Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=519645" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Marmion: Canto V. - The Court</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The train has left the hills of Braid;<br>The barrier guard have open made<br>(So Lindesay bade) the palisade,<br>That closed the tented ground;<br>Their men the warders backward drew,<br>And carried pikes as they rode through<br>Into its ample bound.<br>Fast ran the Scottish warriors there,<br>Upon the Southern band to stare.<br>And envy with their wonder rose,<br>To see such well-appointed foes;<br>Such length of shaft, such mighty bows,<br>So huge, that many simply thought,<br>But for a vaunt such weapons wrought;<br>And little deemed their force to feel,<br>Through links of mail, and plates of steel,<br>When rattling upon Flodden vale,<br>The clothyard arrows flew like hail.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">II.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Nor less did Marmion's skilful view<br>Glance every line and squadron through;<br>And much he marvelled one small land<br>Could marshal forth such various band:<br>For men-at-arms were here,<br>Heavily sheathed in mail and plate,<br>Like iron towers for strength and weight,<br>On Flemish steeds of bone and height,<br>With battle-axe and spear.<br>Young knights and squires, a lighter train,<br>Practised their chargers on the plain,<br>By aid of leg, of hand, and rein,<br>Each warlike feat to show,<br>To pass, to wheel, the croupe to gain,<br>The high curvet, that not in vain<br>The sword sway might descend amain<br>On foeman's casque below.<br>He saw the hardy burghers there<br>March armed, on foot, with faces bare,<br>For vizor they wore none,<br>Nor waving plume, nor crest of knight;<br>But burnished were their corslets bright,<br>Their brigantines, and gorgets light,<br>Like very silver shone.<br>Long pikes they had for standing fight,<br>Two-handed swords they wore,<br>And many wielded mace of weight,<br>And bucklers bright they bore.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">III.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">On foot the yeomen too, but dressed<br>In his steel-jack, a swarthy vest,<br>With iron quilted well;<br>Each at his back (a slender store)<br>His forty days' provision bore,<br>As feudal statutes tell.<br>His arms were halbert, axe, or spear,<br>A crossbow there, a hagbut here,<br>A dagger-knife, and brand.<br>Sober he seemed, and sad of cheer,<br>As loth to leave his cottage dear,<br>And march to foreign strand;<br>Or musing who would guide his steer<br>To till the fallow land.<br>Yet deem not in his thoughtful eye<br>Did aught of dastard terror lie;<br>More dreadful far his ire<br>Than theirs, who, scorning danger's name,<br>In eager mood to battle came,<br>Their valour like light straw on flame,<br>A fierce but fading fire.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">IV.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Not so the Borderer:- bred to war,<br>He knew the battle's din afar,<br>And joyed to hear it swell.<br>His peaceful day was slothful ease;<br>Nor harp, nor pipe, his ear could please<br>Like the loud slogan yell.<br>On active steed, with lance and blade,<br>The light-armed pricker plied his trade -<br>Let nobles fight for fame;<br>Let vassals follow where they lead,<br>Burghers to guard their townships bleed,<br>But war's the Borderer's game.<br>Their gain, their glory, their delight,<br>To sleep the day, maraud the night<br>O'er mountain, moss, and moor;<br>Joyful to fight they took their way,<br>Scarce caring who might win the day,<br>Their booty was secure.<br>These, as Lord Marmion's train passed by,<br>Looked on at first with careless eye,<br>Nor marvelled aught, well taught to know<br>The form and force of English bow;<br>But when they saw the lord arrayed<br>In splendid arms and rich brocade,<br>Each Borderer to his kinsman said:-<br>'Hist, Ringan! seest thou there!<br>Canst guess which road they'll homeward ride?<br>Oh! could we but on Border side,<br>By Eusedale glen, or Liddell's tide,<br>Beset a prize so fair!<br>That fangless Lion, too, their guide,<br>Might chance to lose his glistering hide;<br>Brown Maudlin, of that doublet pied<br>Could make a kirtle rare.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">V.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Next, Marmion marked the Celtic race,<br>Of different language, form, and face -<br>Avarious race of man;<br>Just then the chiefs their tribes arrayed,<br>And wild and garish semblance made<br>The chequered trews and belted plaid,<br>And varying notes the war-pipes brayed<br>To every varying clan;<br>Wild through their red or sable hair<br>Looked out their eyes with savage stare<br>On Marmion as he passed;<br>Their legs above the knee were bare;<br>Their frame was sinewy, short, and spare,<br>And hardened to the blast;<br>Of taller race, the chiefs they own<br>Were by the eagle's plumage known.<br>The hunted red-deer's undressed hide<br>Their hairy buskins well supplied;<br>The graceful bonnet decked their head;<br>Back from their shoulders hung the plaid;<br>A broadsword of unwieldy length,<br>A dagger proved for edge and strength,<br>A studded targe they wore,<br>And quivers, bows, and shafts,-but, oh!<br>Short was the shaft and weak the bow<br>To that which England bore.