of Engye, so!i and heir to 
 the Marquis of Huntlo)-; James Erskine, Earl of Buchan; and 
 John, Lord Erskine, son and heir to the Earl of Marr, and 
 their countesses, with my much honoured, and my last assur- 
 ed and approved fiiend, iiir William Murray, knight of 
 Abercarnc}', and hundred of others, knights, esquires, and 
 their followers; all and every man, in general, in one habit, as 
 if Lycurgus had been there, and iiiade laws of equality: For 
 once in the year, which is the whole month of August, and 
 sometimes part of September, many of the nobility and gen- 
 try of the kingdom (for their pleasure) do come into these 
 highland countries to hunt; where they do conform them- 
 selves to the habit of the highland-men, who, for the most 
 part, speak nothing but Iiish; and, in former time, were 
 those people which were called the Red-shanks. Their habit is, 
 shoes, with but one sole a-piece; stockings, (which they call 
 short hose) made of a warm stuff' of diverse colours, which 
 they call tartan; as for breeches, many of tliem, nor their 
 forefathers, never wore any, but a jerkin of the same stuff that 
 their hose is of; their garters beingbandsor wi-eathsof hay, 
 or straw: with a plaid about their shoulders; which is a man- 
 tle of divers colours, much finer and lighter stuff than their 
 hose; with blue Hat caps on their head; a handkerchief, knit 
 with two knots, about their necks: and thus are they attired. 
 Now their weapons are— long bowes and forked arrows, 
 swords and targets, harquebusses, muskets, durks, and Locha- 
 ber axes. With these arms I found many of them armed for 
 the hunting. As for their attire, any man, of what degree 
 soever, that comes amongst them, must not disdain to wear 
 it; for if he do, then tliey will disdain to himt.or willingly to 
 bring in their dogs; but if men bo kind unto them, and be in 
 their habit, then are they conquered with kindness, and the 
 sport win be plentiful. 'I'his was tlie reason that I found s6 
 
.NOTES TO CANTO SECOND. 263 
 
 muny uoblcmen and gentkraen in those shapes. But to pi-o- 
 Cecd to the hiiiuiiig. 
 
 " My good Lord of Marr haiing put me into tliat shape, I 
 rode M ith liini from his house, where I saw the ruins of an 
 old castle, called the castle of Kindrogliit. It was built by 
 King Malcolm Canniore, (for a hunting house.) w lio reigned 
 in Scotland, when Edward the Confessor, Han)!d, and Noi"^ 
 Tnan William, reigned in England. I speiik of it, because it 
 A\'ns the last house I saw in those parts; for I was the space 
 of twelve days after, before I saw either house, cornfield, or 
 habitation tor any creature, but deer, wild horses, wolves, 
 and such like creatures,— which made me doubt that I should 
 never have seen a house again. 
 
 " Thus, the first day, we travelled eight miles, where there 
 were small cottages, built on purpose to lodge in, which they 
 call Louquhards. I thank my good Loi-d Ersl<ine, he com- 
 nianded that I should always be lodged in liis lodging: the 
 kitchen bting always on the side of a bank; many kettles 
 and pots boiling, ajul many spits turning and « inding. witli 
 groat variety of cheer, — as venison baked; sodden, rost and 
 stewed beef; mutton, goat, kid, hares, fresh salmon, liigcons, 
 Lens, capons, chickens, partridge, muir-coots, healhcocks, 
 waperkellies, aj;d termagants; good ale, sacke, wliite and 
 ilarit, tent, (or allegant) with most potent aquavitaj. 
 
 " All these, and more than these, we had continually in 
 superllous abundance, caught by faulconers, foulei's, fishers, 
 and bi-ought by my lord's tenants and purveyors to victual 
 our camps, wliich consisteth of fourteen or fifteen hundred 
 men and horses. Themannerof the hunting is this: Five or six 
 hundred men do rise early in the morning, and they do dis> 
 perse themselves divers ways, and seven eight or ten miles' 
 eompass they do bring, or cliase in the deer, in many herds, 
 (two, three, or four Inmdi-ed in a herd,) to such or such a 
 place, as the noblemen shall appoint them; then, when clay 
 is come, tJie lonls and gentlemen of their companies do ride 
 or go to the said places, sometimes wading up to the middles, 
 ^hrougli burns and rivers; and then, they being come to the 
 place, do lie dov. n on the ground, till those aforesaid scouts, 
 which are called the Tjnkhell, do bring dov. n llie deer: But as 
 the proverb says of a bad cook, so these tinkhell-men do lick 
 ifteir own fingers; foj-. besides tlnir l>ows and arrows^ whiclv 
 
254 NOTES TO CANTO SECOND. 
 
 they cairy M'ith them, we can hear, now and then, a ha'.q'it 
 bujs or a musket go off, wliich they do seldom discharge iu 
 vain. Then, after we had staid there three hours, or there- 
 abouts, we might perceive the deer appear on tlie hills round 
 about us (their heads making a sliow like a wood) whicli, 
 being followed close by tlie tinkhell, are chastd down into 
 the valley where we lay; tlien all the valley, on each side, 
 being way-laid with a hundred couple of strong Irish gray- 
 hounds, tliey are all let loose, as occasion serves, upon the 
 heiid of deer, that, with dogs, guns, arrows, durks, and dag- 
 gers, in the space of two hours, fourscore fat deer were slain, 
 which after are disposed of, some one w ay, and some another, 
 twenty and thirty miles, and more than enough left for m, 
 to make merry withal, at our rendezvous." 
 
 Note II. 
 
 • Tarrow, 
 
 Where erst tlie nulhnv drevj his arrow.— V. 43. 
 The tale of the Outlaw Murray, who held out Newark 
 Castle and Ettricke Forest against the king, may be found 
 in the " Border Minstrelsy," Vol. I. In the i.Iatfiulane MS., 
 among other causes of James the Fifth's charter to the 
 burgh, is mentioned, lliat the citizens assisted him to suj)- 
 press tins dangerous outlaw. 
 
 Note III. 
 Lone .Jiiint Manfs silent lake.— P. 51. 
 This beautiful sheet of >\ater forms the reservoir from 
 Mhich the Yarrow takes its source. It is coiniect<d with a 
 smaller lake, called the Locli of the I-owes, and surrounded 
 by mountains. In the winter, it is still frequented by flights 
 of wild swans; hence my friend Mr. Wordsworth's lines: 
 
 The swans on sweet St. Mai-y's lake 
 Float double, swan and shadow. 
 
 Near the lower extremity of the lake, are the ruins ol 
 Di-j-hope Tower, the birth-place of Marj- Scott, dpughter oi 
 Philip Scott of Dryhope, and famous by the traditional 
 name of the Flower of Varrow. Slie was married to V/alter 
 Scott of Harden, no less renowned for his depredations, than 
 
NOTES TO CANTO SECOND. 2fr5 
 
 his britle for her beauty. Her romantic appellation was, in 
 latter days, with equal justice, conferred on Miss Mary 
 Liliits Scott, the last of the elder branch of the Harden 
 family. The editor well remembers the talent and spirit of 
 the latter flower of Yarrow, though age had then injured 
 the charms ^\ hich procured her the name. The words usually 
 sung to the air of" Tweedside," beginning, " Wliat ueauties 
 does Flora disclose," were composed in her honour. 
 
 Note IV. 
 For though, in feudal strife, a Joe 
 Hath laid our Laclifs chapel loti'.—T. 52. 
 The chapel of S;unt Mary of the Lowes (fie lacubus) was 
 situated on tlie eastern side of the lake, to which it gives 
 name. It was injured by the clan of Scott, in a ftud with 
 the Cranstouns; but continued to be a place of worsiiip 
 during the seventeenth centurj\ The vestiges of the builJ- 
 ing can now scai'cely be ti'aced; but the burial ground is still 
 used as a comtteiy. A funeral, in a spot so very retired, 
 has an uncommonly striking effect. The vestiges of the 
 chaplain's house are yet visible. Being in a high situation, 
 it commanded a full view of the lake, with the OT)posite 
 mountain of Bourhope, belonging, with the lake itself, to 
 Lord Napier. On the left hand is the tower of Diyhope, 
 mentioned in the preceding note. 
 
 Note V. 
 
 - tJie 7vizcrd''s graroe; 
 
 That Tcizard priesfs, whose bones are thi ust 
 
 From company ofhdy dust.~P, S3. 
 At one corner of the burial groujid of the demolished 
 chapel, but without its preciuets, is a small moiuid, called 
 Binra.n's c:irse, where tradition deposits the remains oi" a 
 necro;iiant!c priest, die former tenant of the cliaplainrj'. 
 His story much resembles that of Ambrosio in tlie " Monk," 
 and has betn made the tlieme of a ballad, by iny friend 
 Mr. James Hogg, more poetically dtsiguat^id the Etfrieke 
 Sheph.n!. To his volume, eiititled llie " Mountain Bard,*' 
 which eoiuaius this, and many other legendary stories and 
 ballads of g^reat merit, I refer the curious reader. 
 
 M 
 
2 56 NOTES TO CANTO SECOND. 
 
 Note VI. 
 Dark Lo(/i-skeiie.—P. 54. 
 
 A mountain lake, of considerable size, at the liead of the 
 Moffat-water. The chai-acter of the scenery is uncommonly 
 savage; and the eani, or Scottish eagle, has, for many ages, 
 built its nest yearly upon an islet in the lake. Loch-skene 
 discharges itself into a brook, which, after a short and pre- 
 cipitate course, falls from a cataract of immense height and 
 gloomy grandeur, called, from its appearance, the "Gray 
 Mare's Tail." The " Giant's Grave," afterwards mentioned, 
 is a sort of trench, which bears that naine^a little way from 
 the foot of the cataract. It has the appearance of a batlerj- 
 designed to command the pass. 
 
 Note VII. 
 Where from high Whitbi/s cloistered p^e. 
 Bound to Saint Cuthherfs Holy Isle.— P: 57. 
 The Abl>ey of Whitby, in the Archdeaconvy\of Cleavc- 
 land, on the coasCof Yorkshire, was founded A.'D. 657, in 
 consequence of a vow of Oswy, King of >:orthuinl)erland. 
 It contiiincd both monks and nuns of the Beneilictine oitler; 
 but, contrary to what was usual in such establishments, the 
 abb. ss was superior to the abbot. The monasUry was after- 
 war<ls iiiined by the Danes, and rebiiildtd l)y William Percy 
 in the reign of the Conqueror. There were no nuns thei-e 
 in Htniy the Eighth's time, nor long before it. The ruins of 
 "Whitby Abbey are very magnificent. 
 
 Lindisforne. an isle on the coast of Northumberland, was 
 callecl Holy Island, from the sanctity of its ancient nionas- 
 terv and from its having been the episcopal seat of the sef 
 of Duvliam during the early ages of British Christianity 
 \ succession of holy men held that office; but their menf 
 were swallowed np in the superior fame of St. Cutlibert 
 who was sixth bis!-.op of Duriiam, and who besto^^ed th. 
 name of his " patrimony" upon the extensi^-e property c 
 the see The ruins of the monastery upon Holy Island be 
 token gi-eat antiquity. The arches are, in general, strictly 
 *!axo!V, and the pillars which support them, sliort, strong, 
 aud massv. In some places, however, there are pointed 
 windows, which In.liclte that the building has been repaiml 
 rtt a period long subsequent tor the originaj foundation. Il»c 
 
NOTES TO CANTO SECOND. 2 6 7 
 
 ejrterior ornaments of the building', bt iiig of a light sandy 
 stone, have been wasted, as dcscriljed in tJie text. Lindis- 
 fame is not properly an island, but rather, as the venerable 
 Bede has ternieil it, a semi-isle; for, altliough surrounded by 
 the sea at full tide, tlie ebb leaves the sands diy between it 
 and the opjiosite coast of Northumberland, from wluch it is 
 about two miles diNtant. 
 
 Note VIII. 
 Then Uliithifs iiinis, exulting, toUL, 
 Hotv to tMr house three Barons bold 
 Mu.it rnrnial servire do. — P. 65. 
 The popular acco«nit of this curious service, which was 
 prol)ably considerably exaggerated, is thus given in " A 
 True Account," printc d and circulatetl at Whitby: " In the 
 fifth year of the reign of Hemy II., after the conquest of 
 En(;land by Williaui. Duke of Normandy, the lord of Uglc- 
 baniby. then called William de Bruce; the lord of Smeaton, 
 called Ralph de Percy; with a gentleman and freeholder 
 called Allatson, did, on the IGth of October 1159, appoint to 
 me<t and hunt the m ild boar, in a certiiin wood, or desert 
 place, belonging to the abbot of Whitby: the place's name 
 was Kskdale-sitle, and the abljot's name was Setlman. Then, 
 these young gentlemen lieing met, with their hounds and 
 boar-staves, in tlie place before mentioned, and there having 
 found a gieat wild boar, the hounds ran liiin well near 
 about the chapel and hermitage of EsktIaK -side, where 
 was a monk of Whitbj ; who was an hermit. 'Ihe boar, be- 
 ing very sorely pui-surd,and dead-run, took in at the chapel 
 door, there laid him down, and presently die<l. The hermit 
 shut the hounds out of the chapel, and kept himself within 
 at his meditations and prayers, the hounds standing at bay 
 wiiliout. The gentl-men, in the thick of the w ood, Uing 
 putljehind their game, followed the crj- of their hounds, and 
 so came to the hermitage, calling on the hermit, who open- 
 eil the door, and came forth; and within they found tlie boar 
 Ijing dead: for which, the gentlemen, in a very great fury, 
 because the hounds were put from their game, did most vio- 
 lently and cruelly run at the hermit with their Ijoar-staves, 
 wheivby he soon after died. Thereuiwn the gentlemen per- 
 ceiving ajKl knowing that they were in i>eril of death, took 
 
268 NOTES TO CANTO SECOND. 
 
 sanctuary at Scarborough; but at tliat lime the abbot Ixing 
 in very great favour with the king, removed them out of the 
 sanctuary; whereby they came in danger of the law, and not 
 to be privileged, but likely to lia\e the severity of the law, 
 which was death for death. But the hermit Ix-ing a holy 
 and devout man, and at the point of death, sent for the ab- 
 bot, and desired him to send for the gentlemen Mho had 
 woujided hirn. The ablxit so doing, the gentlemen came; 
 and the hermit bfing very sick and weak, said unto them, 
 'I am sure to die of those wounds you have given me.' The 
 abbot answ ered, ' They shall as surely die for the same.' But 
 the hermit aiisw ered, ' Not so, for I will freely forgive them 
 my death, if they will be content to be enjoined the penance 
 I shall Iiy on them for the safeguard of" their souls.' The 
 gentlemen being present, bade him save their lives. Then 
 said the htrmit: ' You and yours sliall hold your lands of the 
 abbot of Whiiby, and his successors, in tliis manner: That, 
 upon Ascension-tiay, you, or some of you, shall come to the 
 wood of the Stray-heads, which is in Eskdale-side, the same 
 day at sun-rising, and there shall the abbot's officer blow 
 his horn, to the intent that you may know where to find 
 him; and he shall deliver unto you, William de Bruce, ten 
 stakes, eleven strout stowers, and eleven yethers, to be cut 
 by you, or some for you, with a knife of one penny price; 
 and you, Ralph de Percy, shall take twenty one of each sort, 
 to be cut in the same manner; and you, Allatson, shall take 
 nine of each sort, to be cut as aforesaid; and to be taken on 
 your backs, and cairied to the town of VVhiiby, and to be 
 there before nine of the clock the same day before mention- 
 ed. At the same hour of nine of the clock, if it be full sea, 
 your labour and sei-vice shall cease; and, if low water, each 
 of you shall set )our stakes to the brim, each slake one yard 
 from the otlier, and so yether them on each side with your 
 yethers; and so stake on eacli side with your strout 
 stowers, that they may stand three tides, without remov- 
 ing by thi' force thereof. Each of you shall do, make, and 
 execute the said sernce, at that very hour, every yeai*, 
 except it be full sea at tliat hour; but when it shall so fall 
 out, tins service shall cease. You shall faithfully do this, in 
 remembrance that you did most cruelly slay me; and that 
 you may Uie better call to God for mercy, repent unfeign- 
 edly of your sins, and do good works. The officer of Esk- 
 
NOTES TO CANTO SECOND. 269 
 
 dale-side shall blow, Out on you! Out on you! Out on you! 
 for iKii heinous crime. If you, or your successors, shall i-e- 
 fust tliis service, so long as it shall not be full sea at the 
 aforesaid houi', jon, or yours, shall forfeit j oiir lands to the 
 abbot ot Wliitby, or liis successors. This I entreat, and ear- 
 nestly beg, that you may have lives and goods j)reserved 
 for tlus service; and I request of you to promise, by your 
 parts in heaven, that it shall be done by you and your suc- 
 cessors, as is afore sai<i; and I will confirm it by ih< faith of 
 an honest man.' Then the hermit said, ' My soul longoth 
 for the Loid; and I do as freely forgive these men my d( ath, 
 as Christ ibrgave the theives on the cross.' And, in the pi-e- 
 sencc of the abbot and the rest, he said mon^over these 
 woi-ds, ' In manus fuas, Domine, commendo s;iiituin nicum, 
 a vinculis enim moiiis rcdcntf'tisti me, Dowinc verkniis. 
 Amcn.'—So he yielded up the ghost the eighth day of 
 December, anno Domini 1159, whose soul God have mercy 
 upon. Amen. 
 