<br>The Islesmen carried at their backs<br>The ancient Danish battle-axe.<br>They raised a wild and wondering cry<br>As with his guide rode Marmion by.<br>Loud were their clamouring tongues, as when<br>The clanging sea-fowl leave the fen,<br>And, with their cries discordant mixed,<br>Grumbled and yelled the pipes betwixt.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">VI.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thus through the Scottish camp they passed,<br>And reached the city gate at last,<br>Where all around, a wakeful guard,<br>Armed burghers kept their watch and ward.<br>Well had they cause of jealous fear,<br>When lay encamped, in field so near,<br>The Borderer and the Mountaineer.<br>As through the bustling streets they go,<br>All was alive with martial show;<br>At every turn, with dinning clang,<br>The armourer's anvil clashed and rang;<br>Or toiled the swarthy smith, to wheel<br>The bar that arms the charger's heel;<br>Or axe or falchion to the side<br>Of jarring grindstone was applied.<br>Page, groom, and squire, with hurrying pace,<br>Through street and lane and market-place<br>Bore lance, or casque, or sword;<br>While burghers, with important face,<br>Described each new-come lord,<br>Discussed his lineage, told his name,<br>His following and his warlike fame.<br>The Lion led to lodging meet,<br>Which high o'erlooked the crowded street;<br>There must the baron rest<br>Till past the hour of vesper tide,<br>And then to Holyrood must ride -<br>Such was the king's behest.<br>Meanwhile the Lion's care assigns<br>A banquet rich, and costly wines,<br>To Marmion and his train;<br>And when the appointed hour succeeds,<br>The baron dons his peaceful weeds,<br>And following Lindesay as he leads,<br>The palace-halls they gain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">VII.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Old Holyrood rung merrily<br>That night with wassail, mirth, and glee:<br>King James within her princely bower<br>Feasted the chiefs of Scotland's power,<br>Summoned to spend the parting hour;<br>For he had charged that his array<br>Should southward march by break of day.<br>Well loved that splendid monarch aye<br>The banquet and the song,<br>By day the tourney, and by night<br>The merry dance, traced fast and light,<br>The maskers quaint, the pageant bright,<br>The revel loud and long.<br>This feast outshone his banquets past:<br>It was his blithest-and his last.<br>The dazzling lamps, from gallery gay,<br>Cast on the Court a dancing ray;<br>Here to the harp did minstrels sing;<br>There ladies touched a softer string;<br>With long-eared cap and motley vest<br>The licensed fool retailed his jest;<br>His magic tricks the juggler plied;<br>At dice and draughts the gallants vied;<br>While some, in close recess apart,<br>Courted the ladies of their heart,<br>Nor courted them in vain;<br>For often in the parting hour<br>Victorious Love asserts his power<br>O'er coldness and disdain;<br>And flinty is her heart, can view<br>To battle march a lover true -<br>Can hear, perchance, his last adieu,<br>Nor own her share of pain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">VIII.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Through this mixed crowd of glee and game,<br>The King to greet Lord Marmion came,<br>While, reverent, all made room.<br>An easy task it was, I trow,<br>King James's manly form to know,<br>Although, his courtesy to show,<br>He doffed, to Marmion bending low,<br>His broidered cap and plume.<br>For royal was his garb and mien:<br>His cloak, of crimson velvet piled.<br>Trimmed with the fur of martin wild;<br>His vest of changeful satin sheen<br>The dazzled eye beguiled;<br>His gorgeous collar hung adown,<br>Wrought with the badge of Scotland's crown,<br>The thistle brave, of old renown;<br>His trusty blade, Toledo right,<br>Descended from a baldric bright:<br>White were his buskins, on the heel<br>His spurs inlaid of gold and steel;<br>His bonnet, all of crimson fair,<br>Was buttoned with a ruby rare:<br>And Marmion deemed he ne'er had seen<br>A prince of such a noble mien.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">IX.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The monarch's form was middle size:<br>For feat of strength or exercise<br>Shaped in proportion fair;<br>And hazel was his eagle eye,<br>And auburn of the darkest dye<br>His short curled beard and hair.<br>Light was his footstep in the dance,<br>And firm his stirrup in the lists:<br>And, oh! he had that merry glance<br>That seldom lady's heart resists.<br>Lightly from fair to fair he flew,<br>And loved to plead, lament, and sue -<br>Suit lightly won and short-lived pain,<br>For monarchs seldom sigh in vain.<br>I said he joyed in banquet bower;<br>But, 'mid his mirth, 'twas often strange<br>How suddenly his cheer would change,<br>His look o'ercast and lower,<br>If, in a sudden turn, he felt<br>The pressure of his iron belt,<br>That bound his breast in penance pain,<br>In memory of his father slain.<br>Even so 'twas strange how, evermore,<br>Soon as the passing pang was o'er<br>Forward he rushed, with double glee,<br>Into the stream of revelry:<br>Thus dim-seen object of affright<br>Startles the courser in his flight,<br>And half he halts, half springs aside;<br>But feels the quickening spur applied,<br>And, straining on the tightened rein,<br>Scours doubly swift o'er hill and plain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">X.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O'er James's heart, the courtiers say,<br>Sir Hugh the Heron's wife held sway:<br>To Scotland's Court she came,<br>To be a hostage for her lord,<br>Who Cessford's gallant heart had gored,<br>And with the king to make accord<br>Had sent his lovely dame.<br>Nor to that lady free alone<br>Did the gay king allegiance own;<br>For the fair Queen of France<br>Sent him a turquoise ring and glove,<br>And charged him, as her knight and love,<br>For her to break a lance;<br>And strike three strokes with Scottish brand,<br>And march three miles on Southron land,<br>And bid the banners of his band<br>In English breezes dance.<br>And thus for France's queen he drest<br>His manly limbs in mailed vest;<br>And thus admitted English fair<br>His inmost counsels still to share:<br>And thus, for both, he madly planned<br>The ruin of himself and land!<br>And yet, the sooth to tell,<br>Nor England's fair, nor France's Queen,<br>Were worth one pearl-drop, bright and sheen,<br>From Margaret's eyes that fell,<br>His own Queen Margaret, who, in Lithgow's bower,<br>All lonely sat, and wept the weary hour.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XI.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The queen sits lone in Lithgow pile,<br>And weeps the weary day,<br>The war against her native soil,<br>Her monarch's risk in battle broil;<br>And in gay Holyrood the while<br>Dame Heron rises with a smile<br>Upon the harp to play.<br>Fair was her rounded arm, as o'er<br>The strings her fingers flew;<br>And as she touched and tuned them all,<br>Ever her bosom's rise and fall<br>Was plainer given to view;<br>For, all for heat, was laid aside<br>Her wimple, and her hood untied.<br>And first she pitched her voice to sing,<br>Then glanced her dark eye on the king,<br>And then around the silent ring;<br>And laughed, and blushed, and oft did say<br>Her pretty oath, By yea and nay,<br>She could not, would not, durst not play!<br>At length upon the harp with glee,<br>Mingled with arch simplicity,<br>A soft yet lively air she rung,<br>While thus the wily lady sung: -</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XII.-LOCHINVAR.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh! young Lochinvar is come out of the west,<br>Through all the wide Border his steed was the best;<br>And save his good broadsword, he weapons had none,<br>He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone;<br>So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,<br>There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not for stone;<br>He swam the Esk river, where ford there was none;<br>But ere he alighted at Netherby gate,<br>The bride had consented, the gallant came late;<br>For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war,<br>Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall,<br>Among bride's-men, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all;<br>Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword -<br>For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word -<br>'Oh! come ye in peace here, or come ye in war,<br>Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied;<br>Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide;<br>And now am I come, with this lost love of mine,<br>To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine.<br>There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far,<br>That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The bride kissed the goblet: the knight took it up,<br>He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup.<br>She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh,<br>With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye.<br>He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar -<br>'Now tread we a measure!' said young Lochinvar.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So stately his form, and so lovely her face,<br>That never a hall such a galliard did grace;<br>While her mother did fret, and her father did fume,<br>And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume:<br>And the bride's-maidens whispered, ''Twere better by far<br>To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear,<br>When they reached the hall-door, and the charger stood near;<br>So light to the croup the fair lady he swung,<br>So light to the saddle before her he sprung.<br>'She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur;<br>They'll have fleet steeds that follow,' quoth young Lochinvar.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan;<br>Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran:<br>There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee,<br>But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see.<br>So daring in love, and so dauntless in war,<br>Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XIII.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The monarch o'er the siren hung,<br>And beat the measure as she sung;<br>And, pressing closer and more near,<br>He whispered praises in her ear.<br>In loud applause the courtiers vied,<br>And ladies winked and spoke aside.<br>The witching dame to Marmion threw<br>A glance, where seemed to reign<br>The pride that claims applauses due,<br>And of her royal conquest too,<br>A real or feigned disdain:<br>Familiar was the look, and told<br>Marmion and she were friends of old.