 " This service," it is added, "still continues to be pti-formed 
 with the prescribed ceremonies, though nol by the pro))rietors 
 in person Part of the lands cliarged tlurev ith are now held 
 by a gentleman of tlie name of Herbert." 
 
 Note IX. 
 The lovely Edc'Jlcd.—V. 65. 
 She was the daughter of King Oswy, vho, in gratitude to 
 heaven f(jr the great victory which he von in 655, against 
 Penda, the i)agaii king of Mercia, dedicat<.d Edelfliila, then 
 but a year old, to the service of God in the nionastory of 
 Whitby, of which St. Hilda was then abbess. Sh; afterwai-ds 
 atlorned the j)lac<; of her etiutation with great niagnificence. 
 
 Note X. 
 
 of thousand S7wkcs, each otie 
 
 ff^as rhan!;ed into a coll of ^t one, 
 Whm h"hj lai'ta prayed, 
 
 hviv sen-fywls' /'hiion^ fail. 
 
 As over IVliitby's tonvers tJiey snil.—V. 65. 
 These two miracles are much irisisted u|>or by all ancient 
 writers, who have occasion to mtntion either Whitby, or St. 
 Hilda. The reliques of the sii.ikis winch infesteil the pre- 
 cincts of the convent, and were, at tlie abbess's prayer, not 
 
270 NOTES TO CANTO SECOND. 
 
 oiil>- beheaded, but p<?trified, ai-e still found about the rocks, 
 and are temied by Protestant fossilists ALituoiiitcc. 
 
 The other miracle is thus mentioned by Camden: " It is 
 also ascribed to the ]K)\\cr of her sanctity that tliese wild 
 geese, ■which, in the winter, fly in gi-eat tlocks to the lakes 
 and rivers unfrazcn in the soiitheru parts, to the gi-eat 
 amazement of even." one, fall down suddenly Ui>on the 
 ground, when they are in tiieir flight over certain iieigh- 
 boui-ing fields hereabouts: a relation I should not ha\-e 
 made, if I had not recei\ed it from several credible men. 
 But those who are less inclined to heed superstition, at- 
 tribute it to some occult quality in the ground, and (o some- 
 what of antipathy between it and the geese, such as they say 
 is betwt-«.'n wolves and scylla-roots: For that such hidden ten- 
 dencies and aversions, as we call sympaUiies, and antijiathies, 
 are implanttd in many thijigs by provident nature for the 
 preservation of them, is a tiling so evident, that e> ery body 
 grants it." The geese, it is almost unnecessixry to add, have 
 now forgot their obeiiance to Saint Hilda, or their antijiathy 
 to the soil, and fly over Whitby with as little difficulty as 
 any w here else. 
 
 Note XI. 
 
 His bjd-/s resting-/)lace, of old, 
 
 Horiv oft iheir patron changed, they told.—V. 65. 
 St. Cuthbert was, in the choice of his sepulchre, one of 
 the most mutable and unreasonable saints in the Callender. 
 He died A. D. 686, in a hermitage ujwn tlie Fame Islands, 
 having resigned the bishopric of Lindisfaru -, or Holy Ishuid, 
 about two yeai-s before. His body was brought to Lindis- 
 farne, w here it nmaintKl until a descent of the Danes, about 
 763, when the monastery was nearly destroyed. The monks 
 fled to Scotland, with what they deemed their chief treasme, 
 the reliques of St. Cuthl)ert. The Saint was, however, a 
 most capricious fellow -t^a^eller; which was the more intoler- 
 able, as, like Sinbad's Old Man of il.e Sea, he journeyed 
 wjwn the shoulders of his companions. 'I'hey paraded him 
 through Scotland for several years, and came as far west as 
 "NVhithern, in Galloway, whence tliey attempted to sail for 
 Ireland, but were diiven back by tciuijests. He lit length 
 made a bait at Norhaiu] frum thuice lie weut to Melrose,- 
 
NOTES TO CANTO SECOND. 271 
 
 wlicre lie remained stationar)' for a short time, and then 
 caused liimself to lie launched upon the Tweetl in a stone 
 coffin, which landed him at 1 illmoutli, in Northumberland. 
 'J'his boat is finely shaped, ten feet long, three feet and a 
 half in diameter, and only four inclies thick; so that, with 
 Acrj- little assistance, it might certainly have swam. It still 
 lies, or at least did so a few years ago, in two pieces, beside 
 the ruinetl chapel of lilhnouth. From Tillinoutli, Cuthbert 
 wandered into Yorkshire; and at length made a long stay 
 at Chester-le-sti-eet, to w Inch the bishop's see was transferred. 
 At length, the Danes continuing to infest the countrj-, the 
 monks remo^ ed to Rijipon lor a season; and it was in re- 
 turn from thence to Chester-le-street, tliai, passing through 
 a fortst called Dunholme, the Saint and his caniag-j became 
 immoveable at a place mimed Wardluw, or Waixlilaw . Here 
 the Saint chose his place of residence; and ajl who have 
 seen Durliam nuist admit, that, if diftieult in his choice, he 
 evinced taste in at length fixing it. It is said, that the Nortli- 
 unibrian Catholics still keep secret the precbe si)Ot o( the 
 Saint's sepulture, which is only entrusted to three persons 
 at a time, ^^'^len one dies, the survivors "associate to them, 
 in his room, a person judged fit to be the depositary of so 
 laluable a secret. 
 
 Note XII. 
 Even Scotland's dauntless king, and heir, &c. 
 Before his standard Jted.—V. 06. 
 Every one has heaitl, that when Da\id I., vith his so« 
 Henry, invaded Nortliumberland in 1136, tlie English host 
 nwirchcd against them under the holy banner of St. Cuth- 
 bert; t!) the efficacy of which was imputed the great victory 
 which they obtaintnl in the bloody battle of Northallerton, 
 or Cuton-moor. The conquerors were at least as much 
 iiidebte<l to the jealousy and intractability of the different 
 trilKS wlio composed David's army; amimg wljom, as men 
 lionet! iji the text, were the Galwegians, the Britons o 
 Strath-Clj-de, the men of Tevioldale ainl Lothian, wiij^ 
 many Norman and Geiinan warriors, who asserted the 
 cause of the empress Maud. See Clialnters'' Caledonia, p. 
 622.; a most laborious, curious, and interesting publicatioUj 
 from wliich considerable defects of style aiid nranncr otrght 
 -not to turn aside the Scottish anti^iuarr. 
 
272 NOTES TO CANTO SECON^D. 
 
 Note XIII. 
 ^Ttvas he, to vindicate his reign. 
 Edged Alfred's falchion on the Dane, 
 And turned the conqueror back again.—V. 67. 
 Cutlibtrt, ^ve have seen, Jiad no great reason to spare the 
 Danes, wlicn opportunity offered. Accordingly, I find in 
 Simeon of Durham, that tlie Saint appeared in a vision to 
 Alfred, when lurking: in the marslies of Glastonbury, and 
 promiseil him assistance and victory over his heathen ene- 
 mies: a consolation ■which, as was reasonable, Afred, after 
 the victory of Ashendown, rewarded, bj- a roj-al offering- at 
 the shrine of the Saint. As to William the Conqueror, the 
 terror sjuead before his army, mIu ri he niarcheil to punish 
 the revolt of the Northumbrians, vi 1096, had forced the 
 monks to fly once more to Holy Island with tlie body of tlie 
 Saint. It was, however, replaced before William left the 
 North; and, to Ixilance accounts, tlie Conqueror having in- 
 timated an indiscreet curiosity to view the Saint's body, he 
 was, while in the act of coinnianding tlie shrine to be 
 opened, seized with heat and sickness, accomiJairied with 
 such a panic tciTor, that, notwithstanding there was a sump- 
 tuous dinner prepared for him, he tied without eating a 
 morstl, (which the monkish historian seems to have thought 
 110 small part both of the miracle and the penance,) and 
 never dif w liis biidle till he got to the river Tees. 
 
 Note XIV. 
 St. Cuthbert sits, and toils to frame 
 The sea-born beads, that bear his nanie.~P. 67. 
 Although we do not Ifani that Cuthbert was, during his 
 life, such ail artificer as Dunstan, his brother in sanctity, 
 yet, since his death, he hasacquired the reputation of forg- 
 ing those Eiitrochi w hich are found among the rocks of Holy 
 Island, and pass there by the name of St. Cuthbert's Beads. 
 Wliile at this task, he is supposeil to sit during the night 
 «pon a certain rock, and use another as his anvil. This 
 story was perhaps credited in former days; at least the 
 Saint's legend contains some not more probable. 
 
NOTES TO CANTO SECOND. 273 
 
 Note XV. 
 Oh! Cohiu!f.—P. 67. 
 
 Ceolwoir, ov Colwulf. Kinc: of Northumberland, flourished 
 in tlic eighth ceritiiiy. He was a man of soiTie It aming*; for 
 the venerablf Betle dedicates to him his " Etch siastical His- 
 torj." He abciic.ittd the llironc about 738, and retired to 
 Holy Island, where ho dit-d in the odoin- of sanctity. Saint 
 as Colwulf was, however, I fear the foundation of the pen- 
 ance-vaiilt dof-s not corrfsj)ond v.iih his character; for it is 
 recordeil among' his ):;emora'ji!ia. that, finding the air of the 
 island raw an:! cold, he injlulgid the monks, whosi; rule had 
 liithirto confined them to milk or water, with the comfoil- 
 able privilege of using wine or ale. If any rigid aniiquaiy 
 insists on this obieetioii, he is welcome to suppose the i»c- 
 nance-vault was intended, by the founder, for the more 
 genial purposes of a cellar. 
 
 These periitential vaults were the Geissel-gewolbc of Ger» 
 man convents. In the earlier and more rigid timi s of mon- 
 astic discipline, they were sonietiines used as a eemeteiy 
 for the lay l)entfactors of the convent, whose ui):.anctified 
 corpses were then seldom permitted to pollute the choir. 
 The>- .nlso sened'as places of meeting for the chapter, when 
 measures of uncommon severity were to be adopted. But 
 their most fi-equent use, as implit-d by the name, was as 
 pliices for peiforming penances, or undergoing punishinem. 
 
 Note XVI. 
 Tynemouth''s hinightij Friore.7s,—P. 69. 
 That thtre was an ancient prioi-y at Tjiiemouth is certain. 
 Its ruins are situated on a high rocky point; and, doubtless, 
 many a vow was made at the shrine by the tlistresset! n)ari- 
 ners, who di*ove towanls the iron-bound coast of X(,itlin;n- 
 berlaJid in-stormy weather. It was anciently a nunm ly; for 
 \'ii"ca, abbess of TynMiiouih, presented St. Cuthbeu (yet 
 alive) with a rare v inding-sheet, in emulation of a hol\ ladjr 
 calhd Tuda, wlio had sent Iiim a coffin: Bat, as in the case 
 of Whitby, and of Holy Island, the i!)troiluetioi> of nuns at 
 Tynemouth, in the reign of Heniy VIII., is an ar.achronism. 
 The mnnury at Holy Islam! is altogether fictitious. ludeeil 
 St- Cuil'bert was unlikely to |K'rmit such an estabJiiliment; 
 for, notwitlistanding his accepting tlie mortuary gifis abov? 
 
 M2 
 
274 XOTES TO CANTO SECOND. 
 
 mentioned, and his carrying on a ■visiting acquaintance ^^ itli 
 the abbess of Coldiiigliam, he certainly hatod the whole 
 female sex; and, in revengt of a slipperv' trick playetl to hira 
 by pai Irish princess, he, after deatli, inflicted severe penan- 
 ces ou such as presumed to approach witliin a certiiin dis- 
 tance of his shrine. 
 
 Note XVII. 
 On those the tvall 7cas to inclose 
 Alive, ivithin tlie tomb.—V. 73. 
 
 It is well known, (hat the religious, who broke their vow^ 
 of chastity, were subjected to the same penalty as the Roman 
 vestals in a similar case. A small niche, sufficient to inclose 
 iheir bodies, was made in the massive wall of the convent; 
 a slender pittance of food and water was deposited in it, 
 and the awfid words, Vailc in Facem, wei-e the signal for 
 immuring tlie criminal. It is not likely that, in latter times, 
 ("his punishment was often resoited to; but, among the ruins 
 of the abbey of Coldingham, were some years ago discovered 
 the remains of a female skeleton, which, from tlie shape of 
 'lie niche, and position '>f tVe figure, seemed to be that of an 
 
 imured mm. 
 
NOTES TO CANTO THIRD. 
 
 Note I. 
 The village Inn.—V. 90. 
 
 The accommodations ot a Scottish liostilric, or iiiu, in 
 the 16th centuiy, iiiay bt coileeted from Duubar's adniirabli- 
 tale oi" I'hc Friars oJ' rierwick." Simon Lawdc-r, "the g;ay 
 ostlt'ir," seems to ^lave \\\v^ verj- coii..'brtably; and his wife 
 decorated Iter person with a scarlet kirtk, and a belt of 
 silk and silver, and riugs uihju her fingt- rs; and feasted her 
 paramonr with rabbits, capons, partridges, and Bordtaux 
 wine. At least, i the Scottish inns were not good, it was 
 not for want of encoiu-ageiuent from tlie kgisLiture, who. 
 so early as the i^eign of Jaaies 1., not only enacted, UiaL in 
 all boroughs and fairs tliere be hosteliaries, having stables 
 and chambers, and provision for man and horse, but, by 
 another statute, ordained, that no man, iravelhng on horse 
 or foot, should presume to lodge any when; except in these 
 hostellaries; and that no person, save inn-keepers, should 
 receive such travellers, undtr the penalty of forty shilUngs 
 for exercising such hospitality.* But, in spite of these provi- 
 dent enactments, the Scottish hostels are but indiiierent, and 
 strangers continue to find reception in the houses of iudivi 
 duals. 
 
 Note II. 
 TI>£ death of a dearfriaid.—P. 96. 
 
 Among other omens to which faithful credit is given 
 among the Scottish peasantry, is what is called the "dead- 
 bell," explained, by my friend James Hogg, to be that tink- 
 ling in thi ears which the country people i^egard as th 
 secret intelligence of some friend's decease. He tells astor 
 to the puri»ose in the " Mountain Bard," p. 26. 
 
 ♦ Taints I, Parhameat I. cap. 24.; ParlJanient m. cap. 5»^. 
 
376 NOTES TO CANTO THIRD. 
 
 Note III. 
 the Goblin HalL—P. 100. 
 
 A vaulted ball under she ancient castle of Gifford, or Yes- 
 ter, (to;- it bL-tii-s either name indifterently,) tlie construction 
 of which has, Irom a verj remote period, been ascribed to 
 inagjc. The Statistical Account of the Parish of Garvald 
 and Baro, gives the followinjj account of the present state 
 of this castle and a])artmei'.t: " Upon a peninsula, formed 
 by the water o' Hopes ou the east, and a large rivuk-t on 
 the west, stands thu ancieat castle oi" Yester. Sir David 
 Dalry.ni^ie, in his Annals, relates, that "■ Hugh Gilfonl de 
 Yester died in 1267; that in his castle there was a capacious 
 cavern foimed by ii.agical art, and called in the countiy 
 Bo-hal . /". e. Hobgoblin Hail.' A stair ot twenty-four steps 
 kd down to this ai>artiue)it, which is a large and spacious 
 hall, with an arched roof; and though it hath stood for so 
 luany c( iituries, and been exposed to the external air for a 
 period of fifty or sixty years, it is still as firm and entire as 
 if it had OJiiy stood a few years. From tlie floor of this 
 hall, aiiother stair of thirty-six steps leads down to a pit 
 which hath a communication with Hopes-watir. A great 
 pait of the walls of this large and ancient castle are still 
 standing. I'heie is a tradition, that the castle of Yester was 
 the last fortification, in this country, that suri-endered to 
 General Gray, sont into Scotland by Protector Somerset."' 
 Statistiritl Account, Vol. Xill. I have only to add, that, in 
 1737, the Goblin Kali was tenanted by the Marquis ot* 
 Tweedale's laicouer, as I learn iioJsi a ])oem by Boyse, 
 entitled " Reiireiiien i." written upon visiting Yester. It 5? 
 now rendered inacct ssible by the fall of the stair. 
 
 Sir David Dahymple's authority for the anecdote is For- 
 dun, whose woitls are, "A. D. MCCLXVII, Hugo Ciffard 
 tie I'cuter nioiitur; cujus ca^trum, vel saltern caveayn, et dongi- 
 onem, arte di^:inonica antiqure relationes J'erimt fubrifnctas: 
 nam ibidem haL'etur mirahUi's speciis subterraneus, opere 
 Tnirijico constructus, i .n'^iin tevrarum spatio /lyotc'ntus, qui 
 coninmniier t*50'5?a(i (tppel.atus cst.^' Lib. X. cap. 21.— 
 Sir David conjectures, that Hugh de Gifford must have 
 been either a very wise man, or a great oppressffi*. 
 