<br>The king observed their meeting eyes<br>With something like displeased surprise:<br>For monarchs ill can rivals brook,<br>E'en in a word or smile or look.<br>Straight took he forth the parchment broad<br>Which Marmion's high commission showed:<br>'Our Borders sacked by many a raid,<br>Our peaceful liegemen robbed,' he said;<br>'On day of truce our warden slain,<br>Stout Barton killed, his vassals ta'en -<br>Unworthy were we here to reign,<br>Should these for vengeance cry in vain;<br>Our full defiance, hate, and scorn,<br>Our herald has to Henry borne.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XIV.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He paused, and led where Douglas stood,<br>And with stern eye the pageant viewed -<br>I mean that Douglas, sixth of yore,<br>Who coronet of Angus bore,<br>And, when his blood and heart were high,<br>Did the third James in camp defy,<br>And all his minions led to die<br>On Lauder's dreary flat:<br>Princes and favourites long grew tame,<br>And trembled at the homely name<br>Of Archibald Bell-the-Cat;<br>The same who left the dusky vale<br>Of Hermitage in Liddisdale,<br>Its dungeons and its towers,<br>Where Bothwell's turrets brave the air,<br>And Bothwell bank is blooming fair,<br>To fix his princely bowers.<br>Though now in age he had laid down<br>His armour for the peaceful gown,<br>And for a staff his brand,<br>Yet often would flash forth the fire<br>That could in youth a monarch's ire<br>And minion's pride withstand;<br>And e'en that day, at council board,<br>Unapt to soothe his sovereign's mood,<br>Against the war had Angus stood,<br>And chafed his royal lord.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XV.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">His giant form like ruined tower,<br>Though fall'n its muscles' brawny vaunt,<br>Huge-boned, and tall, and grim, and gaunt,<br>Seemed o'er the gaudy scene to lower:<br>His locks and beard in silver grew;<br>His eyebrows kept their sable hue.<br>Near Douglas when the monarch stood,<br>His bitter speech he thus pursued:<br>'Lord Marmion, since these letters say<br>That in the north you needs must stay<br>While slightest hopes of peace remain,<br>Uncourteous speech it were, and stern,<br>To say-return to Lindisfarne<br>Until my herald come again.<br>Then rest you in Tantallon Hold;<br>Your host shall be the Douglas bold -<br>A chief unlike his sires of old.<br>He wears their motto on his blade,<br>Their blazon o'er his towers displayed;<br>Yet loves his sovereign to oppose,<br>More than to face his country's foes.<br>And, I bethink me, by Saint Stephen,<br>But e'en this morn to me was given<br>A prize, the first-fruits of the war,<br>Ta'en by a galley from Dunbar,<br>A bevy of the maids of Heaven.<br>Under your guard these holy maids<br>Shall safe return to cloister shades;<br>And, while they at Tantallon stay,<br>Requiem for Cochrane's soul may say.'<br>And with the slaughtered favourite's name<br>Across the monarch's brow there came<br>A cloud of ire, remorse, and shame.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XVI.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In answer nought could Angus speak;<br>His proud heart swelled well-nigh to break:<br>He turned aside, and down his cheek<br>A burning tear there stole.<br>His hand the monarch sudden took;<br>That sight his kind heart could not brook:<br>'Now, by the Bruce's soul,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Angus, my hasty speech forgive!<br>For sure as doth his spirit live,<br>As he said of the Douglas old,<br>I well may say of you -<br>That never king did subject hold<br>In speech more free, in war more bold,<br>More tender and more true:<br>Forgive me, Douglas, once again.'<br>And while the king his hand did strain,<br>The old man's tears fell down like rain.<br>To seize the moment Marmion tried,<br>And whispered to the king aside:<br>'Oh! let such tears unwonted plead<br>For respite short from dubious deed!<br>A child will weep a bramble's smart,<br>A maid to see her sparrow part,<br>A stripling for a woman's heart:<br>But woe awaits a country when<br>She sees the tears of bearded men.<br>Then, oh! what omen, dark and high,<br>When Douglas wets his manly eye!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XVII.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Displeased was James, that stranger viewed<br>And tampered with his changing mood.<br>'Laugh those that can, weep those that may,'<br>Thus did the fiery monarch say,<br>'Southward I march by break of day;<br>And if within Tantallon strong,<br>The good Lord Marmion tarries long,<br>Perchance our meeting next may fall<br>At Tamworth, in his castle-hall.'<br>The haughty Marmion felt the taunt,<br>And answered, grave, the royal vaunt:-<br>'Much honoured were my humble home<br>If in its halls King James should come;<br>But Nottingham has archers good,<br>And Yorkshire-men are stern of mood;<br>Northumbrian prickers wild and rude.<br>On Derby hills the paths are steep;<br>In Ouse and Tyne the fords are deep;<br>And many a banner will be torn,<br>And many a knight to earth be borne,<br>And many a sheaf of arrows spent,<br>Ere Scotland's king shall cross the Trent:<br>Yet pause, brave prince, while yet you may.'<br>The monarch lightly turned away,<br>And to his nobles loud did call,<br>'Lords, to the dance-a hall! a hall!'<br>Himself his cloak and sword flung by,<br>And led Dame Heron gallantly;<br>And minstrels, at the royal order,<br>Rung out 'Blue Bonnets o'er the Border.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XVIII.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Leave we these revels now, to tell<br>What to Saint Hilda's maids befell,<br>Whose galley, as they sailed again<br>To Whitby, by a Scot was ta'en.<br>Now at Dunedin did they bide,<br>Till James should of their fate decide;<br>And soon, by his command,<br>Were gently summoned to prepare<br>To journey under Marmion's care,<br>As escort honoured, safe, and fair,<br>Again to English land.<br>The Abbess told her chaplet o'er,<br>Nor knew which saint she should implore;<br>For when she thought of Constance, sore<br>She feared Lord Marmion's mood.<br>And judge what Clara must have felt!<br>The sword that hung in Marmion's belt<br>Had drunk De Wilton's blood.<br>Unwittingly, King James had given,<br>As guard to Whitby's shades,<br>The man most dreaded under heaven<br>By these defenceless maids:<br>Yet what petition could avail,<br>Or who would listen to the tale<br>Of woman, prisoner, and nun,<br>'Mid bustle of a war begun?<br>They deemed it hopeless to avoid<br>The convoy of their dangerous guide.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XIX.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Their lodging, so the king assigned,<br>To Marmion's, as their guardian, joined;<br>And thus it fell that, passing nigh,<br>The Palmer caught the Abbess' eye,<br>Who warned him by a scroll<br>She had a secret to reveal<br>That much concerned the Church's weal<br>And health of sinner's soul;<br>And with deep charge of secrecy<br>She named a place to meet,<br>Within an open balcony<br>That hung from dizzy pitch, and high<br>Above the stately street;<br>To which, as common to each home,<br>At night they might in secret come.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XX.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">At night, in secret, there they came,<br>The Palmer and the holy dame.<br>The moon among the clouds rose high,<br>And all the city hum was by.<br>Upon the street, where late before<br>Did din of war and warriors roar,<br>You might have heard a pebble fall,<br>A beetle hum, a cricket sing,<br>An owlet flap his boding wing<br>On Giles's steeple tall.<br>The antique buildings, climbing high,<br>Whose Gothic frontlets sought the sky,<br>Were here wrapt deep in shade;<br>There on their brows the moonbeam broke<br>Through the faint wreaths of silvery smoke,<br>And on the casements played.<br>And other light was none to see,<br>Save torches gliding far,<br>Before some chieftain of degree,<br>Who left the royal revelry<br>To bowne him for the war.<br>A solemn scene the Abbess chose;<br>A solemn hour, her secret to disclose.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXI.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'O holy Palmer!' she began -<br>'For sure he must be sainted man<br>Whose blessed feet have trod the ground<br>Where the Redeemer's tomb is found -<br>For His dear Church's sake my tale<br>Attend, nor deem of light avail,<br>Though I must speak of worldly love -<br>How vain to those who wed above!<br>De Wilton and Lord Marmion wooed<br>Clara de Clare, of Gloucester's blood;<br>Idle it were of Whitby's dame,<br>To say of that same blood I came;<br>And once, when jealous rage was high,<br>Lord Marmion said despiteously,<br>Wilton was traitor in his heart,<br>And had made league with Martin Swart,<br>When he came here on Simnel's part<br>And only cowardice did restrain<br>His rebel aid on Stokefield's plain,<br>And down he threw his glove: the thing<br>Was tried, as wont, before the king;<br>Where frankly did De Wilton own<br>That Swart in Gueldres he had known;<br>And that between them then there went<br>Some scroll of courteous compliment.<br>For this he to his castle sent;<br>But when his messenger returned,<br>Judge how De Wilton's fury burned<br>For in his packet there were laid<br>Letters that claimed disloyal aid,<br>And proved King Henry's cause betrayed.<br>His fame, thus blighted, in the field<br>He strove to clear by spear and shield;<br>To clear his fame in vain he strove,<br>For wondrous are His ways above!<br>Perchance some form was unobserved;<br>Perchance in prayer or faith he swerved;<br>Else how could guiltless champion quail,<br>Or how the blessed ordeal fail?</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>XXII.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'His squire, who now De Wilton saw<br>As recreant doomed to suffer law,<br>Repentant, owned in vain,<br>That while he had the scrolls in care,<br>A stranger maiden, passing fair,<br>Had drenched him with a beverage rare;<br>His words no faith could gain.<br>With Clare alone he credence won,<br>Who, rather than wed Marmion,<br>Did to Saint Hilda's shrine repair,<br>To give our house her livings fair,<br>And die a vestal vot'ress there.<br>The impulse from the earth was given,<br>But bent her to the paths of heaven.<br>A purer heart, a lovelier maid,<br>Ne'er sheltered her in Whitby's shade,<br>No, not since Saxon Edelfled:<br>Only one trace of earthly strain,<br>That for her lover's loss<br>She cherishes a sorrow vain,<br>And murmurs at the cross.