XOTES Tb CANTO THIRD. 277 
 
 Note IV. 
 There floated Haco's banna- trim. 
 Above Nurucijnn icurriorsgrhn.—V. 101. 
 In 1263, Haco, Kijig of Noma)-, cajne iiito the Fritl\ of 
 Clyde with a i)o\ver:ul ar;iiaiueiit, and made a descent at 
 Largs, in Ayrshiie. Her*- he was encountered and defeated, 
 on the 2d October, by Alexander III. Haco retreated to 
 Orkney, where he died soon aTter this disgrace to his arms. 
 'I'here are still existing, near the jjlace of battle, ii;any bar- 
 rows, some of which having been opened, were found, as 
 usual, to contain bones and unis. 
 
 Note V. 
 
 his wizard habit strange.— V. 101. 
 
 " Magicians, as is well known, were very curious in the 
 choice and form of their vestments. Their caps are oval, 
 or like pyramids, with lappets on each side, and fur within. 
 Their gowns are long, and fiirried with fox-skins, luider 
 which tliey have a linen garment, reaching to the knee. 
 Their gii-dles are three inches broad, and have niany caba- 
 listjcal names, witli crosses, trines, and circles, inscribed on 
 them. Their shoes should be of new russet leather, with a 
 cross cut upon them. Their lunves are dagger fiishiou; and 
 tlieir swords have neither guard nor scabbard." See these, 
 and many other particulars, in the Discourse concerning 
 Devils and Spirits, annexed to Reginald ScotCs Discovery of 
 intchcraft, edition 1665. 
 
 Note VI. 
 
 Ufion his breast a ,jentade.—'P. 101. 
 " A pentacle is a piece of fine linen, folded with five 
 corners, according to the five sensts, and suitably inscribed 
 with characters. This the magician extends towanls the 
 spirits which he evokes, when they are stubborn and rebel- 
 lious, and refuse to be conformable unto the ctrciiionies 
 and rites of magic" See the Discourse. Sec. above men- 
 t^onetl, p. 66. 
 
278 NOTES TO CANTO THIRD. 
 
 Note VII. 
 As born upon tliat blessed night. 
 When yatvning graves, and dying groan, 
 Proclaimed heirs eni/ ire ovcrthi-oiin.—F. 102. 
 It is a popular article of faith, that those who are bom on 
 Christinas, or Good-Friday, hav^e tlie power of seeing spirits, 
 and even of comiuanding them. The Spaniards imputed 
 the haggard and down-cast looks of their Philip II., to the 
 disagreeable \isions to which this privilege subjected him. 
 
 Note VIII. 
 let still the niighty spear and shield^ 
 T/ie eijin ivarrior doth Tcield 
 Upon t/ie brown hiirs breast.— V. 105. 
 
 The following extract fro.n the Essay upon the Fairy 
 Superstitions, in " The Minstrelsy of the Scottisli Boi-der," 
 Vol. II., will show whence niany of the particulai-s of the 
 combat between Alexander III. and the Goblin Knight are 
 derived: 
 
 "Genase of Tilbury {Otia Imperial, ap. Script: rer. 
 Bi iinsvic. Vol. I. p. 797.) relates the following popular story 
 concerning a fairy knight: 'Osbert, a bold and powerful 
 baron, visited a noble family in the vicinity of Wandlebury, 
 in the bishopric of Ely. Among other stories related in the 
 social circle of his finends, who, accoiding to custoii),a!iiused 
 each other by repeating ancient tales and traditiojis, he 
 was informed, that if any knight, unattended, entered an 
 adjacent plain by moon-light, and challenged an adversary 
 to api)ear, he would be immediately enconntei-ed by a siririt 
 in the form of a knight. Osbert resolved to make the ex- 
 periment, and set out, attended by a single squire, whom he 
 ordered to remain without the limits of the plain, which 
 was sunxjundfcd by an ancient entrenchment. On repeating 
 the cliallengc, he was instantly assailed by an adversary, whom 
 he quickly unhorsed, and seized the reins of his steed. Du- 
 ring this operation, his ghostly opponent sprung up, and, 
 darting his spear, like a javelin, at Osbert, wounded him in 
 the thigh. Osbert returned in triumph with the horse, which 
 he committed to the care of his servants. The horse was of 
 a sable colour, as well as his whole accoutrements, and 
 apparently of great beatity and vigour. He remained with 
 
NOTES TO CANTO THIRD. 279 
 
 his keeper till cockcrowing, vheii, with eyes flashing fire, 
 he reai-ed, spurntd the gi-oujid, aiid vanished. On disarm- 
 ing hijiiseir, Osbert perceived that he was wounded, and 
 tliat one of his steel-boots was full of blood. Oenas adds, 
 tliat, as long as lie lived, the scar of his wound opened afresh 
 on the anniversary of the eve on which he encountered 
 the spirit.— Less fortunate was the gallant BoIie:niau knight, 
 who travelling by night, with a single companion, came in 
 sight of a Fairy host, arrayed luider displayed banners. 
 Despising the remonstrances of his friend, the knight prick- 
 ed forward to break a lance with a champion, who advanced 
 from the ranks, apparently in defiance. His companion 
 beheld the Bohemian oveithi-own, horse and man, by his aerial 
 adversar)-; and returning to tlie s]JOt next morning, he found 
 the mangled corpses of the knight and steed."— if ierarcAie 
 »f Blessed Angels, p. 554 
 
 Besides the instances o*' Elfin Chivalrj-, above quoted, 
 many others might be alleged in support of er..plo)ing 
 Fairj- machinery in this nxamier. The forest of Glenmore, 
 in the North High.ands, is believed to be haunted by a 
 spirit called Lltaiu-dearg, in the array of an ancient wanior, 
 ha\-iJig a bloodj-hand, from wliich he takes his name. He 
 insists upon those with -whom he meets doing battle with 
 kiia; and the clergj-man, who makes up an account of the 
 district, extant in tlie Macfarlane MS., in the Advocates' 
 Library, gravely assui*es us, that, in his time, Lhain-Jearg 
 ftught with three brothers whom he met in his walk, none 
 of M'hoii) long siu'vived the ghostly conflict. Bai-clay, in his 
 ''Euphormion," gives a singular account of an oflicer who 
 had ventured, with his senant, rather to intrude upon a 
 baunteti house, in a towii in Flandei-s, thati to put up with 
 worse quarters elsewhere. After taking the usual pi-ecau- 
 tions of providing fins, lights, and ar;i.s, they watched till 
 midnight, when, behold! the severed arm of a man dropped 
 ftom the ceiUng; this was foUoMcd by the legs, the other arm, 
 the tnink, and the head o*' the body, all separately. The mem- 
 bers rolled together, united ther.iselves in the pi-est=nce of 
 the astoriished soldiers, and formed a gigantic wairior, which 
 defied them both to combat. Tluir blows, although they 
 penetrdttd the body, and a'uputed the limbs of their strange 
 aBtajonist, had, as the reader aiay easily believe, little effect 
 
280 NOTES TO CANTO THIRB. 
 
 on an enemy who possessed such powers of self-union; noi- 
 did his efforts make more effectual impression upon them. 
 How the coiubat teriiiinated I do not exactly rc-meinber, 
 and have not the book by me; but I think the spirit made 
 to the intruders on his mansion the usual proposal, that they 
 should renounce their redemption, which lieing declined, 
 he Avas obliged to retreat. « 
 
 TJie most singular tale of the kind is contained in an 
 extract coiiimunicated to me by my friend Mr. Surtees of 
 Mainsforth, in the bishopric, who copied it from a MS. note 
 in a copy of Burthoggc "On the nature of Spirits," 8vo, 
 1694, wliich had bet-Ji the property of the late Air. Gill, at- 
 torney-general to Egeiton, Bislioj) of Durham. " It was 
 not,*' says my obliging corivspondent, 'in Mr. Gill's own 
 hand, but probably an hundred years older, and was siiid to 
 be /:.' libra Convent. lUinclni. per T. C. extrwU whom I be- 
 lieve to have been Thonias Cradocke, Esq. Ijarrister, who 
 held several offices under the see of Durliam an hundi-ed 
 years ago. Mr. Gill was ])ossissed of most of his manu- 
 scripts." The extract, wliich, in iltct, syggestcd the intro- 
 duction of the lah^ into the present poem, runs thus: 
 
 '■'■ Hem iniruai hujusmodi qu(t nostris teiupoiUjus evenit, 
 teste viro nobili ac fide ('ugnissbiio, enarrnre hauil (jigcbit. 
 Raihdphus Buhner, cam e castris qua: tunc ieinp(jris projte 
 Nor ham poska erant, oblectationii caum cxihs'd,, ac in ultcriurc 
 Tuedtv ripa prwdam cum cnnibus leporariis itiscqutTctuj; 
 forte cum Scoto quodam 'nobili, sibi antchac ut videbatiir 
 familiariter coguito, congrcssus est; ac lit fas erat inter inimi- 
 cos, fiagrante bcllv, brevissima interrogafionis mora interpo- 
 sita, altcrutros inviiem incitato cursu infcstis anUnis petia'c. 
 Nuster, prima occiirsu, equo pnr. acenimo hoitis impetu lab- 
 ante, in terram eversus pectore et capite Ursa, sangidnem, 
 7nortuo sinnlis, evomebat. Qtiem. ut se '<'grc habentem coudter 
 allncutus est alter, pollicitusque modo aiixUium ncn abnegaret, 
 inonitisque obtemperans ab amni rerum sacrarum cogitatione 
 abstineret, nee Deo, Deipane Vlrgini, Samtove tdlo, preces 
 aut vota efferret vel inter sese conciperet, se brevi eiim sanum 
 validuDtque restiturum esse, Prre angore oblata conditio ac- 
 ccpta c:>t; ac vcterator ille nescio quid vhsc-ni ,)iur maris in- 
 $usurrans,prche7isa manu, dicta citius in pedes sanum ut antea 
 sublevavit. Noster autem. maaima pr(v rcl inaudita novitafc 
 
NOTES TO CANTO THIRD. 28 1 
 
 fonrddine ftcrculsus. Mi Jesu! exclnmat, vel quid simUe; ac 
 snhite rcsjjiciens nee hostem nee idlnm alhtm conspieh. cqtittm 
 sohnn gi'avissinw nupcr casti aflictitm, pei- svmnmm paeem in 
 rivofiuvii paicentem. Adeastra itcqiie mirabundus revcrtens, 
 fidei dubius.ran prime occultavit, deineonj'ecto hello, Confasori 
 suo tntain assemit. Delusoria fn-uctil dubio ren tota, ac mala 
 vfteratori^ alius apeintur f rang, qua homineiiL Christiamm^ ad 
 veiitwn talc au.viliuin pellirej-ct. Nonieri afcunquc illius (ftu'jilis 
 alias acclan) rcticendum duco,cum haud dubiwn sit quin Di(f 
 bolus, Deo pernnttentc, foi-niam quam libuerit, innno angcli 
 htcis, sacro oeulo Dei teste, posse assumei^c" The MS. 
 chronicle, from which Mr. Ciadocke took this curious ex- 
 tract, cajiuot now Ije found in tite chapter library of Dur- 
 ham, or, .It least, has hitherto escaped the researches of my 
 friendly correspondent. 
 
 Liudesay is made to allude to this adventure of Ral])h 
 Btiliner, as a well known story, in the 4th Canto, Stanza 
 XXII, 
 
 TJie northeiTj cliamiiions of old were accustomed pecu- 
 liarly to search for, and delight in encounters with such 
 military si)ectres. See a whole chapter on the subject in 
 Barthollnus De Causis amtempta: Mortis a Danls, p. 253. 
 
NOTES TO CANTO rOUUTH, 
 
 Note 1. 
 
 Chse to the hut, no more his mvn, 
 
 Close to the aid fie sought in vain, 
 
 The morn mayjiml the stiffened swain.— T. 115. 
 I cannot lielp Ltre mentioning, that, on the night in 
 vhich these lines were \\ritten, suggested, as they were, by 
 a sudden fall of snow, bcguming after sun-set, an unfortu- 
 nate nian perished exactly in the jnanner here described, 
 and his body was next morning found close to his own 
 house. The accident happened within five niiles of the 
 farm of Ashcstiel. 
 
 Kote II. 
 Scarce had lamented Forbes paid, &c.—P. 117. 
 
 Sir Willianj Fortes of Pitsligo, Baronet; unequalled, per- 
 haps, in the degree of individual affection entertained tor 
 him by Jiis fi-iends, as weli as in the general r^^spect and 
 esteem of Scotland at large. His "Life of Beattie," whom 
 he befriended and patixmized in life, as well as celebrated 
 after his decease, was not long published before the benevo- 
 lent and affectionate biogi-apher vas called to follow the 
 subject of his narrative. 'I'lie same inelanclioly event very 
 shortly succeeded the jiiarriage of the fiiend to wliom this 
 introduction is addressed, N\it!i one of Sir Willianvs daugh- 
 ters. 
 
 Note III. 
 Friar Bush — P. 122. 
 
 'I'his personage is a strolling demon, or esprit follet, who, 
 once upon a time, got admittance into a monastei^ as a 
 scullion, and played the s-iOnks many pranks. He was also 
 a sort oi" Robin Goodfellow, and Jack o' Lanthorn. It is in 
 allusion to this jnischievous demon that Milton's clown 
 speaksj— 
 
KOTES TO CANTO FOURTH. 283 
 
 Slie was piitched, and pulled, she said, 
 Ajid he byy/vrt?'or latithofii led. 
 
 " The Historj' of Fiiar Rush" is of extreme i-ariet) . and, 
 for soii.e tiiiie, even the existeiici o'sucli a book was dor.lit- 
 tnl, although it is expnsslj- alluded to by RegiJiald Scott, 
 in his '' Discover) of Witchcraft." I have perustd a copy 
 in tile valuable library ot my friend Mr. Hebtr; and 1 ob- 
 serve, from Mr. Beloc"s '• Anecdotes of I-iterature," that 
 there is one in the excellent collictlon of the Marquis of 
 Stafford. 
 
 Note IV. 
 Sir David Lindcscy of the Mounts 
 Lord Lion Kiu!;-at-Arms.—V. 126. 
 The late elaborate t^ditton o' Sir David Lindesay's Works, 
 by Mr.George Chalmers has probably inti-oducetl him to i.iany 
 of luy readers. It is perhaps to be regretted, that the learn- 
 ed editor had not bistov\e<l n.ore pains in elucidating his 
 author, even although ho should have Oiiiitted, or at least 
 reserved, his disquisitioJis on the origin of" the language used 
 bj the poeU* But, with all its faulu,his work is an acceptable 
 
 • 1 beg leave to quote a single instance from a verj- in- 
 teresting passage. Sir Dand, recounting his attention to 
 King Ja.iies V., in his infancy, is made by the leanad 
 editor's punctuation, to say,— 
 
 'I"he first sillabis. that thou did mute 
 Was pa, da, lyn, upon the lute; 
 Then plf»y<d I twenty springis jurqiieir, 
 Quhilk was great plesour for to hear. 
 
 Vol. I. p. 7. 257. 
 
 ^Ir. Chalmers does not inform us, by note, or glossary, 
 ■what is meant by the king " muting pn, i/a, liju, u;>on the 
 Ititi;" but any old MO'iian in Scotland will lx;ar witness, chat 
 pa, da, lyn, are the first efforts of a child to say lVhac''a 
 Daviv LimUmy? and tliat tlie subsequent words begin 
 auuther sentence, 
 
 upon the lute 
 
 Then played I twenty springis perqueir, &c. 
 
 In 
 
284 NOTES TO CANTO FOURTH. 
 
 present to Scottish antiquaries. Sir David Lmtlesay ^^■as 
 ^^•e)l known for his early efii.-rts in favour of the reformed 
 doctrines; and, indeed, his play, coarse as it now seems, 
 niTist have liad a powei-'hl efilct upon the people of his age. 
 I am micertain if I abuse potticai license, by introducing 
 Sir David Lindesay in the character oP Lion-Herald, sixteen 
 years before he obtained that ofRce. At any i-ate, I am not 
 the first who has been guilty of the anachronism; for the 
 author of '-Fiodden Field" despatclses Dallamoimt, which 
 can mean nobody but Sir David de la Mont, to France, on 
 the message of defiance from James IV. to Henrj- VIII. It 
 was often an office imposed on the Lion King-at-arnis, to 
 receive foreign a^ubassadors. and Lindesay himself did this 
 honour to Sir Ralph Sadler in 1539—40. Indeed, the oath 
 of the Lion, in its first article, bears reference to his fre- 
 quent employment upon royal n;essages and embassies. 
 