<br>And then her heritage;-it goes<br>Along the banks of Tame;<br>Deep fields of grain the reaper mows,<br>In meadows rich the heifer lows,<br>The falconer and huntsman knows<br>Its woodlands for the game.<br>Shame were it to Saint Hilda dear,<br>And I, her humble vot'ress here,<br>Should do a deadly sin,<br>Her temple spoiled before mine eyes,<br>If this false Marmion such a prize<br>By my consent should win;<br>Yet hath our boisterous monarch sworn<br>That Clare shall from our house be torn;<br>And grievous cause have I to fear<br>Such mandate doth Lord Marmion bear.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXIII.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Now, prisoner, helpless, and betrayed<br>To evil power, I claim thine aid,<br>By every step that thou hast trod<br>To holy shrine and grotto dim,<br>By every martyr's tortured limb,<br>By angel, saint, and seraphim,<br>And by the Church of God!<br>For mark:- When Wilton was betrayed,<br>And with his squire forged letters laid,<br>She was, alas! that sinful maid<br>By whom the deed was done -<br>Oh! shame and horror to be said! -<br>She was a perjured nun!<br>No clerk in all the land, like her<br>Traced quaint and varying character.<br>Perchance you may a marvel deem<br>That Marmion's paramour<br>(For such vile thing she was) should scheme<br>Her lover's nuptial hour;<br>But o'er him thus she hoped to gain,<br>As privy to his honour's stain,<br>Illimitable power:<br>For this she secretly retained<br>Each proof that might the plot reveal,<br>Instructions with his hand and seal;<br>And thus Saint Hilda deigned,<br>Through sinners' perfidy impure,<br>Her house's glory to secure<br>And Clare's immortal weal.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXIV.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">''Twere long and needless here to tell<br>How to my hand these papers fell;<br>With me they must not stay.<br>Saint Hilda keep her Abbess true!<br>Who knows what outrage he might do<br>While journeying by the way?<br>O blessed saint, if e'er again<br>I venturous leave thy calm domain,<br>To travel or by land or main,<br>Deep penance may I pay!<br>Now, saintly Palmer, mark my prayer:<br>I give this packet to thy care,<br>For thee to stop they will not dare;<br>And, oh! with cautious speed<br>To Wolsey's hand the papers bring,<br>That he may show them to the king<br>And for thy well-earned meed,<br>Thou holy man, at Whitby's shrine<br>A weekly mass shall still be thine<br>While priests can sing and read.<br>What ail'st thou? Speak!' For as he took<br>The charge, a strong emotion shook<br>His frame; and, ere reply,<br>They heard a faint yet shrilly tone,<br>Like distant clarion feebly blown,<br>That on the breeze did die;<br>And loud the Abbess shrieked in fear,<br>'Saint Withold, save us! What is here?<br>Look at yon city cross!<br>See, on its battled tower appear<br>Phantoms, that scutcheons seem to rear,<br>And blazoned banners toss!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXV.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Dunedin's Cross, a pillared stone,<br>Rose on a turret octagon;<br>(But now is razed that monument<br>Whence royal edict rang,<br>And voice of Scotland's law was sent<br>In glorious trumpet-clang.<br>Oh! be his tomb as lead to lead<br>Upon its dull destroyer's head! -<br>A minstrel's malison is said).<br>Then on its battlements they saw<br>A vision, passing Nature's law,<br>Strange, wild, and dimly seen -<br>Figures that seemed to rise and die,<br>Gibber and sign, advance and fly,<br>While nought confirmed could ear or eye<br>Discern of sound or mien.<br>Yet darkly did it seem, as there<br>Heralds and pursuivants prepare,<br>With trumpet sound and blazon fair,<br>A summons to proclaim;<br>But indistinct the pageant proud,<br>As fancy-forms of midnight cloud,<br>When flings the moon upon her shroud<br>A wavering tinge of flame;<br>It flits, expands, and shifts, till loud,<br>From midmost of the spectre crowd,<br>This awful summons came:-</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXVI.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Prince, prelate, potentate, and peer,<br>Whose names I now shall call,<br>Scottish, or foreigner, give ear!<br>Subjects of him who sent me here,<br>At his tribunal to appear<br>I summon one and all:<br>I cite you by each deadly sin<br>That e'er hath soiled your hearts within;<br>I cite you by each brutal lust<br>That e'er defiled your earthly dust -<br>By wrath, by pride, by fear;<br>By each o'er-mastering passion's tone,<br>By the dark grave and dying groan!<br>When forty days are passed and gone,<br>I cite you, at your monarch's throne,<br>To answer and appear.'<br>Then thundered forth a roll of names;<br>The first was thine, unhappy James!<br>Then all thy nobles came:-<br>Crawford, Glencairn, Montrose, Argyle,<br>Ross, Bothwell, Forbes, Lennox, Lyle -<br>Why should I tell their separate style?<br>Each chief of birth and fame,<br>Of Lowland, Highland, Border, Isle,<br>Foredoomed to Flodden's carnage pile,<br>Was cited there by name;<br>And Marmion, Lord of Fontenaye,<br>Of Lutterward and Scrivelbaye;<br>De Wilton, erst of Aberley,<br>The self-same thundering voice did say.<br>But then another spoke:<br>'Thy fatal summons I deny,<br>And thine infernal lord defy,<br>Appealing me to Him on high,<br>Who burst the sinner's yoke.'<br>At that dread accent, with a scream.<br>Parted the pageant like a dream,<br>The summoner was gone.<br>Prone on her face the Abbess fell,<br>And fast and fast her beads did tell;<br>Her nuns came, startled by the yell,<br>And found her there alone.<br>She marked not, at the scene aghast,<br>What time, or how, the Palmer passed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXVII.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Shift we the scene. The camp doth move;<br>Dunedin's streets are empty now,<br>Save when, for weal of those they love,<br>To pray the prayer, and vow the vow,<br>The tottering child, the anxious fair,<br>The grey-haired sire, with pious care,<br>To chapels and to shrines repair -<br>Where is the Palmer now? and where<br>The Abbess, Marmion, and Clare?<br>Bold Douglas! to Tantallon fair<br>They journey in thy charge.<br>Lord Marmion rode on his right hand,<br>The Palmer still was with the band;<br>Angus, like Lindesay, did command<br>That none should roam at large.<br>But in that Palmer's altered mien<br>A wondrous change might now be seen;<br>Freely he spoke of war,<br>Of marvels wrought by single hand<br>When lifted for a native land;<br>And still looked high, as if he planned<br>Some desperate deed afar.<br>His courser would he feed and stroke,<br>And, tucking up his sable frock,<br>Would first his mettle bold provoke,<br>Then soothe or quell his pride.<br>Old Hubert said, that never one<br>He saw, except Lord Marmion,<br>A steed so fairly ride.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXVIII.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Some half-hour's march behind, there came,<br>By Eustace governed fair,<br>A troop escorting Hilda's dame,<br>With all her nuns and Clare.<br>No audience had Lord Marmion sought;<br>Ever he feared to aggravate<br>Clara de Clare's suspicious hate;<br>And safer 'twas, he thought,<br>To wait till, from the nuns removed,<br>The influence of kinsmen loved,<br>And suit by Henry's self approved,<br>Her slow consent had wrought.<br>His was no flickering flame, that dies<br>Unless when fanned by looks and sighs,<br>And lighted oft at lady's eyes;<br>He longed to stretch his wide command<br>O'er luckless Clara's ample land;<br>Besides, when Wilton with him vied,<br>Although the pang of humbled pride<br>The place of jealousy supplied,<br>Yet conquest, by that meanness won<br>He almost loathed to think upon,<br>Led him, at times, to hate the cause<br>Which made him burst through honour's laws<br>If e'er he loved, 'twas her alone<br>Who died within that vault of stone.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXIX.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And now when close at hand they saw<br>North Berwick's town and lofty Law,<br>Fitz-Eustace bade them pause awhile<br>Before a venerable pile,<br>Whose turrets viewed, afar,<br>The lofty Bass, the Lambie Isle,<br>The ocean's peace or war.<br>At tolling of a bell, forth came<br>The convent's venerable dame,<br>And prayed Saint Hilda's Abbess rest<br>With her, a loved and honoured guest,<br>Till Douglas should a barque prepare<br>To waft her back to Whitby fair.<br>Glad was the Abbess, you may guess,<br>And thanked the Scottish Prioress;<br>And tedious were to tell, I ween,<br>The courteous speech that passed between.<br>O'erjoyed, the nuns their palfreys leave;<br>But when fair Clara did intend,<br>Like them, from horseback to descend,<br>Fitz-Eustace said, 'I grieve,<br>Fair lady-grieve e'en from my heart -<br>Such gentle company to part;<br>Think not discourtesy,<br>But lords' commands must be obeyed;<br>And Marmion and the Douglas said<br>That you must wend with me.<br>Lord Marmion hath a letter broad,<br>Which to the Scottish earl he showed,<br>Commanding that beneath his care<br>Without delay you shall repair<br>To your good kinsman, Lord Fitz-Clare.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXX.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The startled Abbess loud exclaimed;<br>But she at whom the blow was aimed<br>Grew pale as death, and cold as lead -<br>She deemed she heard her death-doom read.<br>'Cheer thee, my child,' the Abbess said;<br>'They dare not tear thee from my hand<br>To ride alone with armed band.'<br>'Nay, holy mother, nay,'<br>Fitz-Eustace said, 'the lovely Clare<br>Will be in Lady Angus' care,<br>In Scotland while we stay;<br>And when we move, an easy ride<br>Will bring us to the English side,<br>Female attendance to provide<br>Befitting Gloucester's heir;<br>Nor thinks, nor dreams, my noble lord,<br>By slightest look, or act, or word,<br>To harass Lady Clare.<br>Her faithful guardian he will be,<br>Nor sue for slightest courtesy<br>That e'en to stranger falls.<br>Till he shall place her, safe and free,<br>Within her kinsman's halls.'<br>He spoke, and blushed with earnest grace;<br>His faith was painted on his face,<br>And Clare's worst fear relieved.<br>The Lady Abbess loud exclaimed<br>On Henry, and the Douglas blamed,<br>Entreated, threatened, grieved;<br>To martyr, saint, and prophet prayed,<br>Against Lord Marmion inveighed,<br>And called the Prioress to aid,<br>To curse with candle, bell, and book.<br>Her head the grave Cistercian shook:<br>'The Douglas and the King,' she said,<br>'In their commands will be obeyed;<br>Grieve not, nor dream that harm can fall<br>The maiden in Tantallon Hall.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXXI.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Abbess, seeing strife was vain,<br>Assumed her wonted state again -<br>For much of state she had -<br>Composed her veil, and raised her head,<br>And-'Bid,' in solemn voice she said,<br>'Thy master, bold and bad,<br>The records of his house turn o'er,<br>And when he shall there written see,<br>That one of his own ancestry<br>Drove the monks forth of Coventry,<br>Bid him his fate explore.<br>Prancing in pride of earthly trust,<br>His charger hurled him to the dust,<br>And, by a base plebeian thrust,<br>He died his band before.<br>God judge 'twixt Marmion and me;<br>He is a chief of high degree,<br>And I a poor recluse;<br>Yet oft, in Holy Writ, we see<br>Even such weak minister as me<br>May the oppressor bruise:<br>For thus, inspired, did Judith slay<br>The mighty in his sin,<br>And Jael thus, and Deborah' -<br>Here hasty Blount broke in:-<br>'Fitz-Eustace, we must march our band;<br>Saint Anton' fire thee! wilt thou stand<br>All day, with bonnet in thy hand,<br>To hear the lady preach?<br>By this good light! if thus we stay,<br>Lord Marmion, for our fond delay,<br>Will sharper sermon teach.<br>Come, don thy cap, and mount thy horse;<br>The dame must patience take perforce.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXXII.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Submit we, then, to force,' said Clare,<br>'But let this barbarous lord despair<br>His purposed aim to win;<br>Let him take living, land, and life;<br>But to be Marmion's wedded wife<br>In me were deadly sin:<br>And if it be the king's decree<br>That I must find no sanctuary<br>In that inviolable dome<br>Where even a homicide might come<br>And safely rest his head,<br>Though at its open portals stood,<br>Thirsting to pour forth blood for blood,<br>The kinsmen of the dead;<br>Yet one asylum is my own<br>Against the dreaded hour -<br>A low, a silent, and a lone,<br>Where kings have little power.<br>One victim is before me there.<br>Mother, your blessing, and in prayer<br>Remember your unhappy Clare!'<br>Loud weeps the Abbess, and bestows<br>Kind blessings many a one:<br>Weeping and wailing loud arose<br>Round patient Clare, the clamorous woes<br>Of every simple nun.<br>His eyes the gentle Eustace dried,<br>And scarce rude Blount the sight could bide.<br>Then took the squire her rein,<br>And gently led away her steed,<br>And, by each courteous word and deed,<br>To cheer her strove in vain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXXIII.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But scant three miles the band had rode,<br>When o'er a height they passed,<br>And, sudden, close before them showed<br>His towers, Tantallon vast;<br>Broad, massive, high, and stretching far,<br>And held impregnable in war,<br>On a projecting rock they rose,<br>And round three sides the ocean flows,<br>The fourth did battled walls enclose,<br>And double mound and fosse.<br>By narrow drawbridge, outworks strong,<br>Through studded gates, an entrance long,<br>To the main court they cross;<br>It was a wide and stately square;<br>Around were lodgings, fit and fair,<br>And towers of various form,<br>Which on the court projected far,<br>And broke its lines quadrangular.<br>Here was square keep, there turret high,<br>Or pinnacle that sought the sky,<br>Whence oft the warder could descry<br>The gathering ocean-storm.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXXIV.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Here did they rest. The princely care<br>Of Douglas, why should I declare,<br>Or say they met reception fair?<br>Or why the tidings say,<br>Which, varying, to Tantallon came,<br>By hurrying posts or fleeter fame,<br>With every varying day?<br>And, first, they heard King James had won<br>Etall, and Wark, and Ford; and then<br>That Norham Castle strong was ta'en.<br>At that sore marvelled Marmion;<br>And Douglas hoped his monarch's hand<br>Would soon subdue Northumberland:<br>But whispered news there came,<br>That, while his host inactive lay,<br>And melted by degrees away,<br>King James was dallying off the day<br>With Heron's wily dame.<br>Such acts to chronicles I yield:<br>Go seek them there and see;<br>Mine is a tale of Flodden Field,<br>And not a history.<br>At length they heard the Scottish host<br>On that high ridge had made their post<br>Which frowns o'er Milfield Plain,<br>And that brave Surrey many a band<br>Had gathered in the Southern land,<br>And marched into Northumberland,<br>And camp at Wooler ta'en.<br>Marmion, like charger in the stall,<br>That hears, without, the trumpet call,<br>Began to chafe and swear:<br>'A sorry thing to hide my head<br>In castle, like a fearful maid,<br>When such a field is near!<br>Needs must I see this battle-day;<br>Death to my fame if such a fray<br>Were fought, and Marmion away!<br>The Douglas, too, I wot not why,<br>Hath 'bated of his courtesy:<br>No longer in his halls I'll stay.'<br>Then bade his band they should array<br>For march against the dawning day.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Sir+Walter+Scott">Sir Walter Scott</a><div class=q>
<img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share">
<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=519645" data-title="Marmion: Canto V. - The Court de Sir Walter Scott" data-description="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;
Their men the warders backward drew,
And carried pikes as they rode through
Into its ample bound.
Fast ran ..."></div>
</div>
</div>