 The office of hci-alds. in teud.d times, iK-ng held of the 
 utmost importance, tbe inauguration of the King-at-arms, 
 who i)ivsided over their colleges, was proportionally solemn. 
 In fact, it was the mi;nici'y of a royal coronation, except 
 that the unction was made with wine iiistead of oil. In 
 ScotlaTid, a namesake and kinsman of Sir David Lindesay, 
 inaugurated in 15P2, "was crowned by King James with 
 the ancient crown of Scotland, which was used before the 
 Scott'Oi kings assumed a close crowni;" and. on occasion 
 of the same solemnity, dined at the king's table, wearing 
 the crown. It is jjrobable that the coi-onat'on of his prede- 
 cessor was not less solemn. So sacred was the hei-ald's office, 
 that, in 151.S. Loixl Drumn.ond was by parliaiiient declared 
 guilty o*" treasoi', and his lands forfeited, because he had 
 struck, with his fist, the Lion King-at-arms, when he re- 
 l)roved hius for his oUies.* Nor was he restored, but at the 
 Irion's earnest solicitation. 
 
 In a".othcr place, " lusting hi lis," i.e, looms, or implements 
 of tilting, is ■acctiousiy interpreted "playful limbs." Many 
 such .;.inute enois could be pointed out; but these are only 
 mentioned incidentally, and not as dLminishing the real 
 merit o: the 'edition. 
 
 * Tlie record expresses, or rather is said to haire expressed, 
 
NOTES TO CANTO FO UR TH. 283 
 
 Note V. 
 Crichtoun Castle.— V. 127. 
 A larg^e ruinous castk- on tl)e banks of the Tync, about 
 sevLii niiles from Eiiinbuigh. As indicattd in the text, it 
 Mas built at diffti-ent tiiats and with a verydifttring n-sraid 
 to splendour and accoiun.odation. Tlie oldest part of the 
 building is a narrow keep, or tower, sucli as formed jbe 
 irutnsion of a lesser Scottish baron; but so many additions 
 have Ixeu made to it, that theiv is now a large court-yaitl, 
 surrounded by buildings ordiifer..nt ages. The eastern front 
 of the court is raised above a portico, and decorated with 
 entablatures, iK-aring anchors. All the stones oi this front 
 are cut into diau.ond faci ts, the angular projections of 
 which have an uncommonly rich appearance. The inside 
 of this part of the building appears to have containi^ a 
 gallery of gi-eat length, and uncommon elegance. Access 
 was given to it by a magnificent staii^case, now quite des- 
 troyed. The soffits are ornamented with twining coixlage 
 and rosettes; and tlie whole seems to have been iar j.iore 
 splendid than was usual in Scottish castles. 1 he castie 
 belonged originally to the Cliancellor Sir Wiliia.n Crich- 
 ton, and probably owed to him its first enlargeiiicnt, as well 
 as its being taken by the earl of Douglas, who iniputed to 
 Crichton's counsels the death of his predecessor Earl Wil- 
 liam, beheaded, in Edinburgh Castie, with his brother, in 
 1440. It is said to have been totally demolished on that 
 occasion; but the present state of the ruins shows the con- 
 trary. In 1483, it was garrisoned by Loixl Crichton, then its 
 proprietor, against King James III., whwse displeasure he 
 had incurred by seducing his sister Margaret, in revenge, it 
 is said, for tlie monarch having dishonoured his btd. From 
 the Crichton family the castle passed to that of the Hei>- 
 burns, Earl Bothwell; and when the forfeitures oi Stewart, 
 tlie last Earl Botliweil, were dividc<l, the barony and castle 
 of Crichton fell to the sliare oi the Earl ot Bucckuth. They 
 
 the cause of forfeiture to be, — " Eo quod Leonem armorum 
 liegeni jjtigiio violasset^ duni euiii de inejuih sius adiiLOJiety 
 See Nishffs Hcvaldnj, Pait IV. cliap. Iti. and I.eskti IlUtoiia 
 ad Annum 5W. 
 
286 NOTES TO CANTO FOURTH. 
 
 were aftenvaixls the property of the Pringles of Clifton, an«l 
 are now tliat of Sir John Callander, Baronet. It were to be 
 wisliwl the proprietor would take a little pains to preserve 
 these splendid remains of antiquity, which are at present 
 used as a fold for sheep, and wintering cattle; although, 
 perhaps there are very few ruins in Scotland which display 
 so well the style and beauty of ancient eastle-ai-chitecture. 
 The castle of Crichton has a dungeon vault, calletl the 
 Massy More. The epithet, ^\hich is not uneonimonly 
 applied to the prisons o'" other old castles in Scotland, is of 
 Saracenic orig:in. It occurs twice in the " Ephtohr Itinera' 
 ri'v" of 'J'ollius: " Career stihferraneiis, sivc, ut Mauri aft/'el- 
 hint, Mazinorra," p. 147.; and again, " Cogtintur omnes Cajf 
 fiz-i sjth noctein in er,-jaituln suhtcrranea, quw Tiirais Algcze- 
 rnnl vorant Maz noi-ras," p. 243. The same won! applies to 
 the dungt'ons of the ancient Moorish castles in Spain, and 
 serves to show from what nation the Gothic style of castle- 
 buildiug was origiiuilly derived. 
 
 Note VI. 
 
 Earl Adam Hepburn— V. 129. 
 
 He Mas the second Earl o!' Bothwell, and fell in tlie field 
 
 of Flodden, whei-e,accoi-ding to an ancient English poet, he 
 
 distinguished himself by a furious attempt to retrieve the 
 
 day:— 
 
 Then on the Scottish part, right proud, 
 
 The Earl of Bothwell then out bmst. 
 
 And stepping forth, with stomach good, 
 
 Into the enemies throjjg he thrast; 
 And Bothwell! Botlnvelll cried bold, 
 
 To cause his souldiers to ensue. 
 But there be caught a wellconie eoid. 
 The Englishmen straight down him threw. 
 
 Flodo'en Field. 
 Adam was grandfather to James, Earl of Bothwell, too well 
 "kriown in the history of Queen Marj'. 
 
NOTES TO CANTO FOURTH. 287 
 
 Note VII. 
 For that a messenger from heaven. 
 In vain to James had coinisel given 
 Against the English 7var.—V. 130. 
 
 This story is told by Pitscottie with characteristic simpli- 
 city: " The king, seeing that France could get no support 
 of him for that time, made a pi-oclamation, full hastily, 
 through all the realm of Scotland, both east and west, south 
 and north, as well in the Isles as in the firm land, to all 
 manner of man betwixt sixty and sixteen years, that they 
 should be ready, within twenty days, to pass with him, with 
 forty days viuti.al, and to meet at the Burrow-imiir oi" Edin- 
 burgh, and there to pass forwanl where he pleased. His 
 proclainations were hastily obeyed, contrary the Council 
 of Scotland's will; but every nan loved his prince so well, 
 that they would, on no ways, disobey him; but every man 
 caused make his proclamation so hastily, conform to the 
 charge of the king's procla.siation. 
 
 " The king came to Lithgow, where he happened to be 
 for the time at the council, very sad and dolorous, making 
 his devotion to Got!, to send him goo<l chance and fortune 
 in his voj-age. In this mean time, there came a iiian clad in 
 a blue goMTi in at the kirk-tloor. and belted about him in a 
 roll o^' linen-cloth; a pair o." brotikings* on his feet, to the 
 great of his legs; with all other hose and cloths con.'onu 
 thereto: but he had nothing on his head, but sydtt red yel- 
 low hair l>.hind, and on his haffets,!; which wan down to 
 his shoulders; but his fon ht ad was bald and bare. He seem- 
 ed to be a man o^two-and fifty years, with a great pike-staft" 
 in his hand, and came first ibrwanl among the lonls, crying 
 and spt iriiigf for the king, saying, he dtsiixd to speak with 
 hiiii. While, at the last, he caine where the king was sitting 
 in the desk at his prayers; but when he saw the king, he 
 made him Httlo reverence or salntat'.on, but leaning down 
 gi-ofiing on the dtsk liefore him, and said to him in this 
 manner, as after follows: 'Sir king, my mother hath sent 
 me to you, desiring you not to pass, at this time, \\ here thon 
 art pui-posed; for if thou does, thou wilt not fare well in thy 
 
 • Buskins. t Long. X Cheeks. J Asking-. 
 
288 NOTES TO CANTO FOURTH. 
 
 journey, nor none that passeth uitli thee. Further, she bade 
 thee lucli* with no woman, nor use tlieir counsel, nor let 
 llieiii toueli thj body, nor thou theirs; for, ii thou do it; thou 
 wilt i)e confounded and brought to shame.' 
 
 '"By this n;an had spoken thir words UJito the kings 
 grace, the evening soiig was near done, and the king paused 
 on ihir woi-ds, studying to give him an answer; but, in the 
 nxean tiiuc, bt;;bre the Kinjj's eyes, and in the presence of 
 all chi- lords that were about huu for the time, this man 
 vanished away, and could no ways be si.en nor compre- 
 hended, but vanishLd away as he had been a bluik of the 
 sun, (;r a w hij) o'l" the whirlwind, and could no more be seen. 
 I htard say. Sir David Liiidesay, Ijon-herauld, and John In- 
 glis the ;iiarshali, who were, at that time, young men, and 
 sjKcial servants to the king's grace, were standing presently 
 beside tJie king, who tJiouglu to have laid hands on this 
 man, that thty migiit bavt speire<l further tidings at ui;n: 
 But all or nought; tliey could not touch him; for he vanish- 
 ctl away betwixt tliein, and was iio more seen." 
 
 Buclianaii, in niore eleg-ant, though not inore impressive 
 language, tells the same storj", and quotes the personal in- 
 formation oJ our Sir David Lindesay: In Us (/. (,'• qui pro' 
 priiu- a:'dierimi)fuit David Lindesiiis, MotUatius, ho7ito speo 
 tati; Jidt.'i ct iirubitatii-^ nee a litcvanim sttidUs alienus, et 
 cnjus t(it'.v vitft; tenor longissime a mendcndo aberrat; a quo 
 jiisi ego hacc uii tradidi, pro certis accejusscin, ut vulgatam 
 vanis riunoribus fabuiam, omissurits eraiii" — Lib. XIII. The 
 king's throj)e, in St. Catharine's isle, which he had con' 
 striietud :or himself, with twelve stalls for the Knights Com- 
 panions o; the Order of the Thistle, is stiil shown as the 
 place where (he api>arition was seen. I know not by wha< 
 means St. Ajidrew got the credit of havhig been the cele- 
 brated iiumitor of James IV.; for tlie expression in Linde- 
 say's narrative, " My ;uother has sent me,"' could only be 
 used by St. John, the adopted son of the Virgin Maiy. Tlu 
 wiiole story is so well attested, that we have only the choice 
 l>elween a i.iiracle or an imposture. Mr. Pinkerton pjausibl; 
 argues, iroiii the caution against incontinence, that th< 
 
 * Meddle. 
 
NOTES TO CANTO FOURTH. 289 
 
 ^ueen was pri\-y to the scheme of those who had recourse 
 to this expedient to deter King James from his impoUtie 
 t\-arfare. 
 
 Note VIII. 
 The wild buck bells.— P. 131. 
 
 I am glad of an opportunity to describe the ciy of the 
 deer by another wonl than brayingy although the latt-rv has 
 been sanctified by the use of the Scottish i.ietrical transla- 
 tion of the Psalms. Bell seems to be an abbreviation of bel- 
 low. This sylran sound conveyed great delight to our 
 ancestors, chiefly, I suppose, from association. A gentle 
 knight in the reign of Heniy VIII., Sir Thotaas Wortley, 
 built WaJitley Lodge, in Wancliffe Forest, for the pleasure 
 (as an ancient inscription testifies.) of " listening to the bait's 
 belly 
 
 Note IX. 
 June smv Jus fat her'' s overthroiv.—V, 131. 
 
 The rebellion against James III. was signalized by tlie 
 cmel circumstance of his son's presence in the hostile ai'nij'. 
 When the king sftw his own baruier displayed against him, 
 and his son in the faction of his eneiDies, he lost the little 
 courage he ever possessed, fled out of the field, fell from his 
 horse, as it started at a won, an and water pitcher, and was 
 slain, it is not well understood by whom. James IV., after 
 the battle, passed to Stii-ling, and hearing the monks of the 
 chapel j-oyal deploring the death of his father, their found- 
 er, he was seized with deep remorse, which manifested itself 
 in severe penances. See a folk)wing Note on Canto V. The 
 battle of Sauchie-buni, in which James III. fell, was fought 
 ISth June, 1488. 
 
 Note X. 
 Spread all the Borough-Moor beloxv, &c.—P. 138. 
 The Borough or common Moor o<" Edinburgh, was of 
 veiy great extent, reaching from the southern walls of the 
 city to the bolto.n of Braid Hills. It was anciently a forest; 
 and, in tliat state, was so great a nuisance, that the inhabi- 
 tants of Edinburgh had pennission granted to them of build- 
 ing wooden galleries, projecting over the street, in order to en- 
 coui-age them to consume the timber; which they seem to have 
 done verj- effectually. When James IV. mustered the array of 
 the kingdom there, ill 1513, tlte Borough-Moor was, according 
 
290 NOTES TO CANTO FOURTH. 
 
 to Hawthomden, "a field spacious, and delightful by the 
 shade of many stately and aged oaks." Upon '^Mt, and 
 siniilai- occasions, the royal standard is traditiona^«aid to 
 have been disjjlayed from the Hare Stane, a high stone, 
 now built into the wall, on tl»e left hand of the high way 
 leading towai-ds Braid, not iar from the head of Bruntsfield- 
 links. The Hare Siane pi-obably derives its name from the 
 British word Har, signifying an army. 
 
 Note XI. 
 Cer the pavilions ,flejv.—V. 140. 
 I do not exactly know the Scottish mode of encampment 
 in 1513, but Patten gives a curious description of that which 
 he saw after the battle of Pinkey, in 1547:—" Here now to 
 say somewhat of the maner of their camp: As they had 
 no pavilions, or round houses, of any commendable compas, 
 so \\ ear there few otlier tentes with posts, as the used maner 
 of making is; and of these few also, none of above twenty 
 foot length, but most far under; for the most part all very 
 suiiiiJtuously beset, (after their fashio||^ for tlie love of 
 Fi-aiice, with fleui--de-lys, some of blue buckeram, some of 
 black, and some of some other colours. These white ridges, 
 as I call them, that, as we stood on Fauxsyde Bray, did 
 make so great muster towai-ds us, which I did take then to 
 1)0 a number of tentes, when we came, we found it a linnen 
 tirapery, of the coarser cambxyk in dede, for it was all of 
 canvas slieets, and wear tlie tenticles, or i-ather cabayns 
 and couches of their soldiei-s; the which (niuch after the 
 common building of their countiy beside) had they framed 
 of four sticks, about aji ell long a piece, whearof two fasten- 
 ed together at one end aloft, and the two endes beneath 
 stuclv in the ground, an ell asunder, standing in fashion like 
 the bow of a sowes yoke; over two such bowes (one, as it 
 were, at their head, tlie other at their feet,) they stretched a 
 sheet down on both sides, wherehj^stheir cabin became root 
 ed like a ridge, but skant shut at^fc»th ends, and not very 
 close beneath on the sides, unless their sticks were the short- 
 er, or their wives the more liberal to lend them larger 
 naper) ; howbeit, when tliey had lined them, and stuflPd 
 them so thick with straw, with the weather as it was not 
 very cohl, when they wear ones couched, they wear as 
 
NOTES TO CANTO FOURTH. 29 1 
 
 wai-m as they had been wT^pt in liorses dung." Pattcn''s 
 Account of Somerset's Expedition. 
 
 Note Xir. 
 
 in proud ScotlmuCs royal shield 
 
 The ruddy Lion ramped in gold.— P. 140. 
 The well known arms of Scotland. If you will believe 
 BoetJiius and Buchanan, the double tressure round the 
 shield, mentioned p. 134., counter Jfeur-de-lised, or lingued 
 and aimed azure, was first assumed by Achaius, King of 
 Scotland, conien.poran" of Charlemagne, and founder of the 
 celebrated League with France; but later antiquaries make 
 poor Eochy or Achy little better than a sort oi King of 
 Brentford, whoiii old Grig (who has also swelled into Gre- 
 gorious Jlagnus.) associated with hiaiseH in the important 
 duty of governing some part of the north-eastern coast of 
 Scotland. 
 
NOTES TO CANTO FIFTH. 
 
 Note I. 
 Cakdonia's Oiteen is changed.— t^. 148. 
 The 01(1 Town of Edinburgh was secured on the north 
 side by a lake, now drained, and on the south by a wall, 
 which there was some attempt to make defensible even so 
 late as 1745. The gates, and the greater pait of the wall, 
 have been pulled down, in the course of the late extensive 
 and beautiful enlargement of the city. Mr. Tho}iias Camp- 
 bell proposed to celebrate Edinburgh under the epithet 
 here borrowed. But the " Queen of the North" has not been 
 so fortmmte as to receive from so eminent a pen tlie pro- 
 posed distinction. -^^ 
 
 Note II. 
 Flinging thy 7vhitc arms to the sea.— P. 149. 
 Since writing this line, I find I have inadvertently bor- 
 rowed it almost verbatim, though w ith somewhat a different 
 meaning, fi"om a chorus in " Caractacus-" 
 
 Britain heard the descant bold. 
 
 She flung her white arms o'er the sea, 
 
 Proud iu her leafy bosom to enfold 
 The freight of harmony. 
 
 Note III. 
 Since Jirsf, when conquering Toik arose. 
 To Henry meek she gax-e repose.— V. 150. 
 Henry VI., with his queen, his heir, and the chiefs of his 
 family, fled to Scotland after the fatal battle of Towton. 
 Queen Margaret certainly came to Edinburgh, though it 
 seems doubtful whether her husband did so. Their hospita- 
 ble reception called torth on Scotland the encoiuium of 
 Molinet, a coatemporar/ poet. The English people, he says> 
 
NOTES TO CANTO FIFTH. 293 
 
 Ung noirveau ruy creerent, 
 
 Par despiteitx; vouloir, 
 Le vieil en debouterent, 
 
 Et son legitime hoir, 
 Qui fuyti/f alia i>rendre 
 
 D^Escosse legarand, 
 De tovs liecles le mendre, 
 
 Et leplus tollerant. 
 
 Recollection des Avantures. 
 
 Note IV. 
 
 — the romantic strain. 
 
 Anglo-Norman tones ivhilere 
 Could tvin the Second Henrifs ear, — P. 151. 
 Ml-. Ellis, ill his valuable Introduction to the " Specimefts 
 ef Roii.ance," has proved, by the coueurring testimony of 
 La Ravaillere, Tressan, but especially the Abbe de ia Rue, 
 that the courts of our Anglo-Norman kings, rather than 
 those of the French monavchs, produced the birth of ro- 
 mance literature. Marie, soon alter mentioned, compiled 
 from Ari.iorican originals, and translated into Norman- 
 Jrench, or roihance language, the twelve curious Lays, of 
 which Mr. Ellis has given us a precis in tlie AppeiulLx to 
 his introduction. The storj- of Blondel, the famous and 
 fhithfui minsti-el of Richard I., needs no commentary. 
 
 * Note V. 
 Tlie clotJi-yard arrorvs Jieiv like /tail.—V. 155. 
 This is no poetical exaggemtion. In some of the counties 
 of England, distinguished for archerv', shafts of th?s extraor- 
 dinary length were actually used. The Scottish, according 
 to Ascliam, had a proverb, that eveiy English archer earned 
 mider his belt twenty-four Scots, in allusion to his bundle 
 «f unerring shafts. 
 
 Note VI. 
 To pass, to wheel, tfte croup to gain. 
 And high curvet, chat not in vain 
 The srvordrsnvay might descend amain 
 Onfoeiruyn's casque belarv:—P. 156. 
 '* The most useful air, as tlie Frenchmen term it, is terri- 
 tar; the evurbittes, cabrioles, or un pos ct un mult, being 
 
294 NOTES TO CANTO FIFTH. 
 
 fitter for horses of parade and triumph than for soldiers: yet 
 I cannot deny but a clemivolte with courbettes, so that they 
 l)e not too high, may be useful in a fight or meslee; for, as 
 Labroue hath it, in his Book of Horsemanshij), Monsieur de 
 Montmorency having a horse that was excellent in pci-form- 
 ing the clemivolte, did, with his sword, strike down two 
 adversaries from their horses in a tourney, where divers of 
 the prime gallants of France did meet; for, taking his time, 
 whtn the horse M'as in the height of his coitrhctte, and dis- 
 charging a blow then, his sword fell with such weiglit and 
 force upon the two cavaliers, one after the other, that he 
 struck them from their horses to the ground." Loi'd HerbcH 
 ifCherburi/s Life, p. 48. 
 
 Note VII. 
 Ke saxv the hardy burghers theie 
 March ariv.ed, oufoot, with faces bare.~V. 156. 
 The Scottish burgesses were, like yeomen, appointed to 
 be arnied with bows and sheaves, swoixl, buckler, knife, 
 spear, or a good ax instead of a bow, if worth L. 100: theii' 
 armour to be of white or bright harness. I'hey wore tvhite 
 hat's. !. e, bright steel caps^ without crest or visor. By an act 
 of James IV., their ■iveapon-sctiawings are appointed to be 
 held four times a-year, under the aldermen or bailiffs. 
 
 Note VIII. 
 On foot tlie yeoman too.—V. 156. 
 Bows and quivers were in vain recommended to the 
 peasantiy of Scotland, by repeated statutes; spears and axes 
 seem universally to have been used instead of them. Their 
 defensive armour was the plate-jack, hauberk, or brigantine; 
 and their missile weapons cross-bows and culverins. All 
 wore swords of excellent temper, accoi-ding to Patten; and 
 a voluuiinous handkerchief round their neck, " not for cold, 
 but for cutting." The mace also was much used in the Scot- 
 tish army: The old poem on the battle of Flodden, men- 
 tions a baud— 
 
 Who manfully did meet their foes 
 With leaden nmuls ,and lances longf. 
 
NOTES TO CANTO FIFTH. 295 
 
 When the feudal array of the kingdom was called foith, 
 each inan was obliged to appear with forty days' xn-ovision. 
 When this was expended, which took place bt fore the battle 
 of Flodden, the army melted away oi course. Ahiio»t all 
 the Scottish forces, except a iew knights, men-at-ar us, and 
 the Boixler-prickers, who formed excellent light cavalry, 
 acted ui)on foot. 
 
 Note IX. 
 A banquet rich, and costly wines. — P. 160. 
 In all ti-ansactions of great or petty importance, and 
 among whomsoever taking i)lace, it would seeiii, that a pre- 
 sent of wine was an uniform and indispensible prelinnnaiy. 
 It was not to Sir John Falstaff alone that such an introduc- 
 tory preface was necessarj% however welljudged and accept- 
 able on the part of Mr. Brook; for Sir Ralph Sadler, while 
 on embassy to Scotland in 1539-40, n entions, « ith conipla- 
 cency, " the same night came Rothesay (the hei-ald so 
 called) to me again, and brought me wine from the kinif. 
 both white and red." CUfforiVs Edition, p. 39. 
 
 Note X. 
 ' his iron belt. 
 
 That bound his breast in penance-pain. 
 In ?nemory of his father slain. — P. 163. 
 Few readers need to be reminded of this belt, to the 
 weight of which James added certain ounces every year 
 that he lived. Pitscottie founds his belief, that James was 
 not slain in the battle of Flodden, because the English 
 never had this token of the iron-belt so show to any Scot- 
 tishman. The person and chai-acter of James are delineated 
 according to our best historians. His romantic disposition, 
 which led him highly to relish gaiety, approaching to license, 
 was, at the same time, tinged with enthusiastic devotion. 
 These propensities sometimes foi-med a strange contrast. 
 He was wont, during his fits of devotion, to assume the 
 dress, and conform to the rules, of the order of Franciscans; 
 and when he had thus done penance for some time in Ster- 
 ling, to plunge again into the tide of pleasure. Probably, 
 too, he sometunes laughed at the superstitious observances 
 to M'hich he at other times subjecttrd biiaself. There is a 
 
296 NOTES TO CANTO FIFTH. 
 
 vei-y singular poem by Duubar, seemingly addressed to 
 James IV., on one of these occasions of monastic seclusion. 
 It is a most daring and profane parody on the services of 
 the church of Rome, entitled, 
 
 Dunba7-'s Dirige to the King, 
 Byding orver long in Striviling. 
 
 We that are here, in heaven's glory, 
 To you, that ai-e in purgatory, 
 Commend us on our hearty wisej 
 I mean we folks in Paradise, 
 In Edinburgh, with all n)en-iness, 
 To you in Stirling, with distress. 
 Where neither pleasure nor delight is, 
 For pity this epistle wrjtis, &c. 
 
 See the whole in Sibbald's Collection, Vol. I. p. 234. 
 
 Note XI. 
 Sir Hugh the Heron's ivifc held sivay.—V. 163. 
 It has been already noticed, that ICing James' acquaint- 
 ance with Lady Heron of Ford did not coimnence until he 
 iriarcht.d into England. Our historians impute to the king's 
 infatuated passion, the dt- lays which led to the fatal defeat 
 of Fiodden. The author of " The genealogy of the Heron 
 Fan\ily" endeavours, with laudable anxiety, to clear the 
 Lady Ford irom this scandal: that she came and went, 
 kowever, between the armies of James and Sun*ey, is cer- 
 tain. See Piiikerton'^s Histojy, and the authorities he refers 
 to, Vol. II. p. 99. Heron of Ford had iKen, in 1511, in some 
 sort accessory to the slaughter of Sir Robert Ker of Cessford, 
 Wai-den of the MiuiUe Miu-ehes. It was committed by his 
 brother the l^astaixl, Lilburn, and Starked, three Boi-derers. 
 Lilburn, and Heron of Ford, were delivered up by Henry to 
 James, and were ijiiprisoned in the fortress of Fasicastle, where 
 the ioniier died. Part of tlie pretence of Lady Fox-d's neg«- 
 I i ((ions with James was the liberty of her husband. 
 
NOTES TO CANTO FIFTH. 597 
 
 Note XII. 
 For the fair Qiwen of France 
 iicnt him a Turquois ring^ and glove. 
 And charged Mm, as her knight and love, 
 For her to break a lance.— V, 163. 
 " Also the Queen of France wiote a love-letter to the 
 King of Scotland, calling hini Ikt love, showing him tlial 
 she had siiftered much rebuke in France for the defending 
 of his honoui-. She believed surely that he Mould recom- 
 pense her again with some of his kingly support in her neces- 
 sity; that is to say, that he would raise her an army, and come 
 three foot of ground on English ground, for her sake. T« 
 that effect she sent him a ring off her finger, with fourteen 
 thousand French crowns to i>ay his expenses." Pitsccttie, 
 p.' 110. A turquois ring;— probably tliis fatal gift is, with 
 James's s\voi\l and dagger, preserved in the College oi' 
 Heralds, London. 
 
 Note XIII. 
 Archibald Bell-fhe-Cat.—V. 168. 
 Archibald Douglas, Earl of Angus, a man remarkable for 
 strength of body and mind, acquired the popular name of 
 Bell-the-Cat, upon the following remarkable occasion: James 
 the Third, of whom Pjtscottie complains, that he delighted 
 more in music, and " policies of building," than in hunting, 
 hawking, and other noble exercises, was so ill advised, as to 
 make favoiuites of his architects and musicians, whom the 
 same historian irreverently terms, masons and fidlers. His 
 nobility, who did not sympathize in the king's respect for 
 the fine arts, were extrejnely incensed at the honours con- 
 fen-ed on these persons, particularly on Cochrane, a mason, 
 who had been created Earl of Mar. And seizing the oppor- 
 tunity, when, in 1482, the king had convoked the whole 
 array of the country to mareh against the English, they 
 held a midnight coimcil in the church of Lauder, for tl»e 
 purpose of forcibly lemoving these minions fix)ra the king'« 
 pei-son. When all had agreed on the propriety of the mea- 
 sure, Lord Gray told the assembly the Apologue of the Mice; 
 who had formed a resolution, that it would be highly advan- 
 tageous to their community to tie a bell round the cat's 
 neck, that ihey might hear her approach at a distance; bijt 
 
 N 2 
 
298 NOTES TO CANTO FIFTH. 
 
 which pub' c measure unfortunaltly miscarried, fi-om no 
 mouse being willing to undertake the task of fastening the 
 bell. " I undc-rstand the moral," said Angtis, " and, that 
 what \vp propose iiiay not lack execution, I will bell the cat.^^ 
 The rest o( the strange scene is thus told by Pitscottie:— 
 
 " By this was advised and spoken b)- thir lords foi-esaid, 
 Cochran, the Earl oT Mar, caine from the king to the coun- 
 cil, (which council was holden in the kirk of Lawder for the 
 time,) who was well acco/npanied with a band of men of 
 war, to the number of three himdred light axes, all clad in 
 white livery, and black bends thereon, that they iniglit be 
 known for Cochran the Earl of Mar's men: Himseli was 
 clad in a liding-pie of black velvet, with a great chain of 
 gold about his neck, to the value of iive himdred crowns, 
 and four blowing horns, with both the ends of gold and silk, 
 set with precious stone, called a berry I, hanging in the 
 midst. This Cochran had his heuniont born before him 
 overgilt with gold; and so were all the re st of his horns, and 
 all his pallions were o' fine canvas of silk, and the coi-ds 
 thereof fine twined silk, and the chains upon his palhons 
 were double overgilt with gold. 
 
 " This Cochi-an was so proud in his conceit, that he count- 
 ed no loi-ds to be maiTOWs to him, ihereibre he rushed rudely 
 at the kirk-door. The council enquired who it was that per- 
 turbed them at that time. Sir Kolx^rt Douglas, laird of 
 Lochlevin, was keeper of the kirk-door at that time, who 
 enquired who that was that knocked so rudely? And Cochran 
 answered, "This is I, the Earl o Mnr." The whicli neAvs pleas- 
 ed well the lords, because tiiey were ready boun to cause take 
 him, as is afore rehers.d. Then the Earl of Angus past hastily 
 to the door, and with him Sir Robert Douglas of Lochle- 
 vin, there to receive in the Earl of" Mar, and so maaiy of his 
 C(Omi)lices who were there, as they thought good. And the 
 Earl of Angus met with the Earl of Mar, as he caii.e in at 
 tlie door, and pulled the golden chain from his eraig, and 
 said to him, a tow* would set liim Ixtter. Sir Robert Dou- 
 glas syne pulled the blowing-honi from him in like manner, 
 and said, " He had been the hujiler of mischief over long." 
 
 • Rope. 
 
XOTES TO CANtO FIFTH. 399 
 
 This Cochran asked, " My lords, is it mows* or eamestJ" 
 They answered, and said, it is good earnest, and so thcfXi 
 sJialt find: for thou and thy co.riplices have abust d oiir 
 prince this long time; of whom thou shalt have no more 
 credence, but shall have thy reward according to thy good 
 service, as thou hast deserved in times by past; right so the 
 rest of they followers. 
 
 "Notwithstanding, the lords held them quiet till they 
 caused ceitain armed men to pass into the king's pailion, 
 and two or three wise men to pass wth them, and give the 
 king fair pleasant words, till they laid hands on all the 
 king's servants, and took them and hangetl them bt!br: his 
 eyes ovtr the bndge of Lawder. Incontinent they brought 
 forth Cochran, and his hands bound Wiih a tow, who desired 
 them to take one of his own pallion-tows and bind his hands, 
 for he thought shame to have his hands bound with such low 
 of hemp, like a thief. The lords answered, he was a traitor, 
 he deserved no better; and for despight, they took a hair-te- 
 ther,t and hanged him over the bridge of Lawder, above the 
 rest of his complices." Pitscottie, p. 78. folio etlit. 
 
 Note XIV. 
 Against the 7var had Angus stood. 
 And chaffed his royal loj-d.—'P. 168. 
 Ang^s was an old man when the war against England 
 was resolved upon. He earnestly spoke against that measure 
 from its commencement; and, on the eve of the battle of 
 Flodden, remonstrated so freely upon the impolicy of fight- 
 ing, that the king said to liijii, with sconi and indignation, 
 " if he was afraid, he might go home." The Earl burst into 
 tears at this insupportable insult, and retired accordingly, 
 leaving his sons, George, master of Angus, and Sir William, 
 of Glenbervie, to command his followers. They were both 
 slain in the battle, with two hundred gentleman of the name 
 of Douglas. The aged earl, broken-hearted at the calamities 
 of his house and his eountiy, retired into a religious hou$e, 
 where he died about a year after the field of Flodden. 
 
 t Halter. 
 
300 NOTES TO CANTO FIFTH. 
 
 Note XV. 
 Then rest yoii in Tarttallon hold.—V. 169. 
 
 The ruins of Tantallon Castle occupy a high rock pro- 
 jecting into the Gennan Ocean, about two miles east of 
 North Berwick. The building is not seen till a close ap- 
 proach, as tliere is rising ground betwixt it and the land. 
 The circuit is of large extent, fenced upon three sides by 
 the precipice which overhangs the sea, and on the fourth by 
 a double ditch and very strong outworks. Tantallon was a 
 principal castle of the Douglas family, and when the Earl of 
 Angus was banished, in 1527, it continued to hold out 
 against Janies V. The king went in person against it, and, 
 for its reduction, borrowed from the castle of Dunbar, tlien 
 belonging to the Duke of Albany, two great cannons, whose 
 names, as Pitscottie informs us with laudable minuteness 
 were ' Thrawn-mouth'd Mow and her Marrow;' also, ' two 
 great botcaitls and two moyan, two double falcons, and four 
 quarter falcons;' for the safe guiding and redelivery of 
 which, three loi-ds were laid in pawn at Dunbar. Yet, not- 
 withstanding all this apparatus, James was forced to raise 
 the seige, and only afterwai-ds obtained possession of Tantal- 
 lon by treaty with tlie governor, Simeon Panango. When 
 the Earl of Angus returned from banishment, upon the 
 death of James, he again obtained possession of Tantallon, 
 and it actually afforded refuge to an English ambassador, 
 under circumstances similar to those described in the text. 
 This was no other than the celebrated Sir Ralph Sadler, 
 who resided there for some time under Angus's protection, 
 after the failure of his negotiation for matching the infant 
 Mary with Edward VI. He says, that though this place Mas 
 poorly furnished, it was of such strength as might warrant 
 him against the malice of his enemies, and tliat he now 
 thought himself out of danger.* 
 
 There is a military tradition, tliat the old Scotch March 
 was meant to express the woi-ds. 
 
 • The veiy curious Slate Papers of this able negotiator, 
 are shortly to be published by Mr. Clifford, with SQn»e 
 Notes, by the author of Mainiion, 
 
NOTES TO CANTO FIFTH. 3Q 1 
 
 Ding down Tantallon, 
 ]VIak a brig to the Bass. 
 
 Tantallon was at length "dung down" and ruined by the 
 Covenanters; its lord, die Marquis of Douglas, being a 
 favoui-er of the rayal cause. The castle and barony were 
 sold in the beginning of the eighteenth century to Fi-esident 
 Dayli-jinple of North Berwick, by the then Marquis of 
 Douglas. 
 
 Note XVI. 
 Their motto on his blade.— 9. 169. 
 A very ancient sword, in possession of Loixl Douglas, 
 bears, among a great deal of flourishing, two hands pointing 
 to a heai-t, which is placed betwixt them, and the date 1329, 
 being Uie year in which Bruce charged the Good Loi-d 
 Douglas to carry his heart to the Holy Land: The following 
 lines (the first couplet of which is quoted by Go«lscroft as 
 a popular saying in his time) are inscribed around tlte 
 emblem: 
 
 So mony guid as of ye Dovglas beine. 
 
 Of ane surname was ne'er in Scotland seine 
 
 I will ye charge, efter yat I depart. 
 To holy grawe, and thair buiy my hart; 
 Let it remane ever Bot/ie Ttjme and Hoivr 
 To ye last day I sie my Saviour. 
 
 I do protest in tyme of al my ringe. 
 Ye lyk subject had never ony keing. 
 
 This curious and valuable relique was nearly lost dui-ing 
 the civil war of 1745-6, being earned away from Douglas- 
 Castle by some of those in arms for Prince Charles. But 
 great interest having been made by the Duke of Douglas 
 among the chief partizans of Stuart, it was at length re- 
 stored. It resembles a Highland claymore, of the usual size, 
 ?h of an excerient temper, and admirably poised. 
 
302 NOTES TO CANTO FIFTH. 
 
 Note XVII. 
 
 Martin S-^vart.—F. 174. 
 
 The iiame of this Gernian general is presented by that ot* 
 
 the field of battle, which is called, after hini, Swart-inoor.— 
 
 There were songs about him long current in England.— See 
 
 dissertation prefixed to Ritsori's Ancioit Songs, 1792, pagelxi. 
 
 Note XVIII. 
 Perchance some form uas unobserved, 
 Percfuince in point of faith he srverved.—P. 175. 
 It was early iiecessar>' for those who felt themselves obliged 
 to l>eiieve in the divine judgment being enunciated in the 
 trial by duel, to find salvos for the strange and obviously 
 precarious chances of the combat. Various curious evasive 
 shif(s, used by those who took up an unrighteous quarrel, 
 were supposed sufficient to convert it into a just one. Thus, 
 in the ro/uance ot " Aniys and Amelion," the one bi-other- 
 in-arms, fighting for the other, disguised in his armour, 
 swears that he did not cor.uiiit the crime of which the 
 Steward, his antagonist, truly, though maliciously, accused 
 hi;ii whom he represented. Bi-anto.'ue tells a story of an 
 Italian, who entei^ed the lists upon an unjust quarrel, but, 
 to ).ake his cause good, fled froin his enemy at the first on- 
 set. " Tuni, coward.'"* exclai.iied his antagonist; " 'I'hou iiest," 
 said the Italian, "coward an. I none; and in this quarrel 
 will I fight to the deatli, but my first cause of combat was 
 unjust, and I abandon it." Je vous laisse a penser,^^ adds 
 Braiitome, '' s'il n^y a pas de rabus Ir." Elsewhere he says, 
 verj- sensibly, upon the confidence which those who had a 
 righteous cause entertained of victory; " U)i autre abus y 
 avoit-il, que ceux qui avoicnt un juste sujct de querelle, et 
 qu'on Its faisoit jurer avant entrer au camp, pensoient estre 
 aussUost vainqueurs, voire s''en assuroient-ils du tout, niesmes, 
 que ieu7-s confcsseurs, parrains et conpdants leurs en res^ 
 pondoient tout-afait, coinme si Dieu leur en eust dojme une 
 patente; et ne regardant point h d^tutres fautes passees, et 
 qii£ fjii'u en garde la punitian a ce coup lu pour phis grande^ 
 (iespiteuse, ct exemplaire.''' Discours sur les Duels. 
 
NOTES TO CANTO FIFTH. gQS 
 
 Note XIX. 
 DinuEdhi's Cross.— P. 178. 
 
 The Cross of Edinburgh was an ancient and curious 
 stnicture. The lower part was an octagonal tower, sixteen 
 feet in diameter, and about fifteen feet high. At each 
 angle there was a pillar, and between them an arch, of the 
 Grecian shape. Above these was a projecting battlement, 
 witlj a turret at each corner, and n)edallions, of rude but 
 curious workmanship, between them. Above this rose the 
 proper Cross, a column of one stone, upwai-ds of twenty 
 feet high, surmounted with an unicorn. This pillar is 
 preserved at tht- House of Drum, near Edinburgh. Tlie 
 Magistrates of Edinburgh, in 1756, with consent of the 
 Lords oi Session, (pro/i piidor.') destroyed this curious monu- 
 ment, under a wanton pretext, that it incumbered the street; 
 while, on the one hand, they left an ugly mass, called the 
 Luckenbooths, and, on the other, an awkward, long, and 
 low guard-house, which \\ ere fifty times more encumbrance 
 than the venerable and inoffensive Cross. 
 
 From the tower of the Cross, so long as it remained, the 
 hei-alds published the acts of Parliament; and its site, mark- 
 ed by i-adii, diverging from a stone centre, in the High 
 Street, is still the place where proclamations ai-e made. 
 
 Note XX. 
 T/)is mvful summons came. — P. 179. 
 This supernatural citation is mentioned by all our Scottish 
 historians. It ^\as probably, like the apparition of LinlitJi- 
 gow, an attempt, bj those averse to the war, to impose upon 
 the superstitious temper of James IV. The following account 
 from Pitscottie is characteristically minute, and furnish- 
 es, besides, some curious particulars of the equipment of 
 the army of James IV. I need only add to it, that Plotcock, 
 or Plutock, is no other than Pluto. The Christians of the 
 middle ages by no means disbelieved in the existence of the 
 heathen deities; they only considered them as devils;* and 
 
 *See on this curious subject, the Essay on Fairies, in the 
 "Boixler Minstrelsy," Vol. II., under the fourth head; also 
 Jackson on Unbehef, p. 175. Chaucer calls Pluto the "King 
 ot Faerie;" and -Dunbflr nsuaes hiin " Pl«to, that elrieh in- 
 
304 NOTES TO CANTO FIFTH. 
 
 Plotcock, so far from implying any thing fabulous, was a 
 synonyme of the grand enemy of mankind. " Yet all thir 
 warnings, and uncouth tidings, nor no good counsel, niight 
 stop the king, at this present, from his vain purpose, and 
 wicked enterprise, but hasted liim fast to Edinburgh, and 
 there to make his i)rovision and furnishing, in having forth 
 of liis army against the day appointed, tliat they should 
 meet in tlie Buri-ow-muir of Edinburgh: that is to say, seven 
 cannons that he had forth oTthe castle of Edinburgh, which 
 were called the Seven Sisters, casten by Robert Borthwick. 
 the master-gunner, with other small artillery, bullet, powder 
 and all manner of order, as the master-gunner could devise. 
 " III this mean time, when they Mere taking forth their 
 artillerj-, and the king being in the Abbey for the time, 
 there was a cry heard at the Market-cross of Edinburgh, at 
 the hour of midnight, proclaiming as it had been a sum- 
 mons, which was named and called by the proclaimer thei-eof. 
 The Su.nnions of Plotcock; which desii-ed all men to com- 
 pear, both Earl and Lord and Baron, and all honest gentle- 
 men within the town (every man specified by his own name,) 
 to compear, within the spaceol forty daj-s, before his master, 
 where it should Jiappeu him to appoint, and be for tlie time, 
 under the pain of disobedience. But whether this sununoiu 
 was proclaijned by vain persons, night-walkers, or drunken 
 men, for their pastime, or if it was a spirit, 1 cannot tell 
 truly; but it was shown to n e, that an indweller of the town, 
 Mr. Richaixl Lawson, being evil-disposed, ganging in his 
 gallery-stair foreanent the cross, hearing this voice proclaim- 
 ing this sunnnons. thought mar\-el wliat it should be, cried 
 on his servant to bring him his purse; and when he had 
 hroxight hiui it, he took out a crown, and cast over the 
 stair, saying, I appeal from that sunmions, judgment, and 
 sentence thereof, and takes me all whole in the mercy of 
 
 cubus." If he was not actually the devil, he must be consid- 
 ered as the " prince of the power of the air." I'he most 
 remarkable instance of these surviving classical supersti- 
 tions, is that of the Germans, concerning the Hill of Venus, 
 into which she attempts to entice all gallant knights, and 
 detains then* in a sort ©f Fool's Paradise. 
 
NOTES TO CANTO FIFTH. 305 
 
 Ood, and Christ Jesus his son. Verily the author of this, 
 that caused me write tlie manner ot the summons, was a 
 landed gentleman, who was at tliat time twenty years ot 
 age, and was in the town the time of the said suiiuiions; and 
 thereafter, when th. field was stricken, he swore to me, 
 there was no man that escaped that^was called in this sum- 
 mons, but that one man alone which made his protestation, 
 and api)ealed from the said sUiianons; but all the lave were 
 perished in the field with the king." 
 
 Note XXI. 
 Fitz-Eustace bade them pause cnvhik, 
 Befi/i-e a venerable pile.— P. 182. 
 The convent alluded to is a foundation of Cestertian nuns, 
 near North Berwick, of which there are still some remains^. 
 It was founded by Duncan Earl of Fife, in 1216. 
 
 Note XXII. 
 Tliat one of his mvn ancesti-y 
 Drove the Monks forth of Coventry.— P. 185. 
 This relates to the catastrophe of a real Robert de Mar- 
 mion, ui the reign of King Stephen, whom William of New- 
 bury describes with so.-.ie attributes of my fictitious hero: 
 " Ho?i>o bellicosus, ferocia, et astucia, fere nullo siio tempore 
 impar.'"' This Baron, having expelled the monks from the 
 church of Coventry, was not long of experiencing the divine 
 judgment, as the same monks no doubt termed his disaster. 
 Having waged a feudal war with the Earl of Chester, Mai'- 
 mion's horse fell, as he charged in the van of his troop, 
 against a body of the Earl's followers: the rider's thigh being 
 broken by the fall, his head was cut off by a common foot- 
 soldier, ere he could receive any succour. The whole story 
 is told by William of Newburv. 
 
NOTES TO CANTO SIXTH. 
 
 Note I. 
 ' the savage Dane 
 
 At lol move deep the mead did drain.— V, IQl. 
 The lol of the heatlien Danes, (a word still applied to 
 Christmas in Scotland,) was solemnized with great festivity. 
 The humour of the Danes at table displayed itself in 
 pelting each other w ith bones; and Torfieus tells a long and 
 curious story, in the history of Hrolfe Kraka, of one Hottus, 
 an inmate of the court of Denmark, who was so generally 
 assailed with these missiles, that he consti-ueted, out of the 
 bones with which he was overwhelmed, a veiy Respectable 
 enti-enchment, against those who continued the i-ailleiy. 
 The dances of the northern wan-jors round the gi-eat fii-es 
 of pine-trees are commemorated by Olaus Magnus, who 
 says, they danced with such fuiy, holding each other by the 
 hands, that, if the grasp of any failed, he was pitched into 
 the fire with the velocity of a sling. The sufferer, on such 
 occasions, was instantly plucked out, and obliged to quaff 
 off a certain measure of ale, as a penalty for " spoiling the 
 king's fire." 
 
 Note II. 
 On Chriftmas eve t/ie niass ivas sung.—V. 192. 
 
 In Roman Catholic Counti-ies, mass is never said at night, 
 excepting on Christmas eve. Each of the frolics with which 
 that holiday used to be celebrated, might admit of a long 
 and curious note; but I shall content myself with the follow- 
 ing description of Christmas, and his attiibutes, as personified 
 in one of Ben Jonson's Masques for the court. 
 
 " Entei- Christmas, with trvo or three of tfie Guard. He is 
 attired in round hose, long stockings, a close doublet, a high- 
 crowned hat, with a broach, a long thin beayd, a truncheon. 
 
XOTES TO CANTO SIXTH. 307 
 
 liitie ruffs, white shoes, his scarfs and gai-ters tied cross, and 
 his di-um beaten before hiin."— 
 
 " The names of his children, with their attires. 
 
 " Miss-Bvle, in a velvet cap, with a sprig, a shoit cloak, 
 gi-eat yellow i-uftj like a reveller; liis torch-bearer bearing 
 a rope, a cheese, and a basket. 
 
 " Caroll, a long tawny coat, with a red cap, and a flute at 
 his girdle; his torch-bearer can-ying a song-book open. 
 
 " Minc^d-pie, like a fine cook's wife, drest neat, her man 
 earning a pie, dish, and spoons. 
 
 ^'■Gamboll, like a tuii.bltr, with a hoop and bells; his torch- 
 bearer arni'd with cole-staif, and blinding cloth. 
 
 "Post and Pair, with a paiM-oyal of aces in his hat, his 
 garment all done over \\\\\\ pairs and purs: his squire cann- 
 ing a box, cards, and countei"s. 
 
 " Neii-year's-gzft, in a blue coat, serving-man like, with 
 an orange, and a sprig oi rosemai^- gilt on his head, his hat 
 full of broaches, with a collar of gingerbread; his toi-ch- 
 bearer can-ying a marclipain, with a bottle of wine on either 
 arm. 
 
 " Mumndng, in a masquing pied suit, with a visor; his 
 torch-bearer carrying the box, and ringing it. 
 
 " IFassall, like a neat seinpster and songster; her page 
 bearing a brown bowl, dressed with ribbands, and rose- 
 marj', before hei*. 
 
 " Offering, in a short gown, with a porter's staff in his 
 hand; a wyth borne before him, and a bason, by his torch- 
 bearei-. 
 
 " Bahy Cocke, drest like a boy, in a fine long coat, biggin, 
 bib, muckender, and a little dagger; his usher bearing a 
 great cake, with a bean and a pease." 
 
 Note III. 
 Who lists, may in their mumming see 
 Traces of ancient mrjstery.—F, 193. 
 It seems ceitain, that the Mummers of England, who (in 
 Northumberland at least) used to go about in disguise to 
 the neighbouring houses, bearing tlie then useless plough- 
 sliare, and the Guisards of Scotland, not yet in total disuse, 
 present, in some indistinct degree, a shadow of the old mys- 
 teries, which were the origin of the English drama. In Scot- 
 
308 NOTES TO CANTO SIXTH. 
 
 land, (me ipso teste,) we were wont, during my boyhood, to 
 take the characters of the apostles, at least of Peter, Paul, 
 and Jud;is Iseariot, which last cai-ried the bag, in which the 
 dole of our neighbour's plumlxake was deposited. One 
 played a Champion, and recited some traditional rhymes; 
 another was 
 
 Alexander, king of Macedon, 
 Who conquered all the world but Scotland alone; 
 When he came to Scotland his courage grew cold, 
 To see a little nation courageous and bold. 
 These, and many such verses, were repeated but by rote, 
 and unconnectedly. There was also occasionally, I believe, 
 a Saint George. In all, there was a confused resemblance 
 of the ancient mysteries, in which the characters of scrip- 
 ture, the Nine Woithies, and other popular personages, 
 were usually exhibited. It were much to be wished, tliat 
 the Chester Mysteries wei-e published from the MS. in the 
 Museum, with the annotations which a diligent investiga- 
 tor of popular antiquities might still supply. The late acute 
 and valuable antiquary, Mr. Ritson, showed me several 
 meiiioi-anda towartls such a task which are probably now 
 dispersed or lost. See, however, his Remarks on S/iakspearc, 
 1783, p. 38. 
 
 Note IV. 
 Whti-e my great-grandsire came of old. 
 With amber beard and flaxen Imir.—V. 194. 
 Mr. Scott of Harden, my kind and affectionate friend, 
 and distant relation, has the original ol a poetical invitation, 
 addi-cssed from his grandfather to my relative, froiu which 
 a few lines in the text are imitated. They are dated, as the 
 epistle in the text from Mertoun-house, the seat of the Har- 
 den family. 
 
 " With amber beai-d, and flaxen hair, 
 
 And reverend apostolic air, 
 
 Free of anxiety and care, 
 
 Con;e hither, Christmas-day, and dine; 
 
 We'll mix sobriety with wine. 
 
 And easy mirth with thoughts divinei 
 
 We christians think it holiday, 
 
 On it no sin to feast or play; 
 
 Othei-s, in spite, may fast and pray* 
 
NOTES TO CANTO SIXTH. 309 
 
 No superstition in the use 
 
 Our ancestors made of a goose; 
 
 Why may not we, as well as they, 
 
 Be innocently blithe that day, 
 
 On goose or pye, on wine or ale. 
 
 And sconi enthusiastic zeal.'— 
 
 Pray come, and welcome, or plague rot 
 
 Your friend and landloi-d, Walter Scott." 
 Mr. Walter Scott, Lcssiidden. 
 
 The venei-able old gentleman, to whom the lines are 
 addressed, was the younger brother of William Scott of 
 Reaburn. Being the cadet of a cadet of the Harden family, 
 he had very little to lose; yet he contrived to lose the small 
 property he had, by engaging in the civil wars and m- 
 trigiies ofthe house of Stuart. His veneration for the exiled 
 fanaly was so great, that he swore he would not shave liis 
 beai-d till they were restored: a mark of attachment, which, 
 I suppose, had been common during Cro mvell's usurpation; 
 for, in Cowley's " Cutter of Coleinan Street," one drunken 
 ca4uer upbraids another, that, when he was not able to afford 
 to pay a barber, he affected to " wear a beard for the king." 
 I sincerely hope this was not absolutely the original reason 
 of my ancestor's beai-d; which, as appears fro;u a portrait 
 in the possession of Sir Henry Hay Macdougal, Bart, and 
 another painted for the famous Dr. Pitcaini,* was a beard 
 of a most dignified and venerable appearance. 
 Note V. 
 The spirifs blasted tree.—?. 196. 
 I am permitted to illustrate this passage, by inserting 
 " Ceubren yr EUyll or the Spirit's Blasted Tree," a legen- 
 dary tale, by Mr. George Wan-ington: 
 
 « The event, on which this tale is founded, is preserved 
 by tradition in the fannly of tlie Vaughans of Htngwyrt; 
 nor is it entirely lost, even among the com)<ion peoj>le, who 
 still point out this oak to the passenger. The enmity be- 
 tween the two Welsh chieftains, Howel Sele, and Owen 
 Glyndow, was extren.e, and marked by vile treacherj^ in 
 
 » The old gentleman was an intiniate of this celebrated 
 genius. By the favour of the late Earl of Kelly, descended 
 on the maternal side from Dr. Pitcaim, my father became 
 possessed of the portrait in question. 
 
3 1 NOTES TO C AXTO SIXTH. 
 
 the one, and ferocious cruelty in the othei.* The stoiy is 
 somewhat changed and softened, as more fovourable to the 
 characters of the two cliiefs, and as l)etter answering tlie 
 purpose of poetry, by admitting tlie passion of pity, and 
 a greater degree of sentiment in the description. Some trace 
 of Howel Sele's mansion was to be seen some few years ago, 
 and may perhaps be still visible, in the park of Nannan, 
 now belonging to Sir Robert Vaughan, Baronet, in the wild 
 and romantic ti-acts of Merionethshire. The abbey men- 
 tioned passes luider two names, "S'aner and Cyuiiner. The 
 former is reuiineil as more generally used. 
 
 THE SPIRIT'S BLASTED TREE. 
 
 Ceubrcn y Elhjll. 
 Through Naiuiau's Chase as Howel passed. ^ 
 
 A chief esteemed both brave and kind, 
 Far distant borne, the stag-hound's cry- 
 Came munuuring on the hollow wind. 
 Starting, he. bent an eager ear,— 
 
 How should the sounds ivturn again? 
 His hounds lay wearied from the chase, 
 
 And all at home his hunter train. 
 Then sudden anger flashed Jiis eye, 
 
 And deep revciige he vowed to take. 
 On tliat bold man who dared to foi-ce 
 
 His red deer front the forest brake. 
 Unluppy chief! woiild nought avail. 
 
 No signs impress thy heart with fear, 
 Thy Lady's dark luysterious dream, 
 
 Thy warning from the holy seer? 
 Three ravens gave the note of death, 
 
 As tJu-ough iuid air they winged their way; 
 Then o'er his head in rapid flight. 
 
 They croak,— they scent their destined prey. 
 Ill-oaiened-biixl! as legends say, 
 
 Who hast the wondei-ous power to know, 
 While health fills higli the throbbing veins. 
 
 The fated hour when blood must flow. 
 
 * The history of their feud may be found in Pciuiiint*' 
 Tour in Wales. 
 
NOTES TO CANTO SIXTH. 3 \ ] 
 
 Blinded by rage, alone he passed, 
 
 Nor sought his ready vassals' aid; 
 But what his fate lay long unknown, 
 
 For many an anxious year delayed. 
 A peasant marked his angry eye, 
 
 He saw him reach the lake's dark bourne, 
 He saw him near a blasted Oak, 
 
 But never from that hour return. 
 Three days passed o'er, no tidings came;— 
 
 Where should the chief his steps delay? 
 With wild alarm the servants i-an, 
 
 Yet knew not wliere to point their way. 
 His >-assals ranged the mountain's height, 
 
 The covert close, and wide-spread plain; 
 But all in vain their eager search, 
 
 They ne'er must see their loi-d again. 
 Yet fancy, in a thousand shapes. 
 
 Bore to his home the chief once more: 
 Some saw him walk the mountain's top, 
 
 Some saw him on the winding shore. 
 With wonder frauglit the tale went round, 
 
 Amazemtnt chained the hearer's tongue; 
 Each peasant felt his own sad loss. 
 
 Yet fondly o'er the story hung. 
 Oft by the moon's pale shadowy light, 
 
 His aged nurse, and stewaixl gray. 
 Would lean to catch the storied sounds, 
 
 Or mark the flitting spirit stray. 
 Pale lights on Cader's rocks were seen, 
 
 And midnight voices heard to moan; 
 "Twas even said the Blasted Oak, 
 
 Convulsive, heaved a hollow groan: 
 And, to this day, the peasant still. 
 
 With cautious fear, avoids tlie ground; 
 In each wild branch a spectre sees. 
 
 And ti-embles at each nsing sound. 
 Ten annual suns liad held their course, 
 
 In summer's smile, or winter's sloi-nj: 
 The lady shed the widowed tear, 
 
 As oft she traced his iiianly form . 
 
3 1 2 NOTES TO CANTO SIXTK. 
 
 Yet still to hope her heart would cling, 
 
 As o'er the mind illusions play,— 
 Of travel fond, perhaps her loi-d 
 
 To distant lands had steered his way. 
 'Twas now November's cheerless hour, 
 
 >Vliich drenching rains and clouds deface^ 
 Drt>ary the mountain track appeared. 
 
 And dull and dank the valley's sjiace* 
 Loud o'er the wier tlu- hoarse flood fell. 
 
 And dasheil tlu- foaming spray on high; 
 The west wind bent tlie forest tops, 
 
 And angry ti-uwned the evening sky. 
 A stranger passed Llanelltid's waste, 
 
 His dark-gi-ey steed witli sweat besprent, 
 "Which, wi-ariwl with the lengthened way, 
 
 Coukl scarcely gain the hill's ascent. 
 The portal reached,— the iron bell 
 
 Loud sounded round the outward wall; 
 Quick spi-ang the warder to the gate, 
 
 To know what meant the clamorous call. 
 '^ O! lead me to your lady soon; 
 
 Say,— it is my sad lot to tell. 
 To clear the late of that brave knight. 
 
 She long has proved she loved so well." 
 Then, as he crossed the s])aciou$ hall. 
 
 The menials look surprise and fear; 
 Still o'er his harp old Motlred hung. 
 
 And touched the notes Tor griefs worn car. 
 The lady sat aniidst her train; 
 
 A mellowed sorrow marked her look: 
 Then, asking what his mission meant. 
 
 The graceful stranger sighed and spoke:— 
 '^ O could I spread one ray o< hope. 
 
 One moment raise thy soul from wo, 
 Gladly my tongue would tell its tale. 
 
 My words at ease unfettei-ed flow! 
 " Now, lady, give attention due, 
 
 Tlie story claiu.s thy full belief: 
 E'en in the worst events ot life. 
 
 Suspense removed is some relief. 
 
NOTES TO CANTO SIXTH. 3 | 3 
 
 •• Though worn by care, see IMadoe here, 
 
 Gi-eat GSjniilwrs friend, thy khidroil's fo^ 
 Ah. let his name no angt-r raise, 
 
 For now that niighty Chief lies lo^v! 
 "EVn from the day, when, chained by fafe;. 
 
 By wizai-d's dream, or potent spell, 
 Lingering from sad Salopia's field, 
 
 'Reft of hh aid the Percy fell. 
 "E'en fi-oni that day misfortiine still. 
 
 As if for violated faith, 
 Pursued him with unwearied step; 
 
 Vindictive still for Hotspur's death. 
 " Vanquished at length, the Glyudwr fled 
 
 "Where winds the Wye her devious flood,; 
 To find a casual shelter there, 
 
 Iji some lone cot, or desert wood. 
 ^ Clothed in a shephenl's humble guisq. 
 
 He gained by toil his scanty bread; 
 He who had Cambria's sceptre borne., 
 
 And her brave sons to giorj- led! 
 " 1 o penury extreme, and grief, 
 
 The Chieftain fell a lingering prey; 
 1 heard his last few faltering words, 
 Such as w ith pain I now convey. 
 * To Sele's sad widow bear the tale, 
 
 ' Nor let our honid secret rest; 
 ' Give but his corse to sacred earth, 
 
 ' Then may my parting soul be West.'— 
 " Dim waxed the eye that fiercely shone. 
 
 And faint the tongue that proudly spoke,. 
 And weak that ar;ii, still raised to me. 
 
 Which oft had dealt the jnoital stroke. 
 -' How could I then liis mandate bear? 
 
 Or how his last ijehest obey? 
 A rebel deeined, with him I fled; 
 
 With him I shunned the light of day. 
 •^ Proscribed by Henry's hostile rage, 
 My country lost, despoiled my land, 
 
 €> 
 
3 1 4 NOTES TO CANTO SIXTH, 
 
 Desperate, I fled my native soil, 
 
 And fouglit on Syria's distant strand. 
 •' O, had thy long-lamented lord 
 
 The holy cross and banner viewed, 
 Died in the sacred cause! who fell 
 
 Sad victim of a private feud! 
 " Led, by the ai-dour of the chase. 
 
 Far distant from his own domain; 
 From where Gtarthmadan spreads her shade&, 
 
 The GlyndwT sought the opening plain. 
 '■ Witli head aloft, and antlers wide, 
 
 A red buck roused then crossed in view; 
 Stung with the sight, and wild witli rage. 
 
 Swift from the wood fierce Howell flew. 
 " With bitter taunt, and keen reproach, 
 
 He, all impetuous, poured his rage; 
 Reviled the Chief as weak in arins, 
 
 And bade him loud the battle wage. 
 " GIjTidwr for once restrained his sword, 
 
 And, still averse, the fight delays; 
 But softened words, like oil to fire, 
 
 Made anger more intensely blaze. 
 " They fought; and doubtful long the fray! 
 
 The GljTidwr gave the fatal wound!— 
 Still mournful must my tale proceed, 
 
 And its last act all dreadful sound. 
 *' How could we hope for wished retreat, 
 
 His eager vassals ranging wide! 
 His bloodhoimds' keen sagacious scent, 
 
 O'er many a trackless mountain tried? 
 " I marked a broad and Blasted Oak, 
 
 Scorched by the lightnings livid glare; 
 Hollow its stem from branch to i-oot, 
 
 And all its shrivelled arms were bare. 
 I'Be this, I cried, his proper gi-ave!— 
 
 (The thought in me was deadly sin.) 
 Aloft we raised the liapless Chief, 
 
 And dropped his bleeding corpse within."— 
 A shriek from all the damsels burst. 
 
 That pierced the vaulted roofs below; 
 
NOTES TO CANTO SiXTlJ. 3 j 5 
 
 While horror struck the lady stood, 
 
 A living form of sculptured wo. 
 Witli stupid stare, and vacant gaze, 
 
 Full on his lace her eyes were cast, 
 Absorbed! — she lost her present grief 
 
 And faintly thocgJit of things long past. 
 Like wild-firc o'er a mossy heath, 
 
 The rumour through the har.dct ran; 
 The peasants crowd at morning dawn. 
 
 To hear tlie tale— Inhold tlie man. 
 He led them near the Blasted Oiik, 
 
 Tlien, conscious, from the scene withdrew: 
 The peasant*! work with trembling haste, 
 
 And lay the whitened bones to view!— 
 Back they recoiled!— the right hand still. 
 
 Contract, d, gi-aspetl a rusty sword; 
 Which erst in many a battle giramed, 
 
 And proudly decketl their slaughtered lonl. 
 They bore the corse to Vener's shrine, 
 
 With holy rites, and prayers addressed; 
 Nine white-robed monks the lastdn-ge saijg, 
 
 And gave the angrj' spirit rest. 
 
 Note VI. 
 
 TIk Highlander • 
 
 Will on a Friday morn look pale, 
 Ifatked to tell afaJnj tale.— P. 196. 
 The Daoine shi\ or Men of Peace, of the Scottish Higli- 
 landers, rather reseuibles the Scandinavian Duergar than 
 the English Faries. Notwithstanding their name, thej are, 
 if not absolutely malevolent, at least peevisli, discontented, 
 and apt to do mischief on slight provocation. 'I'he belief 
 of their existence is deeply impi-essed on the Iiighlanders, 
 who think tliey are particularly offended with mortals, who 
 talk of them, who wear their favourite colour given, or in 
 any i-espect interfere with their affairs. This is particularly 
 to be avoided on Friday, vhen, whtther as dedicated to 
 Venus, with who^n, in Germany, this subterraneous people 
 are held nearly connected, or for a more sok-mri reason, they 
 are more active, and posses?e<l of gi-eater power. Some 
 curious particulars concerning the i>opular superstitions of 
 
3 1 6 NOTES TO CANTO SIXTH. 
 
 tlie Highlanders, may be found in Dr. Graham's Picturesque 
 Sketches of Perthshii'e. 
 
 Note VII. 
 the tmvers of Fraiichemont.~P. 196. 
 
 Tlie joui-nal of the friend to whom the Fourth Canto of 
 the poem is inscribed, furnished me with the following 
 account of a striking superstition. 
 
 " Passed the pi-etty little village of Franchemout, (near 
 Spaw,) witJi the i-omantic i-uins of the old castle of the 
 Counts of that name. The road leads through many delight- 
 ful vales; on a risijig ground, at. the extremity of one of 
 them, stands the ancient castle, now the subject of many 
 superstitious legends. It is firmly bt;lieved by the neigh- 
 boui-ing peasantry, that the last Baron of Franchemont 
 deposited, in one of the vaults of the castle, a ponderous 
 chest, containing an immense treasure in gold and silver, 
 which, by some magic spell, was enti-usted to the care of the 
 devil, who is constantly found sitting on the chest in the 
 shape of a huntsman. Any one adventurous enough ta 
 touch tlie chest, is instantly seized with the palsy. Upon 
 one occasion, a priest of noted piety was brought to the 
 vault: he usetl all the arts of exorcism ta persuade his infer- 
 nal majesty to vacate the seat, but in vain; the huntsman 
 remained immoveable. At last, moved by the earnestness 
 of the priest, he told him that he would agree to resign the 
 chest, if the exerciser would sign his name with blood. But 
 the priest understood his meaning, and refused, as by that 
 act he would have delivered over his soul to the devil. Yet 
 if any botly can discover tlie mystic words ust-d by the per- 
 son who deposited the treasure, and pronounce the in, the 
 fiend must instantly decamp. I had many stories ot a simi- 
 lar nature from a peasant, who had himself seen the devil, 
 in the shape of a great cat." 
 
 Note VIII. 
 The verifform of Hilda fair, 
 Horcering ttpon the sunny air. — P. 202. 
 "I shall only produce one instance more of the great 
 veneration paid to Lady Hilda, which still prevails evefl in 
 these our days; and tiiat is, the constant opinion that she 
 rendered, and still renders, herself visible, on sojne occasions^ 
 in the abbey of Struamshalh, or Whitby, where she so long 
 
XOTES TO CANTO SIXTH. 3 I 7 
 
 resided. At a particular time of the year, (viz. in the sum- 
 mer months,) at ten or eleven in the forenoon, the sun-beams 
 fall in the inside of the northern part of the choir, and 'tis 
 then that the spectators, who stand on the west side of 
 Whitby church-yai-d, so as just to see the most northerly part 
 of the abbey past the north end of Whitby church, imagine, 
 they perceive, in one of the highest windows there, the 
 resemblance of a woman, arrayed in a shroud. Though we 
 ai-e certain this is only a i-eflection, caused by the splendour 
 of the sun-beams, yet fame reports it, and it is constantly 
 believed among the vulgar, to be an appearance of Lady 
 Hilda in her shroud, or rather in a glorified state; before, 
 which, I make no doubt, the papists, even in these our days, 
 offt' r up their prayers with as much zeal and devotion, as 
 befoi-e any other image of their most gloiified saint."— C/iort' 
 fc/i'rf Hlstonj of Wtiitby, p. 33. 
 
 Note IX. 
 A Bishop hy the alUir stooff.—T, 209. 
 The well known Gawain Douglas, Bishop of Dunkeld, son 
 of Archibald Bill-ihe-Cat, Earl of Angus. He Mas author of 
 a Scottish metrical version of the yEneid, and of many other 
 poetical pieces of gi-eat merit. He had not at this period 
 attained the mitre. 
 
 Note X. 
 ' the huge ami sireeping brand. 
 That icont of yore in battle fray 
 Hisfonnari's lim/t.? to lop away. 
 As tvood-knife shreds the saj'yling spray. ~V. 201. 
 Angus had strength and personal activity corresponding 
 to his courage. Spt-ns of Kilspindie, a favourite of .laiues IV., 
 having spoken of him lightly, the Earl met him while hawk- 
 ing, and compelling hini to single combat, at one blow cut 
 asunder his tliigh bone, and killed him on the spot. But 
 ere he could obtain James's jwnlon for this slaughter, Angfus 
 was obliged to yield his castle of Hennitage, in exeliange 
 for that of Bothwell, which was so.iie diminution to tlie 
 family greatness. The sword with which he struck so i-e- 
 markable a blow, was presented by his descendant, James, 
 Earl of Morton, afterwards Regent of Scotland, to Lord 
 Lindesay of the Bjtcs, when he defied Bothv.ell to single 
 
 02 
 
3 1 8 NOTES TO CANTO SIXTH. 
 
 combat on Carbeiry hill.— See Introduction to the Minstrelsy 
 of the ScMish Border, p. ix. 
 
 Note XI. 
 And hopest thou Iience unscathed to go? 
 No, by St. Brijde of Bothwell, no: 
 Up draiv-bridge, grooms— rvhat. Warder, ho! 
 Let the poitcullisfalL~F- 213. 
 This ebuUitioji of violence in the potent Earl of Angus is 
 not without its examples in the real liistory of the house of 
 Douglas, whose chieftains, possessed the ierocity with the 
 heroic vu'tues oi a savage state. The most curious ijistance 
 occurred in the case of Alaclellaii, tutor of Bomby, who hav- 
 ing refused to acknowledge the pre-eminence claimed by 
 Douglas over the gentlemen and Barons of Galloway, was 
 seized and imprisoned by the Earl, in his castle of tlie 
 Tlu-ieve, on the borders of Kirkcudbright'shire. Sir Patrick 
 Gray, conunander of King James the Second's guard, was 
 uncle to tlie tutor of Bomby, and obtained from the King a 
 " sweet letter of supplication," prajing the Earl to deliver 
 his prisoner into Gray's hand. When Sir Patrick arrived 
 at the castle, he was received with all the honour due to a 
 favourite servant of the King's household; but while he was at 
 dinner, the Earl, w ho suspected his en-and, caused his prisoner 
 to be led forth and beheaded. After dinner, Sir Patrick 
 presented the King's letter to the Earl, who received it 
 with great afttctation of reverence; " and took him by the 
 hand, and led bin) forth to the green, where the gentleman 
 was lying dead, and showed him the manner, and said. Sir 
 Patrick, you are come a little too late; yonder i ^'our sis- 
 ter's son lying, but he wants the head: take his body, and 
 do with it what you will." Sir Patrick answered again with 
 a sore heai-t, and said. My lord, if ye have taken from him 
 his head, dispone upon the body as ye please: and with that 
 called for his horse, and leaped thereon; and when he was 
 on horseback, he said to the Earl on this manner, My lord, 
 if I live, jou shall be rewaiiletl for your labours, that you 
 have used at this time, accoitling to your demerits. 
 
 " At this sajingthe Earl was highly offended, and cried for 
 horse. Sir Patrick, seeing the Earl's fury, spurred Ids horse, 
 hut he was chased near JSdinburgh ere they left hira; anU 
 
NOTES TO CANTO SIXTH. 3 l 9 
 
 Lad it not been his lead horse was so tried and good, he had 
 been taken."— Pitscotti€''s History, p. 39. 
 
 Note XII. 
 
 A letter forgedl St. Jude to speed! 
 
 Did ever knight so foul a deed?—?. 213. 
 Lest tlie reader shoiiUl partake of the Earl's astonishment, 
 and consider the crime as inconsistent with tlie manners 
 of the period, I have to rcmind him of the numerous forge- 
 ries (partly executed by a female assistant) devised by 
 Robert of Artois, to forwaixl his suit against the Countess 
 Matilda; which, being detected, occasioned his flight into 
 England, and proved the remote cause of Edwai-d the 
 Thii-d's memorable wars in Fi-ance. John Harding, also, 
 was expivssly hired by Edward IV., to forge such documents 
 as niight appear to establish the claim of fealty asserted 
 over Scotland by the English monarchs. 
 
 Note XIII. 
 ir/iere LeimeVs convent closed their vmrch. — P. 216. 
 
 This was a Cisteitian house of religion, now almost en- 
 tirely demolished. Lennel House is now the residence of 
 jiiy venerable friend Patrick Brydone, Esquire, so well 
 known in the literary w orld. It is situated near Coldstream, 
 almost opposite to Cornhill, and consequently very near to 
 Flodden Field. 
 
 Note XIV. 
 The Till by Txdsel Bridge.— V. 217. 
 
 On the evening pi-evious to the memorable battle of Flod- 
 den, SuiTey's head-quartei-s were at Bannooi^wood, and King 
 James held an inaccessible position on the ridge of Flodden- 
 hills, one of tlie last and lowest eminences detached from 
 the ridge of Cheviot. The Till, a deep and slow river, wind- 
 ed between the armies. On the morning of the 9tli Septem- 
 ber, 1513, Surrey marched in a northwesterly direction, 
 and, turning eastward, crossed the Till, with his van and 
 artillery, at Twisel-bridge, nigh where that river joins the 
 Twet^l, his rear-guard column passing about a mile higher, 
 by a foixl. This movement had the double effect of placing 
 his arniy between King James and his supplies from Scot- 
 land, and of striking the Se«ttish monarch with surprise 
 
320 NOTES TO CANTO SIXTH. 
 
 as he seems to have relied on the depth of the livei* in his 
 front. But as the passage, both over the bridge and through 
 tlie foi-d, was difficult and slow, it seems possible that the 
 English might have been attacked to great advantage >vhile 
 struggling with natural obstacles. I know not if we are to 
 impute James's forbearance to want of military skill, or to 
 the romantic declaration which Pitscottie puts in his mouth, 
 "that he \\as deternuned to have his enemies before him 
 on a plain field," and therefore would suffer no interrup- 
 tion to be given, even by artillery, to their paissing the 
 river. 
 
 The ancient bridge of Twisel, by which the English 
 crossed the Till, is still standing beneath Twisel Castle, a 
 splendid pile of Gothic architecture as now rebuilded by 
 Sir Francis Blake Delaval, whose extensive plantations have 
 80 much improved the country round. The glen is roman- 
 tic and delightful, with steep banks on each side, covered 
 with copse, jjavticularly with hawthorn Beneath a tall 
 rock, near the bridge, is a plentiful fountain, called St. 
 Helen's Well. 
 
 Note XV. 
 Hence 7nighl. they see the full aitay 
 Of either host, for battle frau.—V. 221. 
 
 Tlie reader cannot here expect a full account of the battle 
 of Flmlden; but, so far as is necessiiry to understand the 
 following pages, I beg to remind him, that, ^\hen the Eng- 
 lish army, by their skilful counter-march, were fairly placed 
 between King James and bis own country, the Scottish 
 monarch resolved to fight, and, setting fire to his tents, 
 descended from the ridge of Flodden to secure the neigh- 
 bouring eminence of Brankstone, on Avhich that village is 
 built. Thus the two armies met, almost without seeing 
 each other, according to the old poeiu of " Flodden Field:" 
 
 The English line stretched east and west. 
 
 And soHthwaixl were their faces set; 
 The Scottish northwanl proudly prest. 
 And manfully their foes they luet. 
 The English army advanced in four divisions. On the rigBjt, 
 witich first engaged, were the sons of Earl Sun-ey, namely, 
 Thomas Howard, the admiral of England, and Sir Edmun^, 
 
IvOTES TO CANTO SIXTH. 33 \ 
 
 llie knight marshal of the arniy. Their divisions were sepa- 
 rated fi-om each other; but, at the request of Sir fklmund, 
 his brother's battalion was drawn very near to his o\vti. The 
 centre was commanded by Surrey in person; the left wing by 
 Sir Edward Stanley, with tlie men of Lancashire, and of the 
 palatinate of Chester. Lord Dacre, with a large body of 
 horse, formed a reserve- When the smoke, which the wind 
 had driven between the armies, was somewhat dispersed, 
 they perceived the Scots, who had moved down the hill in a 
 similar order of battle, and in deep silence.* The Earls of 
 Huntley and of Home comniandtd tlieir left wing, and 
 charged Sir Edmund Howaitl with such success, as entirely 
 to defeat his part of the English left wing. The admiral, 
 however, stood firm, and Dacre advancing to his support 
 with the rese^^'e of ca^'alr}, probably lietween tlie interval 
 of the divisions commanded by the brother Howards, appears 
 to have kept tlie victors in effectual cheek. Home's men, 
 chieHy Borderers, began to pillage the baggage of both 
 armies; and their leader is branded, by the Scottish histori- 
 ans, with negligence or treachery. On the other hand, 
 Huntley, on whom they bestow many encomiums, is said, 
 by the English historians, to have left the field after the first 
 charge. Meanwhile the admiral, whose flank these cliiefs 
 ought to have attacked, availed himself of their inactivity, 
 and pushed forwai-d against another large division of the 
 Scottish army ui his front, headed by the Eaiis of Crawfoid 
 and Montrose, both of whom were slain, and their forces 
 routed. On the left, the success of the English was yet 
 more decisive; for the Scottish right whig, consisting of 
 undisciplined Highlanders, commanded by Lennox and 
 Argyle, was unable to sustain the charge of Sir Edward 
 Stanley, and especially tJie severe execution of the Lanca- 
 shire archers. The King and Surrey, who conunanded the 
 respective centres of their armies, were meanwhile engaged 
 in close and dubious conflict. James, surrounded by the 
 
 * "Lesquelz Ecossois descendirent la d'montaigne en 
 bonne ordre, en la manii-re que Uiarchent les Allentans, 
 sons pai'ler, ne faire aucun bruit." Gazette of the Battle, 
 J'Uikeiton's Histonj, ApptndLx:, Vol. II. p. 456. 
 
322 NOTES TO CANTO SIXTH. 
 
 flower of his kingdom, and impatient of the galling dis» 
 charge of aiTOWs, supported also by his reserve under Both- 
 well, charged with such finy, that the standard of Surrey- 
 was in danger. At that critical moment, Star-ley. who had 
 routed the left wing of the Scottish, pursued his career of 
 victory, and anived on the right flank, and in the rear of 
 James's division, which, throwing itself fnto a circle, dispu- 
 ted the battle till night came on. Sun-ey then drew back his 
 foi-ces: for the Scottish centre not having been broken, and 
 their left wing being victorious, he yet doubted the event 
 ef the field. The Scottish ariiy, however, felt their loss, 
 and abandoned the field of battle in disorder, before dawn. 
 They lost, perhaps, from eight to ten thousand men, but 
 that included the veiy prime of their nobility, gentjy, and 
 c\en clergj'. Scarce a family of eminence but has an ances- 
 tor killed at Flodden; and there is no i)rovince in Scotland, 
 even at this day, where the battle is jiientioned without a 
 sensation of terror and sonow. The English lost also a 
 great nmnber of men, perhaps within one thii-d of the 
 vanquished, but they were of inferior note.— See the only 
 distinct detail of the field of Flodden in Pinkei-ton's HUtvnj^ 
 Book XI.; all former accounts being full ©f blunder and in- 
 consistency. 
 
 The sj)ot, from which Clara views the battle, must be 
 supposed to have been on a hillock commanding the i-ear of 
 the English right wing, which was defeated, and in whicJt 
 conflict Marmion is supposed to have fallen. 
 
 Note XVI. 
 
 Brian TumtaU, stainless knight.— T. 222. 
 
 Sir Brian Tunstall, calletl in the romantic language of 
 the time, Tunstall the Undefiled, was one of the few Eng- 
 lishnjen of rank slain at Flodden. He figures in the ancient 
 English poem, to which I may safely refer my reader; as an 
 edition, with full explanatory notes, is about to be published 
 by my friend Mr. Heniy Weber. Tunstall perhaps deriv- 
 ed liis epithet of tnulefiltd from his white armour and ban- 
 ner, the latter bearing a white cock about to crow, as well 
 as from his unstained loyalty and knightly faith. His place 
 of residence was Thuvland Castle. 
 
NOTES TO CANTO SIXTH. 333 
 
 Note XVII. 
 
 FtCTiv not that corpse mutrustfuUy, 
 
 Defaced taul mangled though it be} 
 
 No7- to yon Border castle high 
 
 Look north a ard with upbraiding eye.—V. 233. 
 There can be no doubt that King; James fell in the battle 
 of riodden. He was killed, says the curious French Gazette, 
 within a lanct's length of the Es.rl of Surrey; and the same 
 account adds, that none of his division were made prisoners, 
 though many were killed; a circumstance that testifies the 
 desperation of their resistance. 'I'he Scottish historians re- 
 coi-d rwsmy of the idle reports which passed among the vul- 
 g-ar of their day. Home was accused, by the popular voice, 
 not only of failing to support the kiJig, but even of having^ 
 caiTied him out of the field and niuixlered him. And this 
 tale was revived in my remembj-ance, by an unauthenticated 
 story of a skeleton, wrai)ped in a bull's hide, and surround- 
 ed with an iron chain, said to Jiave been found in the 
 well of Home Castle: for which, on inquirj', I could never 
 find any better authority, than the sexton of the parish Iiav- 
 ing said, that, (/'</«? TfeW were cleaned out, he tvoidd not'be 
 surprised at such a discovery. Home was the chamberlain 
 of the king, and his prime favourite; he had much to lose, 
 (in fact did lose all) in consequence of James's death, and 
 nothing earthly to gain by that event: but the retreat, or 
 inactivity, of the left wing, which he coivimanded, after 
 defeating Sir Edmund Howard; and even the circumstance 
 of his returning unhurt, and loaded with spoil, from so fatal 
 a conflict, rendei-ed the propagation ofany calumny against 
 him easy and Acceptable: Other reports gave a still more 
 romantic turn to the king's fate, and averred, that James, 
 weaiy of greatness after the carnage among his nobles, had 
 gone on a pilgrimage to merit absolution for the death of 
 his father, and the breach of his oath of amity to Heniy. 
 In particular, it was objected to the English, that they 
 could never show the token of the iron belt: which, bow- 
 ever, he was likely enough to have laid aside on the day of 
 battle, as encumbering his personal exertions. They pro- 
 duce a better evidence, the monarch's sword and dagger, 
 which are still presei-ved in the Herald's College in London. 
 Stowe lias recoi-ded a degrading story of the disgrace with- 
 
4.4, NOTES TO CANTO SIX 1 1 i. 
 
 which the remains of the unfortunate nionarcli wtve treaieii 
 in his time. An uuliewn column marks the spot whcjv 
 James fell, still called tlie King's Slone. 
 
 Note XVIII. 
 ————— Fatmtic Brook 
 
 Tlie fair cathedral itormed and took.—V. 234. 
 This storm of Litchfahl Ciithedral, which had been gar- 
 risoned on the pait of the king, took place in the givat civil 
 wai-. Lord Brook, w ho, with Sir John Gill, conmiauded the 
 assailants, was sliot with a muskot-ball tluough the visor of 
 his helmet, i he rojalists remarked, lliat he was killed by 
 a shot fired from St. Chad's Cathedral, and upon St. Chad's 
 day, and received his deatli-wouiul in tlje \oy\ eye with 
 which he had said he hoped to see the ruiii of all the cathe- 
 drals in England. The magnificent church in question suf» 
 fercd cruelly u])on this and otlier occasions; the principal 
 spire Ixing ruined by the fij-e of the besiegers. 
 
 Upon revising the poem, it seems proi>er to mention the 
 following particulars: 
 The lines in page 92, 
 
 Whose doom discording neighbours sought, 
 Content with equity unbought, 
 
 l)ave been unconsciously borrowed from a passage in Dry- 
 den's l)eautjfal epistle to John Driden of Chesterton, 'ihe 
 ballad of Lochinvar, p. 176, is in a very slight degice found- 
 ed on a Imllad called " Katherine Janfarie," which may be 
 found in the "Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border." 
 
 In pouit of minute accui-acy, it may be also observed, 
 that it was not the guns called the " Seven Sisters," which 
 were given by the French Icing to James, as aih ged in p. 
 140, but another train of artillery, also lost at Floddcn. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 APR -9 1935 
 
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